section7mfu | Spy Island - 7 Deadly Sins: Sloth

I know this is a Halloween challenge, but honestly, I struggle with that sort of writing. My entries are just stories, but they are topical!

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The outstanding attributes of the agents employed to save the world under the banner of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement included, but was not limited to, a commitment to action. No matter where they might find themselves in the world, an UNCLE agent was ready to go into the fray and fight the good fight, vanquish the enemy and ... well, you get the idea.

On this day, however, neither Napoleon Solo nor his partner Illya Kuryakin, had any inclination to expend more energy than necessary beyond reaching for a cool drink from a reclining position. It was extraordinary to see them like this, but a sudden and unexplainable shift in energy had left them both in a state of relaxation that bordered on slothfulness. They hadn't straightened the bungalow where they were staying, had left dishes in the little sink and were even bordering on bad hygiene for the lack of showers and shaving.

Illya's growth of beard was a light shade tinged in reddish hues, set off by the tan he now sported from weeks on the beach in this tropical paradise. Napoleon had also gained some color in his normally pale complexion. His hair was past the bi-weekly trim and his beard had him looking more like Robinson Crusoe than the Casanova of UNCLE New York.

Alexander Waverly had agreed to let his two top agents remain in the island retreat after they vanquished the usual suspects: a THRUSH enclave that was now under the protection of local law enforcement. Napoleon and Illya had been staying in the little beach bungalow during the mission, and now considered it truly, a home away from home.

"Do you think we should clean up around here?" Napoleon had asked the question without desiring an honest answer. He knew it was a mess, but the self-indulgence of not caring was somehow liberating. The influence of this laid back atmosphere, the ocean breezes and balmy weather, had all conspired to lull him and his friend into an uncharacteristic laziness that neither of them wanted to abandon. Not yet, not until they had consumed all of the alcohol, eaten as much fruit as each man desired and laid in the sun until their tans made them look like natives.

It was impossible to explain this change in the men whose fortunes depended on clear thinking and concise actions. Neither of them resembled his former self, the one that walked the corridors of UNCLE Headquarters, commanding the respect of other agents and the hidden ardor of countless female employees. Only a diabolical THRUSH serum might be the cause of this new devil may care attitude, if it weren't for the simple fact that everyone needs a change at some point in life.

In the midst of the afternoon reverie of sun and surf, beer and plantain chips served by the very attractive Monique at their new favorite hangout, a familiar warble was heard from the bottom of Napoleon's shirt pocket. The shirt with the watercolor floral print that he wore nearly everyday.

"Ahh... Solo here." Illya rolled his eyes at the response, Napoleon's hesitation in answering was suddenly, surprisingly, inappropriate. It was as though the sound of the communicator acted like the ring at a boxing match, signaling the end of the round.

Early the next morning Solo and Kuryakin were on a flight back to Miami aboard a charter, then north to New York aboard the UNCLE jet. There wasn't even time to get a shave and haircut, so that they both entered Headquarters looking like the beach bums they had become over the last month. It had been a long deserved reprieve, and had come as the result of a particularly difficult mission. Both men had incurred injuries that needed weeks for healing, and emotional and mentally... Alexander Waverly recognized the signs of trauma in his men, and dealt with it with island therapy.

Word quickly spread about the appearance of the now tanned and tousled agents. The women sighed inwardly, and a few of them found ways to photograph the roguish looking men as they passed through security points. They were more beautiful than ever to some, tan and ... oh, there would be dreams tonight.

As for Illya and Napoleon, there had been redemption in their sloth; healing to both mind and body. It would be a long time before it was repeated, and for now there was another mission for them to embark on. To Illya's chagrin, each had an appointment with the barber.

If he were honest, Napoleon secretly wished he could cancel his, for just a little longer.