Not Such a Hardship - Short Affair - June 22nd

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

This piece is far from perfect, but the fact I came up with anything at all is a victory at the moment. It's down below the cut.



Napoleon Solo wearily lifted his head as the door to his cell opened. The tiny, windowless room had been his home for three days, yet his captors were yet to question him. He knew why of course. They were weakening him before they started any interrogation. From his filthy mattress on the floor, Napoleon sneered up at the guard.

“Lunchtime,” the guard grunted, as he put a piece of bread and a tin mug of water on the floor.

This was the first time Napoleon had been given anything to eat. There had been water to drink but no food. Whoever had taken him clearly understood that he would soon die without sustenance. He waited for the door to close before shuffling over to the bread.

It was stale and hard, and a pale green mould was beginning to grow on it. Napoleon turned his head away in disgust. He was absolutely ravenous, but the sight of the fungus caused his empty stomach to lurch. Knowing he had no choice but to eat it, Napoleon rubbed the bread against the concrete floor. He managed to remove most of the mould but the memory of it still caused him to balk. What he wouldn’t give for the finest steak and wine.

From nowhere, the image of Illya appeared in his mind. His partner didn’t talked about his childhood much but, those times he had, he told tales of hardship and starvation. Napoleon had learned of Illya’s many struggles to find food, the worst times being fighting against grown adults, and occasionally dogs, for rotten fruits and vegetables.

A wave of shame washed over Napoleon. Illya had gone through much worse and, while eating the mouldy bread wasn’t ideal, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Besides, he would need what strength he could muster should an escape opportunity arise. He dipped the bread into his water to soften it up but, before he could take the first bite, the door opened again. Framed in the doorway was the answer to Napoleon’s prayers.

“Apologies for my lateness, my friend,” said Illya Kuryakin, as he pulled Napoleon to his feet. “I hope it was not too much of an inconvenience.”

“The accommodation wasn’t quite up to standard, and the food is somewhat lacking.”

Napoleon showed the bread to Illya, who wrinkled his nose up at it.

“I arrived just in time,”

“Almost,” Napoleon countered.

So began an argument the two men had replayed many times. Each accused the other of being neglectful when it came to rescues, but neither ever meant the words. It was merely their way of saying thank you.

.

Comments

[duckys-lady.livejournal.com]

This is terrific! I love how he thinks about IK's childhood and is about to eat when he is rescued. Very well done!

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Thank yo so much :-)
I was just glad to actually write something.