Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin paused, looking down at the casket that contained the body of their friend and fellow Section II agent, Andy Lebowski.
He'd been touted as the 'other' Kuryakin though he was with UNCLE before the Russian arrived. Like Illya, he was a master of disguise, always pretending to be who he was not and fluent in many languages enough to rival the number two agent.. He approached every assignment with focus and zeal in his heart.
Andy was 'handy', the other agents used to joke, as the man could deftly manage his explosives with deadly accuracy, even better than Kuryakin, who sometimes miscalculated his timers, but rarely; and only when he was under extreme duress, like someone coming down a hallway with a gun pointed straight at him with the trigger already cocked...that sort of stress.
Illya didn't mind the comparisons and superlatives offered when others spoke of he and Andy. He liked the man, respecting his competence, and did not look on it as any sort of competition between the two of them. That sort of fun Illya reserved strictly for he and his partner, as he liked yanking Napoleon's chain now and again.
Lebowski had been with the command a year or two before Napoleon had joined, and at one point was offered the position of CEA, which he promptly declined. Yet he was low-key, and shied away from the accolades showered on his fellow agents for a job well done, and avoided the limelight. Andy just moved along at a steady pace, working assignment after assignment with his partner, Salvatore Savino; together they had a consistent and high success rate.
As good as handy Andy was, there seemed to be something else going on in his head recently, a wistful stare beyond the distant green hills somewhere, a growing desire perhaps? Andy was quick witted, smart and upbeat, even when a mission hadn't gone as well as it had been hoped, but as of late, something was distracting him.
It came as a surprise when he'd once remarked to Napoleon about getting into the spy business having been a mistake, as he found himself longing for a real home, a girl and what he called the 'nine to five' thing, that meant getting a paycheck that didn't require him to dance with death in order to earn it.
He talked of getting up each day when the morning light came streaming in and doing the same thing until quitting
time came around, and the next day, getting up and doing it again, like normal people. Traipsing from country to country and living in strange hotel rooms were getting to him.
When he was a little down, as that happens at time to the best of agenst, he'd often said he felt like he was no more than a charlatan, sometimes losing himself in his roles, so much so that it took him a while to find himself again. There the comparisons between him and the Russian diverged dramatically, as Illya was always in control of himself and knew who he was at all times.
It became obvious the great Andy Lebowski was looking to leave UNCLE before the ships bearing his dreams sailed out of sight and were lost forever.
.
Napoleon inhaled a deep breath filled with regret and released it slowly. "He waited too long to make his move, didn't he tovarisch?"
"Yes, I am afraid his heart was no longer in the game, and that made the risk even greater for him. He will be missed."
"We all start out so young and eager I suppose, lured into it by the intrigue and a sense of adventure..." Napoleon mused..
"Speak for yourself, the direction my life took was because that was where I was ordered to go and I had no choice in becoming part of this profession. I am under a sword of Damocles because of the contract between UNCLE and GRU," Illya reminded him.
"Okay chum, would you give it up if you could?"
Illya blushed, "No I suppose not. Saving the world, though a dangerous job, is still a noble task."
"Then don't complain, even though you technically don't have an option out, I think it holds true for a good many of us. We have a choice to leave when we want, or not," Napoleon nodded. "Shame Andy waited to follow his heart. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a happy idiot, just earning a living, getting those things that money can buy, and maybe being a contender at finding true love."
"Please do not tell me such thoughts are distracting you as they did Andy?" Illya stared intently at him. "I do not wish to be looking down at you in a coffin because your mind was elsewhere and you zigged when you should have zagged."
Napoleon laughed softly. "No worries my friend, you're stuck with me...those were just passing thoughts and not real desires. I can wait to start thinking about such things when I retire, and I will retire, when the time comes, you can count on that."
Illya said nothing, being ever the fatalist, he did not hold such an optimistic outlook as did his partner, but at the same time he hoped they'd both live to see those words come to fruition.
The eulogy was said, and the coffin closed; Napoleon, Illya as well as four other field agents, including Salvatore, followed it outside to the waiting hearse, where they bore the remains of their fallen comrade on their shoulders as his pallbearers.
A deep, mournful church bell tolled somewhere in the distance as it began to lightly rain, reminding many in attendance of their mortality, as some uttered a silent prayer for the soul of their kindred spirit.
Lebowski had started out young and dedicated, but surrendered his caution in the end, leading to his death; ironically distracted just for a moment by a newspaper advertisement for a little house that had gone up for sale in Yonkers. He was hit by a car while crossing the street.
Napoleon and Illya were well aware their lives were a built on top of fakery, as they too were pretenders meandering through complex world of smoke and mirrors.
They wondered if their hopes and dreams would begin and end the same way as their friend's had, though they kept those thoughts to themselves for the moment, mourning the loss of Andy Lebowski who had been, perhaps, the greatest pretender of all.