Flakes and Flukes - PicFic 8/19

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Beautiful white crystalline images fluttered endlessly from someplace beyond, making the man who was seeing all of this feel euphoric beneath the never ending cascade of dazzling shapes.  Was he in a room or outer space?  He couldn’t tell, but the blue that provided the backdrop for this marvel reminded him of something...

“Is he going to tell us anything today, or had you thought perhaps of making a career out of this one interrogation?”

He heard that, and suddenly Napoleon Solo was aware of his surroundings.  He was being held by a local THRUSH satrap named Archibald Cobain, and in spite of the light show that was being projected onto the ceiling above them, the UNCLE agent had been able to resist the serum injected into his bloodstream.  It did not bode well for the errant scientist whose formula was now deemed a failure.

“I don’t know what went wrong, Mr. Cobain.  This should have had the man telling us everything, including his shoe size.  I just don’t und...”

A loud blast from Cobain’s gun put an end to any misunderstanding that unfortunate scientist might have had.

“All right Solo, I know you can hear me.  This little show is over, and no amount of snowflakes falling from the sky can save you.  I’ve asked you nicely, now I’m going to take what I want in the way I know best.”

With that, Archibald Cobain produced a knife long enough to cut down trees.  Maybe it was a machete, but in any case Napoleon didn’t intend to feel the blade; not today.

“Ah, Mr. Cobain, I think you ought to reconsider your plan of action.  You may not be aware, but my partner is standing behind you right now and...”

“Ha!  Do you take me for a fool Solo?  I hardly think a ruse such as that is worthy of the great Napoleon Solo.”  Cobain positioned himself to take his pound of flesh off of the annoying agent, and as he did so a pfft sound gave him pause, as did the sleep dart that found its mark in the man’s neck.  A slight hesitation, then a shudder and he was down.

Napoleon gave Kuryakin a smirk before the predictable complaint.

“Well, nothing like getting here in the nick of time, and I do mean nick.”  Illya was already untying his partner as the pithy comment met him.

“You seem none the worse for it, my friend.  Just be glad that the two guards I encountered were slower than these snowflakes that are being projected onto the ceiling.  Otherwise I might have missed saving you entirely.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow at that.  Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure when Illya was lying to him, just for the sake of being annoying.

“Well, in any event, thank you.  I always appreciate a timely rescue.”  Illya smiled at that, relieved that he hadn’t found his partner in worse shape.  As it was, a five o’clock shadow was the only indication of Napoleon’s mistreatment.

“I do what I can, and when I can’t ... well, then we’re in trouble.  Lucky for you, I am very capable.”  Napoleon smirked again.  Sometimes Illya was incorrigible, but he was the best partner a man could have.

The snowflakes on the ceiling continued to swirl and dance against the blue background, a surprisingly calming image in the midst of what had almost happened to him.  How did these guys come up with their schemes, he wondered.

Illya finished untying Napoleon and looked around the room, finally resting his gaze on the slain scientist.  Cobain had shot the man point blank, a perfectly round hold in his forehead.

“What about him?  Was he incompetent?”  Illya hadn’t heard whatever had come before he entered the room and saw Cobain raising the large knife above Napoleon’s prone body.  Considering that his friend was completely lucid, the drugs they had used on him seem to not have had very much effect.

“You know, it’s a strange thing Illya.  I did sort of have an out of body experience from that drug, what with the snowflakes and all... ‘ Napoleon was trying to remember how it had felt.

“It just didn’t last long, and it certainly didn’t make me want to tell any secrets.  It just made me feel... good.  Sort of peaceful really.”  Illya furrowed his brow at that, trying to figure out the nature of a drug that would produce a sense of well being, but was thought to be a truth serum of some sort.

“I suppose the lab will tell us what it is.  Is there more of it somewhere, or at least the syringe?”  Napoleon took a cursory look at the desk top, then bent down and searched the dead man’s lab coat pockets.

“Here, this is the stuff.   Call in our location and get somebody out here to clean this place up...’ The disheveled agent looked again at the slain scientist and the man who killed him,  “and take care of Cobain.  We can get this back to the lab and see what kind of joy juice they were giving me.”

When the clean-up crew arrived the task was left in their capable hands.  Napoleon and Illya drove back to Headquarters with a somber sense of it once again having come too close to a grisly end.

Napoleon had insisted on driving with the top down on the sleek blue convertible.  Something about having all of that air was helping to blow away the sense of doom that was necessarily attached to missions such as the one he was leaving behind.  Pulling up in front of Del Floria’s, Illya took one last look at his friend and partner, aware that Solo was pulling himself together, setting his CEA face for the sake of those inside the building.  The Russian knew the truth, however: every close call with death brought you a little bit closer to that cruel inevitability.  Acting as though it didn’t matter took a performance worthy of the stage.

Illya went directly to the labs with the vial of liquid taken from the pocket of the unfortunate scientist.  Napoleon went to the gym for a shower and a change of clothes.  The effects of the drug had been subtle, but now, in the relative safety of headquarters, Napoleon began to feel a slight tremor in his hands, something that caused him to stand and observe while water streamed over his body.  First the euphoria and then that burst of adrenalin that always ensues when there is action involved.  The settling down during the ride and now this.

He looked at his hands as they shook ever so slightly.  He could feel his heart rate increase.  Napoleon shut off the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist.  Whatever was in that drug was the strangest, non-effective truth serum he’d ever encountered.  What the heck was it?

After whirling the substance in some tubes and dissecting its components via the sophisticated equipment used by UNCLE, the results came in concerning the mysterious drug that had been given to Napoleon.  The report was included in the material that Mr. Waverly was now presenting to his two top men.

“Gentlemen...’ the posturing included fingering the old pipe and tamping down the tobacco, ever mindful of the time he took and the effect it had on his men.  Waverly didn’t do it for any particular reason and yet, to not go through this ritual would somehow lessen the moment; for all of them.  Time.  It gave them all time.

“Mr. Solo, what did you experience under the influence of this... um, drug?”  The bushy eyebrows shot up as he said that last word, the craggy face taking on the look of an inquisitive professor rather than that of one of the most powerful men on the planet.

The handsome agent raised his eyebrows in response, the words slow in forming as he shaped his mouth around them.

“Well... it was, I think... euphoric.  I felt good, actually.  Really, really good.  And very relaxed, sort of like ... as though there were no problems, nothing to worry about.  Yes, I’d describe it as very relaxed.”

“Mmhmmm... I see.  Mr. Kuryakin, how did you find Mr. Solo?  Was he, as he has described, relaxed?” Illya flinched slightly at the question, it seemed odd.  He wondered if there was a wrong answer.

“Mr. Solo was restrained, sir... tied up.  Cobain was holding a very large knife over him and preparing to do a great deal of damage, so I shot him with a dart.  Napoleon responded immediately, and once free of his bonds inspected the ... um, the dead scientist and then gave orders to contact headquarters.”  That seemed to satisfy Waverly, although neither agent could be sure of it.

“I see.  And subsequently, after the fact Mr. Solo, how have you felt?”  That was the question Napoleon had dreaded.  Admitting the drug was still working on him by the time they arrived at headquarters might suggest it was still capable of ... whatever it had been intended for.

“I experienced ... ‘ Napoleon shot a glance at his partner, aware that Waverly was observing him very closely.

“In the shower, when I ... I got the shakes.  My hands were trembling... It didn’t last long, but it was a little disturbing.  I’m fine now, though, Mr. Waverly.  I don’t seem to have any remaining side effects...”  That last sort of trailed off as the eyes of both Kuryakin and Waverly bore into him.

Mr. Waverly opened the file in front of him and perused the contents for the second time since he had received it.  Better to not let Mr. Solo stew any longer.

“It seems this drug, rather than being effective for eliciting confessions and information from the subject, provides a calming and, as you have said Mr. Solo, euphoric feeling.  It seems to have something in it that reduces anxiety, making one have a sense of well being and comfort.”  Illya smiled and looked around at the two other men.

“Not exactly a bad thing, I wonder why THRUSH was trying to use it as a truth serum?”

“Hard to say, Mr. Kuryakin.  The downside to its composition is the inclusion of steroids on a time release system.  That is what Mr. Solo encountered later on, the tremors... you got a rush of that and it gave you, as you said, the shakes.  Very common reaction to that substance, and entirely at odds with the first phase of this drug’s effect.”

The three of them considered the information for a few minutes, each reading the file in front of them now and trying to find a viable reason that the scientist, the dead scientist, had presented it as a truth serum to the obviously volatile Cobain.

Waverly spoke up, his eyes as vibrant as they ever appeared.  Something was giving him a spark of enthusiasm.

“I intend to suggest to the research people that they further extrapolate the components of this drug.  The initial reaction that Mr. Solo experienced sounds like something that might be helpful in the treatment of post traumatic symptoms; for agents coming in off the field who have been, shall we say, emotionally overwrought.  I expect we will have something viable within the year.”

Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks that were both surprise and approval.  Imagine a THRUSH drug being put to good use by UNCLE.

“That sounds exceptional, Mr. Waverly.  I’m ..uh... well, I’m glad I could contribute to the cause of science.”  A wry smile on the man’s face went unnoticed by his superior, but not by his partner.

“That is all very fine, Mr. Solo.  Now, I suggest you write your report and have it to me by this afternoon.  That is all.”  And with that they were waived out of the office and into the next task.

Walking away from the Old Man’s den, Napoleon was still shaking his head at the turn of events.

“Illya, what would they do with a drug that can make you feel so good that you forget that you’re in trouble?  Will it really help agents who have failed to cope emotionally?”  Illya thought for a moment, his scientific side calculating the possibilities.

“I think that it can have a great benefit, to many people.  It might even eventually be released into the medical community as an aid for people fighting depression or, any number of emotional setbacks.  The removal of the steroid component will eliminate that unpleasant after effect you experienced.  One never knows where science and research will take us.”

Napoleon nodded his head, still unsure but trusting that if Illya considered it plausible then he should as well.  The two headed back towards their office, but not without the blond detouring to the nearest food supply, and Solo to the pretty redhead in Translation.

Both of these were also effective at elevating a man’s emotional sense of well-being, and for these men it was drug free rehabilitation of the sensory kind.

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

The wonders of serendipity. It's a pity that poor scientist got himself involved with the bad guys. He'll never know the positive applications of his discovery. Excellent story.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I found this story and see now that I never responded to the comments. I'm a few years late, but thanks for commenting.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

What good and original use Thrush's beloved serums - (sera?) Well told, too. And a nice ending.

The scientist should have given Cobain the serum. Some Thrushies do seem to want to 'make a career of one interrogation', but Cobain was undoubtedly too proactive.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Sorry for taking so long to respond, but thanks for commenting ;)

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

I think I want some of what Napoleon was having. LOL. I love the idea of the snowflakes being projected on the ceiling. I'd love something like that in my bedroom...I know they have things that do that with stars...

Very intriguing and well written little story my friend.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Snowflakes on the ceiling... zzzzzz... thanks. I'm only a couple of years late saying that ;)

[avirra.livejournal.com]

I could actually see what was given to Napoleon working, but they would have needed someone that sounded like a person Napoleon would trust - say Illya or Mister Waverly. It was the unknown voice that jarred him out of the altered state, after all.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Yes, all of the components need to be there. Thanks for commenting, I know it's been a while but thanks :D

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

THRUSH developed something good for mankind for once. Too bad the scientist was killed.

Just between you and me Glenna, where can I get my hands on some of that stuff?

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I'm late getting to this it seems. I don't know about where to get the drugs, but they're probably circulating somewhere ;)