The mood was somber in U.N.C.L.E. Medical, the staff stayed away from the Russian; not knowing what to say to him and thinking perhaps silence was the safest route to take.
Illya Kuryakin watched as the priest, dressed in his black cassock, draped a purple stole around his neck and began to whisper over the still figure of Napoleon Solo; saying prayers of Extreme Unction...the 'Final Anointing' of the Catholic church. The sacrament was conferred on one who was in immediate danger of death.
The sound of a heart monitor and breathing apparatus created a cacaphonous symphony, accented by the clergymans prayers.
Since Napoleon was unconscious his penance could not be heard but the Eucharist was placed in his mouth...known as Viaticum, a word whose original meaning in Latin meant a provision for a journey. Lastly, Napoleon's head was annointed with the holy oil.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti...A reading from the book of Ecclesiastes," The priest said aloud.
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep , and a time to throw away; a time to tear , and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace…"
Illya couldn't take it any more, and walked out of the hospital room. The seemingly indestructable Solo being given this final ritual of his Catholic upbringing tore at the Russian's heart. It was that moment that he realized how much the man had meant to him.
Yet somehow he refused to accept his partner was near death. The words uttered by the priest seemed oddly hopeful, hopeful he supposed that Napoleon would go to heaven...not like the prayers Illya had been accustomed to as a child. Those were prayers of doom and gloom, of one's soul burning in the hellfire and brimstone. Those frightend him, the priests frightned him then too.
There was only one Othodox priest who wasn't like that, Father Demya. A man who, as a child Illya deemed a friend, though he only spoke with the man at length one night when the priest was fleeing persecution by Stalin's government, given shelter by Illya's mother and grandmother. These senseless persecutions of the religious people that were going on while the Nazi's were breathing down the backs of the Soviet people were simply mind boggling. Though his mother and babushka tried to hide these things from him, Illya finally made them explain what was happening around them.
Illya walked out to the corridor, flopping down on a bench and lowering his head; exhausted from their mission and from keeping a bedside vigil over Napoleon.
He wanted to hope, he wanted to believe there was a God who would not take his partner yet. It had been a long time since Illya Kuryakin had cursed God when his mother and twin brothers were murdered by the Germans, right in front of his eyes **. Yet now he dared to reach out to a God whose existence he'd denied for so long. He wanted to pray, and just this once his stubborn pride gave in.
"Pozhaluysta, ne prinimayte yego, po krayney mere, ne seychas _please do not take him, at least not just yet. You have taken everyone else that mattered in my life, leave me someone...I beg you. Take me if you must but not Napoleon. He is a good man, surely he would serve You better here than being at Your Side?"
He fought back the tears, maintaining his stoic demeanor to anyone who saw him, looking surprisingly calm. Cold they might say, considering the circumstances; his repuation as the Ice Prince was still intact.
"Quick Illya, you have to come in!" The nurse called him to Solo's room
"No I do not wish to be there at the moment of his passing, please." He raised his hand, waving her off.
"Illya, it's inexplicable. His vitals have increased, it's like he's back from the dead. He's awake and asking for you."
Kuryakin jumped to his feet without a word, dashing to the room. He found the doctor hovering over Napoleon.
"It's a miracle," the priest blurted out, blessing himself with the sign of the cross and clasping his hands together, and gripping the last rites crucifix.
The physician put away his stethescope, stepping back from the patient."
"Illya I don't know what just happened, darned if I've ever seen anything like it...his vitals are strong, he's awake and asking for you."
Kuryakin stepped up to the bed; the medical staff and priest all backing away, giving the partners some privacy.
"You scared the hell out of me. I really thought your were going to leave me," Illya took hold of Napoleon's pale hand, giving it a squeeze.
"Couldn't leave my best friend could I?" Napoleon answered weakly." Illya, I heard a voice telling me I was being sent back to you… It wasn't my time yet, apparently."
Illya suddenly repeated the last of the Ecclesiates verse, word for word...
"What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with. He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end."
"Yes, tovarisch, I know that verse...for everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." Napoleon smiled though he was a bit perplexed.
"Hey have you found religion chum?"
"Let us not discuss that right now my friend, "Illya evaded the question, "If you prefer I can quote Albert Einstein..."Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect, as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper."
"That sounds more like you and a little less religious, but still..."
Illya snickered." Concentrate on getting stronger and we will put our discussion of religion and God off to another time." Illya suddenly leaned forward, giving Napoleon a quick and unexpected kiss on the forehead.
"You are my brother, and I for one am grateful to have you back. Now get strong, promise me you will do that?"
"Ya obeshchayu moy brat," Solo promised in Russian, calling Illya his brother as well; though he was a bit surprised at his partner's overt display of affection.
"We must work on that accent of yours, it really is awful." Illya winked.
"I nearly die, and you still won't cut me a break will you tovarisch?"
"Never,"Kuryakin smiled, standing straight and proud. "No coddling permitted. Now get well, that is an order. I am acting CEA you know."
"Yes sir," Solo coughed, trying to give a weak salute. "But don't get too comfortable with the position chum."
He smiled warily, thinking Illya had something to fess up...quoting from the bible was a thing the man never did. Religion was a topic the Russian avoided.
Once alone, Napolen closed his eyes, uttering a silent prayer, thanking God for sparing his life and for having a man like Illya Kuryakin for a partner and most of all, a friend and a brother. A man he'd have to put the third degree to, to find out what that bible quote had been about…