The Waiting for the Ring Affair
She waited. She spent her whole life waiting. He rolled into town, sometimes injured, sometimes not. But he always came home. To her. And that was the whole point, after all. He had married her when they were very young. And she loved her dashing young spy dearly. And he loved her.
He had upset his superiors, because he had refused the very first order they had ever given him after he was recruited. He absolutely refused to remove his ring. Ever. He switched it over to his right hand once in a while, strictly as a concession to his boss. For Mr. Waverly, he would do this—for no one else. But he never willingly removed it. His partner knew this and respected him greatly for it.
It had been removed from him under torture, but never under threat of torture. He would never allow it. Only when he was unconscious. And the guilt he felt every time it happened ate at his soul. Several times it had been discarded or pocketed by his captors. And every time, either Illya himself, if he was able, or Napoleon if he was not, had found it for him. Every time. And he would wait until he was restored to her, and she would place it back on his finger…just like the first time. After all, he was hers.
He never spoke of her to anyone. No one knew her name. Except for Napoleon. He had told him all about her, one time when they were captured, and they were sure it was the end. Illya was dying, and as far as they knew, no help was coming. And so, he told his tovarisch about her. And Napoleon made the promise to take care of her for Illya. That he would take Illya's ring back to her. But he would not remove it until he had to. Until after…
And then the Solo Luck shined on them once again, in the persons of April Dancer and Mark Slate. They brought rescue and help for their two friends, and Illya was once again brought back, nearly from the dead. He recovered, slowly, in his room in New York HQ. After that, when he was deemed well enough, he caught a flight, and returned home…to her.
And this time, they had time together. They had four wonderful, nearly uninterrupted months together. The most time in many years. And they used it well. They lived well, and they loved well. Because they knew that every time could very well be the last time…and that someday it would.
But—he loved her, and she loved him. And that—was the whole point.
~The End~