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section7mfu2017-05-04 08:40 pm
avrovulcan.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2017-05-04 08:40 pm
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Never Give Up
He’d never liked the water – now was an excellent example of why he didn’t.
Trapped under water, he was running out of air. The large lung full he’d managed to capture just before he disappeared below the surface was not going to last much longer. He watched as a few bubbles of the precious life sustaining air drifted up past his eyes, while he clamped his lips together firmly to try and prevent more from escaping.
He was resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get rescued this time, Napoleon didn’t know where he was, it turned out the lead he’d followed was a dead-end.
Ha, so right in many ways.
A door at the bottom of a dead-end street led to a disused warehouse. A room at the end of a corridor in the building – was the second dead-end. The third was the body of his informant contained within that room. Now Illya was going to be the fourth dead-end……. quite literally.
The Russians lungs were burning, demanding he draw in a breath. It was so tempting, maybe he could breathe water? His thoughts were slowly convincing him that it would be fine, but somewhere at the back of his mind there was a scream warning him it would be dangerous to take that much needed gasp – what to believe?
He closed his eyes, how did he get here, why didn’t he just get out of the bath?
Bath? No; this isn’t a bath, Illya’s memory informed him. He’d been captured and thrown into a pool, hands tied behind his back and a weight chained to his feet to prevent him from surfacing or moving his legs.
A dead weight, ha.
Peaceful. He thought he’d be frightened of dying, but all he felt was calm.
Maybe he’d be able to return to his long lost family, the family he last saw as a small boy before they were all slaughtered as he hid in the hidey-hole Babushka had pushed him into. How he missed those kind smiling blue eyes, the gentle laughter full of life.
Yes, he could hear them, calling to him. He was going home.
He was just about to take that fateful breath his lungs were screaming for, when he was roughly jolted and brought up to the surface of the water. Coughing and spluttering, Illya finally drew good clean air into his starving lungs.
He clung to the side of the pool he’d been thrown into, gulping down life giving oxygen before heaving himself out with Napoleon’s help.
“You took your time,” coughed the Russian, the well know sparkle beginning to return to his eyes.
“Ye of little faith,” Solo replied, “you should know I’ve always got your back.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your communicator activated when it got submerged in the water and I homed in on the signal.”
“Ah, yes I had forgotten about that new feature.”
“Think you can make it out to the car?”
“Da.”
Illya turned and took a last look at his watery would-be coffin. He was startled as his refection changed and he looked into his Babushka’s blue eyes, “Your time is not now, Illyusha. Go live your life and never give up.”
“YA obeshchayu, chto budet zhit' svoyu zhizn' v polnom, Babushka” (I promise I will live my life to the fullest, babushka)
“Did you say something Illya?”
Kuryakin smiled, “just making a promise to never give up.”
Trapped under water, he was running out of air. The large lung full he’d managed to capture just before he disappeared below the surface was not going to last much longer. He watched as a few bubbles of the precious life sustaining air drifted up past his eyes, while he clamped his lips together firmly to try and prevent more from escaping.
He was resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get rescued this time, Napoleon didn’t know where he was, it turned out the lead he’d followed was a dead-end.
Ha, so right in many ways.
A door at the bottom of a dead-end street led to a disused warehouse. A room at the end of a corridor in the building – was the second dead-end. The third was the body of his informant contained within that room. Now Illya was going to be the fourth dead-end……. quite literally.
The Russians lungs were burning, demanding he draw in a breath. It was so tempting, maybe he could breathe water? His thoughts were slowly convincing him that it would be fine, but somewhere at the back of his mind there was a scream warning him it would be dangerous to take that much needed gasp – what to believe?
He closed his eyes, how did he get here, why didn’t he just get out of the bath?
Bath? No; this isn’t a bath, Illya’s memory informed him. He’d been captured and thrown into a pool, hands tied behind his back and a weight chained to his feet to prevent him from surfacing or moving his legs.
A dead weight, ha.
Peaceful. He thought he’d be frightened of dying, but all he felt was calm.
Maybe he’d be able to return to his long lost family, the family he last saw as a small boy before they were all slaughtered as he hid in the hidey-hole Babushka had pushed him into. How he missed those kind smiling blue eyes, the gentle laughter full of life.
Yes, he could hear them, calling to him. He was going home.
He was just about to take that fateful breath his lungs were screaming for, when he was roughly jolted and brought up to the surface of the water. Coughing and spluttering, Illya finally drew good clean air into his starving lungs.
He clung to the side of the pool he’d been thrown into, gulping down life giving oxygen before heaving himself out with Napoleon’s help.
“You took your time,” coughed the Russian, the well know sparkle beginning to return to his eyes.
“Ye of little faith,” Solo replied, “you should know I’ve always got your back.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your communicator activated when it got submerged in the water and I homed in on the signal.”
“Ah, yes I had forgotten about that new feature.”
“Think you can make it out to the car?”
“Da.”
Illya turned and took a last look at his watery would-be coffin. He was startled as his refection changed and he looked into his Babushka’s blue eyes, “Your time is not now, Illyusha. Go live your life and never give up.”
“YA obeshchayu, chto budet zhit' svoyu zhizn' v polnom, Babushka” (I promise I will live my life to the fullest, babushka)
“Did you say something Illya?”
Kuryakin smiled, “just making a promise to never give up.”