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section7mfu2018-09-06 07:32 pm
Private Passions- an Illya story- posting for gevr who wanted to read it.
Things had been very quiet for the past week at UNCLE headquarters, nothing on the radar that required the presence of Napoleon Solo or Illya Kuryakin. There were plenty of Section II agents in the field, and ready to step up to the plate if needed.
This lull gave the partners the opportunity to catch up on their paperwork, which was always behind, but at last they were both staring at empty in boxes and took to reorganizing their file cabinets. That took up little time.
Napoleon sat at his desk, playing with a box of paperclips as was often his habit when bored. Illya up to this point had his nose buried in some sort of journal, also his standard fall back when there was downtime.
He put away his magazine in his desk drawer with a sigh of boredom, stood and stretched his arms above his head.
“I think I am going outside for some fresh air,” Illya announced.
Napoleon looked up at him, scrunching up his face in concern. “You do remember it’s around ten degrees?
“And I will be wearing my hat, gloves, coat and scarf Mama.”
Napoleon snickered at the smart remark.
Illya gathered his outerwear and disappeared out the office door.
Napoleon started emptying his desk, piling everything on top, and surprising himself at finding things he’d been looking for...a tie clip and cufflinks, a half dozen pieces of paper with women’s phone numbers scribbled on him.
When his task was finished, it gave him pause to realize Illya hadn’t returned. Looking at his watch; he saw it was near quitting time, as there was no late night desk duty assigned to them.
He picked up the telephone receiver, calling Security.
“Yes Mr. Solo, how can I help you?” A male voice answered.
“Is Mr. Kuryakin in the building?”
There was a momentary pause. “No sir, he left headquarters over an hour ago. He signed out for the day.”
“Thank you.” Napoleon raised his eyebrows, surprised Illya had said nothing about leaving. He shrugged his shoulders, not thinking much of it as he gathered his own coat and hat. His mind shifted to his date with Yvonne that evening,
The next day near the end of the workday, Illya again disappeared without a word, and it happened the following day as well.
It was obvious he wasn’t about to say what he was up to, so the next time he took off, Solo was ready for him, and followed Kuryakin at a fair distance, knowing the Russian was very adept at sensing when he was being trailed.
Illya was carrying what looked like a large shoe box with him as he headed down East 42nd St. making a left onto Fifth Avenue and finally a right onto West 40th.
He walked into Bryant Park, of all places, and for a brief second a fear hit Napoleon’s gut...his partner might be meeting with someone, perhaps the KGB.
Solo told himself that just wasn’t possible, not Illya. He couldn’t have turned double agent as he loved UNCLE and the freedoms he enjoyed here in New York. But still, he wondered why the Russian was being so clandestine...well, Illya was always a bit secretive about what he did after work but this was different.
Napoleon continued to follow his partner as his direction took them down to the ice-skating rink and there he watched Kuryakin sit down on one of the benches; looking out at the people swirling and gliding on the ice.
He reached for the box he’d carried and opened it, and much to Napoleon’s relief, he saw his partner take out a pair of ice skates. Illya put them on, laced them up tightly, and stepped out tentatively onto the ice.
He skated gracefully, simply waltzing along until he picked up speed and did a leap into the air, turning and landing without a hitch.
Solo watched at a distance for a few more minutes, seeing a look of serenity on his partner’s face as he moved among the other skaters moving about the ice.
Someone was dressed as a Santa Claus and he watched with a chuckle as Illya circled and spun around a very limber St. Nick; the two doing a little routine to amuse some nearby children who laughed and clapped with glee.
Napoleon left, tucking his hands in his pocket, and tuning up his wool coat collar; just feeling a little guilty he’d doubted Illya for even a second. Yet he was glad he’d followed the Russian, just to see his usually somber partner innocently enjoying himself.
He wouldn’t say anything, deciding to let it be Illya’s private little passion.
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Glad you enjoyed it!
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I posted it for her as she wanted to read it, since Illya ice skating came up in the Section VII 'Yard Sale' today.
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