Napoleon drove Elliott home after her visit with Illya, but they didn't speak at all on the short drive to Washington Sqaure from headquarters as she had fallen asleep within minutes. When they arrived in front of the brownstone, he smiled, thinking that the Russian was rubbing off on her as it was often her husband's habit to doze off in the car when he wasn't behind the wheel.
"Ellie, wake up, " he whispered, not touching her of course. "you're home. You can sleep off your jetlag in the comfort of your own bed now.
"I'm awake, I was just resting my eyes." she lied.
The house was quiet as they entered since it was nearly 10 p.m. and Demya was sure to be asleep. Bella was there as well, lying on the sofa wrapped up in a warm throw blanket, with the fireplace burning brightly.
"Scotch?" Elliott whispered.
Napoleon nodded quietly as he walked into the living room, kneeling down beside his beautiful fiancée. He blew softly on a strand of stray hair that had fallen in front of her face; making it tickle her as she slept, until she crinkled her nose, then swatted with her hand.
"Bella il mio amore, time to wake up."
Her violet eyes fluttered open, squinting just a little as she smiled, then she stretched her arms like a cat. " Hi handsome, you look tired."
"I am. Elliott's back, so I can take you home."
"Mmm that would be nice," she whispered as she closed her eyes, drifting right back to sleep again."
"Or maybe not," he said to himself.
He stood up, meeting Elliott half way in the hall; taking the glass from her then holding a finger up to his lips for her to be quiet.
"Ye are welcome to stay the night if ye want?"
He grinned at her. "Ellie, there was a time that I would have given anything for you to have said that to me." he said as they headed to the kitchen," but no. I'll leave Bella here though. Why wake her? I'll be by in the morning to pick her up, if that's alright with you? She seems...what's that Irish word you use, crackerjax? You know when you're tired."
Elliott laughed softly, "That's banjaxed."
He downed the rest of his drink, gave Elliott a peck on the cheek then left, heading home to his apartment for the first time in over a week.
For the next seven days Illya Kuryakin spent his time being ferried between medical and Dr. Dennison's office. Each day he became more dour and irritable; not because of his unchanging condition but more so because of the annoying and condescending treatment of Dennison.
The Russian was tired of lying in a hospital bed, sitting in a hospital chair or sitting in Dennison's office. That was his routine and he tired of it and tired of people, though well-meaning, coming up to visit him. He was tired of being tired.
He was becoming jumpy, fearing they would touch him by accident. Lisa Rogers, Wanda, Dolores, Heather and endless entouage of women the secretarial pool, George Dennell, Bob Denman, Terry Tramell, the rest of the lab staff, and of course Napoleon and Elliott.
His anxiety levels increased as each person came into his room; though they had been warned no physical contact. Terry Tramell forgot himself as he placed a consoling hand on Illya's; sending the Russian writhing into pain; though he forced himself into not to cry out.
As soon as Terry touched Illya's hand, he gasped, apologizing profusely that he's forgotten. Illya could do nothing more than grit his teeth until the pain subsided as he attempted to hide it from him.
After that incident all visitors were banned, with the exception of Kuryakin's wife and partner.
Napoleon sat at Illya's bedside as ususal, having brought him a chocolate banana split to soothe his friend's woes; knowing that something edible was one of only a few things that would cheer him up right now; the others such as blowing something up or a more personal activity with his wife were just not going to happen. Although Illya had once remarked that he described chocolate as being somewhat orgasmic?
"I don't know how you don't gain weight with what you pack away; especially since you've been inactive again."
"Perhaps someday my metobolism will change but until then I will enjoy my food." he smiled, then his attitude changed. " Napoleon if I do not get out of here I think I will begin to go mad. Though I suspect that Dennison already thinks I am. I just want to go home."
"I hear you my friend," he said as he stole a spoonful of ice cream from the dish, "tell you what, I'll have a talk with the Old Man. Maybe we can get authorizaion for you to be treated as an out-patient?"
"That would help. Though I am sure Dennison will not think so?" he grumbled.
Max Schneider continued to work on solving the Russian's dilemma, trying pain medications, hypnosis, even a special programming technique used by Security, but it all proved useless. He was not happy with Dennison's lack of success and could see Kuryakin's mood was deteriorating. So after a request for release from medical came from Alexander Waverly he decided it was in the patient's best interest to comply, against the protests of Dr. Dennison.
Illya Kuryakin was at last released to go home, three weeks to the day that he was found dumped in the stairwell at Del Florias. It was also decided to let him work light duty in Research and Development; that having been Napoleon's idea, as he knew his partner needed to keep active and feel as though he were still making an active contribution.
This was all under the proviso that he could have no physcial contact with others. His work schedule was adjusted for him to be in the lab during the evening when it was either empty or staffed with a skeleton crew; lowering the risk of contact with others. The corridors would be less busy, the commisary closed, but arrangements were made to have meals prepared and ready for him in the walk-in fridge.
It became Schneider's hope that seeing his family would help Kuryakin some how to improve, as he too was beginning to worry as well that it might all be in the Russian's head.
Illya's first night home would be a challenge; Demya having been thoroughly lectured not to touch his father under any circumstances. It was a hard pill to follow for a three year old child who adored his father and for the father who adored his son.
It was all Illya could do not to scoop his teary-eyed boy into his arms, as Elliott held a restraining hand on their son's shoulder. So the visit with Demya was a very short one as it was causing emotional stress for all of them; which was just the opposite of what Schneider had intended.
At bedtime Illya looked in on Demmy, but it pained him in a different way to not be able to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight.
He finally walked into his bedroom to at last join his wife; changing into his favorite old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then he climbed into bed next to Elliott.
Illya stopped, suddenly realizing he could not do this for several reasons. He could not lie in bed next to the woman he loved and not touch her and there was also the risk that they could accidentally come in contact with each other while they slept; as they would often wake up in the morning snuggled up together whether they had had made love or not.
He wanted to hold Elliott so badly and the found himself becoming aroused at just the thought of being next to her.
"Annushka, I cannot do this."
She could hear the strain in his voice as he whispered to her as he rose from the bed. "I am sorry, I cannot sleep here."
He walked out of the bedroom, but she knew better than to follow him as he was upset, and when he was that way; Illya Kuryakin needed his space both literally and figuratively.
Rather than go to sleep in the guestroom, Illya chose to grab a blanket and pillow; going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. He lit a fire as the room was a bit chilly then crawled onto the couch, pulling the blanket up about him.
Elliott lay in bed, unable to sleep; worrying about Illya's state of mind. He was cut off from his family, being with them but not. He was cut off from every other human being as well, not being able to experience a simlple touch or gesture.
The next morning Illya sensed a presence as he lay on the sofa, his hand grasping his weapon under the pillow.
He opened his eyes, seeing he son staring at him.
"Good morning moy syn." he smiled.
"Hi papa. Why are you sleeping on the couch? Did you and mama have a fight again?"
"No, no fight." he chuckled. Then his demeanor changed becoming very serious. "Remember Demyachka, do not touch me."
"I won't papa. Are you sick, is that why I can't touch you?"
"Yes, that is the reason why."
"When will you be better?"
"I do not know Demyachka, soon I hope."
Demya held up his Teddy bear. "Can Mr. Bear give you a kiss for me papa?"
Illya smiled, " May Mr. Bear give you a kiss, please." he corrected, "And the answer is yes, but carefully."
Demya held the stuffed toy to his father's face, pretending to kiss him, making a loud smack with his lips.
Illya reached over, taking the toy carefully from his son, squeezing it in his arms. "Mr. Bear would you give Demyachka a hug for me?" He made the bears head nod. "Blagodaryu vas, gospodin Medved'_thank you Mr. Bear."
Illya squeezed the toy, pretending to speak for the bear.
"Oh please do not squeeze me too tight papa?"
"K sozhaleniyu medvedya_sorry Mr. Bear. I just want you to give Demya a very special hug for me?"
Demya took back the toy, then hugged it to himself with a giggle.
"It is a very good hug papa!"
Boris jumped up onto the coffe table with a "miaow," then leapt across to Illya.
"No Boris!" Demya yelled, reaching across to take her away from his father, thinking she too could not touch him as well. His arm came into full contact with his father's chest as he grabbed the cat, trying to move her away.
Illya screamed with the pain, doubling over as he fell from the couch, rolling onto the floor with a thud
Demya cried out in terror as he watched his father, then his mother ran into the room scooping him up holding him tightly to her.
She too watched in horror as her husband struggled in pain on the floor.
"Oh Jay-sus Illya!" she sobbed as she knew she couldn't lay a finger on her husband to help him.
"It is alright," he finally said as the pain subsided, though it had been the worst bout yet. He picked himself up from the living room floor, reassuring his son that he was alright.
The boy was clinging to his mother as she held him; the tears running down his cheeks as he shook with fear.
"I'm sorry papa!" he wailed.
"Demya, it is alright. Papa is fine now, it was an accident and not your fault.
"But Boris.."
"Boris did nothing wrong either. Demyachka, it was an accident? Vy ponimaete_understand?"
Illya gave his attention to his wife. "We need to talk, could you take him to his room?"
"Alright Illuysha." she said quietly, as she was trying to calm herself from the episode as well, This was the first time she had witnessed his reaction to being touched and it was as frightening for her just as much as it was for Demya.
She returned from putting Demya down; finding Illya sitting on the sofa, looking very forelorne.
"Anya, I cannot stay here; you and Demya cannot be put though this hell. I never should have come home. I think it is best that I stay at headquarters.
"But Illya," she began to protest.
"Nyet moy lyubov'_no my love. I cannot live here and not be able to touch the both of you and you me. I cannot take that torment on top of my pain, please forgive me for being weak?"
"Illya don't blame yerself. We can do this, it was just an accident?"
"Nyet, how many more accidents will happen? I will not put my son through that terror again."
"Illuysha please no?" she wanted so badly to hold him.
He said no more and after a silent breakfast, he packed a small suitcase of clothing to take with him to headquarters. He unpacked his belongings into guest quarters; as no one was occupying any of the rooms, leaving the entire floor to himself.
Then he headed downstairs, thankful that the elevator had been empty; decideing to retreat to his office until he could go to the lab in the evening. He walked carefully, giving a wide berth to everyone who came near him in the corridors; no one, except for a select few, knew of his condition as that had been kept under wraps.
George Dennell approached him as he came around the corner.
"Hey Illya, good to see you up and about. Feeling better huh?" He went to slap the Russian on the shoulder, but Illya took a quick step back, avoiding the contact, with a nervous look on his face.
"What's wrong Illya?"
"Nothing major, sore shoulder," he lied, "that is why I am working in R & D tonight."
"Oh, I get it, " George winked, " see you later maybe?"
"Right George, maybe later." Illya ducked quickly ducked out of sight, trying to avoid anyone else. Once he reached the safety of his office, he sat wearily at his desk, sighing as he rested his head in his hands. Then yelped as he felt the tingling and the burning begin.
He was becoming sensitive even to his own touch. The discomfort was not as severe as he had experienced that mornning, but it was there none the less. The pain finally disappated quickly, much to his relief.
Napoleon walked into their their stark office at that moment, surprised to find his partner there. Neither of them had made any attempt over the years to add any personal touches to their shared space as other agents had done.
It was just that, a space that they occupied to get their work done, or to just retreat from the outside world for a bit. He was surprsed that Illya had suddenly placed a framed photgraph of Elliott with Demya sittiing in her lap on his desk,
He had never known his partner to be sentimental; his old apartnment was completely void of any decor or trappings of any such nostalgic a nature. And there was only one photograph overtly displayed in the Kuryakin house, and that was a photograph of Illya holding his newborn son; obviously displayed for Elliott's benefit.
"What are you doing here this early?"
"Napoleon, I have decided to stay at guest quarters. Going home was not such a good idea as there was an incident with Demya this morning.
He accidentally came into contact with me and my pain spasm frightened him terribly. I cannot risk doing that to him again."
Illya neglected to tell his partner of his change in his condition, he wanted no one to know; thinking that Dennison would eventually have him committed if he were to find out.
Napoleon couldn't say anything to comfort his partner. What was there to say, when the man was little by little losing his family, his life. All the suffereing had gone through not so long ago, when Illya had nearly surrendered himself to death; he had accepted that he would never be with his family again. Now here it could be happening to him again; especially if his condition were deemed to be a permanent affliction. Now it was if Illya was becoming an enemy even to himself.
"I know it's not much, but if you need to talk remember I'm here for you."
Napoleon said,understanding Illya's need to have a picture of his family nearby.
"Thank you my friend, I appreciate that." he asnwered, " do you have any paperwork that needs completion? I need something to do until I can go to the lab tonight."
Napoleon looked at the stack of files lying on his desk. " Are you sure?" he said, pointing at them with a pang of guilt.
Illya eyed them then smiled. " What else is new, I should have known better."
Napoleon smiled, helping his partner sort through the folders. Answering Illya's questions where things were not clear; filling in the blanks were his hand writing had disintegrated while writing his notes.
"You would think after all these years I would be able to descipher your hand writing." Illya signed as he went to rub his eyes, then stopped himself.
"That's because it's in a secret code called chicken scratch." Solo smiled.
It took the Russian a moment longer than usual to catch on to his partner's joke, then he smiled.
They had been at it for several hours when Napoleon finally looked at the time. It's three o'clock" he said, " and I don't know about you but I could eat a horse. We worked right through lunch, how about something to eat?"
"Yes, I am hungry but I do not know if the commissary is such a good idea? Perhaps you could just bring back a sandwich for me?"
"Illya, at this time of day there'll hardly be anyone there."
"Napoleon hoped that doing something like simply eating lunch together as they always did would at least give Illya some sense of normality in his life that was right now, limited by so many constraints.
Illya still seemed hesitant to go. "No I do not think so."
"Come on, it'll do you good?" He said, sensing his partner's melancholy at being separated from his family.
Illya clicked his tongue, he was really hungry and given that he might be facing a life of solitude very different from what he had lived in the past he decided against his better judgement to go with his friend.
The two agents walked to the commissary with Napoleon careful to run point in front of Illya, keeping anyone from accidentally bumping into him.
There were only a half dozen people sitting scattered in the dining area.
Illya's friend Tillie* was there today and called to him. "Illya long time no see! How are you? I never seem to see you anymore?
She walked out from behind the counter to look at him. " You don't look so good, what's wrong? You've lost weight, what is that wife of yours not feeding you enough? You come see me and I'll make something special just for you...how about some of my pot roast?"
Tillie was speaking so quickly that he barely had a chance to get a word in.
"I am alright Tillie, just a bad cold. You know me always getting colds. Thank you for your concern." Illya lied calmly.
"Well I've got just the thing for you then, go sit down. I'll bring you both some of my chicken soup. I just made a fresh batch. that soiund good you two?
"Tillie, do you have any of your chicken salad sandwiches?" Illya smiled.
"Of course" she laughed.
"Go sit tovarisch," Napleon said, "I'll bring it over."
"Napoleon, I am not an invalid," he whispered.
"I know that, just go sit and don't give me a hard time please? You'll be safer waiting over there alright."
Illya walked to a table in the far corner of the room, away from any heavily traffic areas and most often the staff knew when any agents sat there; they were to be left alone.
Napoleon and Tillie arrived moments later with the food; Tillie placing a bowl of her soup in front of the Russian as he sat with his back to the corner.
"There you go baby, that'll make you feel better."
The partners sat in silence together as they ate, not for any particular reason other than they were both hungry.
Terry Tramell from the lab appeared out of no where, walking immediately over to Illya.
"Glad to see you back Illya," he said cheerfully. Then without warning he reached out squeezing the Russian on the shoulder. Illya fell from the chair, screaming in agony from the pain this time; worse than when Demya had touched him. He felt as though he was on completely on fire; sending sharp stabbing pains throughout his entire body. He began to shake violently as he lay helpless on the hard linoleum floor.
"Tillie call medical now!" Napoleon yelled to her. " Tramell, you idiot get away from him now!"
"I'm so sorry Mr. Solo." he said coldly, then disappeared past the others in the commissary who had come over to try and help.
"Stay away from him, everyone back!" Napoleon barked as he tried to shield his partner, knowing that he couldn't touch him as well.
The team from medical arrived, but not choice to grab the Russian to lift him onto the gurney, sending Illya into an even greater spasm of pain, so much so that he finally passed out.
* ref "The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"