The Chapel Affair, part 1 of 1

By Vicki "Taz" Titus vhtitus98@yahoo.com Genre: Gen or Slash - depends on your mind set Rating PG Feedback is always welcome. Please, Please!     On or off list - up to you Artwork courtesy Agent Ross, Sepia This story was written as part of a challenge to write a story to match a picture. That picture is shown to the right in thumbnail size. A larger version appears at the end of the story. The 'he' in this story is not important, except it is someone Illya loves. Could be Napoleon, (gen or slash) could be a young son (as part of the Samantha Chronicles), or it could be someone else.       Disclaimer: This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.

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Illya slipped into the hospital chapel quietly as possible, not wishing to disturb any other visitors. He was thankful the room was deserted as he slipped into one of the back pews in the darkened room. The few yards between the waiting room and the chapel served to separate him from the furor around him.

The light streaming through the stained glass window near him gave the room an eerie glow. The darkness suited him, suited his mood. Today, he knew he was even more morose than he usually was.

He came to the chapel seeking a break from it, from the sameness of each passing hour spent waiting for this latest crisis to pass. While he cared for the others dearly, he also felt separated from them. His relationship to the patient was totally different, one he could not have even dreamed of just a year before. The newness of it had often frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. Now, the chance of losing it left him totally adrift.

He missed the smile that could turn away his darkest mood. So, he came here to this chapel seeking solace. More than that, he was seeking a connection to the faith that the patient had been baptized in. So, here he sat, a refugee from the officially godless Soviet state, trying to find the peace religion often brought people in times of personal upheaval.

At the front of the chapel stood a painting of the Crucifixion. Staring at the picture, he decided to take the step he had been debating as he walked between the waiting room and the small chapel. Trying to acting as a surrogate for the patient, saying the words he could not say, Illya begged, "Please don't let him die."

"If you want to take someone, take me. Don't punish him for my mistakes." The Russian lapsed into an awkward silence. He hoped that his heartfelt prayer, the first one he had ever attempted, would be of some help.

Sitting in the darkened chapel, Illya let his mind wander over his memories of their times together. He believed that by concentrating on the happier moments, he might finally be able to return to face the crowd waiting down the hall.

The Russian lost track of the time as he reflected on their times together. He was beginning to control himself when the door to the chapel opened. Glancing in that general direction, he was surprised to see a nurse standing at the back of the room. "Mr. Kuryakin," she stated, "we've been looking for you. The crisis has passed and he is starting to wake up."

Illya quickly rose to his feet and followed the nurse out of the chapel.