The Randomness of Life ~ Chapter 75

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This was scheduled to post before all the problems with my cat started this morning, but somehow this post is rather prophetic with Illya asking Napoleon not to die, just like I'm asking Bowie. We know Napoleon will live, while my Boo won't.  Sorry if I'm being a bit pathetic right now...


Inspired by:

Requiem~Robert Louis Stevenson

.

"Under the wide and starry sky

dig the grave and let me die

Glad di I live and gladly die

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me

Here he lies where he long'd to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill."

.

Napoleon Solo lay in intensive care, his heart rate was steady, as was his breathing, but his wounds were grievous, and the doctors weren't sure he would recover this time.

Illya sat beside him, waiting patiently for a sign...something, anything. He wasn't a man of prayer, and finally reached out to his friend, taking his hand and hoping Solo felt it, and perhaps would draw some strength from him.

"Napoleon, I am here. Listen to me, you have to fight. Live, please live?"

The American's eyes fluttered open, and through narrow slits he saw his Russian friend.

"Hi."

"Hi to you too,"Illya tried to smile, but with little success."You cannot leave me. I have just become accustomed to you, you know? Do not make me break in a new partner...that would very unfair."

"I'll try chum," he tried to laugh but coughed instead. Napoleon's demeanor became very serious."Look if I don't make it, want you to make sure, ummm...make sure this is written on my gravestone.'Home is the sailor, home from the sea and the hunter home from the hill'... want symbol of a nautical compass."

"A compass my friend? You would still get lost trying to find St. Peter," Illya teased.

"Yeah you're right...but indulge me?"

Illya nodded gravely, thinking the Stevenson line befitting an epitaph for the American, who in spite of his fear of water, was still a lover of the sea. He was the greatest hunter Illya had ever known.

"YA obeshchayu, I promise," he whispered in Russian, hiding his fear of losing this man. "But it will not be necessary Napoleon because you are going to try to get well, da?

"YA obeshchayu," Napoleon replied.

"I will hold you to that," Illya gave his hand another squeeze, "Now rest, there is a world to save, and too many beautiful women out there waiting for you, of course."

Kuryakin watched as his partner fell back to sleep, this time smiling contentedly.

"Sam pogibay, a tovarishcha vyruchay_ You might die yourself, but you must save the friend." Illya whispered a Russian proverb that was near to his heart when it came to Napoleon, a man who was like a brother to him. He would gladly give his life for him if he could... Still Napoleon had promised to get well, and he was always a man of his word.

For Laurose8 - Dressing Down

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Last week I invited everyone to submit a 'fantasy' in order to receive a story based on that. laurose8 suggested a story where Illya is well dressed for an event and Napoleon is tattered, bum like.  Here it is...
~~~~~:

A dazzling array of the city’s finest folk were shamelessly on display at the opening of a small but important art gallery.  In spite of the new Mod garb favored by some, this crowd tended to more traditional, decidedly glamorous fashion.  Swinging London still had a ways to go in order to overtake New York when it came to good old fashioned (pardon the pun), couture.

Among the well dressed and seasonably blond was a young man of slight build and haughty demeanor.  He fit this crowd better than he would have liked, met their criteria for beauty and disdain with painstaking accuracy.  Illya Kuryakin would gladly have traded places with his partner, and in most cases it would have been Solo in the elegant tuxedo rather than the disapproving Russian.

( Read more... )

For Lindafishes8 - An Unexpected Snow

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

lindafishes8 wanted a story where she and IK are stranded in a snowstorm with nothing to do but ... well, you get the idea.
~~~~~:

I looked out the window into a frozen landscape, shivered at the feel of the cold glass beneath my fingers.  My little vacation hadn’t gone as planned; the weather had produced an unexpected storm and now I was ... stuck.  Here, in this cabin, all alone instead of with George.

George, my trusty and reliable boyfriend of two years who was now at the bottom of the mountain and unable to get past the frozen deadlock that was the road here.  I would just have to weather this little glich ... Oh, pun definitely intended.  I have no one else to amuse me.

Maybe this wasn’t all bad, I mean it did give me time to think about things.  Things like George.  The two years with him had been ... hmmm... okay.  As boyfriends went, George was stalwart and kind, courteous ... not exactly the thrilling romance I had envisioned for myself.  He was handsome, I had to admit it, and in my rather shallow way it was had first attracted me to him.  Thinking back on that first encounter, I could see now that it had never been enough, but he was a good catch and I was a career girl in New York City and in need of someone to help guide me through the turbulent sixties.

I saw something in the haze of white that was the view from my icy window.  It looked like ... Suddenly my heart was gripped with something like alarm.  There was a man out there, stumbling towards my cabin.  I couldn’t make out very much about him, he seemed to be the same color as the snow covered ground, and he was struggling to keep moving.  I hesitated and then, with an abandon that would later shock and amaze me, I opened the door and headed into the wintry scene.  As my foot touched the wooden planks of the small porch he looked up, a pleading expression in vivid blue eyes that seemed to call to me in a visceral fashion that literally made my heart leap.

( Read more... )