Sacrifices for the Greater Good
Grief III
When Napoleon arrived at UNCLE headquarters, he found that he suddenly had a better understanding of why Waverly had given him such limited time to track down the Russells. Everything at the headquarters was being packed away or destroyed, the newly-arrived small furnaces quickly incinerating all the delicate information they had collected over their time at the agency. Years of work reduced to nothing more than ash and smoke.
The other agents he had become so familiar with all walked around with similarly grim expressions, nodding respectfully at him when they saw him walk past. Many agents had, if not enjoyed, at least preferred working for the international agency. There had been a pleasant comradery as the organisation had grown with time, and the atmosphere involved far less suspicion and tension than that of each of their respective agencies. Napoleon would not be the only one to miss UNCLE, he was all too aware of what awaited him back at the CIA- another few years of being at their beck and call like the lapdog they had reduced him to.
Making his way around the familiar corridors, he entered Waverly's office without bothering to knock and found his boss in the middle of packing up his possessions.
"What's going on?" He asked. He could make a reasonable guess but he wanted confirmation.
"UNCLE is being disbanded." Waverly replied shortly. "The USSR withdrew their support after the loss of the KGB's best agent, other countries soon followed and it was decided that the whole operation should be shut down. Everyone will be returning home." He paused in the act of placing a pile of papers into a small fire to look at Napoleon. "The CIA will be expecting your return within a few weeks."
"A few weeks?" Napoleon asked in surprise. He had been expecting the summons, but not the timeline. If anything he had expected to be returned to the USA immediately after reporting back to Waverly. In truth he was almost longing for it, the opportunity to distract himself with his work and avoid lingering on thoughts that only served to upset him.
"I asked for extra time, I told them I had some affairs I needed you to clear up before your return to the US."
"And those are?" Napoleon took a seat as Waverly indicated the chair opposite his desk. The older man also sat down to deliver the news, abandoning his papers on the desk so he could give his full attention to his soon-to-be former worker.
"The flats of Agent Teller and Agent Kuryakin are to be cleared out soon. They have not been touched since your last mission." At this Waverly paused uncomfortably, and continued after Napoleon gave him a short nod to indicate he was prepared to listen to the rest. In truth he found the news affected him more than he would have thought, it was like piece by piece his friends were being erased from this world. He understood the reasoning- there was little use or point in leaving the flats uninhabited aside from a sense of nostalgia, but the thought still made him uncomfortable. "I thought you might like the opportunity to see them before everything is emptied out and incinerated." Waverly said carefully.
"No." Napoleon declined immediately, he did not think he could face entering those flats without his friends by his side. Their deaths had been difficult enough to accept without such proof shoved into his face. Entering their home would feel like entering a mausoleum, a shrine to their private life that he would never feel comfortable looking in on. But to his surprise, Waverly did not let the subject drop at his initial refusal.
"You may regret it if you don't." Waverly told him solemnly. His persistence caused Napoleon to allow himself a moment of doubt about his reactionary decision. Yes it might be painful to see their homes again, but would he regret not taking the opportunity while it was still available?
"Have you been?" He asked curiously. The older man nodded at the enquiry, surprising Napoleon with the sentimentality of it all. He couldn't imagine the man walking through those halls and rooms.
"I found the experience helpful for the grieving process." Waverly said. "It was upsetting to find out how much Gaby had kept from me, I thought she would have trusted me more." His gaze dropped at that, avoiding Napoleon's eyes as Waverly sadly reconsidered his friendship with the MI6 agent. It did not take long for Napoleon to figure out what Waverly meant, Gaby's flat had also been Illya's main residence. You could not set foot in it without seeing the man's presence in every room.
"I'll do it then." Napoleon said before he could change his mind.
When it came to picking which flat to visit first, it was a relatively easy choice. From Napoleon's memories he knew that Illya's flat was barely lived in, and he might have not bothered to see it but he thought it would be a good warm up for seeing the flat Illya and Gaby had spent most of their time in.
His theory was right and while the flat did hit him with a fresh burst of grief, it was a muted sensation. The flat was as spartanly decorated and furnished as he remembered. There were books in Russian scattered across some shelves, but these were the only personal items he could find. There were still clothes in the wardrobe, and a large stack of trackers and listening devices shoved into a drawer in the bedside table. It appeared that someone had stopped by, since any food left in the kitchen had been cleared out to avoid spoiling and ruining the clean scent of the flat.
Illya had always been painstakingly neat, and despite the fact he had spent little time in this flat it was still pristinely clean, with everything put away in its rightful place. Attitude wise, the Russian had always conflicted with Gaby on this front. Before they had more or less moved in together, Napoleon could remember her flat had always been a mess- clean enough but everything in utter disarray. Clean mugs were left by the sink instead of being put away with other mugs in one of the cupboards, books were left scattered around the living room instead of being returned to their designated shelf where novels she had no interest in were left to rot.
Napoleon's first glance into the shared flat since the owners had sadly met their end revealed the happy equilibrium between organisation and chaos that had occurred. Unfortunately he found one glance almost too much to bear, and had to sink down next to the front door to allow himself some time to regain control of his emotions. Once the feelings had subsided enough, he made another foray into the flat and this time was better able to examine the scenery without feeling such overwhelming grief. It took him a moment, but he eventually realised that sadness was the predominating emotion he was feeling, and not the red hot fury that had characterised his time in the US and South America.
The flat was exactly how he had remembered it, mostly neat with a few objects scattered around where Gaby had left them. A clean set of plates, mugs and cutlery were still on the draining board, left there after their last shared breakfast as a team in London. No doubt Illya would have cleared them away back into their proper place once they had returned from the US, but he had never had the chance. Again, like with Illya's flat all food had been cleared away by someone conscientious enough not to disturb the mausoleum this home had become. It didn't take him long to remember what Waverly had said about his own experience visiting the flats, and he knew immediately how much of an impact this sight would have had on him. Illya and Gaby's fingerprints were all over the flat, making it unmistakeably the home of a couple.
The mantelpiece held a single photo, one that was taken on a mission in Spain by a random passer-by. It was a picture of the three of them, a final memento from what had been a mostly uneventful mission. As a photo, it would have been reasonably innocuous- three friends or co-workers posing in front of a bridge, but at the last moment before the picture was taken, Gaby had grabbed Illya's hand and when he had turned to her in slight surprise she had grinned up mischievously at him just as the camera went 'click'. The end result was a photo of Illya and Gaby looking at each other adoringly while Napoleon stood by glancing at the display of affection with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.
Illya had quietly developed the photo when they returned, and Gaby had framed it when she found it lurking at the bottom of a drawer along with a pile of others. At least this was what Gaby had told him when he had asked about the new decoration given pride of place in the home. He remembered what Waverly had told him about all the possessions being doomed for incineration, and he couldn't stand the photo of this one memory of a happy moment being burnt to a crisp by some anonymous man throwing objects onto a fire without a thought or consideration for the people who owned these sentimental little pieces. He had brought a backpack with him, and the framed moment was the first object to be placed in it.
He knew that it would probably be best for him to search around for anything else he didn't want burnt, but he decided to wander about the flat a little longer first, letting himself remember all the good memories he shared with them. Out of slightly morbid curiosity he also took the opportunity to visit rooms he had not been in before. While he should have expected it, he was still surprised to see the two sets of toiletries in the bathroom. Illya's were mostly cheap and basic supplies, all in their proper place whereas the counters were littered with Gaby's makeup and expensive French brands of shampoo and conditioner. Their bedroom was in a similar condition, the wardrobe and drawers filled with the items of the two inhabitants. Illya's suits hung in the wardrobe besides Gaby's expanding dress collection, the dark colours of his clothes contrasting with the bright and airy fabrics she favoured.
He nearly shut the door of the wardrobe until he saw something hidden among the heels and shoes. He bent down to look more closely at the foreign object, and after picking it up he realised what it was- a photo album. The pages fell open, almost of their own volition, allowing him a window into something very personal. The pictures were all of the two of them in various locations, he recognised many of the locations as places for missions and realised most were taken when they were posing as a couple. It would have been natural enough for the fake married or fake engaged couple to ask people to take photos of them, but after the missions were over one of the two had clearly gone to a lot of effort to develop the photos. The photos were clearly meant for the two of them to enjoy and reminisce, and he felt intrusive as he looked on these intimate moments. He snapped the book shut, wincing at the harshness of the sound, and placed that too in his backpack.
Searching around the rest of the flat, peeking into drawers and examining shelves revealed other personal things he also took with him- jewellery he knew Illya had bought Gaby, Russian books that had her scrawl all over the empty first page- impish little comments she made about Illya's choice in reading material. Once he had finished, he lingered at the doorway a moment, glancing back into the dark flat one final time with endless regret as he shut the door.
Author's Note: There might be a bit of a delay on the next few chapters, I have a lot of assessments on at the moment and its making life difficult so I don't have as much time available for editing.