Alexander Waverly had let Illya Kuryakin slide for as long as possible in regards to seeing seeing Dr. Dennison; knowing his section two agent's dislike of anything medical but especially the psychiatrists on staff.
His Russian agent been poked, prodded and his mind picked apart back in the Soviet Union in his early career working for the GRU, and he supposed that was where he developed his intense dislike for them Their sessions with him back home were far less kind than the ones here at U.N.C.L.E. But Waverly knew it was time to light a fire under Kuryakin; other wise he could end up losing one of his best agents.
So when Illya arrived at the reception desk at the agent entrance in Del Floria, that morning Wanda was waiting for him with a message.
"Good moring Illya," she said as she leaned forward actually pinning his badge on for him; which at the moment he realized was a 'first'. That was a priviledge always afforded Napoleon and not he.
"Thank you Wanda, good to see you." he mustered a little smile for her, which she seemed to please her as she beamed, smiling in return.
"They're waiting for you in medical."
"Yes I know."
"No Illya I mean they're waiting for you. Mr. Waverly said if you didn't make it over to Dr. Dennison's office after your physical therapy; then he was going to send a couple of the guys from security to physically take you there."
He was taken aback for just a moment, but then he was aware that he had pushed Waverly as far as he could on the issue, so it mattered not that he had intended to do the Dennison that morning. "Chyort_shit." he muttered to himself as it now looked as though he were doing it under duress rather than of his own volition.
"Thank you Wanda, I have been forewarned." he nodded, heading through the door , then down the corridor, taking the elevator up to medical, and to the physical therapy wing.
They put him through his paces with light calesthenics and weight training; lifting the barbells with satisfaction as he could feel his strength beginning to return. Then to finish up the routine, he was put on a treadmill for some cardio-vascular exercise.
The therapists were pleased with his progress as was he and for a short while during each of his exercise sessions he would feel good as the surge of endorphins kicked in. His worries and sadness didn't seem so bad then, that was until the rush from the exercise wore off and he would find himself feeling uneasy and depressed again.
He showered after physical therapy was completed then headed over to Psych; knocking on Dr. Dennison's door. The red light outside was not on, indicating he was not with anyone at the moment, so Illya opened the door sticking his head in.
"May I come in?"
"Yes Illya, by all means please do? I was expecting you."
"So I was told." he said as he sat down in a chair in front of the desk.
A moment later an unfamiliar man with dark curly hair and glasses, walked into the office. He conferred a second with Dennison and then was handed a file.
"Presumably mine," Illya thought to himself as he watched the two whispering, not able to hear a word.
"Illya, I am putting you in the very capable hands of Dr. Robert Mansur here as I know you and I tend to mix like oil and water. I thought someone that you were not familiar with, someone not familiar with you either for that matter might help bring a different perspective into the mix.
So I will leave you two to become acquainted."
Dr. Mansur thumbed through Illya's file, though Kuryakin was sure the man had already seen it.
"Well Mr. Kuryakin, you have been through quite a bit over the years."
Illya gave him no response or reaction.
"How are you sleeping Mr. Kuryakin? I saw that Dr. Schneider had given you a prescription for sleeping tablets."
"As well as can be expected."
"Should I finish that sentence for you? he added, "Under the circumstances?"
"Under what circumstances are you referring to?
"The ones causing you not to sleep."
"I did not say that I was not sleeping."
"You implied..." Mansur began.
Illya cut him off. "I implied nothing. If you wish me to clarify, then I will."
"Please enlilghten me Mr. Kuryakin?" Mansur leaned back in his chair, jotting down a few notes on a legal pad.
"I am a section two agent...what I was referring to was the possibility of being attacked while one sleeps, ergo section two agents have learned to sleep very lightly as a matter of self preservation while on missions."
"And what about when you are not away on assignment, when you are at home? I understand you are married, how does your wife feel about your sleeping habits?"
"Dr. Mansur as you well know, my wife is also a section two agent and as to how she feels about my sleeping habits; you would have to ask her."
Mansur then asked him bluntly,"How is your sex life with your wife?"
"Excuse me Doctor? Illya paused for a second then stood up from the chair, "I think we are done."
"SIT DOWN Mr. Kuryakin," Mansur ordered, "otherwise I will get Mr. Waverly involved, understand? Now SIT."
Illya flopped back down into the chair, overtly annoyed.
"Tell me about your last mission." Mansur said in a more relaxed tone of voice.
"It went bad, I was set up, captured. Then traded for two STASI and an agent of KGB."
"I hardly think that was it Mr. Kuryakin...your medical issues attest to the fact that you were treated sadistically by your captors.
"Yes, that is true,"Illya agreed," they were and are sadistic."
"Mr. Kuryakin...Illya if I may call you by your first name? I understand that you don't know me and I understand that you don't like psychiatrists but I assure you that every word to say to me is private and protected, even from the old man himself, and will never be discussed with anyone. Not even if Waverly orders me himself. I have my scruples and I take doctor-patient privledge very serious."
"Every agent that I see has issues, fears and pain that need to be addressed. Your life is all about keeping secrets but sometimes and an agent can lose himself in all that clandestine behavior. I'm not here to tell you what to do; I'm here to help you decide what to do to deal with your issues. And don't give me the bullshit 'I'm fine' line that I hear from every one of you section two agents who walks through my door."
"You walk a very precarious and thin line, eventually all the things done to you and by you become a heavy burden to bear...so when you fee like lightening your load a bit, you can talk to me. Now, we're done O.K.?"
Illya was surprised at Mansur's releasing him as well as the way he spoken to him. He had never been treated in such a manner by a psychiatrist. Usually they would try to rip into his psyche with Freudian methods churning out their theories of the unconsious mind, repression and free association. But he knew how to play the game; giving them the answers they needed to hear and they would certify him field-ready every time.
But perhaps doing that all these years was a mistake? Dr. Mansur was correct; he had a lot of secrets...and perhaps they were beginning to weigh upon him more than he realized. But it was his fears that were affecting him more than anything else; he knew that he could not continue with the way he was feeling, not when it was affecting himself, but his family as well. He had lost confidence in himself...as an agent and as a man.
"Very well Dr. Mansur, I will take your words under consideration. Thank you." Illya actually offered his hand to the man, who returned the gesture.
"Thursday morning at ten alright?"
Illya hesitated, "Yes." he answered, then left the office.
Mansur was pleased and he felt he had not only gotten past Kuryakin's hostility towards those in the psychiatric profession but some of his defences as well.
The simple gesture of Kuryakin offering his hand to him attested to that, as the Russian was known for being unsocialble. But knew that it still wasn't a sure thing that the agent would show up for his appoinment. The ball was in Kuryakin's court now.
Illya disappeared down to his lab even though he was not authorized to be there as he was still on medical leave but he went there just the same; hoping that no one would notice him.
There Illya sat alone, tinkering with some experimental miniature electronics; trying to get his mind to refocus. But as he worked, he found that he was unable to concentrate. He finally dropped his tools in disgust.
"Now what?" he asked himself. He was not ready to go home. His young son was a handful right now and he was not unable to keep up with the boy at the moment. He lacked energy due to the weakness of his musculature, he wasn't sleeping well and he was depressed. Illya did not want his son seeing him this way; he was the papa and was supposed to be strong. How could he be a role model for Demya?
The guilt and shame of his inablility to make love to Elliott was disturbing. She made little of his problem the next morning but he knew that she had cried to herself to sleep. She did not deserve such a husband, not the way he was now.
His mood was beyond his broodings and melancholia of the past; when he was that way he always retreated into his solitude. Elliott understood this...but what was happening to him now was so different and confusing. Pehaps it was better to not be alone at the moment?
Illya forced himself to seek out the company of other human beings in complete opposition to his normal behavior; he headed to the commissary. Perhaps if he were just around people at the moment; it would make him feel better?
He walked into the room, surveying who was there; picking up glass of apple juice rather that risking the acidic nature of coffee or tea on his still sensative stomach. As he walked slowly past a table where George Dennell and a few other were sitting he heard George call out to him.
"Hey Illya wanna join us?"
George was pleasantly surprised at Illya's answer as he'd only asked out of courtesy as he always had and the Russian had always declined until now.
Illya sat in a chair that George had pulled up for him.
"So how you getting along Illya? I heard you were on medical leave...I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like you've lost a bit of weight?" George said.
"The answer is yes to both questions," he said taking a sip of his juice.
"Wow, was it a tough assignment?"
"As always...perhaps we could talk about something else though?"
"We were talking a bit of baseball Mr. Kuryakin," chimed in one of George's companions from communications, " are you familiar with the game?"
"Please, call me Illya," he answered politely," and no I am not familiar with it; though I have heard of it. I usually do not have time to follow organized sports...being on the go so much."
"You section twos have the life, all that travel; getting to go to all those exotic places and meeting interesting people. It all seems so exciting/"
"You have been reading too many of those spy novels," Kuryakin answered. "The life of a section two agent is not glamourous at all, and it is not always interesting. There is much pressure and danger. I suppose coming home intact is something to get excited about? Now enough shop talk...someone explain this game of baseball to me?" he said not to divert them, but his own mind.
Illya actually found himself enjoying the animated conversation about the American sport and when they were finished explaining everything they could about it; he thanked them, saying he actually found that it was interesting.
"Well Illya," smiled George, "we have a little softball league, a few of us get together on the weekends for a game or two. Why don't you come down and check it out. Watching a game is a lot more enjoyable than talking about it?"
"George, I just might do that." Kuryakin said as he stood up. "Gentlemen, thank you for the company and the information on baseball, it was most enlightening."
He left headquarters just after lunch time, suddenly deciding to try eating out just to see if he could handle it. Illya took a taxi to a place he had not eaten at in a long time...Changs Chinese Restaurant. He and Napoleon used to frequent it a lot, then he and Elliott, but once they had moved to Washington Square, they had stopped going.
He walked in the door of the small restaurant decorated with bright red walls, golden dragons and paper lanters hung from the ceiling.
"Ah Mr. K!" said the Mr. Lee the host," we not see you long time now and our takeout business very slow?" Maybe you coming back bring us good business again?"
He smiled just a little then apologized in Chinese. "Shì de wo bàoqiàn zhè shì yige hen zhang yiduàn shíjian..Dàn wo yijing jié le hun, wo de qizi shì yi wèi hen hao de chúshi_yes I am sorry it has been a ery long time...but I have gotten married and my wife is a very good cook."
"Lady with red hair?"
"Yes Lee, lady with red hair." he smiled.
Mr. Lee looked Illya up and down. "She good cook; then how come you so skinny?"
Illya blushed for a second at the man's simple candor, as that was the truth.
"I have been ill, but am on the mend now...that is why I came in for a visit, so you can help fatten me up again." he smiled, patting his stomach.
"Your Chinese still good." Lee laughed, "now we get you a good lunch, get you fat!"
Mr. Lee seated Illya at his usual booth, placing his order for wonton mein soup and chicken chow mein. A little bland compared to what he used to eat in the past, as he was still being cautious with his diet.
No sooner was his meal placed on the table, when Kuryakin heard a very familiar and unpleasant voice greet as a woman slipped on the the bench beside him in the booth.
"Hello Illya darling."
He sighed, not pleased to see the her.
"What do you want?"
"What no hello for me at all? she crooned as she held out her cigarette waiting for the Russian to be a gentleman and light it for her.
He did no such thing, but finally greeted her with disdain.
" Angelique, what do you want?"