section7mfu | "Yesterday" for the Short Affair Challenge 2/1/16 (Reply)

Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word #1 - Yesterday

-Prompt Colour – Red

Author: mrua7

Title: Yesterday

Word Count: Approximately 720

Illya Kuryakin usually kept himself busy when in headquarters. If he wasn’t at his desk typing up reports, he was reading one of his science journals or he was down in the labs of Research and Development tinkering with some sort of experiment.

Eating in the Commissary wasn’t keeping busy to him, that was indulging himself in the private passion of enjoying his food. Sometimes when he let his mind wander, he wondered if he could learn how to cook properly someday, that is other than the survival method of roasting meat on a spit over a campfire, to which he was very accustomed.

Most of his meals when home in New York were courtesy of the Commissary, take out orders, or dinner at his partner’s place.

He once toyed with the idea of learning to become a chef, learning the intricacies of it was getting close to retirement. Illya tossed away that idea as silly, thinking he would probably not live to retire from the field anyway.

Today though, was a day out of the ordinary as the busy Kuryakin was simply doing nothing. He was sitting alone at the back table usually occupied by himself and his partner.

There was a white ceramic mug of tea sitting in front of him, but it had long since gotten cold. The Russian had his elbow on the table with his chin resting in his hand, seemingly lost in a daydream.

One of the secretaries had come in to eat her lunch and was sporting a red neckerchief draped round her throat, that trivial thing made him think about something he hadn’t dwelled upon in a very long time.

Yet it seemed like only yesterday that he was in the orphanage back in Moskva.

“Kuryakin!” One of the matrons bellowed at him.” Chto vy mechtayet o nyne mal'chik! What do you dream about now boy! Scrub that floor, and quickly, or you'll feel my belt again. Will you never learn? "

The heavy set woman raised her arm, a wide leather strop in her hand, poised to come down upon his back.

“YA sozhaleyu Tovarishch Smirnova. YA budu rabotat' bystro.” He promised to work fast, pausing as he knelt on the floor with a stiff bristle brush in his small hands. He looked up at her, hoping to beg for mercy with his eyes, as he daren’t ask her not to hit him. Illya quickly dunked the brush in a nearby bucket of soapy water and began to furiously scrub the tiled floor.

Something made her hesitate, and Illya hoped it was his eyes that did it. He’d given her a sad puppy dog look, one that he had learned to perfect, among others. It wouldn’t be the first time a matron had fallen victim to his blue-eyed gaze .

Comrade Smirnova lowered her arm. “Just get the work done; the moppers are waiting for you to finish the hall. When you are done with this one, do the foyer too as some fool tracked in mud. The Director will be angry if he sees it.”

“Da, Comrade.”

“And straighten that neckerchief of yours boy.”

“Da Comrade.” Illya quickly repositioned the red bandana wrapped round his neck. It was the one new piece of clothing he owned, everything else he had was nothing but hand me downs, often threadbare and ill fitting.

He wore that neckerchief with pride until the day he left the orphanage going to a very different life, a life that eventually led him here to UNCLE.

Kuryakin went back to his office, still lost in thought. He sat down at his desk and from the bottom drawer he withdrew a small manila envelope containing a neatly folded bit of red cloth.

“What’s that? ”Solo waltzed in from the corridor, spying the object in his partner’s hand.

Illya quickly ducked the neckerchief into his pocket. “Oh nothing, just a memory, a bit of yesterday I suppose."

Napoleon didn’t bother asking what that meant, at least not for now.

“We’re wanted in Mr. Waverly’s office. A new assignment.”

Illya stood, but bent over and tucked the bandana back into the envelope, shoving it into the drawer for safekeeping, away from prying eyes.