Napoleon stood outside, finishing his last cigarette; it would do for a while as the rain was beginning to fall. He wouldn't try having another inside as he knew Illya was trying yet again to quit smoking. Sitting in the car was out of the question as the approaching storm was predicted to be pretty bad and he didn't want to get stuck there.
He pulled up the collar on his jacket with a shiver, as he'd just apprised Waverly of their current situation, so the planned rendezvous would be delayed due to the inclement weather.
"Very will Mr. Solo," the Old Man sighed."We unfortunately are at the mercy of Mother Nature on this one. As soon as the storm passes please contact me upon your departure time. It was a bit of luck you were able to find shelter as that part of the Rocky Mountains is sparsely populated."
"Yes sir, we were lucky. I will keep you informed. Solo out." He disassembled his communicator, tucking it safely away his shirt pocket along with his pack of cigarettes.
Solo was dressed down even for him as he was wearing a flannel shirt, brown chinos along with a heavy woolen jacket and the red and black hunter's cap with the ear flaps that he always favored.
His and Illya's refuge was a single room hunting cabin. It was rustic, but sturdy and had a few comforts to see them through the night.
There was no way they'd make it through the mountains with a big storm on the way. The roads were treacherous enough even in good weather.
The reports on the approaching storm came via the car radio confirmed by the Russian who had a nose for the elements when they were changing.
They stopped at a small general store and the proprietor told them they were welcome to use three cabin that was three miles up the road a piece..
"Cabin's small," Luther, the owner of Luther's General Store said."You fellas are welcome to use it. It's shared by all the hunters in the area, but since huntin' season is done, it'll be unoccupied for a while. The only rule is if you use it, you leave it clean, with kindling and firewood for the next man. You fellas better get going as it looks to be a pretty good blow."
It was an offer neither agent could refuse. Free accommodations were always a plus, especially since they didn't relish the idea of spending the night inside a car while a storm was raging around them. It was too far to try to head back to the nearest town which was at least thirty miles away. They were in the sticks after all.
After laying in some supplies from Luther's, they headed to their lodgings, not knowing what to expect, but upon their arrival they were pleasantly surprised.
Once done unloading, they laid in plenty of wood, luckily it was already stacked outside behind the small cabin.
A roaring fire would be their only source of heat. It was getting cold, though hopefully not cold enough to turn into snow. There was already a little bit of that left on the ground.
After coming inside from having his cigarette, Napoleon looked around the small room, not seeing his partner at first.
It was then he realized the fuzzy pink blanket on a small beat up sofa had a knit cap showing at one end, and a pair of boots sticking out the other.
"You okay Illya?" He thought it odd that his partner was bundled up that way as the Russian usually relished colder temperatures.
A pair of blue eyes peeked out from between the knit cap and the blanket.
"Fine. Just testing out the couch. I have already started a fire but it will take time to warm the place.
There was a cast iron stove located in the back corner of the room that would provide heat as well as enable them to cook their meals.
Hanging from nails on the wall behind it were a couple of pots and frying pans. On a shelf beside the stove were mismatched dishes, cutlery and a coffee pot.
Their meals wouldn't be fancy, but they'd be hot and nourishing. They'd bought enough food to last a few days if need be, even with the Russian's boundless appetite. For that reason alone, it paid to have extra to be on the safe side.
A loaf of bread, pancake mix, two tins of spam, coffee, sticks of butter, and a small bottle of maple syrup...the basics for breakfast, but would do for lunch and dinner if need be.
They'd procured a tin of beef stew, a package of egg noodles, canned beans, canned peaches, and something called Franco-American spaghetti...canned spaghetti.
Illya merely shrugged at the idea of spaghetti from a can; Napoleon, ever the connoisseur, cringed.
When it came down to it, Kuryakin wasn't fussy with most foods. He'd gone hungry and nearly starved to death a few times in his life to worry about whether their food would be tasty or not, though he would much rather it had good taste. Still food was food.
Napoleon wouldn't pass up a meal for the most part even if it didn't really suit his epicurean standards, though his exception to that criterion was hot dogs...one of his secret passions. Illya turned up his nose at those, though maybe it was the condiments Solo used, catsup and raw onions.
Napoleon had eaten hot dogs since he was a kid, while going to the ballpark to see the local teams play baseball with his brother and their Aunt Amy. Father was in the military and always off somewhere on an assignment.
Napoleon supposed he associated hot dogs with those fond memories with his aunt and younger brother.
Shame they didn't have any at the general store, he could have gone for a few franks.
"What say I cook us something to eat?" He took off his coat and hung it up on a hook by the door.
"You do not have to ask me twice,"came the muffled reply from beneath the blanket.
After ladling some water from a wooden bucket they'd filled from a nearby stream, steam rose from the cast iron skillet he'd but atop the stove, indicating it was ready to use.
"Well since it's between lunch and dinner, how about I warm up the stew?
"And serve it over some buttered noodles?" lllya called out.
Solo chuckled. "Your wish is my command oh Ice Prince."
Illya sat up, finally throwing the blanket off himself. "Please do not call me that."
"Why? That's what you're referred to around headquarters."
"It is meant to be derogatory. I would at least hope my partner would not use it."
"Sorry, Illya. I didn't realize it was being used in a demeaning way."
"Not so demeaning, but more unflattering. It is meant to say that I have no emotions, that I am cold and unfeeling."
"We both know it's not true, though I can see why you come across that way to some people. They're mistaking your preference for privacy as an aloofness perhaps?"
"Yes I can seem that way at times. I do not let many people see the real me."
"Maybe it's time you did?"
Illya cocked his head to one side.
"I will think about it. In the meantime I will search through the boxes behind the couch here for whatever else we can use. This pink blanket will definitely not do."
Napoleon whistled away while cooking, it was one of his other passions, besides the ladies. Though it wasn't up to his gourmet standards preparing food from a can, he'd do something to improve upon it.
Illya found just what they needed, several sleeping bags and more blankets, a ceramic wash basin and pitcher, several towels, and a box of Wanamaker's bar soap. Five of the original six were still in there.
"Well we will not have to worry about washing up," Illya announced as he showed his partner the soap. "I have heard this particular soap seems to last forever."
"Let's not hope we're here long enough to find out. Any toilet paper hidden back there tovarisch?"
"Not that I have seen so far...come to think of it, where is the loo?"
"Round back, ye olde out house. Hopefully there's some toilet paper there." Napoleon smiled.
"If not there is plenty of newspaper," Illya announced.
"Oh, peachy."
Dinner was finally ready, and Napoleon carried their plates to the couch where they sat to eat. To wash it down he'd had made a pot of coffee. There was no milk so black would have to do.
As Illya dug in, he made several yummy sounds.
"I take it you like it?"
"This came out of a can? It is very good." He soaked up some of the gravy with a slice of bread after which he shoveled a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
Solo was rather proud of himself. "I found some spices on a rack by the stove and tweaked it a little bit with them. A touch of nutmeg, a little garlic, salt, pepper and voila!"
"Only you could make something from a can taste this good my friend."
Napoleon smiled. "A comment from a lover of food such as yourself is quite the compliment."
A sudden clap of thunder made both men turn; the sound announced the rain as it finally began to pour down, pounding on the roof and the single pane window to the side of the door. The wind began to whistle through the rafters.
Stepping over to the door Napoleon looked out through the window panels in it, seeing the trees hunched over like crippled old men.
"Wow, pretty wild and wooly out there."
"Napoleon, what is the meaning of that phrase? I have not heard it before."
Solo was surprised, as he thought his partner had absorbed enough American idioms that he was comfortable enough with their usage and meaning.
He used to hate it when Illya, in the early years, would parrot back things said, perhaps feigning his ignorance...which is what Napoleon suspected some of the time.
"Are you kidding me or what?"
"I kid you not. I have never heard it before."
"All right then. The expression is American in origin and came into being to describe the wild west sometime after the California Gold Rush of the 1850s."
"The wild part I understand Napoleon but wooly? Does that refer to the American bison?"
"No, now here's the rub, supposedly it was quoted in something called The Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review and Church Register in 1855, which included a reference to the "wild and woolly-haired Negrillo."
"Negrillo? Is that not a Spanish diminutive of negro?"
"Yes it is. It's from a time when slavery in this country was still in full force."
"Oh. It does not seem wholly applicable to the current weather since it is possibly some sort of slur."
Napoleon scratched his head. "I suppose you're right. I never really thought about it and was just accustomed to using the phrase."
"And how did you learn all this about it?"
"Just something I read once," Napoleon shrugged. He caught the amusement in his partner's eyes. "I do read you know…"
"Yes Napoleon I know you are a well read person, still sometimes you surprise me."
The Russian was accustomed to his partner quoting from Milton and Shakespeare, but this bit of historical information was a change for the American, or so Illya thought.
The wind was now blowing so hard that rain was being pushed underneath the door. There was no sill to block it as the flooring was just simple wooden planks. The pink blanket came in handy as it was rolled up and used to absorb the water.
Napoleon threw another log in the stove as it felt colder.
"Wonder how long this is going to last?"
Illya again looked at him, his head cocked to the side.
Napoleon got that look immediately." Tovarisch, it was a rhetorical question.".
Illya lit one of three oil lamps, and placed it on a wooden crate beside the sofa. He sat there, pulling a book from his small valise, and prepared to read.
"What do have there ?"
Kuryakin held it up the for his partner to see.
"Really, War and Peace? I hope you don't think we're going to be stuck here that long."
Illya chuckled. "Of course not. It is a book that has kept me company ever since I was a child hiding from the Naz…" he stopped himself, suddenly looking like the cat that ate the canary. It was clear his nonchalance was a defense mechanism.
Napoleon sat down beside him, leaning his elbow on the back of the sofa and rested his head against his hand."You were going to say Nazis."
"Yes ummm, just a slip of the tongue. It is a very personal and private memory."
"Illya this is exactly why some people call you the Ice Prince."
The Russian bit his lower lip as he inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils.
"All right yes, I was hiding from the Nazis."
"How old were you?"
"Nine," he hesitated."My...my family was gone, killed by the soldiers. All gone."
"Illya I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it."
There was a clap of thunder that rumbled off in the distance booming again and again, like howitzer cannons, and that made Illya jumpy. The sound had connected with something from his past.
"I remember being at home in our small dacha when the shelling began against Kyiv. A German Panzer division surrounded the Soviet troops in the city. Much of it was destroyed, but what wasn't was booby trapped by the retreating Red Army. They wanted to leave little for the Germans to use, unfortunate for the people who lived there as well. In the ensuing invasion each member of my family was killed. I was the only survivor, though to this day I do not understand why I lived and they did not." Illya's voice seemed small and almost frail.
Napoleon just let him talk, and refrained from asking any questions. It was obvious his Russian friend was leaving out a lot of details but that didn't matter, what mattered was that he was opening up even if it was just a little.
Both men trusted each other with their lives, and had each other's backs. There was no doubt of that. Napoleon was more open about his life, his past. Illya on the other hand had his own little Iron Curtain surrounding himself.
He'd once told Napoleon, like it was a mantra, that the less people know about you, the longer you will live.
Solo tried to tell him that, " I'm not people Illya, I'm your partner but I'm also your friend, and I'll never betray our friendship. That I vow to you."
Kuryakin seemed to accept that at face value, but it still didn't inspire him to lower that wall with which he'd surrounded himself.
Tonight though, he finally did. Was it the storm, him reading War and Peace? He had no idea what triggered Illya to let down his guard just a little. Napoleon didn't care what prompted it really, but was glad it finally happened.
After taking another deep breath, Illya continued to speak.
"I was alone, and took refuge in what was left of the city as my home was blown apart by a grenade. It was winter and I scavaged through some homes for clothing and food. I looked like a perfect homeless street orphan called bespriorzi in Russian. They were the children who roamed the streets, having been orphaned by war.
I manage to make it through the harsh Ukrainian winter, surviving by my wits as I fended off packs of roaming wild dogs, who were doing their own hunting. Dog meat is very good, by the way, especially when you are near starving.
Another clap of thunder made Illya cringe, forcing him into silence. He was on edge now having broken his silence over his past. Though he revealed little, he was upset about saying what he'd said.
Napoleon sensed Illya's discomfort and pulled out his pack of Lucky Strikes. "I know you're trying to quit tovarisch, but I think you could use one of these."
"Thank you, and you are right." Illya gratefully accepted a cigarette, and after Napoleon drew one out for himself he lit his Zippo lighter for both of them.
They both took a long drags, and exhaled, slowly finishing their smokes together in silence.
Illya seemed calmer now, and stood, pulling out the sleeping bags, tossing them on the floor of the cabin, he began unrolling them.
"Wait, Illya why don't you sleep on the sofa."
He smiled his reply. "No thank you. It is not very comfortable. The floor will do fine, and we will be closer to the stove for heat."
There was no changing of clothes, and the two men merely removed their boots before crawling into their respective sleeping bags.
"Good night Illya," Napoleon said as he blew out the oil lamp.
"Yes good night. Sleep well."
The storm continued to rage on into the night and though he dozed off in spite of the thunder, Napoleon was awakened as Illya cried out in the wee hours.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Sorry, it was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."
Kuryakin crawled from his sleeping bag and lit the oil lamp. Sitting on the sofa, he opened his book and after putting on his reading glasses he started in again on War and Peace.
Napoleon of course was awake now. "Did talking to me about what happened to you in Kiev give you that bad dream?"
"No...yes. It is something I try not to think about. I supposed the thunder triggered some sort of memories."
"Illya, I'm not saying this to be funny but how is it that you just love making things go boom, but the bomb you detonate...well don't they bring back memories too?"
"Good question, but one to which I do not have an answer. Nor will I ever discuss it with the Psych department. So they better not hear about it." He gave Solo one of those threatening blue eyed stares.
"My lips are sealed tovarisch."
"Good night Napoleon."
"Good night Illya."
The next morning the storm was at last over. Both men woke, washed up, and used the outhouse which thankfully had toilet paper. They decided the rugged look was in order and neither one of them shaved.
Breakfast was ready in no time, albeit an strange one of spaghetti-o's, beans and diced up spam and the last of pancake mix, along with toast, made for a filling meal, topped off with strong black coffee.
There was a loud knock at the door and both men automatically drew their weapons.
Illya immediately stepped to the right of the door, his gun at the ready while Napoleon with his gun hidden behind his back prepared to open the door.
"Who's there?"Solo called.
"It's Luther from the General Store. I just came by to check on you and give you some news."
Napoleon and Illya ducked their weapons and welcomed Luther inside.
"Hi there, good to see you made it through that weather. Worst we've seen in a while. Your car though, didn't handle it too well I see, "he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to a small tree laying across of the hood of the car.
"But not to worry yourselves, I brought a chainsaw just in case there were any trees blocking your door. I'll have it cleared in no time."
Both agents peeked out the door, looking at the car with disappointment.
"At least the windshield is undamaged, and a dent in the hood is nothing disastrous. I am sure I will somehow get the blame for the damage,"Illya snickered.
"We were just cleaning up and getting ready to leave soone Luther," Napoleon said. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"
"I'll take you up on that as soon as I cut away that tree, won't take but a few minutes."
"Is there anything we can do to help?"Illya asked.
"No sir, not a thing. As I said just make sure you leave the place clean and with plenty of kindling and wood for the next occupant."
"It shall be done," Napoleon saluted.
Luther made quick work of clearing the car and came in for that cup of Joe."
"Not bad," he nodded his head as he took a large sip from his mug. "Oh by the way, I hope you're not still planning a trip up through the mountains."
"Actually we were,"Napoleon sipped his own coffee.
"Well I think you're going to have a long wait. You see there was a mighty big mudslide from the storm. The road is blocked for miles and it's going to take a lot of heavy equipment to clear it. Trouble is, it's too muddy to bring anything in right now. Once the mud hardens it'll happen, then of course the mud will be like concrete. Gonna be a big mess for quite a while I'm afraid."
Napoleon's eyebrows raised in surprise while Illya's face remained indiscernible and emotionless as always.
"Well I guess we'll be heading back your way Luther. We have no choice but to go back to where we came from and figure out what to do from there."
"You're city boys aren't you?" Luther asked.
"Yes, we are actually sales representatives for the Acme Novelty Company and were going to meet a new client." Illya stuck out his chest with pride, putting on a good image for his cover.
"Novelties, like chattering teeth, and whoopie cushions," Luther snorted.
"Exactly," Napoleon smiled. He was slipping into his slick salesman persona. "Interesting in carrying a few things a you store? We have exploding cigars, and other novelties that'll go over well with the hunting crowd."
"Well don't that beat all. Let me think about it if you don't mind." Luther set down his empty mug and headed for the door.
"I guess I'll see you on the way back? Maybe you can show me some of them samples after all. Exploding cee-gars you say?"
"Sure will Luther, and thanks again for all your help." Napoleon closed the door after him. He drew his communicator, assembling it with a practiced hand.
"Open Channel D- Waverly."
"Yes Mr. Solo, your report please?"
'Straight to the point as always,' Solo thought to himself.
"Yes sir, it seems we have a problem. Though we survived the storm with some minor damage to the car from a falling tree, it seems the road through the mountains has been blocked by a large mudslide and is impassible."
Napoleon swore he could hear the Old Man growl.
"Dash it all! Oh, well there's no competing with the forces of nature, wot? I'll have to dispatch other agents on the other side of the mountain pass and will reschedule the rendezvous. You and Mister Kuryakin are to get back to the airport and return to New York. I have another assignment that will suit your talents. And please don't dally Mr. Solo?"
"Yes sir, understood. Solo out."
"Please don't dally!" Napoleon imitated Waverly. It just irked him hearing that said. "Say Illya, I think we just might have some car trouble when we get into town."
"How do you know this? Have you suddenly become prescient?"
Solo merely winked as he smiled. "Get it?"
"Oh..Oooh! I do," Kuryakin nodded. "It is possible."
He shrugged, not wanting to bother to challenge his partner. Once Napoleon made up his mind, that was it. He'd be sucked into whatever little adventure in which his partner became involved.
They bypassed Luther's, headed straight down into town and booked themselves into a nice comfortable motel. This time it was separate rooms, for which Illya was eternally grateful. Accounting be damned, and at least for once he wouldn't have to hang out in a bar or the hotel lobby while Napoleon wooed some little strumpet.
As it turned out that wasn't Solo's plan at all.
After reporting their car troubles to Mr. Waverly who took their excuse as somewhat doubtful, he approved their delay.
Napoleon ordered room service and invited Illya to have dinner with him in his room.
As soon as Kuryakin walked in, the aroma was instantly enticing.
"Do I smell steak?"
"Oh tovarisch, not just steak but steak au poivre with filet mignon, "Napoleon lifted the stainless steel cover from his dinner plate. "We also have asparagus with hollandaise sauce, glazed carrots, and roasted dijon potatoes.'
"For starters we have Caesar salad, and a lovely beef consommé garnished with a thin slice of raw mushroom and a pinch of fresh chopped green onion. For dessert the piece de resistance...German chocolate cake garnished with glazed dark cherries."
Kuryakin's brows rose in skepticism."Mr. Waverly will not be happy with this blatant misuse of UNCLE funds. There is only so much they allow for meals. It is bad enough you lied about the car trouble."
"Leave it to me, and don't worry your little blond head over anything."
"Oh I will not worry as it is on your expense account, not mine."
As Illya sat at the table with his partner, digging in, he at last spoke, between bites.
"Why did you do this? There seemed to be no need for this extravagance as it was not like we starved during the storm."
"Honestly I was hoping you'd talk to me a little more. I appreciated what you told me last night in the cabin, and was wishing you'd trust me with the rest of your story."
Illya slowly put down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"I am sorry Napoleon, but I cannot. Well, maybe I can tell you a bit more, but not every thing. This sumptuous meal is so opposite of what I had, or I should say, didn't have to eat when growing up."
He paused, realizing he owed Napoleon something more.
"I do appreciate that you did not gush with apologies and sorrow for the things I told you. I had a rough life yes, but I have never wanted to be pitied for it. No 'poor Illya this or that.'Thank you for not saying any such thing to me."
"Well I do want to thank you for what you did tell me. I imagine it's not easy and I appreciate that fact. Tell me what you want, or not at all. It's up to you."
"After we street children were captured by the Nazis we were…"he took a deep breath." We were taken to a concentration camp. I will not tell you of the horrors I witnessed there as I saw all the children I helped to survive in the city succumb to exhaustion, starvation or much worse. I escaped the camp with thirteen men when the Germans were destroying all the evidence of the atrocities they committed before the advancing Red Army arrived. I returned to my hiding place in Kyiv, I was starving and ready to die, but I was found by the Soviet soldiers who arrived in time to save me."
After recovering in a refugee center I was sent to an orphanage in Moskva. However it was like going from one hell hole to another. I was surrounded by bullies who stole what food I had, they threatened me with knives, beat me up and then there were the teachers who stole the food and supplies meant for the children. We were surrounded by corruption, death and disease."
Illya paused in his exposition, and actually smiled.
"It was in the orphanage where I learned to smoke at the tender age of ten or was it eleven? Regardless, smoking made you look tough, and looking that way at least gave you a small reprieve from the bullies. I was smart and they finally realized it. I had my uses to them, and that probably saved my life. I survived, when so many did not. Now if I could only quit smoking…"
Again Solo remained silent, just listening.
"From the orphanage I was sent to a school for gifted children and not long after I was discovered by Viktor Karkoff who recruited me to a life in military intelligence, and then finally I was given to Alexander Waverly by the Chief of the Directorate of GRU." Illya suddenly chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
"GRU thought because I was a greenhorn that I would probably die my first year with the U.N.C.L.E."
"Boy were they wrong, I'm glad to say,' Napoleon smiled.'So fair enough tovarisch, though I think you just gave me a very brief and watered down version of your life, I'll take what I can get."
"As you say, fair enough; I will tell you more, but not today." Illya actually blushed; he wasn't ashamed of his life.
What it taught him made him strong and what what he was today. Though it was a sad life, for all intents and purposes he was adamant about anyone not feeling sorry for him.
If he told his partner the gruesome details the man would no doubt feel that way for him. Napoleon was a compassionate man after all, but he nor anyone else, unless they had experienced a life such as his could commiserate with him. He wanted none of that, not from Napoleon or anyone.
"And now I will bid you a good night. I have a full belly and I thank you for ordering such a delicious meal. I am heading to bed as that soft mattress and coverlet are calling my name. By the way my room and half this meal will go on my expense account, it is unfair that yours should bear the burden. There will no doubt be hell to pay with Accounting and no reason why you should be the only one in trouble."
"We'll talk about it when the time comes, now no bad dreams tonight, right?"
"No, I think not. Good night my friend." Illya rose, heading for the door.
"Good night Illya," Napoleon smiled pensively.
He remained where he stood, and looking at the door that had just closed, he wished his partner sweet dreams."
He'd never admit it to his partner, but he did feel a bit sorry for the guy. Some of what Illya had told him helped to explain some of his personality quirks. Illya Kuryakin was one hell of a survivor and he was glad to have him as a friend.
Napoleon looked at his wristwatch, noting the night was still surprisingly young; he decided to head to a bar across the street from the motel.
It was a rustic log cabin with the name of Deegan's Tavern.
He wasn't looking for a woman's company, no he just wanted a couple of drinks to help him sleep and absorb what Illya had confided.
When he entered the darkened bar he spotted a familiar person seated there. Napoleon sidled up to his partner and sat on a bar stool beside him.
"I thought your bed was calling your name?"
Illya blushed at being caught, though it was nothing terrible. "I just thought an nightcap would help me sleep better. I guess you had the same thought?"
Napoleon nodded.
Illya waved down the barman. "My friend will have a scotch on the rocks...your best please, and I will have another Stoli." He threw money on the bar. "On me."
When the drinks arrived they raised their glasses.
"Here's mud in your eye," Napoleon smiled.
Just then, Solo's communicator chirped.
Before he could disappear to answer it Illya mumbled his toast in Russian.
"Nu, vzdrognuli,"meaning roughly, 'Here we go again."