Captured - Short Affair

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Prompts: Midnight, Silver

Word count: 622

………………………………………

Two figures crept along the pathway that bordered a large estate house, their progress a lesson in stealth and expediency. To anyone watching (something that was not to be desired under any circumstances), the men dressed in black, their faces smudged with greasepaint for added camouflage, seemed to be floating atop the gravel beneath them rather than carefully finding footing that would neither disturb nor alert the enemy within at this midnight hour.

Very suddenly the first figure stopped abruptly. For all of the care given thus far, this motion caused the one behind him to skid slightly, creating a sound that sent both men to their knees in hopes of not being seen by those whom they knew were watching for their arrival. There was no doubt that they were expected, and one careless mistake might be all it took to lose their advantage. A streak of silver illuminated the pair, especially the shock of blond hair atop a hissing complaint.

“Napoleon!” The exclamation was heard even as it was whispered in Illya’s most exasperated tone. Napoleon Solo shrugged his shoulders, he’d turned his head and missed seeing Illya stop in front of him.

“I’m sorry, okay. It won’t help that we’re breaking our silence so that you can reprimand me.” Illya rolled his eyes in response to what was probably a valid point.

“Fine, let’s just get this over with. Do you think you can follow me now without nearly knocking me down again?” That last was unnecessary, but he was annoyed with the entire assignment. Illya turned towards the house once more, ready to resume. Just as he started to step out in the lead, ahead of Napoleon, the barrel of a gun was shoved into his mid-section.

“Drop your gun, darling.”

“Oh, jolly good luv, well done.”

Illya and Napoleon both dropped their guns and raised their hands in resignation and surrender. This had all turned out very wrong, and it was unlikely that this would be the end of it. April and Mark were going to have bragging rights for longer than could be tolerated.

“Okay, fine… you win. Just, please don’t make us go through with the last part.” Napoleon was trying to finagle his way out of the agreed upon task assigned to the losing team. Illya was going to shoot him for making this deal, in fact, he might just shoot himself.

April Dancer and Mark Slate were still smug about winning the tactical team competition. It had been down to the last two, very predictable teams: Solo and Kuryakin vs. Dancer and Slate. What no one had correctly predicted was that the winners would be the junior team.

Everyone was joining in on the celebration in the commissary where, as had been agreed upon at the beginning of the competition, the losers were dressed as eighteenth century barmaids in a nod to the contribution of female spies. It was the choice of the Dancer/Slate team, obviously due to April’s trailblazing among UNCLE operatives.

Illya was voted Best Looking, while Napoleon garnered Most Fetching and Most Likely to Gather Intelligence. It was thought that the Russian was a bit surly for the job of spy, and in spite of the seductive blue eyes, he was insisting on speaking only Russian, which became a bit off-putting to some.

In the end, April and Mark were celebrated as victors, while the Solo/Kuryakin team served drinks and suffered the humiliation of being pinched by the secretarial pool. Mister Waverly did not attend the festivities, content to allow his people the luxury of this frivolity before the announcement he would need to deliver on the morrow.

There truly was no rest for the weary. 

Comments

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I was thinking how brilliantly written the opening paragraph was, and when reading further I burst out laughing at the 'surprise'....I won't give it away in my comment. This was a fantastic and very unexpected use of the prompts!