A New Story-Chapter 8 The Final Chapter

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

With heartfelt thanks to mrua7 for praise, encouragement and beta skills.



Friendly Fire is always a possibility in the career of a Section 2 field agent, when it happens; how they deal with it can either make or break them.

Link to Chapter 1-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5701682
Link to Chapter 2-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5717075
Link to Chapter 3-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5726660
Link to Chapter 4-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5738429
Link to Chapter 5-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5749601
Link to Chapter 6-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5763461
Link to Chapter 7-http://archiveofourown.org/works/2563967/chapters/5790059

Chapter 8

Three white helium balloons twisted and danced around the ribbons once used to tie them to a bouquet of sunflowers, but now they floated free, rising gracefully up into a blue cloudless morning sky. Unfettered by gravity, they soared into the heavens; becoming smaller and smaller until they were no longer visible to their earthbound observer.

He found this place easily enough and parked his borrowed U.N.C.L.E. car in the small, empty gravel lot across the country lane. The day was quite warm and breezeless so he left his suit jacket in the car and crossing the road; he stepped through a wrought iron gate onto a well-worn path.

A large tree-lined newly mown meadow stretched out in front of him. It was surrounded on three sides with fields of wildflowers, with their sweet fragrance wafting on the breeze. Birds were singing and bees were buzzing. It was a lovely summer’s day.

Illya Kuryakin had little patience for such trivialities. He was focused on the task at hand and began to count off numbers in his head as he navigated his way to a particular spot. When he found what he was looking for he stopped.

He slowly knelt in front of the pink marble tombstone and carefully placed the bouquet of small sunflowers there on Nadine Kimberly’s grave. They were the national flower of his homeland.

Reaching out, placing one trembling hand on the stone; he closed his eyes and whispered softly to her as if she were right there beside him kneeling on the grass. His voice faltered slightly over the words.

“I am sorry.”


He waited...for what? Something to happen?

At a loss as to what he should do next, he buried his face in his hands.

This simple act was so important to him as it had dominated his thoughts for weeks, keeping him awake nights.

He felt no different.

Somehow he believed if he completed this task, this...mission, fulfilling this obligation; he would feel relief and the almost constant pain he carried in his heart would disappear.

Letting out a long sigh Illya twisted from kneeling to sitting next to the stone, loosened his tie and bowed his head in thought.

After a few minutes he stood and scanned the area, doing a 360 visual sweep. There was no one around, no one watching or listening, just an occasional bird in flight squawking at him. No one would disturb them.

He sat down once more and began speaking to Nadine about his life after he left Russia and joined the Command; why he believed so strongly in it’s principles, about how his partner Napoleon Solo had become a trusted friend, how all these events changed his life for the better and lastly why he was here now, telling her these things.

Once again he rested his hand on the cold, smooth marble stone and with the other lightly traced over the date of Nadine’s death with his fingertips.
Suddenly all of the emotions he’d tried to suppress came flooding through, his disbelief and shame that he had done such a thing, the anger at himself for not being more careful, and all the “if only’s” that had been eating away at his psyche.

There was no one here for whom to put on a brave face and no use hiding it from himself anymore.

With trembling hands and tears in his eyes, he opened his heart, letting out all of the poisonous anguish and pain he’d been keeping bottled up inside.

When he was done saying almost everything there was to say, a few more words escaped his lips.

This time Illya Kuryakin’s apology came from the depths of his soul.

A cold gust of wind blew and he gasped, momentarily startled, feeling as if something had passed through him.

The concept of ghosts or spirits was something he never accepted, being raised a Soviet. Others might believe, his partner among them, but without scientific proof, Illya did not.

Here and now, he could see no explanation for that gust of cold air nor the warm overwhelming feeling of tranquility that followed. It was as if the child’s spirit was indeed here and that she forgave him.

So he decided he’d make a rare exception to his scientific dogmatism and upbringing, just this once.

With sudden clarity he understood his true purpose for being here.

He needed to forgive himself.

It had been an accident pure and simple and there was no use holding himself amenable any longer.

He would honor this little girl’s memory by continuing his quest to protect all innocents and fighting the good fight with Napoleon at his side. Together they would keep the world safe from those who would do it harm.

Illya sighed, and with that one breath all the tension left his body. There would be an emotional scar from this that he would forever carry with him, but the sting of it, the pain in the center of his being, was gone.

The burden that he had been carrying on his shoulders was now lifted.

Lost in reverie, he lingered a little while longer, not wishing to disturb the calmness that had settled on him.

He had indeed noticed all the details of this place but found no enjoyment in them until this moment and took pleasure in the throaty song of a meadowlark closeby; the grass was somehow greener, the sky intensely bluer.

This was a serene resting place for Nadine and he knew somehow she was at peace.

And now...he would be as well.

Illya stood, stretching while looking at the hundreds of grave markers surrounding him in this rural cemetery. Some looked to be over a hundred years old; the names having eroded away with time and weather.

The blond paused before the newest headstone and glanced down at it one last time.

Why had he not noticed it before? The child’s name had it’s roots in the Slavic word for ‘hope’, nádeje.

It lightened his heart and he smiled.

He reached down to release the three balloons that were tied around the sunflower bouquet.

As Illya watched them disappear into the sky he whispered to her once more,

“For you Nadine...and for me.”



Kinets’ **


** 'The End' in Ukrainian.

Comments

[thehappygirl53.livejournal.com]

This was a really good story! It didn't take the easy way out, for instance, having the bullet actually be from another shooter. After all, what would that have proved--the little girl would be just as dead. Illya had to go through all the emotions to get to acceptance at the end. I thought it was very realistic that he never met the parents--again, their forgiveness would have been an easy way out. Finally, the best image was the white balloons rising in the sky until they disappeared.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. I toyed with the idea of another shooter, but only briefly as I wanted to show Illya's power to heal his emotional wounds as well as his physical ones.

Bringing the balloons and sunflowers seemed the appropriate thing for Illya to do. Glad you liked the ending imagery.