Napoleon Solo was in the office he shared with his partner Illya Kuryakin, who at present was away on a mission that had lasted over a month now. He actually found himself missing the surly Russian's company.
Through the years of their partnership he and Kuryakin had become friends, the best of friends actually. Friendship was what helped make them such a successful team; they knew each other that well and could practically read each others minds, predicting the other's next move when on a mission...hell sometimes they even finished each other's sentences.
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Solo was missing him now particularly when it came time to writing his own field reports; he hated doing paperwork and had little patience for it; where as Illya being a touch-typist, could whip off a report in no time.
In the meantime, in his partner's absence, Napoleon had smooth-talked one of the secretaries into typing up his reports and files for him with promises of dinner and dancing. His reputation among the ladies was quite well known, and the girls at headquarters were always eager for the senior agent's attentions.
Napoleon realized as he sat thinking about Illya; that his knowledge of his partner was limited to more of a professional nature than a personal one. He knew very little about him outside of work, what he did on his own, his background, his family, Illya's life before UNCLE.
The Russian's fondness for jazz, chess, vodka and of course food were well known. He was quiet, he hated dogs...liked cats and had a dry sense of humor that he let show once in a rare while, unlike his other feelings. He could be a bit on the competitive side but was very much a gentleman and always polite...hell he even apologized for hitting someone in the middle of a fist fight once.
He knew that Illya liked women but he was very closed mouthed about his dealings with them. Generally he paid little attention to them until recently, when someone new to the New York office had caught the Russian's interest.
Napoleon was the only one that knew about their liaisons, having followed Illya one night to the young ladies' apartment. Napoleon was sworn to an oath of secrecy upon threat of death by Kuryakin followed by a string of Russian expletives for having been discovered by his partner.
Solo would have deferred to his friend's wishes even without the threat, but just got a kick out of seeing the all to serious man lose his cool was worth teasing him about having a girlfriend. He actually thought having female companionship would do the Russian some good.
Napoleon promised to keep Illya's secret safe, respecting how private his friend was. He also knew that once gossip got out on the rumor-mill at headquarters, it haunted people for a long time, and Illya Kuryakin was not one to tolerate being the subject of prattle and gossip.
Realizing there was nothing of real substance that he knew about the man, Napoleon liked having this little tidbit on his partner.
Illya's apartment was located one floor below in the same building in which Solo lived. It was sparingly furnished, neat but Spartan; it was as if the man could leave with all he owned in a moment's notice.
A small shelf filled with books, mostly technical and foreign language, along with stacks of scientific journals. They were the only things of a vaguely personal nature that were visible. That was it, no photographs, no mementos of a past life or love. Nothing.
Napoleon had once managed to get into Waverly's private files when the Old Man was undergoing minor surgery, and Solo was left in charge, temporarily. The only information of a personal nature in Kuryakin's dossier was Illya's real birthday, about which the man had always lied. His age, also lied about to Solo; Illya was four years his junior not two.
He also discovered that Illya was born in Kiev, orphaned during the war as were countless other children, then raised by the Soviet State. He was groomed for his position in the GRU as a young boy by a now former member of the Soviet Intelligence Directorate named Colonel Viktor Karkoff. Again nothing. The man was a mystery, or more aptly...an enigma.
The most important thing that Napoleon Solo knew about Illya Kuryakin was that he trusted the man implicitly with his life and that Illya trusted him as well. That was all that mattered in the end; the fact that they could count on each other to be there when needed. They both operated on the 'no man left behind' philosophy when it came to each other.
Napoleon had just received a call from Waverly's assistant, Lisa Rogers, telling him the boss wished to see him immediately in his conference room. Solo as usual straightened his tie and smoothed his hair just before the door to the office opened with a quiet 'whoosh' and Napoleon sauntered in and over to Waverly's circular conference table.
"Oh...yes Mr. Solo, please be seated,"Waverly spoke.
Napoleon sat in his usual chair across from the Old Man, expecting to be given his next assignment or briefed on aTHRUSH satrap that needed taking out...or something along that line.
If there were some crazy scientist involved, then of course he'd wish Illya would be there.
Alexander Waverly said nothing at first, as if he were stalling for some reason, hesitating; he tapped his pipe in the ashtray in front of himself emptying the contents of the bowl before he finally spoke.
Napoleon didn't like the look on the man's usually unreadable face.
"Mr. Solo, I am afraid I have some unfortunate news to give you. As you are aware, Mr. Kuryakin was on assignment tracking a rather substantial arms shipment under the control of Aldous Baader, formerly of the Stasi as well as THRUSH.
"Formerly Sir?"
"Yes...formerly. Our monitoring of THRUSH channels has indicated Baader has struck out on his own, having abandoned his position with the Hierarchy and is now apparently involved in brokering and supplying arms to the highest bidder." Waverly paused, relighting his pipe.
"Mr. Kuryakin was on board a Japanese cargo vessel, along with Baader, which departed the Philippines approximately two weeks ago carrying such a shipment. The last communication received by me from Mr. Kuryakin was a week ago. He reported the ship was headed for Hawaii...specifically Honolulu. Last night I received a report that the ship, named the Hakudu Maru, had issued a distress call the day of Mr. Kuryakin's message to me. The ship had been hit by a rogue wave during a storm and was sinking."
He stopped, studying Solo's face before continuing.
"The U.S. Coast Guard was dispatched to the last known coordinates of the the Hakudu Maru. They found nothing but debris and an oil slick stretching for miles. Several capsized lifeboats were located, but no bodies. They have officially called off the search and are listing all hands lost at sea. I am so very sorry Mr. Solo, but these things happen and are part of the job, but you do have my deepest condolences. Mr. Kuryakin will be missed. If you feel the need; you may take some time off."
Napoleon blanched at the news. " Sir isn't there any chance? I mean you know Illya...Mr. Kuryakin. He's managed to survive the worst scenarios over the years."
"Mr. Solo that is wishful thinking" said Waverly. "You need to accept it. The fact of the matter is that your partner is dead. Now go home...have a stiff drink and take some time off. I will need you to have your wits about you when you return to work most likely sooner than later. Now dismissed."
Napoleon was angry at Waverly's callous tone but he didn't show it to the man, and simply left without another word being said.
Word spread like wildfire around headquarters that Illya Kuryakin had been lost on a mission and was declared dead. Before Napoleon could get out of the building he was swamped with well meaning visitors and telephone calls of sympathy.
The last person to walk into his office was April Dancer who said nothing, but simply wrapped her arms around Solo, offering him what little comfort she could.
When she heard the news about Illya, April had been sitting in the commissary chatting with some of the secretaries and another female field agent, Elliott McGown...the only other female Section II agent besides herself, as a matter of fact.
April couldn't control her grief and began to cry. She had always liked Illya and had worked with him on a number of assignments. He'd given her help during her early days as an agent and would never forget his candor and advice.
She understood what it was like to singled out in the agency, he being the only Russian, and she being the only female agent so it was something they both had in common.
When April first got the news she was sitting in the Commissary with McGowan, until her arrival Dancer had been the lone woman in a man's covert and dangerous world
Having transferred from the London office eight months ago, Elliott had some difficulties adjusting to life in headquarters here. Sometimes she let her temper get the better of her, and that seemed to alienate some from her. Now she stared, looking at Dancer with a blank expression on her face as April cried at the loss of Kuryakin.
"I'm sorry...I have to go see Napoleon" Dancer whispered suddenly as she wiped her eyes with a tissue, then hurried off leaving the woman alone.
The petite redhead remained at the table for a few minutes, trying to maintain her composure, and was sure that Agent Dancer had not seen her reaction, as she was too busy dealing with her own grief. She rose from the table in a daze, filled with emptiness and feeling the need to get out of headquarters.
Elliott went home to her apartment, but had no memory of the journey there... as she stepped inside she just let her eyes wander around the rooms, looking for the little things left here and there that belonged to him. A book, a pair of his reading glasses, in the bedroom she picked up a black turtleneck he'd left draped across the back of her chair and held it to her face, breathing in his scent that still remained on it, even after a month.
It was then she sobbed, finally releasing her grief. She had left the shirt lay there just to make herself feel like he was around, knowing he would be away on this long assignment but eventually coming back to retrieve it.
And now he would never be back…
They had agreed that was a possibility that faced them both, but they both faced it sometimes in denial as they sought comfort with each other.
She laid down on the bed, gathering one of the pillows to her, holding it close, still clutching the turtle neck in her hands and fell asleep.
When she woke sometime later, she looked to the door, hoping that if she believed hard enough;he would walk through it and into her arms. She stopped herself, knowing that it wasn't going to be.
She finally rose from the bed walking over to her dresser, she began to remove her earrings, and it was then she noticed something white sticking out from underneath her small jewelry box. She lifted it; finding an envelope with her name written on the front of it in Illya's careful script and wondered how she hadn't seen it before?
She took it with her out to the dining table and sat down as she opened it.
"Oh my God!" She gasped as she began to read it, wiping more tears from her eyes.
Elliott stopped for a moment, whispering a prayer in Irish..."Daor Dia do thoil. Ní cead dó a bheith marbh...a shábháil dó, thabhairt ar ais chugam_Please dear God don't let him be dead...save him, bring him back to me?"
She returned her attention to the the letter that was written in Russian, it began..."Moy Annushka, Ya nikogda ne pisal pis'mo, kak eto_ I have never written a letter such as this before and I find myself lacking the words."
"Let me begin then with a quote from Tolstoy...'I already love in your beauty, but I am only beginning to love you in that which is eternal and ever precious_your heart and soul. Beauty one could get to know can fall in love within one hour and cease to love it as speedily, but the soul one must learn to know. Believe me, nothing on earth is given without labour, even love, the most beautiful and natural of feelings.'
"I am not a man of great imagination and it is difficult for me to release my feelings from the prison I have built for them, but you have unlocked the door and shown me what it is to love again and be loved. I find myself thinking of you many times during the day and crave to be with you, to be touched and held by you and lose myself in your embrace. I love you Annushka. I cannot say it any better way. If there truly is an afterlife, then my love for you will be for all eternity. You are moy lybimyí_ my beloved...I only hope that I am worthy of your love.
Your Illuysha"
She read the letter again as a single tear fell onto the paper and she quickly brushed it away with her hand. She could not believe it...he was gone. The man that poured his heart out to her in this wonderful love letter, was dead.
Taking the key to his apartment he had made for her; she went there went there and arrived in less than fifteen minutes. Elliott let herself in, punching in the code to his alarm.
Sitting on the edge of Illya's bed, lost in thought; Napoleon Solo suddenly heard the door and quickly drew his weapon, stepping from the bedroom and pointing it straight at the intruder; he put the barest of pressure on the trigger.
"Jesus Christ, Elliott!" Napoleon swore," I almost shot you!" He growled, holstering his gun, walking straight over to her.
"Oh God Napoleon it isn't true is it?" She spoke softly,"Ye don't believe it do ye?" Her Irish accent had become thicker, as it always had done when she was under stress and could only suppress it when she was undercover on assignment. " Jaysus, I just can't believe he's gone..." She finally sobbed.
"No honey I don't want to believe it either," Napoleon whispered, taking her into his strong arms and holding her close to him.
"It's okay, let it go," he said, holding back his own tears for when he was alone. He gently stroked her soft red hair until her crying ceased.
Napoleon pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her to wipe the tears and mascara that had run down her cheeks. Walking over to Illya's freezer; he pulled out an ice cold bottle of vodka, and grabbing two glasses from a cabinet, he poured drinks for the two of them...