The time for Section II agents to be recertified for active duty had come again, and Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had tried everything to avoid going to their appointments in the psychiatric department. They both detested these exams, and people in the medical profession in general, like most agents. Their lives were made up of secrets, and things they wanted and needed to keep private for their own reasons and psychiatrists often dug just a little too deep for comfort.
Luckily some assignments pulled them away, delaying the inevitable, but when they were in house, there was no choice but to show up and pay the piper, or so the piper thought.
Napoleon Solo walked into the office of Dr. Aleta Holmes, looking surprisingly chipper, but just as he sat in the chair opposite her, his communicator went off.
"Solo here," he responded promptly.
"You are needed in Security." It was the monotone voice of his Russian partner.
When it was Illya's turn in the doctors office, the same thing would happen...the communicator would chirp and his partner would tell him he was needed in Research and Development or at times, legitimately, somewhere else.
The excuses, delays and interruptions happened again and again. Solo needed to be in a meeting with Waverly, reports had to be rewritten legibly, Lisa Rogers required consoling after breaking up with her boyfriend, Napoleon had an emergency dentist appointment... Kuryakin had to defuse a bomb, they were serving filet mignon in the commissary. Illya's dog got loose...wait he didn't own a dog. Illya's cat got loose...he did own a cat. The tricks went on ad nauseum.
Eventually Dr. Holmes caught on to their games and now that Napoleon Solo sat across from her in her office; she called him on it.
"Moi?" He said innocently,"Why how could you think of such a thing of me?" He looked at her, noting the psychiatrist's lovely green eyes, and the way her hair was pulled back tightly, not very flattering, he thought.
"You know that's not a very becoming hairstyle for someone as attrative as you. You should wear your hair down sometime, it would really bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours." He smiled at her, disarming her instantly.
"Do you think?" She blushed, forgetting the purpose of their meeting as she raised her hand, brushing against her hairline.
"Absolutely."
Dr. Holmes shook herself from his spell."You are something else Mr. Solo," she said, writing on her yellow notepad. "Extremely strong libido," though she'd already heard of his reputation with the ladies of the secretarial pool.
He crossed his legs, leaning back comfortably in the chair, anticipating her next move.
"Now let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?" She smiled, taking a turn at disarming him with her feminine attributes as her weapon. She undid the top button of her blouse, fanning herself with the notepad, complaining it was a bit warm and pulled at her hair, letting release and cascade down to her shoulders.
Napoleon sighed, knowing what she was up to and asked himself if he should just give in and get it over with, since he'd simply run out of excuses and even his own devilish charms seemed to be out of working order today."
"Fine, what would you like to talk about?" He said succinctly.
"You Section II agents come across as being pretty fearless, almost too fearless. It seems impossible there are things that don't frighten you Mr. Solo, as self assured as you come across to others. Tell me, what is it that strikes terror into your heart?"
"Meeee, scared of something? No, I don't think so." He said, unfazed.
"I find that hard to believe. There is nothing that has ever made your blood run cold?"
Napoleon leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together.
Dr. Holmes made note of body language...leaning forwards toward her indicated he was open yet his fingers interlocked meant he was not., that told her he would most likely not answer her question, but to her surprise he did.
"Fine, there are two things that come to mind...losing my partner for instance, but I think that is felt by every agent with a long term connection to a partner. So it's nothing unusual, I would think."
"That's understandable, given you and Mr. Kuryakin have such a strong bond, not only as co-workers but as friends, dare I say?"
He remained silent for a second. "I have become rather fond of the fellow, and he does come in handy for typing up our reports."
"Cute Mr. Solo.
"Please, called me Napoleon."
"Alright, Napoleon. You said there were two things that came to mind, what's the other?"
He took a deep breath, not really wanting to admit something to something he deemed childish.
"I'm afraid of drowning."
"Really? That's a surprise, as I'm aware that you own a boat...a yacht as I recall."
"That's right, she's a thirty footer called the Independence, as a matter of fact I'm in the process of selling her, and upgrading. I put in a deposit on a yacht called the Pursang." *
"So you're afraid of drowning. Why do you think you are?"
"I nearly drowned as a child in a lake beside our family's vacation home in upstate New York. The boat sank and my father rescued me."
Interesting, yet by sailing a boat you put yourself in the tenuous position of possibly drowning each time you weigh anchor... and how do you feel when you're out on your boat."
"Wonderful, it's rather freeing. We field agents face so much danger that it's good to have an escape where no one is trying to kill you. Being out on the ocean, and alone, can be quite liberating."
"Yet, your escape from the real world could kill you as well. Do you always like to flirt with danger?"
"Danger is a way of life for me and every other agent. You learn to deal with it, and work it to your advantage. I have a duty to perform, dangerous or not and I swore an oath to U.N.C.L.E. to fulfill my duty, regardless of the consequences." He answered with assurance, thinking in the back of his mind that his dalliances with Angelique; they had an element of risk that, like sailing, that challenged him. He supposed that was something he lived for...the thrill. It was the possibility that he could drown, the possibility that Angelique could kill him...or that he could be killed in the field that kept him going back. He wasn't a thrill junkie, bit he needed it just the same. It was all part of something that told him he was alive, the flip side of the coin to him was fulfilling his duties as an agent.
"Yes Mr. Solo you're right. It's apparent you are a man who likes to take risks, but not just for the excitement of it. I see a man who is honor bound to do what he must. You have a fear, such as Aquapobia, but you don't let it control you; you confront it and that's a healthy thing."
"So does that mean I'm recertified?"
"Yes, you are Mr. Solo," she said, flipping a page on her clipboard. "See that wasn't so bad was it?" She winked at him.
"Thank you, and I did mean that about your hair by the way," he spoke softly. "Now that this interview is out of the way, might you consider having dinner with me, perhaps we can take a moonlight cruise up the Hudson?"
Dr. Holmes blushed again, not wanting to admit that quickly to her attraction to this man.
"That Mr. Solo is definitely a consideration, she said, giving him a smile. " Now if you could send in Mr. Kuryakin, on your way out please."
.
The Russian sat stiffly in the chair in front of the doctor, not making eye contact and looking rather uncomfortable.
"So how are you today Mr. Kuryakin?" She asked, flipping to a new page on her notepad.
"Fine."
He watched as she jotted something.
"And what could you possibly find to write about me after saying but a single word?"
She made another note. "Possible signs of paranoia."
"Nothing important...are you always this overly suspicious?"
"Doctor I am not paranoid, if that is what you are alluding to. I have a sense of distrust when people with whom I am unacquainted take notes about me."
"I'd call that a little paranoid."
"And I would call it self preservation...are we done now?"
"Hardly," she tried smiling at him, but he gave her no reaction what so ever. She'd heard the nickname he'd been given at headquarters, and looking into his cold blue eyes; she wondered if it was actually deserving. He seemed emotionless, and distanced himself from everyone except his partner.
"Tell me Mr. Kuryakin, what is it that you are afraid of? You keep the world at bay with your icy demeanor; don't you know you're among friends here? I understand your former employers gave you up to U.N.C.L.E. in a heartbeat..."
"Doctor, I am afraid of nothing."
"That's a lie if I ever heard one."
Illya stood up from his chair intending to leave. "We are done here."
"No we are not, now sit down please. If you want to go back to the field, I have to certify you mentally fit."
Illya immediately lowered himself back to the chair, folding his hands in his lap with resignation.
Aleta wrote again, noting his defensive body language.
"Illya, why are you afraid to talk to me?"
He inhaled deeply. "I am not afraid to speak to you, but you must understand, Doctor, where I came from psychiatrists tore me to shreds trying to break down the barriers I was taught to put up. It was and still is part of my job to control my thoughts and emotions and to keep silent. Silence helps you to survive as the less people know about you, the longer you live, " he repeated his mantra to her. "You call my caution paranoia, and perhaps it is somewhat, though it is not irrational, but it has helped me to survive none the less, need I say more?"
"No Mr. Kuryakin, not on that topic. She noted, "Strong survival instincts, and self awareness. "Now let's return to my original topic, fear."
Illya rolled his eyes, as he huffed at her. "I am not afraid."
"Completely fearless? I doubt that Mr. Kuryakin, aren't you afraid of losing your partner...your best friend. The one person you can talk to, if you want?"
"That is different, and of course I fear losing him, he is like family to me, yet there are things I do not even share with him. Our line of work is, after all, about keeping secrets, is it not? Espionage, spying and the like."
"Were you an only child?"
"I do not wish to discuss my family," he snapped at her. "And what does that have to do with my field certification for pity's sake?"
Dr. Holmes knew she'd hit a nerve there. "Tell me about your family, what do they think of you being here in America?"
"They are dead and I do not wish to talk about them," he said coldly.
"I'm so sorry for you...how did they die?" She asked softly, with sympathy in her voice.
"That is exactly why I do not wish to speak of them, I do not want your pity."
"Alright then, tell me about your childhood in..." she checked his bio page. "Kiev."
"Doctor if you had half a brain, and did some simple math, you would have already figured out that I was a child of the war. I survived in a bombed out city by my wits and courage."
"What were you afraid of besides the war?"
"Bozhe moy, woman I was eight years old, alone and scrounging for food every day, surrounded by death, bombs, Nazis, hungry packs of snarling dogs who tried to make me their next meal...what do you think I was afraid of back then?" His voice went up in pitch and he was now visibly shaken."
Something about his mentioning the dogs stood out to her; his tone of voice changed then and that was when he became more agitated.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I know you are a very brave man, but tell me, are you still afraid of dogs?"
Illya lowered his head, looking down and to the right, indicating to Holmes that he was attending to internal emotions and suspecting his secret fear had been found out.
He sighed and finally answered her. "Yes, I am. I know it is irrational, but everytime I see a dog I want to get away from it...climb up a tree or hide someplace where it cannot find me."
Aleta knew she had finally hit on something as he continued to talk now without further prompting.
"When I was training for military intelligence in Soviet Union, they used dogs on us, forcing us to fight them in order to learn to defend ourselves. I was nearly killed."
"And you managed to overcome your fear of them then didn't you?"
"Not really. My survival instincts took over, and that was what enabled me to pass my training with them, though barely."
"Did you know there's an actual disorder known as Cynophobia, it is a persistent and often irrational fear of dogs, and other canines. There are a number of things that can cause Cynophobia to manifest, but most often, childhood trauma connected with a dog is the underlying cause, such as was your experiences on the the streets of Kiev. That on top of the other traumas you experienced with them from your childhood has anchored that fear in your psyche."
Illya sat in the chair, his eyes blinking rapidly and saying nothing again.
Dr. Holmes noticed that, knowing it was a sign of stress. She was aware that Kuryakin wore dark, tinted reading glasses and wondered about that for a moment. When a person wears dark glasses, especially indoors, this prevents others from reading their eye signals. It is consequently rather disconcerting.
"Tell me when you see a dog do you experience irritation, sweating, rapid heart rate, feelings of anger, trembling, difficulty catching your breath, or nausea?"
"Yes."
"And other than jumping up that tree, what do..."
"I know what you are going to say. What do I do to face my fear, and the answer is Doctor, I do my job. I put my fear aside and do what I gave my word to do, and that is to fulfill my duty to U.N.C.L.E. regardless of the consequences. My devotion to duty surpasses all else, even fear."
Dr. Holmes smiled, making one last note on her pad.
"You are certified to continue being an active agent Mr. Kuryakin. And one last note, just keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine."
No offense Dr. Holmes, but did I not tell you I was fine when I first sat down? We could have saved each other some time if you had just listened to me, could we not?" He let loose a little smile and his eyes seemed less cold now.
Aleta Holmes chuckled. Once he'd let the barriers down just a little; he was likeable this one.
"So when is your date with Napoleon, may I ask?" He snorted, obviously now relaxed as his eyes seemed less cold.
"That Mr. Kuryakin is doctor-patient privilege."
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* St. Crispins