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section7mfu2015-06-26 09:13 am
lindafishes8.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2015-06-26 09:13 am
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A New Story-Chapter 5 (Final Chapter)
Word count- Approximately 9,300. Gen-language.
Work is complete and will be posted this week in Section VII.
Thank you to my friends who helped beta this story.
Many thanks to Open_channel_d for her kind assist with Russian translations.
Link to Chapters 1, 2, 3, & 4
http://archiveofourown.org/works/4184337/chapters/9449109
Open Arms
Sometimes ghosts from agent’s missions come back to haunt them and Illya’s past is full of them.
Chapter 5
“Illya, you do realize The Children’s Day Affair happened over a year ago?” Napoleon asked.
“I do now.” Illya’s voice was pensive. “And you’re telling me the whole thing took place in an abandoned insane asylum?”
He was in his least-favorite place at headquarters, a bed in Medical. But in this particular instance, he found himself not minding it so much, even with an intravenous drip line stuck in his arm, infusing him with glucose water. Napoleon and Mark were both in the room with him.
Solo shook his head and shrugged. “What can I say? Yvette may have not been a real doctor, but she was an excellent chemist. We have to assume she took the formula for the drug with her to her grave. Our chemists have been trying to extract some of it from a sample of your blood and they haven’t been able to thus far. It’ll make a great truth serum for U.N.C.L.E. if they can manage it. Why we were unable to find a single dose is a mystery.”
Napoleon sighed heavily, took a deep breath and continued. “Waverly’s angry with me for killing her, to say the least. I’ve been assigned to the file room for the next two weeks.”
“Well, I, for one, am rather glad you stopped her when you did,” Illya said gratefully. “Another few millimeters and that drill may have erased my entire Cambridge education or U.N.C.L.E. training...or even my personality.”
Napoleon opened his mouth for a sarcastic remark, but thought the better of it after first sensing and then seeing the sudden icy blue glare cast solely in his direction.
“There are no needle marks on my body, my food must have been laced with the drug...Oh, no,” Illya groaned, reaching up and lightly slapping his own forehead, remembering.
“What?”
“The doctor, I mean ‘Miss’ Rädlsa, handed me the tablets; I simply…took them.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room as all three pondered how powerful a hold she had over Kuryakin.
“Well, I did a little digging, tovarisch. ‘Rädsla’ is the Swedish word for ‘Fear.’ Yvonne and Yvette were of Swedish descent. As it turns out, they were twins, not identical, of course. With her sister dead, Yvette had no reason to stay in Europe. She moved her lab to New York to carry out her revenge by making you her test subject. She brought her lover, a mousy little man by the name of Maximillian Cooper and Captain Jenk’s cousin Zachary, with her.”
“So, Cooper was role-playing, impersonating you? And I believed him.” Kuryakin said.
“Listen, Guv,” Mark spoke up. “All that wench needed to do was tell you Cooper was Napoleon for you to accept it. She told you your back hurt and you experienced pain. She told you that you went to Tony's for dinner or your office at U.N.C.L.E. and you believed you were at Tony's or your office. In reality, you never left that basement.”
“A prison cell without bars,” Illya muttered, eyes cast downwards, offhandedly picking at his blanket. ”How could I have been so weak?”
Napoleon, recognized the anguished tone in his partner’s voice, quickly added, “Never weak, partner mine, just under the influence of a very powerful drug. You’re the most un-weak person I know.” Illya was amused at Solo’s choice of adjective even as he was touched by the compliment.
“Un-weak?” A smile played at the corners of Kuryakin’s mouth.
“Well, you know what I mean.”
”And I shaved my own head?”
Solo chuckled. “It appears that way; from what Zack’s told us and from what we’ve gleaned from Rädsla’s notes. By the way, we found taped dialogue from École Figliano in her desk. The conversation you asked me about, between you and Mother Fear? She must have taken it from the school before U.N.C.L.E.’s Geneva team did their clean-up.”
Illya rubbed the top of his head again, careful as to not disturb the bandages that encircled it. It felt very strange not having any hair, and more than a little chilly.
“It’ll grow back, Old Man,” Mark offered cheekily. He tossed the patient a navy blue toque, not unlike the black one Illya already owned. The bald enforcement agent gratefully accepted it and gingerly placed it on his head.
“You could always wear a wig,” Napoleon mused. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “to cover that hole in your head.” The CEA couldn’t help himself this time and Mark joined him in laughter.
Although the rest of Illya's face was expressionless, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He saw this as the first of many in a long string of jokes at his expense, but he would allow it. He had survived. Napoleon saved him before the drill had reached his brain cavity.
It had been extremely close this time.
Illya was scheduled to meet with an U.N.C.L.E. psychiatrist later in the week as an outpatient to discuss this whole affair. He’d already decided to give his full cooperation, and as much as he dreaded head shrinkers, he needed to put this event behind him and move on.
Mark said his goodnights and took his leave while Napoleon lingered a while longer.
“Doc says you haven’t had any more seizures. That’s a good sign.” His tone was serious.
“Yes,” Illya nodded. “That’s why I was having periods of lost time. As the doctors explained, Rädsla’s drug produced specific alterations in brain chemistry causing abnormal electrical pathways to form. The effects are quite temporary, of course. It’s all quite fascinating. You see, the-”
“Well, I’d better let you get some rest,” Solo quickly interrupted before Kuryakin could go into one of his long-winded tutorials. He dimmed the lights and turned to leave. “They tell me you’ll be released tomorrow.”
Illya nodded again.
“See you in the morning, then,’’ Solo was about to make his way to the door.
“Napoleon?” Kuryakin sat up.
“Hmmm?”
Illya studied his partner’s face in the muted light and was worried. What if I’m still under the effects of the suggestibility drug and how will I be able to trust that anything is real ever again? How can I be sure he’s really my partner?
He contemplated all of this for another moment, searching for the right words, but still not knowing exactly what he needed to say.
But he did know.
He’d said it back at the asylum to the man he wrongly assumed was his closest friend. He’d said it and waited for the familiar response he’d expected, but never came.
Illya repeated those words softly now and then held his breath, waiting.
“Moya zhizn' vsegda v bezopasnosti v tvoikh rukakh.” (My life is always safe in your hands.)
The American smiled at hearing the Russian phrase they’d often used after a particularly dangerous mission. He hesitated, sensing the inner turmoil in Illya’s eyes, the uncertainty in his voice. This was his proud and stoic tovarisch asking for reassurances after a harrowing experience.
Solo stepped closer and reaching out, laid his hand firmly on his partner’s shoulder before he replied, “Tak zhe kak moya v tvoikh.” (As mine is safe in yours.)
Relieved beyond words, Illya simply nodded. With a small smile and sigh he covered Napoleon’s hand with his own.
As the door closed behind his friend, Illya sighed and eased his head down into his pillow. Pulling the warm covers over his shoulders, he turned on his side, finding U.N.C.L.E.’s renowned uncomfortable Medical bed far superior to an autopsy table.
The Rädsla/Fear sisters were dead, the suggestibility drug was out of the hands of THRUSH and…Napoleon was Napoleon. For this moment in time, however brief, he was safe.
Illya closed his eyes and sleep took him a short time later.
His waking nightmare was over.
Notes from the author: My ‘Open Arms’ Insane Asylum was purely fictitious. There was a real facility named “Hart Island Lunatic Asylum.” Located on Hart Island (also called Hart’s Island) in the easternmost part of the borough of the Bronx, it was built in 1885 exclusively for women. Back in those days, women’s institutions were referred to as ‘lunatic asylums’ while such places for men were called ‘insane asylums.’ The island holds some fascinating, albeit disturbing, history. It was also the home of a Union Civil War prison camp, a tuberculosis sanatorium, a prison workhouse for juvenile delinquents, a missile base, a quarantine zone during the yellow fever epidemic, and the largest tax-funded cemetery in the world. More information may be found online.
Work is complete and will be posted this week in Section VII.
Thank you to my friends who helped beta this story.
Many thanks to Open_channel_d for her kind assist with Russian translations.
Link to Chapters 1, 2, 3, & 4
http://archiveofourown.org/works/4184337/chapters/9449109
Open Arms
Sometimes ghosts from agent’s missions come back to haunt them and Illya’s past is full of them.
Chapter 5
“Illya, you do realize The Children’s Day Affair happened over a year ago?” Napoleon asked.
“I do now.” Illya’s voice was pensive. “And you’re telling me the whole thing took place in an abandoned insane asylum?”
He was in his least-favorite place at headquarters, a bed in Medical. But in this particular instance, he found himself not minding it so much, even with an intravenous drip line stuck in his arm, infusing him with glucose water. Napoleon and Mark were both in the room with him.
Solo shook his head and shrugged. “What can I say? Yvette may have not been a real doctor, but she was an excellent chemist. We have to assume she took the formula for the drug with her to her grave. Our chemists have been trying to extract some of it from a sample of your blood and they haven’t been able to thus far. It’ll make a great truth serum for U.N.C.L.E. if they can manage it. Why we were unable to find a single dose is a mystery.”
Napoleon sighed heavily, took a deep breath and continued. “Waverly’s angry with me for killing her, to say the least. I’ve been assigned to the file room for the next two weeks.”
“Well, I, for one, am rather glad you stopped her when you did,” Illya said gratefully. “Another few millimeters and that drill may have erased my entire Cambridge education or U.N.C.L.E. training...or even my personality.”
Napoleon opened his mouth for a sarcastic remark, but thought the better of it after first sensing and then seeing the sudden icy blue glare cast solely in his direction.
“There are no needle marks on my body, my food must have been laced with the drug...Oh, no,” Illya groaned, reaching up and lightly slapping his own forehead, remembering.
“What?”
“The doctor, I mean ‘Miss’ Rädlsa, handed me the tablets; I simply…took them.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room as all three pondered how powerful a hold she had over Kuryakin.
“Well, I did a little digging, tovarisch. ‘Rädsla’ is the Swedish word for ‘Fear.’ Yvonne and Yvette were of Swedish descent. As it turns out, they were twins, not identical, of course. With her sister dead, Yvette had no reason to stay in Europe. She moved her lab to New York to carry out her revenge by making you her test subject. She brought her lover, a mousy little man by the name of Maximillian Cooper and Captain Jenk’s cousin Zachary, with her.”
“So, Cooper was role-playing, impersonating you? And I believed him.” Kuryakin said.
“Listen, Guv,” Mark spoke up. “All that wench needed to do was tell you Cooper was Napoleon for you to accept it. She told you your back hurt and you experienced pain. She told you that you went to Tony's for dinner or your office at U.N.C.L.E. and you believed you were at Tony's or your office. In reality, you never left that basement.”
“A prison cell without bars,” Illya muttered, eyes cast downwards, offhandedly picking at his blanket. ”How could I have been so weak?”
Napoleon, recognized the anguished tone in his partner’s voice, quickly added, “Never weak, partner mine, just under the influence of a very powerful drug. You’re the most un-weak person I know.” Illya was amused at Solo’s choice of adjective even as he was touched by the compliment.
“Un-weak?” A smile played at the corners of Kuryakin’s mouth.
“Well, you know what I mean.”
”And I shaved my own head?”
Solo chuckled. “It appears that way; from what Zack’s told us and from what we’ve gleaned from Rädsla’s notes. By the way, we found taped dialogue from École Figliano in her desk. The conversation you asked me about, between you and Mother Fear? She must have taken it from the school before U.N.C.L.E.’s Geneva team did their clean-up.”
Illya rubbed the top of his head again, careful as to not disturb the bandages that encircled it. It felt very strange not having any hair, and more than a little chilly.
“It’ll grow back, Old Man,” Mark offered cheekily. He tossed the patient a navy blue toque, not unlike the black one Illya already owned. The bald enforcement agent gratefully accepted it and gingerly placed it on his head.
“You could always wear a wig,” Napoleon mused. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “to cover that hole in your head.” The CEA couldn’t help himself this time and Mark joined him in laughter.
Although the rest of Illya's face was expressionless, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He saw this as the first of many in a long string of jokes at his expense, but he would allow it. He had survived. Napoleon saved him before the drill had reached his brain cavity.
It had been extremely close this time.
Illya was scheduled to meet with an U.N.C.L.E. psychiatrist later in the week as an outpatient to discuss this whole affair. He’d already decided to give his full cooperation, and as much as he dreaded head shrinkers, he needed to put this event behind him and move on.
Mark said his goodnights and took his leave while Napoleon lingered a while longer.
“Doc says you haven’t had any more seizures. That’s a good sign.” His tone was serious.
“Yes,” Illya nodded. “That’s why I was having periods of lost time. As the doctors explained, Rädsla’s drug produced specific alterations in brain chemistry causing abnormal electrical pathways to form. The effects are quite temporary, of course. It’s all quite fascinating. You see, the-”
“Well, I’d better let you get some rest,” Solo quickly interrupted before Kuryakin could go into one of his long-winded tutorials. He dimmed the lights and turned to leave. “They tell me you’ll be released tomorrow.”
Illya nodded again.
“See you in the morning, then,’’ Solo was about to make his way to the door.
“Napoleon?” Kuryakin sat up.
“Hmmm?”
Illya studied his partner’s face in the muted light and was worried. What if I’m still under the effects of the suggestibility drug and how will I be able to trust that anything is real ever again? How can I be sure he’s really my partner?
He contemplated all of this for another moment, searching for the right words, but still not knowing exactly what he needed to say.
But he did know.
He’d said it back at the asylum to the man he wrongly assumed was his closest friend. He’d said it and waited for the familiar response he’d expected, but never came.
Illya repeated those words softly now and then held his breath, waiting.
“Moya zhizn' vsegda v bezopasnosti v tvoikh rukakh.” (My life is always safe in your hands.)
The American smiled at hearing the Russian phrase they’d often used after a particularly dangerous mission. He hesitated, sensing the inner turmoil in Illya’s eyes, the uncertainty in his voice. This was his proud and stoic tovarisch asking for reassurances after a harrowing experience.
Solo stepped closer and reaching out, laid his hand firmly on his partner’s shoulder before he replied, “Tak zhe kak moya v tvoikh.” (As mine is safe in yours.)
Relieved beyond words, Illya simply nodded. With a small smile and sigh he covered Napoleon’s hand with his own.
As the door closed behind his friend, Illya sighed and eased his head down into his pillow. Pulling the warm covers over his shoulders, he turned on his side, finding U.N.C.L.E.’s renowned uncomfortable Medical bed far superior to an autopsy table.
The Rädsla/Fear sisters were dead, the suggestibility drug was out of the hands of THRUSH and…Napoleon was Napoleon. For this moment in time, however brief, he was safe.
Illya closed his eyes and sleep took him a short time later.
His waking nightmare was over.
Notes from the author: My ‘Open Arms’ Insane Asylum was purely fictitious. There was a real facility named “Hart Island Lunatic Asylum.” Located on Hart Island (also called Hart’s Island) in the easternmost part of the borough of the Bronx, it was built in 1885 exclusively for women. Back in those days, women’s institutions were referred to as ‘lunatic asylums’ while such places for men were called ‘insane asylums.’ The island holds some fascinating, albeit disturbing, history. It was also the home of a Union Civil War prison camp, a tuberculosis sanatorium, a prison workhouse for juvenile delinquents, a missile base, a quarantine zone during the yellow fever epidemic, and the largest tax-funded cemetery in the world. More information may be found online.
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He is certainly brave, to be willing to talk to another psychiatrist after all this. Of course, Illya is always logical in his right mind, so he would definitely be the type to reason that the new psychiatrist would be genuine and able to be trusted.
Still sad about the hair, but yes, at least it will grow back!
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Thanks for your very nice comment and for following the story. I have another one up my sleeve and many new plot bunnies in the closet. ;D
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Awesome!
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