section7mfu | Windmills - A Little Drabble Do Ya

A triple drabble today in remembrance of Noel Harrison.
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“Have you ever watched a windmill turning on the wind?” Mark Slate was peering off into space, his attention on something unseen by his companions.

“Mark? Darling, what are you talking about?” April Dancer was clutching at the arm of her partner, a chill in the air suddenly making her want to snuggle with someone, especially someone she trusted.
Solo and Kuryakin watched the pair, their mission not yet completed as the quartet of agents waited for a THRUSH courier to appear. The two teams had met up, each in search of the same man.

“Windmills? What brought that on?” Illya was puzzled by the reference to the iconic structures that dotted the Dutch countryside. Of course he knew they existed elsewhere, but that picture overtook his vision.

Napoleon had his own vision, of rolling countryside and farmhouses often marked by a weathervane. Not quite the same, but it was his memory.

April tugged on Mark’s arm, partly for warmth and as a question for her thoughtful partner. The Brit seemed mesmerized now by whatever had provoked his question.

“I remember the windmills from Don Quixote. He didn’t just watch them, he chased them.” April savored the imagery of one of her favorite books.

Mark was thoughtful, and only slightly less enigmatic than the Russian. His contemplation of life often consumed the turbulent life of the UNCLE agent. Perhaps life was like one of those windmills, constantly turning with the winds of whatever crossed a man’s path; still only when the journey was finished.

“Sorry gang, I got a bit sidetracked. Sometimes, though…” They each nodded in understanding. The need to keep going often overshadowed their loss; of family and friends, even fellow agents.
“We’re together now, Mark. We’ll always be together in our hearts, darling.”

Smiling now, Mark agreed.