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section7mfuAs it is picfic challenge day, I've somehow managed to crowbar the prompt into this chapter. I would advise that you read the first two chapters (if you haven't already) before reading this one.
Chapter 1 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/688508.html
Chapter 2 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/690577.html
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The journey to the guest quarters was an ordeal in itself. The corridors were full of people, all rushing one way or another, and for Illya it was a shock to the system to see so many people at once. Luckily, everyone in the building was well used to not getting too close to the Russian, but it didn’t stop them from staring. The details of his long absence were not common knowledge, but there were plenty of rumours flying about. Illya tried to hide himself between Napoleon and the wall, struggling with the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded. Feeling the anxiety radiating from his partner, Solo attempted to shield him from the prying eyes. Several people averted their gaze following a warning glare from the CEA.
Outside the suite, which was to be Illya’s temporary home, stood a section 3 agent. He was well known to Illya, as they often sparred together in the gym, and had been given this duty deliberately. Dr Francis postulated that it would be better for the Russian to be guarded by people he was already comfortable around. There would be five agents in total, working in rotation. Each of them had been given a full and frank briefing on the situation. Illya’s security clearance was still valid, allowing him access to everywhere he was allowed before, but he had to be escorted. Each man was told to be armed only with sleep darts. Should Illya attempt to leave and refuse all efforts to persuade him not to, the agents were instructed to dart him. They were to avoid any form of physical restraint as it could be detrimental to his psychological wellbeing.
“Hey there Little Comrade,” Agent Davies greeted his sparring partner. “It’s good to see you looking so well.”
Illya smiled broadly and gave the man a little wave of greeting. Usually, Kuryakin detested it when Americans called him Comrade, because it was usually said in a derogatory manner. Truth be told, the first time Davies had said it, it had been meant as an insult. Over time however, the two of them had gained a friendship and a respect for one another. Davies was probably one of the few people who get away with using the term; just like Napoleon being the only person who was allowed to call him Tovarisch, which more or less meant the same thing.
The senior agents entered the room and Illya was surprised to find he’d been given a VIP suite. It comprised of three rooms; a bedroom, a bathroom and a main living area. Apart from there being no windows, it was better than his apartment. He looked quizzically at Napoleon and gestured to the space.
“We didn’t want you to feel too cooped up,” Solo explained. “I know you’ll probably be reluctant to go to the commissary, so whenever you’re hungry just let whoever is outside know, and they’ll get it sent up.”
I’m hungry now. Illya wrote on his pad.
“There’s a surprise. Well, it is Tuesday; do you remember what they serve on a Tuesday?”
Illya nodded and wrote a list of what he wanted. Napoleon looked at the request and sighed.
“If you eat all this, you’ll end up heavier than you were before we lost you. Not that it would be a bad thing.”
Napoleon chuckled before heading out to get the food himself. Outside, he was stopped by Agent Davies.
“Erm. . . Napoleon, I have to admit to being a little concerned.”
“What about?”
“I know that we’re all hoping Illya will get his act together and attempt to escape, but I’m worried about how he’ll do it. I know he won’t kill me, but he is quite adept at incapacitation.”
Napoleon patted Davies on the arm and tried to reassure him. The problem was, he was right. Illya was just too good at his job.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
For the next week, Illya spent his time either in the suite or in his lab. His research work allowed him to forget his troubles for a while. That in itself was a scary thing for him. He was still not quite used to being his own man, and although his personality and demeanour were returning, there was always a doubt in his mind. He still expected punishments even though none were forthcoming. Illya had continued with his efforts to speak, but his own mind thwarted him. As instructed he’d written down his thoughts with each failure. Every entry in the journal was more or less the same; fear of electrocution. It had been discovered that the control method was the simple cattle prod. The mine’s overseers had taken sadistic delight in using the devices on a man’s most sensitive areas. Even though he knew they weren’t in a position to torture him anymore, the Russian still feared their reprisals.
Sitting in his suite one evening, Illya came to a sudden realisation. He was still a prisoner. Not just of his own mind, but also of U.N.C.L.E. Admittedly, everyone had been very kind and considerate to him, and he had everything he could wish for. The only thing he didn’t have was freedom. It had been so long since he’d been outside and he craved the feel of fresh air in his lungs. As soon as the thought came to him, Illya began to feel panicked. He had to get out; needed to get out. The possibility of punishment presented itself but he dismissed it as a risk worth taking. He decided that his only course of action was to escape. Feeling proud of himself for having made the decision, Illya set about formulating a plan.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Napoleon cursed the ringing phone for interrupting a rather pleasant daydream.
“Solo,” he barked into it.
“He got out,” said the voice from the other end.
Napoleon didn’t have to ask who the he in question was, though he was rather concerned that Illya had managed to get outside without any interference at all.
“Are you tracking him?”
They’d hidden trackers in Illya’s shoes, in preparation for this moment
“Yes Sir.”
“Okay, I’ll go and fetch him back, you apprise Mr Waverly.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Illya got about three blocks from HQ before realising he’d made a huge mistake. The city was too big, too crowded and too noisy. He’d initially enjoyed the natural daylight and air, but everything else was an assault to the senses. Fighting off feelings of disorientation, Illya changed direction and started his journey back. He knew he wouldn’t be physically punished for leaving, but he still wasn’t relishing the idea of the apology he was going to have to make. They would probably restrict his movements around HQ, but he could live with that.
Breathing heavily in an effort to stave off an imminent panic attack, Illya was surprised to see Napoleon walking towards him. He was even more surprised to see that the senior agent was smiling. Surely he should be angry at him. As he raised a hand to wave, Illya’s innate sense of danger alerted him to something happening further up the street. Despite the traffic, a green Volkswagen van was hurtling down the road, apparently out of control. It mounted the sidewalk, heading in the direction of Napoleon.
Solo’s usual survival instincts failed him completely as he was too busy concentrating on retrieving his errant Russian. He saw the look on Illya’s face and wrongly assumed that his expression of alarm was down to him. From his vantage point, Illya watched as the scene played out, seemingly in slow motion. He was too far away to drag his partner out of the way. He had to make do with the only option available to him.
“BEHIND YOU NAPOLEON!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
To be continued.
Chapter 1 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/688508.html
Chapter 2 - http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/690577.html
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The journey to the guest quarters was an ordeal in itself. The corridors were full of people, all rushing one way or another, and for Illya it was a shock to the system to see so many people at once. Luckily, everyone in the building was well used to not getting too close to the Russian, but it didn’t stop them from staring. The details of his long absence were not common knowledge, but there were plenty of rumours flying about. Illya tried to hide himself between Napoleon and the wall, struggling with the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded. Feeling the anxiety radiating from his partner, Solo attempted to shield him from the prying eyes. Several people averted their gaze following a warning glare from the CEA.
Outside the suite, which was to be Illya’s temporary home, stood a section 3 agent. He was well known to Illya, as they often sparred together in the gym, and had been given this duty deliberately. Dr Francis postulated that it would be better for the Russian to be guarded by people he was already comfortable around. There would be five agents in total, working in rotation. Each of them had been given a full and frank briefing on the situation. Illya’s security clearance was still valid, allowing him access to everywhere he was allowed before, but he had to be escorted. Each man was told to be armed only with sleep darts. Should Illya attempt to leave and refuse all efforts to persuade him not to, the agents were instructed to dart him. They were to avoid any form of physical restraint as it could be detrimental to his psychological wellbeing.
“Hey there Little Comrade,” Agent Davies greeted his sparring partner. “It’s good to see you looking so well.”
Illya smiled broadly and gave the man a little wave of greeting. Usually, Kuryakin detested it when Americans called him Comrade, because it was usually said in a derogatory manner. Truth be told, the first time Davies had said it, it had been meant as an insult. Over time however, the two of them had gained a friendship and a respect for one another. Davies was probably one of the few people who get away with using the term; just like Napoleon being the only person who was allowed to call him Tovarisch, which more or less meant the same thing.
The senior agents entered the room and Illya was surprised to find he’d been given a VIP suite. It comprised of three rooms; a bedroom, a bathroom and a main living area. Apart from there being no windows, it was better than his apartment. He looked quizzically at Napoleon and gestured to the space.
“We didn’t want you to feel too cooped up,” Solo explained. “I know you’ll probably be reluctant to go to the commissary, so whenever you’re hungry just let whoever is outside know, and they’ll get it sent up.”
I’m hungry now. Illya wrote on his pad.
“There’s a surprise. Well, it is Tuesday; do you remember what they serve on a Tuesday?”
Illya nodded and wrote a list of what he wanted. Napoleon looked at the request and sighed.
“If you eat all this, you’ll end up heavier than you were before we lost you. Not that it would be a bad thing.”
Napoleon chuckled before heading out to get the food himself. Outside, he was stopped by Agent Davies.
“Erm. . . Napoleon, I have to admit to being a little concerned.”
“What about?”
“I know that we’re all hoping Illya will get his act together and attempt to escape, but I’m worried about how he’ll do it. I know he won’t kill me, but he is quite adept at incapacitation.”
Napoleon patted Davies on the arm and tried to reassure him. The problem was, he was right. Illya was just too good at his job.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
For the next week, Illya spent his time either in the suite or in his lab. His research work allowed him to forget his troubles for a while. That in itself was a scary thing for him. He was still not quite used to being his own man, and although his personality and demeanour were returning, there was always a doubt in his mind. He still expected punishments even though none were forthcoming. Illya had continued with his efforts to speak, but his own mind thwarted him. As instructed he’d written down his thoughts with each failure. Every entry in the journal was more or less the same; fear of electrocution. It had been discovered that the control method was the simple cattle prod. The mine’s overseers had taken sadistic delight in using the devices on a man’s most sensitive areas. Even though he knew they weren’t in a position to torture him anymore, the Russian still feared their reprisals.
Sitting in his suite one evening, Illya came to a sudden realisation. He was still a prisoner. Not just of his own mind, but also of U.N.C.L.E. Admittedly, everyone had been very kind and considerate to him, and he had everything he could wish for. The only thing he didn’t have was freedom. It had been so long since he’d been outside and he craved the feel of fresh air in his lungs. As soon as the thought came to him, Illya began to feel panicked. He had to get out; needed to get out. The possibility of punishment presented itself but he dismissed it as a risk worth taking. He decided that his only course of action was to escape. Feeling proud of himself for having made the decision, Illya set about formulating a plan.
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Napoleon cursed the ringing phone for interrupting a rather pleasant daydream.
“Solo,” he barked into it.
“He got out,” said the voice from the other end.
Napoleon didn’t have to ask who the he in question was, though he was rather concerned that Illya had managed to get outside without any interference at all.
“Are you tracking him?”
They’d hidden trackers in Illya’s shoes, in preparation for this moment
“Yes Sir.”
“Okay, I’ll go and fetch him back, you apprise Mr Waverly.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Illya got about three blocks from HQ before realising he’d made a huge mistake. The city was too big, too crowded and too noisy. He’d initially enjoyed the natural daylight and air, but everything else was an assault to the senses. Fighting off feelings of disorientation, Illya changed direction and started his journey back. He knew he wouldn’t be physically punished for leaving, but he still wasn’t relishing the idea of the apology he was going to have to make. They would probably restrict his movements around HQ, but he could live with that.
Breathing heavily in an effort to stave off an imminent panic attack, Illya was surprised to see Napoleon walking towards him. He was even more surprised to see that the senior agent was smiling. Surely he should be angry at him. As he raised a hand to wave, Illya’s innate sense of danger alerted him to something happening further up the street. Despite the traffic, a green Volkswagen van was hurtling down the road, apparently out of control. It mounted the sidewalk, heading in the direction of Napoleon.
Solo’s usual survival instincts failed him completely as he was too busy concentrating on retrieving his errant Russian. He saw the look on Illya’s face and wrongly assumed that his expression of alarm was down to him. From his vantage point, Illya watched as the scene played out, seemingly in slow motion. He was too far away to drag his partner out of the way. He had to make do with the only option available to him.
“BEHIND YOU NAPOLEON!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
To be continued.
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Crowbar
Date: 2014-08-05 05:23 pm (UTC)Well done! Only NS imminent danger gets our Russian to yell!
Re: Crowbar
Date: 2014-08-05 05:28 pm (UTC)A vehicle careening towards NS was always going to be a part of the story. Happily, it coincided with the picfic prompt.
Crowbar indeed
Date: 2014-08-05 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 05:45 pm (UTC)I'm glad the prompt slotted into my storyline so easily as I couldn't think of anything to write for the prompt.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 07:23 pm (UTC)I normally avoid hc, but this is so well done! Dear Davies, I hope he's all right. I liked him from the first, and all the more for his knowingly taking the risk of guarding Illya.
Also great points; Illya's trouble with his own name, and his reaction to returning to Russia.
Love Napoleon's pyromaniac quip, too.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 07:31 pm (UTC)I'm a sucker for h/c, both reading and writing. Thank you for commenting and I'm glad you're enjoying it. There's either one or two chapters left. It all depends on how the next chapter pans out. It was only going to be two chapters long in the beginning.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 07:36 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2014-08-05 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-05 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-06 07:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-06 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-06 07:54 am (UTC)