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section7mfu2015-02-07 11:06 pm
jantojones.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2015-02-07 11:06 pm
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The Gazebo in the Garden - Conclusion
I'm not too happy with this final part. For some reason, the story would not come to me. I may, some time later, come back and re-write it.
........................................................................................
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Illya’s abductors had no idea that U.N.C.L.E agents were on their tail, and therefore felt there was no danger in stopping for coffee. They were so confident in fact, that both operatives, and all four guards, went into the first diner they came across. Their cars were left entirely unguarded. Not that Illya was aware of that. All he knew was that they had stopped but, having little room to manoeuvre, he couldn’t free himself. He managed only to wriggle into a position where he could kick out at whoever opened the trunk. He wasn’t comfortable, and it would do him no good in the long run, but it was a matter of pride. It was shameful to him that he’d been taken so easily in the first place.
It was lucky for Napoleon Solo and Mark Slate that the Thrushies had decided to stop. The car they had ‘borrowed’ was struggling to reach the speed Mark was trying to wring out of the tortured engine. It was by pure luck that Napoleon noticed the cars parked, side by side, at a diner. Slate drove past the diner and stopped just around the corner. Keeping low, the agents crept back to the THRUSH vehicles and each opened a trunk. Napoleon found nothing, but Mark found himself with a face full of Russian knees. Owing to Illya’s awkward position, there wasn’t much power behind the blow; just enough to break Slate’s nose. The Brit cried out as he fell back, clutching at his face.
“Illya, calm down,” Napoleon hissed. “It’s us.”
“Oh! Who did I get?”
“You got be,” Mark told him, his voice distorted by his broken nose.
He got to his feet just in time to see the THRUSH men returning to the cars. Forgetting his discomfort for a moment, he and Napoleon pulled Illya from the trunk and dragged him out of sight. Much to Kuryakin’s annoyance, Solo lifted him over his shoulder in order to get to their car more quickly. Illya knew better than to complain and it meant he was in a position to warn his colleagues when the Thrushies came into view; guns at the ready. Napoleon unceremoniously dumped Illya behind their stolen car, and he and Mark opened fire on their pursuers.
Slate, fighting off dizziness and nausea, was having difficulty focusing. He tried to aim at one of the THRUSH operatives, but could see three of him. While he struggled, Napoleon took out two of the guards, before the others found cover.
“What’s the plan?” Illya asked, as he contorted himself to get his hands in front of him.
Napoleon handed the Russian his gun.
“We’ll all get in the car, keeping down, and while you and Mark keep them busy, I’ll drive.”
“You make that sound so easy, Napoleon,” Illya replied. “I’m fettered and Mark, thanks to me, can barely see what he’s doing. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“He’s got a boint, Naboleon,”Slate agreed, hissing from the pain of moving his face. “I don’t want to hit an innocent.”
“Okay, in that case, Mark get in the back and keep down, Illya shoot at the bad guys. Even with your hands cuffed you’ll be deadly accurate. Besides, I only need you stop them from following.”
It was quite awkward, and a few gunshots were exchanged, but eventually the three men got into the car. Driving while ducking down was near impossible, but Napoleon just about managed. Illya fired sparingly; just enough to prevent the Thrushies from poking their heads up. He asked Mark for his silencer and, as he quickly fitted it to the special, he requested for Napoleon to drive past the diner. Knowing his partner’s intention, Solo slowed down to allow the Russian to shoot out the tyres on the THRUSH vehicles. He then floored the gas pedal and headed back to the safety of HQ.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
A few hours later, Mark was recovering in medical. His nose had been reset, and the bruises around his eyes were developing nicely. Knocking on the frame of the door, Illya asked if he could come in.
“Of course, Guv,” Slate replied, with a smile he immediately regretted.
“I just wanted to apologise. Had I known it was you. . .”
“Illya, stop,” Mark said as he held up a hand. “You had no way of knowing it was me, so you don’t need to apologise. This is the third time my nose has been broken, so it’s actually weaker than it should be.”
“Thank you,” Illya conceded. “I’m sure you won’t say no to a pint of beer when you’re able.”
“Does that offer extend to me?” asked Napoleon, as he entered the room.
“Of course, my friend. If it weren’t for the two of you, who knows where I would be right now. I doubt it would be anywhere comfortable. What are we doing about the mad Partridge woman?”
“What do you want to do?”
Illya thought about it. She had kidnapped him in order to bargain for her husband and niece. The woman had to be a fool not to know she would never see them again.
“Forget her,” he said eventually. “Let her continue hoping for the return of her family.”
Napoleon was surprised. “That’s remarkably kind of you.”
“Not really,” Illya stated. “Hope is cruel. It makes you think there’s a chance, when there isn’t. Allowing her to keep hoping is the worst thing I can do.”
With that, he left the room, leaving Mark and Napoleon to shrug in wonder.
The End.
........................................................................................
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Illya’s abductors had no idea that U.N.C.L.E agents were on their tail, and therefore felt there was no danger in stopping for coffee. They were so confident in fact, that both operatives, and all four guards, went into the first diner they came across. Their cars were left entirely unguarded. Not that Illya was aware of that. All he knew was that they had stopped but, having little room to manoeuvre, he couldn’t free himself. He managed only to wriggle into a position where he could kick out at whoever opened the trunk. He wasn’t comfortable, and it would do him no good in the long run, but it was a matter of pride. It was shameful to him that he’d been taken so easily in the first place.
It was lucky for Napoleon Solo and Mark Slate that the Thrushies had decided to stop. The car they had ‘borrowed’ was struggling to reach the speed Mark was trying to wring out of the tortured engine. It was by pure luck that Napoleon noticed the cars parked, side by side, at a diner. Slate drove past the diner and stopped just around the corner. Keeping low, the agents crept back to the THRUSH vehicles and each opened a trunk. Napoleon found nothing, but Mark found himself with a face full of Russian knees. Owing to Illya’s awkward position, there wasn’t much power behind the blow; just enough to break Slate’s nose. The Brit cried out as he fell back, clutching at his face.
“Illya, calm down,” Napoleon hissed. “It’s us.”
“Oh! Who did I get?”
“You got be,” Mark told him, his voice distorted by his broken nose.
He got to his feet just in time to see the THRUSH men returning to the cars. Forgetting his discomfort for a moment, he and Napoleon pulled Illya from the trunk and dragged him out of sight. Much to Kuryakin’s annoyance, Solo lifted him over his shoulder in order to get to their car more quickly. Illya knew better than to complain and it meant he was in a position to warn his colleagues when the Thrushies came into view; guns at the ready. Napoleon unceremoniously dumped Illya behind their stolen car, and he and Mark opened fire on their pursuers.
Slate, fighting off dizziness and nausea, was having difficulty focusing. He tried to aim at one of the THRUSH operatives, but could see three of him. While he struggled, Napoleon took out two of the guards, before the others found cover.
“What’s the plan?” Illya asked, as he contorted himself to get his hands in front of him.
Napoleon handed the Russian his gun.
“We’ll all get in the car, keeping down, and while you and Mark keep them busy, I’ll drive.”
“You make that sound so easy, Napoleon,” Illya replied. “I’m fettered and Mark, thanks to me, can barely see what he’s doing. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“He’s got a boint, Naboleon,”Slate agreed, hissing from the pain of moving his face. “I don’t want to hit an innocent.”
“Okay, in that case, Mark get in the back and keep down, Illya shoot at the bad guys. Even with your hands cuffed you’ll be deadly accurate. Besides, I only need you stop them from following.”
It was quite awkward, and a few gunshots were exchanged, but eventually the three men got into the car. Driving while ducking down was near impossible, but Napoleon just about managed. Illya fired sparingly; just enough to prevent the Thrushies from poking their heads up. He asked Mark for his silencer and, as he quickly fitted it to the special, he requested for Napoleon to drive past the diner. Knowing his partner’s intention, Solo slowed down to allow the Russian to shoot out the tyres on the THRUSH vehicles. He then floored the gas pedal and headed back to the safety of HQ.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
A few hours later, Mark was recovering in medical. His nose had been reset, and the bruises around his eyes were developing nicely. Knocking on the frame of the door, Illya asked if he could come in.
“Of course, Guv,” Slate replied, with a smile he immediately regretted.
“I just wanted to apologise. Had I known it was you. . .”
“Illya, stop,” Mark said as he held up a hand. “You had no way of knowing it was me, so you don’t need to apologise. This is the third time my nose has been broken, so it’s actually weaker than it should be.”
“Thank you,” Illya conceded. “I’m sure you won’t say no to a pint of beer when you’re able.”
“Does that offer extend to me?” asked Napoleon, as he entered the room.
“Of course, my friend. If it weren’t for the two of you, who knows where I would be right now. I doubt it would be anywhere comfortable. What are we doing about the mad Partridge woman?”
“What do you want to do?”
Illya thought about it. She had kidnapped him in order to bargain for her husband and niece. The woman had to be a fool not to know she would never see them again.
“Forget her,” he said eventually. “Let her continue hoping for the return of her family.”
Napoleon was surprised. “That’s remarkably kind of you.”
“Not really,” Illya stated. “Hope is cruel. It makes you think there’s a chance, when there isn’t. Allowing her to keep hoping is the worst thing I can do.”
With that, he left the room, leaving Mark and Napoleon to shrug in wonder.
The End.
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And Wednesday is Ladies First...Edith, hmmm, just saying'...
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I still like your ending but, it just seemed a little rushed, not the story itself, just that you could have savored certain moments and fleshed them out a bit.
Best advice I was ever given was from Avery...she told me to 'slow down' and not rush a story.
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mrua7 is correct. Sometimes leaving it for a time and coming back to it helps. I've gone back months after publishing and reread a section with a "What was I thinking?" feeling.
I liked the last chapter. Illya sometimes shows his cold, unyielding side with statements like the one he made about Hope and Edith. And I think it fits cannon.
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I like to, occasionally, show Illya's cold side. specially when he has been on the receiving end of a mad woman's ideas.
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Great little epilogue, and Illya pointing out Hope can be the worst curse from Pandora's box.
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Thank you for your lovely comments. All these positive words I'm getting from people are making me think that it probably isn't as bad as I'm thinking it is.
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(Anonymous) 2015-02-08 07:58 am (UTC)(link)Maybe it's just the combination of words and phrases in some places that is bothering you. Let it all go for a bit. You probably are your harshest critic! :)
Ei
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You're probably right about Edith. She'd probably say something like 'I told him he couldn't do anything without me doing it for him', then she'd have a cup of tea :-)
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