Elliott walked into Illya's room in medical, receiving a pleasant surprise as her husband was clean-shaven and his hair had been clipped; at least giving him a well groomed appearance, though his hair being that short did not exactly please him.

The beard that had hidden his sunken cheeks now revealed his thinness, making it more obvious. His color looked better today and his eyes brighter. She had wanted to bring Demya to see his papa, but Illya refused; telling her that his looks would frighten the child. He wanted to wait until he put on a few more pounds to his frame. Though she thought it wrong; Elliott went along with his wishes. At least Demmy was able to speak to his father over the telephone, and that would have to suffice for now.

Elliott leaned in trying to kiss Illya on the lips but he turned his face, avoiding her. She didn't push the matter as she knew that her husband did things when he was ready and not before. He was not himself yet and she understood that would take time.

Illya felt badly he had just done that to her, but he just couldn't kiss her or be kissed. He had too much going on in his head; too many conflicting emotions pulling at him. His old nightmares were back haunting him, as well as his new ones as now and no matter how hard he tried to push them out of his mind; they kept coming back. So much so that he actually accepted something from Max Schneider to help him sleep. But Illya promised himself that it would only be for a short while. That he at least could control.

It was the second time he had almost died at Solovki that was troubling him deeply. His thoughts of his ever so brief converstion with the man Yakov set him to wondering as he had, if he really should have died back in Kyiv or in Syrets? Why was it that he was the one who lived while others died? His family, Irina the other besprizornyh detyei_street children, Katiya Revchenkov.* Why?"

He was feeling survivor's guilt over the death of people long gone. It was an emotion he had never had some how dealt with, never one he had to file away, never had to compartmentalize. He had dealt with guilt on some levels thoughout his life, but not like this. He felt defeated, emasculated by his inability to defend himself against being raped, in the end he let Lazar' molest him and had even stopped struggling...he had given up. Guilt haunted him for that and now for being being a survivor again, while the man Yakov who was probably one of the street children he had saved back in Kyiv, died in Solvoki.

He knew it was his stubborn Russian male pride telling him that it was an ultimate weakness not to have been able to defend his own masculinity. He had protected himself from rape all his life and had succeeded until now. He felt as if he were a failure to himself.

Elliott had been raped and when it happened; it affected him deeply but not that it had happened to him, he realized the helplessness and horror she must have felt. Yet she got over it. She told him she would never forget how it made her feel, but still she was able to move on. So why could he not do the same thing? He could not bring himself to discuss it with her.

And then when the next day came and Elliott tried to kiss him again and he refused her; she knew it was time to talk, whether he wanted to or not. If he would not discuss what troubled him this time, then for once Illya Kuryakin would have to listen, whether he liked it or not.

"Enough was enough, stubborn Russian or not." she told herself; she could be stubborn as well.

He had refused to work with the psychiatrist Dr. Dennison; Illya simply laying in bed with his arms crossed, not responding to the man at all. If he didn't get himself back on track, once he was released from medical he could conceivably be put on a desk job or forced into retirement. Neither of which she saw going well for him. He would have to pass a psyche exam in order to be recertified. And he couldn't pass it while he continued to refuse to speak with the doctor.

Elliott Kuryakin leaned over to her husband, whispering to him...intimate words they said to each other when they made love, things that she knew always would make him more amorous.

He looked into her eyes with great saddness. "Nyet, pazhaluista_no please? Do not do this to me?"

"Illuysha, ye know I understand," she said stroking his hair, "Ye know I do?" Nothing has changed, you are still the same man I love and you are no less a man. Ye have been injured, just as if they broke yer arm or a leg. Ye'll heal, ye'll be fine."

He said nothing to her, crossing his arms just as he did with Dennison like an unyielding child, not willing to talk about it.

"Illya Nickovich, I know it was a horrible violation. It happened to me and I'm still here? I haven't changed, except I'm now all the more stronger because of it. They can hurt our bodies but they can never touch our souls. Ye just have to let it go and stop thinking about it."

She watched as a small tear trickled down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away with his hand.

"That is how you dealt with it? Elliott, I am a man...it is different for a man and besides there is more to it than that."

"Don't give me that I'm a man so it's different horse manure? Don't insult me please?"

"I am sorry, I did not mean it that it was less terrible for you. Annushkha, I never meant that."

"Well ye just have to get over it and get on with life. If I hadn't stopped thinking about it, I never would have been able to be...intimate with you again. Rape isn't sex, it's violence, it's a demeaning form of torture. Ye need to keep reminding yerself that it was torture. And ye have always survived torture in the past haven't ye?"

Illya huffed. "That is easier said than done. I can truly understand how a woman now feels violated by rape. It is disturbing on so many levels. I cannot discuss it...I do not want anyone to know?"

"Illuysha, I know better than anyone how private a man ye are, but I also know ye are one of the strongest and obstinate men I have ever met in my life. Call on that strength of yers and fight the good fight. Get off that skinny arse of yers and talk ta the doctor?"

Again he said nothing.

His silence left Elliott frustrated. "I have to go. I'll be putting Demmy on the telephone after the supper, so ye be in a good mood fer yer son or else." she warned him with a pointing finger. Then she left him alone with his thoughts.

Napoleon appeared just after dinner time in medical and he was sure his partner was not in a good mood. He had just come from personnel records having done the same favor for his partner that he had done for Elliott, though he could never tell him. He had the record of his molestation removed from his personal file. The only knowledge of it now was in the heads of only a very few people, and ones that would never divulge Illya's secret. As CEA he had certain priviledges, and being the heir apparent to Alexander Waverly, Napoleon Solo had more pull than any other section two agent and this was one of those times he used it.

His partner was a private a man; if word of this leaked he knew the Russian would be mortified, he with that stubborn pride of his. It was bothering his Illya that much he knew, but Napoleon also understood that it would be hard for him to even broach the subject with his friend. That would be crossing the line, and Illya wouldn't allow it, he kept the door closed to Solo on so many things even after all these years. Though it no longer bothered him as he understood that was just the Russian's way, but for once he decided to try. Someone had to talk some sense into him.

"Hello partner of mine...I must say you've cleaned up nicely."

"Hhmm."

"Aw come on will you please lighten up for once?"

"I cannot." Illya shoved a bowl of yogurt aside, giving it a look of disdain," I am still hungry and all the feed me is yogurt and baby food. I want something that I can chew?"

"Well then this may be your lucky day. Your wish is my command your Lordship."

"Do not call me that." Illya said curtly.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Napoleon, please?"

"Alright." he said not understanding why the word 'lordship' was bothering him," here's something that might even cheer even a grouchy Russian bear."

Napoleon produced a brown paper bag from behind his back, placing it on the bed table.

Illya pushed aside the bowl of yogurt, opening it; smiling when he removed the contents of the sack."Pastrami on rye?" he said, smelling it even before he unwrapped the sandwich.

"Yep and it's all yours tovarisch."

"Napoleon, you are a life saver."

"So I've been told. Just eat it quick before Nurse Walsh sees it. Look we need to broach an uncomfortable subject?"

"No we do not," he said as he took a large bite of the sandwich, "because I mrefuse to talk about it. I do not want any misguided sympathies nor do I wish to be a subject of conversation. I can hear them now, 'poor Illya'.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. And it's not sympathy Illya, it's a realistic outlook. You need to talk to Dennison; if you don't then you won't be recertified and I lose my partner. Come on, you've aced psyche exams before?

"I know you are right. Elliott has been trying to tell me the same thing."

"Then stop being so stubborn and listen to the two people who care about you more than anyone else in the world...well except maybe for Bella" he smiled. "You're my best friend and more like a brother than my own brother Hannibal. I really am being very selfish here," he flashed Illya one of his smiles," I don't want to have to break in a new partner after all these years?"

That made Illya laugh just a bit. "I will not make any promises but I will at least think it over."

"That's a the most positive thing I've heard from you lately." Napoleon looked at his wristwatch," I have to run, lots of paperwork to catch up on. See you later."

"That is why you want me re-certified, so I can do your reports for you!" he called out to his partner.

Solo headed downstairs to his office, digging into the backload of paperwork that always seemed to pile up on him; not just field reports, but budget reports, notes from his Monday briefings, all things that his partner usually helped him clear with ease. He suddenly regretted that he had never learned to type as Illya had done and was just about ready to call Janet, the section two secretary for some help when his telephone rang.

"Napoleon?"

"Hi Max, what can I do for you?"

"Let's talk pastrami sandwich?"

"Ugh, what about it?"

"You know damn well that you gave one to Kuryakin...let's say that Nurse Walsh is gunning for you now after having to clean up the mess that was made when your partner heaved up his insides?"

"Sorry, I had no idea a little sandwich would cause a problem?"

"Look, I'm the doctor here, not you," Schneider said, "you knew the diet he was on and still you had to do what you felt like doing? Napoleon, he was barely ready for solids, but come on...pastrami?"

"I said I was sorry Max. I promise I won't do it again." Napoleon cringed at the thought of what his innocent gesture had done to Illya.

"If I catch you or anyone else slipping him unauthorized food; there will be hell to pay. You understand me?" Max hung up the phone before Napoleon could say another word.

A week later Illya was released from medical and sent home, still weak and underweight but nothing that required hospitalization. Demya was exuberant to see his father, but had to be cautioned not to jump and Illya was hard-pressed to lift his son next to him on the sofa. Boris hopped up into Illya's lap, moving very gingerly as if she sensed something was wrong, then finally curled up purring loudly, telling him she was happy that he was home at last.

"Papa, I missed you so much. Why were you gone so long? And why are you so skinny? You look different."

"Papa had a very hard job to do and then he...he caught a very bad cold. So I could not come home until I was better. I am thinking that I don't like your job anymore. I wish you were home. Aunt Bella's nieces and nephew's papas all come home at night after work, why can't you? And why does mama go away so much too? The other children't mamas don't do that."

Illya closed his eyes, trying to control himself as did not want to become upset in front of his son, as the child was asking valid questions. It bothered him that he had to answer them all with lies. What was he doing? Why was he doing this job that nearly killed him. He thought perhaps it was time to retire to the lab after all. Then he could be a good father to his son and a good husband...or could he? "Was he good enough to be what his wife and son needed him to be?"

There was little conversation at dinner, one that Elliott prepared according to Max Schneider's instructions. Solid foods, but light and no spices. Illya's appetite was good and he managed a second helping, pleasing Elliott. It did help that she was an excellent cook.

He was still tiring easily and had an appointment early the next morning for physical therapy as his muscles had atrophied and needed to be strengthened, helping Elliott to clean up was an effort for him. He kissed his son good night and while Elliott put Demya to bed, Illya undressed, crawling under the covers of his own bed with a sigh of contentment. It had been nearly three months since had he felt the comfort of it and smiled as he felt the soft coolness of the cotton sheets. It was so comforting to be home, safe.

Elliott undressed in the dark, then slipped in beside her husband, running her hand gently along his body then reached down...

"Nyet" he whispered.

Elliott pressed her body against him, whispering to him, being persistant.

Illya finally rolled over facing her as she kissed him on the lips, but he returned it half heartedly. He got up, leaning over Elliott wanting to give her what she wanted, but found he couldn't. He dropped to his side, turning away from his wife, embarrassed at his impotency.

"I am sorry." he whispered to her.

Elliott cried softly as they went to sleep, worrying about what was happening to her Illuysha.

The next morning, Illya Kuryakin took a taxi to headquarters, and after his physcial therapy session he knocked on the door of Doctor Dennison.

reference to "The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"