Illya was tired. Dog tired, was that the phrase people around here used? He had just been released from medical after another vicious session with sadistic THRUSH agents, and he was hurt in body and hurt in soul.
t was not that he had been captured exactly. He had swallowed a special tracker, and had set himself up deliberately to be captured. Napoleon and Mark and April had been following at a respectful distance.
They had known that THRUSH had kidnapped the mayor's daughter, and there had been no time for the usual type of investigation. They had had to handle this, and fast. And so, as often was the case, Illya had volunteered himself as the tethered goat as it were.
The ploy worked, and the fifteen-year-old girl had been rescued in a timely fashion by Mark and April, whilst Napoleon searched for Illya.
Thrush, though, had still had plenty of time to do damage, and when he was found with a black eye, some deep lacerations to his chest and stomach, and multi-coloured bruising all over his back where he had been repeatedly punched, Napoleon had read in his eyes a hopelessness that was not usually there. Illya had left medical with instructions to take ten days off work to rest and recover, but Illya had had enough this time. He went from medical straight to Mister Waverly's office and requested a leave of absence for three months to contemplate his future. Waverly agreed on condition that any decisions he made were discussed with himself first. Having no alternative, Illya agreed, without another word to anyone, he left. Waverly was left with the unenviable task of informing Napoleon Solo that there was a chance he might lose his partner over this latest escapade.
Illya went home, packed a small suitcase and left for New Jersey.
He arrived on the doorstep of Winston and Cecily Solo's home and was met by a pair of running feet and a pair of arms that flung themselves around him the moment he appeared.
"Papa! Papa!"
Seven-year-old Katiya Kuryakin hugged her papa closely. Illya hugged her, then leaned forward to pick her up. As he swung her up in the air, he gasped with pain and had to set her down again.
"Papa, what is it?"
"Sit down, Illya." Ce said to him, "Wint will take that case to your room for you."
Illya dropped into the chair, Katiya hovering anxiously beside him.
"Was it those bad people, THRUSH, again papa?" She asked him, her eyes wide.
Illya grunted, and patted the chair beside him.
"Come on up, Kitten. I can't pick you up, though. You will have to climb."
Katiya scrambled into the chair, squeezing easily beside her beloved papa.
"You never come on Tuesdays papa. Is it because they hurt you again?"
Illya wrapped his left arm around her. Poor Katiya, just seven years old. She knew he had been hurt. She was upset, he could tell that by the way her eyes were shining, but she had not needed to be told. What kind of a childhood had she had, that she could see her papa bruised and hurting and unable to pick her up and accept it without panicking?
Thinking back though, she had seen him sick and maybe dying twice before. The first time, just after they had first met, he had been stricken with a severe case of pneumonia; the second time was when her grandpa had been killed by THRUSH, UNCLE Moscow had escorted her to New York to be with him, and found him sick in medical, having been the victim of a poisoning. She had sat vigil beside him twice before in medical. Seeing him now with cuts and bruises would upset her because she loved him, but did not unduly frighten her. She knew where they came from and why they happened. To Illya, it was a tragic thing that a child of her years should be quite so worldly wise and aware.
She was sitting beside him now, not fidgeting, but leaning into his bruised body, but gently, as if knowing that he hurt. Comforting him with her presence.
"Something like that. I just needed to see you, daughter. Does Aunty Ce drive you to school in the mornings?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to walk to school with me instead, tomorrow? I need a little exercise, and we can be together for a little while. I will come and pick you up when school finishes."
Katiya's broad grin said it all.
MFU
"…He said what?" Napoleon exclaimed, stunned. "Couldn't he have said something to me about this, rather than leaving you to tell me…sir?"
Waverly sat back in his chair and sucked sadly on his pipe.
"I think he was hurting a lot this time, Mister Solo."
Napoleon knew somehow that Waverly was not referring to Illya's physical hurts. He had been through far worse before, over and over. This had to be mental or emotional hurts. Why oh why would Illya take off like that without talking to him? They always took care of each other. Always. To contemplate his future? What did that really mean anyway? Would Illya not be shipped back to Russia if he decided to walk out on UNCLE? No, Napoleon answered his own question. Katiya was being allowed to stay here in the States, knowing that she would be in danger elsewhere, and her papa would stay with her to provide for her. Waverly would find some place for Illya if he decided to quit field-work. But three months without his partner at his back? Napoleon returned his office, his mind in a whirl, desperate to get away to find and talk to his partner, but knowing he had a full days' worth of interviews, debriefings and junior agents reports to deal with before he was free to go anywhere.
It was very late before Napoleon was able to leave HQ, and fighting the traffic did not help his mood. When he reached his partner's apartment and realised that Illya was not at home it was already past eleven. If Illya was not at his own home, then he must have gone to Wint's place in New Jersey to spend time with his daughter.
Napoleon's brother and sister-in-law, who fostered Katiya, had given the little girl's father a room so that he could stay with his daughter from time to time, and they would have a place where they could be together in privacy. Illya did not stay very often, but clearly he felt he needed the nearness of his daughter. The feeling of belonging, of having a connection, a physical blood connection was something Napoleon knew the Russian had not had for many, many years, and had desperately missed it, whatever he said himself. Napoleon had noticed of late, that ever since Katiya had come to America to be near her papa, Illya fled to her side whenever he was feeling insecure. Napoleon could understand that. Family was important to him too. Although he did not see his own family nearly as often as he would have liked, he felt comforted knowing they would always be there for him if and when he needed them.
After all, everyone needed a connection sometimes, right? Some way to feel…grounded? How would it have been for Illya all these years to have no one? Caring for his daughter helped Illya to bring the world and his place in it back into focus. She helped him to get things into perspective. So, important after a particularly stressful session with THRUSH.
It was well past midnight when Napoleon arrived at his brother's home. Everything looked dark and closed up, but Napoleon was sure that his partner would still be awake. He retraced his steps back down the drive and found the paving slab that Wint had placed conveniently in the middle of the flower bed so that Cecily could water her garden without trampling all over them. Kneeling on the gravelled drive, trying not to think of the state his knees would be in, he reached across and prised it up slightly and fished beneath it. There! He triumphantly pulled out a tiny leather pouch containing a large key. Dusting himself off, Napoleon returned to the front door and unlocked it, swiftly entering the code into the alarm system as he passed the unit.
He crept through the house, heading for the study.
Darkness. He was about to close the door and creep away when he heard a slight squeak of a leather armchair.
"Is that you Illya?"
"Napoleon!"
The voice sounded annoyed, and after a second or two, the desk lamp was snapped on. Illya was sitting at the desk, a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand. His hair standing on end.
"Illya, why are you sitting, drinking alone in the dark?"
"Why shouldn't I?"
Napoleon closed the door gently behind himself and sat on the stool facing his partner.
"Mister Waverly told me you took three months' sabbatical. Is there anything I can do my friend?"
Illya shrugged, then shook his head. Napoleon looked concerned.
"You have the right to make any choices you want to about your life, but you used to trust me. You used to talk to me. I am saddened that you feel unable to tell me what you are feeling anymore."
Illya raised his eyes and met Napoleon's clear gaze.
"Illya, I love you like a brother…more than a brother. There are things I have told you that I would never tell Winston. I care about you, and whatever it is, I just want you to feel better. Please talk to me."
"About why I asked for the sabbatical?"
Napoleon nodded.
"Yes, about that, about what happened in that satrap, about anything that is making you hurt."
Illya sighed. He knew his partner really did care, and he knew that Napoleon was not about to give up asking him and trying to help. He opened his mouth to start to speak, but his voice wouldn't come, so he took a swig from his vodka bottle instead.
Napoleon frowned.
"Illya, I know you can take your drink, but the amount you drink scares me sometimes."
"Fine."
Illya dropped the bottle into the waste-paper bin, and turned away, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking and the gurgling of the remnants of his vodka sloshing into the can.
"You didn't have to do that Illya. Please, what is wrong?"
Illya paced to the sofa and sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
"I'm tired, Napoleon. I am just so tired. I am tired of being tortured, tired of being injected with chemicals and poisons and potions and antidotes. I am tired of ending every mission with concussion, vomiting every weekend from that or from the after-effects of THRUSH concoctions. I am tired of having to make appointments to see my own daughter. I am tired Napoleon. How do you put it? Dog-tired?"
Napoleon nodded.
"Dog-tired is a good way to phrase it. But that is not it, is it? You are a section two agent, Illya. All those things come as part of the job. We all find those things tough from time to time, but not enough to be tempted to throw in the towel. You are not a quitter, Illya. There is something else isn't there?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Go home Napoleon. You have an early start tomorrow I believe."
"Yes I do, which is why I am here now. I am your best friend and your partner, Illya. If it was me sitting there like you are, you would not rest until I had told you what my problem, was."
"Has it occurred to you that it might be none of your business?"
"Yes it has, my friend." Napoleon replied gently, "But what kind a friend would I be if I were to stay away and let you sort your problems out all on your own? If I didn't even try to help? What did they do to you?"
Illya glanced up at Napoleon, who got up from his stool and sat down on the sofa close beside his friend. Illya was massaging the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed tightly. Napoleon tried again.
"Did they break you? You would never have told them anything, I know that, but did they break your spirit?"
Suddenly Illya swung fiercely with his fist and connected with Napoleon's left eye. By the time Napoleon opened his eyes and the room had stopped spinning, Illya was gone.
"Wow, Napoleon! That is one terrific shiner you got yourself there. What was it, jealous husband? Jilted lover?"
"Har har!" Napoleon strode through the corridors of UNCLE sporting a magnificent black eye. Mark Slate raised his eyebrows at his partner.
"I wonder how he got that?"
April grinned at him.
"I'll go and ask him."
"You wouldn't?"
"Watch me."
April scooted quickly along to Napoleon's office and after knocking briefly, she opened the door and peered inside. Napoleon was stood up behind his desk, looking for something.
"If that is not good news, then I don't want to heat it!" he called without looking up.
"How did you acquire the decoration?"
"None of your business, April."
She nodded serenely.
"According to the rumour mill then, it will be either a cuckolded husband, or a doorknob."
Napoleon looked up, a pained look on his face.
"April Dancer, you try anything like that I will put you on report for a month!"
"Ok, but you can't do anything to stop rumours accept to tell the truth!"
He sighed.
"It was Illya, all right? Happy now?"
April's mouth dropped open.
"Illya? You two busted up?"
"Not quite."
"Wait." She was suddenly very serious. "Napoleon, is it something to do with the last mission? Considering that they only had him for a few hours, they did manage to do quite a lot of damage."
"I know there is something else wrong, April, but he's not telling me everything. He's taken himself a three-month sabbatical."
"Three months off work? This is Illya we're talking about? The mad Russian who crawled out of bed in medical with a fever of 105 degrees because he had a report to finish?"
Napoleon sighed and nodded.
"The same one. Look, don't spread anything about Illya. Whatever's wrong he doesn't need hassle back here. Let people think whatever they like. By the way, you and Mark have ninety minutes to get your report on my desk. Move!"
April hurried away, and Napoleon groaned, gingerly fingering his sore eye with the tip of his fingers and winced, gathered up armfuls of papers and reports, and hurried off to his meeting with Waverly and the department heads.
Illya Kuryakin opened his eyes and found a small pair of eyes staring at him.
"Are you awake now papa?"
"Huh? Hmm hmm." He sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily. Katiya tugged at his arm.
"You need to get out of bed now, papa if you are going to walk me to school. It takes half an hour to walk there, and I gotta be there in forty minutes."
Illya nodded.
"All right Kitten, I'll be down in five minutes. Is the bathroom free?"
Katiya nodded.
"If you're quick, because if Uncle Wint gets there first he takes ages!"
Illya grabbed the towel Ce always left for him draped over the bedstead, and hurried to the bathroom. Katiya went downstairs and into the kitchen where Aunty Ce was wrapping up sandwiches for lunches.
"Is papa coming down?"
Katiya nodded.
"He's in the shower. Aunty Ce, what is wrong with papa?"
"What do you mean sweetie? He was hurt at work. You saw his bruises and his black eye…"
"Yes, but papa always gets hurt at work, Aunty. It's something else. It's like…like…"
Ce stopped what she was doing and crouched beside the little girl.
"What is it like Katiya?"
"His face is different…it's like he is really sad on the inside and his smile is just painted on."
Ce recalled her first sight of Illya the day before. He had been covered in cuts and bruises, but unlike his usual calm, confident manner, he had seemed dejected. His body language had been like that of a very old man. Tired was the word he had used when she had asked him how he was feeling. Just very tired; but he had not been sleepy at all. She took Katiya's hands.
"I think he probably is feeling very unhappy Katiya. The job he does is very, very difficult, and as you said, he is always getting hurt. People do get tired of being hurt and beaten don't they? Your papa is not the sort of person who likes to talk about the things that make him unhappy, so sometimes all we can do is show him we love him and be there for him when he needs us to be. Do you understand?"
Katiya nodded, but she still looked a little uncertain. Ce smiled at her.
"You know why he came here to stay with us don't you?"
"To see me and to get away from work?"
Ce let out a short laugh.
"Yes, to get away from work, but he could have gone anywhere for that. He came here because you are here."
"Because he is my papa?"
Ce nodded slowly.
"He is your papa, but I don't think he came here so that he could help you Katiya. I think he came here so that you could help him."
Tears hovered in Katiya's eyes at the thought that her papa might need help.
"I want to help him Aunty Ce, I really love him, but I don't know how to. How can I help him?"
Ce kissed the child on the forehead.
"You are helping him sweetheart, simply by being you. You are his little girl, and the only blood relation Illya has left in the whole world. You are his family. Everything your papa does for a living, Katiya, he does for you, to help make the world a safer place for you to grow up in. When a man like your papa does a job as difficult and dangerous as his, there are times when he feels the need to be reminded of why he keeps doing it. So, he came here to spend time with you. All you have to do is be your usual, happy and helpful self, and he will be fine. Try not to worry about him too much. You're doing a great job. Here is your lunch. Have a good day sweetie, and I'll see you after school, all right?"
She helped Katiya on with her jacket, just as Illya came into the hallway, his hair wet. He was dressed in black jeans, black tee-shirt, and a thin fleecy black jacket. He winked at Katiya.
"Ready to go?"
Ce's daughter Polly came dashing out of her bedroom and skidded to a halt, hopping on one foot, only one sock on, the other trailing.
"Are we leaving now?" she asked. Her mother shook her head.
"No babe, Katiya and her papa are leaving now. You are going to finish your breakfast and then I will drive you in the car."
"But I want to walk with Kat and Uncle Illya!"
She grinned round at Katiya and her papa, expecting Illya to acquiesce and let her come. He smiled, but said nothing. Her face fell. Ce took her hand.
"Come along now Poll, when Uncle Illya comes, he almost always lets you join in doesn't he? He doesn't see Katiya very much, and they do sometimes need to spend some time on their own. Go on you two. I'll get you a cooked breakfast when you get back Illya."
"Thank you, Cecily. Sorry Polly, another time? Come on now kitten."
They strolled along in companionable silence, Katiya looking up at her papa. He was a very handsome papa, Katiya decided, although she still preferred to think of him as pretty, rather than handsome. He was much handsomer than the other kids' daddies she had seen. He was a lot younger than many of them, for a start. Even the fact that he had a big black eye and a fatter bottom lip than usual did not make him any less pretty in Katiya's opinion. She slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it gently, smiling down at her.
"Do you like going to school in America, daughter?" he asked her. Katiya nodded.
"Yes papa, I like it now. I didn't at first because the teacher and some of the kids called me names for being Russian, even though I kept saying I'm not Russian. But after you and Uncle Napoleon visited my teacher and talked to her, she has been different; and you know papa, she caught a boy calling me names in the playground yesterday, and she put him in tension! Papa, what is tension?"
Illya smiled.
"I think she probably said detention. That means he was punished by being made to sit in the classroom instead of being allowed to go out to play."
Katiya nodded.
"So a lot of people are nicer to you now are they?"
"Yes. That girl that beat up on me and hurt me was made to stay out of school for two whole weeks after we went to see Miss Borrowdale that night. She had everyone in class learning all about Ukraine and about Russia. One of the boys found out about a big war, where a bad army called….called…"
"Nazis?"
"Yes! He said Nazis invaded Ukraine and killed a lot of the people and a lot of children like us lost their families and were left all alone! That made everyone stare at me and someone asked me if that happened to me or to my mummy and daddy. I had to say I didn't know. Did it, papa?"
Illya was struck suddenly with memories as hard as granite and sharp as a knife, and he had to fight himself to keep his face impassive. Katiya evidently saw the battle going on and she stopped and pulled at his hand.
"Sorry papa, I didn't mean to make you sadder."
"Sadder?"
"I know you are sad papa, but I didn't mean to…"
Illya bent down and hugged her impulsively. He held her longer than normal, and when he released he, she saw his face was wet, but his eyes were smiling. Really smiling.
"You are a wonderful little girl, katiya, do you know that? You could never make me sadder. You always make me happy. When I feel sad, I can come and see you and you always make my sadness go away. The answer to your question is yes."
For a moment, Katiya wondered what he was talking about, then she remembered she had asked him about the war and these nasty Nazi people. Her eyes widened.
"You mean the Nazis killed…?"
"They killed my papa, my mama, my two older sisters, and my baby sister. The only person I had left was my big brother Mikhail."
"My first papa."
Katiya thought about that.
"How old were you, papa?"
"I was about your age at the time. Your papa, Mika was slightly older."
"You and my…you had no one? Did you have Uncle Dimitri?"
"Not at first. The local…police locked him up because he would not fight. He was lucky not to be sent to the gulag…Mikhail and I lived and slept on the streets for a long time until Uncle Dimitri was released. We ate…whatever we could find…it was not…easy, Katiya."
Katiya stared at her papa, seeing him in a new light. She had not known any of those things about him. She knew he did a very difficult and dangerous job now, but it seemed like he had had a very difficult and dangerous life even as a little boy. Her first papa had not talked to her much about anything at all, and she had certainly known nothing about any of his past or his background. She had loved him, but only as a distant figure who came to visit sometimes. He had always been away from home for much of her life. She saw this papa a lot more than she had ever seen her first one. She loved this papa a lot more too. She leaned forward and hugged him again.
"Please try and not be sad anymore, papa. I hate knowing that you are sad."
Illya stood up and took her hand once more.
"When people we love die, for whatever reason, we are always sad. Some things are impossible to forget, and so we are always a little bit sad because we always, always miss them. But we can still be happy at the same time."
"Happy and sad, papa?"
Illya nodded.
"You are happy with me right now aren't you?"
She nodded vigorously.
"But you still miss dedushka? And mama?"
Her face fell.
"Yes…but I don't think about them all the time now. I am only sad when I think about them. I prefer to think about you and that makes me happy again."
Illya smiled at her.
"See kitten, you have already learned the secret of being happy. We remember the sad things sometimes, but we don't think about them too much. We think about things and people we love. Why else do you think I came to stay with you this week? Lots of things make me sad… lots of things make me angry, but I come and see you and you make it all go away for me. You make me happy, Katiya. Shall we go? If I make you late for class, Miss Borrowdale will put me in detention!"
Katiya giggled.
"Silly!"
As they approached the school gates, Katiya looked around her with a wide grin on her face. Many of the other children, she knew, had doubted that her wonderful papa really existed, because they had never seen him. She had always come to school with Polly Solo and her mother, so she knew many of them believed she had made up her wonderful papa who had crossed continents and searched two countries to find her. Looking up at him, he was beautiful, even with a black eye and a fat lip he was still beautiful. He wasn't too tall, and he was very thin but he didn't look too thin. He had strong muscles on his arms and his chest, and his blond hair, even more blond than her own shone in the sun like a light. From her position, it looked like he had a golden halo.
The other kids were watching, some of them gaping slightly, as Miss Borrowdale came out of the school building and crossed the driveway. She held out her hand.
"Good to see you again Mister Kuryakin. Hello Katarina. It's time to go inside, so say your goodbyes for now. Will we see you later, sir?"
"I am planning to return to collect my daughter after school today, yes."
She smiled.
"Good. We'll see you then. Come along young lady."
Illya hunkered down and hugged his daughter. She kissed the tip of his nose.
"Promise you will try and think of me all day papa, and not be sad?"
He laughed.
"I always do kitten. Go on, and have a good day. I'll see you later."
He watched as she ran with the other kids into the school and turned to begin the stroll back chez Solo. He ignored the many eyes watching him as he strolled easily away.
By the time he got back, Cecily had arrived home after driving Polly to school, and she already had bacon and sausages frying in the pan. She called out to him.
"Illya, your food is nearly done. Grab yourself a cold drink from the cool-box and go sit on the patio. I'll bring you a pot of tea with your food."
The patio at the rear of the property looked out over the farm, where Illya could already see Winston striding out across his fields. Directly behind the house, just beyond the garden across to Illya's left was a small orchard, and the contented squeals and grunts of a large sow and her piglets as they wondered happily, scoffing the rest of the fallen fruit and enjoying themselves made Illya sigh and sit back in his chair, allowing himself to relax slightly.
Cecily Solo came out presently with a large tray with a cooked breakfast, toast and marmalade, a giant muffin, and a pot of tea. He stared at it in surprise.
"An English full breakfast?"
She grinned.
"The English don't have the monopoly on enjoying a decent breakfast once in a while, and I remember overhearing you telling Napoleon once how important is a decent breakfast, so…"
"Ce, thank you, it looks wonderful."
She sat beside him smiling as he started to eat.
"You made quite an impression at the girls' school this morning, Illya. I overheard quite a few of the parents talking about the dashing blond Russian man and wondering if you were a boxer or a wrestler,"
Illya shook his head.
"Katiya tells me that many of her classmates thought she was pretending when she told them about me."
Ce nodded.
"That is true. She has come home from school quite annoyed on occasion with stories of the kids at school calling her a fibber. They have seen her always coming in with Polly and I and some of them know she lives with us, so they all assumed she was an orphan and was inventing you to make herself more important. Now of course…"
Illya nodded.
"I came here full of my own woes, Ce. It is easy to forget sometimes that others have things to face too."
"The things you face every day Illya are a lot more intense than most of us. Perhaps a little normality for a while will help to get things into perspective…?"
"I am hoping so. Katiya is very skilled at keeping my feet on the ground."
"She loves you, Illya. So much."
They were silent for a moment, then Ce glanced at her guest.
"Illya, you don't have to tell me, but…usually when you get hurt, you avoid coming here. Napoleon tells me it is because you don't want to alarm Katiya, and I can understand that, even though she seemed to accept it all rather well, so why did you come here this time instead of recovering at home with Napoleon watching over you? Is it something different this time?"
Illya choked on his bacon, and took a gulp of water to recover. Ce was watching him closely. Kindly.
"I…I…I can't…I can't talk about it…"
"You don't have to, Illya. Napoleon will want to help you deal with…whatever it is. He will be coming here to see you. You know that, right?"
Illya nodded.
"He came last night, late. I'm afraid I hit him."
"You did what?"
"I hit him in the eye. He's probably deciding now whether to shoot me or simply lock me up and throw away the key."
"Why did you hit him?"
Why indeed? Illya remembered seeing red, and lashing out. He remembered the conversation, but not why he had, in that instant, lost control of himself. He prided himself on his self-control. His reputation at headquarters of Ice Prince was well deserved, he knew. Would that image be shattered if they all knew he had lost his temper and punched his best friend in the eye after Napoleon had only been trying to help? What if that punch had left Napoleon with a black eye? How would he explain it in the office? He looked up and saw that Ce was looking slightly ashamed.
"Sorry Illya, I shouldn't…"
"Ce, do not apologise for a perfectly normal question. I do not know why I did that. I think that…Damn! Please excuse me Ce, I think I need to go to my room for a bit."
Cecily Solo watched as the normally reserved and perfectly controlled Russian got up with a whiter face than normal, and disappeared inside the house. She frowned, biting her lip, troubled. She knew he had had another run-in with THRUSH, and Napoleon had rescued him as ever. She also knew that he had not been a captive for more than a couple of hours. No one believed he could have been very much hurt in that time. What had happened to the Russian in that short time he had been in that THRUSH satrap? Something was definitely very wrong.
She picked up the telephone and started to dial. Time, she thought, to speak to Napoleon