"In everyone's life, at some point our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those who rekindle the inner spirit."~ Albert Schweitzer
"The Enemy From Within Affair"
Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were killing some time in the gymnasium at headquarters, sparring together as they had always done over the years. Kuryakin had nearly regained all the weight he had lost courtesy of his stay in the Solovki gulag; his muscle strength and agility were back to normal.
Over the years, Illya being the more athletic of the duo would win more often that not, but when he didn't it was because he had been out-manuevered by his partner by the use of some unexpected strategy. There Napoleon had him beat every time, he was the strategist, not Illya.
These workouts were always give and take, but after a while their matches became an exercise in futility; one rarely besting the other. They knew each other so well at this point in their partnership and as friends that these forays usually ended up in a draw. Though both highly competitive with each other; they knew when to call it quits and resign to a stalemate; claiming they were just too tired to continue, or having just laughed too much to go on.
As usual an audience had gathered to watch the top section two agents have at it...ju jitsu, karate, tai chi chuan, kung fu; what ever they had in ther bag of tricks would eventually be pulled out, until it finally just ended up in a wrestling match. Their sweatsuits soaked in perspiration, Illya's hair slicked to his head, but Napoleon some how not having a hair out of place. Today was an exception, as Kuryakin managed to pin his partner to the mat in triumph.
He stepped away, offering Napoleon his hand, helping to pull him to his feet.
"You got me today, but wait until next time." Solo challenged.
"You have me shaking in my shoes." Illya grinned as he draped a towel over his shoulders.
"That's boots, you have me shaking in my boots."
Kuryakin laughed, knowing the colloquialsm well had simply manipulated his partner to say it. "Glad to know you are in fear of my abilites." the Russian laughed.
"What?" then Solo smiled, realizing what Illya had done to him," Hmmm, you're finally getting American slang huh?"
"I would like to think so?"
"About time, it took you long enough?" he quipped. "Well tovarisch, I'm hitting the showers as I have a date with mio Bella tonight and I can't be late."
"Something special happening?"
"Wedding plans,"* he sighed.
"Oooh? Big?
"Very big."
"As in the Ostankino Tower in Moskva big?"
"Maybe even bigger?"
"I am impressed...makes me glad Elliott and I were married in City Hall." the Russian smiled.
"Lucky you?" There was a touch of melancholy to his voice.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"No not at all, it's just a lot to contend with. But you know, it's Bella's call and that's fine with me."
"You mean the call of 'la famiglia' do you not?" Illya smiled.
"Yeah, una grande famiglia_a very big family."
"Sometimes I suppose it is good to not have one to..." Illya caught himself as Napoleon disappeared into the locker room.
"Hey Kuryakin, you good for another match?" a rather large man called to him from the mat. It was Mike Anderson.
Illya was worked up from his session with his partner, but hesitated. He knew he could best the obnoxious agent, and would have liked an excuse to have a go at him, remembering the conversation he had monitored between the man and his partner. Illya restrained himself, taking the high road and ignored the mans derogatory words, as he had done with so many other insults in the past from other people who had taken a dislike to him.
Though he was number two, section two he was not always afforded the respect due his position, and Napoleon often acting as a buffer, watched out for him. Solo always had his back, and not just in the field. Illya often felt that if Napoleon had not been around; then things would have gone quite differently for him here in New York.
Anderson whispered under his breath to another agent,"Look the little pinko is afraid of taking on a real American, and not one like his 'dandified' partner."
That did it. Illya had tolerated the man's jabs sent at him for years but now he was besmerching Napoleon as well? Enough was enough.
"You are on Anderson. Full contact?" he smiled.
"Do your best, little man."
Kuryakin stepped onto the mat not waiting to observe any pleasantries. He charged Anderson, jumping up into a scissor hold with his legs around his neck, twisting his body in mid-air and flipping him to the mat. This would not be anything like his sparring match with Napoleon; this was serious business and a different kind of fun for the Russian.
Anderson pulled himself up as Illya jumped to his feet, ready for the man's counter move.
"You fucking little...leave it to a Commie to fight dirty."
"You need to stop calling me that, Anderson."
"Make me Russkie booooy?" He waved his hand, beckoning Illya to come at him.
Kuryakin would not be baited and held off, waiting for the man to make his move. Anderson charged him, feinting with a blow to Illya's head then plowed his fist directly into the Russian's mid-section, sending Illya doubling over. Anderson then went to kick him in the groin. That was when the sparring match turned into a brawl.
Illya blocked the move, then drawing back his fist; he punched Anderson right in the nose. He gave Illya a right to the jaw. Then the two proceeded to trade blows until they ended up on the ground, wrestling and continuing to hit each other.
Someone went into the locker room, realizing things had escalated far beyond just a workout; calling for Napoleon to intercede.
"Jesus Napoleon you gotta get out here, Kuryakin and Anderson are beating the crap out of each other!"
Napoleon had just put on his trousers and undershirt and ran cursing barefoot back into the gymnasium. Anderson was on top of Illya, beating the Russian's bloody face when he was rolled over to his back; Illya on top now, smashing the man; alternating blows with each of his fists.
"Illya knock it off! God dammit stop it you two!" He grabbed his partner by the arms, dragging him off of Anderson, while a pair of section three agents held him down as he cursed at Kuryakin."
"You fucking Commie bastard, you're gonna pay for this!" Anderson wrenched his arms free, grabbing his nose that was obviously quite broken.
Illya's wiped his face with his sleeve, seeing the blood. "Mudak! Idti yebat' sebya der' mon dlya mozgov_Asshole! Go fuck yourself!"
The lumbering American got to his feet, ready to charge Kuryakin again.
"Knock it off Anderson!" Napoleon warned him with a finger pointed in his direction, as he shoved Illya in back of him; his partner staggering just slightly. Anderson was not stupid enough to go up against his CEA.
"That's right Kuryakin, hide behind your partner! He called out to Illya in Norwegian. "Du lile Commie lange i gresset_you little Commie snake in the grass!"
""Yeblya huesos!" Illya cursed at him with a very rude epithet.
"Jesus Illya, watch your language...even if it is Russian?" Napoleon whispered to him as he hurried his partner into the locker room.
Napoleon pushed him to sit down on a bench as he grabbed a towel, running it under cold water to tend to his partner's face, while Illya pulled the bloody sweatshirt gingerly over his head.
"So you gonna tell me what the hell that was all about? I left you less than fifteen minutes ago and you get yourself into a knock-down-drag-out brawl with another section two agent, even though he's a jerk."
"You just said it yourself, he is a jerk," Illya winced as Napoleon wiped his face with the damp cloth. "Ow! Stoi, I will do it myself please?" He held out his hand waiting for the towel to be passed to him.
"Stop being a baby...there, you're done any way." Napoleon took Illya by the chin, carefully raising it to the light to survey the damage.
"You're going to have a nice shiner, and a really fat lip."
"Thank you Dr. Solo."
"Now you going to tell me what started all this?"
Illya snorted..."where should I start?"
"The beginning is usually the best place?"
"You still think George Dennell was the one who rescued you from Serena?"
"I was a little suspicious but yes...so enlighten me, please?" Napoleon. his curiosity piqued as to how this related to the fight, sat down on the bench next to his partner.
"It was me, not George. I had him help as Waverly had banned me from joining in the search for you because I was still on medical leave. Anderson and his partner Denman were assigned to investigate your disappearance and I had Dennell plant bugs on them to monitor their progress. I listened in as Mike Anderson made some disparaging remarks against me...though I knew that he has always disliked me; I was unaware of how much he hated me until then."
"So? You've tolerated a lot of slurs from people over the years. Why now, why him?
"He insulted you."
Napoleon tried to hide his smile. "So you were defending my honor?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Why thank you, but I can take care of myself."
"Napoleon, for years you have protected me in one way or another. You have deflected a good many malicious words from reaching my ears; though in spite of your efforts, I have still heard them. But for once, some one was insulting you...my friend, my best friend. I have not been as good a friend to you as you have been to me all these years and I need to rectify that."
"O.K. this is starting to go deeper that just a fight with that moron Anderson. What's this all about?"
Illya stood up, walking to his locker; removing a bottle of rubbing alchohol and spashing some onto the towel. Then he began rubbing his right forearm with it until a blue-inked tattoo became visible.
"I had not planned to have this conversation quite yet." he sighed."You have asked me about this in the past, but I always evaded answering you and hoped you had forgotten seeing it. I have never shared the secrets of my past my with you. It is time that I did so."
Napoleon took Illya's wrist in his hand, pulling his partner's arm closer to examine the tattoo that had seen only once, when he had rescued Illya in Greece.**
* ref." The Cabin in the Woods Affair." ** ref. "The Archangel Affair"