So the die was cast. He smiled grimly. Everything was going according to the villains' plan. "To our plan", he corrected. He was part of it, not of his own free will, but he was. He had a family.
The Doctor was staring at the phone as if it were a venomous spider.
The physiotherapy session was tedious, repetitive and frustrating. Illya Kuryakin knew for sure that he was able to get up and walk on his own, but the therapist had chuckled, holding him back gently though firmly. "Each thing in its proper time, Mr. Kuryakin.". The special "Freezing Ice Blue" gaze had been no use.
The man checked relentlessly whether his patient had control over every inch of his body.
Every inch of his body hurt. He had been pulled, stretched, tossed and turned.
Every inch of his body protested but obeyed.
He leaned back against the pillow with delight. He was exhausted. The therapist chuckled again.
"Here we are, Mr. Kuryakin.".
An inviting hand was cheerfully held to him.
"Now, you'll sit upright. Yes. Like that. Slowly otherwise you'll feel dizzy."
Slowly or not, he felt dizzy but thanks to both his pride and the man's strong hand, he managed to keep a satisfying balance.
"Take all the time you need. Tomorrow you'll get up and take some steps."
The voice was cheerful, but the man's smile faded as the "Freezing Ice Blue" eyes looked daggers, again.
"Right now, not tomorrow."
The man was obviously embarrassed.
"It's... I... It wouldn't work well..."
Illya Kuryakin's eyes narrowed.
"What the hell..."
"Have a fight, boys?"
Napoleon Solo stood at the entrance, enjoying himself. A disheveled fuming Illya, sitting on his cot, quite cute in his blue pajamas, defying the tall and hefty therapist. This was worth the sight.
The man looked at him and smiled. A very strange smile, kind of a cattle breeder's one.
"It would be fine... Mr. Solo, if you please? Perhaps you could help Mr. Kuryakin to stand upright? I... Well, as you see, I'm too... He's... It wouldn't be very easy."
The "Freezing" gaze turned to the "Disintegrating" one, and Napoleon Solo decided to save the therapist's life. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and came up to the bed.
"May I have the next dance, partner mine?"
For a second, the Russian was all of a tremble. He was up, though, and things wouldn't be so bad, would the walls stop whirling around. His friend had got a firm hold on him. Illya Kuryakin took a careful step forward.
The fisherman stood on the terrace, sipping his cup of coffee. This was his home, the place he belonged. His son had pestered him to come with tho em in Italy. Mousehole was his. He never felt lonesome. Anyway, shortly, he wouldn't be. His "nephew from England" would there soon, in order to recover from a car crash. The wind was rising, dispelling the clouds. It would be a nice day.
He tried to calm himself, vainly. Kuryakin would be soon there, in his so peaceful, so safe clinic. He could call Waverly and tell him. The photo on his desk made himself see reason. He hadn't any choice.
The blond man had settled himself into a comfy armchair. The few steps he had taken had left him exhausted but the satisfaction was worth the effort... His own, of course, and Napoleon's. The therapist had given him the thumbs up and left the room. Illya Kuryakin felt pleasingly giddy at the moment. Alexander Waverly stared at his agent with a disapproving face which didn't impress the Russian.
"I'm glad to see you show great improvement, Mr. Kuryakin. So, I think that in order to help you to recover..." He bent forward. " We'll see at taking you to our clinic as soon as possible."
Waverly admired silently the young man's composure. His face didn't betray any feeling. Napoleon Solo had clenched his jaws but remained silent.
"As soon as possible..." the Old Man stopped, peeking at his watch. "No, I'm mistaking, Mr Kuryakin. Just now, at this very moment, young man, you're arriving at the clinic."His self satisfied Cheshire cat got a smile from Napoleon Solo and a frowning from his partner.
The clinic was buzzing with activity: medical staff and section 3 agents were dancing an amazing ballet around its precious patient. The Doctor gave way to two charming nurses who headed towards Illya Kuryakin's bedroom. The ambulance had stopped in front of the entrance, and the Uncle agent had been taken into the clinic very quickly. The Doctor had been first kept away from this bustle. Later, a very polite section 3 agent had motioned him to enter the bedroom.
The first thing he noticed was a blond wig on the table.