![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
rose-of-pollux.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuShort Affair 12/19
Prompt: Approach
Color: Green
Title: True Blue
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: 1000
(For context, this story takes place in October of 1962--during the Cuban Missile Crisis)
Illya was soaking wet and very grumpy as he sought refuge from the rainstorm in the closest building he could find—the Purple Unicorn restaurant. He had been on a simple courier mission that he had just successfully completed, but with one hitch—the microdot he had been tasked with delivering had been hidden in his umbrella, which he had handed over to his contact for the sake of a cover. This would not have been an issue had it not been for the unrelenting downpour that had been swamping Manhattan since morning.
Illya now sat in one of the restaurant’s booths, quietly fuming and waiting for his communicator to dry out before he called in and reported his mission a success. He was perusing a menu as the door to the restaurant opened, and he paused as he saw his partner, Napoleon Solo, entering with a raincoat and umbrella. For a moment, Illya had been wondering if Napoleon had somehow heard of the mission’s success and was here to pick him up, but then he saw three other men in tow with Napoleon. Napoleon looked very preoccupied with them, so Illya opted not to distract them.
Illya kept his face hidden behind the menu as Napoleon and the three men sat in the booth right in front of him; Napoleon’s back was to him, and, over Napoleon’s shoulder, he could see the three men sitting across from Napoleon with a briefcase.
Napoleon sighed.
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have had this meeting in my office,” Napoleon was saying.
“Couldn’t run the risk of anyone walking in on us, Solo,” one of the men said. “We may be with the Bureau, but this meeting is… off the record.”
“…Uh-huh,” Napoleon said. Illya couldn’t see his face, but he could tell that his partner’s voice had just gotten a lot more skeptical.
“Look, Solo, let’s just put our cards on the table,” the second man said. “You know what’s going on in Cuba, don’t you?”
Napoleon exhaled.
“Rest assured, Gentlemen, U.N.C.L.E. is doing everything in our power to ensure that no war breaks out,” he said.
“We know that, Solo,” the third man said. “But there’s something that will give us an edge, with your cooperation.”
“…What?” Napoleon asked.
“Do you know the whereabouts of an Illya Kuryakin?” the first man asked. “We have it on reliable authority that the man is a member of the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. and that you’re an associate of his.”
Illya suddenly had an unpleasant feeling that he knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. He pulled the menu up further, trying to disappear behind it.
Napoleon was choosing his words carefully.
“Well, Mr. Kuryakin is my partner, and I know he’s on a mission right now, but I don’t know the exact details of his location.”
“Your partner?” the second man said. “That’s perfect.”
“…It is?” Napoleon asked.
“Yeah; that means he trusts you,” the second man continued. “Look, Solo, the three of us found an old report by a former colleague of ours that Kuryakin knows part of the Soviet launch codes--”
“Was this colleague’s name Broker, by any chance?” Napoleon asked, his voice shifting from annoyance to the first vestiges of tranquil anger. “Because, if so, I might as well tell you that the man was a THRUSH mole, and that is why he’s a former colleague of yours.”
There was an awkward silence, which the third man broke.
“It was Broker, but… The report is still true, isn’t it? About Kuryakin knowing the launch code?”
“What difference does it make?” Napoleon asked, through gritted teeth.
“It makes all the difference in the world!” the first man said. “Think of it, Solo—if we have Kuryakin, we have part of the Russian launch code! That will give us an edge! If we presented Kuryakin to our superiors, we’d be rolling in promotions and money!”
“We’re done here,” Napoleon declared.
“Oh, of course we’d make it worth your while, Solo,” the second man said. “We know U.N.C.L.E. would frown on you handing over your partner like that, so we’ve tried a flawless approach.” He opened the briefcase, revealing bundles of cash. “A quarter of a million dollars, Solo—and it’s all yours if you hand Kuryakin over to us. You can take this green and disappear, and we’ll even send you more when we get it.”
“So, do we have a deal, Solo?” the third man asked. “This cash for the Russian?”
Illya’s eyes widened as he heard Napoleon speak after a long silence—
“Get out.”
It wasn’t the reply that had surprised Illya; he had trusted his partner completely and had known that Napoleon would have never accepted, not even for all the money in the world. But what had surprised Illya had been the sheer, unadulterated venom that was drenching his partner’s voice—something he had never heard before.
“But, Solo--”
“I said get out!”
Napoleon stood, glaring down at the three men, who quickly grabbed their briefcase of money and fled. Napoleon immediately grabbed his communicator and made a report to U.N.C.L.E HQ with the men’s identities and descriptions, and then made another call over the channel—
“Put me through to Illya right away; it’s an emergency, and I have to warn him that there are three…”
He trailed off as Illya’s communicator whistled behind him. Illya quickly silenced the communicator as he removed the menu from in front of his face, looking up at his partner with a smile.
“…How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough to know that I am worth more than a quarter-million dollars to you,” Illya said, continuing to smile despite the fact that he was still soaking wet.
“You’re worth far more than that,” Napoleon promised, sitting down in the booth with him. “You’re priceless.”
“So are you, Napoleon,” Illya said, quietly, as it quickly turned into an impromptu lunch. “So are you.”
Prompt: Approach
Color: Green
Title: True Blue
Author: Rose of Pollux
Word Count: 1000
(For context, this story takes place in October of 1962--during the Cuban Missile Crisis)
Illya was soaking wet and very grumpy as he sought refuge from the rainstorm in the closest building he could find—the Purple Unicorn restaurant. He had been on a simple courier mission that he had just successfully completed, but with one hitch—the microdot he had been tasked with delivering had been hidden in his umbrella, which he had handed over to his contact for the sake of a cover. This would not have been an issue had it not been for the unrelenting downpour that had been swamping Manhattan since morning.
Illya now sat in one of the restaurant’s booths, quietly fuming and waiting for his communicator to dry out before he called in and reported his mission a success. He was perusing a menu as the door to the restaurant opened, and he paused as he saw his partner, Napoleon Solo, entering with a raincoat and umbrella. For a moment, Illya had been wondering if Napoleon had somehow heard of the mission’s success and was here to pick him up, but then he saw three other men in tow with Napoleon. Napoleon looked very preoccupied with them, so Illya opted not to distract them.
Illya kept his face hidden behind the menu as Napoleon and the three men sat in the booth right in front of him; Napoleon’s back was to him, and, over Napoleon’s shoulder, he could see the three men sitting across from Napoleon with a briefcase.
Napoleon sighed.
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have had this meeting in my office,” Napoleon was saying.
“Couldn’t run the risk of anyone walking in on us, Solo,” one of the men said. “We may be with the Bureau, but this meeting is… off the record.”
“…Uh-huh,” Napoleon said. Illya couldn’t see his face, but he could tell that his partner’s voice had just gotten a lot more skeptical.
“Look, Solo, let’s just put our cards on the table,” the second man said. “You know what’s going on in Cuba, don’t you?”
Napoleon exhaled.
“Rest assured, Gentlemen, U.N.C.L.E. is doing everything in our power to ensure that no war breaks out,” he said.
“We know that, Solo,” the third man said. “But there’s something that will give us an edge, with your cooperation.”
“…What?” Napoleon asked.
“Do you know the whereabouts of an Illya Kuryakin?” the first man asked. “We have it on reliable authority that the man is a member of the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. and that you’re an associate of his.”
Illya suddenly had an unpleasant feeling that he knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. He pulled the menu up further, trying to disappear behind it.
Napoleon was choosing his words carefully.
“Well, Mr. Kuryakin is my partner, and I know he’s on a mission right now, but I don’t know the exact details of his location.”
“Your partner?” the second man said. “That’s perfect.”
“…It is?” Napoleon asked.
“Yeah; that means he trusts you,” the second man continued. “Look, Solo, the three of us found an old report by a former colleague of ours that Kuryakin knows part of the Soviet launch codes--”
“Was this colleague’s name Broker, by any chance?” Napoleon asked, his voice shifting from annoyance to the first vestiges of tranquil anger. “Because, if so, I might as well tell you that the man was a THRUSH mole, and that is why he’s a former colleague of yours.”
There was an awkward silence, which the third man broke.
“It was Broker, but… The report is still true, isn’t it? About Kuryakin knowing the launch code?”
“What difference does it make?” Napoleon asked, through gritted teeth.
“It makes all the difference in the world!” the first man said. “Think of it, Solo—if we have Kuryakin, we have part of the Russian launch code! That will give us an edge! If we presented Kuryakin to our superiors, we’d be rolling in promotions and money!”
“We’re done here,” Napoleon declared.
“Oh, of course we’d make it worth your while, Solo,” the second man said. “We know U.N.C.L.E. would frown on you handing over your partner like that, so we’ve tried a flawless approach.” He opened the briefcase, revealing bundles of cash. “A quarter of a million dollars, Solo—and it’s all yours if you hand Kuryakin over to us. You can take this green and disappear, and we’ll even send you more when we get it.”
“So, do we have a deal, Solo?” the third man asked. “This cash for the Russian?”
Illya’s eyes widened as he heard Napoleon speak after a long silence—
“Get out.”
It wasn’t the reply that had surprised Illya; he had trusted his partner completely and had known that Napoleon would have never accepted, not even for all the money in the world. But what had surprised Illya had been the sheer, unadulterated venom that was drenching his partner’s voice—something he had never heard before.
“But, Solo--”
“I said get out!”
Napoleon stood, glaring down at the three men, who quickly grabbed their briefcase of money and fled. Napoleon immediately grabbed his communicator and made a report to U.N.C.L.E HQ with the men’s identities and descriptions, and then made another call over the channel—
“Put me through to Illya right away; it’s an emergency, and I have to warn him that there are three…”
He trailed off as Illya’s communicator whistled behind him. Illya quickly silenced the communicator as he removed the menu from in front of his face, looking up at his partner with a smile.
“…How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough to know that I am worth more than a quarter-million dollars to you,” Illya said, continuing to smile despite the fact that he was still soaking wet.
“You’re worth far more than that,” Napoleon promised, sitting down in the booth with him. “You’re priceless.”
“So are you, Napoleon,” Illya said, quietly, as it quickly turned into an impromptu lunch. “So are you.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-12-26 03:28 pm (UTC)