I wrote this in the early hours of the morning, while failing to get any sleep on my sister's sofa (and having imbibed 3 double vodkas).I've looked through it a few times, so hopefully you can't tell I was in a sleep deprived and tipsy state.Please let me know if it reads as complete drivel.
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Hold your head up high, for there is no greater love
Think of the faces of the people you defend
And promise me, they will never see, the tears within our eyes
Although we are men, with mortal sins
Angels never cry.
-from the song 'Winterborn' by The Cruxshadows.
The whole mission had been doomed from the start and had culminated in a rare failure for U.N.C.L.E. THRUSH had succeeded in wiping out an entire village in Argentina in order to take control of the land. Gold deposits had recently been discovered there, and they wanted it. The intelligence on their plans had gotten to U.N.C.L.E. very late. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had been the nearest agents, so they had been sent immediately. By the time they'd arrived, the village was beyond help.
The two agents had dispatched all the Thrushies they could find, but it was of little comfort to either man. Around them lay the bodies of forty men, women, and children; poisoned by their drinking water. Illya called into HQ to report the event and request a clean-up team. As he listened to Mr Waverly assuring him there was nothing that could've been done, he watched his partner squat down with his head in his hands. Napoleon never took failure well, even when it wasn't their failure.
Illya put his communicator away and went and stood next to his grief-stricken partner. He placed a hand on the senior agent's shoulder and the two of them remained that way for a couple of minutes. They were startled from their contemplation when a woman came running from the nearby trees, screaming at them in Spanish. Solo looked to his partner for a translation, as his Spanish wasn't as strong as it should have been.
"She wants to know why we weren't here sooner," Illya told him, flatly. "She says it is our fault the village is dead. We should have been here before the evil men could do what they did."
"She's right," Napoleon agreed, as the woman beat her fists against his chest. "Why didn't we know this was coming?"
He let the distraught woman scream herself out, then pulled her into a tight embrace. She clung onto him as though her life depended on it and sobbed into his shoulder. Within an hour, the relative authorities arrived and took over the area. With nothing left to do, the U.N.C.L.E. agents headed back to America.
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The debriefing with Mr Waverly was thankfully very short. The Old Man could see how much the failed affair had taken out of his men, so he told them to file their reports then take three days leave. Napoleon was practically out of the door before his boss had finished speaking. Illya bade Mr Waverly a hurried farewell and jogged after his partner.
"Would you care for a drink my friend?" he asked when he caught up.
"I'm sorry Tovarisch," the American replied, wearily. "The last twenty-four hours has been somewhat trying, so I'm going straight home. See you in three days."
"Please Napoleon," Illya coaxed. "You are not coping well and I want to make sure you're okay."
"Of course I'm not okay!" Solo yelled at the stunned Russian. "This last affair was a mess! We should have had the intelligence earlier. Forgive me if I'm taking forty deaths to heart. We can't all be emotionally stunted."
Illya watched in silence as napoleon strode away. He tried not to take his partner's words personally, knowing they weren't meant, but it was hard. The Russian knew he was often criticised for his aloof demeanour, but he wasn't as emotionless as people assumed. Napoleon was probably the only person who had seen Illya when he'd let his emotions show, so his hurtful accusation was both untrue and unfair. Kuryakin had been profoundly affected by the large loss of life, but had learned at a very early age to compartmentalise those feelings. He decided to let Napoleon go and work things through for himself.
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Two days later Illya was catching up on a backlog of scientific journals, trying not to contact Napoleon. The American's words had eaten away at him and now he was quite angry. He wanted to confront Napoleon and demand an explanation. The rational part of him knew he was being stupid; knew that Napoleon had only been lashing out at the world in general. There was a knock at the door, which Illya immediately recognised as the secret signal he and Napoleon shared. Mentally preparing himself for an argument, the Russian went to let his partner in. He wasn't prepared for what he found.
Napoleon was in a state. His suit was filthy, his shirt was stained and his tie was missing. The usually smooth hair was sticking up at various angles and he was sporting some untidy stubble. He held out a bottle of Stolichnaya to Illya.
"Peace offering and apology," he mumbled. "Can I explain?"
Illya accepted the bottle and motioned for Napoleon to come in. His anger had dissipated almost immediately. Solo sat down heavily and looked his friend squarely in the eye.
"I was out of order Tovarisch," he began. "I won't ask for your forgiveness, because it was unforgivable. I, of all people, know you aren't emotionally stunted and please believe me when I tell you that I will never say it again."
Illya grabbed a couple of glasses from his cabinet and poured out two good measures of the Stoli. It wasn't cold, but that didn't matter right at that moment.
"I will forgive you Napoleon if you will only tell me what prompted this whole reaction."
"When I was in Korea, my platoon came upon a village where exactly the same thing had happened," Solo told him, taking the proffered vodka. "The water had been poisoned and everyone had been killed. It isn't an excuse, but that was war, and you expect atrocities in war."
"The fight against THRUSH is a war Napoleon."
"That's true," the American agreed. "In Korea, we couldn't have prevented it, but in Argentina, we should have known what was planned."
"Unfortunately my friend, we aren't perfect," Illya said sorrowfully, as he poured them both another shot. "We don't always win."
"I know," Solo sighed. "I often build myself up to be this great hero, then something like this happens and I'm knocked off my pedestal. It is humbling to realise that I'm just a man, not an angel."
"You can hold your head high Napoleon," the Russian assured his friend. "Think of all the people you have saved and all those you are defending. The pain and sorrow you feel does you credit, but you can't let them see the tears. Angels never cry."
Napoleon held his glass up to make a toast.
"To U.N.C.L.E, angels and getting there early next time."
"And to all the innocents who we were unable save," answered Illya sadly.
The two men clinked glasses, then spent the rest of the day drinking and talking. When they returned to work, no-one could ever have guessed what had gone in over the previous few days. Solo was back to his immaculate, smiling self and Illya was still what everyone expected. Only Napoleon seemed to know that the Ice Prince had a heart.
The end.