MFU fic: Like a Drowned Rat
A few weeks ago I thought of maybe writing a Man from Uncle/Napoleonic Wars crossover and so today I got down to business and wrote out character profiles for my AU Illya and Napoleon, and wrote this short, unbeta'd exploratory piece. Ignoring the obvious grammatical and spelling mistakes, let me know what you think and whether a much longer piece will be welcomed.
Who am I? Where am I?
The world was a blinding white void that seemed to stretch on forever and he was floating in the middle of it, or what seemed like the middle of it. There was nothing within the whiteness to focus his attention, nothing to anchor him. He was just drifting randomly in a sea of contentment and pleasure, going everywhere but heading nowhere. It was peaceful. So peaceful… he closed his eyes…
…And immediately felt a jolt of pain running through his body, causing him to cry out in a voice that reminded him of holystones scrubbing on the deck. His sea had parted, his peace shattered and his whiteness disappeared, all replaced by a grainy red haze around the edges of his vision. He gasped once again and lurched forward, now feeling a familiar hand push against his shoulder and back, steadying him, comforting him. He coughed and felt something wet and acidic and vile spewing out of his mouth and onto polished decks. Well, formerly polished decks. His vision was still blurry, but he could distinguish rigging and sails, a mast, body shapes and faces and… Oh shit.
“Well, sir, I believe this makes it the third time,” said a cheerful voice at his ear. “How are you feeling?”
He groaned and wiped water from his face. “Like a drowned rat, Mr Kuryakin.”
“A drowned cat’s more like it, sir,” murmured his First Lieutenant. “Here sir, wrap this around yourself.”
He did so with a shiver and blushed as his sight finally cleared. He was sitting on the quarterdeck, drenched and smelling unpleasantly like the London sewers, with the entire ship gawping at him as if he had just sprouted an extra limb. He winced and opened his mouth to growl out an oath, only to start coughing again. Goddamn! Fists thumped at his back and Illya’s familiar voice whispered consolingly in his ear. Would the damn ship ever stop spinning?
“Come along Leon, let’s get you back into your cabin and we’ll get something strong inside you.” He felt hands underneath his armpits, lifting him up and supporting his rubbery legs as they tottered past staring officers and seamen. He rubbed at his ears. There was water in them and he barely heard Illya’s orders as they walked towards the cabin.
“Cyort,” growled Illya. “What are you lubbers staring at? Back to work with you! Jones - if you keep on making those obscene gestures it will be a dozen at the gratings. Mr Alan, please keep an eye on the mainsails, I’ll be on deck again presently, as soon as I’ve seen Captain Solo to his cabin. Matthews, get that damned cat out of here, you hear me? Redfern…”
Leon listened to his First Lieutenant give out orders and grinned dizzily. Always reliable. Always in control. That’s my Illya.
***
First Lieutenant Elijah Kuryakin closed the cabin door with a snap and frowned angrily at his captain, who was now slumped in his chair with a dazed look upon his face. He had already sent Manders, the captain’s manservant, to prepare food and now he plundered around in Leon’s seachest, looking for a change of clothing. It wasn’t difficult; Captain Leon Solo was relatively well off and could afford to have several more sets of uniforms than he really needed. He found a shirt and a pair of well-worn pants. They will have to do for now. There were a couple of towels on the cot. He grabbed them and turned back to Leon. His captain was still sitting there and staring at him with a bemused smile plastered across his face.
Elijah held out the clothes. “Strip Leon,” he ordered, “Or you’ll catch your death of cold.”
“I very much doubt that,” Leon grinned but did as he was told, stripping to his underpants and drying himself with the towel. Elijah leaned back against the bulkheads that separated this room, the captain’s sleeping quarters, from the rest of the cabin, and watched him with a critical eye. His gaze roved down his chest and sides, noting the bruises where the block had hit him, sending him tumbling over the side and into the sea.
Leon caught him looking. “What happened?”
“Redfern was careless. I stopped his grog for two days and gave him pumps duty for a week.”
“An accident?” Leon shook his head in mock despair. “You would’ve thought the Frogs had managed to smuggle a spy onboard just as the peace ended.”
“Onto this ship?” Elijah rolled his eyes. “Please, Leon. You might have a few connections but the French are not stupid. If they were to do such a thing, it would be on the Victory. I hear Nelson taking command of the Mediterranean Fleet has raised a few eyebrows.”
Leon grunted discontentedly. “You insult me, Illya. Remember whom you’re addressing.”
Elijah rolled his eyes. As if I needed reminding. “And you are seriously in need of a swimming lesson, my friend,” he shook his head despondently. “What on earth are you going to do if the boats are damaged and we need to abandon the Sirius?”
Leon stared at him somberly, his dark brown eyes unreadable behind his long brown hair. “My father knew how to swim, Illya. Shit lot of good that did him.”
Elijah closed his eyes with a sigh. “If you knew how to swim, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Leon. This is the third time I had to pull you out of the water and resuscitate you, moi droog, and I’ll hate to have to do it a forth time.”
“I wish you’ll stop quoting Russian to me,” grumbled Leon as he removed the epaulette from his sodden jacket.
“You can always make it an order, Captain Solo.”
“I could.”
“Then why don’t you, sir?”
“Because it’s no fun that way.”
Elijah grinned and Leon smiled back. They both jumped when they heard a knock on the door and Manders came in bearing large pot of what looked like stew, suet pudding, a loaf of relatively fresh bread and a bottle of Leon’s favourite wine. The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Two plates, Mr Manders?”
“Yes sir, Mr Kuryakin asked for two.”
Leon looked questioningly at his friend but made no comment as Manders set the table and poured the wine before departing with his captain’s wet clothing draped across an arm. The door snapped closed with a bang and they were left to themselves. Leon lowered himself onto his chair with a grimace.
“Two, Illya?”
Elijah shrugged and sat down on another chair. “I thought I might invite myself to dinner, Leon.” He reached across the table and took a piece of bread from Leon’s plate. “After all, rescuing you was hard work and I am rather hungry.”