Illya sat at his desk in the office he shared with Napoleon; he was reading a newspaper article, one that brought a heaviness to his heart.

It transported him back in time, to his childhood in Kyiv during the war.

On this day nearly 34,000 men, women, and children were massacred on the outskirts of the city at the hands of the Nazi-occupiers. Most were Jews; a fact the Soviet Union refused to acknowledge to this day.

The German army took Kyiv on September 19th, Illya's birthday, and the last birthday he'd celebrated with members of his family. Little did he know his mother and twin baby brothers Sasha and Misha would soon be dead, murdered right in front of him by the heartless Nazi soldiers..

Special SS squads carried out Adolf Hitler's orders to exterminate all Jews and Soviet officials found there in the city and its outskirts. On September 29th, more than 30,000 Jews from Kyiv were marched to the Babi Yar ravine, the north of the city. There they were ordered to strip, and after doing so they were lined up along the edge of the ravine and machine-gunned down. The massacre ended on September 30th, and the dead and wounded alike were covered over with dirt like burying trash.

More and more people were killed, thousands more Jews, Soviet officials, and Russian prisoners of war were executed at the Babi Yar ravine in a similar manner.

As the German armies retreated from the USSR, the Nazis attempted to hide evidence of the massacres by exhuming the bodies and burning them in large pyres. Prisoners from the Sryets camp were forced to do this exhumation, Illya was one of them.

The remaining prisoners knew they would be next once the dirty work was done and there was a riot in the camp. That was when young Kuryakin escaped along with thirteen men. He never saw them again, and retreated to his secret hiding place in the city.

He was dying of starvation, but that seemed better to him than being gun downed or gassed by the soldiers. Yet he lived, and was somehow saved when the Red Army came to liberate Kyiv.

"Tovarisch, are you all right?"Napoleon asked." You look as white as a ghost."

Illya sniffled as he lied, " Maybe I am coming down with a cold."

"I heard Cookie ia serving his special chicken noodle soup in the Commissary today. Want me to go get you some?"

"No thank you. I will go myself. Would you care to join me?" Illya stood with a stretch before heading towards the door.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry just yet." Napoleon smiled. It truth, having chicken soup at nine o'clock in the morning just wasn't his cup of tea. Illya on the other hand would eat it anywhere, anytime.

"I will be back shortly," the Russian gave a weak sort of wave before disappearing.

Once the pneumatic doors shushed closed, Napoleon picked up the newspaper and spotted what he suspected was eating at his partner. Reading about what had taken place in Kiev on this date spoke volumes.

Illya was tight lipped about his past but Solo knew he was from that city. It had been nearly destroyed during the war. It was amazing Kuryakin the boy had survived. He had to be around ten years old when this massacre happened.

"Had Illya seen any of this?" Napoleon asked himself."God help him if he did."

Having been in the army in Korea, Napoleon knew what kind of death and destruction could take place during a war...but the deliberate massacre of innocent people, no...that was a horror he'd hoped he'd never see.

He decided to take his partner out to lunch, perhaps the Russian's favorite place in Brighton Beach...no, maybe that wasn't a good idea. There'd be people there surely mourning this day.

Napoleon would think of something, after all he wasn't only his partner, he was his best friend. Maybe Mama Leona's restaurant. Food was not only nourishment to Illya, it was his comfort.

Even though Illya had his secrets, that didn't mean he had to suffer alone. This Babi Yar was surely one of them, Napoleon was convinced of that now.

.A/N this story reference my epic Illya back story "Beginnings."
I also referenced facts from a History Channel article for this story.