"One makes you smaller, the other..."~ for the PicFic Tuesday challenge 8/3

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Napoleon looked down at the figure at his feet, a boy....couldn’t have been more than seventeen, eighteen at the most. “T.H.R.U.S.H. was recruiting them younger and younger nowadays,” he thought, shaking his head in disgust.

There was a pang of guilt trying to invade his insides, but he wouldn’t let it.  It would have, he supposed,  if he’d shot the kid with a live round, but luckily he had a magazine of sleep darts loaded in his Special.

Solo raised his head as he heard the familiar footsteps of his partner rounding the corner, and for a moment Illya poised, looking down at the boy as well.

“Napoleon, they are all children manning this satrap...some as young as fourteen I would venture a guess.”  The look on the Russian’s face told his partner the man was troubled.

“Why must children be the tools of their dastardly schemes, why do they always go for the most innocent?” There was pain evident in his voice as he spoke.

Illya had a soft spot in his heart for children, and seeing them used and abused was one of the few things that would make the Russian lower his guard and let loose his emotions. This momentary lapse was most likely related to his upbringing as a war orphan in the Soviet Union.

That was about as much Napoleon knew regarding his partner’s background, since Illya refused to share much of his past with him. His dossier was redacted, and Solo suspected Waverly had more information on Kuryakin than he was willing to share.

When the Russian did open up, his partner had to ask himself if it was the truth or a fabricated story for his friend to hide behind, preventing anyone from getting too close.  As little as Napoleon knew about him, it was more than anyone else did. He trusted the man implicitly, and didn’t have to know about his past, but sometimes it would be nice if he did get a bone thrown to him now and then by this mysterious Russian.

They were friends, he and the Soviet agent, but the man was still, Napoleon thought of  a quote by Winston Churchill..."a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.’ Yet as Churchill had continued...’perhaps there is a key?  A key that Solo was still looking for to open the door and reveal who Illya Kuryakin truly was.

He answered his partner’s emotional state. “This isn’t the first time T.H.R.U.S.H. has used children, and I’m sure chum, that sadly it won’t be the last. Better we found this satrap before any harm could befall these kids.”

“Yes, agreed,” the Russian nodded,”but what was the underlying purpose of manning the place with mere children? To what end?” There was still a bit of strain in his voice.

“Mere children?” Perhaps not my friend, as who knows what T.H.R.U.S.H. has done to them,” Napoleon said as he dug through the pockets of the unconscious boy at his feet. He extracted a wallet, showing an identification card with the photo of a man, James Rader, who was nearly forty years of age.

Solo looked between the boy, and the photograph, noting eerily familiar facial characteristics between the two, and pointed them out to his partner.

“Father and son perhaps?” Illya shrugged.

“I’m not so sure about that tovarisch,” Napoleon’s voice was colored with doubt.

The UNCLE agents checked each of the unconscious children, finding the same uncanny resemblance between them and the photo ID they each carried.

“Are they really children?” Napoleon suddenly asked.”Or has T.H.R.U.S.H. yet again found a way of rejuvenating people?”

“That scheme has never succeeded for them,” Illya said, “Their subjects have all returned to their true age, and I might add, with dire consequences.”

“But what if this time they’ve succeeded? Just think of it....an army of young T.H.R.U.S.H. agents, all the experience of a lifetime under their belts and not hindered by age. That could be quite formidable my friend.”

“Agreed,” Illya pursed his lips. “Perhaps it is time we get a cleanup team in here and have these ‘so called’ children taken to headquarters for medical examinations and interrogations. In the meantime, we should search for a lab to see if what was used on them is being manufactured here.”

They gathered up the sleeping bodies of a dozen young people, locking them in a secure room until the team arrived, and split up, going in search of the lab.

Illya found it first, contacting his partner via communicator, while he examined a notebook left laying atop one of the tables.  As he thumbed through it, he failed to notice a young girl crawling out from behind one of the work stations, a syringe in her hand.

She jabbed it into his back, injecting him with a red liquid. Illya turned, and in one fluid motion withdrew his gun and fired a sleep dart at her, knocking the girl out in seconds.

Kuryakin reached pulling the needle from his neck, with some of the liquid remaining in the vile and he placed it carefully on the the work bench.  He began to feel a massive pressure throughout his body; it was if he were going to explode.

Pulling his communicator, he barely had time to utter a plea for help to Napoleon before dropping to the floor and passing out.

Several minutes later, Solo arrived, having homed in on his partner’s signal.

“Illya?” He called out, searching the room, but finding only two children laying on the floor.  He thought they’d found all of them?

A second later, it struck him, one of those children was dressed in a black suit, that was swimming on him. He was blond, looking about eight years old and had an uncanny resemblance to... no, it couldn’t be him?  Yet the communicator laying by the boys side and a Special in his hand, told Napoleon it had to be his partner.

He quickly knelt down, brushing the long blond locks out of Illya’s eyes, giving him a gentle tap on the cheek.  “Illya it is you? Wake up buddy.”

There was a barely perceptible moan as a pair of bright blue eyes slowly opened.

“Napoleon?” A higher pitched childs voice spoke.

Illya looked at the piles of clothing covering him and pushed his hand through his sleeve, guiding it amidst the folds of cloth to his throbbing  head, but stopped in mid-motion as he saw the size of that hand. He held it out in front of him, turning it around and examining it visually.  It was a familiar image, though one he hadn’t seen in many many years.

“What happened tovarisch?” He helped the boy sit up, as his partner struggled to maneuver amidst his too large clothing.

“Apparently we missed one of them,” he said, pointing to the girl laying on the floor beside him with a sleep dart protruding from her neck.”She injected me with what no doubt is their youth formula, presuming that she wanted to even out the odds a bit with me...though she did not anticipate me having a gun with sleep darts.”

“The syringe with a small amount of the formula remaining in it is on the table above my head.”

Napoleon stood, spotting the needle along with a bottle containing a bright blue liquid labeled ‘drink me.’ Instinctively, he tucked that into his pocket, not saying a word, and picked up the syringe, depositing it in a carry case to be taken to headquarters for analysis, along with a lone notebook.

“What the hell have they done now?” He muttered as his communicator chirped, distracting him.

“Clean up team is here Mr. Solo.”

He directed them to where the children could be found as well as the remaining girl in the lab.

“I want them taken to Medical Detention, and get blood tests on them as well as finger prints. I want to know who they are.  When they’re awake and well enough, start interrogating them....gently. And sweep the building to make sure we haven’t missed anyone else. Solo out.” He turned his attention back to his diminutive partner.

“Can you stand Illya?”

“Yes, I am fine...I think,” the Russian attempted to rise, but quickly found himself dizzy and encumbered by his own clothing.

“Hmm, that was not a good idea, perhaps I should remain sitting for a moment,” the voice sounded like Illya Kuryakin, but didn’t.

“Hang on chum, I’ll see if I can find you something that fits a little better.” Napoleon  spotted lockers off to the side of the room and quickly located a tee shirt and a pair of pants that would do. He let Illya set about changing his clothes, but the Russian needed help as he was unable to maintain his balance.

“Nyet,” he protested as his partner tried to help undress him.

“Fine, fall on your ass then.”

Illya relented, letting Solo dress him like a helpless child.  It was most embarrassing, though he said nothing.

“There you go,” Napoleon concluded as the shirt was pulled over Illya’s head and into place. It was still a little large, but not as much as the Russian’s own clothing. Illya even as a child was as almost painfully thin, just as he was as an adult, but the face, the wide blue eyes and blond hair were the same.  He looked so sad, a cherubic face that would break a mother’s heart.

“Gotta say chum, you haven’t changed much...” Solo smiled.

“Shut up, “ Illya’s voice squeaked. He staggered again but this time Napoleon offered a solution.

“Up you go tovarisch, I’ll carry you.”

“I refuse,” came another protest.

“Well you can’t exactly walk, can you?”

The look on Illya’s face became one of stubborn resignation as he permitted the American to pick him up in his arms.  Though once there, the Russian suddenly felt very safe, the same feeling he once had as a child being held in his father’s arms.

As they headed out the door, Illya whispered to his friend. “Please, do not tell anyone it is me?”

“No problem pal. We’ll get you to Medical and back to normal quicker that you can say...” His sentence went unfinished as Napoleon realized Illya had laid his head on his shoulder, and just as a child would, fallen fast asleep.

“You’re a really are a cute kid,” Solo smiled, gently stroking the back of his partner’s blond head.

.

Napoleon secreted the young Kuryakin into headquarters, taking him up to medical to be examined and when that task was completed,  he headed back down to give Alexander Waverly his report.

Once he’d greeted Lisa Rogers, his presence was announced and the conference room doors opened silently.  The CEA walked to the table, finding the Old Man occupied with a stack of files in front of him.  He waited a moment to be acknowledged, with his hands clasped behind his back and finally cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’m aware you’re here Mr. Solo, please be seated.”

Napoleon sat at his usual chair at the circular table, folding his hands and waiting patiently until the CCO was finished with the particular file in his hand.

“Now,” Waverly cleared his throat, “What have you to report?”

Napoleon filled him in on the happenings at the satrap as well as Illya’s predicament.

He held out the near empty syringe and the bottle with the blue liquid.” I have these sir, apparently there were no other samples of the formula. R & D is trying to decipher notes that we found in the lab.  Medical is running tests on the children.”

“Very good Mr. Solo, see to it those samples are analyzed as quickly as possible.”

“Yes sir, “Napoleon nodded, and left to head to the Research and Development section.”

Though the liquid in the syringe was barely enough, it would have to do. The blue vial at least offered them more to test.

It took several days to complete the chemical analysis and it was found the bottle labeled ‘drink me’ was in fact a formula to reverse the de-aging process.  The red liquid injected into Agent Kuryakin was found, like all THRUSH formulas, to be deficient.

After deciphering the notebook, it was discovered that those administered the substance would return to their correct physical age within a few months. The subjects could not be given the formula again, as their bodies could not tolerate another change, and it would kill them. T.H.R.U.S.H. had again failed in formulating a lasting youth serum.

Though it might have had some applications, that point was rendered moot since U.N.C.L.E. now had the formula and all the paperwork pertaining to it and would be safely locked away in File 40.

The antidote was deemed safe, and after R & D duplicated enough quantities of it, Illya insisted upon drinking it immediately, as he in no way wished to wait months to return to his normal self.

Napoleon along with several doctors and nurses stood by Illya’s bedside as he downed the irridescent blue liquid in one gulp; Research and Development deeming the size of the glass bottle held the proper dosage. It was almost eerie to see the young Russian slowly return to his adult size in a matter of minutes; his body stretching beneath the sheets that were covering him, though not without some discomfort.

The medical staff quickly checked his vitals and temperature, questioning Illya on how he felt, and warned him not to lie.

“Fine, and I am telling you the truth. There is no more pain, and I appear to be back to normal.”

When the examination was complete, Napoleon finally smiled, ”So tovarisch, why wouldn’t you have wanted to enjoy being a kid again, even if just for a few days?”

“No thank you. My life at the age of eight was, shall we say….not good.  Being a child  again brought back too many painful memories. That is all I will say on the matter.”

The doctors judged Illya fit, releasing him from Medical. The Russians clothing was brought in, and this time he had no trouble dressing himself.

Napoleon lifted the empty vial from the table, staring at it for a second.“One makes you bigger, the other makes you smaller…” he whispered.

“What did you say my friend?” Illya stood, completely dressed now.

“I was paraphrasing a line from Alice in Wonderland, it seemed appropo to the situation.”

Illya cocked his eyebrow, snapping at his partner. “The fantasies of Lewis Carroll  hardly apply... I think. This was reality, and a very dangerous one at that.”

“Oh I see you’re back to your usual cheerful self, chum.”

“Sorry, I am just hungry, may we go get some lunch. They did not feed me very well here.”

“What, green jello again?”

“But of course.”

They walked out of Medical together, as if had been just another day and unfazed by what had happened.

Though thwarting THRUSH had become almost routine to them, still they never let down their guard, these Men from U.N.C.L.E.

Comments

Re: Newsletter for Friday, September 6th

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