Man from U.N.C.L.E. Section VII

SNAPSHOTS ~"Blood Moon"

2014-04-14T09:11:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Special thanks to lindafishes, whose post on the lunar eclipse last night inspired this.

It was an undercover assignment that became complicated, much more than Illya Kuryakin had bargained for when he assumed the identity of a Russian drug dealer nicknamed ‘Rasputin.’

He was able to sidestep partaking the drugs that surrounded him, while he watched others using needles...injecting themselves with heroin, or snorting lines of cocaine.

Pills, pot, chemical concoctions...you name it, Rasputin dealt in it.

He sat on a bed covered in black satin sheets in a garishly decorated room that had been prepared for him by Stefano Ferrero, his new best friend. The walls were covered with crude paintings of nude women done on black velvet that seemed to glow like neon as they were hung beneath what looked like some sort of ultra-violet light fixtures.

Beside him was sprawled another gift, a scantily clad young girl sent there to fill Rasputin’s only known vice.

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SNAPSHOTS ~"Dealing with being down..."

2014-03-31T09:15:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

An empty bottle of vodka sat on the floor beneath a certain Russian’s coffee table. He was asleep on his green sofa, snoring lightly; a glass with just a little bit of drink left in it was held precariously in his hand, balanced on his stomach.

He’d been feeling very down when he’d returned to his little apartment, as an innocent life had been lost during his most recent mission. It happened at the hands of T.H.R.U.S.H. and though not his fault, Illya still felt pain at the loss of someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was beginning to happen more often, something else he found upsetting.

Though T.H.R.U.S.H. had been upping their game as of late, and in a way it was not surprising as their regard for human life was non-existent.

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SNAPSHOTS ~"Out Maneuvered"

2014-03-21T13:23:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“Napoleon, will you please stop pacing and just find something to amuse yourself,” Illya glanced up from his magazine. He was stretched out on the leather sofa in their office, his jacket draped over his desk chair and his shoes kicked off. Surprisingly, one of his socks had a hole in it and his big toe was poking through.

His partner looked at it with disdain, “Either get that sock darned or buy a new pair will you?”

“The last time I had one of the ladies from communications darn my sock, I got in trouble with the Old Man, being told succinctly that was not their job.” Illya did a perfect imitation of Alexander Waverly that made Napoleon burst out laughing.

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SNAPSHOTS~ "Timing is everything"

2014-02-20T08:39:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1…” the Russian counted out loud as he and his partner
rounded the corner, escaping the impending explosion.

Nothing happened.

They hesitated, waiting a second before peeking around the wall.

“Are you sure you set the timer right?” Solo whispered.

“Excuse me...demolitions expert here,” Kuryakin quipped.

“Yes, but you have set your timers wrong… periodically.”

“One time I make a mistake and you will not let me forget about it.”

Illya looked at his watch as three minutes had passed and still no detonation.
He swore he set the timer correctly…3 minutes exactly.

Both men froze as the cold metal of gun barrels were pressed against their cheeks; they hadn’t heard anyone come up behind them.

“Concerned about this gentlemen?” A block of C-4 was dangled in front of them by the wire Illya had attached to it. The detonator was was missing.

“Hmm, could you tell me what the timer was set for?” Illya suddenly asked.

“What?”

“The timer...how long?”

“Oh,” he pulled the device from his pocket, looking at it. “It was set for most likely 7 minutes,” he snickered, “ I stopped it at 4:16. I guess that was too long for you U.N.C.L.E. agent.”

“No, not possible. Napoleon, I swear I did not set it incorrectly. He is lying," Illya insisted with a nod of his head, a signal to his partner to move into action.

They swept aside the guns pointed at them, and came out swinging; disarming the men and taking them down with well-placed karate chops.

Illya retrieved the explosives and its accoutrements, reassembling everything within minutes.

“This is not an ideal spot to set it but it will have to do as I suspect we will have more company very soon.” This time Kuryakin reset the timer for 1 minute, double checking it before planting the device out of sight beneath a small side table standing against the wall.

The U.N.C.L.E. agents dragged the unconscious men down the hall, depositing them near an exit and quickly left the building themselves.

“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1,” Illya checked his watch, counting again as he and Napoleon hit the dirt, taking cover in a nearby ditch.

“BOOM!” A tremendous explosion filled the air, forcing the agents to cover their ears.

The building went up in a blaze of glory, sending debris in every direction; the explosion somewhat larger than expected.

“See ...nothing wrong with my timers,” Illya gloated.

“I stand corrected tovarisch. That was a pretty big boom though buddy. Did you plan that too, because if you did and we were still inside the building….well, you get my drift.”

The Russian’s face flushed pink with embarrassment. “Perhaps I did overdo it a bit with the C-4.”

“Yeah, Mister I don’t make mistakes,” Napoleon sniped as he gave his partner a hand up."Maybe you need to wear your glasses more often."

"Excuse me?"

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SNAPSHOTS~ "Grandmother's lessons"

2014-02-03T09:50:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

An appropriate story given many of us on the east coast U.S. are being snowed upon again...

The young blond child watched with unusually calm and patient blue eyes, looking out his bedroom window as he leaned his arms on the sill. Though the glass panes were of uneven thinknesss, distorting the images of the trees and the simple dirt road that passed their dacha; he could see well enough.

The skies were cloudy but not threatening, perhaps he could go outside to play today if it was not too cold; though it didn't bother him too much. His mother always worried about him catching a chill and getting sick, since there was no money for medicine...not that there was a doctor readily available. There was one in the city but that was far enough away by foot, the only way people could travel now days.

He went downstairs, being beconned to the back steps of the house by his grandmother. There was a lesson to be taught.

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SNAPSHOTS~ "To kill a mockingbird"

2014-01-27T08:30:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

The flight to London was usually tedious on board the U.N.C.L.E private jet. Plenty of time to go over details of their current assignment, eat or sleep but often it ended up being a bit boring trip. The nervous anticipation of landing and going right into action could sometimes take it’s toll as well, tiring the agents out more than necessary beyond the normal jet lag.

Card games, puzzles and other such distractions could only do so much…

Somehow Alexander Waverly decided to authorize in-flight movies, though not always the light hearted films one saw on commercial flights...no Walt Disney or Doctor Doolittle for his agents...no it was deeper movies, or film noir; ones that would elicit discussion and keep their minds active.

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SNAPSHOTS~"Shrodinger's Cat"

2014-01-24T10:16:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

It was a bright sunny day in New York city, the temperatures were at last comfortable and the humidity gone, at least for now.

Two men, a blond and a brunette walked, or perhaps more aptly, strolled along the sidewalk. Their destination, a small tailor shop only a few blocks away and given that it was finally a pleasant day, they decided to forego a taxi.

“Would that your American summers would always be like this,” the blond mumbled.

“I have to agree with you, this is more comfortable,” Napoleon Solo smiled at a pretty blonde wearing a bright yellow mini-dress as she passed them by.

“No side trips,”Illya warned,”We do have a briefing to attend to as you recall?”

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SNAPSHOTS ~ "His own kind of luck"

2014-01-17T11:05:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

It was raining...it seemed to be doing that all the time. Not a driving downpour mind you, more of a soft misting rain. One would think that would be cooling in such a tropical place, but it only added to the oppresive humidity.

Illya Kuryakin was alone. He’d lost all his U.N.C.L.E. devices and weapons, the most precious of these being his communicator.

He had no way of calling for help and hadn’t eaten in three days. His last meal had been…he couldn’t remember. What was it? Oh yes, roasted snake that he’d managed to beat to death with a stick.

He didn’t have a single peso in his pocket, not that there were many place to buy food here. It was no use begging or stealing as the area...he didn’t even know where it was, was so desperately poor that people lived in ramshakle huts, made of pieced together bits of wood and corrugated metal.

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SNAPSHOTS ~ "Life's a drag"~ PART 2

2014-01-13T12:56:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

I received quite a few amused comments about "Life's a drag" hinting at a follow-up. So here it is.

Solo and Kuryakin arrived at Del Floria and after paying the cab fare...Illya of course, as Napoleon left his ‘cash’ in his trousers back at the hotel, it fell upon the Russian to do so. At first he pulled out the money, saying "Oops," realizing it was Soviet currency. He quickly stuffed it back into his shoulder bag. At least he had the forethought to put his wallet and cash in the blue shoulder bag he’d been carrying. He handed the driver the money along with a modest tip.

As they approached the short flight of stairs leading down to the entrance to the tailor shop. Napoleon reached his arm out in front of Illya, forcing him to come to an abrupt halt.

“We can’t go into headquarters looking like this.”

“Ah, the Solo reputation is at stake again,” Illya politely but firmly moved his parther’s arm out of the way.

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SNAPSHOTS~"Life's a drag"

2014-01-12T10:33:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“You have got to be kidding!” Napoleon Solo blurted out as his partner shoved a salt and pepper wig on the American’s head.

“It will be fine,”Illya assured as he readjusted the hair piece.

“I look like great Aunt Maude,” Napoleon continued to protest.

“You do not have a Great Aunt Maude.”

“Well if I did, this is what she’d look like. I can’t do this...I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh so you have no problem dressing me up like a woman...if you recall Barcelona."

“Well the circumstances warranted it chum but this…”

“Is the only way we will get out of here alive,”Illya finished the sentence.”If it makes you feel more assured, I will be in drag as well.”

“Oh that makes me feel soooo much better.”

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SNAPSHOTS~"Learning a lesson the hard way"

2014-01-04T09:21:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Napoleon sat at his desk, somewhat bemused as he watched his partner. Illya was engaged in a conversation with himself, completely in Russian, of course. He was keeping his voice very low, shaking and nodding his head and periodically emoting a few of the words.

Solo couldn’t recall ever seeing him like this, and not being able to catch anything but a few epithets, he finally interrupted the one-sided dialogue.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Huh?”

“Illya, why are you talking and swearing to yourself like that?”

“Oh, I apologize. It slipped my mind that you were here.”

“Well, gee thanks for ignoring me, but you still didn’t answer my question.”

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Snapshots~ "Saving the day, the hard way"

2013-12-28T09:04:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Napoleon Solo was sitting alone in his office he shared with his partner when the lights suddenly went out. He was in complete darkness for a few seconds until the red emergency lighting glowed to life, allowing him to grab his telephone receiver and dial the code for Security, but before they could respond klaxons began to blare.

Solo took off though the door, finding personnel scurrying in the corridor as the lights above their heads flashed, alternating from red to green. That with the eerie glow of the emergency lighting had a chilling effect. Grabbing his communicator from his pocket while on the run, he called to his
partner.

"Channel F-Kuryakin.Where are you?"

"Bomb Napoleon! We need to evacuate now!"

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Snapshots~"On a need to know basis..."

2013-12-12T08:30:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

The helicopter flew low to the ground in the dark, allowing the two passengers dressed in black, and their faces smeared with grease paint, to hop down without it having to land.

As soon as the pair hit the ground it sped away, leaving them there alone a the top of the cliff.

They quickly set about their task, hammering stakes into the ground and just as quickly they set up their D-links harnesses and ropes. Wordlessly the lowered themselves over the edge and in no time they rappelled down the side of the cliff; coming to a stop at its base.

The ropes were abandoned, and the carbines slung over their shoulders were held at the ready.

Napoleon Solo, signalled, pointing his two fingers to his eyes...telling his companion to keep a keen watch. The other man, Mark Slate nodded.

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Snapshots~ "Something as simple as a grilled cheese sandwich and chicken soup..."

2013-12-08T09:04:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

The tea kettle whistled steadily, calling the Russian’s attention as he slapped some cheese between two slices of bread and tossed it into a frying pan to make a grilled cheese sandwich for himself.

A pot of Campbells chicken noodle soup was heating in a small pot on the next burner over on the stove.

He stopped for a moment, picking up the kettle and pouring the steeping water into a mug containing Ovaltine, and as an afterthought, he pulled a bag of mini-marshmallows from one of the kitchen cabinets, adding some to his hot beverage.

Illya lifted the mug, letting the hot vapors from it waft to his nose, allowing him to sniff it before swallowing a mouthful of his malt-chocolate treat.

He lifted the sandwich when it was ready with a spatula, slicing it in half and scooped a ladleful of the soup into his new white bowl. His crockery was courtesy of a shopping trip with Napoleon, who had insisted he get rid of his thriftshop dishes and get a matching set from Bamberger’s department store. Illya had to admit, though they were plain white, he liked them. Somehow they gave him a feeling of permanence, something he had not felt in a very long time, not since he was a child.

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Snapshots~"Lucky for once"

2013-12-02T12:46:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

It was a relief as the two U.N.C.L.E. agents slipped into their seats on board their United flight, taking them back to New York.

It had been a rough assignment that ended up in a near disaster. Both Napoleon and Illya did not come out unscathed as each had broken arms, and their faces were pretty well beaten up from their interrogation session with a T.H.R.U.S.H. megalomaniac.

The looks they received as they hobbled through the airport terminal, and check-in were almost unnerving, and Illya turned, sounding off.

“What? You have never seen a person who had been in an automobile accident before?”

That barbed comment had people quickly turning away in embarrassment.

“Nice move chum,” Napoleon whispered, “that’ll teach ‘em to stare.”

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Snapshots~"Oops."

2013-11-30T08:41:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

A knock on his door, one that Napoleon recognized instantly, made him growl under his breath. He was on the telephone enjoying a conversation with a gorgeous strawberry blonde he's met a few days ago at Penn Station.

They had drinks, flirted a lot, but an intimate little rendezvous with a bed just wasn't possible.

The telephone conversation was getting pretty steamy, bordering on phone sex, when the coded knock interrupted the mood.

"Hold on a minute Stella, there's someone at my door." He put the receiver down on the end table and rose to let his partner in.

Napoleon stared at the blond as he opened the door, noting he did not look very happy, but at the moment, the American's mind was on the woman at the other end of the telephone line.

"Illya, this really isn't a good time," he said, trying not to appear annoyed.

"Sorry, I will leave," Illya mumbled.

It was then Napoleon saw the rather large lump on his partner's head.

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Snapshots~"There's all kinds of luck"

2013-11-21T11:35:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Gunfire erupted around the two fleeing U.N.C.L.E. agents as they ran down an alleyway, attempting to escape their pursuers.

It was pointless to turn and fire back or even to stop and take a stand as there was little to no cover, the fact they were outnumbered didn’t help either.

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Snapshots ~"Circle of Life"

2013-11-14T12:17:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Thanks to Svetlanacat for posting photos of crop circles this morning and inspiring this little fic.

The rotating blades of the Bell helicopter cut the air with a thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup, as Illya Kuryakin, at the controls, kept it hovering above their target site, a field out in the middle of no where in Pennsylvania.

“There it is,” he spoke into the microphone of his headset to his partner.

Napoleon lifted his binoculars to take a closer look at the bizarre pattern etched into the wheat field below them.

“What the heck is it?”

“Your guess is as good as mine my friend. I had heard of such things when I was stationed in London, but never had the opportunity to see one.

"One what?"

"They are referred to as crop circles and have been noted during the 19th century in Europe, though there are writings much older that seem to mention them as far back as 1686. The most renowned being the "Mowing Devil" case, in which a farmer's field was said to have been visited by a devilish entity that trampled the crops down in a circle. The event was captured for posterity on a wood engraving. There has been talk for many years that these things have been made by extraterrestrials.”

Solo shrugged his shoulders, pointing to a spot far enough away from the formation so as to not disturb it.

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Snapshots~"Timing is everything"

2013-11-11T11:37:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1…” the Russian counted out loud as he and his partner rounded the corner, escaping the impending explosion.

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Snapshots~ "Caught in the middle of a revolution"

2013-11-07T11:32:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

It was raining, something that was long overdue in this arid area. Napoleon Solo hobbled along with hundreds of other refugees, most carrying their meager belongings balanced in bundles on their heads. Their care-worn faces filled with resignation, a tiredness of the conflict within their country. It was the faces of the children that tore at his heart, the ultimate innocents caught up in an adult pissing match. Life just wasn't fair.

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Snapshots~"Russians and Moonshine"

2013-11-03T07:55:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Napoleon Solo asked for a manila envelope waiting for him and Illya at the counter of a general store in the middle of nowhere. It was a simple courier pickup and one they’d been suckered into making since they were driving through the area on the way to the airport.

A man who’d stepped up beside them, picking up his own parcels, clumsily knocked everything from the counter to the floor... his mail, newspapers and their envelope included.

He gathered up his things, a bit flustered, and apologized in a very deep Southern drawl for his clumsiness and left.

When Napoleon glanced at the envelope on the counter, he realized it was the wrong one. Obviously it had been switched in the confusion...his instincts went immediately to the thought that the mix-up was deliberate.

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Snapshots~ "Luck and Mojo"

2013-09-26T08:43:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

Two familiar voices spoke in the shadows...

“Omnia causa fiunt...”

“Hey don’t throw Latin at me now. I know everything happens for a reason but we need to get out of here.”

“Yes Napoleon, and as the British say, ‘do not get your knickers in a twist.’ I will get it.”

The Russian was patiently fiddling with a piece of wire, trying to pick the lock to their current prison cell door.

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"Snapshots"~ Clothing Allowance

2013-09-22T08:51:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“Awwww, not again,” Napoleon Solo groused as he ran his index finger through a bullet hole in the shoulder of his suit jacket while he and his partner rode in the elevator of their hotel.

“Better your jacket and not you my friend,” his Russian partner quipped.

“You haven’t seen my clothing allowance for the month, I’m so over it isn’t funny. Waverly is going to have a field day with me after accounting chews his ear off.

“I have said it before; if you wore less costly clothing when in the field, your expense report would no longer be the bane of your existence.”

“Hey if I’m going to potentially leave this world chum, I’m going to do so as a well dressed man. I was taught to keep myself looking good…part of the Solo family tradition, and besides my Aunt Amy would...well she wouldn’t like it.”

“What she does not know will not hurt her,”Illya offered.

“Well I know my friend, but somehow I think she would know too. She has an amazing instinct when it comes to me.”

“Ding.” The bell rang and the elevator doors opened to their floor.

Napoleon unlocked to the door to their room, heading straight for the closet to get a change of clothing, this time he selected a charcoal grey suit. He had at least four others hanging there, just in case.

Illya stood in front of a full length mirror, simply dusting off his jacket with a clothing brush, thinking he looked just fine. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing Napoleon reflected in the mirror as he changed to a different suit, a navy blue one this time.

Shaking his head; Kuryakin felt that placing such importance on the quality of one’s clothes seemed so preposterous. A piece of equipment, a rope, explosives….now those were important….well, clothing was too, but only it needed to be appropriate for operating in the field. A suit was a suit and nothing more in the frugal Russian eyes. Granted, he had gone through his fair share of clothing, perhaps more than Napoleon, when he thought back on it.

There had been an method to his madness of wearing black most of the time, as the majority of his suits were interchangeable, all his black jackets and pants could be mixed and matched, and when needing replacement, they were not expensive. He owned a better grey suit, one that his partner had talked him into, and several sports jackets...burgundy and blue, all of which could be matched with his black pants.

Accounting was never on his back for going over his clothing allotment; though come to think of it, cars were another thing...

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Snapshots~"Tedium Vitae"

2013-09-20T08:21:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“Hi Napoleon,” the new receptionist at the agents entrance coyly greeted him as he and Illya entered headquarters. She leaned forward, giving him an eyeful as the top two buttons of her yellow blouse were open.

“Mmmm, hi Gina,” he responded, not able to resist taking a peek at her lovely cleavage. “Getting ready for our date this evening?”

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Snapshots ~ "Just another Day"

2013-09-09T07:55:00Z

Posted by: mrua7.livejournal.com

“Marriage is like a stinkin’ deck of cards” the drunk sitting at the bar slurred his words,” In the beginning all you need for a great hand is two hearts, then” he hiccuped,” all you wish for is a club and a spade.”

The blond sitting on the barstool next to him tried ignoring the the sage advice the man insisting on giving him, though it was unsolicited.

Illya Kuryakin had it at this point, as he’d been waiting for his contact for an unwarranted amount of time, nursing his drink...obviously his informant was not showing, and the evening was turning into a waste of his time.

He endured the rantings of the fellow next to him as he sank further into an advanced state of inebriation. The Russian finally swallowed the last of his vodka and turned to the man, unable to tolerate him any longer.

“Look, if that is your attitude towards marriage, then you are obviously with the wrong woman and she with you. I suggest you get a divorce, end your misery and move on.”

“Hey buddy,” the drunkard slurred,” you insulting my wife?” He leaned into Illya’s face; the stench of the man’s breath reeked of booze and the sour smell of cigarettes.

“My friend, perhaps you should go home and sleep it off.” Nudging the man back with simple a push of a finger, he decided it was actually time to leave as well.

The fellow took a swing at him, though the Russian didn’t move a muscle as the drunkard’s fist missed him by the ‘proverbial mile’ and landed the him face down on the floor of the bar. The agent stepped over the prone figure, heading out the door, and hailed for a taxi to take him home. There was no need to go to headquarters, his report, though pointless, could wait until morning.

Illya sighed, as it was just another uneventful day...

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