Illya entered the tailor shop and let the door close quietly behind him. He waited for a few seconds before calling out, "Hello?"
"…Hello," came the tailor's somewhat surprised reply.
Illya just cleared his throat and asked, "dressing room free?"
The man hesitated before saying, "Oh, oh yes, of course!"
Illya found his way into the dressing room with an accomplished feeling bubbling in his chest. He was admittedly rather proud of himself for getting all the way to UNCLE Head Quarters without falling into a hole or something. Perhaps he wasn't as disabled as he had feared.
As soon as he entered HQ, Illya heard an unmistakable gasp from the receptionist.
"Mr. Kuryakin!" she exclaimed.
He gave a terse nod, "Hello Linda."
To her credit, she seemed to compose herself swiftly. "I-I thought you were still on sick leave," she said, keeping her voice from betraying the true surprise she felt.
"I'm feeling better," he stated simply, stepping forward and holding out his hand.
By reflex—and because she really couldn't argue with an enforcement agent anyway—she retrieved his number two clearance badge and stretched to place it in his not-quite-accurately-aimed hand. She watched with keen interest as he applied the badge familiarly to his pocket.
He was about to head through the door, down the large hall and towards his and Napoleon's shared office, when he hesitated. He seemed to question something before finally turning to face the receptionist once more. He rested both hands on his cane and said in a quiet tone, "Linda…are we alone?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Kuryakin," she said.
Again, he seemed to question himself on something. He absent mindedly wetted his lips before asking, "Could you…do me a favor, please?"
She smiled unabashedly, knowing he couldn't see the obvious amusement she was taking at his timidity. She kept the smile from reaching her voice, however, when she responded, "Of course. What can I do?"
He smirked nervously, "This is terribly embarrassing but…" he huffed in awkward frustration, "well, could you uh…look at me and tell me if something just looks…awful?"
She rose from her chair and moved around the large desk to get a better look at him, still utterly amused. "Like what exactly?" she asked.
"Anything," he replied, sensing her movements and turning to face her as she approached him. "You see, I was sort of guessing which items of clothing I was putting on this morning and…well, I'd just like to know if anything stands out as a mistake."
Linda took her time looking him up and down. It wasn't often that such a moment for visual appraisal of the handsome agent was presented. To be honest, she was rather surprised that he looked so nice. She had never tried coordinating an outfit with her eyes closed, but she could imagine the challenges it would bring. Frankly, Illya looked very well put together. It was rather impressive, to be honest. She straightened his tie a little, noticing how he jumped slightly at the unannounced contact. "Actually," she said, flattening the collar of his suit jacket before patting his shoulders, "You look very nice. The tie's a bit bold, I guess, but I kind of like it."
"My tie?" he asked, a hand reaching up to touch the accused article of clothing in ponder. "Which one is it?"
"Bright green and black diagonal stripes," Linda replied. She let loose a quiet laugh when she saw him visibly grimace.
"I thought I had donated that one," he said regretfully.
She smiled, "Well I like it. It's pretty daring."
He shrugged and then bowed his head slightly in gratitude. "Thank you, Linda."
As he turned to leave, she noticed something wrong with his belt and lunged forward to catch him by the arm.
Instinctively, he spun around and grabbed hold of her, ready to defend himself. When he heard Linda gasp, he realized it was she he grabbed and he loosened his grip. "I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't tell it was you."
"No, no," Linda answered hastily. Inwardly, she refused to admit the quiet thrill that passed through her. "That was my fault. I should have warned you. I'm sorry I startled you."
He released her fully. "It's alright."
"Well," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear, "I just noticed that you didn't thread your belt all the way through the buckle. Here…" she readjusted the belt for him, being more cautious with her touch so as not to startle him again.
He reached down to feel the belt and then nodded, "Thank you, Linda. I appreciate that greatly."
"You're very welcome, Mr. Kuryakin," this time, she didn't even try to hide the smile from her voice.
And he must have heard it because he offered one of his rare smiles in return. When he exited the room, Linda continued to watch him as he walked down the hallway. He stayed close to the left wall, within an arm's length. He let his hand drag along the wall as he walked, waving the cane in front of him with his other hand. As he strode casually down the hall, every single person he passed stopped in their tracks and turned to watch him, stunned by his return.
Illya silently counted the doors he felt with his hand until he got to the sixth one on the left and went inside. When he exited the hall, he left eighteen people standing frozen down the length of it, watching him until he disappeared into his own office.
Napoleon Solo sat bent over his desk, scribbling notes on a report that was past due. Incidentally, he had rounded a corner just before the explosion two weeks ago, so had only sustained minute damages. However, the damages he would receive from Waverly if this report was another day late would be extensive! So he didn't even look up when he stated, "Just leave it on my desk."
"I haven't brought you your lunch, Napoleon," Illya stated, coming completely into the room and allowing the door to close behind him.
Napoleon glanced up, recognizing the voice. His pen froze and hovered above the paper as Napoleon was taken by surprise and rendered uncharacteristically speechless. He had planned on visiting his partner today, as he did everyday; but the head of Section Two never guessed his partner would turn the tables by visiting him. However, he didn't voice these thoughts, instead he stated coolly, "No…no, you wouldn't be. It's still too early for lunch."
Napoleon leaned forward to see over his desk in order to watch the swinging of Illya's cane as the other agent made his way towards his own work area. Still surprised to see him, Napoleon curiously observed as his partner navigated his way through the room. "Speaking of being early…" the dark haired man began, "isn't your return to work a tad…premature?"
Illya found his chair and sat in it, sighing slightly as he felt is body slip into a simple variation of home. He leaned forward and tried to find a place to lean his cane where it wouldn't fall over. "Not by my account," he answered, "my leave time was intended for recuperative purposes. I feel adequately recuperated. Besides, I was anxious to make some use of my time."
Napoleon glanced quizzically towards the door. "Did you drive here?" It was a stupid question, but he was still so startled to see his partner that he wasn't thinking quite straight.
Illya reclined in his seat with a small breath of laughter, "My eyesight was damaged, Napoleon, not my intelligence. I took a cab."
Napoleon nodded absently. He took the silence as an opportunity to scrutinize the state of his friend. He was pleased to find that Illya looked terribly well off. It was a nice change to see him fully dressed instead of lounging about in a bathrobe as he had been for the past few days. The blonde Russian had also forgone the light beard he had been growing and was now cleanly shaven. Excluding the bandages around his eyes and the sunglasses trying to conceal them, Illya was the very image of Napoleon's old partner. Except, perhaps, for one other small detail…
"Nice tie," the American joked.
Illya's hand felt and patted the hanging tie. "It was a mistake," he confessed. "I meant to grab the black one."
Napoleon examined the tie from afar, "I don't know. I think you pull it off nicely."
"Yeah, well, I'd rather be pulling off a standard black one," Illya commented.
Napoleon chuckled. "Here," he said, loosening his own tie, which just so happened to be black. "Trade me." Napoleon threw his tie towards his friend.
Illya jumped slightly when he felt the fabric hit his chest. He felt around until he had the slim article of clothing in his hands. Soon, both agents had successfully swapped ties. When Illya was through tying his, he turned towards his partner and asked, "Straight?"
"As the tower of pisa," Napoleon responded. "Here, let me," he moved to mend the wreckage.
Illya allowed his partner to straighten his tie, despite the fact that it felt somehow degrading. It was as if he were a little boy again, with his mother helping him dress in the morning. He didn't like the feeling of being "taken care of", but he hardly wanted to walk around in public while looking a shambles. So he consented quietly to his friend's attentions, ignoring the feeling of dependency he felt.
At that moment Illya inclined his head gently, hearing someone approach from behind the door.
When the door swooshed open, Napoleon turned and greeted the visitor. "Ah, Camille," he said with a predatory smile even a blind man could recognize. "You're looking lovely today. I must say, I like you in blue."
The woman smiled, "Why, thank you Mr. Solo."
Illya sat quietly and waited, knowing the routine exchange of silent smiles and flirtatious glances was taking place. The quiet and periodic giggles confirmed his suspicions. Then he heard the lady clear her throat.
"Well, Mr. Waverly would like to see you in his office, Mr. Solo," the girl finally said.
"Well, thank you for informing me, Miss Sutton."
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Solo."
Napoleon waved goodbye with his fingers, "Buh-bye, Miss Sutton."
She giggled again, "Goodbye, Mr. Solo."
Under his bandages, Illya rolled his eyes. After the sound of the door closing, Illya could hear Napoleon as he turned to face him once more.
"Well tovarich, I hope you don't mind if I miss my usual visiting time with you today. You've clearly initiated that already, and I really do think that this evening…" his voice sounded more distant as he turned to look towards the door again, "I shall be otherwise engaged."
"Yes, initiating something of your own, no doubt," the Russian jabbed.
"Hmm, jealousy will get you nowhere, dear Illya." As he spoke, Napoleon returned to his desk and finished some last minute details on his report. He lifted the page and blew on the drying ink. "I've got to go see Waverly. Will you be okay 'til I get back?" he asked, shooting a concerned glance towards his friend.
"Sure, I'll be fine. You go on."
Napoleon didn't like the idea of leaving his injured friend alone, but he really didn't have time to argue. He gathered the rest of the file and then moved to leave the office. At the door, he turned back towards his partner, "You're going to stay put, right? You won't try and go anywhere?"
"Napoleon, go! I'll be alright," Illya urged.
With an apprehensive sigh, Napoleon left and made his way towards Waverly's office.
To be continued…
There it is, I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think.
--Monker
