Bangles and Bracelets - PicFic 1/7/14

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Literary license: I made the chain a handcuff.


Napoleon Solo was accustomed to sometimes waking up with his head on a velvet pillow, or the velvety smooth skin of a beautiful woman.  This time the pillow was something less than velvet and the handcuffs a stern reminder that the beautiful woman had been a THRUSH agent.

The other thing that was hammering home the point was the pounding in his head.  That meant drugs, and drugs probably meant truth serums, although they wouldn’t have worked.  At least he hoped not.

From his vantage point, Solo saw nothing save his own hands, manacled within the silver cuffs, and the pillow beyond that had been only slightly more appealing before Sydney slipped something into his bourbon.

Sydney Darling.  What a name.  Well, she was quite a woman actually...

“Sydney... darling... Are you still here?”  Napoleon figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least try sounding as though he cared.  From somewhere in the corner of the room he heard a gurgling sound.  No, not quite that, it was something ... hmmm...

“Is that you Sydney?  Been double-crossed by your bird friends, eh?”  The voluptuous blonde was trussed up and gagged as though she hadn’t done exactly what was expected of her.  When would they learn that THRUSH was not to be trusted, even if you were one of them.

At least Solo wasn’t gagged, something he found odd but not worth analyzing.  Sydney looked angry.  Well, it certainly wasn’t his fault that her gang had turned out to be not really hers.  The UNCLE agent was beginning to think clearly now, his goal of getting free of the handcuffs and this room a sudden and concise plan in the making.

“Sydney, I’m going to help you out this time, although I don’t know exactly why I should.  I mean, you are responsible for this little mess.”  The woman scowled her disapproval of being blamed for anything.  A stray curl fell over her left eye, causing an involuntary shake of her head.  Napoleon found the gesture particularly charming, something that he filed away for later.

There must have been something intrinsically inefficient in the THRUSH basic training because, once again, Napoleon found that several of his devices were still intact; notably a thin wire in the cuff of his shirt sleeve that would serve nicely to sizzle and pop its way to freeing him from the cuffs.  Just pull it out with his teeth and ... insert it into the lock ... press the stem of his watch and ... Presto!

“Ouch!”  It always hurt when he did that, something he would report once again to R&D personnel upon his return.  The thought of reports brought the sudden and uncharacteristically late concern about Illya.  What had happened to the Russian?  Of course it had only been Sydney and himself here in this room, but Illya was out there somewhere.  Or, at least he was supposed to be...

Napoleon threw off the cuffs and checked himself, hopeful that everything was where he’d last left it, and headed towards Sydney.  She looked a little less hostile than a few minutes ago, probably because this really would be her only chance to get out alive.  Napoleon did have a knack for saving the ladies, even the ones who tried to do him in.

“There you go my sweet.  Now tell me, Sydney, have you seen my partner?  You know, the little Russian with the ...”  Sydney rolled her eyes, unwilling to play games of repartee with this UNCLE agent.

“Yes, I know the blond with the icy blue gaze that galvanizes friend and foe alike.  I think they’ve got him tied up in the next room, but don’t let that stop you from getting me out of here, lover.’’  Something about the way she said that cooled Napoleon’s determination to help Sydney.  Funny how easily that could happen when it came to keeping his partner safe.

“Hmmm... you might want to watch your attitude ... lover.  As a matter of fact, I intend to make sure that Illya is safe before I continue on, so... just cool it for a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”  Pouting is an inadequate description for Sydney’s response to that pronouncement, and just to make sure she didn’t jeopardize the effort Napoleon stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth just as she was preparing to utter her complaint.

“There, that isn’t so bad now is it?”  Some sputtering noises and soon it was behind him.  Napoleon sprinted out of the room and into an empty hallway, halfway expecting to see signs of THRUSH guards but relieved that there were none.  He poked his head into a few empty cells and then finally, he saw the blond hair of his partner.  Illya was seated with his back to the door, talking to someone, although his head seemed to bob about aimlessly, probably the result of some drug therapy.  Napoleon couldn’t see anyone else so assumed that the conversation might be a side effect of the drugs.

Just as Solo took the handle of the door to turn it and enter the room, he was surprised by the presence of someone... The Someone.  Arnold Archer was the man they had been sent to intercept, the man Sydney worked for; used to work for.  What was Illya telling him?  How could he get close enough to listen...?

“You are not going to vin, Comrade Archer.’  Drugs, the deepened accent was always a give away.  Illya was lecturing the THRUSH chief on the error of his ways.  Very commendable, tovarisch.  Napoleon listened as his friend listed the reasons why the war would not be won by the Hierarchy, and it was a compelling argument.  Archer listened attentively, obviously not impressed but equally disappointed that the drugs hadn’t worked on the Russian.  Napoleon was able to enter the room undetected, a feat of considerable skill and luck, because Arnold Archer seemed utterly fascinated by the ramblings of the drug affected agent.  Illya continued on, sometimes in English, sometimes Russian... all of it almost completely nonsensical if one were paying close attention.

‘He’s faking it’ thought Napoleon.  He knows I’m here.  A sense of immense satisfaction in the synergy they possessed gave him only momentary pause before he launched himself at the self-assuming Archer, toppling him in a sudden explosion of activity that brought Kuryakin to life as though he’d never been on the edge of insanity.    Quickly the two overwhelmed the surprised THRUSH, complete with a click of the handcuffs that had formerly held Napoleon.

“Well done, Illya.  I suppose you had this in mind all along.”  The blond smiled coyly, it would be impolite to brag.  “Let us simply say that it was inevitable that you would arrive, and my job was to lull Archer into a false sense of security.”

Incredibly there were no guards on duty in this facility.  Archer had done all of his own dirty work including betraying his female accomplice, the lovely Sydney.  Napoleon dutifully returned to free her, as promised, although he doubted now that she deserved anything more than the treatment she had received from her boss.  Still, it was hard for Solo to hold a grudge.

Illya, for his part, felt duly compelled to hold not only a grudge but an honest amount of loathing for both Sydney and Archer.  His report would bear out his sentiments with judicial justification, something that, even now, he was composing with glee.

The two UNCLE agents wrapped up the affair with a degree of efficiency equal to their reputations.  Napoleon decided to keep the handcuffs for future use, perhaps another midnight rendezvous with a beautiful woman of questionable intentions.  Illya simply rolled his eyes at the idea.

Preparation and readiness.  Solo had it in spades.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

A very canonesque adventure. I'd have thought Napoleon got enough handcuffs at work, but perhaps he liked it for fun all the more.

Thrush must have been on an economy drive, so their lesser chiefs couldn't afford a first class femme fatale, a stronghold and goons.

Perhaps a phrase or two about Illya getting out of his restraint?

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

This could have been an episode right out of the show. And your characterization of Napoleon, and of course Illya's non-chalance and disdain were perfect. The final line is a gem. Brava!

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Glad to know it rings true. Ah, how did Kuryakin get free? One of those amazing feats of inscrutable skill we know and love, perhaps. That's a good suggestion to add the details, thanks.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, I enjoyed writing this little episode. I could see Napoleon through all of this, and the Russian as well.