Summary: Their latest mission strikes, quite literally, very close to home for Illya.
Cross-posted to AO3
Napoleon knew there was trouble when, upon arriving at the
breakfast table, he saw the morning paper tossed aside, as if having been done
in anger. Further proof that something
was wrong was the fact that Illya was ignoring the plate of food in front of him,
instead glaring out the window of their apartment. The third sign was their cat, Baba Yaga,
looking up at him in concern, meowing repeatedly, yet not getting a response
from him, which she would usually get instantly.
“Illya?” Napoleon asked, gently. “What’s wrong?”
“It is… a very complex situation, Napoleon. …And I fear you will think less of me once
you know the full truth.”
“Well, I know that’s not possible,” Napoleon insisted.
“Don’t jump to conclusions before you know the full story,”
Illya said, ruefully. He picked up part
of the newspaper and handed it to Napoleon.
“‘International coalition to come together to apprehend a
wanted war criminal on the run since the end of the Second World War,’”
Napoleon read. He frowned at the picture
of the man in the paper—clearly unrepentant for the cruel acts he had
performed. “‘Efforts to apprehend the
man will be spearheaded by U.N.C.L.E., aided by a wartime resistance group of
former prisoners of war known as the Unsung Heroes. Head of U.N.C.L.E. New York, Alexander
Waverly, has promised that his top men will be assigned to the mission.’ Oh, so that’s it. …Well, I don’t see what’s so wrong with
that—we’ve done this sort of thing before, bringing in people wanted for war
crimes. Or are you concerned about what
these Unsung Heroes will think about you being a Russian?”
“No,” Illya said, his voice calm, despite the fact that he
was shaking. “Take a closer look at the
man’s biography.”
Napoleon did so, reading the man’s military history, and
pausing as he noticed one particular milestone written in the description—
“…Battle of Kiev…” Napoleon realized. “…Illya…”
“I recognized his face immediately,” Illya said, passing a
hand over his eyes. “How could I
not…? I saw him as I was fleeing from my
home, staring cold and unfeelingly at the homes where he knew innocent civilian
were in. I still remember how he barked
the orders to blast the houses…” He
trembled. “…My house was among them…”
“Oh, Illya…”
“He was the one!” Illya suddenly snapped. “He was the one who took everything from me…! He
destroyed my home and killed my family…!”
“We are going to bring him to justice, Illya,” Napoleon
promised. “Waverly is going to assign us
to this—the writing’s on the wall already…”
He trailed off at the look on Illya’s face.
“I don’t want mere ‘justice,’ Napoleon,” Illya said. “I want vengeance. And yet, I know that is not what U.N.C.L.E.
stands for, and it is not what you would stand for, for you are a paragon of
mercy. …And so, I am ashamed…”
Napoleon exhaled and drew Illya to a tight embrace.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he said, softly. “I’ve… done things I haven’t been proud of,
too, you know.”
Illya blinked.
“But your family is intact.”
“I didn’t mean them,” Napoleon said. “Do you remember when I infiltrated Brother
Love’s society?”
“Not much of it,” Illya said. “He threw a grenade at the car I was driving;
I was unconscious for most of it.”
“…That’s just it; I didn’t know you were just
unconscious. I thought…”
Illya blinked.
“Do you mean to tell me that Brother Love’s death was…?”
“An act of vengeance?
Deep down, it was,” Napoleon admitted.
“Sure, I said in the mission report that he had to be stopped at all
costs, and sure, the innocent agreed that there was no other option, but… I know I probably could have looked for a way
to spare him, whether or not I would have eventually succeeded, but… I refused
to even search for that way.” He
sighed. “Grief can push you to do things
that you would never consider. And
that’s why I fully understand the conflicting emotions you’re feeling.” He glanced back at the newspaper. “One way or another, we will find this
man. As for his fate… I’m going to leave that up to you.” He gave Illya’s shoulder a squeeze. “And just know that, no matter what, I’ll
always be on your side.”
Illya exhaled, filled with gratitude at having such an
understanding partner.
“Thank you,” he said, softly.
He didn’t know what his heart would end up deciding once
they caught up to their quarry—but the knowledge that Napoleon would be with
him through it all was already a crushing weight being lifted from his
shoulders.
Summary: Illya looks after a stricken Napoleon as they wait for backup to extract them.
Cross-posted to AO3
Illya could only wish that they weren’t in an isolated
forest; Napoleon needed medical attention—proper medical attention, and not
just what limited work Illya could do with some wild-growing herbs.
During their escape from a THRUSH satrap, Napoleon had been
struck by a THRUSH poison dart. It had
taken a while for it to take effect, but once it had, he had collapsed as his
weakened body now tried to fight back.
He was burning up with a high fever as his system attempted to purge the
toxins from him.
Illya had done what he could with what he had—which wasn’t
much. He had concocted a green herbal
soup and had fed it to Napoleon, and then he had spent several hours trying to
get back in touch with U.N.C.L.E.; he had finally succeeded and managed to
summon help, but given their location, far from civilization, it was going to
take a lot more time before their extraction team reached them.
“They will be here,” he said, gently wiping Napoleon’s
forehead with a cold cloth. “I don’t
know when, but they will find us eventually.
But, until then, you have to hold on.
Do you hear me?”
Napoleon’s face slightly turned in his direction; Illya
took that as a hopeful sign.
“Do you remember when Mills went renegade and poisoned me?”
Illya went on. “After I recovered, we
had another case where another one of our agents had been poisoned with the
same toxin—only he had not survived. We
both concluded that it was because he had no one trying to encourage his
recovery that he was not able to make it.
Well, Napoleon… I am here. And I
will not stop fighting to make sure you survive. So you had better keep on fighting to do so,
as well.”
Napoleon’s eyes briefly opened, looking up at his partner
for a moment. He gave a slight nod and
rested his eyes again, but slightly moved his hand to grab Illya’s free one.
Satisfied, Illya kept tending to him and talking to him
until their backup finally arrived to extract them. Soon, Napoleon was in Medical, having been
administered the antidote to the poison, and was recovering, his fever down at
last.
And Illya was still by his side, ready to help him fight
again if need be.
It was just one of the things that made their partnership
work so well.
Summary: Part 2 of 2. Illya gets a chance at some trickery and subterfuge to avenge Napoleon.
Cross-posted to AO3
Sometimes, Illya’s own deviousness surprised even him. Technician George Dennell owned him a
favor—and Illya was ready to cash it in, asking him to get Waverly down to the
lab and keep him occupied before the meeting with the applicant for the new
Berlin head could go underway.
George was true to his word; the moment Waverly had left
his office, thinking it would only take five minutes to see what important
developments George had asked him to take a look at, Illya took his place,
explaining to Lisa that he would explain to the applicant that Waverly would be
only slightly delayed.
He sat at the circular table; Baba Yaga the office cat
wandered into the room and leaped onto his lap, sensing something afoot. Illya gently gave the cat a few skritches
behind the ears, causing her to purr loudly—at least until the door opened and
the job applicant walked in. her purring
ceased almost immediately as he walked in, and her ears flattened with intense
dislike for the man.
“I was supposed to meet Mr. Waverly here,” the man
said. “We were to have an interview to
decide my taking over as section head of Berlin.”
“Mr. Waverly has been called away on an important
emergency,” Illya said, calmly, as Baba Yaga’s tail twitched. “I will be handling this interview in his
stead.”
“I see…” the man said.
He frowned. “Do I know you?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,”
Illya said, without any emotion. “Shall
we begin?”
“Er, yes…” the man said.
“You’ve already seen my CV, I presume.”
“Yes, I have,” Illya said.
“A move impressive amount of experience, I must agree. However… There was one thing that left me rather
concerned.”
“What’s that?”
“You were in very close association with one Gerald Strothers
for a great many years,” Illya pointed out.
“Well, yes, we were assigned as partners and worked very
closely together as a result,” the man admitted.
“Hmm,” Illya said, pretending to rub his chin in thoughtfulness. “Then my concerns are not unfounded.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand…”
“Gerald Strothers was recently dishonorably removed from
his position—using unauthorized torture methods against an innocent U.N.C.L.E.
agent and failing to notice that Beldon was a traitor in his zeal to prove this
innocent man as guilty.”
“No one suspected Beldon!” the man countered. “And as for Strothers, I believe that he wasn’t
wrong about that American! And even if
he was wrong, why must I suffer for something that I did not do?”
“So you, an innocent man, does not want to be held accountable
for misdeeds that you were not responsible for,” Illya said. “And yet, you have no qualms about seeing an
innocent suffer for something he was not responsible for?”
“I believe him to be guilty,” the man insisted. “And given the opportunity, I will prove it!”
Wordlessly, Illya played back the footage from the autopsy
security cameras.
“We had these installed after it became a hazing ritual
among the new probationary agents to sneak into the autopsy room and take
Polaroids of a corpse. It also serves as
a nice method of capturing threats given to our personnel.”
The threat to Napoleon played back in full picture and
sound. The man sat flabbergasted for a
moment before scowling at Illya.
“Give me that tape!” he hissed.
“I think not,” he said.
“This interview is over—you will not get the position.”
The next thing Illya knew, the man had seized him and had
hurled him against the wall. Baba Yaga
screeched, attacking the man with claws and teeth. The man ignored her, going for Illya again.
Waverly soon returned, followed by Napoleon, who had been
alerted by Lisa to the noise. Waverly
stared, stunned, while Napoleon leaped into action, pulling the man off of
Illya, who rubbed his neck where he had been seized.
“You can threaten me all you want,” Napoleon hissed. “But you will not lay a hand on my partner.”
The man glared at them, and then turned to Waverly.
“You, see, Sir? They
are in this together to discredit me!”
“I think it was very clear that you were the one who
attacked Mr. Kuryakin; he made no effort to defend himself—no doubt because you
would accuse him of instigating it.”
Baba Yaga hissed loudly at the man, her back arched
angrily.
“A temperament and immense moral blindness such as yours is
not one we like to encourage at U.N.C.L.E.,” Waverly continued. “You will be discharged from your position
post haste.”
“You can join your friend and former partner Strothers in a
search for a new job,” Illya said, coldly.
“…So that’s why you had it in for me,” Napoleon said, eyes
arching in realization. “You wanted to
get me out to avenge Strothers.”
The man merely cursed at Napoleon as other agents came in
to apprehend him.
“Well, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, I’m sorry you had to go through
that,” Waverly said. “But I thank the
both of you for using such a clever way of bringing this to my attention. Well done.”
“I don’t deserve any praise,” Napoleon said. “This was all Illya’s doing. …How did you know?”
“The room where he made his threat to you was the autopsy
room,” Illya said. “Neither of you
noticed that I was in there. So I saw to
it that I would give him a swift and humiliating exit.”
Only Seven Acres of Rose of Pollux's Musings & Daydreams 