section7mfu | "Déjà vu"~ for the PicFic Tuesday Challenge, February 11th.

The frigid air burned his lungs as he inhaled, but that was the least of his worries as he periodically turned his head to see how close his pursors were behind him.

He could hear the baying of their hounds, the shouts echoing; they were not far off as he leapt over downed trees and ducked beneath low-lying branches.

It had snowed not long ago, and Illya knew they didn’t need to use the dogs to find him. His trail was obvious, and since he had no way of hiding it or himself; keeping moving was his only option.

Bursting out from among the trees; he found himself at the edge of an open meadow.

“Chyort!” Illya swore under his breath. There was no where to go….he couldn’t double back as he would surely run right into the T.H.R.U.S.H. goons who were after him. They not only wanted the documents he’d stolen, but most likely wanted to smash his head in for the physical damage he’d inflicted upon several of them.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath before dashing out into the clearing. It was filled with weeds and spots of ice, but he had no idea if any of them were deep enough to cause him a problem.

The Russian was midway across the field when he suddenly realized he was standing on a large pond, and slid to a stop. He peered down at his feet, seeing air bubbles and undergrowth beneath the ice. If he could see it that easily, that meant the ice was too thin. As lightweight as he was, he didn’t think it could support him and he started to slowly backtrack to the edge of the pond.

That’s when the shots were fired, and he ducked where he stood. Without warning a bullet struck the ice and there was that ominous cracking sound. Before he could curse again, it gave way beneath his feet and Illya found himself plummeting into the ice cold water.

He dropped like a lead sinker, and struggled while trying to pull off his wool coat as it quickly became water logged, pulling him farther down.

Looking up at the surface in a panic; he could not see the opening through which he’d fallen. Ice had a way of doing that, appearing all the same from underneath, even though the hole might have only been a few feet from him.

Images from his childhood suddenly flashed through his head.

When he was seven, it was his job to clean out the chicken coop and search for eggs if there were any, but one day he just didn’t feel like doing it. Instead Illya wandered off, heading towards a nearby frozen pond out in the field back behind his family’s dacha. It wasn’t big, and he thought he’d play around on the ice.

Illya stepped onto it, testing it’s strength. Not hearing any crackling under his small feet; he smiled and charged with exuberance, sliding on the ice out into the middle of the pond. His heart leapt with joy at the freedom he felt doing that, when suddenly there was a large ‘crack’ and the ice gave way beneath him.

The boy plunged into the cold water, flailing about with his arms, trying to grab onto the edge of the ice. He was freezing, sputtering and gasping for air as his strength ebbed. Illya began to sink into darkness, until a hand grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him upwards with a mighty effort.

Arms wrapped around him as he heaved for breath.

“What were you thinking you little idiot?” His older brother Dimitry hissed.*

Illya desperately looked for that opening, knowing there would be no hand to reach down and save him. Napoleon wasn’t here. He was really on his own.

He kicked and paddled upwards, finding a few air pockets under the ice, letting himself inhale to get a brief lifesaving gasp.

His eyes caught a glimpse of the outlines of figures standing above him, it was the goons and dogs that were chasing after him.

Illya’s heart sank. He was going to die, not by drowning but most likely they were going to shoot him and leave him there for his body to freeze and not be found until Spring...if he was lucky. He held one last breath, waiting for the kill shot, but for some reason it never came.

“What do we do boss? Fish him out, shoot him or just let him drown?”

“Ahhh, leave him there, let the little bastard suffer.”

“But what about the files?”

“Hey as long as U.N.C.L.E. don’t get them it doesn’t matter. We have other copies. Now let’s get outta here, my feet are freezin’ and I want some hot coffee.”

“So long Kuryakin!” The agent heard a muffled voice call to him.

Illya continued swimming beneath the ice, breathing in what air pockets he could find. His teeth were chattering, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he froze to death, still he could not give up looking for that opening.

Then he heard it, a voice that sounded so familiar to him but he didn’t quite recognize it.

“Da ladno vam durak , etot put' . Plavat' k moyemu golosu_Come on you idiot, this way. Swim towards my voice.”

Illya’s instincts told him to obey, and within minutes he found the opening in the ice and pulled himself out. He crawled slowly on his hands and knees hoping nothing would give way and once to the edge of the pond and solid ground, he collapsed.

He closed his eyes, covering them with his shaking hands... thinking about what had just happened. That voice. Was it real or was it just his imagination? Yet there was one word, ‘idiot...that was what his brother Dimitry had called him so long ago when he’d fallen into the pond at home.

Was it Dimitry calling to him from beyond the grave to save him? Illya shook his head, not quite able to process that possibility.

He stood, looking quickly around him, trying to control his shivering. The goons and their dogs were long gone and he headed out at a trot across the field, coming upon a road.

A few cars passed him, as he tried to thumb a ride, but a man looking as he did with no winter coat and somewhat fozen was probably a frightening image to the average person.

A silver car sped past him, and Illya had just about given up hope when it slammed on the brakes and backed up towards him. It suddenly occured to the Russian that is could be one of the Thrushmen, and he crossed his fingers hoping it wasn’t.

The passenger door of the car swung open and a friendly face smiled at him. “You look like you could use a ride young man.”

It was a nun, dressed in brown and black habit… the order of St. Francis if he guessed correctly.

“Yes Sister, I apologize for my appearance but I had a run in with some thin ice.”

“Well get in before you catch your death. Didn’t your mother ever tell you to stay away from ponds in the winter?”

“Yes ma’am she did.”

“Well you didn’t listen too well to her did you?”

“I guess not,” he averted his eyes.

She smiled at his contriteness, and turned the car heater on high.

“My name is Sister Dominique, and what may I ask is your name young man?”

“It is Illya...Illya Nickovich sister, and thank you for stopping to help me.”

“How could I not young man? She smiled at him. “I’m heading into town for supplies for my small convent. It’ll be about a forty five minute ride. There’s a blanket in the back seat, wrap it around yourself for now and there’s a thermos of hot chocolate on the floor at your feet...help yourself. When we get into town I’ll have Doctor Phillips take a look at you to make sure you don’t have any frostbite.”

“Thank you Sister Dominique, but that will not be necessary. I only need access to a telephone to call my company who will send a car for me.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got yourself in your predicament.”

“Sister, it would be hard to explain…”

“Tell me, are you Catholic?”

His teeth finally stopped chattering and Illya decided to be a bit diplomatic in his answer. “No Sister Dominique, I was raised as a child in the Eastern Orthodox Rite,” he was telling the truth to a point, and just didn’t mention that he no longer believed in God.”

“Oh,”she smiled.”Close enough.”

“There’s a Russian Orthodox Church in town, perhaps you’d care to stop off to see the priest, light a candle and say a prayer of thanks that God guided me to you?” Sister Dominqique’s blue eyes twinkled knowingly. It was the same sort of look Illya remembered his mother giving him as a little boy when she knew he was lying.”

“An interesting thought Sister, but after I make my phone call. My boss will be quite worried about me.”

“My curiosity is getting the better of me now. So what exactly happened to you Illya?”

“Ahhhhhummmm... my car skidded off the road into a ditch and was quite a wreck and when I decided to walk for help, I fell through the ice of a nearby pond. I was very lucky to survive.”

“Oh my goodness, you definitely need to say a prayer of thanks for a few gifts from God then.”

Illya took a quick peek inside his jacket pocket. The documents were safely intact, still in their vinyl wrapping. He let go a long sigh, finally feeling thawed out. He wondered about the voice he swore he’d heard back at the pond, seemingly guiding him to the hole and to safety.

Maybe Sister Dominique was right; perhaps not enough for him to visit the church in town. He would think more on the incident itself, the voice not withstanding, was to say the least a moment of déjà vu...

* ref “Mother knows best” https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9290104/1/Mother-Knows-Best