It was cold where he was now, icy and frigid like the forbidding wastelands of Siberia. Illya kuryakin didn't think he had ever been this cold. It felt like death.
Illya didn't know how long it had been, could not see anyone or anything except for the little stream that gurgled past, miraculously unfrozen in the midst of the freezing temperatures, the never ending sound of a gentle breeze his constant companion.
In his mind's eye, that was how it was.
The continual whirring of the ventilator was accompanied by the subtle sound of an IV drip. White walls, white sheets and the ever present white-clad nursing staff all conspired to make Napoleon think of a winter landscape, not unlike what he would find were he to venture outside of UNCLE Headquarters on this Christmas Eve.
He wouldn't. Venture outside, that is. Not until his partner woke up.
Another nurse came into the room, this time with a new IV bag. She expertly changed the bag and checked on her patient's pulse, recording the new blood pressure reading and feeling his forehead for any sign of fever. Something in her expression showed more than relief at whatever she felt there; Napoleon sensed a particularly feminine response to the blond man for whom she was caring.
"Is he still feverish?" Napoleon's question startled her out of whatever memory she had succumbed to regarding the Russian. Perhaps a solitary smile from the reticent agent, or a twinkle in blue eyes deep enough for a leisurely swim. Solo recognized the signs.
She sighed first, before responding to his inquiry.
"No, in fact he feels very cool."
"Nancy?" The young woman blushed at that. Of course Mr. Solo would know about her crush on the Russian, he was a spy after all.
"Yes Mr. Solo?" It didn't matter. Nothing would come of it, she was just one of several woman at Headquarters (Good Lord, around the world probably), whose hearts beat a little faster when the slight young man from the Soviet Union came into view. He was special, that was all.
"Illya will make it through this, he always does." Even the white walls seemed to warm up a little when Napoleon smiled that way; Nancy relented and returned one of her own, thankful for the man's kindness. No wonder he had his own faithful following.
"I think the doctor is on his way. If you'd like to go freshen up, whatever... Um... I'll stay here with Mr. Kuryakin."
Napoleon did need a break, and there was still business to attend to; the Command didn't set things on hold just because an agent was down.
"Thank you, I do have a few things to check on. I know he's in good hands." Napoleon winked at the pretty nurse, hoping his partner could sense the love and affection in the room.
Left alone now with the sleeping agent, Nancy at first felt a flush of embarrassment at the thought of him awaking to find her here instead of his friend.
'That's silly...' She thought to herself. She was a nurse, she was supposed to be in here. No, that wasn't it. Her redhead's complexion gave her away with the slightest hint of fluster, and if Illya... mmm.. Mr. Kuryakin, were to wake up he'd know she was staring at him, admiring him. Even like this he was a beautiful man, the deep eyelids somehow even more alluring when closed.
"Stop it, you silly girl." Inherited Irish sensibilities would keep her from making a fool of herself, and she quietly composed her outward being to look the part of a vigilant and capable nurse.
Finding it uncomfortable to simply sit, Nancy began to narrate the Christmas story to the sleeping Russian. She knew he probably didn't believe in the Christ Child, but perhaps somewhere in his unconscious mind the miracle of that first Christmas would permeate and heal his broken body. And so she began...
There came a time when the Emperor, Caesar Augustus, required that everyone in the Roman Empire to participate in a census. Each person had to go to his or her ancestral city to be counted. A young couple called Mary and Joseph, who had been visited by angels proclaiming that their child would be the Messiah, were among those traveling.
Mary's fiancé Joseph, from Nazareth in Galilee, had to participate in the census in the same way everyone else did. Because he was a descendant of King David, his ancestral city was Bethlehem, David's birthplace. Mary, who was now late in her pregnancy that the messenger Gabriel had predicted, accompanied Joseph. While in Bethlehem, she went into laborand gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped the baby in a blanket and laid Him in a feeding trough because the inn had no room for them.
Nearby, in the fields outside of Bethlehem, a group of shepherds were guarding their flocks from predators in the darkness of night. Suddenly a messenger of the Lord stood in front of them, and the darkness was replaced by a glorious light—the shining light of God's glory. They were terrified!
The angel spoke to them.
'Don't be afraid! Listen! I bring good news of great joy, news that will affect all people everywhere. Today, in the city of David, Messiah has been born for you, and he is the promised Anointed One. You will know you have found Him when you see a baby, wrapped in a blanket, lying in a manger.'
At that moment, the first heavenly messenger was joined by thousands of other messengers—a glorious heavenly choir. They praised God as they sang.
Glory to God in the highest!
And on earth, peace among men!
As soon as the heavenly messengers disappeared into heaven, the shepherds talking among themselves and decided to rush down to Bethlehem and see whether it was true what the angels had told them. So they ran into town, and eventually they found Mary and Joseph and the baby lying in the manger. After they saw the baby, they spread the story of what they had experienced and what had been said to them about this child. Everyone who heard their story couldn't stop thinking about its meaning. Mary, too, pondered all of these events, treasuring each memory in her heart.
The shepherds returned to their flocks, praising God for all they had seen and heard, and they glorified God for witnessing what the heavenly messenger had predicted."
When Nancy had finished her telling of the Christmas story, she thought there was a glimmer of recognition on the blond's pale features. She got up and leaned over his bed, checking again for any signs of change.
"God bless you Illya Kuryakin."
It was warmer now, and he was walking down a street lit by a soft amber glow. He couldn't tell if it was the lamps overhead or something more elusive, but the cold was gone and for that he was grateful.
Somewhere in the distance there was a voice, and it was talking to him, telling him a story. It sounded familiar, and yet he knew he hadn't heard it for many years. Perhaps it was time to wake up now, to listen again to the soft tones as that voice compelled him to rise up and re-enter the land of the living.
When Napoleon headed back to Illya's room he had washed his face, changed into a clean shirt and checked in with agents in the field in need of various kinds of information. One man was missing still on this Christmas Eve, something that caused the CEA to feel the weight, once more, of those whose decision making sent other men and women into danger. It was the part of his job that he dreaded the most, and on this of all nights Solo wished with all of his heart for the safety of his agents.
Nancy had sat down again, content to pray silently for the man in the bed. Illya's temperature was normal once again, his breathing steady. She expected the doctor to take him off of the ventilator, which would be a relief to all concerned. It was a sure sign that the patient was improving enough to breathe on his own.
As she was contemplating all of this she saw Illya's hand jerk, and then the other. His eyes popped open, the glint of blue evident against his pale skin and too much white. Nancy stood up, placing her hand over his to help still him and keep him from jerking at the restraints.
"Shhhhh... it's all right Mr. Kuryakin. You're safe, you're in UNCLE Medical."
Illya looked into green eyes warmed by compassion. He recognized her voice from the one in his dream, was calmed by her smile.
"You're on the ventilator, and your hands were restrained so that you wouldn't pull out the tube. I'm going to call for the doctor now, just lie still." She pushed the call button, conveyed to the nurse on the other end that the patient was awake, to please call Dr. Munroe and let him know.
"It will only be a few minutes now, so just relax. You're going to be all right now." Illya wanted to nod, to agree with her that yes, he was fine. He understood how this worked, had been through it before, but his head wouldn't move just yet. He was fine, though... very fine.
Napoleon happened to be turning into Illya's room as Dr. Munroe approached.
"Good news Mr. Solo, your partner is awake. I'm going to remove the ventilator tube, so if you don't mind just wait out here. I'll let you know when we're finished." Napoleon nodded his ascent, wishing he could follow the doctor inside but yielding to the protocol required.
"Mr. Kuryakin, are you ready to be rid of this?" Dr. Munroe indicated the tub that had been part of the live saving process but now threatened to choke Illya. In a split second it went from being a necessity to an irritant.
Illya nodded, grateful to be alive and warm...
A few minutes later Nancy opened the door and invited Napoleon to come inside the room. As he entered his eyes went to the bed, to the welcome sight of Illya sitting up and free of the ventilator that had breathed life into his dying body.
"Tovarisch...' He approached the bed, received a go-ahead gesture from the smiling physician.
"You had me worried Illya. This is no way to treat your partner on Christmas Eve. I hope you don't expect a present after pulling a stunt like this." The smile betrayed Napoleon's remarks, his relief was genuine and the sight of his friend the only present he needed.
Illya's voice was raspy, his vocal chords bruised by the tube, but that didn't stop him from replying. He knew that life was a gift too often cast in the way of eminent danger; he was of a mind to keep it safe for a good long while.
"I knew you would be expecting something for Christmas, my friend. I fear my shopping was cut short, so perhaps my gratitude for getting me out of that THRUSH satrapy will suffice... for now."
Thinking back on how he had found Kuryakin, gasping for air as he battled the effects of an asthma inducing drug... Napoleon didn't think he had ever seen anyone in that state before. Illya didn't have asthma, but THRUSH had once again developed a deadly potion intended to be used for assassination purposes; the Russian had been a guinea pig, and had nearly died because of it.
"Our team got you out of there, and I'm grateful for their efforts. It's a bit of a Christmas miracle, if you ask me. I didn't think... I..."
Napoleon couldn't finish the sentence. He really had thought the Russian would die.
Doctor Munroe decided any further conversation would have to wait until his patient had rested some more. The trauma of a nearly fatal asthma attack deserved a little more time for recuperation.
"Everyone outside now, this man needs to rest. I promise you can return here in the morning Mr. Solo. Nurse Harrison..." The doctor gave instructions as Napoleon exited the room. He would sleep better tonight than he had for days. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.
Nancy Harrison completed all that the doctor had instructed her to do, taking one last look at Illya as he drifted off to sleep. She thanked God for bringing him back, for the reality He provided in the events she had recited for the sleeping Russian. She bade Illya goodnight as she finished her shift and prepared to return home, glad for the happy day she knew would greet her in the morning.
In his dreams Illya was surrounded by the warm glow of candle light. It was comforting, and enveloped as he was by the warmth of the flames, he knew that they represented more than what he saw. Without truly believing it, he understood nonetheless that prayers had been answered; the flames of prayer, like incense rising to heaven, had caught him and brought him back from death.
In his dreams, Illya understood Christmas.
*The narrative from Luke is paraphrased from the VOICE version of the New Testament.A Midnight Clear