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section7mfu(I'm not happy with this story, so I'm posting it now but may return to it one day to improve it. I've re-worked three times already.)
On the Beach
Napoleon Solo was enjoying himself immensely. He was relaxing on a recliner, beneath a shady palm tree on a beautiful sun kissed beach. The agent was happily sipping a tropical cocktail and watching a group of beautiful women as the passed a beach ball to each other. Near to the young women, a group of young men were turning a bonfire into a barbecue. From a transistor radio, nestling in the sand, wafted the sound of the summer’s pop hits. Oh yes, Napoleon Solo was definitely enjoying himself.
A small voice at the back of his mind seemed to be trying to tell him something. The voice had a Russian accent, which he recognised but couldn’t quite place. It sounded concerned, but Napoleon was unable to make out what it was saying exactly, so he ignored it.
The voice belonged to Illya Kuryakin, who was definitely not enjoying himself. In fact, he was beyond worried. When he’d pulled the unconscious Solo from the wreck of their downed helicopter, he’d looked relatively injury free; though it was obvious he’d knocked his head. They’d been lucky that Illya was a skilful enough pilot to bring the damaged helicopter down fairly safely. They’d still crashed, but not with the force they could have done. Napoleon was no longer unconscious, but he wasn’t exactly conscious either.
The Russian watched as his partner clambered unsteadily to his feet and wandered down the beach. For reasons Illya couldn’t even begin to fathom, Napoleon adopted his tried and tested seductive demeanour. Things then got really strange as he began to flirt with a group of people who weren’t there.
“Good afternoon Ladies,” he purred. “Would you or your friends mind if I joined you?”
Illya had no idea what Napoleon was fantasising about but he seemed to be having a better time than he was. The blond agent was tired, hungry and was carrying an injury of his own. He was fairly certain he had at least one cracked rib but knew it would be less than half an hour before their rescue arrived. Still, he could’ve really done without having to deal with a delusional American. Illya sat crossed legged on the beach and kept an eye on his partner, much like a mother watching her small child, to make sure he didn’t get too close to the water.
Inside his fantasy, Napoleon was chewing down on a juicy hamburger and regaling the group with his international exploits. They were hanging on every one of his words of espionage, danger and beautiful women. Illya found himself praying there were no little birdies in the vicinity. Even though his partner was talking of past missions, it wouldn’t do to acknowledge their involvement in them. Deciding it was probably best to play safe, the Russian went to retrieve Solo.
“Napoleon?” He called as he walked towards him.
Napoleon turned towards Illya.
“Illya? When did you get here? Have you met the gang?” He gestured to the empty air beside him.
The Russian waved self-consciously at the non-existent people, feeling quite ridiculous as he did so.
“We need to go Napoleon,” Illya coaxed, gently pulling his partner away from his imaginary friends. “The rescue helicopter will be here soon.”
Right on cue, the sound of rotor blades could be heard. Illya looked to the sky to see which direction it was coming from. He watched it as it landed then turned back to Napoleon. For the first time since before they crashed, the smaller agent burst into laughter. Napoleon looked like a child who’d just had all his Christmas presents taken from him. He seemed genuinely upset to be leaving his new friends behind.
“Come on Napoleon.”
Illya continued to laugh as Napoleon kissed the imaginary women and shook hands with the invisible men. He continued to wave and blow kisses at them as he boarded the helicopter and flew out of sight.
On the Beach
Napoleon Solo was enjoying himself immensely. He was relaxing on a recliner, beneath a shady palm tree on a beautiful sun kissed beach. The agent was happily sipping a tropical cocktail and watching a group of beautiful women as the passed a beach ball to each other. Near to the young women, a group of young men were turning a bonfire into a barbecue. From a transistor radio, nestling in the sand, wafted the sound of the summer’s pop hits. Oh yes, Napoleon Solo was definitely enjoying himself.
A small voice at the back of his mind seemed to be trying to tell him something. The voice had a Russian accent, which he recognised but couldn’t quite place. It sounded concerned, but Napoleon was unable to make out what it was saying exactly, so he ignored it.
The voice belonged to Illya Kuryakin, who was definitely not enjoying himself. In fact, he was beyond worried. When he’d pulled the unconscious Solo from the wreck of their downed helicopter, he’d looked relatively injury free; though it was obvious he’d knocked his head. They’d been lucky that Illya was a skilful enough pilot to bring the damaged helicopter down fairly safely. They’d still crashed, but not with the force they could have done. Napoleon was no longer unconscious, but he wasn’t exactly conscious either.
The Russian watched as his partner clambered unsteadily to his feet and wandered down the beach. For reasons Illya couldn’t even begin to fathom, Napoleon adopted his tried and tested seductive demeanour. Things then got really strange as he began to flirt with a group of people who weren’t there.
“Good afternoon Ladies,” he purred. “Would you or your friends mind if I joined you?”
Illya had no idea what Napoleon was fantasising about but he seemed to be having a better time than he was. The blond agent was tired, hungry and was carrying an injury of his own. He was fairly certain he had at least one cracked rib but knew it would be less than half an hour before their rescue arrived. Still, he could’ve really done without having to deal with a delusional American. Illya sat crossed legged on the beach and kept an eye on his partner, much like a mother watching her small child, to make sure he didn’t get too close to the water.
Inside his fantasy, Napoleon was chewing down on a juicy hamburger and regaling the group with his international exploits. They were hanging on every one of his words of espionage, danger and beautiful women. Illya found himself praying there were no little birdies in the vicinity. Even though his partner was talking of past missions, it wouldn’t do to acknowledge their involvement in them. Deciding it was probably best to play safe, the Russian went to retrieve Solo.
“Napoleon?” He called as he walked towards him.
Napoleon turned towards Illya.
“Illya? When did you get here? Have you met the gang?” He gestured to the empty air beside him.
The Russian waved self-consciously at the non-existent people, feeling quite ridiculous as he did so.
“We need to go Napoleon,” Illya coaxed, gently pulling his partner away from his imaginary friends. “The rescue helicopter will be here soon.”
Right on cue, the sound of rotor blades could be heard. Illya looked to the sky to see which direction it was coming from. He watched it as it landed then turned back to Napoleon. For the first time since before they crashed, the smaller agent burst into laughter. Napoleon looked like a child who’d just had all his Christmas presents taken from him. He seemed genuinely upset to be leaving his new friends behind.
“Come on Napoleon.”
Illya continued to laugh as Napoleon kissed the imaginary women and shook hands with the invisible men. He continued to wave and blow kisses at them as he boarded the helicopter and flew out of sight.
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Date: 2014-06-10 08:40 pm (UTC)