"Some unexpected answers"~ for the What's My Line Challenge.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Challenge: What’s My Line

Prompt: I can’t believe this is happening again

Title: Some unexpected answers

Author: mrua7

Word count: approx. 1700

Rain was coming down in torrents when Napoleon stepped out from his taxi parked curbside in front of an innocuous little used book shop that served as the entrance to the London Headquarters of U.N.C.L.E.

He pulled up the collar of his dark trenchcoat about his neck as he dashed for the door, ducking past a broken umbrella being propelled along the sidewalk by a gust of wind.

Inside stood his partner who had apparently just arrived and rather than proceeding through the hidden door back in the rare book section; Illya Kuryakin decided to browse through the tomes in the front of the shoppe he had so often passed without a second thought.

His blond hair was soaking wet, plastered down to his head, and his raincoat looked soaked through, as it was apparently no longer waterproof.

“Don't tell me, you walked instead of taking a taxi."

Illya nodded with a shrug of his damp shoulders; why respond more than that to the obvious?

"You need to invest in a new…” Napoleon smiled.

Kuryakin, anticipating his partner’s words, cut him off.

“I plan to purchase a new raincoat while we are here, if you’d care to accompany me to Harrod’s after our meeting?”

“Harrods? Bit pricey for a cheapskate like you, isn’t it?”

Illya huffed, flaring his nostrils in annoyance. No, he wouldn’t grace that statement with a retort; it was pointless.  His partner didn’t really mean anything by it, and it was just part of Napoleon’s banter to get an occasional rise out of him.

Once inside headquarters they managed to get themselves drier with the help of some of the lovely ladies from communications who, knowing Illya from his service there, were more than willing to find them towels and the Russian a dry shirt and jacket.

Amazingly his old locker there still contained some of his clothing, so a black jacket and a black turtleneck instanty solved problem.

Napoleon, though well known to the ladies, found himself being virtually ignored and that put his nose slightly out of joint.  He wasn’t accustomed to his partner being the center of attention.

Illya could see his Solo's mood had changed, and though he was tempted to rub the situation in the American’s face; he knew better.

“You forget I was stationed here for three years Napoleon. The female support staff has not changed that much in a year.”

“So if you were Mister Popularity, why did you leave?”

Kuryakin stopped in his tracks, not believing his partner had said that and glared at him.

“Let me rephrase that chum,” Napoleon said, realizing the poor wording of his question. “If the environment here was a comfortable one for you, what made you leave?”  Solo realized he’d never asked his partner why he's transferred to New York.

“Firstly, I did not join U.N.C.L.E. to be comfortable…as a matter of fact, joining the Command was not of my own free will.  Granted GRU asked me, offering me the opportunity, however, my refusal of the transfer would have resulted in my eventual death.  One does not say ‘no’ to Chief of the Main Intelligence Directorate, Comrade Colonel-General Korabelniko Vladimirovich, and live to tell the tale.”

“Go on chum, I’m listening,” Napoleon encouraged his usually tight-lipped partner to keep going.

“I rememberl the meeting as if it were yesterday. I was recalled from London and had to find a suitable uniform to report to GRU. I was receiving a promotion to Captain, which I thought was rather strange at the time. I honestly thought I was being brought home to be disciplined for my lackluster career.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Those are details I do not wish to revisit, suffice to say, I thought I had let my superiors down while stationed at Cambridge.”

“Wait, didn’t you get your Phd. from there? So you were on assignment while studying for a degree?”

“Yes to both questions, but I cannot discuss details with you. Though I am an UNCLE agent, my prior service with Soviet Military Intelligence is still classified, and I will not betray my oath to my country.”

“Even though they would have killed you for refusing...nevermind,” Napoleon shook his head, not quite getting Illya’s blind loyalty; still it was the Russian’s business and it wasn’t right to press him.

“So when did you meet Waverly? Can you talk about that?”

“Yes. I met Alexander Waverly the day I was summoned to GRU. There was a presumption that I would accept the transfer and he was waiting in the wings, so to speak, to meet me. I will never forget him leaning back against   Vladimirovich's desk, his hands behind him on the surface of it.”

"So young man, your superior has explained the proposal to you?"

"Yes Sir."

"And what do you think of such an offer? asked Waverly, sucking on the mouthpiece of his pipe.

Illya kept silent for a moment, unsure if it was wise to speak his mind to this man. "Sir, you are not familiar I think, with the way things are done in GRU. There is no offer. I have no say in this, as I must do what is expected me or suffer the consequences. I am being told I must give up my country and be a part of your organization. My instincts tell me I am being offered up to you as a..."sacrificial lamb." If I go with you, I think I will die, if I stay I know die, I am sure Comrade Vladimirovich knows this as well."

"You have a fatalistic outlook for someone so young Mr. Kuryakin. This is an opportunity to live young man, not to die. The GRU has one simple rule as I recall, "in-one ruble, exit-two rubles, meaning that to join the organization is easy, but to come out is much more difficult.* You are being given the opportunity for an easy exit."

Illya bit his lower lip as he thought, then ran his fingers absentmindedly.

through his hair.

"The position you will hold with U.N.C.L.E will, however, not be an easy one. You will eventually be a Section II field agent, operations and enforcement once your have completed your, shall we say “internship” as a Section III junior agent.  There will be dangers, I will not deny that. That is the intelligence business."

Waverly paused a moment to give Illya time to think.

"So, what is your decision young man?" he finally asked.

"I have no choice but to accept the offer as it I see my odds of survival are slightly better with you than if I stay with GRU. Mr. Waverly. I am not a well-seasoned operative. I am afraid I have but one kill to my name,” Illya said with honesty. "My first and only kill was but a few years ago."

"That is not a consideration Mr. Kuryakin, now let's say we prove your former Comrades wrong, shall we?" Alexander Waverly smiled clapping a hand to the young Russian's back.  *

“So that’s how you came to work for UNCLE huh?”

“Pretty much it.”

“You still didn’t answer my question as to why you left a comfy position here and transferred to New York”

“Napoleon, though you may think otherwise, my life is still not my own. Mr. Waverly stationed me here in London to acclimate me to the ways of the U.N.C.L.E. When he felt I was ready, it was he who transferred me to New York, after I completed a delayed stint in Survival School.”

“Wait, you didn’t go to Survival Island first?”

“No. Mr. Waverly felt I was already a trained agent but needed to learn your ways. Harry Beldon taught me well, though I think Mr. Waverly sensed my eventual discomfort at Harry’s methodology as well as the modicum of prejudices I experienced being a Soviet, so my transfer became immediate. It was after completing Survival School, which was a mere refresher course for me, that I arrived in New York.  The rest, as they say my friend, is history.”

“So are you happy in New York?” Napoleon had never asked that question of his partner.

“Happiness is immaterial. I am there to do a job, though I must admit my partnership with you has been a most satisfactory one. As you well know, I still experience bigotry there, but...well, I am aware of your intervention on my behalf in that regard, and I am grateful for it. Let me say that I am content working in New York, and with you. My life there is far better a life than I have had in a long time….hmm, perhaps I can use the word happy, as how I feel does go beyond contentment."

The two agents headed out of headquarters, both feeling as if they’d become just a little closer, not only as partners but as friends.

The rain had stopped, though the sky was dark and forbidding.

The smell of food filled the air as they passed a local “Chippie”...a fish and chip shoppe.

“Hey you hungry chum?”

“Always,” Illya smiled.

Just as they turned to head down a short flight of steps, similar to Del Floria’s entrance, the sky opened up, again soaking poor Illya to the bones .

“I cannot believe this is happening again,” Kuryakin groaned but laughed at the absurdity of the situation as they dashed down into the shoppe.

“Looks like you’ll be needing more than just a new trench coat from Harrods chum.”

“I know you are just dying to say I am cheap but in this case, I did not bring that much cash with me. So new clothes are out of the question, and unlike you I do not buy expensive suits because I know they are going to be ruined. It would be a waste of hard-earned money."

“Illya my friend, don’t worry about it. You’re getting a new suit on me, new shirt, tie...the works.”

“Napoleon please, it is too expensive."

“No arguments Mr. Kuryakin for once...please?” Napoleon flashed a puppy dog look with his hazel eyes, instantly disarming the Russian’s protests. “Now let’s eat.”

“Might I at least buy you lunch?”

“Sure why not, partner mine,” Napoleon smiled.

* excerpt from “First Kill”

Comments

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Very nice! Poor Illya soaked to the skin again. I remember 'First Kill'- another terrific story.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Wow you were actually able to get on LJ AND comment! Lucky you. I'm still having trouble getting on and navigating.

Thanks for reading and glad you liked the story. Also glad you remembered "First Kill." It's an important backstory in my series and a favorite of mine...as is the sequel "Last Good bye"