A Three Fold Cord - Short Affair

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Prompts - Feral, White

Word count- 1080, give or take. I'm including the preface. (Just a little bit over the top)

…………………………………..

Two people are better than one,

because they can reap more benefit from their labor.

For if they fall, one will help his companion up,

but pity the person who falls down and has no one to help him up.

Furthermore, if two lie down together, they can keep each other warm,

but how can one person keep warm by himself?

Although an assailant may overpower one person,

two can withstand him.

Moreover, a three-stranded cord is not quickly broken.

Proverbs 4. 9-12

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every breath produced a wisp of vapor that seemed to freeze mid-air, an indication of the extreme cold that was the current threat to the UNCLE agents. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were accustomed to finding themselves in dangerous situations, but freezing to death was something even the Russian deemed unpleasant, at best.

“It is a particularly offensive perversion to be, in one day, transported from a spot where one sweats profusely while merely standing still, to being on the verge of freezing.” Kuryakin was incensed at their predicament, but not just because of the cold. They had been duped by the enemy, and the bitter taste of that deception was gnawing at his ego.

“I know, and I’m… ummm… well…” Napoleon stammered, not just from the cold but a real sense of his part in this predicament.

“Sorry? Do you inttttend to apologize nnnnow? Napoleon, when will you finally realize that consssorting with that white wwwitch from THRUSH’s netherworld is the worst ssssort of …” Illya was at a loss for words. The cold seemed to be hindering not only his ability to speak but to harness his thoughts.

“Yes, I’m ssssss…’ Napoleon shivered so badly he couldn’t get the word out at first.

“SSssorry. I apologize. You are corrrrrrrectttt…. “ The temperature must have dropped significantly because both men were now on the verge of losing consciousness. Hypothermia would set in and blackness would insert itself to replace the wall of white that surrounded them.

Like a feral cat making her way through a maze of frozen reeds, Angelique wound through the ice prison, and into the cell where the agents had been left to die. She knew it would be difficult… no, make that impossible… to explain or try to excuse what she had done to create this … hmmm… difficulty. The Russian would add it to his excruciatingly long list of reasons to hate her, mistrust her, loathe her. She smiled at the thought of him freezing to death as the last flame of life lit her Napoleon and brought him back from the icy depths.

“Oh well, better save them both or I’ll never hear the end of it.” She said that aloud as she checked for pulses, glad that neither of them were dead. In truth, although a bit of a thorn in her flesh, Angelique did not entirely wish Illya harmed; it would annoy Napoleon too much.  

She pulled out and then lit the pack of incendiaries that would warm the space and allow her to resuscitate the two men. Unfolding a large thermal blanket, Angelique threw it over them, covering their bodies completely. Within a few minutes they would revive.

When Illya regained consciousness, only to find himself in a black void with heat rising around him, he had a momentary flash of remorse that he had so rigorously failed to accept completely the faith of his babushka. When he realized that his partner was still next to him, the thought faded into its recess beyond daily acknowledgement, determining that they had somehow been rescued.

Napoleon stirred, then reached out to feel for the presence of his friend. Satisfied that both of them were still together and seemingly not dead, they simultaneously pushed back the cover, ever so slowly, and found themselves looking at the one responsible for their icy imprisonment.

“Hello boys.” Angelique smiled that crooked smile, causing Napoleon’s pulse to quicken slightly in spite of his earlier commitment to repenting of having ever met her.

“Hello Angelique. I have a feeling we’re supposed to thank you now.” Napoleon was attractive even when partially frozen. The blond was glaring at her, which was to be expected.

“Well, I did risk my job and reputation to come back here and do all of this.” She extended her hand to the blanket and the reddish glow of the incendiary pack that was creating the life saving warmth.

Illya was having nothing of it. She had caused all of this, and now she wanted gratitude for repenting of it and … On second thought, he might as well relent and express his relief at not being in hell.

“I suppose you could have not saved us.” That was the best he could do.

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’, and you’re welcome, comrade.” It was impossible for Illya to appear overly gracious, his own icy blue glare seemed impervious to the increasing warmth of the space.

Napoleon started to stand up, paused as his body adjusted to the new flow of blood. He wished for gloves, his hands were still cold. Looking at Angelique, he canted his head to one side as if to inquire about what would come next.

“Oh… yes, I suppose we ought to get out of here. Someone will more than likely come to collect the bodies. I believe Sumner had plans to take your heads in on a spike or some such nonsense.” Angelique didn't know if that was true, but the thought of it made Napoleon shiver slightly. He shook it off, helping Illya to his feet and gesturing for Angelique to lead the way out of their ice prison.  

When the reports were made regarding this mission, and the failure to bring in Caleb Sumner, the details regarding their escape were related to Alexander Waverly with great care. The same was true of how they came to be in need of escaping, primarily because of Napoleon's indiscretion and the part it played in the entire foul up. He hadn't asked it of his partner, but Illya had no desire to punish his friend or complicate the narrative. Obviously Sumner had the upper hand from the beginning, otherwise he wouldn't have sent in Angelique in the first place.

As Solo and Kuryakin left Waverly’s office, the old man sent a spiral of smoke into the air and watched as it circled and curled into the shape of a heart. It was a trick he’d learned many years before, just as he’d learned to interpret the space between the lines of Mister Solo’s report.

He made a note to send Miss Dancer to bring in Caleb Sumner the next time he surfaced, then blew another heart shaped ring of smoke into the air.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Thanks for this fine little story. I do like Illya <>trying to be gracious. Good work on everyone's pov - Waverly's was an excellent extra.

[pfrye.livejournal.com]

Oh I enjoyed this. Illya trying to be nice, and really...you can't fool Waverly.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

What a wonderfully vivid and well told story! Wow! I really enjoyed reading this.

[livejournal.livejournal.com]

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[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, I’m rather pleased with this one and happy it’s being well received.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Haha, Illya has a time of it! Thank you.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, it was fun to write.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Wonderful. Illya knows when not to his own nose off to spite his face, even if he didn't particularly enjoy having to (almost) thank Angelique.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thanks, it was serendipity for the story to circle around the feud of blond vs. blonde.