ILLYA – TRYING TO ESCAPE
I've never told anyone this, and I wasn't going to, but I suppose now is the time to bare all. I mean if I have to talk about this, then I might as well, right? What I'm talking about is when I think of the word `wife', the face that comes into mind is Elinor. Elinor wasn't beautiful, not to other people, but to me she was the world. We had loved each other since we were young children, and being parted forcibly by the KGB changed nothing. We may have been forcibly divorced by the state, but as far as we were concerned, we were still husband and wife, with a lovely little boy to bring up.
I was looking forward to taking my son out and showing him the sights of Moscow, of showing him the places in Kyiv where I grew up, and teaching him the lessons I learned as a boy…the positive ones, anyway. Even though I saw him very rarely, he always knew who I was. His face lit up and he called me "Papa!" every time. I lost them one difficult and stormy day, the very day I had first met Napoleon. I rescued Napoleon from that torturous THRUSH dungeon a few miles outside Moscow, and almost the moment I returned, I received the news every husband and father dreads. They were both gone.
I never wept for them. It isn't that I didn't want to, but when I was with UNCLE Moscow, I did not have a single private place anywhere to go and grieve. I did not even have a bed to myself half the time. As soon as I got out, someone else got in it. That is in part why I have been very reluctant to get involved with any woman since. I never had the chance to mourn my wife, never really been able to accept the fact that I was never going to see her again. The thought of dating someone else made me feel like I was betraying her. That was, until Claire.
Claire was so easy to talk to. I wanted to tell her things, because…actually, I'm not sure quite why it was. We realized we liked each other very quickly, and she asked me openly if there was a reason why I was reluctant to see her socially a second time. So I explained about my wife and my son. She looked as upset as I felt, she took my hand, and then she put her arm around my shoulder, and it didn't feel wrong. It felt natural…like being…like being at home. Does that make sense?
Claire suggested I say goodbye to Elinor. When I reminded her that Elinor and Dimitry's graves were in Russia, she smiled and said "Why does that matter? The graves are there, but your wife isn't there is she? The woman you love is gone, so why does it matter where you say goodbye? Have your own memorial service for her somewhere here, somewhere you feel relaxed. Tell her how you feel about everything."
I asked Claire whether she thought Elinor would hear me and she shrugged. People, she said, have all different beliefs about that, but anyway a funeral was not for the dead person anyway. It was for the ones left behind to say a last goodbye. "It seems to me that you never got the chance to do that." She said.
Claire was right, so I followed her suggestion and went to my favourite place and…well, that's private. Anyway, it did seem to clear my head a little. This time I found the solitude I needed to vent in private, and I found myself looking forward to seeing Claire again.
I always enjoyed being a section two agent…when I wasn't being beaten up and humiliated by THRUSH that is, but when it came to choosing, section two or Claire? There was no comparison. As I said before though, the one thing that made it a wrench was having to leave Napoleon. I would have understood if he had been angry or hurt, and, well, he might have been, but if he did he never showed it. As a best man he was absolutely the best.
I knew exactly how my wedding day was going to go. After the service, we were going to lead our guests two blocks down the road to the hotel room we had booked, and enjoy a lovely meal specially provided by the hotel staff. Then we would have had a few speeches, and then Claire and I were going to be driven off in an UNCLE limousine to the airport where a pair of business class airline tickets were waiting to take us to England. We had arranged to have our honeymoon staying in a village hotel in the middle of the New Forest, and hire a car and tour on our own from there.
Instead, approximately the time we would have been half way across the Atlantic, I woke up in a semi darkened room, and rather than seeing my new wife beside me, it was Napoleon.
Napoleon's eyes were reddened and puffy, and I could see he had been crying. It wasn't difficult to guess.
"My wife? She's…?"
"She's gone. Oh god, Illya, I'm so sorry!"
I was shocked through and through. Without Claire, my life would be even emptier than before, only this time I would have a shattered soul to live with. But seeing Napoleon like that? The Napoleon that lives inside my head has a permanent cocky grin on his face. I've seen him in every sort of emotion, don't think I haven't, but somehow this was different. It was almost as if I was seeing my own emotions played out on his face. Like he was seeing my loss the way I was…Part of me wanted to hug him and reassure him, but the stronger half wanted to punch a hole in something…or preferably, someone!
I got out of bed. My partner didn't try to stop me. He knows me better than that by now.
Outside, I found I was in a hospital room. I marched out, ignored the section three man standing by and grabbed the first person that I saw, which happened to be April Dancer. I grabbed her by her elbows, and I have some recollection of bellowing in her face, "Where's my wife?" I heard the word `upstairs', and took off at a run, Napoleon trailing in my wake.
Why did I run? Was I of the opinion that I would arrive and find it had all been one cruel joke or something? I have never believed that it helped to go and see a loved one after death, so why was I so determined to find her? I still don't know, but what I do know is that I would do the same thing again. I crashed into the I.C room and saw her broken body on the bed. I was vaguely aware of someone closing the door behind me, but I stared at my wife's beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, and she looked like she was just sleeping. I silently begged her to open her eyes for me, but she did not.
I know you want me to tell you about the next few minutes, but I... I just can't. I don't suppose you'll have much trouble guessing how I spent them, but it didn't make anything easier. I felt like an explosion inside me was waiting to happen, and I knew I needed to get away alone. I didn't think I would ever be able to keep a lid on it. Napoleon, Mark and April were all outside, and I knew they would all try and get me to go back to bed. As if! So I hid in the cupboard.
All right, not very original, but it worked anyway. I peeped at Napoleon dashing out the escape and down the ladder, and the faces in the glass door were gone too. I finally figured I would be safe to make my escape from hospital the normal way…and ran right into April outside the door.
I was annoyed that she had second guessed me, but she is intelligent, and she thinks like Claire does…did. April showed me her genuine sympathy, and suddenly everything hit me. Everything was gone. My new wife, our holiday, our new home, my new job, possibly my old one, my whole life felt like it had imploded. I am ashamed to say that for a fleeting moment, all I wanted was to die myself, lie alongside her. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor with my head on April's shoulder. I was glad she didn't say anything. The last thing I needed was sympathy, but she just sat there, comforting me with her presence.
Then it all erupted again. I just wanted to go home, and try to come to terms with what had happened in my own space and in my own time…until I remembered that I would have to walk past Claire's apartment en route to my own. Then her family were back, rowdy and weeping. I was enveloped in a group hug that I endured as long as I could. If this kept up I would lose control of myself. I was afraid that if let go of my emotions now, it would all come tumbling down. Not just Claire, but Elinor and Dimitry, my brother Mikhail a few months back, my sisters Liliya and Maya, and then later little Masha…
I know they all call me Iceman at work, or Ice Prince, and many think I have no feelings, that I am cold and emotionless. Of course I am not emotionless, like an automaton, but The Ice Prince is a protection. Napoleon knows that better than anyone. He is one of the few before whom I can let my guard down; and even then only a little.
It hurts Napoleon I know when I keep so many secrets from him about my past, when I know virtually everything about him; but it's the only way I can keep functioning. As a child, if I had been allowed to give way to tears whenever something happened to merit it, I would have spent nine-tenths of my life crying. Instead I learnt to stifle, repress or compartmentalize in order to survive. It may not have been the healthiest way to survive, but it worked. These days, now I have my own private space where no one may enter without my say so, it is easier to deal with things as they happen.
When the group hug started to loosen, I pulled away, and Max grabbed my arm. He looked ashen and shocked.
"Are you going to be all right, boy? You look like hell. You should still be recovering in bed yourself…"
I shook my head.
"After Claire was murdered beside me? On our wedding day? I swear to you Max, that whoever did this to us will live to regret the day he was ever born!"
Claire's brother Joel looked alarmed.
"Hey, Illya, where are you off to? What about your friends?"
"What about them? I swear I will find whoever did this and make sure they pay!"
Before anyone had the chance to grab me, and before I could change my mind, I re-entered the room, repeated my vow to my dead wife, and climbed out of the fire escape.
Now I was in trouble. I had let my emotions rule my head. I always get into trouble when that happens. I was out on the street, wearing a pair of pale blue hospital pyjamas and brown old-man slippers, with a bandage around my head. Who was I kidding? I would stand out like a sore thumb in this outfit, and how far was I going to get trying to get home dressed like this? I don't generally keep a wallet in my pyjamas after all. I considered going back, but the memory of my wife's dead face, and the memory of the love in her eyes the last time I had seen her alive decided me. I may look like an escapee from a lunatic asylum, but what did I have to lose?
I removed the bandage from my head, wincing as I inadvertently touched the wound, I ripped my pyjama legs off above the knee, hoping that they would pass at a distance for beach shorts, and making similar alterations to the pyjama top with the sleeves and removing the pocket, I kicked off the slippers and continued barefoot. Catching sight of myself reflected in someone's window, I knew that only a complete moron would be fooled by this outfit, but I was willing to give it a try. I did quite well. I walked several blocks, and was gone for ninety minutes before a felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Leave me Napoleon." I said without turning.
He came up and walked beside me.
"Illya, I supposed you were heading home, am I right?"
"You're a real genius."
"Since your clothes, wallet, keys and everything are back at the hospital, how were you expecting to get into your apartment?"
I stopped, furious that that had not even occurred to me. I turned my head, expecting to see a Napoleon know-it-all grin, but his face was deadly serious, and not a little sympathetic. I should have known he would not find anything amusing in any of this. I would have to make it up to him later for misjudging him. He reached into a pocket and brought out a key. The spare key to my apartment that I had given him some time after we had become partners. He handed it to me.
"You'll find this useful I think."
"Thank you."
I started walking again, and he kept pace beside me. He knew enough to refrain from commenting on my doctored pyjamas, although I could feel him eyeing them curiously as we walked.
Finally, inside my apartment, I looked him in the eye. He still looked grave and serious.
"So how did you find me?"
"When we realized you were gone, April called down to Agent Whiting and asked him to check your belongings were still in your room. When he called back that everything was still there, I figured you'd try and get home first for some clothes. Here, these are yours by the way."
He handed me everything I had had in my pockets; my handkerchief, my UNCLE communicator and I.D, my wallet and a piece paper I had written a few notes on for the speech I would have had to make as the groom…notes I would never need now. I froze when my fingers touched it, and suddenly in my mind I was back in her arms, and she was comforting me over losing Elinor. I could hear her voice in my head; "It isn't your fault Illya, you have to let go! Let go! Let go!"
Suddenly I dropped everything on the floor where I was standing and bolted for the bathroom. I only just made it. Napoleon was still there, right beside me, holding me tightly across the shoulders while I heaved and spewed the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl, sweat breaking on my face and tears mingling with the sweat. Finally, the spasm ended and I wiped my face on the flannel and looked up at my partner, drawing my breath with difficulty.
"She's gone, Napoleon, she's gone! What do I do now? I can't…I don't want to…What's the point of anything now? I just…"
He grabbed my shoulders and made me look at him.
"Illya, Illya! ILLYA!"
Finally, I looked at him.
"Illya, you're losing control. You'd be better to cry and get it out of your system."
"I don't cry." I responded, rather unreasonably. A corner of his mouth quirked.
"I know, my friend, but you would feel better for it if you can. In the meantime you have to keep hold of what you still have."
I felt empty, literally as well as metaphorically.
"Like what? I've lost everyone and everything who ever meant something to me, Napoleon, I have nothing left!"
"Thanks."
He let go of me then and sat back against the wall, looking at me sadly. I realized then that I had inadvertently hurt him.
"Sorry my friend…I didn't mean…"
He leaned forward towards me slightly.
"Illya, you have lost a lot in your life, more than any one man ever should, but of course you haven't lost everything. You still have me. I'll be right here for as long as you need me…even if you think you don't need me. You still have your old job whenever you are ready…if you want it, and your old partner would welcome you back with open arms…there is also a lovely little girl who has lost almost everything in her life too…and the one thing she doesn't want to lose is her new papa…if you give up Illya, guess who will be the one to have to write to Katiya to tell her what has happened to her papa…"
I nodded. He was right, but right now I didn't want to let go of my grief. It was the grief that fueled my anger, and I felt right now that without my anger to keep me going I would just go to bed and sleep for a month. I needed my anger exactly where it was to get me through the next few days. I had made a vow and I intended to keep it. Napoleon nodded as though reading my mind.
"So you're determined to go through with it?"
"It?"
"Joel and Andy told me. You vowed to find these murderers, right?"
I nodded. No point in denying it.
"I Will. I need my anger Napoleon. Without it right now I will be too weak and I have to do this. There will be time to grieve later."
He nodded as though he had been expecting it.
"Very well my friend."
"You're coming with me?"
Napoleon smiled.
"What else are friends for?"
"What about Mister Waverly?"
"Oh, he knows. He guessed you'd run away as soon you had the chance."
"He told you to follow me?"
"No, Illya. I told him my place was by your side. He simply said `quite right, Mister Solo, but just make sure he doesn't do anything that would end up getting him deported. He is rather a valuable man to us. He's no use to anyone dead.'. So here I am."
"So together we get these…." I bit my tongue to stop myself using a colourful metaphor. Napoleon nodded.
"You and me, Illya. Agents Darkly and Fielding are on the case, and Agent Jackson of section three is helping them. Mark and April are standing by at the hospital, in case they try to follow you there for a second attempt."
"You think it was an attempt on me?" I asked him doubtfully. He shook his head.
"Actually, no. I think they succeeded in doing exactly what they intended. Disrupt the wedding, hopefully kill your bride and thereby lay a trap for you to come storming into."
I nodded.
"Lead on McDuff. I'm game if you are." I got up and headed for the front door. Napoleon called me back.
"Um, Illya, haven't you forgotten something?"
"What?"
"Hadn't you better get dressed first?"
