Dashing Through the Snow
Title: Dashing Through the Snow
Genre: Man from UNCLE
Rating: G
Prompt: Dashing Through the Snow (MFUWSS December Challenge)
My thanks to nursesparky for her last-minute beta! akane42me, you've only yourself to blame.
Illya Kuryakin flopped back upon the mattress and began counting ceiling tiles again. “If you weren’t trapped here, what would you be doing tonight?
“We’re not trapped. This isn’t exactly a THRUSH cell.” Napoleon glanced away from the TV. He’d been watched the local news on it.
“Nor is it a suite at the Savoy.”
“I don’t know. It has comfortable beds, the facilities are better than a lot of inns where I’ve stayed and the food is good. It’s also warm and dry. In short, it’s fairly pleasant.”
“There is still the matter of the door that won’t open.” Illya sat up and gestured to the door.
“UNCLE has to be sure whatever we were exposed to isn’t contagious. Quarantining us is standard protocol.”
“I know, but, still, it’s New Year’s Eve. What would you be doing if you weren’t here?”
“Dining and dancing until the clock strikes midnight, then sharing as many kisses as I can get for luck, but you know that. What would you be doing?”
“Probably sitting at home reading and having something to toast in the New Year.”
Napoleon looked pointedly at the stack of books on Illya’s bedside table and the half-empty glass of vodka. “So, exactly you’d be doing what you are doing now?”
“But I could leave anytime I wanted. Not like here.”
“You must have been a barrel of laughs on that submarine.”
Illya made a face. “I knew it was a mistake telling you about that.” He got up and started pacing the room. “I’m just restless.”
“What did you used to do back in the USSR? Winters must have kept you in.”
Illya grinned at the memory. “I remember it was sixteen below zero and I was in the Red Square having ice cream.”
“In the winter?”
“It never melts then. Russians eat an enormous amount of ice cream, something like three kilograms per person, almost all of it in the winter.” Illya paused and then pointed at Napoleon. “I do remember a time when I was delighted to be stuck inside.”
That was enough for his partner. He shut off the TV and patted the bed beside him. “Do tell.”
Illya sat. “It was Novosibirsk.”
“Is that in Siberia?”
“Close enough or, as we would say, spitting range. We were staging war games and it was brutally cold out. Your clothes literally froze upon you.”
“And?”
“Somehow, I’d managed to pull a communication assignment. While my comrades were outside in freezing weather and blowing snow, I was inside my little tent by a fire. In the middle of it, a huge storm blew in and the only thing working was the telegraph.”
“You know Morse Code?”
“We all did back then. So, there are my friends freezing in the storm and I’m sipping hot coffee while I am dotting and dashing through the snow.” Illya stopped and gave Napoleon a toothy grin. “Get it? Dashing through…”
Napoleon stared at him, deadpan, then got up and walked to the door. He knocked upon it and a muffled voice answered, “Yes?”
“Mr. Hamilton, is there any word from the labs yet?”
“I hear they are very close. Why? Is there something wrong?”
“Yes, it’s Illya.”
“Is he developing symptoms?”
“No, he’s developing a sense of humor or trying to. I’m not being paid enough for this.”
Illya grinned again as he moved back to his bed and took a swig of vodka. “What?” Somehow, being quarantined wasn’t too bad as long as you had adequate victims… company.
Genre: Man from UNCLE
Rating: G
Prompt: Dashing Through the Snow (MFUWSS December Challenge)
My thanks to nursesparky for her last-minute beta! akane42me, you've only yourself to blame.
Illya Kuryakin flopped back upon the mattress and began counting ceiling tiles again. “If you weren’t trapped here, what would you be doing tonight?
“We’re not trapped. This isn’t exactly a THRUSH cell.” Napoleon glanced away from the TV. He’d been watched the local news on it.
“Nor is it a suite at the Savoy.”
“I don’t know. It has comfortable beds, the facilities are better than a lot of inns where I’ve stayed and the food is good. It’s also warm and dry. In short, it’s fairly pleasant.”
“There is still the matter of the door that won’t open.” Illya sat up and gestured to the door.
“UNCLE has to be sure whatever we were exposed to isn’t contagious. Quarantining us is standard protocol.”
“I know, but, still, it’s New Year’s Eve. What would you be doing if you weren’t here?”
“Dining and dancing until the clock strikes midnight, then sharing as many kisses as I can get for luck, but you know that. What would you be doing?”
“Probably sitting at home reading and having something to toast in the New Year.”
Napoleon looked pointedly at the stack of books on Illya’s bedside table and the half-empty glass of vodka. “So, exactly you’d be doing what you are doing now?”
“But I could leave anytime I wanted. Not like here.”
“You must have been a barrel of laughs on that submarine.”
Illya made a face. “I knew it was a mistake telling you about that.” He got up and started pacing the room. “I’m just restless.”
“What did you used to do back in the USSR? Winters must have kept you in.”
Illya grinned at the memory. “I remember it was sixteen below zero and I was in the Red Square having ice cream.”
“In the winter?”
“It never melts then. Russians eat an enormous amount of ice cream, something like three kilograms per person, almost all of it in the winter.” Illya paused and then pointed at Napoleon. “I do remember a time when I was delighted to be stuck inside.”
That was enough for his partner. He shut off the TV and patted the bed beside him. “Do tell.”
Illya sat. “It was Novosibirsk.”
“Is that in Siberia?”
“Close enough or, as we would say, spitting range. We were staging war games and it was brutally cold out. Your clothes literally froze upon you.”
“And?”
“Somehow, I’d managed to pull a communication assignment. While my comrades were outside in freezing weather and blowing snow, I was inside my little tent by a fire. In the middle of it, a huge storm blew in and the only thing working was the telegraph.”
“You know Morse Code?”
“We all did back then. So, there are my friends freezing in the storm and I’m sipping hot coffee while I am dotting and dashing through the snow.” Illya stopped and gave Napoleon a toothy grin. “Get it? Dashing through…”
Napoleon stared at him, deadpan, then got up and walked to the door. He knocked upon it and a muffled voice answered, “Yes?”
“Mr. Hamilton, is there any word from the labs yet?”
“I hear they are very close. Why? Is there something wrong?”
“Yes, it’s Illya.”
“Is he developing symptoms?”
“No, he’s developing a sense of humor or trying to. I’m not being paid enough for this.”
Illya grinned again as he moved back to his bed and took a swig of vodka. “What?” Somehow, being quarantined wasn’t too bad as long as you had adequate victims… company.