It had started to snow again, making driving conditions treacherous on the already icy and slick road. Solo and Kuryakin were returning from a failed mission, during which the life of an innocent had been lost.
Such a thing always weighed heavily on both men, but more so with the Russian. It seemed at times to Solo that Illya felt personally responsible for every life, as if it were his fault the innocent was killed.
For once this was the case and made it worse and for that reason. Illya, looking pale, sat behind the steering wheel in their car, dour-faced and silent.
There was no use trying to reason with him, but in spite of that Napoleon still tried. He was convinced he could make Illya feel better.
The girl named Grushenka, was the target of the Russian mob, being the daughter of a chemist they'd tried to recruit for their blossoming illicit drug trade.
Kuryakin sent her into a building to get her out of the line of fire, telling her to hide in a closet until he or Solo came to get her. He had no way of knowing the building used by the mob had been booby trapped.
Grushenka must have triggered something and the building blew to kingdom come. Needless to say, Illya was rather ruthless in taking out remaining the gang members.
Solo rushed his partner as he stood over the last wounded man, and watched as Illya fired a bullet into his head in a sort of bloodthirsty execution. He tried to stop the angry Russian, but it was too late.
"He would have died anyway,"Kuryakin reasoned." His chest wound was a mortal one. So I just put the ublyudok_ bastard, out of his misery, though he did not deserve such mercy."
"Doing that wouldn't bring her back tovarisch."
"Napoleon I know you mean well but please just let it be?"
Once the cleanup crew arrived, the partners left the scene...
Solo shrugged, reached over turning on the radio, tuning the dial to his favorite radio station. He needed something cheerful to listen to and what better than some Christmas music.
Hearing it reminded him it was December 20th, and he was looking forward to having a peaceful holiday, full of cheer and of course mistletoe. Mmmm, mistletoe and all the lovely lips he'd be kissing under it.
The radio was playing 'The Christmas Song'...who better than Nat King Cole than to get you in the spirit?
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols being sung by a choir And folks dressed up like Eskimos/ Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe. Help to make the season bright, Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow, Will find it hard to sleep tonight. They know that Santa's on his way…"
Illya turned to him, his face looking almost feral.
"Must you play that tripe?"
"Why don't you stop acting like an ass and get over it and yourself. We can't change what happened!" Napoleon didn't try to hide the annoyance in his voice." And it's not tripe…" At that moment Solo turned his head, looking at the road ahead.
"Look out!" He yelled, grabbing the steering wheel from his distracted partner but it was too late.
The car careened over the end of a collapsed bridge and plunged into the freezing water below. It quickly filled the interior of the car, and was so clouded with churned up silt that it made it impossible to see.
Napoleon unbuckled his seatbelt and once the pressure equalized between the outside and inside the car, he was able to open the door, and he swam upwards, fighting back the panic he was feeling as he burst burst to the surface, gasping for breath. He floundered for a minute; the life-long fear of drowning filling him. He gained his composure, taking deep breaths. He could do this, he could swim, though he wasn't as good a swimmer as Illya.
That thought suddenly filled him with another fear; he paddled, turning as he did so, looking for his partner.
"Illya!' He yelled, calling several times but there was no answer. There was no blond head bobbing in the water.
Though his teeth were beginning to chatter, he took a deep breath, diving back down in search of the car. Finding it, he pulled himself inside; the silt and detritus had settled, making it easier to see, but there was no sign of him.
The driver side door was still closed...
Napoleon swam upwards, gasping for air again and diving time and again. He searched for the missing Russian but had no luck.
Pulling himself to the shore line, he scanned the river for any signs of Kuryakin as he too might have dragged himself up and out to the snow covered river bank…. there was nothing, no sign at all.
Solo's hands shook as he pulled his communicator from his jacket pocket, thanking God it was water-proof.
"Open channel D- emergency. Agent down."
"Waverly here Mr. Solo what's happened?"
He explained as best he could through chattering teeth, after which he was advised to get up and keep moving. A rescue helicopter was being launched immediately and would be there in no more than twenty minutes.
The chopper arrived and Solo was brought on board, his wet clothes removed and wrapped in several heavy warming blankets and given a cup of hot coffee. A pair of dry socks were put on his feet that were slightly blue, as were his lips.
Napoleon waited impatiently as a quick search was launched for Illya but once a second rescue chopper arrived, the first, carrying the senior agen had to leave, even though he argued against it.
Once the helicopter landed at the helipad atop headquarters, Napoleon was taken immediately to Medical and given a thorough going over and given a clean bill of health.
Alexander Waverly didn't wait for Solo to dress and report to his conference room, and arrived just as his CEA was being released.
"Any sign of Mr. Kuryakin sir?"
The Old Man's face, normally placid and unreadable gave Solo his answer.
"I am afraid it's feared he's dead young man. If he were unconscious, the swift moving water could have swept his body away. It saddens me to say that we may not locate it until Spring, if at all."
Napoleon lowered his head, obviously shaken up at the news. It would have been bad enough to lose Illya on a mission but for this to have happened because he'd distracted the man as he drove. Now Solo knew how his partner felt, blaming himself for the loss of the innocent and now Napoleon felt responsible for the accident that...killed his partner.
"Senseless I know young man," Waverly put his hand on his agents shoulder, trying to offer a modicum of comfort. Death was something they dealt with everyday, but not this way, not due to a mere accident.
"I want you to take a few days off Mr. Solo...no take some time off until the New Year has arrived. THRUSH has taken their usual sabbatical and chatter across the board is practically nil."
Solo gave a somber nod, not saying a word.
"Mr. Solo...Napoleon, these things happen, though I know that's no comfort. Mr. Kuryakin will be missed, to say the least."
"Yes sir, and thank you."
Napoleon finished dressing himself in a suit someone had brought up from the office he shared with his partner.
He didn't want to face going there, but knew he had to do it.
As he walked the busy corridors of headquarters, his tie uncharacteristically loosened, eyes diverted from making contact with his. Word had spread fast about Kuryakin and no one wanted to be the first to offer condolences, not just yet as the loss just happened.
As the doors to the office opened, Napoleon's gaze automatically went to Illya's desk, half-expecting the shaggy-haired blond to be sitting there, busily clicking away on his typewriter.
The room was silent except for the sound of a fluorescent light that was buzzing. Illya had said he was going to report it to maintenance, but Napoleon guessed he never got the chance.
He flopped into his desk chair, lost in his feeling of emptiness. The body hadn't been found, he reasoned, so perhaps there was a chance, even if it was a slight one that Illya might be alive. He just had to be alive.
The Russian was just too wily, and a strong swimmer to let a small river get the better of him. Didn't Illya tell him he used to swim in the icy waters of the Moscow river when he was in training for the GRU?
Napoleon was still in a state of shock from his own frigid encounter and decided he needed a drink. He couldn't do that here, and going to a bar was out of the question. He'd been given time off to deal with this, and deal with it he would at home, with his own private reserve Scotch.
As he walked back out into the corridor he was approached by Nancy Miller, a svelte woman with her blonde hair done up into a well coiffed bouffant hairdo.
"Napoleon, what time are you picking me up for dinner tonight?" She crooned, as she ran her neatly manicured pink polished nail along his cheek. She'd apparently not heard the news.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Gee Nancy, I'll have to give you a raincheck until after the New Year as something's come up."
"Oh really?" She put her hands on her hips, taking a defensive stance."You made another date didn't you?"
"Nooo, I didn't, really. I'm sorry I have to go." He tried sidestepping her.
"Wait a minute Mister, you're not giving me the brush off are you?"
"Please, Nancy I have to go." The look in his eyes gave away his pain.
"Napoleon what's wrong?"
"It's Illya. He...he might be dead."
"Oh I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you want some company?"
"No thank you. I need to be alone, you understand." He crinkled his nose as he spoke; this time he sidestepped her without resistance, and left the woman there, not looking back.
He dropped his badge off at reception, with Wanda manning the desk. She knew and didn't hesitate to offer her condolences.
"Napoleon, I heard the news, and I'm so sorry. Though part of me wants to believe he's out there somewhere and alive. He's survived worse things so many times before, hasn't he?"
"Thanks Wanda. Those are my thoughts exactly, but there's part of me that's mourning the fact that he just might be…" he hesitated saying it, as if admitting it might make it be true, "dead."
Wanda stepped from behind her desk, offering him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
"Thanks Wanda...I guess I'll see you after the… well Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."
"The same to you Napoleon."
He headed out, waving his goodnight to the agent on duty in the tailor shop as Del was off on his own Christmas vacation.
Napoleon stood for a moment on the snow covered sidewalk until he spotted a taxi and flagged it down, but instead of going home he asked to be taken to St. Patrick's Cathedral. If it hadn't been snowing he could have walked it in five minutes. It probably would have helped to clear his head all that cold air and snow, this was Illya's kind of weather.
Napoleon chastised himself, thinking of that. He had to stop doing that...what if Illya really was dead?
The taxi pulled up directly in front of the church, with people leaving as mass had just let out. He tipped the driver a healthy amount...it was getting close to Christmas after all and needed to remember taxi drivers were working their tails off this time of year and needed every penny they could get for their families.
Solo slowly walked up the steps to the church, and stepping inside, he reached to the basin containing holy water, dipped in his fingers and blessed himself as he genuflected before sliding into one of the pews in the back.
It had been quite some time since he'd stepped into God's House, much less prayed, but he knelt down, clasping his hands together.
"I know I should do this more often, and I'm sorry for not remembering to talk to you more often. I'm not looking for forgiveness for me and my wicked ways….I think I know what you have in store for me, though maybe the good things I do to save the world might sort of counterbalance all that? Dear God, I'm here to ask to to please protect my friend Illya, please let him be alive? He's a good man who tries his best to do what's right...most of the time. More so than me perhaps. He says he doesn't believe in You, but I think he really does. Something happened when he was young but he won't tell me what it is. He just needs time, I think, to see that You haven't forgotten him. Oh Jesus please let him be all right?"
Napoleon fought back his tears, and covered his face with his hands as they began to trickle down his cheeks. He let out a sob, still fearing the worst.
"May I help you my son?" A priest dressed in his black cassock stepped up beside the seated agent.
"Oh, no father," he hesitated, wiping his eyes with his fingers." I was just praying. You see my friend, actually my best friend who is more like a brother to me is missing. He may have drowned...there was an accident. I distracted him while he was driving and the bridge was out…"
"I'm sorry to hear that. You've come to the right place though. What better place to have a dialogue with our Father than in His house? Now pray with me, In the name of the Father the Son and the Holy Ghost."
The priest began and Solo joined him…
"Our Father, Who art in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil. Amen."
"Remember my son, seek and you will find, though it may not be what you expect." He made the sign of the cross over Napoleon's head, blessing him.
"Thank you Father," Solo rose from the pew. "Merry Christmas."
"And to you my son. I'll pray your friend is found safe and sound."
"From your mouth to God's ears Father…"
Napoleon hailed another cab, taking him home to that bottle of scotch. He stepped inside his apartment after disabling and resetting the alarm system. He thought for a moment about walking downstairs to Illya's place, hoping the Russian was just there, but he knew better. Doing so would only upset him again.
He took off is wool overcoat, hanging it up in the bathroom as it was still a bit damp and headed directly to his liquor cabinet. He grabbed the ice bucket first, filling it with ice and taking one of his cut crystal glasses, he settled in on the sofa, pouring his first glassful. He downed it and poured another.
Unlike his partner, Napoleon owned a television set and he got up, turning it on and tuning it to the news on NBC. They'd just began to broadcast in color and that was taking a bit to get used to it.
He just managed to catch the last few minutes of the newly expanded Huntley-Brinkley report, apparently the rumors had been true...the Berlin Wall was now open to West Berliners, for all the good it would do," he snickered to himself. A commercial came on advertising 'Etch a Sketch,' a Bozo the Clown bop bag and something called a 'Slinky Dog."
Toys, the last think he needed to hear about. The only child in his family was his sister's daughter and she was too young to know what it was really all about. Like Thanksgiving, his parents and three sisters would be overseas for the holiday. Aunt Amy was away as well, staying on a tropical isle somewhere.
Napoleon downed another scotch, followed by another, until he was stinking drunk. That was his goal this evening. Rather than making it into the bedroom, he just flopped on his side, laying down on the sofa, and that's where he remained, passed out.
Though it wasn't a restful sleep as he dreamt of the accident, and illya, but instead he was yelling at the Russian to keep his eyes on the road. The scene played over and over, each time ending with their plunge into the icy river.
"Napoleon I am here!" He heard Illya call." Help me. I need you. Where are you?"
Solo woke up with a gasp."Illya?" He shielded his eyes from the painful morning light, and moaned. His head felt as though it had been run over by a Mack truck.
He looked at the bottle on the coffee table and figured, "What the hell, a little hair of the dog."
Napoleon took a swig directly from the bottle, instantly regretting it.
He remembered his dream, and hearing Illya's voice and became convinced now his partner was still alive, somewhere out there in the cold...
