D Is For Daylight - ABC Affair
Jun. 10th, 2017 12:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glenmered posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfu Dawn came too quickly. The sun was a fierce combination of reds and oranges, with a white rim that blinded the man watching it fill the sky. Illya Kuryakin was in trouble, his left leg throbbing as blood seeped through the shirt he had used as a tourniquet. That meant he was shirtless, vulnerable to the effects of the coming day; the probability of a sunburn was a minor concern in the face of his current predicament.
"Oh Napoleon, where have you gone?" Illya hadn't seen his partner since they parted ways in an attempt to throw off the chase by several THRUSH, each of them hoping the diversion would work in spite of the determination on the part of their pursuers. Napoleon had jumped a fence behind an ancient cottage, much to the surprise of the old woman who was hanging her wash to dry. Illya's own escape plans were thwarted as he dodged to avoid crashing into a young woman and her two little girls. They had appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed as their paths intersected in a narrow alley. Illya had no choice but to let them pass, allowing his pursuers to gain ground and, when the obstruction had passed, take aim at their prey.
Illya felt the bruising sting of a bullet as it passed through his thigh, missing bone but boring a hole that hadn't stopped providing a sieve for the blood he was losing. He was still slightly disbelieving at having lost the two men, but somehow he had managed it. Now he had temporary refuge among spent shocks of corn, yellowed with the passing of time and abandoned by a farmer who thought the field not worth clearing. Illya blended into the forest of stalks and weeds, his hair the color of cornsilk, a pair of tan corduroy jeans like the dirt on which he sat. It was dumb luck that he had found this spot, but so far luck was oozing away along with his supply of blood. He didn't have the strength to move on, and so he leaned against a pile of the dried up corn shocks and, like a scarecrow stripped of purpose, Illya gave in to the sun and his eventual demise.
Napoleon Solo lost the THRUSH who were chasing him, resting for the night in a barn conveniently empty and perfect for hiding out from one's enemies. In the morning he awoke and went in search of his partner.
When next Illya Kuryakin awoke, he saw not a blazing sun, but rather the face of his friend and partner. That was all he needed to see, and so he closed his eyes again, confident that all was well.
"Oh Napoleon, where have you gone?" Illya hadn't seen his partner since they parted ways in an attempt to throw off the chase by several THRUSH, each of them hoping the diversion would work in spite of the determination on the part of their pursuers. Napoleon had jumped a fence behind an ancient cottage, much to the surprise of the old woman who was hanging her wash to dry. Illya's own escape plans were thwarted as he dodged to avoid crashing into a young woman and her two little girls. They had appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed as their paths intersected in a narrow alley. Illya had no choice but to let them pass, allowing his pursuers to gain ground and, when the obstruction had passed, take aim at their prey.
Illya felt the bruising sting of a bullet as it passed through his thigh, missing bone but boring a hole that hadn't stopped providing a sieve for the blood he was losing. He was still slightly disbelieving at having lost the two men, but somehow he had managed it. Now he had temporary refuge among spent shocks of corn, yellowed with the passing of time and abandoned by a farmer who thought the field not worth clearing. Illya blended into the forest of stalks and weeds, his hair the color of cornsilk, a pair of tan corduroy jeans like the dirt on which he sat. It was dumb luck that he had found this spot, but so far luck was oozing away along with his supply of blood. He didn't have the strength to move on, and so he leaned against a pile of the dried up corn shocks and, like a scarecrow stripped of purpose, Illya gave in to the sun and his eventual demise.
Napoleon Solo lost the THRUSH who were chasing him, resting for the night in a barn conveniently empty and perfect for hiding out from one's enemies. In the morning he awoke and went in search of his partner.
When next Illya Kuryakin awoke, he saw not a blazing sun, but rather the face of his friend and partner. That was all he needed to see, and so he closed his eyes again, confident that all was well.
