January challenge: Single Blanket
Write a fan fic with the theme of the following:
Two (or more) characters are trapped overnight in a single-room cabin in the middle of a blizzard. There is but one blanket.
brought to you by the lj community : Single_blanket
Posting by Jan. 31.
Paula C.
lj>
THE BLIZZARD AND THE BLANKET
The raging blizzard had gone on for hours and that, coupled with their injuries and lack of food lowered their resources. Even so, their escape was almost ‘routine’ through their usual careful planning, opportunity, skills and a bit of luck. The severe weather made the guards careless in their desire to keep warm. Harsh conditions delayed the next shift and as the guards grew tired they became impatient and… careless waiting for their replacements.
Kuryakin made his move. The garrote he’d fashioned allowed him to overpower the lone guard one-handed. That guard had foolishly assumed his prisoner would be helpless because of a broken (or badly sprained) wrist. Instead, he’d made his final and fatal mistake by stupidly turning his back on the deadly agent
Once out of the cell, the second guard was duly dispatched, his keys confiscated, and warm gear snatched on the way out. A convenient scarf was quickly doubled lengthwise and used to wrap Illya’s wrist.
The Chevelle didn’t have chains, but, by the looks of it, the trunk had some weight in it. This should help with the traction in the snow. The discovery of the standard transmission and a full tank of gas made Illya brighten a little. It even had power steering, which was fortunate since Napoleon couldn’t drive. A possible concussion, drugs, or most likely, a combination of both left him dizzy. Bouts of vertigo made his balance uncertain at best.
The drive was treacherous! Snow was coming down fast enough to cover their tracks hiding their escape, but it made any kind of speed impossible. The tight turns of the slick and winding mountain road coupled with poor visibility made a slow and tension-filled ride. Both agents peered through the windshield intently, trying to see past the snow and stay on the road.
“Look out! There’s something in the road. This side!” called Napoleon urgently when a brief shift of wind created a brief clearing through the snow- just enough to reveal the broken boulder.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the car fishtailed wildly. Desperately steering into the direction of the icy skid trying to regain control of the skid, Illya clenched his teeth against the pains shooting up his left arm. Despite his efforts, the car continued heading for the edge of the steep incline.
“Brace yourself!” gritted Illya as in a last reckless attempt, he reversed his tactics and turned the wheel sharply against the skid praying it would work.
They went over. For a long moment Kuryakin actually thought they’d make it. Unfortunately, they did not. At the last moment, the car perversely spun back away from the relative safety of the narrow road- the ice too slick- their momentum too great.
For an instant, they were airborne…
*****
Shaking his head to clear it, Illya cautiously released his hands from the steering wheel. It had been a near thing, but the mountain wasn’t finished with them yet. The car shifted sideways a few inches before settling once more. Napoleon groaned and started to unbuckle his seatbelt when the car gave another sickening lurch. Both agents held their breath for a moment. Almost imperceptibly they could feel the car begin to slide. In one accord, they flung open their doors and jumped out of the car, rolling as they landed. Before they’d stopped, the car gave another lurch, shuddered, and then crashed to the rocks below.
It was a long way down.
Without a word, the agents struggled back up onto the road. Bowed against the wind, they surveyed their surroundings.
“That should throw them off at least.” shouted Napoleon trying to be heard over the wind.
Nodding, Illya asked, “Which way?” Looking around he could just make out dark shapes, perhaps trees. “We’re going to need shelter soon.”
Napoleon gestured vaguely uphill.
*****
They trudged for well over an hour getting wetter with every slow step. The deep snow made the walking extremely difficult. Not really solid enough to bear a man’s weight, the tired agents had to raise each leg high in a type of ‘march’ depleting their resources even more. Napoleon kept stumbling as he fought the waves of dizziness which flared up intermittently. At least some of the trees were close enough that he could use them for balance.
Illya stopped suddenly, causing Napoleon to bump into him. “Wha- ?” mumbled Napoleon trying not to be sick from the sudden vertigo that overwhelmed him.
“I think I see something. Wait here.” And with that Illya hurried off into the gloom. A long ten minutes passed and Napoleon was beginning to worry when Illya finally returned.
“Let’s go. It’s an empty cabin.”
*****
A short time later Napoleon was sitting shivering on a hand-made, three-legged stool in front of a small, but cheerful fire built inside the antique woodstove. Illya had painstakingly checked the damper and gone over the stove’s parts before cautiously building the fire from the small supply of wood which had been stored there. Napoleon sent a brief prayer of thanks to the god-that-smiles-upon-spies for their good luck in finding shelter, albeit a long-deserted cabin. The storm had quieted and snow was now falling down in gentle flakes. Picturesque now, when viewed through the inside of the single tiny window.
The cabin itself was dry and comparatively warm- when compared to outside, anyway. At least it was above the freezing mark. It was pretty plain, holding only the simple things someone could use to survive. At the back of the room stood the woodstove which was just beginning to emit a little heat. Next to it was a crude wood-stand which was currently empty. The three-legged stool and tiny table were near the middle of the room on one side of the woodstove; a single, built-in bunk was on the other side. Behind the stool and table were shelves built from rough wood holding a metal box inside of which were wrapped beef bullion cubes, a box of teabags, and a jar of sugar. Stacked next to this were a few plates and cups, a large spoon, a teakettle and a pan. Another shelf held an old hammer (which Napoleon took on as a potential weapon) a can of nails, and some fat, stubby candles in metal holders. A small waterproof cylinder held matches. There was also a small storage chest which held a pillow and thick blanket.
Illya was currently foraging for some more wood in the small lean-to just outside the cabin. He’d already tightly packed the pan with a huge mound of clean snow and had it heating on the stove.
Still cold and more tired than he could remember, Napoleon found himself beginning to drift off before shaking himself awake abruptly, trying to fight the drowsiness that threatened to overwhelm him until Illya returned. Not only was he tired and sore (compliments of Thrush), but the trouble he had keeping his balance kept making him somewhat nauseous.
The door was pushed open. The cold draft sent in scattering swirls of snow just inside the door and made the single lit candle gutter and almost go out. Immediately, Napoleon held the hammer in readiness, but when he saw his partner struggle through the door with his armload of wood, he relaxed his grip and tried to stand up to help. He almost fell as another wave of dizziness hit. Dropping the wood, Illya hurried over to help Napoleon back down on the stool. When he was sure Napoleon wouldn’t fall over, he went back to the door and forced it closed, latching it with the old-fashioned bar.
“That should last us through the night if we’re careful.” observed Napoleon faintly watching Illya move the wood one-handedly onto the firewood stand.
“I couldn’t find any more, so it will have to.” said Illya dourly as he checked the fire before adding another small log. Seeing that the snow in the pan had melted, he unwrapped and added several bullion cubes. The welcome smell of the thin broth quickly began to permeate the cabin.
As the food heated, Illya looked critically at Napoleon who was still shivering. “You’d better get those wet things off.” he muttered as he shrugged out of his own coat carefully before dropping it near the doorway. Helping Napoleon out of the sopping coat, Illya quickly stretched it over the table to dry. Napoleon sat as if in a stupor. Narrowing his eyes, Illya unbuttoned Napoleon’s shirt and removed it. The undershirt was wet, so he took that off, too. Seeing as Napoleon wasn’t doing anything to help, he started to unfasten Napoleon’s trousers. With a minimum of fuss, he finally had the clothes removed and scattered about the small cabin to dry. Quickly, he helped Napoleon over to the bunk where he bundled him inside the thick blanket.
Once Napoleon was settled, he went back to the stove and prepared some tea. Pouring the now hot soup into cups, Illya took one over to Napoleon before sitting down on the small stool with his. When the tea had steeped enough, he poured cups for the two of them as well. The warm food felt wonderful. Even though it was still chilly enough to see their breath, at least Napoleon had finally stopped shaking.
Seeing that they were finished, Illya took the empty cups away and sat them on one of the shelves in the pantry. Re-tucking the blanket’s edges around the now drowsing agent, Illya walked back to the stool and began to strip off the rest of his wet clothes. Before now, he’d been too busy getting things done to feel the bone-deep cold from the wet snow, but now he’d begun to shake. He blew out the candle before sitting very close to the woodstove, Illya curled himself into a ball to try and preserve what body heat he still had while trying hard not to shiver.
Napoleon was beginning to wake up a bit. In the darkness, he could see the faint glow of the woodstove and Illya. Good old Illya. A staunch friend and good man to have at his back. He smiled a bit at that. He didn’t get to see Illya’s ‘mother hen’ side too often. It felt pretty good knowing that Illya was taking care of him. A stray thought struck him. What about Illya? Was he warm enough? And what about his wrist? Napoleon knew it had to be hurting. Maybe there was something more he could do...
Just then he really saw Illya who was sitting far too close to the woodstove in an effort to get warm... buck-naked. That woke him up.
“Illya! What are you doing?” demanded Napoleon as he began sitting up.
“Napoleon, you should rest.” countered Illya as he padded over to make sure Napoleon didn’t fall over from his dizziness. “Head still hurting?”
“Not too bad.” answered Napoleon automatically before demanding again, “But Illya, you’re-” He stopped for a moment unsure how to word it. After a moment he continued. “Illya, you’ll catch your death. At least wrap up in something!” he ordered.
Illya spoke patiently through his chattering teeth. “N-napoleon, there’s only the one b-blanket.” He moved back to sit next to the stove.
*oh* Napoleon had trouble focusing with his head injury. “Illya,” he said carefully as if having trouble forming sentences, “we can share.” He looked down at the blanket which really wasn’t very big. He spoke slowly. “We’ll just have to sit close,,, or something….” His voice trailed off.
Illya shivered some more.
“Oh come on.” Napoleon patted the side of the bed. When Illya didn’t answer, he spoke more firmly. “Illya, this is ridiculous. Come on!”
“No.” Illya’s answer was firm, his back to Napoleon as he folded his arms around himself, sitting back by the woodstove. There was silence for a moment, then the rustling of the blanket followed by a loud *thump* as Napoleon got out of the bunk somewhat clumsily. That caught Illya’s attention as he spun around using his strong legs to stand up in one graceful move. “Napoleon! What are you doing?” he demanded.
Napoleon slid down to the floor, holding on to the bed with one hand as he fought yet another wave of nausea. After a moment he recovered. By this time, Illya strode over and was helping Napoleon back up into the bed before Napoleon could speak.
“It’s no good, you know.” said Napoleon mildly. “Either we both share the blanket or neither of us uses the blanket.”
“N-napoleon...” warned Illya. (It would have been more effective if Illya’s teeth hadn’t been chattering so badly.)
Napoleon threw off the blanket.
Illya glared at Napoleon.
Napoleon glared back.
“Of all the ridiculous, insufferable...” Illya’s voice trailed off as he realized how juvenile he was acting. After all, if they could trust each other with their lives, surely they could huddle together in the same bed, even if they weren’t wearing anything. Besides, he was cold...
With a sigh, he walked over to the bunk and settled the blanket back over Napoleon. Then with a hesitant hand, he opened one side of the blanket to slide underneath next to Napoleon.
“You’re freezing!” yelped Napoleon as Illya’s icy body touched his. “What exactly were you trying to prove, ‘O King of Siberia’?”
Illya’s muttered reply was unintelligible.
They shifted around trying to get comfortable.
“There had better not be any mischief!” insisted Illya suddenly.
“I think this will be a case of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell...” speculated Napoleon gamely.
“I am NOT putting this into our report.” stated Illya firmly.
“God no...” agreed Napoleon emphatically.