Sacrifices for the Greater Good

Grief V

As they walked, Napoleon took a renewed interest in the building they were in. It appeared to be very nearly deserted- there were soldiers around but the rooms themselves featured little activity. No tell-tale sounds from behind closed doors to suggest the presence of men hard at work to continue the tireless work of preserving the Soviet Union. He wondered if the building had been emptied for this meeting to take place or if it was a deserted building that had suddenly been given a new purpose. He didn't have any difficulty guessing which room currently contained Mr Kuryakin, it was heavily guarded and for a moment he let himself imagine that he was about to meet an older version of Illya, equally as fearsome and worthy of such a crowd of soldiers to prevent him from making a daring escape.

When the door was opened he was full of expectation of seeing a grey-haired and wrinkled version of Illya, and the result was oddly disappointing. The wraith-thin twitchy man behind the desk barely resembled his Russian friend, and he nearly turned back to the solder to demand he be taken to the correct man. That desire was immediately dismissed when the man looked up at him, revealing eyes just as blue as he remembered and promptly putting any doubt out of his mind.

The door shut silently behind him, and with his instincts kicking in he gave a brief look around the room and was pleased to see Oleg had not lied about them being alone- whether there were any bugs around was a different matter. He did not doubt that they were present, just in case he was there to implement some far-fetched Western plot that sought to use the elder Kuryakin for some unknown purpose. With his cursory inspection completed, Napoleon returned his gaze to the defeated-looking man at the table, and the two men looked at each other in silence as Napoleon took the seat opposite him.

A brief glance downwards allowed Napoleon to notice there were no restraints on the other man, something he found a little odd considering the man was still a prisoner. Perhaps the years of imprisonment had left him so quiet and docile that he posed no threat to anyone, or perhaps he no longer held any value to them with Illya gone. At the first sight of resistance it would take no real effort to put a bullet in the back of his head, and nor would it be against their interests to do so. There was no longer a precariously-placed son that could turn on them and deliver sensitive information to their enemies should they push his loyalties too far with such an action.

Their eyes met again and Napoleon found that all his carefully prepared words about Illya's virtues left him suddenly, and he did not know what to say to his friend's father. For one of the few times in his life, he was rendered utterly speechless. The feeling was foreign and at that moment totally unwelcome.

"I'm told you are to tell me about my son's death." To Napoleon's relief the other man spoke first, his as English heavily accented as he would have expected. He was not surprised that the news had already been delivered, Waverly had thought as much and he felt a sudden deep pang of sympathy for Illya's father. He must have known what Napoleon's purpose was in being there, or at least why the KGB had asked him to conduct this meeting.

"Yes, I was working with him when it happened." Napoleon said, letting some of his own grief seep into his voice. "I'm very sorry for your loss." The confirmation barely had any effect on Mr Kuryakin. The man already looked so lost and defeated that Napoleon expected nothing really could make things worse for him. He couldn't even imagine what Mr Kuryakin was feeling. His mother had tried once to explain to him the sheer devastation of how it felt to lose a child- his own sister had died in a tragic accident before his own birth. While he still struggled to understand the sheer emotion of it, it was his mother's words that he now turned to in an attempt to empathise with the man before him.

"They did not tell me what happened. Just that he had died." Mr Kuryakin said glumly, and Napoleon swallowed uncomfortably as he could guess what the man wanted from him.

"I was not there when it happened." Napoleon began slowly. "But I arrived soon after. I worked with Illya and with an MI6 agent, and it was while we were on a mission that he died." He did not know whether or not the KGB had told Illya's father about UNCLE, and there was nothing on the man's expression that indicated surprise or not. "We thought that the mission had ended, so we were all packing up. Illya and the MI6 agent, Gaby, were at their mission house and I was at mine. But our targets had managed to evade capture, and they went after Gaby and Illya for revenge." The man continued to look at him with the same blank stare, not reacting to anything Napoleon said. "I tried to get there in time, but I was too late." He cut himself off quickly before he could start adding further justification for why he had not been able to save either Gaby or Illya, and his hesitation had the added benefit of avoiding being overly explicit about how Illya had died.

"Was it quick?" At Napoleon's initial confusion, Illya's father elaborated. "His death. I don't know how he died."

"It would have been quick and painless." Napoleon reassured. "He was unconscious when it happened. Do you want to know how-" Mr Kuryakin seemed to know where the conversation was heading and quickly interrupted Napoleon.

"No. I think I would rather not know what they did to him." He paused. "I am glad he wasn't scared or in pain. It is a small comfort to me, and would have been to his mother had she still been with us."

The poor man had lost everything now, Napoleon realised, his wife has been gone for some time but he had still had a son to sustain him and now that last familial connection was gone.

"You know, Illya never questioned whether or not I did embezzle funds." The man said suddenly, breaking the silence that had come over them both. He barely seemed to be speaking to Napoleon, and appeared to be vocalising his thoughts as they came to him. "We met several times over the years, when he did well enough that the KGB wanted to reward him." He had a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered scenes Napoleon could not even imagine. "He would tell me about his work and how well he was doing. He never asked whether it was my fault he had to work twice as hard as everyone else."

Illya's father suddenly met his gaze, his focus suddenly sharp on his audience. "I did steal that money." He confessed. "He thought it was some plot to discredit me since I was so close to Stalin, but it wasn't. I was stupid. I wanted to be able to buy my family nicer things, provide them with a better life. I never imagined it would backfire so badly." He laughed suddenly, a bitter unhappy sound. "My wife is dead, my son was killed trying to restore the family name, and all because I wanted to drive a better car." He shook his head in disgust.

Napoleon could not judge the man, he had done worse for even more selfish reasons. He had spent most of his life stealing jewellery, money, paintings, anything that would fetch a decent price. He did not have the excuse that he did it for his family, he had almost always done it for himself because he enjoyed the lifestyle. The only reason he had gotten away with it as lightly as he did was because he had enough skill in doing it that the CIA had found a use for him. The man in front of him had fumbled the job in an even more hostile environment, and had not been valuable enough to get away with it. He had paid the price of his betrayal in blood, and it would haunt it for the rest of his life.

With Illya's father's revelation about his criminal activity out in the open, Napoleon was unsure about what to say. There were a thousand more things he wanted to tell the man, but an awkward silence had settled over both of them and he felt it inappropriate to suddenly blurt out about what a great man he thought Illya was. Yes, he was sure it would have been comforting for the other man to hear, but coming after such a guilt-drenched confession it felt harsh to start extolling the virtues of a son whose death he clearly felt responsible for. Luckily for him, Napoleon was not the one that ended up breaking the silence as Illya's father spoke up again, changing the subject.

"The KGB told me Illya had been behaving traitorously towards the end of his life." He said suddenly, once again sounding oddly detached. "According to them he had a relationship with some East German defector." This news did come as a surprise. Napoleon couldn't guess how the KGB had found out about Gaby and Illya, and he hated that their relationship was being used as yet another rod to beat the man before him.

"That is essentially true." He replied carefully. "Illya was in a relationship with a woman from East Germany, but there was nothing traitorous about it. He wasn't doing it out of spite, and he never betrayed Russia. They were in love and they were happy." The man before him simply nodded, not giving any indication as to whether this information pleased him or not.

"The KGB told me she was pregnant but they wouldn't tell me what happened to her. Has she returned to Germany?" It took a few moments before the innocent question registered with Napoleon and he felt himself pale considerably. The KGB had not told Mr Kuryakin about what had happened to Gaby, in a horrifying final insult they had allowed Illya's father some small grain of hope with the expectation that Napoleon would be forced to crush it. In the end he didn't even have to say anything, by the brief moment of devastation that appeared on Mr Kuryakin's face it appeared that Napoleon's expression in response to the question had been enough of an answer.

"Unfortunately, Gaby died too. She was our co-worker, she died at the same time as Illya." Napoleon told him solemnly.

"She was the MI6 agent?"

"Yes." Napoleon confirmed. "They were buried in the US together." He added.

"Perhaps it was for the best." Mr Kuryakin said glumly. "They would never have allowed an MI6 and KGB agent to have a child together." It was an echo of the sentiment Waverly had nearly expressed not so long ago, and to Napoleon it was depressing how common this mind-set seemed to be. In this world, even something as basic and human as a couple having a baby could be rendered an impossible course of action.

"I brought this with me." Napoleon said abruptly, remembering the book he had taken from their flat. He felt Mr Kuryakin's eyes on him as he rummaged around and retrieved the book, setting it on the table that separated him from Illya's father. "I found this in the flat they shared, I thought you might like to see it."

The man gave him a curious look as he flipped open the first page, and Napoleon saw him visibly flinch as the first photo came into view. He had removed the photo of the three of them from the frame and added it to the album for ease of transport, and it was this photo that Illya's father now examined. Napoleon would have thought him unaffected if it was not for the trembling finger he used to trace his son's face. He waited silently as Mr Kuryakin slowly flicked through the pages, lingering for a long time on the photos of Illya that Gaby had clearly taken while they were at home: Illya frowning as he contemplated a chessboard, Illya with an indulgent smile as he looked straight at the lens. There were single photos of Gaby as well, but these were skipped over. Napoleon did not begrudge his lack of interest, after all to Mr Kuryakin she had only been a stranger that had momentarily carried his grandchild.

"Thank you for that." Illya's father said, pushing the album back towards Napoleon. The photos did seem to have had a positive effect on him, he did not look happy by any stretch of the imagination but he looked a little more at peace.

"Do you not want to keep it?" Napoleon asked with a frown, he had been prepared to give up the album if the man had wanted it.

"No. It was nice to see, but I don't think I would cope well if I kept it." Mr Kuryakin admitted. After some thought Napoleon felt he could understand the reasoning, Illya's father did not have the same good memories as him, and the photos while nice to look at might only serve to exacerbate his guilt. He re-pocketed the album with some hesitation.

"If you won't accept the album, perhaps you'll take this back." Napoleon suggested, retrieving the watch he had also brought with him. "It doesn't work anymore, I was going to get it fixed but I didn't have time." Illya's father took the watch with a strange look on his face, he moved his thumb over the broken clock face and without further ado placed it on his wrist.

"I had almost forgotten about the watch." He said mournfully. "I gave it to Illya when I was arrested. I told him that he would have to be a big boy and look after his mother while I was gone. I told him to make me proud." His gaze flickered away from the watch suddenly, fixating on a scratch in the metal of the desk. "I shouldn't have put such a burden on him. Thank you for this." Mr Kuryakin raised his head and gave him a small smile.

"The KGB also asked me to pass on another message." Napoleon said slowly, unsure as to how this piece of information would be received. "They said they will be releasing you from the gulag." Illya's father still wore the same strange smile, and he shook his head.

"I think I'll stay. There is no point leaving now." Napoleon felt a stab of pity, had he been in the same position he is not sure he would have been able to make a different choice. He was an old man now, with a disgraced name- perhaps even more disgraced than it already was if the KGB made it common knowledge about Illya's romantic interest in Gaby. His wife was dead and his son was dead. The gulag had been his home for well over a decade, and there was now nothing on the outside for him to return to. They lapsed back into silence as the door opened and Oleg reappeared.

"All finished?" Oleg asked brusquely in Russian.

"Yes." Illya's father said, a hand playing with the watch on his wrist. "I would like to go back now." Oleg did not look surprised, if anything he looked like he had expected that answer.

"Agent Solo, you may leave now. You will be escorted back to East Berlin." Oleg told Napoleon. There was no thank you or suggestion of gratitude, despite the fact he was meant to have done this as a favour for them. Napoleon chose not to say anything about the rudeness of his dismissal, and at Oleg's gesture he rose from the chair and made his way out of room, stopping to glance back once to see Oleg take his now empty seat. Illya's father only looked resigned at the prospect of more talking. The door shut, and after a firm cough from his escort, Napoleon turned and followed him out of the building.

Author's Note: So that load of misery was fun, wasn't it? Thanks to everyone that is still supporting the story, I really appreciate it :) Sorry about the massive delay, I got super overwhelmed with uni work and to be honest I still have a lot on at the moment. Expect more delays. Once January is over I might have a bit more time on my hands to edit the rest of the chapters and post them.