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section7mfu2013-09-15 11:47 am
glennagirl.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2013-09-15 11:47 am
Entry tags:
Silent Reflections - Song Story
The prompt is Sound of Silence...
::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::
Utter and complete silence.
The air itself seemed to have absorbed sound much like a sponge soaks up liquid. Stillness like this seemed impossible, and yet the void was undeniable. This felt like… death.
How could a person feel death, and yet still be aware. Napoleon Solo found the conundrum especially comforting since he was fairly certain that a dead man wouldn’t be having this dialogue with himself were he actually not alive.
He decided to try breaking the silence and opened his mouth to speak. In the dark room in which he found himself, Napoleon wondered if anyone else were present. Illya? What had happened to his partner?
“Illya!” The shout should have reverberated back to him, but Solo didn’t hear his own voice. He was aware of it, felt it… but he didn’t hear it.
He tried it again, but the same hollowness followed his efforts. Slowly the scene began to unfold in Napoleon’s mind; the last minutes before this darkness, and the silence, overtook him.
This location was a THRUSH satrapy in northern New Mexico, in an old building that had once been the site of some kind of mining operation. The UNCLE agents had been sent in to destroy it and the mine’s first level that had been transformed into a laboratory. There was a diabolical formula involved, of course; Illya had memorized it before setting the explosives and then shouting to Napoleon to get out. The two had raced for the stairs, confident of outrunning the timer.
“Oh no…” The injured agent felt himself say the words, but still there was no sound. Illya had borne the brunt of the explosion when the door blew out and leveled the blond. Napoleon was knocked against the earthen walls, the concussion of sound a deafening roar in his ears before he lost consciousness.
Now it was black inside the corridor they had thought would lead them to safety. Where was Illya? The door had batted him to the ground like a paddle slamming a rubber ball. He had to be here close by, but where? In this darkness, without the ability to hear a moan, or words to guide him, Napoleon had no other means than to start feeling his way around the space in hopes of locating his partner.
Stealth might be a word used for the silent search carried out by Napoleon. He started with his hands on the walls, facing them at first as he counted his steps aloud. The vibration of his vocal chords let him know he was speaking as he ignored the panic of the silence that echoed back to him. His feet scooted along the debris strewn flooring, hopeful that they might intersect with Illya somehow.
Ten steps to start, then he was down on his hands and knees, exploring the area around him. Nothing except the debris from the blast. Napoleon stood up and continued for another ten steps, then repeated the process of searching the area immediately around him. He was going to limit himself to that and try to make a left turn and hope to run into the opposite wall.
That was when he fell on top of something hard and flat…
“Oh my God, Illya…” Napoleon spoke into the nothingness within that cave-like corridor, certain that beneath him was the door that had collided with his partner. He managed to get up from the awkward position and hefted the heavy door away from what Napoleon supposed, hoped would be Illya. He also hoped that the Russian wasn’t dead; the door was unbelievably dense and could easily have … He didn’t go any farther with that thought.
Amazingly, Napoleon’s sight began to adjust to the darkness, allowing him the vaguest impression of a man lying on the ground. The crumpled body was completely still, just like the quiet inside Napoleon’s head.
Refusing to let himself give in to despair, he followed the outline of Illya’s head, feeling for blood. He found it around what felt like a gash in his friend’s skull. The thought that occurred to him was the fit Illya would throw when his scalp lost out to the razor necessary to stitch this one up. “It grows back, tovarisch. It grows back.”
It was difficult to move, and Napoleon felt his lungs beginning to labor against the diminishing air supply. Once again he subdued a rising panic; what if no one came to help? He worked as his mind raced around a course of obstacles and detours. As more cobwebs cleared away a few key memories came into focus.
“Come on Illya, we aren’t alone here. April and Mark, remember? They’re up there.” Napoleon nodded his head in an upward motion as though his partner were watching. He continued to speak out loud, hoping to hear his voice at some point, refusing to believe that he wouldn’t.
Illya moved. It was small and accompanied by pain. Napoleon sensed it more than saw the movement, but he put his hand on Illya’s shoulder to stop him from anything too quick; it was highly likely that something was broken based on the size of that door. Illya opened his eyes, staring into darkness but aware that it was his partner leaning over him. His head felt like a punching bag that was being used by an entire gym full of boxers. He groaned aloud at the discomfort it was causing, and at his failure to successfully blow up the lab without causing this… mess.
“Napoleon, have you been able to contact Mark or April?” There was no reply to the inquiry.
“Napoleon? Napoleon!” Still nothing from the newly deaf American. Illya realized that his friend’s hearing must have been compromised by the blast, something that was made more difficult by the total darkness. Yelling at his partner made Illya’s head hurt even more, yet in spite of that door knocking him unconscious there didn’t seem to be anything else really wrong. His head hurt, of course, but he was used to that.
Illya, being free of the imposing door, managed to sit up a little straighter and put his hands on the shoulders of the man in front of him. He couldn’t tell that his vision was fuzzy, the dark saved him that anxiety.
“Napoleon, can you hear me?” He yelled it, making the concussion feel like an elephant was sitting on his head. Solo heard nothing, but he sensed that Illya was speaking, felt the Russian’s strong hands clenching his shoulders. Napoleon grabbed hold of Illya’s arms and tried to help him stand. The two struggled against their respective injuries but managed to get upright as a warbling sound emanated from inside Illya’s jeans’ pocket. Incredibly, the instrument was unaffected by the explosion or the impact with the door and the ground.
“Kuryakin. Mark, is that you?” Above ground the other two agents sighed in relief. They had heard the blast and waited for their fellow agents to appear. When that failed to happen, the worse case scenarios began to follow.
“Illya, yeah mate, we’re both here… still. You and Napoleon didn’t show up, what’s going on down there? Are you all right?”
Napoleon could see Illya speaking into the communicator, but he still heard nothing. In the dim lighting the whole scene was ethereal, with only a sliver of light coming from somewhere above them and casting a dim illumination on Illya’s pale hair and the silvery instrument in his hand.
“Mark, I think we are mostly uninjured, although Napoleon appears to have suffered a hearing loss, probably from the explosion. Nothing broken though, as far as I can tell.’ Illya was rasping out the conversation, aware of the poor air quality.
“I do not expect the oxygen to last much longer, however. A speedy rescue would be much appreciated.” April looked concerned as she listened, and wondered yet again just how many harrowing experiences the Russian could possibly encounter with her standing close by. Quickly her agent’s instincts overcame the concern.
“Illya, there is another way down into that lab isn’t there? We caught a couple of birdies coming up by way of the old storefront. Can you get to that doorway?”
Napoleon was growing a little anxious as he squinted into the darkness and tried to understand what might be going on in the way of a conversation. Illya had forgotten about that entrance in his concussive stupor; since the door had blown off its hinges and landed on him, chances were pretty good they could go back to the lab and find a way out. If only he could see a little better…
“Yes, April, we will go back inside the lab… what there is of it … and look for the door. See if you can get down the same way, will you. Perhaps we will meet in the middle if we time it just right.”
April imagined the twinkle in Illya’s blue eyes as he said that. Illya just wished that he could see.
Napoleon wanted to know the plan, so he asked a question that he couldn’t hear.
“What did they say? How do we get out of here?” Illya heard the question, but if Napoleon couldn’t hear, how was he to answer? The door that had landed on him was pointing back to the lab, or at least Illya surmised that it was. If they followed that direction then it should lead them back to where another exit was located. Illya put his hands on Napoleon’s shoulders and turned him around, towards the lab. He gave him a little shove to which Napoleon nodded in understanding.
The deaf leading the blind. It was almost prosaic.
Over rubble and rock the two agents stumbled their way back to the laboratory. It was just as dark in there as it had been out in the corridor. Napoleon’s sight was pretty well adjusted to the darkness, while Illya’s was nearly double. Now it was the CEA’s job to lead his partner to the doorway he had understood was the object of their new search. Napoleon knew of the other entrance and had quickly grasped the content of Illya’s plan when he turned him to face the direction from which they had been blown away.
“Eureka! I always wanted to say that.” Napoleon smiled to himself at the famous exclamation he uttered. Only Illya heard it, but he smiled as well, grateful that between the two of them they seemed to have all of their senses intact. As they maneuvered the door open the sound of footsteps coming towards them gave a moment of caution. Illya heard April’s voice calling out and answered.
“Down here, we’re coming up.” Illya nudged Napoleon into the doorway just as they were greeted by the other pair of agents.
“Oh dear, you two look pretty banged up.” Mark noticed that Napoleon had no recognition at the sound of April’s voice and Illya seemed to be staring off in the wrong direction.
“What’s the matter with you two?” Illya inclined his head in the direction of Mark’s voice as Napoleon stood still, waiting for someone to take action.
“I seem to have a concussion, probably, and some vision… well, double actually. Napoleon cannot hear, the blast I assume. Our timing was off… a little. I intend to confer with the labs back at headquarters on the timing device they sent me.” Mark listened intently as April thanked everyone’s lucky stars.
“Righto then… what’s say we …’ A collective sigh from April and Illya went up at the expectation of how that sentence would end. “Please Mark, you weren’t going to say ‘blow this joint’ were you?” The British agent grinned while Napoleon wondered why April was shaking her head.
It was several days later, after some time in Medical that found Solo and Kuryakin seated at Alexander Waverly’s large round conference table. Napoleon’s hearing was gradually coming back, although he sometimes mistook a word for something irritatingly unrelated to the conversation. Illya was no longer seeing double, but he did have an appointment with an optometrist to get new glasses. He was hoping to reuse his reliably intimidating black frames.
Mr. Waverly looked out from beneath his shaggy eyebrows and made a quick appraisal of his agents. In spite of the mistiming of the explosion, the pair had managed to successfully destroy another THRUSH threat to humanity. He sighed inwardly at the probability of their continued good luck in this profession. His thoughts led him into something like a commendation.
“Gentlemen, I am relieved to see you both recovering from your, ah… ahemm, miscalculations. Perhaps, Mr. Kuryakin, a review of the equipment is in order?” He posed it as a question to the blond, but it was undoubtedly the course of action that would be taken. “Yes sir, my intentions exactly. We were extremely fortunate.” Illya didn’t add anything to that. Napoleon felt a slight shiver run up his spine as he recalled the emptiness he had felt without sight or hearing to aid him.
The meeting was uneventful and the two were dismissed with a harrumph and the obligatory lighting of an old briar pipe. As the pneumatic doors whished shut behind them, Napoleon was still thinking about that mine, of the nearness of death that he had felt.
“Illya, tell me the truth; did that… were you a little bit afraid back in that mine? I’m not ashamed to admit that not being able to hear anything has left quite an impression on me, as though…” The young man with such a bright future at the Command felt that chill again as the void of silence revisited his senses.
Illya recognized it for what it was. They were men of conflict, and the price they paid was not always visible to observers. “It is the arena in which we play our games of life and death, my friend. Sometimes the cost is higher than we anticipate, no matter how well prepared we think ourselves to be.” Napoleon nodded slowly, letting his partner’s words sink in beyond his images of darkness and what it felt like to have a total loss of sound.
“Do you think we do good, Illya? We destroy things, sometimes people. Will it even out in the end, the good for the destruction of evil?” It was a sincere question from a man whose optimism usually carried him past any doubts or concerns about his motives. The end result was suddenly of great importance to Napoleon. The Russian understood, but his personal history had not allowed him to ask the larger questions of life; he simply followed orders.
“Only time will tell, and for the most part I think we have excellent timing.’ The twinkle was back in the blue eyes, his vision singularly clear concerning the man at his side. “I trust you to do what is right, my friend, and to do it very well. That is why I let you lead me into these ridiculous affairs, you know. You make an excellent front man.”
Napoleon laughed, and he liked the sound of that.
::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::~~~~~::
Utter and complete silence.
The air itself seemed to have absorbed sound much like a sponge soaks up liquid. Stillness like this seemed impossible, and yet the void was undeniable. This felt like… death.
How could a person feel death, and yet still be aware. Napoleon Solo found the conundrum especially comforting since he was fairly certain that a dead man wouldn’t be having this dialogue with himself were he actually not alive.
He decided to try breaking the silence and opened his mouth to speak. In the dark room in which he found himself, Napoleon wondered if anyone else were present. Illya? What had happened to his partner?
“Illya!” The shout should have reverberated back to him, but Solo didn’t hear his own voice. He was aware of it, felt it… but he didn’t hear it.
He tried it again, but the same hollowness followed his efforts. Slowly the scene began to unfold in Napoleon’s mind; the last minutes before this darkness, and the silence, overtook him.
This location was a THRUSH satrapy in northern New Mexico, in an old building that had once been the site of some kind of mining operation. The UNCLE agents had been sent in to destroy it and the mine’s first level that had been transformed into a laboratory. There was a diabolical formula involved, of course; Illya had memorized it before setting the explosives and then shouting to Napoleon to get out. The two had raced for the stairs, confident of outrunning the timer.
“Oh no…” The injured agent felt himself say the words, but still there was no sound. Illya had borne the brunt of the explosion when the door blew out and leveled the blond. Napoleon was knocked against the earthen walls, the concussion of sound a deafening roar in his ears before he lost consciousness.
Now it was black inside the corridor they had thought would lead them to safety. Where was Illya? The door had batted him to the ground like a paddle slamming a rubber ball. He had to be here close by, but where? In this darkness, without the ability to hear a moan, or words to guide him, Napoleon had no other means than to start feeling his way around the space in hopes of locating his partner.
Stealth might be a word used for the silent search carried out by Napoleon. He started with his hands on the walls, facing them at first as he counted his steps aloud. The vibration of his vocal chords let him know he was speaking as he ignored the panic of the silence that echoed back to him. His feet scooted along the debris strewn flooring, hopeful that they might intersect with Illya somehow.
Ten steps to start, then he was down on his hands and knees, exploring the area around him. Nothing except the debris from the blast. Napoleon stood up and continued for another ten steps, then repeated the process of searching the area immediately around him. He was going to limit himself to that and try to make a left turn and hope to run into the opposite wall.
That was when he fell on top of something hard and flat…
“Oh my God, Illya…” Napoleon spoke into the nothingness within that cave-like corridor, certain that beneath him was the door that had collided with his partner. He managed to get up from the awkward position and hefted the heavy door away from what Napoleon supposed, hoped would be Illya. He also hoped that the Russian wasn’t dead; the door was unbelievably dense and could easily have … He didn’t go any farther with that thought.
Amazingly, Napoleon’s sight began to adjust to the darkness, allowing him the vaguest impression of a man lying on the ground. The crumpled body was completely still, just like the quiet inside Napoleon’s head.
Refusing to let himself give in to despair, he followed the outline of Illya’s head, feeling for blood. He found it around what felt like a gash in his friend’s skull. The thought that occurred to him was the fit Illya would throw when his scalp lost out to the razor necessary to stitch this one up. “It grows back, tovarisch. It grows back.”
It was difficult to move, and Napoleon felt his lungs beginning to labor against the diminishing air supply. Once again he subdued a rising panic; what if no one came to help? He worked as his mind raced around a course of obstacles and detours. As more cobwebs cleared away a few key memories came into focus.
“Come on Illya, we aren’t alone here. April and Mark, remember? They’re up there.” Napoleon nodded his head in an upward motion as though his partner were watching. He continued to speak out loud, hoping to hear his voice at some point, refusing to believe that he wouldn’t.
Illya moved. It was small and accompanied by pain. Napoleon sensed it more than saw the movement, but he put his hand on Illya’s shoulder to stop him from anything too quick; it was highly likely that something was broken based on the size of that door. Illya opened his eyes, staring into darkness but aware that it was his partner leaning over him. His head felt like a punching bag that was being used by an entire gym full of boxers. He groaned aloud at the discomfort it was causing, and at his failure to successfully blow up the lab without causing this… mess.
“Napoleon, have you been able to contact Mark or April?” There was no reply to the inquiry.
“Napoleon? Napoleon!” Still nothing from the newly deaf American. Illya realized that his friend’s hearing must have been compromised by the blast, something that was made more difficult by the total darkness. Yelling at his partner made Illya’s head hurt even more, yet in spite of that door knocking him unconscious there didn’t seem to be anything else really wrong. His head hurt, of course, but he was used to that.
Illya, being free of the imposing door, managed to sit up a little straighter and put his hands on the shoulders of the man in front of him. He couldn’t tell that his vision was fuzzy, the dark saved him that anxiety.
“Napoleon, can you hear me?” He yelled it, making the concussion feel like an elephant was sitting on his head. Solo heard nothing, but he sensed that Illya was speaking, felt the Russian’s strong hands clenching his shoulders. Napoleon grabbed hold of Illya’s arms and tried to help him stand. The two struggled against their respective injuries but managed to get upright as a warbling sound emanated from inside Illya’s jeans’ pocket. Incredibly, the instrument was unaffected by the explosion or the impact with the door and the ground.
“Kuryakin. Mark, is that you?” Above ground the other two agents sighed in relief. They had heard the blast and waited for their fellow agents to appear. When that failed to happen, the worse case scenarios began to follow.
“Illya, yeah mate, we’re both here… still. You and Napoleon didn’t show up, what’s going on down there? Are you all right?”
Napoleon could see Illya speaking into the communicator, but he still heard nothing. In the dim lighting the whole scene was ethereal, with only a sliver of light coming from somewhere above them and casting a dim illumination on Illya’s pale hair and the silvery instrument in his hand.
“Mark, I think we are mostly uninjured, although Napoleon appears to have suffered a hearing loss, probably from the explosion. Nothing broken though, as far as I can tell.’ Illya was rasping out the conversation, aware of the poor air quality.
“I do not expect the oxygen to last much longer, however. A speedy rescue would be much appreciated.” April looked concerned as she listened, and wondered yet again just how many harrowing experiences the Russian could possibly encounter with her standing close by. Quickly her agent’s instincts overcame the concern.
“Illya, there is another way down into that lab isn’t there? We caught a couple of birdies coming up by way of the old storefront. Can you get to that doorway?”
Napoleon was growing a little anxious as he squinted into the darkness and tried to understand what might be going on in the way of a conversation. Illya had forgotten about that entrance in his concussive stupor; since the door had blown off its hinges and landed on him, chances were pretty good they could go back to the lab and find a way out. If only he could see a little better…
“Yes, April, we will go back inside the lab… what there is of it … and look for the door. See if you can get down the same way, will you. Perhaps we will meet in the middle if we time it just right.”
April imagined the twinkle in Illya’s blue eyes as he said that. Illya just wished that he could see.
Napoleon wanted to know the plan, so he asked a question that he couldn’t hear.
“What did they say? How do we get out of here?” Illya heard the question, but if Napoleon couldn’t hear, how was he to answer? The door that had landed on him was pointing back to the lab, or at least Illya surmised that it was. If they followed that direction then it should lead them back to where another exit was located. Illya put his hands on Napoleon’s shoulders and turned him around, towards the lab. He gave him a little shove to which Napoleon nodded in understanding.
The deaf leading the blind. It was almost prosaic.
Over rubble and rock the two agents stumbled their way back to the laboratory. It was just as dark in there as it had been out in the corridor. Napoleon’s sight was pretty well adjusted to the darkness, while Illya’s was nearly double. Now it was the CEA’s job to lead his partner to the doorway he had understood was the object of their new search. Napoleon knew of the other entrance and had quickly grasped the content of Illya’s plan when he turned him to face the direction from which they had been blown away.
“Eureka! I always wanted to say that.” Napoleon smiled to himself at the famous exclamation he uttered. Only Illya heard it, but he smiled as well, grateful that between the two of them they seemed to have all of their senses intact. As they maneuvered the door open the sound of footsteps coming towards them gave a moment of caution. Illya heard April’s voice calling out and answered.
“Down here, we’re coming up.” Illya nudged Napoleon into the doorway just as they were greeted by the other pair of agents.
“Oh dear, you two look pretty banged up.” Mark noticed that Napoleon had no recognition at the sound of April’s voice and Illya seemed to be staring off in the wrong direction.
“What’s the matter with you two?” Illya inclined his head in the direction of Mark’s voice as Napoleon stood still, waiting for someone to take action.
“I seem to have a concussion, probably, and some vision… well, double actually. Napoleon cannot hear, the blast I assume. Our timing was off… a little. I intend to confer with the labs back at headquarters on the timing device they sent me.” Mark listened intently as April thanked everyone’s lucky stars.
“Righto then… what’s say we …’ A collective sigh from April and Illya went up at the expectation of how that sentence would end. “Please Mark, you weren’t going to say ‘blow this joint’ were you?” The British agent grinned while Napoleon wondered why April was shaking her head.
It was several days later, after some time in Medical that found Solo and Kuryakin seated at Alexander Waverly’s large round conference table. Napoleon’s hearing was gradually coming back, although he sometimes mistook a word for something irritatingly unrelated to the conversation. Illya was no longer seeing double, but he did have an appointment with an optometrist to get new glasses. He was hoping to reuse his reliably intimidating black frames.
Mr. Waverly looked out from beneath his shaggy eyebrows and made a quick appraisal of his agents. In spite of the mistiming of the explosion, the pair had managed to successfully destroy another THRUSH threat to humanity. He sighed inwardly at the probability of their continued good luck in this profession. His thoughts led him into something like a commendation.
“Gentlemen, I am relieved to see you both recovering from your, ah… ahemm, miscalculations. Perhaps, Mr. Kuryakin, a review of the equipment is in order?” He posed it as a question to the blond, but it was undoubtedly the course of action that would be taken. “Yes sir, my intentions exactly. We were extremely fortunate.” Illya didn’t add anything to that. Napoleon felt a slight shiver run up his spine as he recalled the emptiness he had felt without sight or hearing to aid him.
The meeting was uneventful and the two were dismissed with a harrumph and the obligatory lighting of an old briar pipe. As the pneumatic doors whished shut behind them, Napoleon was still thinking about that mine, of the nearness of death that he had felt.
“Illya, tell me the truth; did that… were you a little bit afraid back in that mine? I’m not ashamed to admit that not being able to hear anything has left quite an impression on me, as though…” The young man with such a bright future at the Command felt that chill again as the void of silence revisited his senses.
Illya recognized it for what it was. They were men of conflict, and the price they paid was not always visible to observers. “It is the arena in which we play our games of life and death, my friend. Sometimes the cost is higher than we anticipate, no matter how well prepared we think ourselves to be.” Napoleon nodded slowly, letting his partner’s words sink in beyond his images of darkness and what it felt like to have a total loss of sound.
“Do you think we do good, Illya? We destroy things, sometimes people. Will it even out in the end, the good for the destruction of evil?” It was a sincere question from a man whose optimism usually carried him past any doubts or concerns about his motives. The end result was suddenly of great importance to Napoleon. The Russian understood, but his personal history had not allowed him to ask the larger questions of life; he simply followed orders.
“Only time will tell, and for the most part I think we have excellent timing.’ The twinkle was back in the blue eyes, his vision singularly clear concerning the man at his side. “I trust you to do what is right, my friend, and to do it very well. That is why I let you lead me into these ridiculous affairs, you know. You make an excellent front man.”
Napoleon laughed, and he liked the sound of that.
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