THE LAST GOODBYE AFFAIR

Chicago, December 1973

Evening class was due to start, and Illya Kuryakin was in a hurry. He had parked down a side street and was now walking briskly up it towards the University. His arms were full of papers and files, hastily put together. He hated being disorganised, but he had been so busy lately he had had very little time to put everything in the order that he wanted.

Illya wished he had brought his coat as he shivered against the cold night breeze, howling down the deserted little street. His black suit jacket offered little protection. He held it shut with one hand and held all his papers in the crook of his free arm. He wished he had brought his briefcase as well.

He was just coming up to the top of the road opposite the huge building when someone bumped into him. His arm was knocked and he dropped his papers and folders. There was a sprinkling of snow on the ground. Illya got down quickly to pick them up before they could get wet.

'I'm very sorry,' said the man with a New York accent.

'Oh it's quite alright,' Illya replied, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. He grabbed the papers and shoved them as best he could into the most empty of the folders.

'Here, let me help,' the stranger offered.

'Oh, thanks,' Illya said, giving the dark-haired man a brief glance as he knelt down to assist. The man had an unusual sapphire ring on his little finger, Illya noticed. He looked up slightly and noticed flecks of grey hair in the near-black hair. From what little he could see, the man had handsome features but looked drawn and pale. Illya felt a twinge of guilt. 'It was my fault too, I'm in such a rush you see.'

'You work at the University?' the man asked. He had picked up one of the folders and was looking at the front cover. 'Professor Kuryakin?' He suddenly smiled. 'Quantum Mechanics.'

'Yes, I teach a large class…is it a subject that interests you?'

'Ah, no. I'm afraid it's not.'

'Forgive me,' Illya said, with a smile. 'I'm shameless in my attempts to drum up interest in the subject.' He stopped. He had briefly made eye contact with the man. He looked up again. 'Have we met before?'

The man didn't reply.

Illya got to his feet quickly. 'I never forget a face. I have a rather photographic memory. But I'm afraid I can't place you.' Inspiration struck him. 'Wait…do you know anything about U.N.C.L.E?'

The man got shakily to his feet. He coughed. 'Please, don't worry about it. You won't remember.' He turned to walk away. Illya grabbed his arm to stop him.

'You're right, I don't remember. Many years of my life are a blank. I woke up 3 years ago in a Chicago hotel. There was a letter by my bed, an offer of a placement here at the university. "With the gratitude of U.N.C.L.E, for outstanding service."' Illya paused. The man looked more pained. 'So…you knew me? While I worked for them?'

'Yes,' he finally croaked. 'I knew you.'

'Oh. Well…' Illya looked at his watch. 'I'm sorry, I really have to go…'

'Of course.'

'But I really want to talk to you again. I have many questions. Can we meet again?'

The man smiled briefly. 'I, ah, won't be around here much longer.'

'Oh. Well, perhaps I'll bump into you again sometime.'

'Perhaps. Now go and teach your class, professor. Bye.'

'Goodbye.'

Illya watched the strangely familiar man turn and walk away, hands in the pockets of his long trench coat. He felt sad. And it wasn't just because the man looked slightly tragic, walking off into the cold Winter's night. He didn't know why he felt sad. He wished he could remember.

Illya then remembered that he was cold. It was starting to snow again. Holding his folders close to his chest, he dragged his blue eyed stare from the retreating figure. He would find that man again. He rushed up to the entrance of the grand University of Chicago.

* * * *

Napoleon Solo leaned against a wall, trying to get his breath back. So much pain. He was tired of it. He was still young, but his illness had made him long for death to release him. He hated that such a brief walk and a brief conversation had taken so much out of him; physically and emotionally. He watched Illya walk into his new workplace. His partner was settled, doing a job he enjoyed, and a job that wasn't quite as life-threatening as the one they had shared a few years ago.

Illya was alright. They had said their last goodbye. Now he could go in peace. The dark-haired man continued his walk into the night.