April's Dream for All About April
Jul. 16th, 2014 08:06 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glennagirl.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuApril and Illya have a bit of a history, although not romantic; at least, not yet. For a bit of background you can read these:
Tight Spot
From Mountain Top To Valley Low
And to bring you up to speed on this story:
April Daze
In With A Bang, Out With A Whimper (yesterday's PicFic)
And here you go with April's Dream...
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April went to bed that night with two images competing for her dreams.
In one scenario the auburn haired agent was engaged in a gun battle with a blond man who was surrounded with a blue haze. She wanted to reach inside of the blue but something always kept her out, unable to penetrate what appeared to be an illusion of some sort. When she got too close to him a chill overtook her, only to be replaced a warm breeze that made her want to...
April woke up in a sweat. That dream... Was it? Wow....
The dream was so real, and the emotion of it made April think about how Illya had pulled her aside to talk, only to say something about the report or ... What had he intended to say to her?
She got out of bed and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. She didn’t feel very sleepy now so decided to curl up on the couch for a bit and read. A recent copy of Glamour magazine lay on the coffee table so she picked it up and thumbed through it. Before she knew it April was snoozing again. When the dream came she was on a different couch, lying back and gazing into the soulful eyes of Dr. Whitfield.
“April, how are you feeling today?” April was feeling really good... really, really good.
“Doctor, I’m feeling just super. Now, if you want to you can kiss me.”
“April, that would be very unprofessional of me. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand.”
She didn’t, but that was the correct answer.
“And how do you feel about that, Miss Dancer?”
Why had he called her Miss Dancer? Weren’t they closer than that?”
April shifted uneasily on the leather sofa, wondering why something so slippery would be considered a good place to unload all of your deepest thoughts. When she looked up again at Dr. Whitfield he had become an old man, and his soulful eyes were clouded with cataracts. It repelled the young woman so completely that she bolted upright.
April woke up panting. Was she nuts? Up until this moment the handsome doctor had seemed very appealing, a paragon of stability and wisdom. The dream made her think otherwise; he really was too old for her. That brought her back to Illya, obviously the one in the blue haze. He might seem cold at times, but when she thought about him every part of her body tingled with the anticipation of what it might be like...
“Oh no you don’t. Mr. Kuryakin has never shown any interest in you, April Dancer, and just because he wanted to speak privately this evening means nothing, it means...” She couldn’t finish that thought because she hoped it wasn’t true.
Back in her bed again, April dozed and finally fell into a deep sleep. This time she was dreaming of her job, of the dangerous situations she had been in and how hard she worked. Somehow all of that was crowded into the few seconds it takes to dream. She wasn’t seeking out men or trying to win any hearts in these dream sequences; these were about her, and her alone.
Before April was fully awake a phone’s incessant ringing alerted her to morning. Still groggy from interrupted sleep and some energy sapping dreams, she answered on the fourth ring.
“Hullo...” There was something like fuzz in her throat.
“Well good morning sleepy head. I bet you think it’s your day off, don’t you beautiful.” Oh crap, it was Napoleon. Was she late for work?
“Oh, wow... sorry. Am I late? I could have sworn there was nothing on my schedule...” She heard him laugh, could see a smile on the face of her handsome boss.
“No, you’re not late Miss Dancer. However, an assignment has come in that looks like a perfect fit for you. How soon can you be here?” That last was a little more serious sounding. April looked at the clock and estimated her chances of making it to Headquarters in less than an hour.
“Umm... give me forty-five minutes?” It was a question, but really there was no way April could get herself together in less time than that and arrive at UNCLE Headquarters. Napoleon understood; unlike Mark and Illya, he and April did care what their hair looked like.
“Sounds perfect. Just come to my office and be prepared to fly... and I mean that literally. You have plane tickets waiting for you.”
“Will do, boss. See you in a bit.” They both hung up the phone and sighed, each for different reasons.
True to her word, April arrived at the little tailor’s shop in forty-five minutes. The counter man nodded and said hello to the pretty agent, activated the press and nodded her through to the dressing room. Turning the hook gave April a sense of herself; this was a job she couldn’t have made up in any of her dreams. She loved the sense of being on the right side of things, of doing her part to rid the world of evils such as THRUSH. In the midst of these thoughtful meanderings came the unexpected voice of Illya Kuryakin.
“Good morning Miss Dancer. May I escort you to your meeting with Napoleon?” April was transported back to her dream of the night before. Here was the man in the blue haze, and just like in her dreams was the conflict between his cool demeanor and the heated response she couldn’t deny. She still had a big crush on the Russian.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Kuryakin. Um... why the escort? I mean, it’s nice, but... is there something wrong?” She hadn’t heard anything in Napoleon’s voice to indicate a problem, so why was Illya here waiting for her?
“No problems, I just thought that, as we’re both going on this mission, it might be nice to start practicing our act.” Act? Why was he being so cryptic and what on earth was he talking about?
“We’re going on a mission... together?” She had been partnered with Illya before, but boy had it gone wrong. He was nearly killed, and in fact it seemed whenever she had anything to do with the blond he ended up in some kind of ....hmmm, how to phrase it... unfortunate circumstance. Yeah, very unfortunate.
Illya was aware of her hesitation and cold also recall the mishaps he had encountered when in her company. Neither of them had talked about it but then, neither of them wanted to go back and revisit those incidents.
“Yes, it seems a situation has arisen that Mr. Waverly feels is a good fit for the two of us. But I shall let Mr. Solo do the briefing on it, and afterwards we are expected in Mr. Waverly’s office.’ He stopped talking and looked at April. The timing on this seemed as unfortunate as his previous encounters with her, only this time the discomfort might not be from anything physical. He really could not allow himself to think that they might have some kind of mutual attraction, especially not now that they were heading out on an assignment together.
“Oh, I see. I wonder why Mark wasn’t considered suitable.” It did seem odd to do this change up of partners; April wondered if Mark was being assigned elsewhere. Illya had expected questions. April was a very good agent, but she was also a woman and not likely to accept changes without wanting to know why.
“I think it best to let Napoleon and Mr. Waverly make the situation clear. Everything is fine, it’s just that this mission requires someone with very specific traits and abilities. It also requires a woman. It seems we are the perfect pair for what we shall be encountering. Ah, here is where we are expected; after you.” Illya stepped aside to allow April to enter first, and followed her into the office, fully aware that this would not be business as usual.
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Oh yeah, I forgot to mention... TO BE CONTINUED
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Date: 2014-07-16 06:51 pm (UTC)Teaching Napoleon archery seems to have put ideas in his head. Some of the typing pool will be demanding the full (or rather non-full) costume, between abetments.
I like he and April did care what their hair looked like.
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