Prompt: Sensory Deprivation Disoriented in the Dark (was kinda “ehh” about the original prompt, tweaked it a little…)

Summary: The first thing to do upon waking up in a dark, unfamiliar place is to get your bearings.  That can be easier said than done…

Cross-posted to AO3

Waking up in pitch darkness was always a bizarre
experience—it was deliberately disorienting, something that THRUSH was counting
on whenever they did it.  Illya grumbled
and cursed under his breath as he struggled to his feet—and promptly bumped his
head on the low ceiling.

He cursed THRUSH again, and then focused on trying to get
his bearings.  He could feel air coming
from a ventilator; judging from the intensity of the air flow, the vent was a
tiny one, so trying to remove the grate and traveling through it was out of the
question—not that the old chestnut ever really worked, anyway.

He could also smell mildew and feel damp dirt under his
hands.  He was in an old cellar—the low
ceiling had been put in to disorient anyone behind held down here.  Well, that solved one mystery—but it didn’t solve
how to get out of here…

Illya’s thoughts trailed off as another smell reached his
consciousness—a very familiar scent.

“…Bay rum,” he murmured.

Napoleon was here with him—most likely still unconscious,
given by the lack of response to Illya’s mutterings and curses against their
captors.

The Russian followed his nose until he found his partner;
gently, he clapped him on the side of the face to bring him around.

The sound of Napoleon’s grumbling had never sounded more
welcome.

“Urgh…  Illya?”

“I am here,” Illya reassured him.  He paused as he heard Napoleon scrambled to
sit up.  “Careful, Napoleon; mind your–”

“Ow!”

“…Head on the low ceiling.”
Illya rolled his eyes.

Napoleon growled in frustration as he rubbed his head.

“My patience with THRUSH grows thinner by the day,” he
muttered.

“Well, we have been divested of all of our weapons and
devices, so if you wish to vent your frustrations upon them, we shall have to
be clever with how we go about it.”

“Well, there has to be a door,” Napoleon said.  “We didn’t just teleport in here, after
all.  And sooner or later, they’ll have
to send someone to check on us.  I say we
try to find where the door is, and get ready to waylay whoever they send to
check up on us.”

“Fine by me,” Illya agreed.

As far as they were concerned, this was just a
setback to their mission—and soon, they would be back on track.