Upon arriving after their flight from Boise, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin drove directly to UNCLE headquarters where they were to immediately report to Mr. Waverly. To Illya's consternation a wheel chair awaited him at the receptionist's desk.
"I do not need the wheelchair, Napoleon!"
"Not my decision, partner. The doctors up in medical ordered it. So accept the free ride and don't make a fuss!" He grinned when Illya made a face and sat down.
Secretly Illya was glad the chair was there. He was exhausted. The slightest amount of exercise zapped him of strength which irritated him to no end. Of all the times he had been injured or kept as a prisoner with THRUSH he had never felt as weak and physically inept as he did now. He still had trouble regulating his body temperature and chilled easily so when Napoleon covered his lap with a light blanket, he didn't even complain.
The corridors were unusually empty. Napoleon was glad as he dreaded pushing his partner through them and worried that people would stare at his friend in pity. The man in the wheelchair was a mere shadow of his former self, a flesh covered skeleton in clothes. Napoleon guessed rightly that Mr. Waverly was responsible for keeping the corridors clear.
Mr. Waverly rose from his desk as his agents entered his office. "Mr. Kuryakin, welcome home. You have been greatly missed." He leaned down to shake Illya's hand, mindful of the boniness and the healing skin.
"Thank you, sir. It feels good to be back home."
"Ah yes, I'm sure it does. Do you feel up for a discussion and debriefing?"
"Yes, sir."
For the next hour, the three of them discussed the events of the past two months. Mr. Waverly and Napoleon weren't surprised that Illya couldn't remember much of the time spent in Idaho. The Russian was distressed that he couldn't remember more.
"Nonsense, Mr. Kuryakin. It is hardly unusual. The mind has a remarkable way of protecting the spirit during trauma."
After another ten minutes of discussion, the Old Man brought it to a close.
"Mr. Kuryakin, I've been discussing your situation with our doctors in medical. Based on the records they received from Dr. Henderson in Boise, we think it's best if you be assigned to our rehabilitation center in Westchester, New York."
Illya started to protest.
"Now, please don't interrupt me, young man. The center is located in the farm land area with lots of fresh air, walking paths, and good food. You'll be able to read, ride horses, fish, or any other activity you might fancy. The property is secure and well guarded from possible intruders."
"You mean guard the patients from escaping," Illya muttered under his breath.
"I mean no such thing!" Mr. Waverly replied impatiently. "Once you have regained your strength and gained an appropriate amount of weight you will be brought back to headquarters and you can get started back into the routines and programs for which you have been trained."
"Yes, sir. Thank you. I am sorry, sir."
Mr. Waverly harrumphed, "No need to apologize, Mr. Kuryakin, I understand your frustrations. However, it is important to get your health back. I need you back here in your job. Your skills have been missed."
That night Illya stayed in medical enduring the questions, poking, and prodding by the doctors. When finally left alone he prepared for bed. As he brushed his teeth he glanced at the mirror, something he had avoided doing as much as possible. The lights cast harsh shadows across his face emphasizing the hollowed cheeks and protruding cheek bones. His eyes looked more haunting as they sat deep in the eye sockets. He raised his hand to the bony jawline.
Mr. Waverly is right. I have a lot of healing to do.
Napoleon pulled the car into a gated long drive. He stopped at the gatehouse and showed his and Illya's credentials. The attendant leaned down and looked through the window. "Good morning, Mr. Kuryakin. I heard you would be staying with us a while. Welcome to The Farm, sir. I hope you find it to your liking." The attendant gave them permission to continue.
They pulled up to the portico of a large fieldstone building. English ivy climbed the walls. A large elm tree sat in the center of the circular driveway casting shade on a porch where a porch swing was occupied by a person engrossed in a book. The white trim and green shutters gave the place a feel of country charm. A cornfield bordered a large well manicured lawn on one side and a large red barn on its right.
"Illya, this place is beautiful! Hey, partner, I'll trade places with you. I could use a little rest and relaxation."
Illya had to admit, the grounds and building were beautiful and immaculate.
As they got out of the car Napoleon stepped back to open the trunk to retrieve Illya's suitcase and the wheelchair. A tall redheaded woman came out to greet them. "Good morning. You must be Illya." She walked up to him and gently shook his hand. "My name is Grace Talbot, but please call me Grace. We're all on a first name basis here at The Farm." She turned to Napoleon. "And you must be Illya's partner, Napoleon." She reached out to shake his hand as well.
"Oh, Napoleon. Illya won't be needing the wheelchair here. Please take it back with you."
Napoleon was a bit surprised. "Are you sure, Grace? Illya's been very weak from his ordeal."
"Quite sure. Illya's rehabilitation starts now! If you would please put his suitcase on the step you can say your goodbyes, here. You will see him next when you come to pick him up.
Napoleon opened his mouth to argue then shut it. He could tell that Grace meant it. He turned to Illya, "Well, I guess I'll see you later, partner. Good luck, Illya." He turned, got into the car and left.
Illya, surprised how suddenly things were happening, stood quietly watching the car drive toward the main road.
"Well, Illya. Just don't stand here. Grab your suitcase and I'll show you your room. We don't molly coddle our patients. You do everything for yourself."
For the first time in a very long time, Illya Kuryakin smiled. I am going to like it here.
The staff at The Farm worked him hard. Illya endured extensive and sometimes painful physical and occupational therapy as he worked on regaining full range of motion in all of his large joints. A nurse accompanied him as he walked along the bridal paths that meandered throughout the property. The walks were short at first, maybe a couple hundred yards. Gradually, the walks increased to cover a half mile and then a mile. By the time he was ready to go home he could easily cover several miles.
When he wasn't involved with physical therapy, he visited the facility's psychologist. With his help, Illya was able to put together a timeline of events and even began to remember some of the time he spent in solitary confinement. That break through helped to reduce the number of intense nightmares he had each night.
In all, Illya spent two months at The Farm, regaining his strength and putting on weight. He spent a lot of time reading and playing chess with some of the other agents staying there. He had a chance to find peaceful spots where he could just relax and meditate, and think…lots of thinking.
He sat in Grace's office waiting for his exit interview. "Illya, you have made great progress here. Are you ready for field work? No. And honestly, you may never be able to go back into the field. Time will tell. You are still fifteen pounds underweight and you still are bit unbalanced both physically and spiritually, but with time back at UNCLE I think you will continue to improve. You've made great gains and we have done everything we know how to help you. The rest is up to you. Now how would you characterize your progress?"
"Grace, there were times when I thought my ability to regain what I had lost was impossible. You and your staff have encouraged and pushed me especially when I did not think I could go on. Thank you!"
"Excellent. Please know that if you feel like you need a little fortification at times, feel free to come back for a little peace and quiet. You are always welcome."
Illya stood and shook her hand before picking up his suitcase and meeting Napoleon outside.
"Illya! It is so good to see you. Are you ready to go home?"
"Indeed, Napoleon."
As they got in the car and Napoleon started to drive off he asked, "So, tell me, partner. How bad was it?"
Illya sat back into his seat and smiled secretly, "Horrible, Napoleon. Just horrible."