Napoleon Solo didn't usually have to wait for a woman to show up, they seemed to always be present. He knew the routine, knew how they thought. He was a good looking guy with enough charm to captivate a room full of beautiful women, and that made him desirable.
He also knew that it might not last. Seriously, how long could a single man indulge both his libido and his ego before age or the job caught up with him. If he did outlive his time in the field with UNCLE then middle age and ... he shuddered to think about it. No, better just enjoy this season of life and live it to the fullest.
Illya Kuryakin was a man given to long periods of introspection and review. He knew himself like no one else knew him, understood why he acted and reacted. No amount of therapy or sitting in the chair opposite a psychologist could uncover more of the Russian than he had himself in his relatively brief sojourn on the planet. War and deprivation had shaped the young man's outlook, so much so that he lived on the edge without fear of the consequences. Every life had its seasons and every season had its time. He had survived this long, perhaps he would outwit the seasons of killing and death and see something new and better.
~~~~~:
"Hey Illya, did you see this?" The blond picked up the newspaper his partner held out to him and looked at the headline. His expression never changed, challenging Solo to try and decipher whether or not the somber Russian was reacting internally to what he saw.
"Nikita Khrushchev is out. Your fellow Ukrainian seems to have lost his position. Do you think it will affect your appointment here?" Napoleon had often wondered about the details of his partner's arrangement with the Command. He still lacked that information, and now with a change in leadership at the Kremlin...
Illya knew, of course. He had heard rumors of a change in the works, felt the tension when discussing it with Mr. Waverly. His time in New York was a gift, a solitary season that could end suddenly, without explanation.
"I have been aware of the possibility of ... some changes." Napoleon's expression reflected his surprise at that statement. Just how connected was his partner to the powers that be? He knew Illya professed himself as a Party member, but his life in New York betrayed any refusal to live as a Westerner. Illya liked his life, and Napoleon Solo was an expert in observing such things.
"So... what now? Are you aware of what comes next?" The lack of emotion from Illya was a little unsettling, and the remark about having had some prior knowledge... Why hadn't he said anything?
Illya had no say in what happened next, and to try and speculate was pointless. If life were a series of seasons then perhaps this one was coming to an end. He didn't want to return to Russia, for various reasons. Being Russian was something one carried within, and was not necessarily dependent on where life took you. Being Soviet was something else entirely.
"I will go wherever I am told to go, as always." Finally, a tinge of emotion that Napoleon could identify. There was something almost like fear in his friend's voice.
"Perhaps Mr. Waverly can ..." Now the look on Illya's face was stern as he shook his head in a minute gesture.
"No, it is not something to be bartered. If I am recalled then ...' The slight hesitation was punctuated with a small sigh. "Then I return ... home. That is all, Napoleon. I am like a chess piece, helpless to make any move on my own; always at the whim of the one playing the game."
There was an uncharacteristic anger in his tone, something that Napoleon noted and filed away for future reference. Illya did resent how he was manipulated by his handlers and superiors. He wondered if his partner sometimes resented him.
A warbling sound from the faux cigarette case put an end to the conversation as Napoleon opened it to answer the call. Thirty minutes later the two agents were bound for Ireland to intercept a THRUSH courier who would lead them to a satrapy long sought but never discovered. This latest lead was the break UNCLE had been waiting for.
If the changes in the Kremlin were going to affect UNCLE's only Soviet agent, it would require time and effort amidst a mire of bureaucratic red tape. Deep down Kuryakin knew he didn't merit the attention it would require in the face of everything else that Moscow was dealing with.
Perhaps a new season was on the horizon.