This was written for the Easter Eggs 2011. The prompt was a fascinating one: memories trigged by scent...
He stretched, sighed, and peeped around, hoping that something would happen, that someone would turn up.
The hill was deserted, except for two lost Uncle agents, stuck in this lost area, thanks to some doubtful information. His partner was soundly asleep, and Napoleon Solo was bored, bored beyond limits, watching vainly. At least, the ground was covered with a silver-green moss, dotted with tufts of grass, clumps of heather. Sighing again, he lay down on his stomach. The moss was smoothing, amazingly relaxing.
Everything, around him, froze, the breeze, the birds... He stiffened, looked around, and crawled on all fours, as silently as he could. He had seen them, for one second. A twinkling in the morning light, barely perceptible, but it was real. They were here. The moss sank under his hands, exhaling an amazing scent, peppery and sweet, fresh. Green. It smelled green, Napoleon Solo thought. Would he be blind, some day, this scent would be green. A strong, bracing, happy scent... They were close, he knew it, he guessed them, he felt them, and couldn't help smiling. The early bird catches the worm... Too bad for the sleeper. Sheltered under a bush, he craned sneakily forward. Here they were, settled into the moss. It was a triumph for him, something special, something unique. The green scent and the victory were almost intoxicating. Three. They were three, sparkling on their green cushion, blue, yellow, red. Three promises.
"Mummy! Napoleon cheated! He didn't wait for me! He'll get all the eggs!"
The whining turned into endless sob.
"Napoleon! Napoleon, where are you? Come back immediately!"
The boy sighed, staring at the eggs. Okay, he wouldn't pick them up, and probably, he would let his brother find them, later. But the victory was his. A victory of his own.
Illya Kuryakin stretched, sighed, and peeped around, hoping that something would happen, that someone would turn up. The hill was deserted, except for two lost Uncle agents, stuck in this lost area, thanks to some doubtful information. Then, he chuckled. His friend was soundly asleep on the moss, a delightful boyish smile lighting up his face. He knelt down and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Nice dream, my friend? No, don't worry. It was a wrong track."
The dark haired man rolled on his back, his eyes still closed, the radiant smile fading.
"Napoleon?"
Napoleon Solo sat down, bringing some moss to his nose. Then he held it out to the Russian and smiled again.
"Did I tell you about Easter Eggs hunt, Illya?"