"The Shape of Things To Come"~ for the UNCLE Firsts Challenge.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

He couldn’t mask the sound of his footfalls as he moved slowly along the sidewalk; sand and grit crunched under his shoes no matter how softly he tred. So far it looked as though he hadn’t been followed and he heard no other sound.

Napoleon Solo huffed as he was annoyed that his new partner, an agent recruited from the Soviet Union by Mr. Waverly, was no where to be seen or heard. This was their first official assignment together, but the man was an unknown to Solo in many ways, an enigma and now the mystery man had abandoned him. Luckily it was only a milk run...a courier pickup, though things could still go wrong on during the simplest of assignments.

“So much for keeping an open mind about his new partner,” Solo groused to himself.

He’d pulled Kuryakin aside in headquarters after their quick briefing for the assignment in Waverly’s conference room, laying down the rules of the game, which he had the right to do...being the senior agent.

His Soviet partner replied, raising an eyebrow…. “We will see.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Napoleon didn’t bother to ask.

Their first official meeting only a week ago had initially been a bit tense...too much testosterone in the room from what Napoleon could gather. There was the usual bristling as they sized each other up like a couple of tomcats, though that was the worst of it.

Solo had heard about the man, and knew he could be a bit difficult to get along with, but that really wasn’t a concern. Napoleon knew that he could be a pain in the ass himself.

He wasn’t going to let the fact the shaggy-haired blond was a Soviet and a card carrying Communist bother him; that’s not what U.N.C.L.E. was all about; though there were some in the Command who were less willing to leave politics at the front door when it came to certain foreign employees.

Illya Kuryakin was an U.N.C.L.E. agent and should therefore be shown respect, if just for that reason alone. He was a trained operative and knew what he was doing; that was clear enough from the records of his assignments. He got the job done, though apparently he rubbed people the wrong way while doing so.

His mere presence seemed to intimidate people. All the more reason why he remained aloof, keeping quiet and to himself. Rumor was that he was as cold as a frozen fish, rude and arrogant.

Not the kind of guy you'd want for a partner, those were the types who tended to watch out for themselves and no one else. The word pinko and Commie were muttered a lot and no one wanted to talk to the Russian unless they had to.

Solo ignored all that; no use passing judgement on someone he didn't even know.

They'd never been formally introduced until that fateful day in Waverly’s  conference room.

Kuryakin was standing there, silhouetted by the light from the office window behind him, dressed in a black suit and black turtleneck, making him look pencil thin. He wasn't that tall or the fact that he really was pretty skinny. That mop of blond hair on his head made him look more like a kid.

It was those blue eyes of his that struck Napoleon the most. Icy cold, yet his face remained passive and emotionless. It was easy to see why people had dubbed him the not too complimentary nickname of ‘Ice Prince.’

At first there was the initial bristling as testosterone filled the air; they were two very different men standing there sizing up each other like a pair of tomcats.

Napoleon chose not to let those feelings or what he’d heard color his opinion.

That was when he offered the Russian his hand. As Kuryakin returned the greeting, he let slip a shy crooked smile, and those cold blue eyes instantly warmed, almost changing color.

The minute he and the Russian shook hands that day in Waverly’s conference room, the American had a feeling about the guy, a good feeling.

Still, being prudent, Napoleon read Kuryakin’s personal dossier; he was not your typical agent, having a scientific background...doctorate in quantum physics, a linguist, pretty much what you would call an egghead. The guy kept to himself, being a stranger in an unwelcoming environment. In a way Solo didn't blame him.

He’d been with U.N.C.L.E. three years, spent mostly in England, with a brief stint in West Berlin. That meant he survived working with Harry Beldon, a feat not always easily achieved. Harry was a master of manipulation when it came to his people, but Solo had a suspicion the Russian hadn’t fit so well under Beldon’s thumb as he appeared to be too independent.

Given Illya’s Soviet background, he knew what it was like to be controlled; Harry was probably a rank amateur compared to the Kremlin, at least that’s was Solo’s presumption.

Perhaps because Illya and Beldon both came from the same part of the world made Kuryakin wise to a man of Harry’s ways. Who knew…

Waverly’s transferring Kuryakin to New York didn’t sit well with Harry, but apparently it did with the Russian. Perhaps he’d reached critical mass with Beldon and the Old Man simply came to his Soviet acquisitions rescue. He apparently had plans for Illya, but those as of yet had not been made known. The Old Man was the chess master, and at all times he was many moves ahead of his people.

Prior to joining the Command, Kuryakin had served aboard a submarine in the Soviet navy, and was a member of the Soviet military intelligence referred to as the GRU… dubbed that since the name in Russian was a bit of a tongue twister. There was minimal personal information prior to his military service, which Solo found strange, that as well as how Waverly had managed to recruit an agent from the Soviet Union. It was all hush-hush and the details of which were kept in the Old Man’s private files. Eyes only, but Solo didn’t have the clearance to see those files...yet.

Apparently Kuryakin had no family, but that made him a typical candidate for the world of espionage; the Kremlin liked to recruit orphans for their spies, as did every other country. Yet in the case of the Soviets if an agent had family, those relations were often kept under close scrutiny as hostages, lest the operative try some monkey business, such as defection.

Illya wore a gold wedding ring, though he switched it from time to time from his left hand to his right. Was he married? Did he have a wife who was being held captive back in Moscow?

Napoleon didn’t know if that was true or not as the Russian's lips were closed tighter than a clam.  When the man did speak it was cryptic and evasive; it was often hard to tell whether Kuryakin was telling the truth or a cleverly crafted lie.

As to his loyalty, well if the man was good enough for Waverly to bring on board, then he was good enough for the likes of Napoleon Solo.

The Old Man had partnered the Soviet with other agents, but they hadn’t work out very well as the Russian seemed to prefer to work alone and unencumbered by others.

Solo had the same issues with partners himself, so it remained to be seen if  working with the Russian would be successful or not.  He wondered why Waverly had paired the two of them, given they were both loners, but things were what they were. Time to make the best of it.

There was no question Solo would do right by his new partner but only time would tell if Illya Kuryakin would do the same for him.

It made all the difference in the world when you knew the man with whom you were working had your back but at the moment Solo wasn’t so sure of that.

Napoleon stopped walking as he reached the entrance to the alleyway where he was supposed to make the pickup. It was an easy assignment, one meant by Mr. Waverly to slowly ease the two agents into their new partnership.

This was an unfamiliar contact, and that made Solo a little wary. It would have been nice to know where Kuryakin was, and Napoleon hoped the man was just behind him, hiding in the shadows not making a sound, but he was beginning to have his doubts. Maybe the Russian felt the assignment was beneath him.  Either way he was going to have a good talk with the man after this.

He smiled to himself, thinking the fellow always being dressed in black would make him good at being invisble. There was a seed of hope that’s what Kuryakin was simply doing.

“Mr. Solo?” The contact called from the alley.

“Yes?”

“The cricket match is on.”

That was the correct code phrase.”But only in the Red Queen’s garden,” Napoleon gave the proper response, an appropriate code since the contact’s name was Mr. Alice.

“Could you come closer Mr. Solo? Our voices are carrying too much for comfort.

He moved slowly towards the voice, finally seeing a large man in the dim light with a package tucked under his arm. As Napoleon studied the  shadowy figure more closely he realized there was a gun in his hand, and it was pointed straight at him.

“Say your prayers UNCLE agent,” Alice hissed.

There unexpected sound of a silenced gunshot cut the air; a bullet hitting the contact right between the eyes, and Napoleon watched as the man crumpled to the ground with a muffled thud. He drew is Special and ducked, anticipating more gunfire.

A thick rope dropped from above, hanging beside the American, and down it slid Kuryakin. He released his grip, standing next to Solo.

“The real courier is lying dead in the rear of the alley,” Illya said while brushing his hands together.

“Where were you?”

“I was following you along the roof tops. I thought the view would be more advantageous should any problems arise.”

“Ugh...good thinking Kuryakin, though we need to work on your communication skills;  next time it would be better if you told me what you’re going to do. By the way, thanks for having my back.”

Illya nodded his blond head. “That is part of my job, is it not?”

Solo wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. If he said yes, then it would trivialize Kuryakin’s act. If he said no, then it might insult the man.

Instead Napoleon flashed a wide smile.”I’d do the same for you too...tovarisch.”

Kuryakin thought it odd an American would call him that, and nodded in return, saying nothing else.

“Come on,” Solo picked up the package from the ground.” He looked at his wristwatch noting the time…8 o’clock. Looks like he wouldn’t make his dinner date with Shirley after all.  He took his cigarette case- communicator from his pocket, opened it and called headquarters to report the situation.

When finished he looked to his new partner, cocking one eyebrow. ’We’ll wait across the street at Glatts Deli for the cleanup crew to arrive. Apparently they’re a little busy tonight.  You hungry...I’ll buy.”

This time the Russian openly smiled. “Always.”

This was a first as no one Illya worked with had ever offered to buy him a meal. Was it Solo merely repaying him for watching his back? Most likely yes, but who was he to refuse free food, for whatever the reason?

While they crossed the street to the deli, he remained silent; lost in thought regarding his new partner, speculating that perhaps this one was different from all the others.

As a prudent spy, Kuryakin had checked out Solo’s dossier and found it satisfactory. The man was a highly successful agent, but unorthodox and off the cuff in his strategies. Solo liked to bend the rules, where as Illya liked rules; he liked doing things in a logical way.

The man had a penchant for the ladies, something that could lead to potential problems, but they would be dealt with only if Illya deemed it necessary. As long as these dalliances did not interfere with the success of a mission, what did he care about how many women Napoleon Solo chased after and bedded? It was a weakness and every man had one.

Kuryakin reminded himself of his own foibles; his fear of dogs was his biggest issue, though if he set his mind to it; it could be controlled. However, could Solo control his libido? That remained to be seen...

The American agent was more than competent; Illya recalled hearing the name Napoleon Solo as far back as UNCLE Survival School.  Solo had set the standard that every recruit after him strove to achieve. Kuryakin on the other hand wasn’t satisfied with that; his goal was to break the records set by the American, and in many’s the case he did so.

Now however, was not a competition and he would do right by his new partner, the first man who treated him as an equal and he suspected, cared nothing for his politics.

Perhaps partnership with this Amerikanskii wasn’t going to be so bad after all?

Comments

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

This was really good. I loved the actual mission, and Illya deciding correctly that going across the rooftops would be better for watching Napoleon's back. And sidenote, but I wonder whether he gets better at communication, or Napoleon gets better at anticipating. And their thoughts on each other seemed so absolutely plausible. Not certain, not trusting, but still respecting each other's skills and willing to give each other the benefit of the doubt. Really nice.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

That was so well put, especially what you said about questioning whether Illya' gets better at communication, or Napoleon gets better at anticipating.

Thank you so much for the comment and finding this plausible!