Halloween Challenge - epilogue
Upon serious reflection (and some letup with my work load), I've decided to add a little bit to my Halloween offering, "The Did It Really Happen Affair."
To read that part, here's the link: http://mfu-scrapbook.livejournal.com/726152.html
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
These last few weeks had been...difficult A month to the very day since Toune had confessed to sending his partner-and friend back in time. The words still sounded ridiculous, but… Sadly, from the lack of news Napoleon finally had to admit that the device had failed…and that Illya was dead.
He hoped it had been a relatively painless and quick death.
With a sigh, he shook off his depression. They’d both come to grips with the reality of one or the other dying in the field-theirs was not a safe occupation. And while he was loath to admit it, he’d always carried a small germ of hope that both of them would have survived the field and gone on to something else together…or that they would die together-the key point being that they would somehow be together.
With a snort worthy of his partner, he smiled. Together indeed! What arrogance.
Glancing around the office, his eye rested momentarily on the clock. Seven already… time to go home. Efficiently locking up the unfinished reports in his desk, Napoleon stood up and stretched before reaching for his ‘in’ box. Rifling through he quickly sorted the papers, initialing a few before placing them in the ‘out’ box. Clipping notes to a couple more, he put them back for further study.
Then he saw the memo from Lisa. Tearing it open, he closed his eyes for moment; it was the order to clear out Illya’s apartment by November 30th to make it available for a new transfer. Not really unexpected… but still a shock.
Okay then… Take out from Ponte’s.
He scrawled out a request for a couple of personal days before calling down to stores requesting packing boxes…
It was freezing outside. Thick drops of icy rain pelted down, the sporadic winds driving off the few leaves that still hung tenaciously on the trees and shrubs. The calendar still said autumn, but in his heart, the cold, barren winter was upon him in full force.
Pulling up to the old building, Napoleon quickly unloaded his car and awkwardly hauled the boxes and food inside the surprisingly wide lobby. As the old-fashioned elevator crept slowly up the floors, memories of the many visits flooded his mind.
The apartment was cold! Oh… Illya never turns on-turned on the heat before November. Quickly dialing up the thermostat, he looked around. Overflowing stacks of books filled the shelves of the two bookcases. Should he sort through…? No… He’d just pack them all and go through them later. Maybe donate some of them…
The personal touches-a few nicely framed prints, the Russian tea set. As he wrapped the delicate-looking dishes and glassware, his eye fell on an oblong gift box tucked away in the back. Curious, he opened it-Scotch!
He blinked rapidly… No doubt for his birthday. Giving himself a mental shake, he opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. Smooth…
As was the next glass…
And the next…
Finally, exhausted both physically and emotionally, Napoleon peered blearily into the small bedroom. I’m a little drunk, he thought through a fogged mind. Prob’ly should have done this room first…
Illya’s bed was neatly made, tight military corners at odds with the soft, pale green chenille bedspread. Suddenly too tired to move, he sank down on the inviting bed. Lying down, he could imagine Illya’s faint scent on the down pillows.
Smiling faintly he pulled back the spread revealing clean, white sheets. Stripping down to boxers, he slipped under the covers, turned out the small bedside lamp and went to sleep, more at peace with himself than he’d been in weeks…
A sudden click woke him! The small alarm clock on the bedside table had a luminous dial-4:00 a.m. What caused that sound? Another almost soundless scrape-someone was entering the apartment rather carefully. Slipping his hand slowly and silently under the pillow, he brought out his Special and waited.
There, another scrape…this time from the kitchen!
Carefully easing out of the bed, he crept out silently to the kitchen and standing slightly to one side of the doorway, snapped on the lights.
“Napoleon…?”
“Illya…?”
Silence for a few heartbeats as both men drank in the sight of each other. Napoleon broke the silence as he reached out and gathered Illya into a tight hug. Suddenly embarrassed, he released his friend. “Uh…I thought you were…gone.”
Illya smirked.
“Okay, spill, what happened?” Napoleon demanded.
“You…don’t know…?” Illya’s response was slow and somewhat surprised. Catching himself, he asked, “Um, what exactly were you told?”
Solo frowned. “Only that you were taken somewhere between here and headquarters. Thrush bragged about their coup at first… But then, there was nothing. Thrush was suddenly close mouthed about anything to do with you-none of our sources were talking.”
“And so you decided to empty my apartment?”
Napoleon shrugged.
A sudden chill crept down his back causing him to shudder. Without looking at his partner, Illya managed to ask in a very calm and casual tone, “So, I take it that you’ve never heard of Toune?”
Perplexed at the change of subject, Napoleon shook his head. “You keep telling me I'm tone deaf-what tune?”
Quirking his lips into a half-smile, Illya merely shook his head. “Another time…” Looking pointedly at the bottle of opened Scotch, he quirked a questioning eyebrow at his partner.
“What…?” Napoleon tried for an innocent look. Failing that, he grinned. “Thank you?”
Trying to maintain a stern expression, Illya finally gave up-really, Napoleon’s expressions were too funny.
Reaching past his partner, he brought out another glass and, grabbing the bottle, moved back into the living room. As they sat companionably on the battered couch, he hesitated briefly-waiting for something…
It was strange how often he’d experiences waves of Déjà vu over the last dozen plus years. Images superimposed upon similar, almost identical images. The sense of starting out on his left foot and stumbling until he used his right…
He sighed inwardly. Everything had seemed so carefully… orchestrated in his life. Almost as if he’d been given a glimpse of the master blueprint for the path he needed to be precise and follow.
Until that odd letter last month… Someone who’d known his cryptic codes, style of writing had sent a mysterious note. Feeling that familiar sense of ‘I had better follow this’ he left without a word until he found himself infiltrating a relatively minor Thrush Satrap near Detroit.
The startling sense of seeing himself as a prisoner caused him to stumble and almost get caught! He’d regrouped and snuck down to the lab where he made sure everything would be destroyed-especially a strangely familiar Thrush scientist with an unfortunate resemblance to the Leporidae family.
The destruction had been complete… and the weird sense of having ‘done it all before’ finally vanished!
A touch on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Raising an eyebrow he merely asked, “What?”
“Just wondering where you were just now? You seemed so far away.”
A sudden blinding smile. “Nonsense, Napoleon. I'm home.”
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
To read that part, here's the link: http://mfu-scrapbook.livejournal.com/726152.html
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
These last few weeks had been...difficult A month to the very day since Toune had confessed to sending his partner-and friend back in time. The words still sounded ridiculous, but… Sadly, from the lack of news Napoleon finally had to admit that the device had failed…and that Illya was dead.
He hoped it had been a relatively painless and quick death.
With a sigh, he shook off his depression. They’d both come to grips with the reality of one or the other dying in the field-theirs was not a safe occupation. And while he was loath to admit it, he’d always carried a small germ of hope that both of them would have survived the field and gone on to something else together…or that they would die together-the key point being that they would somehow be together.
With a snort worthy of his partner, he smiled. Together indeed! What arrogance.
Glancing around the office, his eye rested momentarily on the clock. Seven already… time to go home. Efficiently locking up the unfinished reports in his desk, Napoleon stood up and stretched before reaching for his ‘in’ box. Rifling through he quickly sorted the papers, initialing a few before placing them in the ‘out’ box. Clipping notes to a couple more, he put them back for further study.
Then he saw the memo from Lisa. Tearing it open, he closed his eyes for moment; it was the order to clear out Illya’s apartment by November 30th to make it available for a new transfer. Not really unexpected… but still a shock.
Okay then… Take out from Ponte’s.
He scrawled out a request for a couple of personal days before calling down to stores requesting packing boxes…
It was freezing outside. Thick drops of icy rain pelted down, the sporadic winds driving off the few leaves that still hung tenaciously on the trees and shrubs. The calendar still said autumn, but in his heart, the cold, barren winter was upon him in full force.
Pulling up to the old building, Napoleon quickly unloaded his car and awkwardly hauled the boxes and food inside the surprisingly wide lobby. As the old-fashioned elevator crept slowly up the floors, memories of the many visits flooded his mind.
The apartment was cold! Oh… Illya never turns on-turned on the heat before November. Quickly dialing up the thermostat, he looked around. Overflowing stacks of books filled the shelves of the two bookcases. Should he sort through…? No… He’d just pack them all and go through them later. Maybe donate some of them…
The personal touches-a few nicely framed prints, the Russian tea set. As he wrapped the delicate-looking dishes and glassware, his eye fell on an oblong gift box tucked away in the back. Curious, he opened it-Scotch!
He blinked rapidly… No doubt for his birthday. Giving himself a mental shake, he opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. Smooth…
As was the next glass…
And the next…
Finally, exhausted both physically and emotionally, Napoleon peered blearily into the small bedroom. I’m a little drunk, he thought through a fogged mind. Prob’ly should have done this room first…
Illya’s bed was neatly made, tight military corners at odds with the soft, pale green chenille bedspread. Suddenly too tired to move, he sank down on the inviting bed. Lying down, he could imagine Illya’s faint scent on the down pillows.
Smiling faintly he pulled back the spread revealing clean, white sheets. Stripping down to boxers, he slipped under the covers, turned out the small bedside lamp and went to sleep, more at peace with himself than he’d been in weeks…
A sudden click woke him! The small alarm clock on the bedside table had a luminous dial-4:00 a.m. What caused that sound? Another almost soundless scrape-someone was entering the apartment rather carefully. Slipping his hand slowly and silently under the pillow, he brought out his Special and waited.
There, another scrape…this time from the kitchen!
Carefully easing out of the bed, he crept out silently to the kitchen and standing slightly to one side of the doorway, snapped on the lights.
“Napoleon…?”
“Illya…?”
Silence for a few heartbeats as both men drank in the sight of each other. Napoleon broke the silence as he reached out and gathered Illya into a tight hug. Suddenly embarrassed, he released his friend. “Uh…I thought you were…gone.”
Illya smirked.
“Okay, spill, what happened?” Napoleon demanded.
“You…don’t know…?” Illya’s response was slow and somewhat surprised. Catching himself, he asked, “Um, what exactly were you told?”
Solo frowned. “Only that you were taken somewhere between here and headquarters. Thrush bragged about their coup at first… But then, there was nothing. Thrush was suddenly close mouthed about anything to do with you-none of our sources were talking.”
“And so you decided to empty my apartment?”
Napoleon shrugged.
A sudden chill crept down his back causing him to shudder. Without looking at his partner, Illya managed to ask in a very calm and casual tone, “So, I take it that you’ve never heard of Toune?”
Perplexed at the change of subject, Napoleon shook his head. “You keep telling me I'm tone deaf-what tune?”
Quirking his lips into a half-smile, Illya merely shook his head. “Another time…” Looking pointedly at the bottle of opened Scotch, he quirked a questioning eyebrow at his partner.
“What…?” Napoleon tried for an innocent look. Failing that, he grinned. “Thank you?”
Trying to maintain a stern expression, Illya finally gave up-really, Napoleon’s expressions were too funny.
Reaching past his partner, he brought out another glass and, grabbing the bottle, moved back into the living room. As they sat companionably on the battered couch, he hesitated briefly-waiting for something…
It was strange how often he’d experiences waves of Déjà vu over the last dozen plus years. Images superimposed upon similar, almost identical images. The sense of starting out on his left foot and stumbling until he used his right…
He sighed inwardly. Everything had seemed so carefully… orchestrated in his life. Almost as if he’d been given a glimpse of the master blueprint for the path he needed to be precise and follow.
Until that odd letter last month… Someone who’d known his cryptic codes, style of writing had sent a mysterious note. Feeling that familiar sense of ‘I had better follow this’ he left without a word until he found himself infiltrating a relatively minor Thrush Satrap near Detroit.
The startling sense of seeing himself as a prisoner caused him to stumble and almost get caught! He’d regrouped and snuck down to the lab where he made sure everything would be destroyed-especially a strangely familiar Thrush scientist with an unfortunate resemblance to the Leporidae family.
The destruction had been complete… and the weird sense of having ‘done it all before’ finally vanished!
A touch on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Raising an eyebrow he merely asked, “What?”
“Just wondering where you were just now? You seemed so far away.”
A sudden blinding smile. “Nonsense, Napoleon. I'm home.”
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!