The Quiet Russian - Chapter 2
Aug. 4th, 2014 09:05 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuChapter one can be found here :-
http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/688508.html
Illya was kept in medical for five days while he recovered enough strength to allow him to be moved. It was testament to his subservient state of mind that he’d done everything that was asked of him without complaint. He was still unable to speak, though he constantly tried, with the encouragement of his partner. Frustration often got to him, but Napoleon always got him to calm down with a few games of chess, or by regaling him with outrageous tales of his latest female conquest. The senior agent could’ve believed Christmas had come early when he received a trademarked Kuryakin eye roll. It wasn’t much, but it was a spark.
A psychiatrist, Dr Francis, visited the Russian twice a day. He was aware of the CEA’s attempts to get Illya to talk, so didn’t push him any further. Instead, he encouraged the agent to start making decisions of his own. It started out with simple things, such as what he wanted to eat or what clothes he would like to wear. On the fifth day, following a consultation with the medics, Dr Francis called a meeting with Mr Waverly and Napoleon.
“Ordinarily,” he began. “I would have Mr Kuryakin moved to a psychiatric unit. However, I want him to regain his independence. He’s already making his own choices with regards to clothes and food and he has even stopped asking permission to use the bathroom. With your approval Mr Waverly, I would like to offer Mr Kuryakin the use of one of the guest rooms. I will give him the choice between that and the psych ward.”
“Illya would rather die than end up in a psych ward,” Napoleon commented. “If he chooses the guest suite then we will know that he is truly fighting.”
“Exactly,” Dr Francis agreed. “It will be the start of him taking control of himself again. But, don’t get complacent yet gentlemen. That young man has a difficult journey ahead of him, and there is no guarantee he’ll get through in one piece.”
Mr Waverly readily approved to the use of a guest room, and sent someone to organise it straight away.
“I do insist on posting a guard outside however.”
Napoleon and the doctor both agreed it would be best. Illya was far from ready to face the world yet.
“Although,” Solo mused. “I would say the first time he tries to escape will be a great leap forward.”
“I have to concur,” Waverly responded, with the faintest of smiles. “But we won’t make it easy for him.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Dr Francis explained to Illya what his options were and told him the decision was his and his alone. The Russian looked to his partner for guidance, only for Napoleon to tell him he had to decide for himself. As hoped, Illya opted for the guest room. It was bad enough that he was already being visited daily by a head doctor; the thought of being surrounded by more of them was too much to contemplate.
“There are some rules, however,” Dr Francis warned. “Firstly, you’re not allowed to leave your quarters unless accompanied.”
“Don’t think that you’re a prisoner,” Napoleon chipped in. “Although we can’t let you out of the building yet, if you want to come to our office or go to your lab you can. There will be security outside your room to escort you, but don’t take that the wrong way.”
Illya nodded his agreement at the first rule. He wasn’t happy about being guarded, but the part of him that was still him understood the need for it. Besides, he’d become very used to having every move monitored. His thoughts had finally begun to reassert themselves through the fog of confusion, but there still seemed to be something pulling him back. What was frustrating him most was his inability to speak even a single word. Illya had finally accepted that he was back from hell and that he was safe, but there was a mental block when it came to speech. He knew several languages, yet not one would come to his tongue. Not even his own name was there for him.
“The second rule,” continued Dr Francis. “Is that you must attend any and all medical appointments you’re given. I know you and medical don’t get on, but if you miss just one, I will send you straight to psychiatric.”
Napoleon knew it was probably an empty threat and was actually looking forward to the day his friend protested at having to see the medics again.
“Finally,” the psychiatrist concluded, handing Illya a notebook. “I want you to keep a journal. I don’t need to know your every thought, just the ones that come to mind when to try to speak. Are you happy with all of that?”
Illya nodded, though the idea of writing down his thoughts was more terrifying to him than never speaking again. He’d always been so guarded when it came to what was in his head, but he knew he had to try anything that could bring his voice back.
“Okay,” Dr Francis said, standing up. “I’m sure Mr Solo will help you settle into your temporary quarters. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before we can send you home.”
Illya abruptly jumped off the bed and backed himself into the corner; shaking his head vigorously.
“Illya, what’s wrong?”
“Mr Kuryakin, please calm down.”
The doctor beckoned Napoleon over to the other side of the room.
“I don’t like that reaction,” he confided, quietly. “I would have thought he would want to go home as soon as possible. If he is going to react like this I may have to rescind my original recommendation and have him committed.”
“Don’t do that Doc,” Napoleon pleaded. “I have a theory.”
Picking up the pen and pad, Solo handed them to Illya.
“Tell me what the problem is Tovarisch.”
Illya hesitantly took the pad before furiously writing on it.
I can’t go back to Russia. Not now. I WILL get over this, if it’s the last thing I do.
The message stabbed at Napoleon’s heart. It was so hard to see his normally stoic and centred friend so panicked and unsure. He showed the words to Dr Francis.
“Please forgive me Mr Kuryakin,” he said, with a reassuring smile. “I should have been clearer. When I mentioned sending you home, I meant to your apartment. Not Russia.”
Sensing that Illya would calm down if he left, he bid the two men goodbye. Napoleon took hold of Illya’s shoulders and manoeuvred him back to the bed.
“I shall make you a promise Illya,” he told him firmly. “And as CEA I have the authority to make this promise. We will never send you back to Russia. If by a stroke of bad luck you never speak again, you will still have a place at U.N.C.L.E. You, my dear Illya Nickovitch, are an asset to us. You’re a scientist, a linguist and a pyromaniac, amongst other things.”
Illya quickly scribbled something on the pad and held it up.
A smart Russian?
Napoleon laughed. “Yeah, that too. Come on Chum, let’s get you moved.”
To be continued.
http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/688508.html
Illya was kept in medical for five days while he recovered enough strength to allow him to be moved. It was testament to his subservient state of mind that he’d done everything that was asked of him without complaint. He was still unable to speak, though he constantly tried, with the encouragement of his partner. Frustration often got to him, but Napoleon always got him to calm down with a few games of chess, or by regaling him with outrageous tales of his latest female conquest. The senior agent could’ve believed Christmas had come early when he received a trademarked Kuryakin eye roll. It wasn’t much, but it was a spark.
A psychiatrist, Dr Francis, visited the Russian twice a day. He was aware of the CEA’s attempts to get Illya to talk, so didn’t push him any further. Instead, he encouraged the agent to start making decisions of his own. It started out with simple things, such as what he wanted to eat or what clothes he would like to wear. On the fifth day, following a consultation with the medics, Dr Francis called a meeting with Mr Waverly and Napoleon.
“Ordinarily,” he began. “I would have Mr Kuryakin moved to a psychiatric unit. However, I want him to regain his independence. He’s already making his own choices with regards to clothes and food and he has even stopped asking permission to use the bathroom. With your approval Mr Waverly, I would like to offer Mr Kuryakin the use of one of the guest rooms. I will give him the choice between that and the psych ward.”
“Illya would rather die than end up in a psych ward,” Napoleon commented. “If he chooses the guest suite then we will know that he is truly fighting.”
“Exactly,” Dr Francis agreed. “It will be the start of him taking control of himself again. But, don’t get complacent yet gentlemen. That young man has a difficult journey ahead of him, and there is no guarantee he’ll get through in one piece.”
Mr Waverly readily approved to the use of a guest room, and sent someone to organise it straight away.
“I do insist on posting a guard outside however.”
Napoleon and the doctor both agreed it would be best. Illya was far from ready to face the world yet.
“Although,” Solo mused. “I would say the first time he tries to escape will be a great leap forward.”
“I have to concur,” Waverly responded, with the faintest of smiles. “But we won’t make it easy for him.”
MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU
Dr Francis explained to Illya what his options were and told him the decision was his and his alone. The Russian looked to his partner for guidance, only for Napoleon to tell him he had to decide for himself. As hoped, Illya opted for the guest room. It was bad enough that he was already being visited daily by a head doctor; the thought of being surrounded by more of them was too much to contemplate.
“There are some rules, however,” Dr Francis warned. “Firstly, you’re not allowed to leave your quarters unless accompanied.”
“Don’t think that you’re a prisoner,” Napoleon chipped in. “Although we can’t let you out of the building yet, if you want to come to our office or go to your lab you can. There will be security outside your room to escort you, but don’t take that the wrong way.”
Illya nodded his agreement at the first rule. He wasn’t happy about being guarded, but the part of him that was still him understood the need for it. Besides, he’d become very used to having every move monitored. His thoughts had finally begun to reassert themselves through the fog of confusion, but there still seemed to be something pulling him back. What was frustrating him most was his inability to speak even a single word. Illya had finally accepted that he was back from hell and that he was safe, but there was a mental block when it came to speech. He knew several languages, yet not one would come to his tongue. Not even his own name was there for him.
“The second rule,” continued Dr Francis. “Is that you must attend any and all medical appointments you’re given. I know you and medical don’t get on, but if you miss just one, I will send you straight to psychiatric.”
Napoleon knew it was probably an empty threat and was actually looking forward to the day his friend protested at having to see the medics again.
“Finally,” the psychiatrist concluded, handing Illya a notebook. “I want you to keep a journal. I don’t need to know your every thought, just the ones that come to mind when to try to speak. Are you happy with all of that?”
Illya nodded, though the idea of writing down his thoughts was more terrifying to him than never speaking again. He’d always been so guarded when it came to what was in his head, but he knew he had to try anything that could bring his voice back.
“Okay,” Dr Francis said, standing up. “I’m sure Mr Solo will help you settle into your temporary quarters. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before we can send you home.”
Illya abruptly jumped off the bed and backed himself into the corner; shaking his head vigorously.
“Illya, what’s wrong?”
“Mr Kuryakin, please calm down.”
The doctor beckoned Napoleon over to the other side of the room.
“I don’t like that reaction,” he confided, quietly. “I would have thought he would want to go home as soon as possible. If he is going to react like this I may have to rescind my original recommendation and have him committed.”
“Don’t do that Doc,” Napoleon pleaded. “I have a theory.”
Picking up the pen and pad, Solo handed them to Illya.
“Tell me what the problem is Tovarisch.”
Illya hesitantly took the pad before furiously writing on it.
I can’t go back to Russia. Not now. I WILL get over this, if it’s the last thing I do.
The message stabbed at Napoleon’s heart. It was so hard to see his normally stoic and centred friend so panicked and unsure. He showed the words to Dr Francis.
“Please forgive me Mr Kuryakin,” he said, with a reassuring smile. “I should have been clearer. When I mentioned sending you home, I meant to your apartment. Not Russia.”
Sensing that Illya would calm down if he left, he bid the two men goodbye. Napoleon took hold of Illya’s shoulders and manoeuvred him back to the bed.
“I shall make you a promise Illya,” he told him firmly. “And as CEA I have the authority to make this promise. We will never send you back to Russia. If by a stroke of bad luck you never speak again, you will still have a place at U.N.C.L.E. You, my dear Illya Nickovitch, are an asset to us. You’re a scientist, a linguist and a pyromaniac, amongst other things.”
Illya quickly scribbled something on the pad and held it up.
A smart Russian?
Napoleon laughed. “Yeah, that too. Come on Chum, let’s get you moved.”
To be continued.
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