Napoleon Solo stopped to look at an advertising poster in a store window. Who were they kidding?
"No one has more fun than I do."
Meanwhile, Illya Kuryakin stood before a similar display in the Woolworth's store; he had tailed a THRUSH courier to this location and was waiting while the woman looked at the selection of hair color.
The Russian puzzled over the advertising slogan in front of the woman:
Blondes have more fun.
Illya snorted at the sentiment. Then again, perhaps he could use it to his advantage. He approached the woman, spoke softly…
"I do, you know."
"Illya, what's the matter? You're trembling."
"Nothing. Really. Go back to sleep."
Illya placed his hand over hers. The comfort of their lovemaking hadn't dispeled the ghostly nightmares.
"Perhaps you should see a therapist about these memories that cause you so much distress. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
The Russian knew that an eternity of sessions with a psychiatrist couldn't change what his life had been, or take away the memory of death and loss.
"I'll consider it, my love. Now, let's go to sleep or, better yet…"
He could pretend that she took away his pain.
Falling Leaves and Russians
"Would you look at the color in those trees!"
Napoleon Solo was standing in the doorway of a large house as he scanned the scene, but not with an eye for its beauty. There was a sniper in the woods, and UNCLE was charged with keeping the owner of the house safe.
"Did you notice a very dark shadow among the yellows and reds?"
Napoleon nodded, his astute observational skills had found their man, as had his partner.
"Yes, do you have him?"
Illya examined the limb he occupied and leaped soundlessly from his perch, landing squarely atop the would-be assassin.
"What exactly are you expecting to find here, Napoleon?"
The two UNCLE agents were foraging through a file cabinet that spanned a six foot wall. The senior agent, Napoleon Solo, had been secretive about its contents.
"I told you, the information is Need To Know, and right now…'
Illya rolled his eyes, he knew the rest.
"Fine. But when I find this mysterious information that I don't need to know, how shall I recognize it?"
Napoleon stopped. He hadn't considered the obvious glitch in his plan. The slump in his posture signaled impending disclosures to the waiting Russian.
Sometimes (Concret Overcoat Affair)
The blond was furious over the turn of events that had landed him on this remote island.
And the girl.
From the beginning she had been victimized by this entire affair, and now her life was at risk.
That crazy Thrush assassin would gladly kill Pia for the sake of her revenge on the man in charge of this installation.
And what about his feelings?
Why was he drawn to this girl, the one Solo had lured into helping him back in Italy?
She had told him that he, Illya Kuryakin, was a nice man.
Well, sometimes he was.
I saw him in the golden hues of sunset, all shadows and highlights, eyes like glinting blue diamonds in the fading light.
He was beautiful.
I didn't know his name or why he was there, shirtless and shining among so many forgettable faces.
He wasn't a journeyman or laborer, and yet he was there among them, at the end of a day filled with the back-breaking work reflected in the fields beyond.
He caught me staring at him, and the expression that held me in thrall teased at a smile on those full lips.
And I wondered...
"Are we almost there?"
The streets were so crowded with cars that Napoleon didn't have any real confidence of getting anywhere, let alone the destination his partner referred to.
"Look Illya, I'm stuck here. Traffic isn't moving and..."
As he spoke, Napoleon turned his head to look at his partner, sort of make his point. He needn't have bothered. The Russian opened his door, got out of the car and started walking.
"Hey! Hey, where are you going? Illya!"
The Russian just kept on walking, intent on the mission that had brought him out in this mess to begin with.
Balance of Power
Illya Kuryakin likes to sit in the dark sometimes, a little soft jazz in the background, a cup of hot tea for sipping.
It isn't melancholia, or depression.
It's just that, after a man has saved the world more than once, a little solitude is good for the soul, to put things in balance.
Napoleon Solo likes to go out dancing with beautiful women.
He isn't shallow, he certainly doesn't take himself too seriously.
It's just that, after a man has saved the world more than once, a crowded room is good for his soul, to put things in balance.
"Are you absolutely certain that this is going to work?"
Napoleon hoped for an answer, but Illya was doggedly pursuing the object of their hunt and neither of them could say how it would turn out.
"You know as well as I that these things are often merely a matter of chance rather than skill. One turn, one advantage… I wish I had more to offer you, my friend."
Just then the men heard the awful snap and sensed, perhaps because of their years of experience, the end of another life.
At least Napoleon's apartment was again free of mice.
Annoying (A double drabble)
"I told you I'm… achhh… fine."
"Yeah, that sounds just great, Illya. Where are you hit?"
Silence and then the sound of something hitting the floor.
"Illya? Damn stubborn Russian…"
"I am still here, Napoleon."
"What was that noise?"
Another thump caused both men to aim their weapons towards the sound.
"I thought you darted that last Thrush. I wasn't counting on reinforcements."
"Nor I, Napoleon. They sometimes fail to cooperate with us, something that is quite annoying."
Another thump and the UNCLE agents decided it wasn't a person after all. Something else was making that noise, and down here in this tunnel the sound was simply amplified. They continued to make their way towards a glimmer of light, and what they hoped was the way out of the satrapy they had infiltrated earlier. It just hadn't been quite the success either of them had planned.
"What? Oh. Bleeding much?"
Illya shook his head in the darkness, something that caused him to suddenly feel dizzy.
"Not bleeding, just…"
Napoleon caught Illya just as the blond started to slump, supporting him as he half dragged the smaller man to the end of the tunnel.
"Annoying as hell."