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section7mfu2012-05-09 08:35 pm
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2012-05-09 08:35 pm
Touché~ part quatre
link to part three: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/55790.html
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It was obvious that she was flirting with him, and since he’d had interest in her already, Kitty from communications that is, Illya decided what the heck. He shrugged absentmindedly, reached out and pulled her to him in a deep, passionate kiss.
One thing led to another, and he was naked, making love to her; remembering to pull the familiar foil packet from his trousers, and putting on a condom.
When they were spent, he closed his eyes holding the girl in his arms. He must have dozed off, for only a second but when he opened his eyes he received another shock.
“Chyort vozmi’_son of a bit..!” He scrambled, as he cursed. “Angelique?”
“Of course it’s me darling. Really there’s no need to be uncouth and insulting. I have to admit for such a nasty, cold hearted Russian you weren’t bad in the hay,” she purred, then giggled. “But admittedly Napoleon is better, he knows what I like.”
Angelique giggling? Did he just have sex with her and not Kitty? Illya suddenly felt befouled.
He grabbed his clothes, quickly stepping into his britches, disgusted with himself. “Not possible,” he muttered, “I was with Kitty.” He slipped on one boot then the other and left the barn in haste.
He could hear Angelique laughing behind him as he walked out.
“D’Artagnan, a little wenching of your own I see. So how was the fair Kitty?” Porthos smiled, watching the girl run out, holding her clothes around her while picking straw out of her hair.
Illya stiffened his lower lip, refusing to answer.
Aramis mounted on her horse rode up to greet them.
“So where are we off to mes amis?”
“To Calais, Buckingham will await us there to turn over the jewels.”Porthos called.
“C'est impossible. To Calais and back to Paris within five days.” Aramis burst out.
“Then we better get going.” Porthos laughed.“D’Artagnan, get the horses.”
“Get them yourself, do not order me around like a stable boy.” Illya barked back at him as he finished dressing, adjusting his baldric and rapier, and still annoyed at his supposed encounter with Angelique.
“I decide not to kill you, feed you out of the goodness of my heart, put you in a position to bed a beautiful woman and this is the thanks I get? Porthos put his hand to the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it.
“Alright, alright!” Illya pointed a finger at him, “Why not, it is just like doing your paperwork for you is it not?”
“That’s not fair, I don’t force you to help me with my reports, I always ask.”
Illya jerked his head, hearing those words. “Napoleon is that you?”
“A mad man” Porthos groaned. “ I have aligned myself with a lunatic.”
Kuryakin disappeared for a few minutes, retrieving their horses and together with the Musketeers headed out towards the coast.
They rode the beasts of burden hard, stopping only to change their mounts to fresh ones to make better time. They arrived in Calais making their way to a ship that was anchored in the port.
They had removed their Musketeer attire, not wanting to stand out in the crowds of people, or be noticed boarding a British ship. The docks were filled with the comings and goings of wagons and horses loaded with goods and it was easy for them to blend in.
“That one,”Porthos pointed out. “The Sovereign of the Seas.”
They tied their horses, boarding the large masted ship.
As they stepped onto the deck, they were challenged by the first mate.
“Who goes there?”
“I am Porthos and I have an appointment with Monsieur Villeirs. Permission to come aboard.”
“Yes, he is expecting you. Come with me gentlemen.” The man had an obvious British accent. He lead them to the Captain’s stateroom, announcing them to the man who waited. Few knew him by his name, he was simply known to all as the Duke of Buckingham, a man of great influence and paramour to the Queen of France.
“Hello mates,” came a very familiar greeting. A richly attired man sat at a table holding a large glass goblet of beer, and was munching on an apple strudel.
“Mark!” Illya greeted him.
“Mark what guv? What do you want me to make note of?”
Illya looked confused for a second. “You, your name is Mark, Mark Slate.”
“I beg to differ sir but the name’s George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham.”
“Pardon my companions ignorance.” Porthos interrupted, pointing to his finger to his temple to indicate that Illya was touched in the head. “We are here to retrieve the jewels belonging to the Queen, and will return them to her poste haste prevent a scandal. We must make haste as we have little time to get them to Paris.”
“Ah yes the magnificent creature herself, Rosy Shlagenheimer.” Mark smiled, “excellent equestrian that woman but I had a devil of a time with that awful accent of her. I could have used the help of a Henry Higgins.”
“Wait, the Queen’s name is Anne, Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip III of Spain.” Illya corrected him.
“Blimey mate, you couldn’t be more wrong.” He looked to Porthos, who simply shrugged.
“Please M’Lord Buckingham, time’s a wasting dear.” Aramis spoke up.
The Duke produced an ornately carved box made of oak, and opened it to reveal a wondrous jewelled diamond necklace with rubies set to resemble roses along with a matching earring set of earrings..” Magnificent aren’t they? Roses for my Rosy.”
Illya surmised that he wouldn’t wake up now until this mission was finished, that’s what this dream was about, completing a mission. Regardless of what century or reality it was, the mission came first, however absurd some of its elements seemed.
They left the ship, mounting their horses,heading out on the main road that would take them to Paris. As the sun began to set, they needed to find a place to rest, eat and find fresh horses to complete their journey.
Porthos and his companions sought shelter at a small chateau. Dismounting in front of the building; the only sound they heard was the crunch of their boots on the gravel path leading to the door.
The night sky was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning, followed by a rolling boom of thunder.
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi,” Illya muttered using a colloquial method to estimate the distance of the storm. It took a five count until he heard the thunder, divided by five, for five seconds per mile, calculating the storm was roughly a mile away.
Illya knocked on the door, and to his surprise it was answered by Kitty.
“Oh Monsieur D’Artagnan, what a wonderful surprise.”
“What are you doing here? Is this is your home?”
“It is the home of my mistress, Milady.”
“But the Chateau we met you at in Versaille...before, that was not hers?”
“Oui. It was hers as well. We come to this one to be closer to the coast.”
Violent lightning flashed again followed by a roar of thunder, driving Kitty directly into Illya’s arms. “Oh my goodness, such things frighten me.”
“It would be better if we came inside Mademoiselle.” He tried easing past her, waving for the others to follow.
“Mais non, Monsieur D’Artagnan, that would not be wise. My mistress has...men here. Soldiers of the Cardinal. There is some plot afoot.”
“Merci ma cherie,” Illya said, putting his finger to her lips to silence her. “Show me where they are,” he whispered, waiving for the others to stay put.
She took him by the hand, leading him down a corridor to a door leading to the room where Milady and the men were.
Illya waved Kitty off, not wanting her to be seen helping them. He listened carefully to Angelique as she ordered the men around.
“You are to waylay the Musketeers and that blond bumpkin on the road from Calais and take the jewels from them. The Cardinal must be free of any suspicion and his request for the Musketeers help must present him as looking out for the Queen and King’s interest.”
“What do we do with the jewels Milady after we have dispatched the Musketeers and the Gascon?”
“Bring them back to me. A gift from the Cardinal for my loyalty.” She purred. “I’ll have the stones reset so as to not be recognized. Hmmm, it’ll have to be something unusual perhaps.” Angelique held a hand mirror up to look at herself, stroking her throat vainly. “Perhaps something with a bird?”
That was all Illya needed to hear, and backed away from the door but his foot put pressure on a loose floorboard and the loud creak gave his presence away.
“Chyort!” he growled as he took off back down the corridor. The Cardinals men were not far behind. “Run!” he called out as he passed Napoleon and April.
They flew out the door of the chateau into the pouring rain, climbing up onto their horses and galloping off into the darkness; the road illuminated by the spectacular lightning as it lit up the rainy night sky.
The horses were tired, and their labored breathing was of concern as the traveled along the darkened road. The Cardinals men could be heard gaining on them.
Suddenly Aramis’ horse stumbled, sending her flying down into the mud, just missing her as it rolled, heaving for air.
Porthos and D’Artagnan pulled their exhausted rides to a stop, skidding along on the wet road.
“We hold our ground here!” Porthos called out,
A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, allowing them to see the approaching soldiers.
Illya pulled April up from a large puddle. “Damn,” she moaned, I’ll never get these mud stains out.. The rain poured down from their hats as they threw back their soaked capes and together they drew their swords, assuming the engarde position as they awaited their foes.
No less than eight of the Cardinal’s men reined their horses to a stop and dismounted.
“So here we end it!” Porthos called out.
“Oui, you Gascon pigs!” The soldiers drew their rapiers pointing them straight at Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan.
“To hell with this,” Illya called out as he reached beneath his drenched silk jacket, drawing out his Walther, aiming and emptying the entire clip of sleep darts into the soldiers. “Eight darts to a clip, just enough,” he thought how ironic that was.
One by one the men dropped into the mud with a thud and a splash.
“I was just about to do that,” Napoleon huffed, drawing his musket from his saddle.
Illya snickered, then walked off, gathering the fresh mounts from the soldiers. “We have a mission to complete, n'est-ce pas?”
“Fine!” Porthos said, taking one of the reins from Illya’s hand.” Maintenant, allons-y_now let’s go.”
“Allez_go!” Illya called out with a laugh as he dug in his spurs. The horse reared up and when it’s hooves hit the ground, it galloped off at full speed.
They arrived in time for the Queen to save face, and foiling the Cardinal’s plan. Richelieu showed a mild displeasure upon seeing the jewelry gracing the throat of the Queen.
The King entered the ballroom with great pomp and when Illya saw him the thought the man bore a striking resemblance to some actor, but the Russian couldn’t recall his name or where he’d seen him before. He felt no inclination to explore this part of his dream.
Milady was nowhere to be found. As usual Angelique had made herself scarce when her plans had gone awry, but the lovely Kitty was there at court, having been abandoned by her mistress. She worked her way through the elegantly appointed crowd until she made it to Illya’s side.
“Ah D’Artagnan, you have returned safe and sound....to me perhaps?” She flashed an alluring smile, batting her eyes at him.
Illya took her by the hand, leading her off to a corner of the throne room and pulled the young woman into his arms, kissing her on the lips. It was a long, passionate embrace.
“There is no place like home,” “The Russian repeated over and over, closing his eyes tightly, trying to will himself awake.
.
“Illya wake up honey, you are home. It’s alright, “ whispered April Dancer.
He kept mumbling,“There is no place like home.”
“Illya wake up,“ Napoleon said firmly. “It’s me tovarisch, and you are home. You’re safe in headquarters.”
The Russian’s eyes popped wide open, looking clear and focused, though the expression on his face looked somewhat bewildered as he took in the sterile grey walls. He was dressed in his light blue pajamas and was at last in a bed in medical.
April, leaning closest to his face, smiled at him. “ Hi there goose.”
“April is it really you?”
“Yes darling, it’s me.”
“Hello there, “Napoleon bent over his partners face, grinning at him. “Don’t I count too?”
“Hey remember me, your old mate’ Mark?” Slate joined the greeting committee.
“I had the strangest dream, I was somewhere...like I was caught in time. You were there Napoleon, April and Mark, Mr. Waverly, George and even Angelique and a girl from communications named Kitty. I tried to get home but I couldn’t.”
“You’ll be alright now chum; you’ve got quite a lump on your head,” Napoleon said. “Just take it easy, it was a bad dream that’s all. You had us worried for a bit, we all thought there for a minute you were going to leave us.”
“No! It was not a dream. It was a real place. I was in 17th century France. And you - and you - and you were there.” he pointed to each of his companions. “And the dangers were real. You Napoleon, and April were French Musketeers and...”
“Oy, what about me mate? Don’t I count?” Mark asked
“You were the Duke of Buckingham.”
Slate grinned from ear to ear, “Hear that you ponces, I’m a Duke, while you’re lowly swordsmen.”
“This doesn’t mean I’m going to address you as M’Lord.” April teased, “So forget about it.”
“I am not joking!” Illya insisted.
Napoleon, April and Mark looked at each other with concern. They’d all seen Illya hallucinate under the effects of Thrush drugs, but never from a bump on the head.
“Oh, we dream lots of silly things when we’re out cold.” April interjected. “There there dear, lie quiet now. You just had a bad dream. April patted him on the shoulder.
“You were doing an awful lot of moaning and puckering up Illya.” Napoleon jibed. “Sounded more like it was a wet dream to me.”
Illya tightened his lips as his face turned an interesting shade of red. He was not happy. “ Nyet. I was on a mission, and could not leave until it had been completed. Does no one believe me?”
“Of course we believe you, tovarisch,” Napoleon, said that in hopes of placating his partner, seeing no need to upset him further. The effects of the concussion would subside and he’d come to his senses.
Right,” The Russian grumbled, as did his stomach.” I am hungry, any chance of food....but nothing with fish. Nothing.”
Solo smiled, as that was a sure sign his partner was on the mend. They left him as soon as his steak and potato dinner was delivered, along with a generous helping of peach cobbler, and a nice pot of hot tea with raspberry jam.
Napoleon, April and Mark exited the room, heading for the elevator.
Mark looked at his watch. “Say it’s a bit late, how about we get some dinner and catch a movie at the Loew's Paradise in the Bronx, they’re showing “The Three Musketeers” with Gene Kelly and Lana Turner. Any one game?”
“Oh don’t tell Illya,” April giggled.
“At least not for a while.” Mark winked.
Napoleon grinned, “Sounds like a plan! One for all and all for one!” That sent them into a fit of laughter as they stepped into the elevator.
C'est fini...
One thing led to another, and he was naked, making love to her; remembering to pull the familiar foil packet from his trousers, and putting on a condom.
When they were spent, he closed his eyes holding the girl in his arms. He must have dozed off, for only a second but when he opened his eyes he received another shock.
“Chyort vozmi’_son of a bit..!” He scrambled, as he cursed. “Angelique?”
“Of course it’s me darling. Really there’s no need to be uncouth and insulting. I have to admit for such a nasty, cold hearted Russian you weren’t bad in the hay,” she purred, then giggled. “But admittedly Napoleon is better, he knows what I like.”
Angelique giggling? Did he just have sex with her and not Kitty? Illya suddenly felt befouled.
He grabbed his clothes, quickly stepping into his britches, disgusted with himself. “Not possible,” he muttered, “I was with Kitty.” He slipped on one boot then the other and left the barn in haste.
He could hear Angelique laughing behind him as he walked out.
“D’Artagnan, a little wenching of your own I see. So how was the fair Kitty?” Porthos smiled, watching the girl run out, holding her clothes around her while picking straw out of her hair.
Illya stiffened his lower lip, refusing to answer.
Aramis mounted on her horse rode up to greet them.
“So where are we off to mes amis?”
“To Calais, Buckingham will await us there to turn over the jewels.”Porthos called.
“C'est impossible. To Calais and back to Paris within five days.” Aramis burst out.
“Then we better get going.” Porthos laughed.“D’Artagnan, get the horses.”
“Get them yourself, do not order me around like a stable boy.” Illya barked back at him as he finished dressing, adjusting his baldric and rapier, and still annoyed at his supposed encounter with Angelique.
“I decide not to kill you, feed you out of the goodness of my heart, put you in a position to bed a beautiful woman and this is the thanks I get? Porthos put his hand to the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it.
“Alright, alright!” Illya pointed a finger at him, “Why not, it is just like doing your paperwork for you is it not?”
“That’s not fair, I don’t force you to help me with my reports, I always ask.”
Illya jerked his head, hearing those words. “Napoleon is that you?”
“A mad man” Porthos groaned. “ I have aligned myself with a lunatic.”
Kuryakin disappeared for a few minutes, retrieving their horses and together with the Musketeers headed out towards the coast.
They rode the beasts of burden hard, stopping only to change their mounts to fresh ones to make better time. They arrived in Calais making their way to a ship that was anchored in the port.
They had removed their Musketeer attire, not wanting to stand out in the crowds of people, or be noticed boarding a British ship. The docks were filled with the comings and goings of wagons and horses loaded with goods and it was easy for them to blend in.
“That one,”Porthos pointed out. “The Sovereign of the Seas.”
They tied their horses, boarding the large masted ship.
As they stepped onto the deck, they were challenged by the first mate.
“Who goes there?”
“I am Porthos and I have an appointment with Monsieur Villeirs. Permission to come aboard.”
“Yes, he is expecting you. Come with me gentlemen.” The man had an obvious British accent. He lead them to the Captain’s stateroom, announcing them to the man who waited. Few knew him by his name, he was simply known to all as the Duke of Buckingham, a man of great influence and paramour to the Queen of France.
“Hello mates,” came a very familiar greeting. A richly attired man sat at a table holding a large glass goblet of beer, and was munching on an apple strudel.
“Mark!” Illya greeted him.
“Mark what guv? What do you want me to make note of?”
Illya looked confused for a second. “You, your name is Mark, Mark Slate.”
“I beg to differ sir but the name’s George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham.”
“Pardon my companions ignorance.” Porthos interrupted, pointing to his finger to his temple to indicate that Illya was touched in the head. “We are here to retrieve the jewels belonging to the Queen, and will return them to her poste haste prevent a scandal. We must make haste as we have little time to get them to Paris.”
“Ah yes the magnificent creature herself, Rosy Shlagenheimer.” Mark smiled, “excellent equestrian that woman but I had a devil of a time with that awful accent of her. I could have used the help of a Henry Higgins.”
“Wait, the Queen’s name is Anne, Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip III of Spain.” Illya corrected him.
“Blimey mate, you couldn’t be more wrong.” He looked to Porthos, who simply shrugged.
“Please M’Lord Buckingham, time’s a wasting dear.” Aramis spoke up.
The Duke produced an ornately carved box made of oak, and opened it to reveal a wondrous jewelled diamond necklace with rubies set to resemble roses along with a matching earring set of earrings..” Magnificent aren’t they? Roses for my Rosy.”
Illya surmised that he wouldn’t wake up now until this mission was finished, that’s what this dream was about, completing a mission. Regardless of what century or reality it was, the mission came first, however absurd some of its elements seemed.
They left the ship, mounting their horses,heading out on the main road that would take them to Paris. As the sun began to set, they needed to find a place to rest, eat and find fresh horses to complete their journey.
Porthos and his companions sought shelter at a small chateau. Dismounting in front of the building; the only sound they heard was the crunch of their boots on the gravel path leading to the door.
The night sky was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning, followed by a rolling boom of thunder.
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi,” Illya muttered using a colloquial method to estimate the distance of the storm. It took a five count until he heard the thunder, divided by five, for five seconds per mile, calculating the storm was roughly a mile away.
Illya knocked on the door, and to his surprise it was answered by Kitty.
“Oh Monsieur D’Artagnan, what a wonderful surprise.”
“What are you doing here? Is this is your home?”
“It is the home of my mistress, Milady.”
“But the Chateau we met you at in Versaille...before, that was not hers?”
“Oui. It was hers as well. We come to this one to be closer to the coast.”
Violent lightning flashed again followed by a roar of thunder, driving Kitty directly into Illya’s arms. “Oh my goodness, such things frighten me.”
“It would be better if we came inside Mademoiselle.” He tried easing past her, waving for the others to follow.
“Mais non, Monsieur D’Artagnan, that would not be wise. My mistress has...men here. Soldiers of the Cardinal. There is some plot afoot.”
“Merci ma cherie,” Illya said, putting his finger to her lips to silence her. “Show me where they are,” he whispered, waiving for the others to stay put.
She took him by the hand, leading him down a corridor to a door leading to the room where Milady and the men were.
Illya waved Kitty off, not wanting her to be seen helping them. He listened carefully to Angelique as she ordered the men around.
“You are to waylay the Musketeers and that blond bumpkin on the road from Calais and take the jewels from them. The Cardinal must be free of any suspicion and his request for the Musketeers help must present him as looking out for the Queen and King’s interest.”
“What do we do with the jewels Milady after we have dispatched the Musketeers and the Gascon?”
“Bring them back to me. A gift from the Cardinal for my loyalty.” She purred. “I’ll have the stones reset so as to not be recognized. Hmmm, it’ll have to be something unusual perhaps.” Angelique held a hand mirror up to look at herself, stroking her throat vainly. “Perhaps something with a bird?”
That was all Illya needed to hear, and backed away from the door but his foot put pressure on a loose floorboard and the loud creak gave his presence away.
“Chyort!” he growled as he took off back down the corridor. The Cardinals men were not far behind. “Run!” he called out as he passed Napoleon and April.
They flew out the door of the chateau into the pouring rain, climbing up onto their horses and galloping off into the darkness; the road illuminated by the spectacular lightning as it lit up the rainy night sky.
The horses were tired, and their labored breathing was of concern as the traveled along the darkened road. The Cardinals men could be heard gaining on them.
Suddenly Aramis’ horse stumbled, sending her flying down into the mud, just missing her as it rolled, heaving for air.
Porthos and D’Artagnan pulled their exhausted rides to a stop, skidding along on the wet road.
“We hold our ground here!” Porthos called out,
A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, allowing them to see the approaching soldiers.
Illya pulled April up from a large puddle. “Damn,” she moaned, I’ll never get these mud stains out.. The rain poured down from their hats as they threw back their soaked capes and together they drew their swords, assuming the engarde position as they awaited their foes.
No less than eight of the Cardinal’s men reined their horses to a stop and dismounted.
“So here we end it!” Porthos called out.
“Oui, you Gascon pigs!” The soldiers drew their rapiers pointing them straight at Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan.
“To hell with this,” Illya called out as he reached beneath his drenched silk jacket, drawing out his Walther, aiming and emptying the entire clip of sleep darts into the soldiers. “Eight darts to a clip, just enough,” he thought how ironic that was.
One by one the men dropped into the mud with a thud and a splash.
“I was just about to do that,” Napoleon huffed, drawing his musket from his saddle.
Illya snickered, then walked off, gathering the fresh mounts from the soldiers. “We have a mission to complete, n'est-ce pas?”
“Fine!” Porthos said, taking one of the reins from Illya’s hand.” Maintenant, allons-y_now let’s go.”
“Allez_go!” Illya called out with a laugh as he dug in his spurs. The horse reared up and when it’s hooves hit the ground, it galloped off at full speed.
They arrived in time for the Queen to save face, and foiling the Cardinal’s plan. Richelieu showed a mild displeasure upon seeing the jewelry gracing the throat of the Queen.
The King entered the ballroom with great pomp and when Illya saw him the thought the man bore a striking resemblance to some actor, but the Russian couldn’t recall his name or where he’d seen him before. He felt no inclination to explore this part of his dream.
Milady was nowhere to be found. As usual Angelique had made herself scarce when her plans had gone awry, but the lovely Kitty was there at court, having been abandoned by her mistress. She worked her way through the elegantly appointed crowd until she made it to Illya’s side.
“Ah D’Artagnan, you have returned safe and sound....to me perhaps?” She flashed an alluring smile, batting her eyes at him.
Illya took her by the hand, leading her off to a corner of the throne room and pulled the young woman into his arms, kissing her on the lips. It was a long, passionate embrace.
“You have my deepest gratitude Mademoiselle, you saved my life... all our lives, but now it is time for me to leave. My apologies to you Kitty, much that I would enjoy being here with you, but there is a real Kitty where I am from and I would like having the opportunity to get to know you, I mean her there. I have heard a saying that rings true, there is no place like home and that is where I would like to be.”
“There is no place like home,” “The Russian repeated over and over, closing his eyes tightly, trying to will himself awake.
.
“Illya wake up honey, you are home. It’s alright, “ whispered April Dancer.
He kept mumbling,“There is no place like home.”
“Illya wake up,“ Napoleon said firmly. “It’s me tovarisch, and you are home. You’re safe in headquarters.”
The Russian’s eyes popped wide open, looking clear and focused, though the expression on his face looked somewhat bewildered as he took in the sterile grey walls. He was dressed in his light blue pajamas and was at last in a bed in medical.
April, leaning closest to his face, smiled at him. “ Hi there goose.”
“April is it really you?”
“Yes darling, it’s me.”
“Hello there, “Napoleon bent over his partners face, grinning at him. “Don’t I count too?”
“Hey remember me, your old mate’ Mark?” Slate joined the greeting committee.
“I had the strangest dream, I was somewhere...like I was caught in time. You were there Napoleon, April and Mark, Mr. Waverly, George and even Angelique and a girl from communications named Kitty. I tried to get home but I couldn’t.”
“You’ll be alright now chum; you’ve got quite a lump on your head,” Napoleon said. “Just take it easy, it was a bad dream that’s all. You had us worried for a bit, we all thought there for a minute you were going to leave us.”
“No! It was not a dream. It was a real place. I was in 17th century France. And you - and you - and you were there.” he pointed to each of his companions. “And the dangers were real. You Napoleon, and April were French Musketeers and...”
“Oy, what about me mate? Don’t I count?” Mark asked
“You were the Duke of Buckingham.”
Slate grinned from ear to ear, “Hear that you ponces, I’m a Duke, while you’re lowly swordsmen.”
“This doesn’t mean I’m going to address you as M’Lord.” April teased, “So forget about it.”
“I am not joking!” Illya insisted.
Napoleon, April and Mark looked at each other with concern. They’d all seen Illya hallucinate under the effects of Thrush drugs, but never from a bump on the head.
“Oh, we dream lots of silly things when we’re out cold.” April interjected. “There there dear, lie quiet now. You just had a bad dream. April patted him on the shoulder.
“You were doing an awful lot of moaning and puckering up Illya.” Napoleon jibed. “Sounded more like it was a wet dream to me.”
Illya tightened his lips as his face turned an interesting shade of red. He was not happy. “ Nyet. I was on a mission, and could not leave until it had been completed. Does no one believe me?”
“Of course we believe you, tovarisch,” Napoleon, said that in hopes of placating his partner, seeing no need to upset him further. The effects of the concussion would subside and he’d come to his senses.
Right,” The Russian grumbled, as did his stomach.” I am hungry, any chance of food....but nothing with fish. Nothing.”
Solo smiled, as that was a sure sign his partner was on the mend. They left him as soon as his steak and potato dinner was delivered, along with a generous helping of peach cobbler, and a nice pot of hot tea with raspberry jam.
Napoleon, April and Mark exited the room, heading for the elevator.
Mark looked at his watch. “Say it’s a bit late, how about we get some dinner and catch a movie at the Loew's Paradise in the Bronx, they’re showing “The Three Musketeers” with Gene Kelly and Lana Turner. Any one game?”
“Oh don’t tell Illya,” April giggled.
“At least not for a while.” Mark winked.
Napoleon grinned, “Sounds like a plan! One for all and all for one!” That sent them into a fit of laughter as they stepped into the elevator.
C'est fini...
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