"Snip Snip" for the impromptu challenge

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Illya's long hair was the prompt for the challenge.

They grabbed him from behind and pulled him into an alleyway not far from Del Floria’s Tailor Shop.  The Russian struggled to free himself but there were just too many of them, four to be precise and all wearing masks.

He presumed them to be T.H.R.U.S.H. but instead of knocking him out or killing him, Illya found himself held down. He had no idea what they were going to do to him; an injection perhaps?

They pulled at his hair and next thing he knew someone produced scissors and began chopping away at his long hair.  Once that was done he heard the sound of an electric razor, but not the kind to cut hair, the kind of one with which you shaved your beard.

“Damn, his hair is tangling up in the blades,” one of them barked.

“Then cut it shorter with the scissors," another answered.

Illya recognized those voices, and simply relaxed and let them go about their work. When they were done, they dropped him to the cold ground with the remnants of his blond locks scattered about him, and disappeared into the night.

Kuryakin didn’t run after them. He didn’t have to. There would be a way to identify them.

He ran his fingers across his now tender scalp, and for a brief moment he felt terribly sad. His hair, it was the only connection he had to his late mother. He had the same blonde hair as she, though she wore it much longer. That’s why Illya kept his hair the way he did, in memory of his beloved mother Tanya.

He picked himself up, dusted off his clothes and headed off to headquarters.

Del, standing at the steam press, greeted him with a shocked look at his appearance but said nothing. Once inside Wanda gasped at his butchered hair.

“Illya what happened?”

“I was attacked and this is the result, if you could please call Security for me?” That’s all he would say for now.

Two agents from Section V arrived and escorted Kuryakin to their office where they immediately viewed tapes of anyone entering  headquarters just prior to Illya’s arrival.

“Five men from Section III arrived within minutes of each other. The two who Illya had heard speak were quickly identified. The other three would have to be questioned.”

Solo walked into Security and was about to laugh when he saw Illya’s shorn head. “Tovarisch, I know Mr. Waverly’s been bugging you to get a haircut, but isn’t that carrying things a bit far?”

“It was not by choice. I was attacked in the alley around the corner by some of our fellow employees. They did this to me."

Napoleon’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Any idea who they were?”

“Two of the four, but three agents who entered Headquarters before I arrived are in question.

Solo looked like he was ready to explode, but he held in his anger. He ordered Security to put the two me identified by Illya into a holding cell, the other three were segregated, each in a separate interrogation room. Napoleon would handle their questioning personally.

“I will do it,”Illya protested.

“No, you stay out of it. I’m CEA and I’ll take care of it, period. You go up to Medical and have them clean up your head, they have electric razors there that’ll do the trick. When you’re done, just go to our office and wait for me there. Understood? Wait," he turned to one of the Security agents. "Anyone have a cap he can use?"

"Here Napoleon, I have a Yankees baseball cap, will that do?"

Illya ran his hand across his head. “All right, if you insist.”

Solo headed down to interrogation.Entering the first room, he pulled up a chair opposite Agent Francis Cox.

“Napoleon what’s going on?”

“You tell me?”

Cox seemed to have no clue, or he was very good at acting the part of the innocent.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what? Will you please tell me what you’re talking about?” Cox seemed a bit more nervous now.

“I will say one word...Kuryakin.”

That did it; Cox knew he was sunk. “It was just a joke, we were teaching him a lesson. He acts like he’s better than everyone else. He doesn’t get a regulation haircut like the rest of us. And we heard Mr. Waverly is always after him to get it cut.”

“So you thought you’d take it upon yourselves to do it.”

“Like I said it was a joke.”

“Really funny Cox. You realize you just assaulted a Section II agent, and your superior. You’ll be lucky to have any kind of career with U.N.C.L.E. If you do, I wouldn't be surprise if Mr. Waverly stations you in Iceland...permanently."

Francis lowered his head. “Gee, Napoleon I’m sorry.”

“Not going to do you much good at this point. Now tell me the names of your co conspirators?”

Cox sang like a canary.

Napoleon left, ordering the fifth and innocent man to be freed, though no explanation was given. Solo headed to his office and there he found his partner waiting patiently.

“Well that at least looks a little better,” he eyed Illya’s buzz cut. “You’ll be happy to know we've identified the remaining culprits. At this point they could possibly be drummed out of U.N.C.L.E.  for assaulting you."

Illya shook his head. "No I think not.”

“But they attacked a fellow agent.”

“Perhaps teaching them a lesson might be better served?”

“What sort of lesson?” Napoleon squinted at him.

“We should pass that by Mr. Waverly first as I am sure he is already away of what happened. He does seem to know everything does he not my friend?" Illya continued to rub his head, before covering it again with the hat.

Solo and Kuryakin did just that, and the Old Man heartily approved of the Russian’s suggestion. He thought the lesson would help these Section III agent mature, though they'd be warned they were on probation.

The next day Napoleon and Illya met with the four guilty culprits who had each in turn admitted to their transgression and apologized to Kuryakin.

As punishment, Illya pulled out a pair of electric clippers and gave each of the men their own buzz cut.

“Let it serve as a reminder to respect others, and not judge them or presume to know the reasons why a person does or does not do something. The reason for this haircut is not to be discussed with anyone. Understood?”  Kuryakin gave them one of his icy blue eyed stares, enough to frighten the worst of his enemies.

“Yes sir,” they answered in unison; each of them rubbing their bald heads with their hands.

The partners left the men, and headed to wardrobe, and there Illya was fitted with a wig with a near perfect style and color that matched his own hair.  Only a few would know it wasn’t Kuryakin’s real hair. That would do for now.

“You know it’s going to itch once it starts to grow in,” Napoleon whispered.

“I can live with that,” Illya winked.