Author's Note: I have to apologize for so many things. I am sorry that I have ignored this story for so long. I've been extremely busy recently, and then I had a horrible case of writer's block for this chapter. I kept thinking, "It needs to be longer before I post it" but then I couldn't think of what else to add. So I just typed it out and gave it as much substance as I could. I really hope you enjoy it and that you can forgive the short length. Now that I'm past this chapter, I have a pretty clear idea about where I want to take this story for the following chapters. So hopefully, the next chapters should come with less of a hiatus in between. For all of you wonderful readers who are still interested in this story after this long, you guys are the best! And thank you all so much for reading!
It was a strange business, distinguishing between wakefulness and sleep when one lacked sight as a defining factor. For Illya, wakefulness equaled simple awareness; awareness of his body primarily, but also of his surroundings. When he was awake, his brain paid heed to the sounds, temperatures, smells and all around feelings of the room. But when he slept, all awareness was deactivated, and his remaining senses gradually vanished into the darkness. As he would awaken, touch would come back into Illya's body, and sounds would once more fill his ears, and he would resume smelling the scents that drifted through his room like an invisible fog. This is how he knew the difference between wakefulness and slumber…it was simply a matter of being aware.
But what made this morning particularly disorienting was that Illya didn't appear to be in his bed, or even in his bedroom for that matter. As Illya became aware of his body, he discovered that he was in a sitting position. His legs were stretched out before him, evidently being supported by some object underneath his feet, but under his legs, around the knees, he felt nothing. His arms were crossed over his chest and they apparently had something that felt like a blanket resting over them.
As Illya moved his body around, encouraging his blood to resume flowing through his veins once more, he tried to feel around and create an image of his surroundings. After a little while, Illya discovered he was sitting on his couch in his living room.
Illya remembered now. Napoleon had been reading to him last night. He must have fallen asleep during the book. Illya slowly sat up, grimacing at the stiffness of his muscles after a full night spent in a slumped posture. He listened to his apartment. "Napoleon?" he called. Then, remembering that night fully he joked, "For goodness sake, Napoleon, if you're there, say something and I promise not to point my gun at you."
But no reply came so he simply had to assume his partner had left after Illya had fallen asleep.
He flung the blanket off of him and stood. His knees hurt, like they had been on the verge of hyperextension all night. He winced at the pain. "Ahh, Vy dolzhny bytʹ starenie, Kuryakin," (Ahh, you must be aging, Kuryakin,) he grumbled to himself.
Seeing that he was obviously very stiff and sore from his night's rest, Illya decided he needed some morning calisthenics before work. He made his way into his bedroom to check the time.
Early into his blindness, Illya had discovered that if he removed the glass from the face of his clock, he could feel the hands in order to tell time. He found his clock on his nightstand and felt the hands, careful not to move either of them so as to change the accuracy of the clock. Napoleon should not be coming to pick him up for an hour yet. That would be long enough for some exercise.
After changing his clothes—which he had slept in from the day before—Illya did his morning routine of stretches and simple workouts and then gathered his keys, glasses, and cane and prepared to go for a walk.
He was pleased with the temperature when he stepped outside. The air was briskly cool and the breeze was gentle. He also determined that it must be a particularly clear morning because he could feel the sun coating his skin with a soft layer of warmth. But he guessed that it must have rained either late last night or early that morning. The city streets, much like the fur of an animal, always adopted a different smell when it was wet. He could distinctly detect the remnants of rain around him, and the subtle sound of tires kicking up tiny drops of water as the cars drove across the pavement only served to confirm Illya's observations. Breathing in deeply, Illya began his stroll down the sidewalk.
Despite the early hour, the streets of New York were still buzzing with frantic travel. Pedestrians bumped into him as they busily made their ways towards hectic jobs and nearly missed appointments. But to the cool Russian, life was simple…at least for these precious moments.
Illya walked peacefully in the midst of chaos. What was out of sight was out of mind. As much as Illya wanted his sight back, he had to acknowledge the fact that there were certain advantages to being sightless. Beautiful images are commonly observed. It is easy to look at an expertly achieved painting, see the lovely colors and textures and call it beautiful. But over the last few weeks, Illya have been struck with how many beautiful sounds and smells there were that always seemed to go unnoticed. The Russian was hardly sentimental by nature, but there was something intoxicating about listening to nature. The faint whistle the wind had as it whipped its way through mazes of skyscrapers, the hum of hundreds of conversation being layered over each other, the way the flapping of a large flock of birds seemed to almost perfectly mimic the purr of a cat…these were all discoveries that Illya was making on a daily basis.
But what seemed to interest him most was just observing his own body. As the scientist that he was, Illya was fascinated by the human body. He would sit for unknown lengths of time in his apartment and simply focus on hearing himself breathe. He would plug his ears and would be struck by the sound of what he assumed to be his own blood flow. He would try to simply focus on feeling his heart beat inside his chest. And all of it was things his body did naturally without ever having to think about it. He observed that the subconscious signals the brain must send to the rest of the body must be innumerable. From a scientific standpoint, Illya was even more impressed with the world when sight was removed. He reveled in the feel of his own movements and he strolled. His legs swung easily underneath him. His shoes weighed heavily on his ankles, aiding in the momentum of his strides. A small smile teased his mouth as Illya recalled a story his mother used to tell him of when he was an infant, learning to walk. He would manage to get into a standing position, and then he would transfer his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. He would never move forward at first, but his mother used to say that the smile on his face would make it seem as though he was convinced he was walking. Illya breathed out a small laugh to think that a task, which is so trivial now, was once such a complicated and clumsy attempt.
It was an odd thing to consider, but somehow, Illya felt a strange sense of satisfaction in simply being able to observe such fundamental abilities he always took for granted. With his sight, there were many things to catch his eye and distract his mind. But with all lights on earth turned off, the darkest places for observation were given their treasured moments in the spotlight. Through his blindness, Illya was able to see the world in a completely different way. At least, in that aspect, a blessing could be found in that curse.
So, as Illya walked, he was actually in a pleasant mood. He was still cautious. No amount of peaceful bliss could assuage his natural sense of alert. But at the same time, he was experiencing a very rare state of calm. The suspicious agent was used to always glancing over his shoulder for possible attacks. But now, his other senses had been heightened to the point where he scarcely needed his sight in order to perceive danger. He prided himself in this, and he knew that if he were ever reinstated to a field position again, it would be a skill that would make itself quite useful on missions.
Illya was careful to keep a clear account of his travels in his mind. He knew where he was in the city so he knew how to get home and roughly the amount of time it would take to get there. He knew he had to turn two more corners before he would be on the same street as his apartment building. Thinking that it should be nearing the time when Napoleon would pick him up, Illya decided he should cut his walk short and simply turn around. So he made an about face and started in the way from whence he came.
However, he had only taken a half step when he collided with the person who was walking behind him. Illya spoke out with a startled apology. "Oh my! I'm sorry. Please excuse me," he said politely.
"It's quite alright," the friendly female voice replied. "I just didn't anticipate you turning around."
"Yes, it was foolish of me. I apologize."
"No trouble," she said, noticing the bandages and the cane for the first time. Her heart went out to him. "Would you…like someone to walk with you to wherever you're going?"
Illya had to keep himself from laughing. This woman was offering herself as an escort? To him? It was comical indeed. With all of his training and skill, he was convinced that this woman could do nothing to protect Illya that he could not do better himself. Still, with the joke kept to himself, Illya just shook his head mildly and said, "Thank you, but I don't think that will be necessary. My home isn't far from here. But I appreciate the offer nonetheless." As he spoke he moved to walk around the lady.
"Alright, well…goodbye then," she said after a little while.
"Goodbye," Illya replied and then began his walk home. As he moved farther away from the woman, Illya allowed the smile to slip onto his face. He tried to imagine being led around New York City by the arm of a little woman. Still, it was a polite thing for her to offer. And of course, she had no way of knowing his background. Aside from THRUSH agents, few people could spot an UNCLE agent simply by looking at them. To anyone else of the street, Illya knew he probably just looked like a defenseless young blind man. But he was hardly defenseless.
He turned a corner and continued down the street. As he walked, Illya tried to determine how much time he had before Napoleon would be by to pick him up. Without his sight, the wristwatch he wore was useless, and Illya couldn't even rely on the length of shadows or the placement of the sun to depict the time of day. So Illya was left only with his inner clock, his natural sense of time. From that authority, Illya would guess that he had about thirty minutes to get home. That would be enough.
He tapped his cane down the sidewalk as he set his pace to a calm, even stride. He was relaxed and he allowed his mind to wonder. He thought about Napoleon, how kind his partner had been last night. Yes, it was true Napoleon irritated him on many levels. And Illya was certain that he did the same for Napoleon. Yes, there was a constant sense of competition between them and they teased and mocked each other frequently. But there was also a very strong sense of devotion that they held for each other. It was a devotion that could only be fully recognized by partners who were constantly relying on the other one for simple survival. There was a respect that they each held for one another…a confidence, and yes, even a fondness. Theirs was a special bond, the kind that was the result of years spent working side by side in the most dangerous and desperate circumstances. And Napoleon expressed that special friendship last night, reading one of Illya's books to him and meeting a very small, but aching need for the educated Russian. They were different in so many ways, but Illya knew that he would have done the same thing for his partner if the roles had been reversed. It was satisfying to Illya that he had such a stable and understood bond with Napoleon. In the spy business, that sort of stability and constancy was rare. Perhaps that is why the two partners had such a mutually subdued, yet profoundly deep relationship. The rarest of things was always treated as the most valuable. And Illya's friendship with Napoleon was valued indeed.
As he walked, still contemplating all of these things, Illya's mind registered that he was suddenly being jerked violently to one side. All at once, Illya was rendered motionless and then…all of his senses drifted rapidly into the state of unaware.
Author's Note: With this chapter, I just wanted to explore a little bit more the new world being sightless has opened for Illya. I tried to imagine the types of sounds, feelings, and smells that he would suddenly notice for possibly the first time. But I don't know how I feel about the finished product. So I ask you, did you enjoy this chapter? Or did you feel it was a bit rambling? Be honest. As a writer, I would really like to know.
