The next morning Illya was given a wheel chair ride to his room in guest quarters; Schneider saw no need to keep him confined to a bed in medical as it was upsetting the Russian more than helping him. He'd given him some mild tranquilzers to take, but of course Illya flushed them down the toilet as soon as he was alone.
For some reason though, there was now a guard outside of his door and he assumed it was to babysit him, since Dennison was not happy at his being released, allowing him light duty.
He planned to stay confined in his quarters until after midnight then go down to the lab and work through the early morning hours when no one would be there, thus avoiding contact with anyone in the corridors and the lab itself as headquarters was minimally staffed then, if not empty.
In spite of Dennisons pronouncement about his condition; Illya would not give up trying to investigate the substance that had been injected into him. He had to do at least that, he was still a scientist and needed proof that it was not the cause of his affliction. But if it was indeed was and not related,and that his condition was permanent; then he would accept his fate.
Working in the lab would at least free him from any pitying eyes; in spite of Elliott's chastisement, he still detested it. In this case he could not take his own advise to ignore what people thought, his stubborn Russian pride would not permit it.
There was a knock at his door and he responded, calling out with annoyance in his voice.
"Go away!"
"Illya it's me, Tillie. I have fooood." she called cheerfully.
He was not really hungry but let her bring it in anyway, she was a genuinely kind woman and her actions were truly one of caring.
"Alright, you can come in." He stood at the other side of the room, putting plenty of distance between the two of them.
"Hi honey," she smiled," I have chicken cordon bleu, asparagus, scalloped potatoes, salad and two slices of apple pie. Oh yes, and a nice pot of hot tea, and I didn't forget the rasberry jam."
"Thank you Tillie," he smiled, "this looks delicious, you know me very well do you not?"
"Oh yeah, I know you alright. What's lunch for you is dinner for someone else and then some." she laughed. "Illya, look I'm so sorry about yesterday...I "
"Stop, please do not go there."
She swallowed hard, reminding herself of her Russian friends stubborn ways.
"How are Elliott and Demya handling it all?"
"It is better for all concerned that I distance myself fom them."
There was that coldness in his voice that she could never get used to but she couldn't help but challenge him.
"Illya, you should be with your family when there's trouble."
He shook his head sadly. "Not this time. Thank you for bringing my food Tillie, now if you don't mind; I would like to be alone?"
"Illya?"
"Tillie, please?"
She left quietly, not saying another word to upset him as she could hear a hint of strain in his voice.
"He tried eating but had little appetite, though he at least poured some tea for himself, looking for his cigarettes, when remembered with irritation that Max Schneider had confiscated his cigarettes and really now he really wanted... no, needed one at the moment.
His nightmares were continuing, making him lose sleep, the stress and the pain were all taking their tolls, so a cigarette would be good for his nerves as he thought about what sort of existence was in store for him.
The loneliness that he faced would be the worst of it, even though he had been accustomed to it all of his life, this was a different kind from his self-imposed solitude of old, and the thought of it was frightening. He would be doomed to a life of an odinachka_a solitary man. His life would be a form of solitary confinement...
Illya nearly ended up being odinochka in the gulag, and very close to being a dead one; though he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that his tormentor, Viktor Karkoff was now suffering that fate.
Tillie was right about being with family in times of trouble, but these were not ordinary circumstances. He did not regret what he had done to Elliott, though it hurt him to see the pain he had caused her, but that was the only way he could get her to do what he wished. He knew he could manipulate her into losing her temper and become angry at him, enough to walk away as he had demanded of her. He felt guilty for having hurt her so deliberately, but it was his only recourse.
He lay on the bed, tapping his head back against the headboard, realizing that he was feeling sorry for himself.
"No!" he said out loud, " I will not do this, I will not pity myself! He decided to go down to his office to get the pack of cigarettes that he had left in his desk drawer.
Illya opened the door to his room but before he could step one foot out of it; the guard stopped him.
"I'm sorry Mr. Kuryakin, you have to stay in your room sir."
"What do you mean I have to stay? I am not a prisoner."
"My orders are for you to say here sir."
"Who gave you these orders? "he demanded.
"I'm not at liberty to say."
Normally Illya would have just ignored the man, walked out and then when the guard attempted to prevent him from leaving; he would simply take him down. But he couldn't even do that now, if he laid one hand on the man he would hit the floor in pain before the guard would.
"Got a cigarette then?" he asked soberly.
"Sorry sir, I don't smoke."
"Fubliya. Protlyatuyu basran yeblya blaydin syn_ aw fuck. Illya cursed, calling him some choice words but specifically a useless son of a whore as he slammed the door closed.
Napoleon Solo walked unannounced into Alexander Waverly's conference room to propose a plan to save his partner.
"Mr. Solo, how may I ask are things going with Mr. Kuryakin, I heard he had a particularly difficult time in the commissary last night."
"Not good sir as I'm sure Drs. Schneider and Dennison have informed you. Mr. Kuryakin has gone into a self-imposed exile of sorts between guest quarters and his lab. He's determined to decipher that compound found in his blood.
"Yes but at what cost Mr. Solo?"
Napoleon neglected to tell his boss about the marital problems that might be developing between the Kuryakins but now he wondered if the Old Man already knew?"
"It's a dreadful situation for all concerned and needless to say I am not happy about losing one of my best agents." Waverly held up a folder." I have here the medical and psycological reports on your partner, but you Mr. Solo, you know him better than anyone with the exception of his wife. Do you feel that Mr. Kuryakin is in any way becoming unstable?"
"No sir, not at present."
"I know to temper that answer a bit, since you two are friends as well as partners but you say at present? Does that mean you think he could become a problem?"
"Sir, "Napoleon said reluctantly, "it's only a matter of time before the isolation and the pain take their toll on him; a human being can only endure so much."
Waverly took his familiar pipe from his mouth, placing it down in the large ashtray in front of him, then flipped open the folder, looking at a particular document.
"Dr. Dennison has recommended that Mr. Kuryakin be committed to the state asylum in Buffalo. Your thoughts on this?"
"Dr. Dennison, with all due respect is full of it. I do not for one minute believe that Illya Kuryakin needs to be committed. What I do believe is that someone here at headquarters had orchestrated this attack against him. That person has been in the background, watching him suffer somehow, as to why I do not know.
'And what proof have you of this Mr. Solo?"
"None sir, just call it a gut instinct. I am convinced that Illya has an enemy within headquarters and perhaps he or she is waiting for an opportunity to make a move on him when he is at his weakest."
"Mr. Solo, honestly a conspiracy theory? My God man, I think you are grasping at straws to save your partner."
"Why would someone have injected him with this mystery compound then dumped him on our doorstep; then Illya develops this affliction that he cannot be touched by another human being, with his suffering worsening day by day. I really think this may be a matter of revenge and the culprit is watching and waiting."
"There has been ample opportunity for someone to strike against Mr. Kuryakin if your theory were indeed valid, so then why hasn't it happened?"
"That's because who ever it is knows they'll be seen on our security system. I think his tormentor would come forward to finish what has been started given an opportunity. I took the liberty of posting guard Mr. Kuryakin, not leaving anything to chance. I'd rather we control the time and the place for the endgame.
"Hmm?" Waverly tucked his pipe back into his mouth, relighting it with a match.
"Alright Mr. Solo, tell me of this plan of yours and I will think about it. Irregardless, I must tell you that arrangements have already been made to ship Mr. Kuryakin to Buffalo."
"Sir, I'd like to talk to you about that."Napoleon nodded.
"You suspect anyone associated with Agent Anderson?"
"I have no one specific in mind at the moment sir, but I would have to say that would be my logical choice on the other hand, nothing about this seems logical right now. If my plan works then we'll be able to flush the person or persons responsible out into the open."
Elliott remained at home with her son, not really paying him any mind as he played quietly with his tinker toys on the living room floor.
She was hurt, angry and confused at what Illya had done to her and it was so out of character for him that she began to think that the psychiatrist that she had despised not but a day ago might actually be right about her husband.
She was pulled away from her thoughts by Demya who had suddenly smashed the construction he had created with the small pegs and wheels, sending pieces of it flying accross the room and knocking the photgraph of he and his father flying off the table.
"Demya! Chto s toboy_what is wrong with you!
Then she stopped herself. "No, no more Russian," she told herself. "why remind the child of his father." A father that didn't want his son any more and woudn't be coming home.
"Demya...Damien," she suddenly said her son's name in English. If Illya was cutting off his son, then she would cut Dem..Damien off from his father. It was probably for the best anyway.
"What are ye doing? What are ye on about?"
The boy sat stiff-lipped on the floor with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking exactly like his father.
"Stop that! Uncross yer arms right now boy-o and wipe that look off yer face."
"No,"he answered her timidly.
"What's wrong, ye tell me now?"
"No!" This time he raised his voice to his mother.
"Don't ye talk to me like that! Now ye answer me!"
"I want my papa!"
"Yer papa's...he, he's not coming home."
"I want my papa, NOW!" he screamed at his mother.
Elliott got up from the sofa in an instant, grabbing Demya by the arm, lifting him to his feet and gave him a swat on his bottom.
"Don't ye ever talk to me like that!"
Demya's lower lip began to quiver, but he didn't cry. He had never been hit before.
"Now ye go up to yer room and ye stay there! Ye'll not be fresh to yer mother!"
Then his little fists balled up, bringing them to his eyes as he finally began to cry. "Where's my papa? I want my papa!"
"Well yer papa doesn't...he doesn't want us anymore." she sobbed as she grabbed her son, pulling him into her arms.
"Mama's sorry she hit you Demmy, I'm so sorry!"
Demya was wailing now and there was no consoling him.
His mother picked him up, cradling him in her arms, rocking him until his plaintive cries subsided to a barely audible whimper.
Elliott carried her trembling son upstairs, changing his clothes then put him to bed. She knelt beside him, rubbing his back softely, with the tenderness that only a mother could have; trying to soothe him until he fell to sleep.
She had never hit her son before and that emotional outburst frightened her, making her vow to never do it again.
Elliott went back down to the kitchen, taking the bottle of scotch reserved for Napoleon with her to the living room; passing on the bottle of Stolchinaya that was in the freezer.
She wanted nothing to do with anything Russian right now as she poured herself a shot from the bottle, downed it then another. Making a face as she swallowed each glassful; she was never a fan of scotch but right now it would do.
She looked across the room at the photograph of Illya and Demmy, still on the floor. She stood up impulsively, grabbing it and tossing it into the fire. Then took a swig from the bottle, instead of pouring another glass for herself.
"God damn you Illya Kuryakin!" she growled as she lifted the bottle to her lips again.
She was startled from her sleep by the sound of a loud crash coming from the kitchen; she was up in an instant with her Walther drawn in front of her instinctively, as she also grabbed the top of her head cradling a massive headache.
It was daylight now as she eyed the half-empty bottle on the coffee table; then moved silently towards the kitchen.
She stepped around the corner, aiming at the intruder, but then hid it quickly behind the weapon behind her back before her son spotted it in her hand.
He was sitting in the middle of the floor with Cheerios scattered all around him; Boris helping herself to the cereal that has ecaped the boy's small hand as he dug into the box, pulling fistfuls out and shoving them into his mouth.
"Aw Jay-sus Demmy what have ye done?"
"I was hungry mama and you wouldn't wake up."
She looked at the kitchen clock on the wall, seeing that it was nearly ten in the morning.
"Mama's sorry Demmy, she wasn't feeling well. I'll make ye nice breakfast alright?" She took the box of cereal from him, then quickly swept up the mess from the floor, handing her son a banana to nibble on while she made his toast and eggs.
The telephone rang, sending the pressure in her head over the top, making it feel like it was about to explode.
"Ugh" she moaned as she picked up the receiver. "Hallo," she answered sharply.
"Ellie, you alright/"
"I will be once I get yer damn scotch out my system...never mind. What can I do for ye Napoleon?" She was very short with him.
"I thought you should know...they're taking Illya to Bufffalo today. I think you need to get down here."
"No, I don't think so. He wants to be left alone and I'll not be chansing after a man who doesn't want me. Rejection can work both ways ye know?"
She felt like such a hypocrite after all she said about she and Illya's love for each other to Bella. It was all a lie; what an appropriate end to a marriage based in a world of nothing but lies and deceit.
"Perhaps now was the time to consider leaving U.N.C.L.E. behind, she could do without the memories." she thought.
"Elliott are you still there?
"I'm here."
"Don't be like this?" Napoleon asked.
"Please, just drop the matter. It's as he wishes. It's over, agus sin é_and that's it," she said with a finality to her voice as she added a few words in Irish, saying it in the traditional way to make an end of it.