![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jantojones.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuWelcome to the opening chapter of the Spring Round Robin.
I've called it - The 'You Don't Have a Partner' Affair. You'll see why when you read the first chapter
You will find the chapter below and, hopefully, it will inspire you enough to want to join in. There is plenty of scope for this story to go in absolutely any direction and, with the talent we have on offer in Section VII, I'm sure we can write something special.
So, if it appeals to you, please join in.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glennagirl will be letting you know how to sign up, and any other information.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
After glancing at his watch, Napoleon Solo looked out of the car window at the sky.
“It’ll be getting dark soon,” he said to his partner, who was trying to keep his eyes on the road while yawning. “How long until we get back?”
“At least four hours,” Illya replied wearily, after glancing at his own watch. “You will have to take over soon as I am about to fall asleep.”
Solo wasn’t surprised that Illya was tired. The man had taken yet another beating during their escape from a Thrush satrapy and, although he wasn’t injured, he was bruised and exhausted. He’d given back more than he’d received, but that in itself was enough to drain anyone.
“You should have said earlier,” he mildly admonished. “Maybe we should try and find somewhere to bed down for the night. I don’t feel like driving in the dark, and we’ve already given our verbal reports. Pull over and we’ll switch.”
Once their journey resumed, Illya contacted HQ and apprised Waverly of their plan. The Old Man readily agreed, but warned them not to take liberties with their expense accounts.
“Guess we’ll be sharing again,” Napoleon commented after Illya had closed the channel.
It took fifteen minutes more travel before they found what they needed. The motel looked a little shabby, but not too bad. Besides, they’d slept in far worse places. As long the beds were relatively comfortable, and a hot shower could be had, that’s all Napoleon cared about.
“This’ll do,” he commented.
Receiving no response, he looked across to find his partner sleeping deeply. It seemed almost a shame to wake him from his slumber, but Napoleon was hardly likely to carry him in like a child. Within a matter of minutes, the two men were in their room. Illya said nothing as he stripped to his underwear, deposited his clothes on the floor, and climbed into bed. He was asleep instantly. Napoleon chuckled as he performed a perfunctory search of the room. He quickly used the bathroom and then, before settling down to sleep himself, he set the alarm for the next morning.
............................................................................................
The alarm clock rang out its call, sounding far too loud in the quiet room. It filtered into the mind of Napoleon and pushed away the sensual image of Jennifer. Or was it Alison. It may even have been Philipa. From beneath the blanket, where he was cosily cocooned, Napoleon groaned. Surely it wasn’t morning already. Unwilling to emerge from his warm nest, Napoleon waited for his partner to silence the alarm. However, it soon became clear that Illya wasn’t going to do anything.
Poking his head out, Napoleon soon discovered why Illya hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t there. Solo quieted the noise and stared in confusion at the other bed. It was neatly made and showed no evidence of anyone ever having been there. He abruptly sat up and looked around the room but could see nothing which belonged to his partner. Napoleon sprang out of bed and darted to the bathroom, knowing that he would find no-one there.
From the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the door, Napoleon’s communicator began to chirrup. He grabbed the device and hurriedly assembled it.
“Illya!?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Solo?” asked the voice of Mr Waverly.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I thought you might be Illya. He’s disappeared.”
“Who on Earth is Illya?” Waverly demanded.
Napoleon glared at the communicator with a puzzled expression.
“Illya Kuryakin,” he replied. “My partner.”
There was a long silence which was finally broken by the Old Man. What he said caused Napoleon to freeze.
“I don’t know to whom you are referring, Mr Solo. You have not had a partner for over two years, and we have never had an agent named Illya Kuryakin.”
“I don’t understand. . .” Napoleon began, but was cut off by his boss.
“It seems you have been adversely affected by something, no doubt another insidious Thrush concoction. Whatever the case may be, we will investigate it upon your return. When will that be?”
“I’m just under four hours away, but I would prefer to remain here.”
“Mr Solo!”
“Hear me out, Sir.”
He explained that, given he was absolutely convinced of the existence of Illya Kuryakin, he should probably investigate why. Clearly, since Waverly was certain that there was no such man, something must have happened to give Napoleon that memory.
“Very well, Mr Solo,” Waverly agreed gruffly. “You have twenty-four hours.”
...........................................................................................
The sound of the alarm clock penetrated though to Illya Kuryakin’s subconscious, dispelling the nightmare which had been threatening to emerge from the shadows of his past. Pulling the blankets more tightly around him, he mumbled for Napoleon to stop the noise. The alarm continued to ring out, prompting Illya to call out more loudly that before. When this still elicited no response he flung the blankets away and shut it down himself. That was when he noticed that there was no-one in the other bed; nor had it been slept in.
It wasn’t unusual for Napoleon to go hunting for some female company, but Illya was concerned that there was no indication of his partner at all. Getting up, he pulled on the clothes he had left dumped on the floor, and retrieved his communicator from his jacket. Before he had a chance to put it together it chirruped with an incoming channel.
“Napoleon?” he said, once the device was assembled.
“Are you expecting a call from a dead French emperor, Mr Kuryakin?” asked Alexander Waverly, tersely.
“I thought you might be my partner, Sir,” Illya explained, wondering why the Old Man would say such a thing. “I can’t seem to find him.”
“Did you receive a head injury on your assignment?” Waverly asked. “You know full well you have no partner; especially one with such a ludicrous name.”
“Napoleon Solo, Sir,” the Russian pressed. “The CEA. Head of Section 2.”
“As you are perfectly aware, Mr Kuryakin, you are CEA and head of Section 2. Although, should you continue in this vein, your position may well be in jeopardy.”
.
I've called it - The 'You Don't Have a Partner' Affair. You'll see why when you read the first chapter
You will find the chapter below and, hopefully, it will inspire you enough to want to join in. There is plenty of scope for this story to go in absolutely any direction and, with the talent we have on offer in Section VII, I'm sure we can write something special.
So, if it appeals to you, please join in.
glennagirl will be letting you know how to sign up, and any other information.………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
After glancing at his watch, Napoleon Solo looked out of the car window at the sky.
“It’ll be getting dark soon,” he said to his partner, who was trying to keep his eyes on the road while yawning. “How long until we get back?”
“At least four hours,” Illya replied wearily, after glancing at his own watch. “You will have to take over soon as I am about to fall asleep.”
Solo wasn’t surprised that Illya was tired. The man had taken yet another beating during their escape from a Thrush satrapy and, although he wasn’t injured, he was bruised and exhausted. He’d given back more than he’d received, but that in itself was enough to drain anyone.
“You should have said earlier,” he mildly admonished. “Maybe we should try and find somewhere to bed down for the night. I don’t feel like driving in the dark, and we’ve already given our verbal reports. Pull over and we’ll switch.”
Once their journey resumed, Illya contacted HQ and apprised Waverly of their plan. The Old Man readily agreed, but warned them not to take liberties with their expense accounts.
“Guess we’ll be sharing again,” Napoleon commented after Illya had closed the channel.
It took fifteen minutes more travel before they found what they needed. The motel looked a little shabby, but not too bad. Besides, they’d slept in far worse places. As long the beds were relatively comfortable, and a hot shower could be had, that’s all Napoleon cared about.
“This’ll do,” he commented.
Receiving no response, he looked across to find his partner sleeping deeply. It seemed almost a shame to wake him from his slumber, but Napoleon was hardly likely to carry him in like a child. Within a matter of minutes, the two men were in their room. Illya said nothing as he stripped to his underwear, deposited his clothes on the floor, and climbed into bed. He was asleep instantly. Napoleon chuckled as he performed a perfunctory search of the room. He quickly used the bathroom and then, before settling down to sleep himself, he set the alarm for the next morning.
............................................................................................
The alarm clock rang out its call, sounding far too loud in the quiet room. It filtered into the mind of Napoleon and pushed away the sensual image of Jennifer. Or was it Alison. It may even have been Philipa. From beneath the blanket, where he was cosily cocooned, Napoleon groaned. Surely it wasn’t morning already. Unwilling to emerge from his warm nest, Napoleon waited for his partner to silence the alarm. However, it soon became clear that Illya wasn’t going to do anything.
Poking his head out, Napoleon soon discovered why Illya hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t there. Solo quieted the noise and stared in confusion at the other bed. It was neatly made and showed no evidence of anyone ever having been there. He abruptly sat up and looked around the room but could see nothing which belonged to his partner. Napoleon sprang out of bed and darted to the bathroom, knowing that he would find no-one there.
From the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the door, Napoleon’s communicator began to chirrup. He grabbed the device and hurriedly assembled it.
“Illya!?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Solo?” asked the voice of Mr Waverly.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I thought you might be Illya. He’s disappeared.”
“Who on Earth is Illya?” Waverly demanded.
Napoleon glared at the communicator with a puzzled expression.
“Illya Kuryakin,” he replied. “My partner.”
There was a long silence which was finally broken by the Old Man. What he said caused Napoleon to freeze.
“I don’t know to whom you are referring, Mr Solo. You have not had a partner for over two years, and we have never had an agent named Illya Kuryakin.”
“I don’t understand. . .” Napoleon began, but was cut off by his boss.
“It seems you have been adversely affected by something, no doubt another insidious Thrush concoction. Whatever the case may be, we will investigate it upon your return. When will that be?”
“I’m just under four hours away, but I would prefer to remain here.”
“Mr Solo!”
“Hear me out, Sir.”
He explained that, given he was absolutely convinced of the existence of Illya Kuryakin, he should probably investigate why. Clearly, since Waverly was certain that there was no such man, something must have happened to give Napoleon that memory.
“Very well, Mr Solo,” Waverly agreed gruffly. “You have twenty-four hours.”
...........................................................................................
The sound of the alarm clock penetrated though to Illya Kuryakin’s subconscious, dispelling the nightmare which had been threatening to emerge from the shadows of his past. Pulling the blankets more tightly around him, he mumbled for Napoleon to stop the noise. The alarm continued to ring out, prompting Illya to call out more loudly that before. When this still elicited no response he flung the blankets away and shut it down himself. That was when he noticed that there was no-one in the other bed; nor had it been slept in.
It wasn’t unusual for Napoleon to go hunting for some female company, but Illya was concerned that there was no indication of his partner at all. Getting up, he pulled on the clothes he had left dumped on the floor, and retrieved his communicator from his jacket. Before he had a chance to put it together it chirruped with an incoming channel.
“Napoleon?” he said, once the device was assembled.
“Are you expecting a call from a dead French emperor, Mr Kuryakin?” asked Alexander Waverly, tersely.
“I thought you might be my partner, Sir,” Illya explained, wondering why the Old Man would say such a thing. “I can’t seem to find him.”
“Did you receive a head injury on your assignment?” Waverly asked. “You know full well you have no partner; especially one with such a ludicrous name.”
“Napoleon Solo, Sir,” the Russian pressed. “The CEA. Head of Section 2.”
“As you are perfectly aware, Mr Kuryakin, you are CEA and head of Section 2. Although, should you continue in this vein, your position may well be in jeopardy.”
.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}