SNAPSHOTS ~"Stir Crazy"

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Compared to previous accommodations where Napoleon Solo had been held prisoner, this was delux by any standards.  His cell was immaculate, painted completely white, from floor to ceiling. There was a porcelain sink and commode both white as well.

The mattress on his bed, which was bolted to the floor, was clean, soft and covered with a sheet and a surprisingly luxurious blanket, also white, with a soft pillow of the same color.

Even the clothing he now wore was white….”Shades of Robespierre,” Napoleon muttered to himself. The man was obsessive about cleanliness and white.

“White is the color of virtue!” * Robespierre once declared...but no, it couldn’t be him doing this as Solo knew the man was dead. Someone seeking revenge upon his behalf?

Napolen told himself to stop second guessing, as it would do no good without any facts.

Solo had absolutely no memory of how he’d gotten here or how long he’d been unconscious.  It had to have been more than twenty-four hours though as he was in need of a shave.

He stared at the door, solid steel painted white with no visible hinges, there was a single window in one wall, but the view to the outside world was blocked by solid glass blocks. They let in the light, but that was it.

Walking around his cell; he checked every nook and cranny as a possible means of escape, but there were none to be had.

And so he sat, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for his captors to reveal themselves.

He remembered nothing, not one iota of detail that brought him to his current situation. The last recollection he had was of walking along the sidewalk; his destination, headquarters. Every shred of memory ceased, just as he reached the steps to Del Florias and began again when he awoke...here.

“Surely Security had to have seen what happened and were searching for him?” Solo asked himself.” No doubt Illya would be spearheading the team.”  His rescue had to be inevitable...

There was a metallic thunk a the base of the door  calling him from his thoughts. It was the first sound he’d heard other than his own voice.  A a small trap door opened, through which a metal tray was passed.   Food...

He looked at it,  studying it for a few minutes, checking it for foreign objects, and finally gave it a sniff.

It was a minute steak that had been sliced into edible sized bites, mashed potatoes with gravy and peas. The glass, filled with milk was made of plastic as was his fork. There was even was a small plate of Oreo cookies.

Whoever these people were, they sure knew how to treat a prisoner...

As the days passed, he was fed three square meals a day, but never saw a soul, or heard a human voice.

Solo passed the time napping, pacing and eventually doing push-ups and sit-ups to keep himself active. His dreams went beyond that of escape, and he contented himself thinking about the many wonderful women in his life. "Ah, l'amour," he sighed wistfully.

By what he guessed was the seventh day, his clothes were pretty ripe and along with his breakfast of waffles, sausages and orange juice he received clean skivvies and pair of fresh soft white coveralls.

He took a nap after eating and cursed himself for not having woken, as his dirty clothes were gone...someone had been in his cell. The food must have been drugged for that to have happened.

Napoleon yelled, as his patience as finally wearing thin,”Okay who are you people and why are you holding me here?”

Nothing, no answer whatsoever.

By what he calculated was the fourth week, he was beginning to go a bit stir crazy, and had, out of boredom, started to recite poetry...anything to keep his mind sharp. At the moment is was Shakespeare...

“Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom." **

He lay curled up on his bed, mindlessly scratching his beard when the door to his cell finally opened and in stepped Alexander Waverly.

“Congratulations Mr. Solo, you have passed your psychological testing. It’s over, you can come out now.”

He squinted at his boss. “A test? This was all just a test?”

“Yes a test of endurance, dealing with true solitary confinement and isolation."

Napoleon rose from his bed, stretching himself.

“Rather cushy setting for a test, don’t you think?” He stepped up to Waverly.

“Yes quite, it was surmised that giving you a comfortable environment would throw you off. They wanted to see how you would react to such unusually...captivating circumstances.”

“Tell me sir, was this test given to Mr. Kuryakin?”

“No it was deemed unnecessary as he has be held prisoner under so many different circumstances and always managed to come through with flying colors.  You on the other hand have not had as many such experiences of solitude as our Russian operative.”

“Lucky me.” Napoleon frowned.

“How do you feel Mr. Solo?” Waverly asked as they exited the cell.

“Claustrophobic.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I feel like taking a walk in the park,” Napoleon smiled.

“Oh yes, now I understand. Indeed, I imagine that would be quite appropriate. Once you’ve had a consultation with Dr. Hayes you may do just that.”

“Consultation with Psych? Is that really necessary?” The senior agent asked.

“Well we do want to make sure you’re not suffering any residual effects from your confinement, or harboring any ill-will for being tested this way.”

“Trust me sir, I’m fine,” Napoleon said. “May I ask the date and time?”

It’s April the 11th and just before 5 p.m. Why do you ask?” Waverly said as they walked down the Security corridor together towards the elevator.

“I have a date with Mandy Reynolds tonight...wouldn’t want to stand her up as all my other appointments were missed these last few weeks.”

“Oh there’s no need for worry Mr. Solo, I saw to your social calendar. An interdepartmental memo was issued advising everyone you would not be available for the month..”

“Really?”

“Yes, given your proclivity for dating, I thought it advisable,” Waverly actually broke a smile. “No need to have so many ladies angry at you for standing them up, as it were.”

“No sir, not a good idea,” Napoleon agreed. “I suspect I’d need to go back to solitary confinement .”

The Old Man snickered, with a twinkle in his eye, “Yes indeed if that were the case we might have had to put you back in for your own protection."



* ref. "The Virtue Affair"
** Sonnet 116- William Shakespeare's Sonnets

Comments

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Marvellous. I love how Mr Waverly took care of his social calendar. Alhough, he was probably just making sure he didn't have a hoard of angry women in his halls, lol.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Always a step ahead Waverly is...thanks for reading and commenting!