Pater Noster - PicFic Tuesday

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

My apologies to the Napoleon girls for yet another Illya angst-filled story. 
~~~~~:

Pater Noster
qui es in caelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum.

The hooded figure stood over the bed of a man who was lying still beneath dingy sheets, his bare skin marred by bruising and needle marks that were red and inflamed.

Adveniat regnum tuum.


As the dark figure continued to recite the Latin liturgy, the other man stirred, a groggy consciousness beginning to dawn.

Fiat voluntas tua,
sicut in caelo et in terra.


Across the room, mounted onto a wall that had witnessed centuries of untold burdens as they tumbled into a spiritual void, a fresco told the tale of migration to a new land, the building of this church and the people who had originally served here.

Illya Kuryakin heard the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, so named because of its inclusion as the words of Jesus, instructions to his followers on how to approach God.  Why was it being intoned for him?

Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
sicut et nos
dimittimus debitoribus nostris.


Recognition finally crystallized for the Russian.  The voice belonged to Napoleon.  But why?  A rescue, of course.  He had been captured… How long ago was it? 

“Quid tuus inspicietis?”

A barely perceived frown let Illya know that Napoleon did not actually speak Latin.  The prayer must have been something remembered from his Catholic upbringing.  How to ascertain the plan, then? Obviously not by speaking this ancient language.   Russian then.  Ask for details in Russian, it was unlikely that whoever was observing would know the difference.

“Kakovy vashi plany ?”

The hood bobbed up and down, as though giving a positive response to the penitent’s inquiry.  The plan, in Napoleon’s mind, was to distract the THRUSH guard by invoking something that required Illya to stand up.  He only hoped the man on duty wasn’t Catholic, or at least had little knowledge of what might be involved with last rights of a healthy person.  It was all, admittedly, a giant stretch.

“Ty mozheshʹ vstatʹ ?

Illya nodded his head.  Yes, he would stand up with some help, something that Napoleon offered as the blond emerged naked from beneath the spare sheet.  His body was covered in bruises, and the movements were halting, unsteady.

The guard approached, obviously concerned that his captive was being extracted from the bed.  Illya didn’t look threatening in his exposed state, and the guard took less precaution than he should have.

When he was near enough to recognize a tie inside of the cleric’s robe, it was too late, and Napoleon’s swift chop to the back of the man’s neck was a quick end to this lone  obstacle.

Et ne nos inducas in tentationem:
sed libera nos a malo.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil?  I believe that ship has sailed, my friend.”

Napoleon took off the robe and handed it to Illya who donned it with some obvious effort, grunting as the muscles bellowed from beneath his battered flesh.  Evil was already at work and nothing they did seemed to stop it from finding new ways to manifest.  He shook his shaggy head in dismay, catching sight of the fresco on the old walls.

“I wonder if that spirit is still here?’

Napoleon’s quizzical expression prompted Illya to explain.

“The spirit, the drive … whatever… I wonder if it remains anywhere within these walls.  THRUSH has subverted whatever good might have been done here in the past.’

He paused, thoughtfully considering their options.

“I don’t suppose we’re going to blow it up.”

Blond eyebrows arched into something that Napoleon interpreted as reluctance.

“No, tovarisch, this time we leave it standing.  They left one man here to guard you until the senior members of this satrapy returned.  We’ll have it well in hand by the time they get here, and merely collect the stragglers.  Getting you out was easier than I thought it would be, thankfully.’

The American grimaced a little at the thought of his partner’s bruised skin, worried silently at the numerous needle marks and the angry residue they had left.

“Let’s get you back to Barcelona, and into Medical.”

Illya didn’t object.  He didn’t feel quite right, and it wasn’t just pain and discomfort.  There was something in his system, and he needed to know what it was.  He thought his life might depend on it.

“Eamus… Let us go, Napoleon.”

…continuandos?

Comments

[eilidhsd.livejournal.com]

Hi; I've been off-line. Just got back on tonight, and this is worth being being back on for alone. Yes, more would be very much appreciated. (Greedy as ever)

ETA: No, I don't know what has happened to my English either. It is not usually mangled like that.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Good to have you back. I missed several days of LJ, so understand the off line part. As for your English, no worries. You must be simply overwhelmed by the story... :D