Waking Up – Illya
I wonder where I am.
The infirmary. With the unpleasant side effects of a major concussion. Ouch. I wonder what hit me? Something very solid…solid like a sledgehammer is solid. On the mission we were on it wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest. In fact that's probably what it was.
As Napoleon would say, 'It's a tough job being a spion,
but somebody's got to do it.' Of course Napoleon wouldn't have said, 'spion,'.
Sometimes I wonder if I fit too well into this society. If I am becoming too… Americanised. I have nothing against Americans. My best friend is one. But I like being Russian. I like Russia. It's a shame I do not like those that are in charge there. Maybe one day they'll be deposed and I will be able to go back. One day. Though, the more I think about this the more I wonder, if tomorrow the chance came for me to go back, would I go? I'm starting to wonder. There are a great many things to tie me to New York; UNCLE, Mr Waverly, Mark, April, Napoleon…. Especially Napoleon.
Napoleon. He started out as my partner and slowly but very
surely became my friend. And now…now I wonder what I'd do without him. No doubt
if it hadn't been for him I'd currently be lying in a barn. With a headache.
I wonder where he is. I try to turn my head to see if he is in his customary chair by the bed. I regret the idea. It just slams a new wave of pain through my head.
I try to suppress a groan.
I try to respond.
'So, you're back in the land of the living, tovarish.'
I would say that is obvious and try to tell him as much. All that comes of is a random assortment of groans.
'What was that, pal?'
I try to coherently from a simpler question.
'What hit you? You'll never believe it.'
I have a feeling that I probably will.
'It was a sledgehammer.'
Typical. Being a spy: It's a tough job but somebody's got to do it.
And I'll be doing it again. Just as soon as I get some paracetamol.
Yes I know it's drabble but send me feedback anyway. I cant improved it if I don't get any feed back. Thanks as always to Thea my beta reader and stalwart comrade in a war against the non-UNCLE fans of a small high school somewhere in the vicinity of Yorkshire. England.
Feedback to: Gevaudan