The Quiet Russian - Chapter 1
Aug. 3rd, 2014 02:11 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jantojones.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuNapoleon Solo had begun to doubt that his partner would ever be found. It had been five months since contact had been lost with Illya Kuryakin, and in that time there hadn’t been a single lead. Solo had continued to maintain that Illya was alive somewhere, but as time went on, the doubts slowly crept in. He was certain that there was no THRUSH involvement in Illya’s disappearance as there had been absolutely no chatter. If their feathered friends had taken or killed him, they would have broadcast the news loud and far.
Returning from a mission, where he’d had to maintain radio silence until back at HQ, Napoleon found air of excitement in the building.
“What’s going on?” he asked the next person he came across.
“Haven’t you heard?” Agent Pavey asked, with astonishment. “They’ve found him Napoleon. They’ve found Illya.”
Solo set off at a run for Mr Waverly’s office.
“Is he alive?”
“Sit down Mr Solo and I’ll tell you what we know.”
Illya had been on assignment in South America; a simple courier run. After the drop had been made, he’d returned to his hotel where he was arrested by the militia. Unbeknownst to Illya, there were three other Russians in his hotel, who were arms dealers. The authorities had no interest in differentiating between them. As far as they were concerned, they were all Russian, so they were all arms dealers. There was no trial and no lawyers; only summary justice. All four of them were sent to a government run prison mine. Once men went in to the mine, they rarely came out. As luck would have it, Illya Kuryakin would end up owing his life to THRUSH.
The nefarious organisation had taken an interest in the mine and its silver output, and had subsequently taken over control from the government. Naturally, because THRUSH were involved, U.N.C.L.E. became interested. Upon investigation, the assigned agents had been somewhat shocked to find an emaciated and beaten Kuryakin.
“That was two days ago,” Mr Waverly continued. “As you were on radio silence, we were unable to let you know.”
“When will he be back here?”
“Tomorrow morning, but he has a problem other than is physical distress.”
Napoleon’s stomach knotted with dread. Illya had been in that mine a long time; anything could have happened to him.
“Mr Kuryakin, along with the other prisoners, has been very seriously mistreated. They have been regularly beaten and severely malnourished. On top of this, not one of them has uttered a single word since we found them.”
“I don’t understand Sir.”
Solo was well aware that Illya wasn’t the most talkative of men, but to say nothing after being rescued seemed a little odd.
“They’ve all been conditioned,” Mr Waverly explained. “From what we understand, after interrogating the guards, it seems the prisoners are punished if they speak. Mr Kuryakin is very resistant to torture, but he is only human, and five months of beatings will break anyone.”
“So he can’t communicate?”
“I never said that Mr Solo. He has been using paper and a pencil to write down what he wants to say.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The following morning, Illya was brought into medical feeling lost and afraid. The last couple of days had been a major culture shock for him. All his hopes of being found had left him weeks ago and he was unable to accept that he had been. In the space of three days, Illya had gone from being held underground, to the relatively airy and spacious confines of the U.N.C.L.E. medical suite; via a very noisy helicopter. His senses were reeling and his mind was clouded with confusion. Thankfully, the glaring lights of the suite had been dimmed, to protect his eyes as he hadn’t seen much light for a long time.
Napoleon had to summon every ounce of will power to disguise his shock upon seeing Illya. The Russian had always been skinny, but now he was positively skeletal. He’d been cleaned up and given a shave and a haircut before being transferred to New York, but it did nothing to improve how he looked. Then there was the expression in Illya’s eyes. The man was clearly terrified.
“Welcome back Tovarisch,” he said, as brightly as he could. “We thought we’d lost you for good.”
Illya glared at Solo with obvious confusion. He recognised his friend easily enough, but couldn’t understand why he was standing in front of him. Surely he’d given him up for dead long ago. He shook his head trying to dispel the hallucination, but it remained resolutely there. Reaching out a hand, Illya prodded at Napoleon’s chest. Solo took hold of the hand.
“I’m real Illya,” he told him, softly. “I’m here, you’re here and you’re safe.”
Finally, the truth seemed to get through to Illya’s foggy thoughts. He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it again. Speaking was forbidden. Dropping his head in submission, Illya awaited punishment for his transgression. Napoleon let go of his partner’s hand and gave him a supportive shoulder squeeze. He was dismayed to feel Illya flinching away from the touch.
“Look at me Tovarisch.”
Illya obeyed at once, much to Napoleon’s concern. During his careers in Russia, Illya would have obeyed orders without hesitation. At U.N.C.L.E. however, he often took advantage of the luxury of occasionally being able to question orders; unless, of course, it was during a fast moving situation.
“I’m not going to force anything Illya,” he told him. “But you must know you’re safe here and you’re allowed to speak whenever you want. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
Napoleon left the room momentarily and returned with a pad and pen. He hand them to Illya.
“Until you’re ready, use this.”
Illya accepted the pad with a hesitant smile. His hand shook as he wrote, and although his penmanship had suffered through lack of practice, he managed to write a message for Napoleon.
Sorry I’m late.
Solo snorted. “I think we can overlook it this once. Just don’t do it again.”
The American was heartened to see a genuine smile briefly appear on the Russian’s face. If Illya could still joke, it gave him hope.
To be continued.
Returning from a mission, where he’d had to maintain radio silence until back at HQ, Napoleon found air of excitement in the building.
“What’s going on?” he asked the next person he came across.
“Haven’t you heard?” Agent Pavey asked, with astonishment. “They’ve found him Napoleon. They’ve found Illya.”
Solo set off at a run for Mr Waverly’s office.
“Is he alive?”
“Sit down Mr Solo and I’ll tell you what we know.”
Illya had been on assignment in South America; a simple courier run. After the drop had been made, he’d returned to his hotel where he was arrested by the militia. Unbeknownst to Illya, there were three other Russians in his hotel, who were arms dealers. The authorities had no interest in differentiating between them. As far as they were concerned, they were all Russian, so they were all arms dealers. There was no trial and no lawyers; only summary justice. All four of them were sent to a government run prison mine. Once men went in to the mine, they rarely came out. As luck would have it, Illya Kuryakin would end up owing his life to THRUSH.
The nefarious organisation had taken an interest in the mine and its silver output, and had subsequently taken over control from the government. Naturally, because THRUSH were involved, U.N.C.L.E. became interested. Upon investigation, the assigned agents had been somewhat shocked to find an emaciated and beaten Kuryakin.
“That was two days ago,” Mr Waverly continued. “As you were on radio silence, we were unable to let you know.”
“When will he be back here?”
“Tomorrow morning, but he has a problem other than is physical distress.”
Napoleon’s stomach knotted with dread. Illya had been in that mine a long time; anything could have happened to him.
“Mr Kuryakin, along with the other prisoners, has been very seriously mistreated. They have been regularly beaten and severely malnourished. On top of this, not one of them has uttered a single word since we found them.”
“I don’t understand Sir.”
Solo was well aware that Illya wasn’t the most talkative of men, but to say nothing after being rescued seemed a little odd.
“They’ve all been conditioned,” Mr Waverly explained. “From what we understand, after interrogating the guards, it seems the prisoners are punished if they speak. Mr Kuryakin is very resistant to torture, but he is only human, and five months of beatings will break anyone.”
“So he can’t communicate?”
“I never said that Mr Solo. He has been using paper and a pencil to write down what he wants to say.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
The following morning, Illya was brought into medical feeling lost and afraid. The last couple of days had been a major culture shock for him. All his hopes of being found had left him weeks ago and he was unable to accept that he had been. In the space of three days, Illya had gone from being held underground, to the relatively airy and spacious confines of the U.N.C.L.E. medical suite; via a very noisy helicopter. His senses were reeling and his mind was clouded with confusion. Thankfully, the glaring lights of the suite had been dimmed, to protect his eyes as he hadn’t seen much light for a long time.
Napoleon had to summon every ounce of will power to disguise his shock upon seeing Illya. The Russian had always been skinny, but now he was positively skeletal. He’d been cleaned up and given a shave and a haircut before being transferred to New York, but it did nothing to improve how he looked. Then there was the expression in Illya’s eyes. The man was clearly terrified.
“Welcome back Tovarisch,” he said, as brightly as he could. “We thought we’d lost you for good.”
Illya glared at Solo with obvious confusion. He recognised his friend easily enough, but couldn’t understand why he was standing in front of him. Surely he’d given him up for dead long ago. He shook his head trying to dispel the hallucination, but it remained resolutely there. Reaching out a hand, Illya prodded at Napoleon’s chest. Solo took hold of the hand.
“I’m real Illya,” he told him, softly. “I’m here, you’re here and you’re safe.”
Finally, the truth seemed to get through to Illya’s foggy thoughts. He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it again. Speaking was forbidden. Dropping his head in submission, Illya awaited punishment for his transgression. Napoleon let go of his partner’s hand and gave him a supportive shoulder squeeze. He was dismayed to feel Illya flinching away from the touch.
“Look at me Tovarisch.”
Illya obeyed at once, much to Napoleon’s concern. During his careers in Russia, Illya would have obeyed orders without hesitation. At U.N.C.L.E. however, he often took advantage of the luxury of occasionally being able to question orders; unless, of course, it was during a fast moving situation.
“I’m not going to force anything Illya,” he told him. “But you must know you’re safe here and you’re allowed to speak whenever you want. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
Napoleon left the room momentarily and returned with a pad and pen. He hand them to Illya.
“Until you’re ready, use this.”
Illya accepted the pad with a hesitant smile. His hand shook as he wrote, and although his penmanship had suffered through lack of practice, he managed to write a message for Napoleon.
Sorry I’m late.
Solo snorted. “I think we can overlook it this once. Just don’t do it again.”
The American was heartened to see a genuine smile briefly appear on the Russian’s face. If Illya could still joke, it gave him hope.
To be continued.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-03 07:01 pm (UTC)