"Come on Illya? What is wrong with you?" Napoleon Solo moaned. "This place is so sizzling I'd swear it was Summer!"
His partner was letting his Russian stoicism shine through as usual, putting a damper on the American's enthusiasm.
"You forget I lived in Paris for three years and it does not exactly hold fond memories for me."
"Well since you refuse to share those memories with me, how can I empathize with you? Illya, Paris in the Springtime, how can that not call to you, seriously?"
Kuryakin sighed as he and his partner walked along in a small park on the side of Notre Dame facing the Left Bank; the cherry and almond trees were in full bloom, filling the air with their sweet scent.
Napoleon's head was swiveling back and forth as one gorgeous Parisian woman after another caught his attention, with their long legs and swaying hips. It was all he could do from turning around to follow them, one after another.
He moaned as there were just too many to choose from in his quest for le beau sexe." His senses were almost on overload.
"If you do not slow down my friend, you are going to give yourself a case of whiplash, if not then heart failure,"Illya warned.
"Moi? Never my friend. Women are what makes the world go round and I find their very presence...especially here in Paris, completely intoxicating."
"I would prefer a good vodka to bring me to that state," Illya said with a smugness in his voice. "I swear Napoleon you are in rut."
"I take umbrage at that crude remark. Just because I love being with women does not make...does not bring out the animal in me or any healthy red-blooded gentleman for that matter."
"Are you insinuating I am not a red-blooded gentleman?" Illya stopped and stared at his partner.
"Of course not. I know you like women. I just don't understand how you can ignore so many of them at the moment. We're surrounded by them in the midst of the city of l'amour. How can you not just want to make love to one of them?"
Illya groused, "No, I will not give into you. I will not not strike up a conversation with a woman just to get her into bed with me. I prefer…"
"Yeah yeah, I know you want to have a relationship with a woman...and how has that panned out for you by the way? As I recall you've been dumped more often that yesterday's trash."
"That was completely unnecessary and inconsiderate of you," Illya's lower lip protruded like a pouting child, a hint to Napoleon that he'd hit a nerve.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it to come out that way chum. I apologize.
"Apology accepted."
"Tell you what...why don't we head over to the Moulin Rouge. Surely you can appreciate it and the wonderful shows they put on there?" He held up a brochure, extolling the spectacle.
"A dazzling revue, comprising of a troupe of one-hundred artists, a thousand costumes of feathers and glitter. Enjoy magnificent stage settings of rich colors and unique drawings created by Italian artists. Raise a glass of sparkling champagne to the exceptional acts all set to original music from eighty musicians and sixty chorus singers…"
"And let's not forget les girls and the can-can. Scads of scantily clad women, can you imagine that? Those legs kicking high in the air, the shaking fannies and bouncing breasts…" Napoleon sighed, staring at the handbill and the painted lip print on it. "Formidable, indeed."
"My friend that is...how you put it, 'your thing' and not mine. Let us part ways for now and I will visit Paris my way and you yours. May I remind you we have twenty-four hours in which to do so."
"Suit yourself," Napoleon shrugged."I'll see you back at the hotel tonight, unless I'm otherwise occupied."
"Which I am sure you will be, "Illya finally broke into a half-smile as he sauntered off, heading in the direction of the river Seine. He wandered aimlessly for a while until he boarded a Bateaux Mouche boat at the Quai de la Bourdonnais on the Left Bank. There he settled himself in, leaning comfortably on a railing as the boat glided gently along the river; the city's monuments coming into view one by one, bringing back his memories at last.
Illya was young, only eighteen when first sent here to Paris.
He stopped himself for a second, trying to remember when he was ever that young...and naive.
There were orders issued for him to spy on the Soviet scientists and teachers conducting research there at the Sorbonne, his first major assignment, while he himself worked on his masters in quantum physics and thereby furthering his Western education.
It was a Spring very much like this when he foolishly let his guard down with a woman. He'd fallen in love with his handler, Katiya Revchenkov and was blissfully happy for the first time since he was a child.
Katiya was older that he, and wiser in the ways of the world, teaching him not only to be a good spy but guiding him the ways of love. The sex was incredible. The days were long, full of romance wine and food, not only for the body but for his Russian soul. He craved love and she gave it to him, or so he thought.*
Until she betrayed him.
He was sent by her on what he thought was an assignment to the German Ambassador's residence to break in and steal information, but it was a set up.
Illya was arrested, and deported. His sponsor at military intelligence,, Viktor Karkoff lost face and that did not bode well for the young Kuryakin, as the man was known for his long memory and holding a grudge.
Katiya and Illya never saw each other again, nor did he ever get an answer as to why she'd betrayed him. It was then he swore off women, though admittedly he'd had lapses over the years; letting himself have relationships with a few ladies, but as his partner had been so callous to point out, they never lasted.
Illya wondered if it was his fault, his upbringing in the Soviet system that gave him nothing but an attitude of impermanence...transience as it were, or was it the job with the Command...was it the secrecy that drove them away?
He'd pursued Marion Raven and thought he'd won her. She most certainly had his heart. Yet still in the end, she sent him away, telling him he couldn't give her what she needed.**
All these feelings of rejection...why did being here in Paris suddenly bring them to the surface? Perhaps in truth he was lonely, not for a woman or sex but for love.
Napoleon dealt in his own way regarding the loss of his Clara, but Illya had yet to find a way to cope with such things, other than trying to avoid women.**
He huffed, pushing those feelings aside and burying them as he always did.
A few hours later the Russian disembarked the Bateaux Mouche like any other tourist, deciding to take a taxi to the Moulin Rouge at the foot of Montmartre in the 18th arrondissement .
He'd made up his mind not to not be a complete stick in the mud, and besides, it had been a long time since he's seen the can-can... it was, after all, Paris in the Springtime and a beautiful place to be. The leisurely trip on the Bateaux Mouche made him realize that fact.
There were no long dark shadows lurking around every corner, nor following him at the moment, though the area where the Moulin Rouge was known to be a bit seedy. That, however, he could handle.
Illya made a decision, seeing a need to move on and get over the memories of these lost loves…but like so many things in life, it would take time.
.
Translations:
"le beau sexe": the fairer sex. Translation thanks to Svetlancat.
"l'amour: love
"arrondissement" : district
"Quai de la Bourdonnais" : Port Bourdonnais on the Seine river
"Bateaux Mouche": are open excursion boats that provide visitors to Paris with a view of the city from along the river Seine/
.
* ref "First Kill"
** ref "For no one but for the sake of the command"
A/N Much later in life Illya receives a crytic answer as to why Katiya betrayed him in my AU story "The Thirty-Seven Bridges Affair," along with a hint that a child is involved...hinted but not confirmed.