Actions

Work Header

Friday the Thirteenth

Chapter Text

“You know what day it is?” Kuryakin asked as he saw the sunrise through the small barred window to their cell.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me, it’s Friday the 13th?” Napoleon groaned. “They took my rabbit’s foot.”

“Mine as well,” Illya snickered, figuring that was typical of his luck anyway and it was usually bad whether it was Friday the 13th or not.

Napoleon rose from his bunk and began to pace.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Napoleon, we have already checked our cell and there is no way for us to escape. They took our lock picks, the explosives in the heels of our shoes…”Kuryakin sighed, “Why should I go on listing things; they took it all.”

“Not everything,” Napoleon flashed a broad smile as he tapped a finger to his right temple.

“What are you thinking?” Illya sat up on his bunk, as Solo now had his full attention.

 Their heads both turned as they heard the sounds of approaching footsteps.

 “Just go with it tovarisch,” Solo whispered. “You’ll get what I’m doing.”

A man wearing a blue THRUSH jumpsuit appeared in front of the barred door holding two tin plates. It was Otto, their regular guard and he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the string.

 “Breakfast time meine Freunde. Let’s see there’s Bircher Muesli and then more Bircher Muesli. Same as yesterday, and probably the same tomorrow until it is decided what is to be done with you. Looks like there could be some raisins in it today, but then again they might not be, if you get my drift.”

“Say Otto, I have something for you,” Napoleon announced

“How could you have something for me, you got nothing because we took it all away from you.”

“I have this.” Napoleon spoke rapid Italian, using every ethnic gesture he knew. This Included putting the side of his index finger between his teeth...the actual meaning was Italian sign language for ‘I’m going to kill you,” but he was betting that Otto didn’t know any of the gestures, nor did he speak Italian.

“Ti faccio un coso così,” Napoleon snarled. Literally it  translated to,’I'll make yours this big.’ This is where the insults started drifting below the belt and he cupped his crotch. It was obvious to which part of Otto’s anatomy he was referring.

Solo’s hands were then held out at waist level, several inches apart. His thumbs were stuck out and his index fingers used to indicate either side of the gap between them. The literal meaning of this gesture was, "I'll kick you so hard your buttocks will end up this far apart."

The last thing Napoleon did was flash ‘the horns.’

The middle and ring fingers were clenched while the thumb, index and little fingers were extended. 

Often this was a superstitious gesture... the devil’s horns were said to drive away curses or bad luck. Inevitably they were also an insult. Not in this case as Solo was hoping that Otto was a superstitious man and had no clue to their meaning. The looked rather threatening, and Napoleon hoped that would work well enough.

“What the hell was that all about Solo?” Otto demanded.

Illya chose to speak up, having guessed what Napoleon was doing. His voice was low and monotone, making it seem all the more ominous. His blue eyes gave that threatening Kuryakin stare.

“He has just put a very powerful Italian curse upon you and given today is Friday the 13th that doubles its power. You do know that this is a very unlucky day, do you not? Thanks to this curse, you will be dead by the end of the day, so you should make your peace while you can.”

The UNCLE agents watched as Otto’s face lost all its color.

“A curse? Heilige Scheiße! You put a curse on me? Why me? I have not caused you any pain.”

“Well you’re the only one we’ve had contact with since we were thrown in here, so the curse goes to you,” Napoleon flashed another smile, this one feral and quite frightening.

“Hey I am just doing my job, this is not my fault.” Otto began to pace back and forth, unaware that he was still holding the tin plates.

“That’s true, this isn’t your fault is it? Well there’s a way to have the curse removed,” Napoleon spoke softly now. “Come here and I’ll whisper it to you.”

“Really? Danke, danke schoen!  That is really decent of you Mr. Solo. If there is anyone to curse it is the big boss, Herr Zum.”

Napoleon pressed himself against the bars, waiting for Otto to come closer.

When the guard finally did, leaning his ear close to the American, Napoleon grabbed him, and slammed the man’s head against the bars, knocking him out cold. He held on tight to Otto, not letting him fall. Illya was there in a flash, grabbing the keys to their cell door from the guard’s belt and once he had them, Solo let the Otto drop with a thud.

They opened the door, gaining their freedom in silence.

Napoleon confiscated Otto’s handgun, but Illya rifled the man’s pockets and pulled out a couple of hot pink rabbit’s foot charms.

“How did you know he had them?” Napoleon asked as Illya tossed his rabbit’s foot to him.

“When they dumped our belongings I spotted our friend here pocketing them.”

“Shame he didn’t steal one of our communicators,” Napoleon said.

Otto was locked in the cell and the UNCLE agents took off, escaping from the building and out to the streets.

They instantly recognized where they were and headed a few blocks over to where their car was still parked. They drove straight to their hotel on the other side of the city.

Heading up to their room; they retrieved a backup communicator and apprised Waverly of the situation as well as the location of the THRUSH satrapy.  A team was quickly dispatched by the Old Man to clear out the bird’s nest.

Solo and Kuryakin were ordered to stay put and let the team from the Berlin office take care of the situation.

“So a good Friday the 13th after all enh, tovarisch?” Napoleon emerged from the bathroom after taking a hot soothing shower.

“It will be good when we order in room service,” the Russian nodded. “I am quite hungry. You did leave me some hot water I hope?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Napoleon refrained from making a comment on his partner’s perpetual state of hunger. Instead he grinned. He was hungry too.

There was no discussion of Solo’s escape plan as it had worked and that was all that mattered. Room service was ordered.  Schnitzel, bockwurst, bratwurst and a whole lot more would be on its way up to their room, along with some fine German beer.

Kuryakin stripped off his tattered suit and climbed into the shower, looking forward to the hot water trickling down his sore body. He turned the water on full.

“Napoleon!” He shouted. There was no hot water. Illya charged out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Moi? I’m innocent. Remember tovarisch, it’s Friday the 13th and a bad luck happens.”

“Bad luck my zhopa.” Illya slammed the door after himself after retreating back into the bathroom.

Eventually the hot water returned, and Illya reemerged clean and dressed in a thick grey turtleneck sweater and black pants.

The food had arrived, making him forget about the hot water being used up by his partner.

Food could always soothe the savage Kuryakin, even on Friday the 13th...

.

 

Translations:

Heilige Scheiße!: holy shit!

meine Freunde- my friends

Bircher Muesli :a mixture of cereals (especially rolled oats), dried fruit, and nuts, typically eaten with milk at breakfast.

Danke, danke schoen- thank you, thank you very much!