section7mfu | Remembering the Sweet

For HODOWE/Sweetest Day
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"What's that in your hand?" Napoleon could see a small box in his partner's hand, and a scowl on the Russian's face.

"I believe it is another box of candy. Emily from Translations handed it to me and kissed me on the cheek." Illya looked slightly bewildered by all of the attention he'd been receiving. Some strange date on the calendar had apparently given all of the women at Headquarters the right to fondle him and shove boxes of candy at him.

"It is Sweetest Day tovarisch, a benign little holiday concocted by candy salesmen. The girls just want an excuse to see what you're made of." Napoleon was enjoying his friend's discomfort; all of this attention was taxing to the young man from the Soviet Union.

"But it is entirely too familiar, Napoleon. This type of thing would never happen…"

"Back in the USSR? Back in that frigid, stoic society that frowns on individual expressionism?' Illya looked slightly discomfited from that description, although he mentally assented to its accuracy. Russians were stoic and stiff, but they were also warm and loving among those who were trusted and treasured.

"You're in America my friend, land of the emerging social revolution that says women can be as bold as men in their pursuit of … well, whatever it is they want. I think that's pretty sweet."

"Yes, I have been observing this newfound freedom since I arrived, especially since the past two years. Woodstock seems to have open the flood gates for women in varying degrees of freedom and decidedly inappropriate demonstrations of their new found liberties."

Napoleon smiled and shook his head.

"Are you telling me that you, for all of your rhetoric about the socialist state and merits of revolution against any ruling class that isn't 'the people'… you don't approve of this women's movement?

He was caught. Of course Illya supported every individual's right to attain more freedom of action, but was that the Socialist agenda he had been taught? The Soviet Union suppressed freedom. of that he was not ignorant nor was he in denial. But social mores accomplished more than suppression, they were standards by which a society could measure itself and its progress. To do away with all of it and declare that a freedom… something wasn't right but he dare not say what he really thought.

"All I am saying is that these women do not know me, and their gifts and the expectation of feigned intimacy is, is…', he saw the questioning look on Napoleon's face and it made him grimace.

"It is disturbing."

"Disturbing?"

"Yes, I find it disturbing." Napoleon exhaled a long held sigh.

"It's only a little holiday Illya. They don't mean anything by it, it's just, well it's like Valentine's day but not."

"It is but it isn't? Which is it? What do they expect from me? Are you giving out little boxes of candy?" Napoleon shook his head. Why did he get into these conversations with Illya?

"No, I am not, but apparently the girls all decided that they would and so there you have it. Boxes of candy and a kiss on the cheek or a hug or.. whatever. Harmless."

Illya recognized the heightened color in his friend's complexion, wondered if this really held so much importance that it could trigger that flush of anger.

"Fine, I shall accept the candy and say thank you."

Napoleon enjoyed the attention, why couldn't his grumpy partner?

"So, how many boxes do you have anyway? I don't guess that many of the ladies here in Headquarters are brave enough to give you…" He stopped speaking as Illya opened a cabinet door above the sofa in their shared office; it was full.

"Eighty-three last count."

"Eighty -three? I didn't think we had that many women working here." How the heck did Illya collect that many boxes of candy?

"How many do you have? More I suppose."

"I don't know, I haven't counted.'He snorted, as though counting was beneath him. He had of course, counted.

"Really Illya, you counted them? Oh well, just think of all the money you'll save." Napoleon turned towards the door and started to leave, calling over his shoulder…"Meeting with Mr. Waverly in thirty minutes, I'll meet you there."

Illya closed the cabinet door, contemplating the candy, the conversation and the silly holiday that had provoked all of it.

"Sweetest Day…" His mind drifted unintentionally back to his childhood, to the sound of his father's violin and his mother singing along in her bell like soprano. Those days were sweet, and the memory of them suddenly made Illya think that this holiday might be celebrated in their honor. It changed his mood, and soon he was humming along to the imaginary accompaniment.

"Sweetest Day to you Mama, and to you Papa."

Every year after that Illya Kuryakin bought one box of candy in memory of his parents; candy that he enjoyed while listening to the music of his youth, with the images of his sweetest days playing out in his imagination.