Hit Return for Rose of Pollux
rose_of_pollux asked for a story built around this photograph. I hope it entertains you.
Napoleon was waiting for his partner to join him for a late supper. It had been a long day, and now they had just a few hours before they had to do it all over again. When Illya walked into the little diner he had a sudden sense of unease, almost like deja vu. It caught him off guard, and then...
It was like flying through a tunnel, their bodies weightless as they traveled at a speed that seemed to defy reality. In his mind's eye, Illya Kuryakin saw images he recognized as a formula that might revolutionize the field of quantum mechanics. It was there, and just as quickly it disappeared, only to be replaced by very real fear at being in such a strange environment.
Napoleon Solo had no such imagery, rather his thoughts turned to the women he had enjoyed over the years; a parade of them all beckoning him to submit to the journey and anticipate his reward.
Was the flight real?
When at last their feet were on solid ground, the two UNCLE agents found themselves in a room filled with incongruencies of reason. One wall was partially demolished, a gaping hole that revealed a giant clock protected by turrets worthy of a medieval castle. The room itself was a puzzle; two statues seemed to guard one end of it as table tops covered in fabric balanced atop nothing but air. In the middle of the room was a wide swath of …
"Blood. This is blood, Napoleon. Wherever we are, something has happened here that seems to beg our attention." Illya was drawn into the environment as though heeding some unheard beckoning.
Napoleon was looking from the clock to the leaded windows. Light was coming through the windows, muted but still light. The clock was set in the dark of night.
"Illya, how is it that through this hole in the wall I see night, but through the windows it looks like daylight on the other side?" That caused Illya to look up from his examination of the blood streak on the floor to the windows, and then towards the clock.
He started towards the opening in the wall but was thrown back into the room, landing hard on the floor beneath the levitating table top. He looked at it more closely, his mind jumping from one theory to another.
"There is nothing beneath the, um… what is this?" Distracted by the material above him, Illya was momentarily unsure of what he wanted to say.
"It's lace." Illya furrowed his brow at that.
"It doesn't look like lace. Are you quite certain?" Napoleon nodded, unsure how he knew the answer.
"Battenburg lace. It isn't what you think of as lace, but that's what it's called." Now Illya's expression was one of amazement.
"How on earth do you know this bit of textile trivia?" The two faced each other as Napoleon shook his head.
"I have no idea." He looked at the statue of the woman, and he felt as though she was speaking to him. It had to be some sort of drug doing this. Still, he answered his partner.
"She told me.' He was emphatic as he pointed towards the statue.
"She told you? You mean to say you heard her voice?" Illya was challenging Napoleon's reply, but his own senses were screaming at him to believe it.
Napoleon sat down next to the statue, ruminated over his declaration concerning the bizarre communication.
"Look, I know it sounds, well… it sounds crazy." Illya held up his hand to stop what he assumed was coming.
"No, not at all. Rather, yes, it is crazy. But I'm fairly certain that I also heard a voice telling me, explaining to me, some rather complicated theories related to quantum physics. They were quite unfamiliar to me." It was unsettling, having those insights and knowing they weren't his own.
"You got a science voice and I heard about lace… that's just great." Napoleon huffed at that, slightly miffed at the universe for its antics.
He looked out towards the clock as it hung there in the darkness. This had to be a dream of some sort, a THRUSH drug doing its best to disorient and, and …
"Chyort!" Illya climbed out from beneath the suspended lace, finally remembering what he had intended to say to Napoleon.
"This has nothing to hold it up; this being your Battenburg lace." He said that with a twinge of a smile that irritated the American.
"It isn't my Battenburg lace… Ruskie." Ha, that made him smile in return. He could play this game. Illya looked shocked, his friend had never resorted to calling him derogatory names. A rush of annoyance rose up in the blond, a sudden dislike for all things Western.
"тарабарщина"
"What? What are you saying you elf eared Russian?" Napoleon was fuming at the man he had so recently called friend. It was a lie, all of it. He hated Russians, and he hated Illya Kuryakin. He wanted to kill the little know-it-all.
"I asked you a question you little commie bastard." Illya was red-faced now, his attempt at detente had failed, and the American could never be trusted. He would settle the matter with …
"I'll give you an answer, I'll blow your head off your arrogant, womanizing … " A jolt of something stopped Illya from finishing the threat. Everything began to fall away, the room was disappearing as he regained his sense of reality. He reached out towards his friend.
"Napoleon…' there was a stream of profanity that met hearing his name. Once again Illya spoke it, his voice controlled as his eyes pled for calm.
"Napoleon Solo, you need to wake up."
He is an intuitive, he knows.
Yes, the other one, he is driven by passion. He would be difficult to tame.
And you think the other one, the intuitive, would be more easily controlled? He discovered us. No, we would be better off to find someone else.
Take them back to the beginning.
The lights flickered for a few seconds, creating a sort of strobe effect in the nearly empty diner. Napoleon and Illya both reached for their guns, then released the well worn grips as the lights returned to normal. Napoleon shook his head, causing Illya to look more closely at his partner.
"Are you all right?" The Russian had a sense of something not quite in order, but he couldn't identify it well enough to make an explanation.
"I am, are you?" Napoleon shared his friend's reaction, and a knowing expression passed between them as flashes of a strange room and a large clock surrounded by the night flooded their memories.
There was no report, nor did the two friends revisit the strange events. Perhaps it was nothing, or something too important to share openly. And so it remained a feeling without basis for investigation.
Separate them, give them lives that will never again intersect.
But how?
Let them reinvent themselves in such a way that they never find each other, never compare the memories that will eventually resurface.
Very well, they will separate… and never return.
***
***
I think this is a pretty viable explanation for The Return Movie ;) Happy Halloween!
Napoleon was waiting for his partner to join him for a late supper. It had been a long day, and now they had just a few hours before they had to do it all over again. When Illya walked into the little diner he had a sudden sense of unease, almost like deja vu. It caught him off guard, and then...
It was like flying through a tunnel, their bodies weightless as they traveled at a speed that seemed to defy reality. In his mind's eye, Illya Kuryakin saw images he recognized as a formula that might revolutionize the field of quantum mechanics. It was there, and just as quickly it disappeared, only to be replaced by very real fear at being in such a strange environment.
Napoleon Solo had no such imagery, rather his thoughts turned to the women he had enjoyed over the years; a parade of them all beckoning him to submit to the journey and anticipate his reward.
Was the flight real?
When at last their feet were on solid ground, the two UNCLE agents found themselves in a room filled with incongruencies of reason. One wall was partially demolished, a gaping hole that revealed a giant clock protected by turrets worthy of a medieval castle. The room itself was a puzzle; two statues seemed to guard one end of it as table tops covered in fabric balanced atop nothing but air. In the middle of the room was a wide swath of …
"Blood. This is blood, Napoleon. Wherever we are, something has happened here that seems to beg our attention." Illya was drawn into the environment as though heeding some unheard beckoning.
Napoleon was looking from the clock to the leaded windows. Light was coming through the windows, muted but still light. The clock was set in the dark of night.
"Illya, how is it that through this hole in the wall I see night, but through the windows it looks like daylight on the other side?" That caused Illya to look up from his examination of the blood streak on the floor to the windows, and then towards the clock.
He started towards the opening in the wall but was thrown back into the room, landing hard on the floor beneath the levitating table top. He looked at it more closely, his mind jumping from one theory to another.
"There is nothing beneath the, um… what is this?" Distracted by the material above him, Illya was momentarily unsure of what he wanted to say.
"It's lace." Illya furrowed his brow at that.
"It doesn't look like lace. Are you quite certain?" Napoleon nodded, unsure how he knew the answer.
"Battenburg lace. It isn't what you think of as lace, but that's what it's called." Now Illya's expression was one of amazement.
"How on earth do you know this bit of textile trivia?" The two faced each other as Napoleon shook his head.
"I have no idea." He looked at the statue of the woman, and he felt as though she was speaking to him. It had to be some sort of drug doing this. Still, he answered his partner.
"She told me.' He was emphatic as he pointed towards the statue.
"She told you? You mean to say you heard her voice?" Illya was challenging Napoleon's reply, but his own senses were screaming at him to believe it.
Napoleon sat down next to the statue, ruminated over his declaration concerning the bizarre communication.
"Look, I know it sounds, well… it sounds crazy." Illya held up his hand to stop what he assumed was coming.
"No, not at all. Rather, yes, it is crazy. But I'm fairly certain that I also heard a voice telling me, explaining to me, some rather complicated theories related to quantum physics. They were quite unfamiliar to me." It was unsettling, having those insights and knowing they weren't his own.
"You got a science voice and I heard about lace… that's just great." Napoleon huffed at that, slightly miffed at the universe for its antics.
He looked out towards the clock as it hung there in the darkness. This had to be a dream of some sort, a THRUSH drug doing its best to disorient and, and …
"Chyort!" Illya climbed out from beneath the suspended lace, finally remembering what he had intended to say to Napoleon.
"This has nothing to hold it up; this being your Battenburg lace." He said that with a twinge of a smile that irritated the American.
"It isn't my Battenburg lace… Ruskie." Ha, that made him smile in return. He could play this game. Illya looked shocked, his friend had never resorted to calling him derogatory names. A rush of annoyance rose up in the blond, a sudden dislike for all things Western.
"тарабарщина"
"What? What are you saying you elf eared Russian?" Napoleon was fuming at the man he had so recently called friend. It was a lie, all of it. He hated Russians, and he hated Illya Kuryakin. He wanted to kill the little know-it-all.
"I asked you a question you little commie bastard." Illya was red-faced now, his attempt at detente had failed, and the American could never be trusted. He would settle the matter with …
"I'll give you an answer, I'll blow your head off your arrogant, womanizing … " A jolt of something stopped Illya from finishing the threat. Everything began to fall away, the room was disappearing as he regained his sense of reality. He reached out towards his friend.
"Napoleon…' there was a stream of profanity that met hearing his name. Once again Illya spoke it, his voice controlled as his eyes pled for calm.
"Napoleon Solo, you need to wake up."
He is an intuitive, he knows.
Yes, the other one, he is driven by passion. He would be difficult to tame.
And you think the other one, the intuitive, would be more easily controlled? He discovered us. No, we would be better off to find someone else.
Take them back to the beginning.
The lights flickered for a few seconds, creating a sort of strobe effect in the nearly empty diner. Napoleon and Illya both reached for their guns, then released the well worn grips as the lights returned to normal. Napoleon shook his head, causing Illya to look more closely at his partner.
"Are you all right?" The Russian had a sense of something not quite in order, but he couldn't identify it well enough to make an explanation.
"I am, are you?" Napoleon shared his friend's reaction, and a knowing expression passed between them as flashes of a strange room and a large clock surrounded by the night flooded their memories.
There was no report, nor did the two friends revisit the strange events. Perhaps it was nothing, or something too important to share openly. And so it remained a feeling without basis for investigation.
Separate them, give them lives that will never again intersect.
But how?
Let them reinvent themselves in such a way that they never find each other, never compare the memories that will eventually resurface.
Very well, they will separate… and never return.
***
***
I think this is a pretty viable explanation for The Return Movie ;) Happy Halloween!