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section7mfu2014-10-28 07:22 am
Coffee Flavored Dreams for 7 Days of Halloween
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The grey corridors of UNCLE Headquarters seemed the same to Napoleon Solo; same pneumatic doors and smiling women. Something about those smiles was slightly … hmmm… He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe Illya would have noticed, or not.
Once Napoleon reached his office he was keenly aware of a disturbing sameness to nearly everyone he had passed. Either there was something wrong with the morning coffee or …
"Hey, Illya …"
Solo stopped short as his partner turned to look at him. It was the same expression as the others, completely devoid of friendship or even a sliver of his usual moodiness.
"Good morning, Napoleon. Have you been to the Canteen yet this morning? The coffee is exceptionally good, and I recommend that we both go down there immediately and procure for you some of this most excellent …' The blond stopped, much as though his script had disappeared.
"… most excellent … brew."
"Brew?"
"Yes, you know, the coffee is brewed and then you call it a brew. Very much the quaint colloquialism to which I have become attached."
Now Napoleon knew there was something wrong. If there was one thing Illya Kuryakin had never become attached to, it was American colloquialisms.
"How much of this brew have you had this morning, tovarisch?"
Illya turned to the wary agent, his smile large enough to admit a school of fish. It was creepy to see all of his teeth like that.
"Oh, not so much really. But you have not had any, and so we much get you down there and …"
Napoleon knew he was dealing with either a THRUSH plot of some sort or … aliens. He remembered that movie where the aliens drilled holes in the back of earth people's heads and …
"Arghhhh… You're not Illya anymore!"
Just like that, the familiar face of Illya Kuryakin morphed into something sinister and decidedly unfamiliar to his terrified friend. Napoleon drew his gun just as the door to his office opened, and to his horror he saw that the hallway was filled with UNCLE employees sporting the same ludicrous smile, but each with a mission to get him to the canteen and under the spout of the dreaded coffee urn.
"No! No, I won't go with you. I won't drink that coffee!"
"Napoleon, wake up."
It was the voice of Illya Kuryakin, but Napoleon dreaded seeing that expression on his friend's face. What if …?
Illya turned as April Dancer entered their boss' hospital room. Her bandaged wrist was a contrast in white to her all black ensemble, tights and hip high boots beneath a micro-mini that seemed to have earned Kuryakin's approval.
"Oh dear, is the poor darling still seeing those awful faces? THRUSH drugs should not be mixed with science fiction movies. I can't believe they were actually showing those wretched films as part of their mind-altering techniques. THRUSH really ought to be a little more creative."
Illya tried to smile without leering at the redhead in her dominatrix attire. He hadn't been a part of the mission, only the rescue when it became apparent that neither Solo nor Dancer were coming out at the pre-arranged time. Finding her in this … ummm… costume, and his partner under the influence and battling aliens in his sleep had been just another episode in the battle to stop THRUSH.
It seemed that getting April out of her clothes … and he didn't mean that in any way other than … No use. He meant it like it sounded. Anyway, Napoleon would be a day or two getting the drugs out of his system and April needed a ride home. Under normal circumstances Illya would remain with his partner, but orders were to let him sleep and not provoke the CEA, since he was obviously dreaming about everyone here at HQ judging by the occasional outburst.
Illya decided to take Miss Dancer home and help her … as much as humanly possible.
'You're getting weak, Kuryakin.'
Napoleon was battling aliens in his dreams, April was waiting and tapping her … thigh high booted foot.
"Shall we?"
"Shall we what, darling?"
The Russian blushed ever so slightly.
April decided to be kind to the pretty blond one. She'd save the coffee for the morning.
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Two particularly good quotes in this one: If there was one thing Illya Kuryakin had never become attached to, it was American colloquialisms and THRUSH drugs should not be mixed with science fiction movies. The smile wide enough to admit a school of fish is great, too.
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