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saki101Challenge: MFUWSS Slash Round Robin - 50th Anniversary
Title: Something That Belongs To Me - Chapter One
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saki101
Word Count: ~ 750
A/N: What might have happened after The Secret Sceptre Affair.
(Also posted on MFU Writers Survival School.)
Something That Belongs To Me
“…mine.”
As the door slid open, Napoleon caught a word in a familiar voice. He glanced about the office. Unless someone was under one of the desks, Illya appeared to be alone. He was lounging in his chair, all in black as he so often was. His head was resting against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle, foot just catching the corner of the desk, a model of repose. Except Napoleon knew how fast Illya could accelerate from zero to sixty. Illya didn’t offer a greeting, didn’t raise an eyebrow to silently ask what Mr Waverly had said when he had called Napoleon back for an extra word about their little adventure with Colonel Morgan. Illya had been gone when Napoleon was finished.
He walked across the room, hung up his jacket. He felt Illya’s eyes on him. Napoleon glanced over his shoulder.
Illya’s arm was stretched out half-way across his desk, his hand resting on…Ah, a tape player.
Napoleon retraced his steps, leaned against his desk, met that cool, steady gaze.
“I suspected that Madam Karim had her son’s office bugged,” Illya said. His hand curved above the tape player, index finger raised as though it might strike a key on a piano.
Napoleon’s eyes flicked to the motion. Bomb detonator finger, he thought and returned his gaze to Illya’s face.
“So while you offered your…‘sticky’ I believe was your word…apology, I had the presence of mind to locate her recording device and remove its contents.” Illya’s finger hit a button, the tape player whirred. He hit it again and it was silent.
“And here I thought you were looking for something to read on the plane,” Napoleon quipped.
Illya pressed another button. The machine reproduced a tolerable facsimile of Napoleon’s deadly purr. “Don’t move Your Excellency. You have something that belongs to me. A friend of…”
Illya struck the button again. “I believe this is where you came in a moment ago,” he said.
Napoleon always found it a bit alienating hearing his recorded voice. It wasn’t how he heard himself, of course. He understood the technicalities of it, but that wasn’t the key reason he didn’t like it, especially when he hadn’t known he was being recorded. Sometimes he heard things escaping. Things he hadn’t known had gotten loose. He’d listen to them slipping through the bars, shimmying down the drain pipes. Maybe no one else had ever heard them, but Illya, well, Illya wasn’t going to miss them, especially a prison break like that. Napoleon cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.
“Would you like to hear it again?” Illya asked, bomb detonator finger lifted.
“No, thanks. I was there,” Napoleon replied. This time he let his eyes remain on Illya’s hand.
“Shall I include it in the report?” Illya asked. “Mr Waverly requested a report on the captured surveillance.”
“I see,” Napoleon said, still watching Illya’s fingers. “Never one to let an opportunity pass, Mr Waverly. Even an unofficial one.”
“I was thinking to apply corpus-based content analysis to most of it,” Illya said. “See if I come up with any phrases our feathered friends like to use. Hard to believe they wouldn’t have seen that little tempest brewing.”
“Mmhmm,” Napoleon murmured. Around Illya’s hand miniature reflections of the overhead lights gleamed on the dark cover of the tape deck. They looked like sparks thrown by those poised fingers. He had, perhaps, been staring at them too long.
“But your words, I thought I’d take one by one,” Illya said.
Napoleon waited.
“Starting with the word ‘to’,” Illya said, “as in ‘to me’.” The tape player rattled as he ejected the tape. Illya slipped it into his pocket as he stood. Their desks weren’t far apart. Napoleon contemplated the empty tape deck, its secrets flown.
“In contrast to ‘with me’, for example. An interesting distinction. Changes the meaning of ‘belongs’ totally,” Illya continued.
Napoleon looked up. Illya was very close. Napoleon could see his reflection in Illya’s eyes.
Illya clapped a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “There is a new cook in the canteen. He is attempting to improve the menu. Let’s see how he fares,” Illya said and turned to the door.
Unseen, Napoleon nodded. He grabbed his jacket.
Illya stood in the open doorway, waiting. As Napoleon passed by, Illya added, “While we’re there, we can discuss what belongs to whom.”
***
Forleethet's Chapter 2, please click here.
Title: Something That Belongs To Me - Chapter One
Author:
saki101Word Count: ~ 750
A/N: What might have happened after The Secret Sceptre Affair.
(Also posted on MFU Writers Survival School.)
“…mine.”
As the door slid open, Napoleon caught a word in a familiar voice. He glanced about the office. Unless someone was under one of the desks, Illya appeared to be alone. He was lounging in his chair, all in black as he so often was. His head was resting against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle, foot just catching the corner of the desk, a model of repose. Except Napoleon knew how fast Illya could accelerate from zero to sixty. Illya didn’t offer a greeting, didn’t raise an eyebrow to silently ask what Mr Waverly had said when he had called Napoleon back for an extra word about their little adventure with Colonel Morgan. Illya had been gone when Napoleon was finished.
He walked across the room, hung up his jacket. He felt Illya’s eyes on him. Napoleon glanced over his shoulder.
Illya’s arm was stretched out half-way across his desk, his hand resting on…Ah, a tape player.
Napoleon retraced his steps, leaned against his desk, met that cool, steady gaze.
“I suspected that Madam Karim had her son’s office bugged,” Illya said. His hand curved above the tape player, index finger raised as though it might strike a key on a piano.
Napoleon’s eyes flicked to the motion. Bomb detonator finger, he thought and returned his gaze to Illya’s face.
“So while you offered your…‘sticky’ I believe was your word…apology, I had the presence of mind to locate her recording device and remove its contents.” Illya’s finger hit a button, the tape player whirred. He hit it again and it was silent.
“And here I thought you were looking for something to read on the plane,” Napoleon quipped.
Illya pressed another button. The machine reproduced a tolerable facsimile of Napoleon’s deadly purr. “Don’t move Your Excellency. You have something that belongs to me. A friend of…”
Illya struck the button again. “I believe this is where you came in a moment ago,” he said.
Napoleon always found it a bit alienating hearing his recorded voice. It wasn’t how he heard himself, of course. He understood the technicalities of it, but that wasn’t the key reason he didn’t like it, especially when he hadn’t known he was being recorded. Sometimes he heard things escaping. Things he hadn’t known had gotten loose. He’d listen to them slipping through the bars, shimmying down the drain pipes. Maybe no one else had ever heard them, but Illya, well, Illya wasn’t going to miss them, especially a prison break like that. Napoleon cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.
“Would you like to hear it again?” Illya asked, bomb detonator finger lifted.
“No, thanks. I was there,” Napoleon replied. This time he let his eyes remain on Illya’s hand.
“Shall I include it in the report?” Illya asked. “Mr Waverly requested a report on the captured surveillance.”
“I see,” Napoleon said, still watching Illya’s fingers. “Never one to let an opportunity pass, Mr Waverly. Even an unofficial one.”
“I was thinking to apply corpus-based content analysis to most of it,” Illya said. “See if I come up with any phrases our feathered friends like to use. Hard to believe they wouldn’t have seen that little tempest brewing.”
“Mmhmm,” Napoleon murmured. Around Illya’s hand miniature reflections of the overhead lights gleamed on the dark cover of the tape deck. They looked like sparks thrown by those poised fingers. He had, perhaps, been staring at them too long.
“But your words, I thought I’d take one by one,” Illya said.
Napoleon waited.
“Starting with the word ‘to’,” Illya said, “as in ‘to me’.” The tape player rattled as he ejected the tape. Illya slipped it into his pocket as he stood. Their desks weren’t far apart. Napoleon contemplated the empty tape deck, its secrets flown.
“In contrast to ‘with me’, for example. An interesting distinction. Changes the meaning of ‘belongs’ totally,” Illya continued.
Napoleon looked up. Illya was very close. Napoleon could see his reflection in Illya’s eyes.
Illya clapped a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “There is a new cook in the canteen. He is attempting to improve the menu. Let’s see how he fares,” Illya said and turned to the door.
Unseen, Napoleon nodded. He grabbed his jacket.
Illya stood in the open doorway, waiting. As Napoleon passed by, Illya added, “While we’re there, we can discuss what belongs to whom.”
***
For
leethet's Chapter 2, please click here.
