"The Walls We Build" for PicFic Tuesday June 9th

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Napoleon Solo was an observant man, but his acute senses weren’t needed to tell him his partner was just not acting like himself.

That shouldn’t have been the case as this was a simple dead drop they were sent to take care of.  Picking up a parcel and delivering it to headquarters in the city was a milk run, and nothing more.

The agent whose assignment it had been was involved in a car accident and Solo volunteered he and Illya’s services to make the pickup before they returned to New York.

Napoleon watched as his Russian friend stood transfixed, gazing at their surroundings, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

It was merely an abandoned blade mill just outside Paris, but why was it affecting him this way?

“Tovarisch, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting like you’re somewhere else and that’s not like you.”

“Sorry, it is this place...it brings back memories.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes. You forget I was assigned to Paris when I was still with GRU.”

“No I didn’t forget. So what sort of memories?” Napoleon knelt, removing a brick in the remnants of the crumbling wall of the building.

“Personal ones.” Illya’s answer was succinct, and nothing more but then again, being laconic was typical of the man. He could talk your ear off on any subject that interested him, but not when it came to his past.  On that subject he closed up tighter than a clam.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me? You should have been a mason tovarisch as you are a pro at building walls.”

In spite of his partner’s ways, Solo still hedged, hoping Illya would give in someday and finally open up.

Napoleon stood, holding the small brown-paper wrapped parcel in his hand, tossing it up and down a few times before finally tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“Yes.”As usual Illya’s answer was short and to the point. He ran his hand along the rough hewn stones of the wall, still distracted by his thoughts.

He wished he could tell Napoleon, but something stopped him. Those walls he’d indeed built around himself all these years were very high and strong, and the door was securely locked.

He’d let very few people in during his life, but there was one who’d gotten him to completely lower his defenses, and it happened right here.

She taught him about many things, but the one lesson that hit home, the one thing she’d taught him the best…

“The less people know about you, the longer you will live.”

He was young, very young and on assignment in Paris. His GRU handler, Katiya Revchnkov was older than he, brilliant, beautiful and she took an inexperienced eighteen year old, unaccustomed to the ways of men and women; guiding him with an experienced hand.*

She was exotic with black hair, dark almond-shaped eyes, and was of mixed Kazak blood. It was those eyes though that had lured him in, allowing him to lose himself, and eventually to be duped by her.

Illya stared into the decrepit millhouse; it was where they’d made love so many times, hiding there and breathing in the scents of each other and nature.

He’d committed one serious mistake back then and it was falling in love with Katiya, only to end up be betrayed by her.

He never knew why. Maybe someday he would find out, but not today...he had no idea where she was or even if she were still alive.  He was not about to go poking about and asking Moskva access to her records; better not to send up any red flags with KGB.

The topic of his liaison with Katiya was one he could not... would not discuss with Napoleon; it was still too painful after all these years.

Illya was still angry with himself for letting his guard down, and the hurt remained in spite of his best efforts to make it go away.  He no longer loved Katiya, at least he was sure of that. She’d played him for the fool and he would never let happen it again.  That was when Illya Kuryakin closed and locked the door, building those walls around himself.

“I am sorry my friend,” he apologized; that was the least he could do for a man he trusted with his life, but tell his life story? Not yet. “It is something painful that I just cannot discuss right now...you understand such things do you not?”

“It’s okay pal, I do. We all have our secrets that are hard to talk about. Dredging up the past isn’t easy, though someday I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to share with me? In the mean time, don’t worry about it. Let’s get going,” Napoleon glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ll have time to eat once we drop this off and head out to the airport.”

“Hmm, yes. Food sounds good,” Illya nodded, serious as ever, though a twinkle had now returned to his blue eyes.

Solo was filled with a feeling of satisfaction at seeing his partner looking more like himself. Nothing like the offer of food to distract and soothe the savage Kuryakin or perhaps in this case, a melancholy one.

* ref “First Kill”.

Katiya and her relationship with Illya is also referenced in my AU story :
“The Thirty-seven Bridges Affair.”

Comments

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Awww... and are we going to have some resolution to this painful experience? Nicely told vignette.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Hmmm I was thinking about it. Not sure if I wan't another wip. Thanks for commenting.

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

As an expert at building that kind of wall, I can completely understand Illya's inability to unlock the door. Luckily, he has a friend who knows when to not push things. Wonderful, if heart-breaking, story.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. It's a theme I've explored before and it makes sense that a place from Illya's past might trigger some good and band memories. Chances are I might continue this one.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

This story ties in nicely with your previous ones involving Katiya. Illya's good at building wallsand Napoleon remains observant but doesn't press for details.
Liked this a lot!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! It's a theme I've addressed a few times and hopefully it's not becoming too redundant. I was thinking of continuing this one. Not sure.