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

       “I’ve already said ‘No’ Mark, do I have to say it again? Thank you for the invitation, but I will have to decline.”

       “You can come along and have a good time, Illya. There’ll be plenty of good grub. I thought you’d enjoy a free meal and be surrounded by your friends.”

       “Not if a prerequisite is taking along a date, I cannot.”

       “I didn’t say you `ad to, Guv. You can come by yerself if you want, as long as you come.”

       “In that case Mark, thank you, I might come along.”

Mark nodded and left, exhausted and confused.

He felt like he had been running for days. It had started when the camp had awakened early in the morning to the sound of gunshots and men shouting. The barking of dogs soon followed...

ILLYUSHENKA ON AO3 or on FF.NET

“Look out!”

Napoleon ducked instinctively at Illya’s shout, and the shot whizzed over his head and smashed into the car window. He fired back and the gunman collapsed. Napoleon blanched at the sight of his partner on the road beside the car, a large sticky red stain spreading across the front of his shirt.

           “Illya!”

He knelt beside him. Illya’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was rapid.

           “Illya, Stay with me!”

Illya opened his eyes, groaned and sat up.

           “Mrs. Waverly’s homemade strawberry jam! What a waste! Do you think if I ask her nicely she’ll give me another?”

(Just to let you know, those who have been following this story, I may come back to it...tell a little more about Millie and Carrie, and what if anything came next...)

A Letter,  part 12

Napoleon, his surviving daughter Carrie and her grandparents stood watching the coffin lowering slowly into the grave. Carrie dropped a single white rose onto the lid of the coffin, tears on her cheeks. Tom and Elsie led her away to wait by the car. Illya moved in beside Napoleon, fighting memories of his own. Napoleon’s shoulders were shaking, but he was making no sound.

           “We’ll destroy THRUSH one day, my friend.” Illya said softly. “I swear we’ll make them pay for killing Millie.”

           “Millicent Rose Solo, fifteen years old, killed by THRUSH.” He raised red eyes to Illya.

           “This is not over!”

The girl's eyes widened in shock, and the Thrushie started to growl angrily. To his fury, Napoleon gave a laugh.

“If that was my daughter, she would know how to deal with you!”

The girl looked terrified, but she gave a slight nod, raised her right boot and stamped on her assailant's right ankle as hard as she could, and as his powerful grip on her loosened, she twisted and dropped to the ground. Illya felled him with a knockout punch. The gun went off. Blood spattered the toy elephant. The girl dropped to her knees.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she screamed.

It was a small room, scarcely larger than a box-room, but it was a pretty, girlie room, with pink flowered wallpaper, and bedspread to match. A pile of soft toys sprawled untidily across the bed, and a large poster of Elvis decorated the wall. Illya made to withdraw, to give Napoleon some privacy with his grief, but Napoleon grabbed his arm.

           “Please stay, Illya.”

           “How did she die?” The Russian asked softly. Napoleon picked up a small fluffy pink elephant and held it to his face. A voice behind them made them jump and whip round.

           “Daddy!”