SONG STORY CHALLENGE~ "Just holding on..."

[mlaw]

 

"Electric Light Orchestra - Hold On Tight" (Watch on YouTube)

The day was just a little overcast; not unexpected as it was early Spring and Mother Nature wasn't quite done arguing with Old Man Winter. It was hard to believe it had snowed only a few weeks ago.

Still 'April showers bring May flowers,' as they old adage went, true to form as buds on the plant life and trees were finally making themselves known and blossoming forth.

Illya Kuryakin didn't always fare well during this part of the Spring season with his mild allergies; the tree pollen was wreaking havoc with the Russian at the moment and his partner tried having pity on him.

They both were scheduled off for the weekend, barring any unforeseen catastrophe or dastardly plot that arose, and Solo offered to get Illya out of New York to see if that would help his condition.

"Why would leaving the city with it's minimum of trees and foliage help my seasonal allergies?"

"Well there's all that exhaust from cars, smoke and soot from chimneys; there's plenty of pollen from the trees on our street, not to mention what's blowing in the air from the flowers and trees in Central Park. T'is the season after all."

Illya tilted his head, finding Napoleon's logic sensible for once.

"What exactly did you have in mind?

"Well I was going to head out to the Hampton's, unfurl the sails on my yacht and take her out on the Sound. Nothing like some salt air to clear your sinuses chum?"

"No thank you," Illya dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand, "I dislike being seasick even more than I do being allergic."

"Aw come on? We can get a case of beer, a couple of heros; do some fishing and just relax."

"Napoleon if I want salt in my nasal cavity I will flush it out with a saline rinse, and if I want fish I have but to go to Fulton Street fish market along the East River; that the closest I plan on getting near to open water during my free time.”

"Okay buddy, whatever you say." Napoleon cleared his desk, put on his suit jacket; preparing to head out.

"As your superior I'm ordering you not to spend your weekend here. Do something different for a change, please?"

Illya looked back up from his paperwork, frowning just a bit.

"I actually have plans to finish up an experiment I was working on in the lab and this evening I will be going to a new jazz club in the village."

"Well, I suppose it's better than nothing, but that's just tonight...what about Saturday and Sunday?"

Illya broke a smile. "Thank you for worrying about me, but I will be fine. If you must know I have a date Saturday night to see Maya Plisetskaya perform."

Solo's curiosity was now piqued as his partner rarely spoke about going on a date.

"Number one who are you taking out, and number two who is this Maya Plisetskaya?"

Illya shook his head before grabbing his handkerchief and sneezing.

"Achooo!"

"Gesundheit."

'Danke."

"Number one it is none of your business with whom I am going out, and number two Maya Plisetskaya is only the greatest ballerina in Soviet Union, possibly the world. I have always wanted to see her dance. Once Khrushchev lifted her travel ban, the world finally saw what an exquisite performer she is. I cannot believe my luck that she is coming here to New York, as I have only dreamt of seeing her dance."

"Wow, dreams are important chum, but who here is really interested in the ballet? I mean the ladies of the secretarial pool strike me more as the Purple Unicorn type."

Illya knew he was cornered on that one.

"All right, if you must know. I am escorting Mr. and Mrs. Waverly to the ballet and Mr. Waverly has kindly made arrangements for me to meet La Prima Plisetskaya."

"Oh, well why didn't you just say so. Good for you."

"I thought I just did?"

"Did what?"

"Say so…"

"Nevermind..." Napoleon rolled his eyes for once.

Sometimes he wondered if Illya was being obtuse on purpose, just to annoy him. One never knew with the tricky Russian.

"Well, just enjoy yourself this weekend and watch out for the KGB...me I have a rendezvous with a lovely lady and her name is Pursang." *

Napoleon saluted his farewell and headed out.

.

There was a fine mist in the air as Solo finished readying his thirty foot yacht, and adjusting his captain's cap; he cast off the last mooring line and motored away from the dock.

Once out on the open water he set the sails, letting the winds take the boat gliding over the waves.

There were light white caps, nothing severe though as he held onto the ships wheel, manning the helm with ease and guiding her farther out into the Sound.

He guessed it was better Illya hadn't come along after all. The water was just choppy enough to have probably had him hanging over the side for most of the day. Poor guy...yep sneezing was better than heaving. He chuckled...they made a great pair, him afraid of the water and Illya getting seasick.

Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

The salt air, the wind at his back...that feeling of utter freedom, just him and mother nature; it was perfect.

It must have been like this for those brave souls who crossed the ocean for a chance at life in the new world.

Granted they probably didn't quite wax poetic, as an Atlantic crossing, taking around twenty-three days to do so, was fraught with dangers and the unknown. Still they were defiant and faced their fears.

Yet that sense of being unencumbered and adventurous was there. If they hadn't been willing to take a chance in hopes of a finding new home; no one would probably have ever made that perilous journey.

He thought of his own ancestors, his father's people coming from Italy though they were far from poor peasants, they were business people and prospered quickly. His mother's family the same, but they were French, landing in Canada...teachers and educated people they were.

All taking a risk, holding onto their dreams; if they hadn't then he, Napoleon Antony Solo most likely would not have been born.

What were his own dreams? That was a question he hadn't asked himself in a very long time.

Napoleon thought hard on it. He had no real dreams he supposed, just the here and now. As an agent of U.N.C.L.E. he lived from day-to-day, that was it; looking forward to the little things; the next lovely woman he could hold in his arms to fend off the loneliness.

Still he did hope to making it to retirement, that was something long term...oh hell who was he kidding; he just looked forward to making it home alive in one piece, him and Illya.

The wind picked up, letting the Pursang fly and that was when Napoleon Solo realized this was his dream, at least a small one. He was challenging his own childhood fear of drowning and in his own way being defiant.

Just being as free as the sea gulls now gliding on the air alongside him, checking him out before they took off into the sky.

He guessed he'd have to take his dreams one moment at a time...holding onto them as tightly as he could.

It really was beautiful out here, peaceful. It just felt right. Shame Illya had to miss this, but then again, this wasn't his dream.

What his was, Napoleon had no idea, as his partner was too tight-lipped to say; he suspected deep down in that cold Russian heart there was something that lay hidden behind a locked door, something Illya hung onto with all his might.

That's all they could do, the both of them...just keep holding on for 'what dreams may come.'

"Ahhh, Shakespeare," Napoleon smiled, though not sure how the connection had suddenly been made from thoughts of life and living to the afterlife.

"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause," he quoted aloud from Hamlet, shouting to the sky.

He shook it off. "No, don't think of the end Solo, think of your little dreams...in the now and live for today."

The winds had picked up and spray from a fair-sized wave broke over the side, hitting him in the face, and he laughed... "Accroches-toi a ton reve!"

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