PicFic 12/11

[avirra.livejournal.com]

Twas the Night Before Christmas - Part II
Christmas Present
Christmas Day - 1966

Alexander didn't know when he'd fallen asleep in the chair by Millicent's bedside, but he found himself being gently woken up by his top four agents. His very concerned agents. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or a touch annoyed by them checking up on him, but he knew very well that Millicent would appreciate the gesture, so he forced away the feelings of annoyance for her sake.

"April and Mark have a light breakfast ready for you in the other room, sir. Illya and I will sit with Mrs. Waverly while you eat and refresh yourself a bit."

"While I appreciate -"

His words trailed off as April laid a hand on his arm.

"Please, Mister Waverly. I made a promise to your wife when I visited her at the hospital. You know how she feels about promises, so please don't make me break one to her."

"Exactly what did you promise her, Miss Dancer?"

"To make sure that you were taken care of as well you you were taking care of her."

Finding himself having to swallow a lump in his throat, Alexander took a deep breath to steady himself and then conceded the point.

"That does sound like my Millicent. Very well then."

Rising, he moved over to the bedside again, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it touched her hair.

"I will be back shortly, Millicent, my dear. Mister Kuryakin, would you mind reading to her? My Russian is decent enough for getting a point across in common conversation, but poorly suited to reading the poetry she loves so well. The book is there on the table."

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

"I'll bring you some tea back this way, Illya. Napoleon? Coffee for you?"

"Yes, please. Thanks, Mark."

As Mark made his way to the kitchen area to make the tea, April steered Mister Waverly over to the table where some croissants were in a small basket with butter and strawberry jam nearby. A small smile lit his face when he saw them.

"That rather brings back a few memories of Paris. Very typical of the petit dejeuner there."

Seeing an opening to learn something more of the Waverly's past, April poured coffee for them both and offered him the cream before sitting down herself.

"Have you spent a lot of time in France, Mister Waverly?"

"Oh yes indeed, Miss Dancer. Millicent and I both have always enjoyed visiting France. Our second Christmas as man and wife was spent in Paris."

"What was it like?"

"Quite different than now in many ways. The World War had ended and I believe the last of treaties had just been signed the month before."

While speaking, his mind went back to that snowy day. It was as clear in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday.

Christmas Day - 1919

As Alexander and Millicent strolled to their favorite Parisian bakery, Alexander reflected that much had changed in his nearly two years as a married man. Despite the cold air, he was finally able to take a deep breath again without lapsing into a coughing fit. He was also able to walk by her side with hardly a trace left of the limp that was all that was left of the injury that he had originally been told would leave him unable to walk without assistance for the remainder of his life. He almost chuckled when he recalled the way that Millicent had thrown the man out of the room, very loudly suggesting his talents were more suited to tending of the cavalry horses that to the soldiers.

Her persistence in finding a doctor that believed he could recover as strongly as she did had made all of the difference. Too many doctors were satisfied to treat him by simply dealing with numbing his pain while doing essentially nothing at else at all. The doctor whose treatment course he ended up taking took him through a therapy regiment that was painful, long and hard, but Millicent had stood by his side for it and the results were undeniable. He was walking down the street with his wife. His leg was a bit stiff from the weather, that was all.

"A ha'penny for your thoughts, Alexander. I saw that smile."

The chuckle did make it out that time as he stopped their stroll and brushed a few snowflakes from her hood.

"I was merely thinking back to when you unceremoniously tossed Doctor Tyler out of my hospital room. Quite an accomplishment considering he stood a good foot taller than you."

Giving a small toss of her head, Millicent's tone told the depth of her contempt of the man. She looked ahead at the Eiffel Tower in the distance as her mittened hands clenched into fists.

"Drugging a man or woman until they couldn't even tell if they still had a leg was hardly an act worthy of the title of 'doctor'. I do not hold inability against a man, but I do hold refusal to admit it against him."

"I am quite certain everyone in the vicinity was well aware, my dear."

She paused as if a thought suddenly struck her for the first time.

"Alexander? Did I embarrass you?"

"A bit, my dear, but only because you were standing up for me more than I was standing up for myself."

"Nonsense. That charlatan had so many drugs in you that you were doing well to remember your name."

"Have I ever remembered to thank you?"

"You went ahead and married me anyway, didn't you? I rather took that as a vote of confidence."

"Not for that, my dear. For never giving up on me."

Christmas Day - 1966

Without even noticing he was doing so, Mister Waverly had eaten three of the croissants with jam and drunk his cup of cafe au lait. When he had paused long enough for April to recognize that his reminiscences had stopped, she spoke softly.

"Russian poetry is all well and good, sir, but perhaps she might respond better if it were you speaking to her in French."

Lifting his head a bit to meet her eyes, Mister Waverly considered April's words quietly for a moment.

"I do believe you have the right of that, Miss Dancer. If you would be so kind as to ask Mister Slate to brew another pot of tea, I believe that I will take a moment to get cleaned up a bit before returning to my wife."

"Of course, Mister Waverly. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Are you a religious woman, Miss Dancer?"

"Yes sir."

"A prayer might not be out of place then."

"She's already in them, Mister Waverly."

PicFic 12/11

[avirra.livejournal.com]

Twas the Night Before Christmas - Part II
Christmas Present
Christmas Day - 1966

Alexander didn't know when he'd fallen asleep in the chair by Millicent's bedside, but he found himself being gently woken up by his top four agents. His very concerned agents. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or a touch annoyed by them checking up on him, but he knew very well that Millicent would appreciate the gesture, so he forced away the feelings of annoyance for her sake.

"April and Mark have a light breakfast ready for you in the other room, sir. Illya and I will sit with Mrs. Waverly while you eat and refresh yourself a bit."

"While I appreciate -"

His words trailed off as April laid a hand on his arm.

"Please, Mister Waverly. I made a promise to your wife when I visited her at the hospital. You know how she feels about promises, so please don't make me break one to her."

"Exactly what did you promise her, Miss Dancer?"

"To make sure that you were taken care of as well you you were taking care of her."

Finding himself having to swallow a lump in his throat, Alexander took a deep breath to steady himself and then conceded the point.

"That does sound like my Millicent. Very well then."

Rising, he moved over to the bedside again, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it touched her hair.

"I will be back shortly, Millicent, my dear. Mister Kuryakin, would you mind reading to her? My Russian is decent enough for getting a point across in common conversation, but poorly suited to reading the poetry she loves so well. The book is there on the table."

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

"I'll bring you some tea back this way, Illya. Napoleon? Coffee for you?"

"Yes, please. Thanks, Mark."

As Mark made his way to the kitchen area to make the tea, April steered Mister Waverly over to the table where some croissants were in a small basket with butter and strawberry jam nearby. A small smile lit his face when he saw them.

"That rather brings back a few memories of Paris. Very typical of the petit dejeuner there."

Seeing an opening to learn something more of the Waverly's past, April poured coffee for them both and offered him the cream before sitting down herself.

"Have you spent a lot of time in France, Mister Waverly?"

"Oh yes indeed, Miss Dancer. Millicent and I both have always enjoyed visiting France. Our second Christmas as man and wife was spent in Paris."

"What was it like?"

"Quite different than now in many ways. The World War had ended and I believe the last of treaties had just been signed the month before."

While speaking, his mind went back to that snowy day. It was as clear in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday.

Christmas Day - 1919

As Alexander and Millicent strolled to their favorite Parisian bakery, Alexander reflected that much had changed in his nearly two years as a married man. Despite the cold air, he was finally able to take a deep breath again without lapsing into a coughing fit. He was also able to walk by her side with hardly a trace left of the limp that was all that was left of the injury that he had originally been told would leave him unable to walk without assistance for the remainder of his life. He almost chuckled when he recalled the way that Millicent had thrown the man out of the room, very loudly suggesting his talents were more suited to tending of the cavalry horses that to the soldiers.

Her persistence in finding a doctor that believed he could recover as strongly as she did had made all of the difference. Too many doctors were satisfied to treat him by simply dealing with numbing his pain while doing essentially nothing at else at all. The doctor whose treatment course he ended up taking took him through a therapy regiment that was painful, long and hard, but Millicent had stood by his side for it and the results were undeniable. He was walking down the street with his wife. His leg was a bit stiff from the weather, that was all.

"A ha'penny for your thoughts, Alexander. I saw that smile."

The chuckle did make it out that time as he stopped their stroll and brushed a few snowflakes from her hood.

"I was merely thinking back to when you unceremoniously tossed Doctor Tyler out of my hospital room. Quite an accomplishment considering he stood a good foot taller than you."

Giving a small toss of her head, Millicent's tone told the depth of her contempt of the man. She looked ahead at the Eiffel Tower in the distance as her mittened hands clenched into fists.

"Drugging a man or woman until they couldn't even tell if they still had a leg was hardly an act worthy of the title of 'doctor'. I do not hold inability against a man, but I do hold refusal to admit it against him."

"I am quite certain everyone in the vicinity was well aware, my dear."

She paused as if a thought suddenly struck her for the first time.

"Alexander? Did I embarrass you?"

"A bit, my dear, but only because you were standing up for me more than I was standing up for myself."

"Nonsense. That charlatan had so many drugs in you that you were doing well to remember your name."

"Have I ever remembered to thank you?"

"You went ahead and married me anyway, didn't you? I rather took that as a vote of confidence."

"Not for that, my dear. For never giving up on me."

Christmas Day - 1966

Without even noticing he was doing so, Mister Waverly had eaten three of the croissants with jam and drunk his cup of cafe au lait. When he had paused long enough for April to recognize that his reminiscences had stopped, she spoke softly.

"Russian poetry is all well and good, sir, but perhaps she might respond better if it were you speaking to her in French."

Lifting his head a bit to meet her eyes, Mister Waverly considered April's words quietly for a moment.

"I do believe you have the right of that, Miss Dancer. If you would be so kind as to ask Mister Slate to brew another pot of tea, I believe that I will take a moment to get cleaned up a bit before returning to my wife."

"Of course, Mister Waverly. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Are you a religious woman, Miss Dancer?"

"Yes sir."

"A prayer might not be out of place then."

"She's already in them, Mister Waverly."

Three Wishes~part 2 for the December Picfic Tuesday Challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Christmas Present

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin trudged along the snow covered streets of Paris, they’d wandered out to just get some fresh air and had walked about a kilometer or so from the Eiffel tower.  

Solo was dressed comfortably in a lined trench coat, with a dashing fedora covering his head, while his partner looked ever the Slav, wearing a short black woolen coat, a dark scarf wound around his neck and the crowning glory covering his blond hair, a black Russian style cap, minus the red star of course.

Napoleon’s gloved hands were animated as he spoke, while Illya’s clenched fists were firmly entrenched in his pockets. The Russian was in one of his stubborn moods and his partner was trying to change that.

( Read more... )

Three Wishes~part 2 for the December Picfic Tuesday Challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Christmas Present

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin trudged along the snow covered streets of Paris, they’d wandered out to just get some fresh air and had walked about a kilometer or so from the Eiffel tower.

Solo was dressed comfortably in a lined trench coat, with a dashing fedora covering his head, while his partner looked ever the Slav, wearing a short black woolen coat, a dark scarf wound around his neck and the crowning glory covering his blond hair, a black Russian style cap, minus the red star of course.

Napoleon’s gloved hands were animated as he spoke, while Illya’s clenched fists were firmly entrenched in his pockets. The Russian was in one of his stubborn moods and his partner was trying to change that.

( Read more... )

A Drabble on the Discussion on Life: Questioning the Season 4:5

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Napoleon was surprised when he was invited to dinner and drinks at Illya's. His partner was a very private person.

"I had a hard time deciding what to give you for Christmas," Illya began.

"It's not necessary, you know."

"I have spoken to Mark and April, and both suggested I give something from my heart."

Waiting patiently for the Russian to continue, Napoleon wondered where this was heading.

"I would like to tell you about my family."

"I'm privileged, but are you sure?

"I would like to share them with you, my friend. My father was a general in...'

A Drabble on the Discussion on Life: Questioning the Season 4:5

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Napoleon was surprised when he was invited to dinner and drinks at Illya's. His partner was a very private person.

"I had a hard time deciding what to give you for Christmas," Illya began.

"It's not necessary, you know."

"I have spoken to Mark and April, and both suggested I give something from my heart."

Waiting patiently for the Russian to continue, Napoleon wondered where this was heading.

"I would like to tell you about my family."

"I'm privileged, but are you sure?

"I would like to share them with you, my friend. My father was a general in...'

Picfic Tuesday: Christmases Present

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

( Christmases Present )

Picfic Tuesday: Christmases Present

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

( Christmases Present )

Stille Nacht - present /PicFic Tuesday

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

part one

~~~~~:

( Read more... )

Stille Nacht - present /PicFic Tuesday

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

part one

~~~~~:

( Read more... )

T'was the night before...

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Just a bit of off beat poetry, related to my "Bowery Mission stories", where Illya goes to help his friend Claire in the soup kitchen.

......

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house one creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.

A blond headed Russian walked out his front door, loaded with a sackful of presents galore.

He hailed a cab....”227 Bowery,” he said, as the yellow checkered taxi became his own sled.

Illya walked through the bright red Mission door, dropped and scattered his bag across the floor.




It was brimming with toys and new winter coats, gloves, and sweaters, what people needed the most.

His friend Claire smiled warmly as he donned his apron tight, to dole out the food, to feed the hungry that night.

When the day was done, and they’d washed, cleaned, and sat for a rest. Claire looked at Illya thinking, he was the best.  

“If I were thirty years younger, “she always would say, and the Russian would blush, shyness would fade.

“Thank you my friend,” he’d say with a kiss. “To help you along is my only wish.”

And he’d leave through the kitchen and make such a clatter, Claire’d come out to see what was the matter.

He’d laugh at his clumsiness, and clean up again, and waved good bye to his charming dear friend.

The lights of the city seemed brighter that night, a once cold young Russian was filled with delight.

He stood at the steps of his apartment and then, turned whispering to the sky, saying...

“Peace and goodwill to all men”

T'was the night before...

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Just a bit of off beat poetry, related to my "Bowery Mission stories", where Illya goes to help his friend Claire in the soup kitchen.

......

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house one creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.

A blond headed Russian walked out his front door, loaded with a sackful of presents galore.

He hailed a cab....”227 Bowery,” he said, as the yellow checkered taxi became his own sled.

Illya walked through the bright red Mission door, dropped and scattered his bag across the floor.




It was brimming with toys and new winter coats, gloves, and sweaters, what people needed the most.

His friend Claire smiled warmly as he donned his apron tight, to dole out the food, to feed the hungry that night.

When the day was done, and they’d washed, cleaned, and sat for a rest. Claire looked at Illya thinking, he was the best.  

“If I were thirty years younger, “she always would say, and the Russian would blush, shyness would fade.

“Thank you my friend,” he’d say with a kiss. “To help you along is my only wish.”

And he’d leave through the kitchen and make such a clatter, Claire’d come out to see what was the matter.

He’d laugh at his clumsiness, and clean up again, and waved good bye to his charming dear friend.

The lights of the city seemed brighter that night, a once cold young Russian was filled with delight.

He stood at the steps of his apartment and then, turned whispering to the sky, saying...

“Peace and goodwill to all men”