section7mfu | Writer's Choice for 01/21/17; For Elinor

As it has been a year since I first got up the courage to start posting my stories on line for others to read, I thought I would re-post the very first story I posted here on section VII: a picfic challenge story; this time with the source picture attached.

"But why won't you come to the window and watch the storm, Illya?" Napoleon asked him, puzzled.

Illya was sitting slumped on his sofa, moodily cradling a mug of tea whilst Napoleon stood at the window gazing out into the storm.

"The view across the city at night is terrific at any time, but during a storm it becomes...almost magical!"

Illya rolled his eyes.

"You've been watching too much TV, my friend." he replied. "Why don't you come away from the window and close the curtains now?"

Napoleon turned back to look at his friend.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Have you never stood here to watch a thunderstorm?"

"I prefer to close the windows and curtains and curl up with a book, preferably with music playing."

"Who could hear any music anyway over the sound of that thunder overhead?"

Napoleon turned his attention back to the amazing sight outside.

"Headphones." came the sullen reply.

Napoleon turned back from the window, something in his friend's voice that caught his attention. A loud bang! sounded overhead and a crackling, and all the lights in the building went out. Illya jumped, then cursed in Russian. Napoleon frowned, and crossed the room in two strides.

"Illya, it was the electric going down that's all...I expect the power-plant has been struck by lightning...the emergency generator will kick in, in a moment..."

After a moment or two sitting in the darkened apartment, listening to the howling of the wind outside, the heavy rain battering against the windows, and the thunder, sounding like it was trying to shake the very building from its foundations, the lights came on again. Napoleon frowned worriedly, as he caught Illya in the act of replacing a cushion back on the seat beside him.

"My friend, you don't like storms at all, do you?"

Illya did not reply. Napoleon quickly crossed to the window and swung the heavy curtains closed, and turned back to find Illya hurried taking the top record from the pile on the floor and putting it on to play. He glanced at the mug of tea his friend was still sipping and smiled.

"I think you need something stronger than tea, my friend. You got anything in?"

When Illya nodded, Napoleon went into the kitchen, took two small bottles of vodka from the coolbox and handed one over.

"Here, try this."

"Thank you."

They sipped their vodkas in silence for a few minutes, until Illya finally gave up trying to hear Stravinski over the sound of the thunder and turned it off. Napoleon sat back and regarded his friend.

Illya was often quiet and moody. That did not worry Napoleon especially, but something was different this time. He had something on his mind. Napoleon was sure it was something to do with the storm. Illya was fingering his bottle, seemingly staring deep into its depths.

"What is it that's eating you, my friend?"

Illya sighed, opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind and took a long swig at his bottle instead.

"Do you not like thunderstorms, Illya? You don't like me standing there at the window. Why is that?"

"I am not afraid of thunderstorms!"

Napoleon smiled gently.

"I know that. We've been caught out in storms before now. If you were afraid of them, I think I might have guessed by this time, but tonight it's different isn't it? How come?"

"Illya smiled slightly.

"Very well. The answer is simply a matter of memory, Napoleon."

"Memory?"

Illya nodded.

"When I first met my wife Elinor, we both loved thunderstorms. We used to go running outside during a storm and find somewhere wild and secret to shelter. A hollow tree, an old barn maybe? We would sit and tell each other stories of adventures on the high seas, often involving storms and shipwrecks."

"How old were you?"

Illya looked up at him through his long bangs.

"Seven years old."

Napoleon smiled. Illya smiled slightly.

"It was stormy the day we got married. Good things always happened to us during thunderstorms…until the day that the KGB parted her from me…I remember the last time I kissed her as the thunder and lightning flashed overhead. Then the day I…the day…"

Napoleon waited patiently until his friend composed himself and was able to continue.

"The day you and I first met, when I rescued you from that satrap in Russia?* , I learned that both Elinor and Dimitri had died, drowned in the river Danube. I later learned that they had taken the river path as a shortcut home because of the storm. The river path cut twenty minutes off their walk home. Dimitri was scared of the thunder and ran off ahead, fell into the river, and Elinor went in to get him out. They were both swept away before she was able to get them both to safety. A thunderstorm, Napoleon brought the love of my life to me, and then my son, and then a thunderstorm ripped both of them away from me again. I do not fear the storm itself my friend, but I can't…the memories that thunderstorms bring back are just too…I would rather find a way to block them out."

Napoleon felt his heart throbbing in his throat, full of pity for his friend. He knew better than to show any pity outwardly though. Instead he clapped his friend gently on the shoulder.

"I understand Illya. I really do. But all your memories of storms were not bad. Would Elinor not be sad if she knew that you had lost your love of the storm because of what happened to her? Wasn't it the love of thunderstorms that brought you both together in the first place? Wouldn't it be better to try and remember the happy memories? Try and learn to enjoy storms again in her honour? Watch them for both of you? I'm sure that would make her happy."

For a long time, Illya sat silently, listening to the sounds of the thunder, and the rain and the wind, then he turned slightly damp eyes to Napoleon.

"Thank you my friend. You are a wise man. I think you are right. Elinor would have loved a thunderstorm over New York at night. Will you teach me to enjoy it again? For Elinor?"

Napoleon smiled and opened the curtains once again. Together, they stood and watched the storm.

Writer's Choice for 01/21/17; For Elinor

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