section7mfu | Jun. 9th, 2013

the prompt
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Napoleon Solo woke up with a headache. He could hear the outdoors coming through a curtained window, but his vision was blurry, as though …
“Drugs.”
He said it aloud, to no one.
Feeling less able than he liked, Solo slowly made the movements necessary to get out of the bed he was lying in. There was a lingering fragrance, but no memory of why it should be so close. What had happened to him?

Everything was haze of half memories and dulled sensations. Napoleon wondered where his partner was. Illya had been with him when …
“Hello! Is anyone here?”

Solo cocked his head, the stirrings of recognition beginning to flutter; this place was a safe house and he was supposed to be guarding a THRUSH defector. Illya had been here as well, so… where was everyone?

With the return of some semblance of memory, Napoleon took inventory of himself and his surroundings. He was fully dressed except for his shoes. Those he found at the foot of the bed, as though he had taken them off there. The Walther was still in his holster; Napoleon removed it as he slipped on his shoes and moved out into the hallway.

The last thing last night … what was it? Illya had been designated to take the first watch, and Napoleon headed back here to this bedroom to get a few hours of sleep. Their guest, Dr. Daphne Luttrell, was already in her room. He could remember heading back here and … that was all.
The room next to his belonged to Dr. Luttrell; he stopped and knocked. No response. With his reflexes returning to normal, Solo opened the door and took an offensive stance. Empty.

Continuing down the hallway and to the living room, Napoleon was aware once again of the same fragrance as in his bedroom. The room was orderly except for one thing: Illya’s tie was folded atop the coffee table, as though he had taken it off at some point and laid it down there.
Dumbfounded, Napoleon searched the room for any clue of a struggle or violence. He found nothing. The room was entirely as he had last seen it, except for the missing Russian.

“Okay, Solo … think…”
Why were they here? To guard Dr. Luttrell.
Why? Because she was leaving THRUSH.
Why? Because …

A low moaning noise interrupted Napoleon’s train of thought. Following the sound led him to a closet next to the kitchen area. He hadn’t thought to look in there, but now at least there was some sign of life in the seemingly empty house.
With more verve than he felt, Napoleon pulled back the door in a rapid motion. Sitting in the floor with his head in his hands was Illya, his posture a perfect match for the miserable sounds he was making.

“Illya, what happened? I can’t find Dr. Luttrell anywhere.”

The blond accepted the hand offered and rose from his cramped position with some bit of difficulty. He had been like that for several hours and muscles and bone were resisting being disturbed.

“And I am perfectly fine, thank you for asking.”

The curtness was not lost on Napoleon. Yes, he supposed he should have asked.

“Sorry, it’s just … well, I think we’ve both been drugged. Can you smell that?”

Illya stretched with some difficulty, but his head hurt and his legs felt as though they were going to cramp. How long had he been in that closet?

“What time is it?”

Napoleon looked at his watch.

“It’s just past nine-thirty. In the morning. THRUSH must have found out where we were keeping the good doctor and come after her. I need to call this in …”

Illya held up a hand to stop his partner.

“No, do not bother. She was in on this. I have a feeling we’re going to find out that we have been duped. She was running away from a love affair, but apparently has had a change of heart … quite literally.”

Napoleon’s face twisted into a question mark that Illya read easily.

“I … She confided in me … a little.’
Another look of incredulity prompted him to continue.
“She decided to leave THRUSH when her lover, whom she did not identify, told her they were through … finis. Her words, not mine. Apparently she decided that UNCLE would suit her just as well if she were deprived of a love life. I believe it is possible that she, or perhaps both of them, had a change of heart.”

Napoleon’s mouth was stuck in a large O shape. Disbelief looked like that.

“So, you’re telling me that she used some kind of knock out gas on us and ran back to her lover? At THRUSH. Unbelievable.”

Illya nodded. His head was clearing a little, but a slight throbbing sensation was persisting.

“Yes, well …. C’est la vie. Lovers quarrel and then they make up. It doesn’t usually involve us, however.’
His eyes caught something, a paper sticking out from beneath the sofa.
“What’s that?”

Illya walked over and retrieved it, rolling his eyes as he read the note left behind by Dr. Luttrell.

“Listen to this… Come away with me in the night. We’ll go where they can’t tempt us with their lies. We can go on a bus, anywhere as long as we’re together. We’ll walk in the rain, make love and kiss… please Daphne, come away with me.”

Napoleon couldn’t fault the poetic nature of the note.

“True love. Go figure.”

“You had better call this in, Napoleon. It seems our little bird was actually a love bird who can’t live happily ever after without the man she left behind.”

Nodding his agreement, Napoleon took out his communicator and put in the call.

Illya read the note again. He wondered if they would be happy together. In an unguarded moment, the romantic in his soul hoped they would.

Tags: glennagirl, song story

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