WORK OF AN EXPERT
By
Ashleigh Anpilova
Illya awakes to find himself in a cell. An escape proof cell.
An established relationship, old guys story.
Written: March 2007. Word count: 650.
Illya opened his eyes, groaned and then shut them again.
After a moment or two, he cautiously reopened them and looked around him, taking a not so idle note of his surroundings.
As cells went it was one of the better ones he had found himself incarcerated in over the years. In fact -
He shook his head when he realized he had been about to rate it out of ten. He was too old for this; far too old for this. Field work, or so he had believed, was a thing of the past. He had thought, indeed he had been told, that his years of saving the world, being beaten, bruised and locked up were all things of the past. Not that he had been beaten or bruised - yet. In fact apart from being locked up, he was completely unharmed. But no doubt there was still time.
One minute he and Napoleon had been enjoying a lazy, late breakfast, looking forward to their day of browsing around old book and antique shops. The next the call had come ordering them to report to U.N.C.L.E.'s Headquarters to take charge of a top priority, highly secret mission. The same top priority, highly secret mission that was responsible for his current predicament.
Thinking of his lover made him wonder just where Napoleon was, because he wasn't in the cell with Illya. Which was typical too. It seemed as though the 'Napoleon Solo charm' was still working, even though the man was in his late sixties. Even now he was probably sipping cocktails, chatting up girls young enough to be his granddaughters and - And hopefully planning how to rescue Illya. At least 'chatting up' young girls was all he did these days; in fact all he had done for more than two decades.
It just seemed to Illya more than a little unfair that he was the one who always ended up in the cell waiting to be rescued, while Napoleon always ended up outside the cell doing the rescuing. Illya was a little tired of just waiting around for his partner to play his part.
Well this time he wasn't going to. He wasn't shackled or tied up; under those circumstances escaping should be quite an easy thing for him to achieve. He had, after all, had some experience in doing so.
He might be older than he once was, but that didn't mean he was helpless. Yes, that was it, he'd escape and he'd go and find Napoleon and surprise him.
He set about a meticulous search of the cell.
He checked for weak spots; possible escape routes; anything that could be fashioned into a weapon, or indeed a tool to aid him in his escape. He went over the entire cell inch by inch, crawling over the floor, running his hands carefully over the walls, reaching up as far as he could.
Then he did it all again.
An hour and a half later, he gave up and admitted defeat. It was impossible. No one could feasibly escape from this particular cell. It was in fact escape proof. He sighed and sat down on the floor and waited - impatiently.
Fifteen minutes later he heard a noise, and the bolts were pushed back and the door swung open. There, standing in the doorway, looking as smartly dressed as if he'd just stepped from his tailor's shop, with not even a hair out of place, stood Napoleon.
"Well, partner mine," Napoleon said brightly. "It seems as if we have designed the perfect escape proof cell, doesn't it? One which even the expert can't escape from."
"Ah," said Illya, climbing to his feet. "But do not forget, Napoleon, that the expert also designed it." And with those words, he crossed the small room and swiftly closed the door. Then with a single movement he reached up, tugged Napoleon's head down and kissed him.
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