Work Text:
Fear Itself
by S.
"You can go ahead now, Mr. Waverly. Try talking to him. He has been totally unresponsive since he was brought in. We put him in that room for his own protection."
"I understand," Alexander Waverly replied. He hated to see Illya Kuryakin in such a place, but it was necessary. His former Number 2, Section 2 had been in a wild, uncontrolled state of panic before medical technicians had managed to sedate him so that he could be brought to this facility for treatment.
"He can hear me, you say?"
"Yes, sir. The room has audio and video, however, we deemed it safer for all concerned to keep him isolated for the time being.
Waverly peered through the glass window. In one corner of the padded room, the small blond lay huddled in a foetal position, his upper body confined in a straightjacket. "He's awake?"
"Uh, well, yes and no. He's not asleep in the way you mean, but except for being able to use the sanitary facilities on his own and taking in a minimum of nourishment and fluids, he shows no response to anyone. We don't know if it's a side effect of the fear drug or what."
"You haven't made tests?"
Indignantly, the doctor remarked, "Of course, we've done tests! We didn't think there would be any repercussions. Miss Raven seemed to have none. That's why I said that we're not sure if it's a side effect or not. The symptoms wore off and that seemed to be the end of it."
Waverly inclined his leonine head in a subtle apology. "And yet when you found him, he was shaking with fear, practically hysterical. Mr. Kuryakin has not had a pleasant life. It would take a great deal to cause him to be so terrified."
"So I understand and of course, we immediately suspected that there might be latent traces of the drug in his system, but so far everything's come back negative."
"Could it be something like the effects of LSD or another hallucinogenic drug which has been known to cause flashbacks or delusions?"
The doctor rubbed his hand through his thinning hair. "We just don't know. It obviously takes different people different ways. Since the first occurrence, we've monitored Mr. Kuryakin as you know. We have even kept in contact with Miss Raven. Until this happened, we thought that the book on the drug was closed."
Waverly took a deep breath. "Obviously, we know that is not true. One of my best agents commits an act of violence then succumbs to irrational fear which practically turns him into a catatonic whimpering bunny and you can't even tell me why!"
Dr. Wilson hung his head. "I talked with your own staff doctor about the drug. He had no more idea than I do about why this might be occurring now. Perhaps that was THRUSH's plan all alongâ€"a delayed effect on Mr. Kuryakin."
"Perhaps. Unless. . . ." Waverly's shaggy eyebrows narrowed. "Unless it has nothing to do with the drug and Mr. Kuryakin has developed a. . .mental health problem."
"I. . .we've considered that, but all of his mental tests have always been more than satisfactory, amazingly so in reference to his early childhood."
"So it would have to be something of more recent origin then?"
"Yes, I'd say so. Has anything happened that might have been overly traumatic? I've received all the notes on his mental and physical health. On paper he seems to be an amazing specimen."
Waverly frowned at the man. "He is a human being, you know. He's not a guinea pig for your laboratories."
"No, sir! I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you have to maintain a sense of detachment in my profession or. . .or you can lose yourself too easily."
Number 1, Section 1 shifted uncomfortably in his seat before quietly remarking, "I see your point. It is not easy to send young men and women out on missions which might result in an early death. I do it because it is necessary, not because I enjoy it."
"Of course, sir. So is there anything that you know of that might have caused so much trauma that Mr. Kuryakin prefers to be in this state rather than face it?"
Waverly hesitated and then nodded his head. "There is something, however, I would prefer to talk with Mr. Kuryakin first. Perhaps I might be able to get through to him."
"Certainly. I assume you would prefer to speak to him by yourself? I'll wait right outside if you need any help."
"Thank you. It may not do any good, but I have no intention of giving up on a valuable agent without making every effort."
The doctor nodded. Alexander Waverly was a legend. If any man could get through to Kuryakin, surely it would be him.
As soon as he was alone in the small room, Waverly began to speak into the microphone connected to the room next to it. "Mr. Kuryakin, you can wake up now. We need to talk." There was no response to the perfected tone that Waverly used. It was the same one he preferred when discussing too high expense accounts.
"Mr. Kuryakin, there is no need to be stubborn. I understand why you are. . .distraught, but your fears have no basis in fact. They are an after-effect of the drug you were given at the time of the Gervaise Ravel affair."
Still nothing.
"Bloody Russian!" Waverly murmured to himself. There had always been a darker side to this Slav who was a genius in so many ways.
"Mr. Kuryakin, think what you're doing to yourself and to Mr. Solo!"
The blond head shifted slightly.
"That's rightâ€"to Mr. Solo. He has lost his partner, the one man he trusts. Aren't you being self-indulgent, thinking only of yourself?"
The small body shifted once again, flattening itself on the padded floor.
"I blame myself, of course. I should never have allowed a Communist into the organization. It's obvious that you think only of yourselves. I wanted to believe that you might fit in, be a successful partner to Mr. Solo, but the truth is he only covered up for you, didn't he? I said, didn't he?" Waverly rarely used anger in his dealings, but he needed something, anything that would get through to the man on the other side of the glass.
The slim frame jerked at the words hurled at him.
"Is that it? Do you wish to return to Russia? To leave the Command? To leave Mr. Solo? It can easily be arranged. You can live out your life as a vegetable in some austere Russian hospital where they might turn your body over once a week so you won't get bedsores! Is that what you want?"
Kuryakin managed to sit up with difficulty, using the padded wall to help since he could not use his hands.
"So you are still in there? I was beginning to think your brain had turned to borscht. Pah! I despise borscht!"
Ice cold blue lifted to face the window separating Illya from Waverly.
"Borscht and vodka, that's all you Russians are. Everyone knows that the Reds poured vodka down their soldiers' throats to induce them to face the Germans. Cowards, every one of them and you're the most cowardly of all, aren't you, Tovarisch?"
The familiar word hit its mark. "Nooo!" The whimper emerged as a rustle of wind from the blond's throat.
"No? Of course you're a coward! You can't even face what you did, can you, Mr Kuryakin?"
"St-Stop!" The effort of speaking again after so long was almost too much.
"Why should I? It's about time you heard the truth. I was blinded by your academic degrees, your scores at Survival School, the distinction of having a Russian as a part of UNCLE. I ignored the fact that you're nothing but a robotâ€"a mechanical man that spits out facts and has perfect aim. You might be an ideal agent, but as a partner you're worth less than tainted caviar. Admit it! Napoleon Solo is no more to you than someone to be used for your own gain, for your country's gain. UNCLE means nothing to you, Solo means nothing to you!"
"No!" The scream caught in Illya's throat. Pushing himself to his feet, he advanced on the window, thumping at it with his body so hard that it vibrated. "No! He was my best friend. I loved him and I. . .I killed him!" Kuryakin sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "He's dead and I killed him!"
Waverly sat still for a long moment. He had known that the two men were lovers. He hadn't exactly approved of the affair, but hadn't interfered as long as they continued to work well together. Leaning over, he pushed a button on the counsel and then spoke into the phone, "Mr. Slate, would you come in please?"
The tall Englishman immediately entered the small room. "Yes, sir?"
"It's time."
Mark nodded, went outside the room, only to return along with a well-groomed man in a wheel chair who glanced over at his chief.
"It's all up to you, Mr. Solo."
"I hope this works."
"We all do, mate. You're Illya's last chance." Slate lay one hand on Solo's shoulder and then pushed the CEA through the door which clicked open at Waverly's touch of a button.
It wasn't easy for the wheels of the chair to cross the padding, but with Mark's help he managed. Then Slate left them to return to Waverly's side. "Would you like a cuppa, sir? I can pick up one at the cafeteria?"
"I believe I'll go with you, Mr. Slate. I think those two young men need their privacy."
"Are you sure it's safe? You know what Illya did," Mark questioned.
"Mr. Solo assured me that he is willing to take the chance. I can do no less." He paused. The thought of losing Solo as well as Kuryakin was unthinkable. "I do hope the tea isn't an abomination here."
"Hopefully not, sir. Shall we go?"
MFUMFU
In the padded room, Napoleon raised his voice slightly so that it could be heard over the sobs of grief coming from his beloved friend. "Illya?" When there was no response, Napoleon called out in his best CEA voice, "Kuryakin, report!"
The sobs dramatically ceased as the blond struggled to wipe away the moisture and mucous from his face. Silently, he continued to kneel, much like a man expecting his own execution.
"Illya, could you come over here next to me? I need help."
The red-rimmed blue eyes focused on Solo's face. "I don't understand."
"I know. You thought I was dead, didn't you?"
"I. . .I hit you. You weren't. . .breathing."
"Illya, please listen to me for a moment. Do you remember that we were in bed together and you woke up screaming? I thought it was a nightmare, but then you seemed terrified of me, just like you were that time in Marian Raven's apartment. I made the mistake of trying to put my arms around you--to comfort you."
"I. . .I thought you wanted to kill me. I knew it was you and yet I believed you were going to hurt me." The slim body shivered as the coldness reclaimed his mind.
"You pushed me away and I fell, hitting my back and head against the edge of the fireplace."
"You. . .I felt for a pulse and. . .there was nothing. I started to scream."
"You were still screamingâ€"silently--when Mark and April arrived. We had planned to have dinner with them and they were concerned when we didn't show up."
"I don't remember," Illya replied listlessly.
"They said you were acting like a wild man when they tried to get you away from me, eventually you had to be sedated. They brought you here and I was taken to the hospital."
"Y-your legs?"
"My back was severely bruised in the fall. The doctors believe that I should regain the use of my legs when the swelling and bruising heals."
For the first time a tiny smile crossed the thin face. "I don't know what to say. I could have killed you. I thought I did."
"I know. It wasn't your fault though. I believe and so does Mr. Waverly that your irrational fear was a result of the fear drug you inhaled."
"They did tests?"
"Yes but there's nothing to prove it one way or another right now."
"Then it could happen again?" Illya asked with a shudder.
"Perhaps but there's also the possibility that it will never happen again."
"Then I am finished with UNCLE. Mr. Waverly cannot take a chance that I might do something dangerous."
"Come here." Solo held out his hand. When Kuryakin didn't immediately respond, he added, "Please," in his most seductive tone.
The blond complied, kneeling next to the wheelchair with Napoleon's hand in his own.
With the other hand, the CEA ruffled the soft blond hair. "For the time being, you will be assigned to Section 8. I'm afraid you're going to be tested so much that you'll feel like a pincushion, but don't worry, I'll be there to support you. You won't go through this alone and then once all the tests are concluded, you'll probably be asked to stay in the labs and do your usual magic tricks." Solo winked at his best friend.
"And what about you? You will need a new partner."
"I'll think about that when I'm on my feet again. I may decide to go to another section."
Anguish filled the blue eyes. "You must hate me for this."
"Hate you? I could never do that. I love you too much. We may never again be the best in Section 2, but we're definitely staying together, no matter what!" Solo's clefted chin came up in defiance.
"You don't mean that! You'll never feel safe. I could. . .I could do it again and it might be fatal!" The blond protested.
"Illya, if I'm willing to take that chance, why aren't you? The only thing that's important is that you love me and I love you. We've risked our lives for UNCLE and I'm willing to risk even more for us. Will you believe that?" Gently, Napoleon pulled the blond head down so it rested in his lap. "I love you and I'm not giving in to your fears about what MIGHT happen. Can you have some faith in me and yourself?"
"Faith? I suppose it is much like loveâ€"to feel what you cannot see or prove. I want very much to stay with you, but it would kill me to hurt you again." Illya reached out to put his arms around the other man, but the wheelchair made it difficult. Still, he held on as much as he was able.
"You'll hurt me even more if you give up on us. Now that we know that there is the possibility of a reoccurrence, we'll be better prepared. I'll know how to handle your fears the next time."
Illya said nothing. The thought of not being with this man terrified him even more than his own death. "Very well, I will try. I believe one of your Presidents once said, 'We have nothing to fear but fear itself.' Perhaps he was right."
"He was a very intelligent man, a great man and he, too, sat in a wheelchair for much of his life. Together we can prove him right." Napoleon reached down to pull Illya's head up so that they could kiss.
Suddenly, Kuryakin pulled away, glancing towards the window. "Mr. Waverly's not on the other side of the window, is he?"
"No, love. He left when I came in here. He knew I needed to talk to you alone."
"He's a perceptive man," the blond conceded.
"That's why he's Number 1, Section 1."
"And one day you will be," Kuryakin remarked proudly.
"Maybe but as long as I'm Number 1 with you, I'll be content."
Illya blushed. His partner could be so romantic.
"Now, what do you say we get you out of here? You must be starving and I know I am. We'll get the Old Man to take Mark and us out to dinner!"
"I'd be delighted to do so, Mr. Solo, however, I suspect that Mr. Kuryakin will need a small check up before he leaves this establishment since he has been in such an uncooperative state. Shall we let the doctors get on with it?" The familiar voice burst from the microphone.
Napoleon shrugged at Illya who nodded in return.
"One more thing, Mr. Solo, if you ever do become head of UNCLE North America, I hope you'll remember not to refer to your colleagues as "old" when an open microphone is near."
THE END