Author: Avery11
Genre:Slash
Originally posted on MFUWSS as an Easter Egg for Sensine

“To be happy takes a lifetime, for one sparrow does not make Spring.”
Aristotle

Sunset

They lounged on the porch of the cliffside cottage they had built, watching the sun set over the waters of Limestone Bay. Below them on the beach, a frigatebird preened, wings outstretched, its soft red belly exposed. Tradewinds rustled the nearby palm trees, shaking loose a few fronds. Illya threw his head back, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of acacia blossoms. He felt utterly free, pleasantly sated, magnificently content.

He touched the simple silver ring adorning his left hand, the first jewelry he had worn since losing his plain gold band during the Thor Affair so many years ago. He twisted the ring this way and that, feeling its solidity, reliving the moment when Napoleon had slipped it onto his finger. Married. We are married. Legally! It was indeed a brave new world.

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
written for DtC 9 Challenge

Silent Night

Napoleon dragged his injured partner through the gathering darkness, every sense alert for sounds of pursuit -- the crunch of footsteps in the deep snow or worse, the dreaded snarl of snowmobiles closing in.

Nothing. Silence enveloped them.

Snow continued to fall, fat flakes swirling soundlessly down, covering the Vermont countryside in a thick blanket of white. Ice coated the trees; their glittering branches bent like bowstrings under the weight. Against the unforgiving whiteness, the agents' bright blue parkas stood out like beacons.

A snap!

Napoleon spun around, Walther cocked and ready, but it was only the branch of an elm tree cracking under the weight of snow and ice. It fell to the ground with a hollow thud. He sighed, and replaced his weapon in its holster.

A few yards ahead, the forest ended. From here on, it was open country in every direction, an endless succession of rolling hills and farmland. They were miles from a major city, their communicators gone, at the mercy of the elements and their THRUSH trackers.

Not the best way to spend Christmas Eve.

Author: Avery11
Genre: Slash, also explicit Het
A gift for Svetlanacat, to say thank you for all the lovely photos and gorgeous manips she's given us over the years. This story is inspired by one of her photos. The opening pic is from Lisa' s Screencaps Library.

Waiting

He is not coming.

I did not expect him to, not really. It is New Year's Eve after all, and he has his women to amuse him, dozens of them, beautiful and smart and willing. More than enough women to keep him occupied.

Still, I had hoped...

“Bartender, another vodka, if you please.”

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen

The Night Before Christmas

Christmas Eve, 1963.

   Illya poured the last drop of Stolichnaya into his glass and downed it, grimacing at the bitterness. He tossed the bottle to the floor. It rolled across the carpet, colliding with a litter of empty vodka bottles and dirty dishes. He winced at the sound.

   “Shhh...”    

Gehenna

(Part 2)

Once again, he seemed better in the morning, although his cheeks were flushed and he looked rather glassy-eyed. Napoleon seemed to possess an unnatural store of energy, practically bounding across Regents' Park, as though he couldn't wait to get to work.

“Why the hurry?” Illya called after him. “We are not due at Lilù until nine.”

“Time and tide, tovarisch. Time and tide.”

Illya fell back, his mind occupied with the residue he had discovered on the collar of Napoleon's discarded shirt that morning -- two perfect circles of dried blood. He had seen such a mark once before, as a young child wandering in the company of the Gypsies.

Strigoi.

(Published in two parts due to LJ size constraints. This is Part 1. Part 2 follows.)

Gehenna

(Part 1)

“This is ridiculous,” Illya whispered furiously as they sat in the outer offices of the House of Lilù, portfolios in hand. “We are enforcement agents, not fashion models.”

“We are whoever UNCLE says we are, tovarisch,” Napoleon whispered back. “HQ suspects that THRUSH is somehow using this fashion house as a conduit for disseminating classified information here in London. It's up to us to find out how they're doing it.”

“As male models?” Illya rolled his eyes. “Why couldn't they send us undercover as buyers? Or tailors? I would rather sew a garment than prance in it.”

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen-ish
For Sparky, who wanted a funny story based on this clever cartoon.

Another Fine Mess

      Napoleon woke.

     They were in a stone cavern, chained back to back on some sort of platform suspended over water. The chains were wrapped around them so tightly as to make any but the smallest movement impossible. Long, dark shapes lurked, half-submerged, in the water below, watching their prey with cruel fascination.

     Crocodiles, Napoleon thought to himself. Well isn't that just dandy?

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
(The story is posted in two parts due to LJ size constraints. This is Part Two.
To read Part One GO HERE)     

DEATH IN VENICE

Part Two

    Illya woke to find himself on a stone floor. His wrists were encased in thick manacles, attached by chains to spikes hammered into the wall. He had been stripped down to his boxers, and now he shivered in the chill of the room. His partner lay beside him, unconscious.  

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
             (The story is posted in two parts due to LJ size constraints. Follow the link at the end of Part One to get to Part Two.)

DEATH IN VENICE

Part One

   They stood on the quay outside Marco Polo Airport, their luggage piled about them, waiting for the water taxi that would convey them across the Venetian Lagoon to their hotel. Illya shivered, and raised the collar of his trench coat against the bitter wind blowing in off the Adriatic.

    “It never fails,” he muttered. “Every time we are in Venice, I end up with a head cold.”

    “Quit complaining, tovarisch,” Napoleon replied cheerfully. He shaded his eyes with his hand, hoping to get a better view of the stunning brunette in the chartreuse minidress, just now climbing out of a taxicab.

    “I am not complaining. I am merely stating the facts. Venice is not good for my health. Remember what happened the last time we were here?”

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
(Be sure to read Part 1 first)

THE ROME OLYMPIAD

(Part 2)

Thursday, August 25th

      The Opening Ceremony began the following afternoon in a kaleidoscope of color and pageantry. Illya marched into the wide, white bowl of the Stadio Olimpico alongside his British teammates, waving the miniature Union Jacks the team had been given. His uniform concealed a veritable arsenal of advanced weaponry.

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
(Posted in two parts due to LJ format constraints. Just follow the link to Part 2)

The Rome Olympiad Affair

(Part I) 

Rome, Italy – Wednesday, August 24, 1960.

     Illya stepped off the BOAC jet, shielding his eyes against the blazing Roman sun. He smiled and waved along with the rest of the British Olympic team, using the opportunity to scan the large and enthusiastic crowd for signs of THRUSH.    

Author: Avery11
Genre: GenAngst
Apologies for the repost. I wasn't entirely satisfied with the original version of Mayday! so I've revised it by adding a concluding scene that, I hope, makes it feel more complete. 

MAYDAY!

     “Mayday! Mayday! This is Alpha Tango Foxtrot one-one-four.” Napoleon's voice, steady and professional, filled the Communications room of UNCLE's New Delhi HQ. “Losing altitude. Repeat, losing altitude. I am southwest of Ceylon -- bearing six degrees, three minutes North by seventy-seven degrees, forty-five minutes East. Airspeed is dropping; attempting to troubleshoot the problem, but --” A burst of static drowned out the last part.

     “Blast!” Waverly tapped his briar pipe against the communications console in frustration. A dusting of ash fell, unnoticed, upon the sleek chrome counter. “Mr. Solo should know better than to broadcast his position on the public airwaves. Now every THRUSH agent within a hundred miles will be on his scent.”   

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen
in memory of Periwinkle.

THE GOOD FIGHT

     They gathered in the little courtyard, a small and solemn group garbed in black, a few of the women struggling unsuccessfully to hold back their tears. The splashing of the fountain echoed gently off the granite walls.

     “There, there,” Napoleon murmured, brushing back a lock of April's hair. “He wouldn't want tears.”

     “Well it's not his decision anymore, is it?” April turned away, burying her head in her hands.    

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen-ish
(The story takes place a few days after Solo/The Vulcan Affair)
Spikesgirl, this one's for you and the kitties.

BUILDING BRIDGES

    Napoleon was feeling uncommonly cheerful as he strolled down the long corridor to his apartment, his jacket slung jauntily over one shoulder. He and Illya had been granted an unprecedented three days off, their reward for thwarting a plot to destabilize the newly independent African nation of Western Natumba. Three days -- in a row! It was an unheard of luxury, the more remarkable because Waverly had actually offered it. To celebrate, he'd bought Chinese takeout from Panda Palace, including double portions of the Kung Pao Chicken he loved. The spicy aroma of chile powder and peanut oil wafted up from the paper bag he carried; his mouth watered in anticipation of the feast.  

(Author's note: This is a Gen version of the Slash story I did for last year's Solstice Challenge.)

GRADUATION DAY
(Gen version)

    Illya passed through the ancient stone portal of Trinity College, his black doctoral robes flapping rather comically in the stiff breeze. Under his arm, he carried his mortarboard, gratefully redundant now, and the folder holding his PhD in Quantum Mechanics, primi ordinis -- the youngest candidate in the history of the College to achieve the distinction. He strode on, past the statue of Henry VIII with its missing, pilfered leg,and the rooms of Isaac Newton, preserved from the days when he had been a student there.

   As he crossed the Great Court, the carillon in the Clock Tower tolled the hour. A few undergraduates lounged outside, soaking up the warm May sunshine; they waved to him from their benches beside the Fountain. He returned their greetings with a brisk nod and moved on. The door to the Chapel was ajar and, as he hurried past, he caught snatches of the choir rehearsing a motet by Palestrina, Tui Sunt Coeli. There would be a concert this evening, a celebration for the graduates and their families. Illya had considered attending, but decided instead to spend the evening -- and quite possibly the entire weekend -- in a cheap flat somewhere, nursing a bottle of vodka.

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen

SPRING THAW

Prague
April, 1968

     They wandered up Dlouhá Street, basking in the warm Spring sunshine -- just a couple of workers out for a Sunday stroll. Illya adjusted the collar of his sports coat, twisting his body slightly as he did so, the better to monitor their surroundings for signs of the Státní Bezpečnost, Czechoslovakia's despised Secret Police apparatus. Beside him, Napoleon angled the brim of his hat and did the same.

     “I'm not picking up any tails,” Napoleon said quietly. “How about you?”

     “No, but that is no guarantee where the StB are concerned. We should remain on guard.”

     “Agreed.”

     “That is a ridiculous hat, by the way.”

     “I think it looks jaunty. Besides, you said we should try to blend in.”

     Illya snorted. “Blend in, yes. Just not with the Von Trapp family.”      

Genre: Gen
(A bit of HODOWE silliness
for April Fool's Day)

POISSON D'AVRIL

     Napoleon Solo slunk through the door at DelFloria's, his body sore and bruised from his narrow escape the previous evening. The bell above the door tinkled cheerfully as he entered; he winced at the sound. His empty stomach roiled ominously, and his head felt as though someone had set up a mining operation inside his cranium -- lingering effects of the knockout drug Angelique had slipped into his post-coital brandy. He removed his dark glasses, and groaned. Why did it have to be morning? And sunny?   

LOST IN TRANSLATION

     Napoleon Solo steered their rental car around another blind curve, praying that they wouldn't collide with another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction. A cloud of dust rose in the little Trident's wake. Beside him in the passenger seat, Illya scowled at the tall, thorny hedgerows looming on either side of the narrow dirt road.

     “Between the dust and the hedgerows, I cannot see a thing,” he grumbled. “I think we may be lost.”

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen

Start from the beginning with Part 1: The Trouble With Amphibians
here: http://avery11.livejournal.com/4267.html

A Tale of Two Friendships

Part 2 of THE TEN PLAGUES AFFAIR

(Acts III and IV)

Act III: These Are Dangerous Times...

     They set out for Manorville the next morning, following the Long Island Expressway eastward, down the length of the Island. Illya had wanted to take the DeLorean, but Napoleon insisted on a more nondescript vehicle for the occasion. In the end, they both compromised, and settled on a sleek Pontiac Grand Prix.

     “Everyone has a Pontiac these days,” was Illya's reasoning. “We will blend right in.”

     “Not in Matador Red, we won't.”

THE TEN PLAGUES AFFAIR is a three-part series.

Start from the beginning with: Part One: The Trouble With Amphibians

here: http://avery11.livejournal.com/4267.html

A Tale Of Two Friendships

(Part 2 of THE TEN PLAGUES AFFAIR)
Acts I and II

It Was the Best of Times...

     It was, for Illya and Napoleon, that rarest of occasions: an ordinary Sunday morning. Outside the brick walls of Napoleon's apartment building, pedestrians strolled, flowers bloomed in window boxes, and the morning sun shone brightly, a rare and welcome sight after the miserable, sodden Spring they had endured. But more importantly, the agents had managed to secure a few precious hours of downtime away from HQ, their thoughts momentarily freed from the ever-present threat of THRUSH and plagues and Waverly's escalating ire.    

Author: Avery11
Genre: Gen, friendship, angst
Be sure to read Acts I and II first.

DIES IRAE
The Conclusion of THE TEN PLAGUES AFFAIR

(Acts III and IV)

Act III:   Day of Disaster

     Alexander Waverly sat beside his elegant young wife, patting her hand absently as he spoke. He seemed to have aged overnight.

     “Irene was on the way to her weekly ballet class. The perpetrators killed the chauffeur and a female bodyguard to get to her. Both were highly trained agents.” He handed Napoleon an envelope. “They left this behind, taped to the steering column.”

     Napoleon slid the single sheet of stationery from the envelope:     

Here, finally, is the conclusion of “The Ten Plagues Affair.” Many thanks for your patience. In order to understand what's going on, you really need to read the earlier installments.

Start from the beginning with Part One: The Trouble With Amphibians
here:  http://avery11.livejournal.com/4267.html

Dies Irae


Part 3 of THE TEN PLAGUES AFFAIR
(Acts I and II)

Act I:  A Cold Day In Hell

    Napoleon stared at the depressing pile of paperwork covering his desk, wondering, not for the first time, whether file folders procreated at night when the lights were out. The necessity of reading each and every report that crossed his desk was one of his least favorite duties as CEA. At least it's Friday, he thought, rubbing his weary eyes. Not that that provided any sort of absolution where UNCLE was concerned.

     The door slid open.

     “Ah, there you are,” Illya declared grumpily. “I was about to send Mr. Waverly's Saint Bernard out to look for you.”

     “Illya!” Napoleon's face lit with pleasure. “When did you get back from Athens? The mission was a success, I trust?”

     “Never mind that, Napoleon. Have you looked outside your door recently?”    

Forgetting

He wanders the halls,

Picking insistently at the edges of the pale pink wallpaper,

Looking in vain for shiny gray metal and flashing lights.

They were there a minute ago.

He stands before the door,

Waiting for the whooshing sound,

Waiting for the magic to happen, for the door to slide open.

This door has a knob. He waits a long time.

He has a visitor,

A dark-haired man with warm brown eyes.

They sit in the garden, longing for springtime, bundled against winter's chill.

The man tells fine stories.

Alexander knows there is something he should remember.

Genre: Slash

Eight Days a Week

     They carried the last of the boxes down the icy steps of Illya's Village brownstone and packed them, along with the rest of his meager possessions, in the trunk of Napoleon's car. Illya returned the house keys to his landlady, a dear old thing who cried endless tears at the thought of her favorite tenant leaving.

Genre: Slash/Crossover
          

Graduation Day

  Illya passed through the ancient stone portal of Trinity College, his black doctoral robes flapping rather comically in the stiff breeze. Under his arm, he carried his mortarboard, gratefully redundant now, and the folder holding his PhD in Quantum Mechanics, primi ordinis -- the youngest candidate in the history of the College to achieve the distinction. He strode on, past the statue of Henry VIII with its missing, pilfered leg, and the rooms of Isaac Newton, preserved from the days when he had been a student there.

   As he crossed the Great Court, the carillon in the Clock Tower tolled the hour. A few undergraduates lounged outside, soaking up the warm May sunshine; they waved to him from their benches beside the Fountain. He returned their greetings with a brisk nod and moved on. The door to the Chapel was ajar and, as he hurried past, he caught snatches of the choir rehearsing a motet by Palestrina, Tui Sunt Coeli. There would be a concert this evening, a celebration for the graduates and their families. Illya had considered attending, but decided instead to spend the evening -- and quite possibly the entire weekend -- in a cheap flat somewhere, nursing a bottle of vodka.