Dec. 16th, 2014

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com


Napoleon showered and shaved, dressing himself more appropriately for hiking in the snow, though he wasn’t going for a stroll around Central Park.


Waverly had given him off until after New Year’s; barring any sort of international emergency. THRUSH always seemed to take the time off as well and unless is was some other lunatic determined to take over the world, Solo didn’t expect that call for once.

He hadn’t planned sitting around crying in his tea about Kuryakin and decided to be a little proactive.


Napoleon threw on his heavy wool coat and galoshes, reminding himself to bring that red and black-checked hat of his that Illya always made fun of, and filling a backpack with binoculars along with other sundry supplies; he hopped into his car after cleaning off the newly fallen snow and headed out to the scene of the accident to search for his missing partner.


Though an UNCLE team had done so already and not found a clue, that wasn’t good enough for the senior agent.


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[identity profile] avirra.livejournal.com
(Continuation of 12/9/14 picfic - that I posted on 12/10/14)

Napoleon Solo was not a man that prayed often, but when the car he knew for certain had been the one Illya had been driving rose from its watery grave, he said one - then when the police reported the car was empty, he said a second one to say thanks. There was always a chance Illya had been tossed into the water separate from the car, but the odds had increased of his partner being alive.

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[identity profile] jantojones.livejournal.com
Part 1 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/846317.html

After the fourth time of trying to contact Illya, Napoleon Solo realised his plans for the evening were going out of the window. His partner was only meant to observe the house and report back on which member of THRUSH central was arriving. Once the name was known, a different set of agents would take over the assignment. Solo briefly entertained the thought that it might be simple equipment failure. As much as he hoped that was the case, he had to treat is as something suspicious.

“Call Slate and Dancer and ask them to meet me in Mr Waverly’s office,” he told Mary, who was manning the communications desk. “And keep trying Illya.”


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