Genre: Gen
Pairing: IK/F
Rating PG-13. For an NC-17 version: Click here.
Feedback is always welcome. Please, Please!
Translations and Notes follow at end of story.
-- Russian set off by double stars.
This story is a prequel to The Iron Gate Affair.
Artwork courtesy Agent Ross, Sepia and Ellen
To visit Ellen's web page for more art-Click here.
All new characters and the AU universe are the property of the writers involved, but may be borrowed with permission of the the authors.
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.
Illya walked into the dimly lit bookstore. Pausing a step inside the door, he allowed his eyes to adjust. The blond found the quiet darkness inviting, almost comforting, compared to the overly loud, overly bright Manhattan street outside.
He had known about this bookstore for months, almost since his transfer to the New York office. However, this was the first time he was able to clear his schedule sufficiently to allow for an afternoon of leisurely browsing.
The past few months had been hectic for the agent: transferring from London, getting one partner, and a different one 4 months later. He was supposed to meet his new partner on Monday, and, for now, he had the weekend off. The change in partners was what allowed him to visit the bookstore. All in all, he was not too discomforted by the change, even if he would now be teamed with the CEA for the section.
His first partner, Michael Davidson, had announced his engagement 2 months after they started working together. Davidson had, in deference to his future wife, asked for a transfer out of the field. She wanted him home safely every night and UNCLE, unofficially at least, had rules against married agents in the field. The blond was thankful such a choice was unlikely for him. He would never let anyone get that close to him.
Today had been Davidson's going away party, starting after lunch. Illya had made an appearance, but soon grew disinterested. He became tired of the 'war stories' the agents were telling, which had more to do with the battle of the sexes than any real UNCLE activities. He had excused himself early and retreated to the bookstore.
His eyes finally adjusted to the dim light in the store. Illya was not prepared for what he saw. The large bookstore specialized in books written in languages other than English. There were sections dedicated to each language; the larger area's even had hand-lettered signs announcing their contents.
Looking for the familiar Cyrillic that would identify the Russian area, Illya toured the shelves. As he walked, he became aware of the only other customer in the store.
She was a graceful, shapely blond, with shoulder length hair. Her beauty was not what attracted him, however. The eclectic nature of the books she was carrying drew his attention. Tucked under her left arm were a Indian cookbook written in Hindustani, a Japanese book on horror films and 2 books on advanced quantum mechanics, one in Italian by Fermi and the other in French by Broglie. As the Russian stood pondering the interesting collection the woman carried, she disappeared from sight.
Realizing she had moved on, Illya decided to do the same. He continued to scan the shelves until he found the Russian section. Within a few minutes, he had found 2 books he wanted and started to leave the area. He had reached the end of the bookcase when realized one of the books he had passed was a Russian travelogue. Deciding to look at the book more closely, he started to back up toward it.
On his second step, he collided with the blond, who had stepped into the area just as he was leaving. Startled, she called, "Whoa," as she reached out to steady him. While her outstretched hands connected with his shoulders, her books clattered to the floor, as did his.
"Excuse me," Illya replied, immediately squatting down to retrieve the scattered items.
Walking to the end of the bookcase, she squatted down also as she commented, "No problem." Maneuvering herself to present only her side to him, she picked up a book that was outside his reach. Reading the title, she handed the book to Illya, saying, "I hear that book thematically has a lot in common with 'The Virginian' by Wister.
"You know about Gorky?" he asked, surprised. Illya passed her the books he had retrieved that had originally been hers.
"From his plays mostly. I love the way his heroes survive using their wits. Not always admirable people, but survivors." The young woman tucked the books under her arm.
"I've read some of his other novels. When I found this one, I though it would be interesting to read," the Russian responded.
Standing up, Illya extended a hand to the girl to help her rise. Once she was on her feet, she said, "Thank you," and moved her hand away from his shyly.
"When I was in the German section, I saw one of Heisenberg's early works."
" I would really like to see some of those ideas, but I can't read German."
"And the English translation is a little flawed, from what I understand," commented Illya.
The woman nodded. "I have tried to get the French version, but haven't found it yet."
"Have you tried contacting a bookstore in Europe? They might be able to find one."
"I thought about that," the young lady said, "but decided to keep looking around here first. If I didn't have one by this fall, I thought then I would try looking outside the country. You know about Quantum Mechanics?"
"Well, it depends on which of my professors you ask," the Russian quipped. As he did, a shy half-smile crossed his lips.
The young lady smiled back at him shyly. "After you're done here, would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?" Soon as the words were out of her mouth, she began to blush. "I don't mean to impose. It's just I don't get a chance to meet someone else who knows about it very often when I'm not in class."
"You're studying quantum mechanics?" Illya asked.
"I finish my Ph.D. next year at Columbia," she boasted proudly. What had been a shy smile on the girl's face grew broader.
"I would be honored to discuss the subject with a fellow scholar," responded Illya. "Do you have a place in mind?"
"There's a coffee shop three doors down on the left," answered the girl.
Illya was glad she had suggested a public place. As soon as he mentioned allowing her to pick the place, he had regretted it. If she had picked a more private spot, we would have to wonder if this was an attempt on her part at a pickup, or a kidnapping. Many times, THRUSH had used beautiful woman to lure agents away. "I'll join you there in a few minutes, then."
The girl started to step away but after a few steps, retreated. Extending her hand out to Illya, she said, "Oh, by the way, my name is Samantha."
"Pleased to meet you," replied the Russian. "My name is Illya." He held her hand just a whisper longer than called for. When he did release it, she hurried toward the front of the store to make her purchases.
*****************
Illya and Samantha stayed at the coffee shop for hours, discussing the relative merits of Fermi and Broglie's work. Contact between the couple was minimal. Occasionally, one would tap the other's hand lightly to make a point or brush up against the other's arm as they passed her books between them.
Suddenly, she got a startled look on her face as she looked at the clock on the wall behind Illya. "I didn't realize how late it is!" she exclaimed, grabbing for the check.
Illya reached it first, taking the slip of paper off the table. "I'll pay for it."
Samantha frowned at him. "I asked you here, remember. I should be the one to pay."
Illya just shook his head. "No, I'll get it. Are you late for an appointment?" Illya asked, concerned as he picked up his books and walked toward the cashier.
"Not really an appointment," she replied as she collected up her purse and books. "There is an Akira Kurosawa movie showing at the Granada Theatre. I can just about make it there, stop for dinner nearby and still have time for the show. Would you care to join me?"
"I don't think so," Illya answered, smiling.
"That's too bad." Samantha commented.
Illya watched her as he waited from his change from paying the check. He told himself the best thing he could do, for both of them, was to let her walk out of his life. Most of all, the Russian did not want to hurt Samantha. He doubted that someone as shy and retiring as she was could ever cope with aspects of his life, past and present.
After he paid the check, he turned back to the young woman. "Goodbye, Illya," she called just before she walked the door.
When the door swung closed behind her, Illya felt as if a great weight had settled on him. 'How much harm could one little movie do,' he chided himself. After throwing a bill on the table to cover the tip, he grabbed his books and raced out of the coffee shop. He immediately started to scan the sidewalks for her. Soon, he saw her walking south just a few yards from him.
"Samantha," Illya called, fighting his way through the crowd. "Wait up."
The young woman halted, turning back in Illya's direction. "Is there something wrong?"
"No. I've changed my mind. I will join you," he explained.
"That's great. We better hurry, though or we'll miss the train!"
"My car is just behind the bookshop. Would you rather we go in that?"
The young woman agreed and they started moving toward the parking lot for the bookstore. As they walked, Samantha gave Illya directions to the theatre, located in the east Village area. Satisfied that he knew how to find the location, she continued to follow Illya to his sedan.
"You are a brave man," she quipped, "driving in the city like this."
"You will be in the car with me, so you must also be rather brave," Illya shot back. "All we have to worry about is the fact I might feel like I am driving on the wrong side of the road!"
"You must have been living out of the country," Samantha observed.
"Until 4 months ago," the Russian agreed.
'Judging by your accent, I suspect it was either London or Paris, or maybe both," the young woman commented.
"Both," he replied. "You are rather good with accents."
Samantha smiled at him as he opened the passenger door for her. "Want to take a guess at mine?" she asked playfully as she sat down.
As Illya walked around to the driver's side of the car, he pondered the interesting puzzle that her accent presented. Although it would be undetectable to most people, the Russian could detect a slight difference in her speech patterns. Sliding behind the wheel, Illya said, "I think that besides NY, I detect either New England or Southern U.S, maybe both." Then he pulled off into traffic.
Samantha smiled. "Both," she replied with a note of surprise in her voice.
"Must have been young."
The surprise in the young woman's tone increased. "Boston for the first 6 years of my life then South Carolina for 6 years." Her face reflected her complete amazement.
"That's quite a drastic change for a young child." Illya observed.
"You don't know the half of it!" the shapely woman responded.
"I'm sure there is a story behind that."
Samantha's smile weakened as she took a deep breath. Her voice took on a serious tone as she explained, "There is one thing you should know about me. If you ask a question, you might get an answer you don't want. I went through some rough times as a kid.
Illya's appreciation for the quiet strength of the girl grew. She hinted that her early life, like his, had been fraught with problems. Watching her through the corner of his eye, the Russian wondered exactly what she could have gone through.
Judging his silence as disapproval, Samantha explained, "I refuse to feel guilty for who and what I am. That would be like you feeling guilty for being a blond.
"Or a Soviet". Illya whispered softly, barely loud enough for Samantha to hear.
Realizing that the happy mood they had found earlier was rapidly disappearing, Samantha decided to lighten the atmosphere. "As long as you aren't an anarchist, **Tovarishch**" she teased, smiling at her companion.
"You would worry about me?" Illya asked shyly, glancing quickly at the girl before returning his gaze to the road ahead.
"Hate to visit you in jail. Besides, the food is lousy," she quipped, her eyes now dancing with laughter.
"Yet another good reason to stay out!" he shot back. "Speaking of food, why don't you tell me about the restaurant."
"It's Italian. It has really good food and lots of it."
"My favorite," grinned Illya
"Italian?" asked the girl.
"No, good food, and lots of it." Samantha laughed, pleased that the man's earlier mood had returned. "Do you like to eat also?" he added when her laughter subsided.
"Enough so I have to spend 2, 3 hours a day in the pool," she explained.
"Sounds enjoyable. I have___other types of exercise," Illya commented.
Samantha continued to smile at him when she teased, "I'd ask, but I think I might be embarrassed by the answer."
Illya immediately noticed the implied meaning of the young woman's words. "I'm not a **babnik**."
"That's good, because I don't share well" she quipped, and then blushed. Casting a quick glance at Illya through the corner of her lashes, she motioned between the two of them. "Am I misreading___this?"
"No," he replied. He reached out, placing one of her waving hands in his. "I was just thinking I don't like to share either." After planting a quick kiss on her fingertips, he released her hand. She let her fingers gentle brush against his chin before she moved them away from his handsome face.
Illya came to a sudden realization. He wanted Samantha in his life, and didn't want to share her, especially not with his job. That meant he would keep her separate from his everyday life. He just hoped it would work.
**************
After navigating through the East Greenwich Village traffic, Illya parked in the theatre's parking lot. After hurrying over to the Italian restaurant across the street, they settled down to a leisure dinner. During the meal, conversation, what there was of it, was again about quantum mechanics. Often, the couple would lapse into lengthy silences, simply enjoying the good food and their time together.
Realizing belatedly that time had gotten away from them, Illya paid the bill and the couple rushed into the theatre. Arriving just as the movie started, they slipped into one of the back rows. Holding hands, they attempted to follow the movie. However, both of the young people spent an equal amount watching their companion's reaction to the film.
When the house lights rose, Illya and Samantha walked to his car in the back of the parking lot.
After asking for directions, the Russian discovered she lived in the area, just 2 blocks over and 4 blocks down. She lived on 7th, just 2 streets over from his apartment.
As Illya drove to her apartment, an uncomfortable silence grew between them. He didn't want to the evening to end, and not for the obvious reason. The end of a date always signaled the start of the awkward questions: If she asks, should I go up? If she doesn't ask, should I?
As he parked the car in front of Samantha's apartment, Illya decided to sidestep the issue. Turning to face her, Illya draped his arm over the back of the bench seat. Running a single finger across her shoulder, he smiled at her and asked, "Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"
A half-smile crossed Samantha's face as she remembered their prior conversation. "Probably going to the university pool to swim. Would you like to join me?" she asked with a chuckle.
"I'd like that. How does 10 a.m. sound?"
"Sounds great!" the young lady replied, her smile broadening. "Would you like to have a picnic in the park afterward? It would be easy for me to pack up a basket. We could pick it up after we leave the pool."
Illya smiled and nodded. Smiling back, Samantha collected up her books and started to turn away. Suddenly, she halted and leaned back toward the Russian. After brushing her lips against his cheek, she said, "Goodnight," and started to leave the car.
"Samantha," Illya called and the woman stopped. Placing his hand at the base of her neck, he brought her toward him. As he kissed her, he let a hint of passion creep into the kiss.
When the kiss was over, Illya smiled at her. "**Do svidaniya**," he said.
"**Do svidaniya**," responded Samantha and smiled. She exited the car and hurried up to the door to the apartment house.
Illya watched as she entered the building and then started back to his own apartment.
*******
Part 2
June 10th, 1959
As he stepped out of his apartment building, Illya realized that there were no empty parking spaces in the area. If the situation was similar near Samantha's residence, he deduced he might not be able to park the car. Since his parking garage was between his apartment and hers, the Russian decided it would be easier to walk to her place and escort her to the car. That would eliminate the need for a parking space.
Illya traveled the half dozen blocks between his apartment and Samantha's in a short amount of time. As he crossed into her home block, he was surprised to see the young woman sitting on the steps in front of her building. Her hair was braided and she was wearing a shift dress and sandals. 'Such a different appearance than yesterday,' he mused. But then again, his appearance was different, too, the Russian mused. He was not wearing a suit, but a turtleneck, sport coat and pants.
When he approached the building, Samantha jumped to her feet. She grabbed the bag next to her and hurried toward him.
"I should have thought about the parking problem," the young woman explained as she approached the Russian.
Illya kissed her briefly on the cheek and then responded. "Why, you don't own a car." He smiled down at the woman as he reached for her bag with his right hand.
As she released the bag, Samantha smiled back at him as she commented, "Thank you. I appreciate the help." Illya shifted her bag into his left, the same hand that was holding his bag.
After a brief conversation explaining the location of his car, Illya and Samantha headed toward the parking garage. As they walked across the street, Illya took her hand, protectively, and lead her closer.
"A girl could get used to all this attention," cooed the blond woman as she stepped closer to the Russian.
"American men aren’t attentive to their woman?" Illya asked. The few times he had seen man and women together in public places, he was always amazed at the sometimes hostile nature of the interaction. He knew how precious family and friends were; he had lost enough of them. So many, he had begun to wonder if having a friend was really worth the drawback. Interaction with her, however, started to change his mind about that assumption.
"Only right before they think it will get them something," Samantha quipped.
"Sexual capitalists," the Russian shot back, a faux snarl to his voice. She laughed at his quip.
As they walked, the young woman couldn't help but notice that Illya had not released his grip on her hand. She was pleased that he sought to continue the connection between them without being overly invasive.
When they entered the parking garage, Samantha asked, "This is where you usually park?" The look on her face was one of surprised bemusement.
"Yes. Is there something I should know about it?" the Russian asked as he guided the girl into the stairwell next to the entrance to the building.
"No. It's just ironic. It's where my stepbrother, Toby, keeps his car. I'm in here all the time borrowing it when I have to fill in on the late shift at his jazz club."
"He runs a jazz club?" Illya asked intrigued. Since he had not been in the city long, he did not know where the good music clubs were.
"Live jazz on the weekends, D.J. during the week. Nice place, if you like jazz, but I'm biased".
"I'd like to see it sometime, if you wouldn't mind," the Russian stated.
"Sure," Samantha agreed, smiling. She was struck by the difference between Illya and other men she had dated. Most of the time, any conversation with a mention of family was quickly dismissed. Here, he was actually asking about it and seemed interested.
Soon, they reached Illya's car inside the parking garage. After stowing the gym bags in the back seat, the young people were on their way to the University. As the Russian navigated through the crowded Manhattan streets, the couple exchanged short, quick glances at each other.
When he stopped the car in the parking lot connected to the swimming pool, Illya turned off the car. He immediately turned toward the door, starting to get out. Samantha, however, placed a restraining hand on his shoulder and the Russian began to turn around to face her. As he did, she moved the hand away from him, placing it on her knee.
As Illya settled back down in his seat, he was surprised to find her face bore a serious expression. "There is something I need to tell you," she said. Illya reached out and placed a comforting hand on her smaller one. He did not allow himself to dwell on what could have brought such a sober mood to the woman.
Samantha smiled at him before she started talking again. "I sometimes do odd jobs for my family, one of which is acting as a courier. I have to carry protection for those jobs and often have it with me because I never know when they will call me in."
Illya nodded, indicating his understanding and she continued. "I usually leave my firearm in my swim bag and take it into the pool area. You can do the same with yours if you'd like."
The cool and unemotional manner the woman referred to his weapon astounded the Russian. He found most civilians to be uncomfortable by the presence of his firearm, while she accepted it without reservation. Although he had never overtly mentioned or displayed his shoulder holster and pistol, he was always careful to make sure she was separated from the weapon.
Squeezing her hand, Illya commented, "Thank you for thinking about me,"
The couple left the car and proceeded into the swimming pool building. After Samantha signed them in, Illya handed the young woman her bag and watched as she proceeded into the women's changing area. Then he proceeded into the men's locker room.
****************
When Illya entered the pool area, he was surprised to find it almost empty. Although it was during the summer session, he would have expected more people there. In his youth, he often wished for access to an area this large, with so few occupants.
Setting his gym bag in one of the nearby chairs, the Russian began to go through his warm-up routine. As he stretched, his eyes scanned the room, watching for any possible danger. He noted the fact that there were children in the area and knew he had to avoid them. Although his reserved demeanor toward others made most people feel he was cold and uncaring, in the back of his mind, he knew it was just the opposite. People were at risk just being near him. THRUSH had a tendency to shoot through innocent bystanders.
When the women's locker room area door started to creak open, Illya centered his attention on it. Although her earlier outfit seemed to emphasize her youth, Samantha's her one-piece swimsuit quickly removed all doubt that she was indeed a very shapely adult woman. The Russian ran his eyes over her, allowing his mind to flash briefly on whether he would ever see what she might look like without the intervening material. He quickly banished the thoughts, which might never become reality. He took a deep breath and looked away, hoping his body did not betray his rising interest in the girl. He had heard the other agents at U.N.C.L.E. talk arrogantly about their conquests and hoped she did not think that was his sole interest in her.
Samantha easily picked out Illya in the nearly empty pool area. Picking her way carefully, she padded toward him in her bare feet. As she did, she watched as his glance turned from her shyly. She studied his muscular frame, amazed at how well built he was. By necessity, his jackets were loose, but dressed like this, in form fitting swim trunks, she could see each muscle as it rippled and moved. She found her heart racing as she appreciated the view. Swallowing hard, she approached him.
Placing her gym bag next to his, she stated, "Let me get warmed up and we can get started." Illya nodded and the young woman started her stretching routine.
The Russian watched admiringly as Samantha went through her warm up drill. Within a few minutes, they were both swimming.
After more than two hours, Samantha climbed out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool. Realizing she had left, Illya joined her. "Do you wish to stop?" he asked as he settled down next to her.
She turned to face him and, smiling, replied, "Maybe. I'm really looking forward to getting out in the fresh air and relaxing for a while." As she talked, her feet paddled in the water, sending choppy little waves in Illya's direction.
Samantha grinned at Illya and playfully splashed him. When his only reaction was to look at her questioningly, she commented, "Not what I expected."
The Russian's eyes started to betray his amusement, "If the idea of a water fight is to tease the opponent, wouldn't doing the unexpected have the same effect."
Samantha laughed and exclaimed, "I see I'm going to have my work cut for me keeping up with the way your mind works."
Illya smiled at her and then stood up. Reaching down, he took the woman's hand and helped her rise to her feet.
*******************
Illya circled the block while Samantha retrieved the picnic basket from her apartment. When the young woman did finally appeared on the steps of the building, Illya was amazed by the size of the basket she was carrying. It was at least 2 foot wide and almost as tall, resembling a laundry basket more than the small picnic baskets he had seen others use in Europe. Draped over the top was a folded blanket, adding to the weight. The young woman, however, did not seem to be struggling under the burden.
Double-parking the car, he helped Samantha load the basket into the back seat. After making sure the basket would not shift during the trip, they got back into the car and proceeded toward the park.
At the first traffic light, the Russian motioned with his head toward the basket in the back. "Are you planning on feeding everybody in the park?" he quipped, his face deadpan.
"No, just you and me. If we eat anything like we did at the Italian restaurant, I'm not sure I even have enough there," she replied in a lilting tone.
"What exactly did you bring?" Illya asked as the light changed to green and he began driving again.
"Mostly typical American dishes, but I included some surprises," she laughed. "Since I know how to cook some Russian foods, I thought you might like me to bring some."
"Like what?" Illya asked, surprised that she knew the cuisine from his homeland.
"Black bread, baked mushrooms, Chuk-chuk."
Illya asked, "Chuk-chuk?" an almost wistful quality to his voice. A faint smile crossed his face as he remembered the rich Russian dessert he had not eaten since his days in the Navy.
"Yes. I have a terrible sweet tooth." Samantha replied. "Judging by the look on your face, so do you."
Nodding slightly, Illya cast a quick glance at his companion and then returned his attention to the road.
"How did you learn how to cook those dishes?"
"I have an adopted brother, Pavel, who is a first generation American of Russian descent. We try to cook ethnic foods for him a couple of times a month."
When the couple reached the park, Illya carried the basket to a spot toward the outer reaches of the picnic area. He had acted similarly the night before when he had sought out a more secluded section at the restaurant, Samantha remembered. She had realized quickly then that it had nothing to do with a romantic agenda and more to do with ease of conversation. While other men might have used the privacy to push for increased physical contact, he had seemed content to simply talk.
After Samantha laid out the blanket, Illya set the basket down. Together, they emptied the basket, spreading the array of foods before them.
As the meal progressed, the conversation switched from their usual scientific discussion to personal information. They found they had several languages in common, along with affection for depression era horror movies and several different forms of music.
When the meal was done, the couple picked up the remnants of the foods and reloaded the basket with the containers and dishes. As they reclined on the blanket, sipping coffee, the conversation lagged. Illya knew from personal experience that working on a PhD required intensive study and did not wish to interfere with the required workload. Never adept at social banter, the Russian decided to question Samantha directly about the information he wanted.
After a brief silence, Illya asked, "Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" as he smiled across the blanket at her.
"You mean, other than swim off this meal?" she quipped. "Not really, except I need to spend some time studying between now and Monday.
He had assumed correctly that she had additional work to be done before her next class. "Why don't I take you home so you can study. That way, we can spend time together tomorrow without that conflict.
"Alright," she agreed, surprised by the interest. As Samantha finished her coffee and placed the cup back in the basket, she thought about Illya. With his soft-spoken manner and intelligence, she found his company quite enjoyable. "What time to you want to get together tomorrow?"
"One o'clock for lunch?" Illya offered after he followed suit regarding the coffee.
"That would be great," she replied as she rose to her feet.
In a few minutes, the two of them were back in the car, the picnic basket once again stowed in the back seat. Within a few more, they were back at Samantha's apartment.
Again double parking, Illya removed the basket and carried it to her 4th floor apartment.
After she opened the door to the apartment and set the basket inside, she commented, "I'd invite you in except___"
"I need to get back to my car," Illya remarked, finishing the sentence. Gently cupping her chin, he leaned over and kissed Samantha goodbye. "See you tomorrow," he called as he hastily retreated down the hallway.
"See ya" she responded. When the Russian was out of her sight, Samantha turned and entered her apartment.
**************
Part 3
June 11th, 1959
On Sunday afternoon, Illya approached Samantha's apartment a few minutes before 1 o'clock. He was dressed casually again, in a turtleneck, sport coat and pants. Promptly at 1 p.m., he knocked on the door.
"Be right there," she called from the other side of the door.
The Russian heard approaching footsteps from inside the apartment. The steps paused briefly just on the other side of the door. Glancing at the peephole in front of him, Illya nodded his head in a small signal of acknowledgement.
The door opened quickly. Standing in the doorway, Samantha smiled and asked, "Do we need to leave right away or can you come in for a while?"
"I'd like to come in," he replied. She nodded as she slipped her left arm around his waist, resting her hand on his hip. Draping his right arm around her shoulders, Illya allowed the young woman to lead him into the combination living room / dining room area of the apartment.
The room was awash in blues and browns. While the area did not have an excess of furniture, Illya could see the few pieces that were in the room were well built and expensive.
Samantha turned her head toward the kitchen, located to the left of the dining room table. "Would you like a cup of coffee or a soda?"
Tightening his grip on her shoulder, the Russian replied, "No, I think I'd just like to sit down for a while."
After they navigated around the end of the extra long couch, Samantha motioned toward the length of it with her free hand and said, "Have a seat."
Smiling, Illya responded, "Ladies first!" allowing her to set the arrangements.
Removing her hand from Illya's hip, Samantha commented, "Always the gentleman," as she carefully positioned herself on the couch. The woman picked a spot closer to one end of the sofa than the other, leaving the Russian the choice of sitting next to her on the short end or farther away on the other.
Illya sat down next to Samantha. Draping his arm around her shoulder again, he leaned toward her. "Not always," he whispered as he traced the outline of her jaw with a single finger of his left hand.
A flirty half smile crossed her face. Leaning in, she kissed him gently. After the kiss was over, Samantha smiled as she drew just far enough away to see his face.
The Russian smiled back at the young woman. Slipping his left arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and kissed her, allowing the passion to gradually build. Slowly, Samantha wrapped her arms around Illya's side and rested them against his back on his sport coat, pressing her body into him as the kiss progressed.
When the kiss was over, the Russian buried his face in her hair. If was soft and smelled like strawberries and he luxuriated in the feeling of it against his skin. He blazed a trail of fiery kisses up her neck, then across to her lips. Once again kissing her passionately, he marveled at the woman's intense reaction, as well as his own.
As he held her against him, Illya decided he wanted more: more contact, more closeness. He began to shift their position, easing her down onto her back when he suddenly stopped. He chided himself for pushing the young woman too far too fast. She had invited him to her apartment to escort her to a lunch date, not share her bed. Pulling away slightly, he leaned his forehead against hers.
Holding Illya, Samantha tried to get her breathing under control. She pulled away from him enough to see the conflicted look on his face. She smiled at him, trying to reassure him that he had no cause for concern. "Why don't we deal with lunch, first," she commented, gently stroking his lower lip. "Then, we can spend time together later without that conflict," she added, paraphrasing his comment to her the night before.
Flashing her a brief smile, Illya kissed her fingertips as they lingered near his face. He stood up. "Ready to go, then," he asked, extending his hand down to her. Placing her hand in his, she rose to her feet.
***************
Illya enjoyed the ethnic diversity of the Village. It was why he chose to live there. It was a collection of nationalities from around the world and it gave him a chance to practice his language skills. The Russian wondered if she had chosen to live there for the same reason.
As they walked toward the restaurant he had picked for lunch, Illya had the nagging suspicion that someone was staring at them. His body language betrayed his increased state of concern as he scanned the people on the sidewalk around them. Certainly, Thrush operatives were not brazen enough to make an attempt on his life here, he reasoned. He could think of no other reason someone would target him.
Quickly, he picked out the person. It was a large boned man of African descent openly staring at him as they walked a few feet behind them. Glancing at Samantha, Illya sensed she recognized the man. "Do you know him?" he asked.
"We've, uh, exchanged words before at various times," she replied, a hint of anger in her voice. "He's a very vocal bigot."
Tightening his grip on Samantha's hand, the Russian placed himself between Samantha and the possible attacker. He steered her toward a recess in the façade of the building and then put himself as a buffer between the young lady and the stranger. As Illya placed his right hand under his sport coat, just inches from his gun, Samantha peered over his shoulder toward the imposing figure. He was glad he had loaded the weapon with sleep darts earlier in the day.
The man approached the couple, obviously now longer looking at Illya but at Samantha still standing behind him. "I see you decided to go back to your own kind," the man snarled at her.
"That's none of your concern," she shot back, her voice having a hard edge Illya did not think she was capable of.
"Maybe you'll leave the brother alone so he can stop being such an 'Uncle Tom'!" The man advanced on the couple, towering over them as he glowered over Illya's shoulder at the now angry young woman.
"I suggest you move on, sir!" Illya stated, not allowing the physically towering man to bully him. He reached back with his left hand, grasping one of Samantha's hands.
The man finally centered his attention on the Russian, the scowl on his face growing even larger. "You're welcome to her!" he snarled as he turned away from the couple and proceeded down the sidewalk.
Although he squeezed Samantha's hand to comfort her, Illya made sure he was a considerable distance away before he turned to face the young woman. When he did turn toward her, he was struck by the look of frustration and anger on his companion's face. "Will you be alright?" he asked.
"Yes. I've been dealing with fools like that all my life," she seethed. Seeing the questioning look remained in Illya's piercing blue eyes, she took a deep breath. "Let's start walking again, okay?"
"Would you like to sit down, someplace? I see a restaurant at the end of the block," the Russian offered. He wanted to make things more comfortable for the obviously upset young lady.
"And have a waitress come up in the middle of this? No, let's just keep walking," she replied, the anger in her voice less obvious, the tone more subdued.
"Alright," he agreed, tightening his grip on Samantha's hand. In return, she placed her hand on his forearm, squeezed it once and then dropped her hand back to her side. As they started moving again, the Russian remembered an earlier statement she had made about having a rough childhood. He noticed an empty bus stop at the end of the block and steered them toward it.
"I've mentioned my stepbrother Toby to you, haven't I?" Samantha asked when she finally started talking again. Her voice was barely above a whisper now and Illya strained to her it about the noise level on the busy street they were walking next to. He hoped he had heard the question correctly.
"Yes," he replied, trying to make his tone as soothing as possible. "You told me he owns a jazz club that you think is quite nice."
Samantha nodded and explained, "What I didn't tell you, because it shouldn't matter, is that Toby is colored. Somehow, though, fools like him think that it does. It was really bad when we lived in South Carolina, being segregated and all."
"Why did your family stay in that case?" Illya asked, trying to understand the dynamics of the situation that had so obviously affected the young woman. By now, they had reached the bus stop bench and he sat down, leading her into sitting down next to him.
"They weren't supposed to be there in the first place!" Samantha declared, and then took a deep breath, composing herself. Her grip on his hand grew even tighter as she added, "A coastline cruise ship we were on got towed into Charleston Harbor for repairs. Since we were supposed to have a replacement ship the next day, my stepfather figured it might be safe, as long as we didn't leave the harbor area. He was wrong."
The last three words filled the Russian with dread. He hoped he was jumping to the wrong conclusion, but suspected he was not. "What happened?" he asked. His voice was now also a whisper, matching her earlier hushed tone. He took hold of her other hand, trying to use his affection as a buffer against the difficult memories he suspected might be dredged up by the question.
"Mother and I were in the whites waiting room, Papa Jim and Toby were in the colored one. We were planning to stay there till the boat was fixed. Anyway, I guess word spread that a mixed race couple had been on the ship. Before I knew what was happening, a white mob had gathered outside. Papa Jim either went outside, or got dragged out there. When Mother saw him through the window, she told me to wait in the waiting room and went outside to try to defuse the situation."
"Was she able to?" Illya asked.
A pained look flashed across Samantha's face. After a slight delay, she shook her head. "Papa Jim had always told Toby to take care of me if something happened to him. Toby had been in the bathroom when Papa Jim, uh, left, so the mob missed him, or didn't care. Anyway, soon as he figured out what was happening, he snuck into the whites only waiting room. He found me and pulled me into a closet. Eventually, this granny type person came and told us the mob was gone. By that time, Mother and Papa Jim were laying on the ground outside." There was a brief silence and then Samantha added, "They were both dead before the police arrived."
"Whereupon you were sent to an orphanage," Illya stated. He struggled to continue the mask of calm on his face, hiding not only his anger over what happened to Samantha, but also his own bitter memories of his youth as an orphan in the Soviet Union.
She nodded. "Which separated me from Toby. I hated that and ran away from there all the time. We had a rule in the family. If you get separated, go back to the last place you remember and wait. Every time I got away from the orphanage, he'd either be waiting for me outside or down at the harbor. He'd take care of me until they caught up with me again and sent me back. That's how things went until I got adopted and we all came up north."
"Including your stepbrother?" marveled Illya.
"Yes. They took him in too. They didn't need to, because Toby was an adult, but they wanted my family to stay together. They are just good people." The frown that had been present on Samantha's face disappeared at the thought of her new family.
"You were lucky to find them," he stated honestly. He had been amazed when he learned that the family had adopted the child of a Russian immigrant. Now, he was even more amazed that they had also taken in 2 offspring of an interracial couple.
Samantha visibly relaxed for the first time since Illya had led her to the bench. The Russian was glad the young woman's mood was starting to become less grim. "At least now you understand why I don't like to talk about my childhood," she commented.
"I understand. I don't like to talk about the times I spent in orphanages either," responded Illya.
"You were an orphan too?" she asked, as she started to run her thumb over the back of his left hand.
"Yes, my parents were victims of Stalin's purges in the mid 30's. They were Ukrainians and in favor of a great many reforms that put them at odds with him." The Russian grew quiet, allowing Samantha to draw her own conclusions. "I was sent to Moscow to live with my grandmother, who died a few years later."
Illya chided himself for the direction the conversation was taking. Samantha's mood was just starting to lift but now, he had directed it toward tales of death again. "Thinking about the orphanages makes me hungry," he stated, as a distraction from the rather dark turn the conversation was taking. "Are you ready to go to lunch?"
A weak smile crossed Samantha's face as she replied, "Yes, I am."
************************
While the conversation over lunch was stilted at first, the meal's leisurely pace had given the couple to recover some degree of control over their darker emotions. The walk home allowed additional time to improve the mood. By the time they arrived at Samantha's apartment, the two of them were walking hand in hand, smiling at each other.
Once inside the apartment, with the door closed behind them, Illya pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. His arms encircled her, his hands exploring the gentle curves of her hips and back.
Samantha started to run her hands up Illya's back, wanting to feel his muscles as his hands moved over her. The intervening material quickly frustrated her. Without any thought other than to ease the jacket off, she brought one of her hands to his chest. Edging her fingers forward toward his shoulders, she found them brushing up against his holster. Conscious thought quickly flooded in and she dropped her hands back down to Illya's waist.
The rather abrupt motion caught the Russian by surprise. Raising his head slightly, he commented, "I thought the holster didn't bother you."
Samantha smiled at him shyly and replied, "It doesn't. It was just, uh, in the way, just like the jacket was."
"I think I can do something about that," he responded, stepping away from her slightly. She also stepped away. "Why don't you see what you can do!" she said and smiled. "In the meantime, I'll start a pot of coffee for us."
Illya removed his sport coat and holster. Walking over to the dining room table, he draped the holster over one of the straight back chairs next to it, using the jacket to camouflage its presence.
Entering the kitchen area, he was surprised to find Samantha walking toward him. "That was quick," he commented, placing his hands on her waist.
"I had everything set up, except for adding the water and plugging it in. Thought we might be back here and I'm not a very patient person sometimes." She slipped her hands up and into Illya's hair.
"I can be as patient as you need me to be," the Russian commented, hoping she understood the double meaning in the sentence. He leaned over and gently kissed her.
After the kiss was over, Samantha smiled and explained, "It will be a while before the coffee is done. Why don't we go sit down on the couch?"
Illya nodded his agreement and the couple migrated into the living room, assuming the same positions they had been using earlier in the day. When they had settled in, Illya leaned over and kissed her again, this time more passionately. As the kiss deepened, his left hand began to slowly move across her body, brushing feather light touches against her waist, her stomach and finally her breast.
Samantha murmured her approval as she arched her back, driving her breast into his hand. As he began to massage it gently, she closed her eyes and moaned her pleasure into his mouth.
Illya decided he wanted her closer. Wrapping his left arm around Samantha's legs, he lifted them in unison and placed them over his lap. The feel of her silk stockings had sent jolts of desire up his hands and he allowed his fingers to linger, running them gently up the section of leg exposed below her skirt hem.
Samantha made a soft mew of enjoyment as she felt his hand touching her outer thigh. Without conscious though, she edged closer to him, sending the hem of her skirt higher.
The Russian continued to move his hand over her thigh, luxuriated in the feel of her silk covered legs. Suddenly, he realized he was no longer touching silk, but actual skin; her skirt had ridden up about the top of her stockings.
Just as that realization sunk into his slightly preoccupied mind, an explosion rocked the building, shaking the couch and temporarily separating the couple as Samantha slipped off his lap and onto the floor.
****************
Part 4
June 11th, 1959
The building trembled around Illya, causing furniture to shake wildly and pictures to jump off their hooks. He realized, belatedly, that Samantha had slipped off his lap and was heading toward the floor. Reaching out, he grabbed the young woman just as her left hip struck the floor.
As he helped her struggle to her feet, the Russian could see she had a look on her face that could only be described as a combination of confusion and amazement. He smiled at her; glad she was not reacting badly to the turn of events.
As they began to quickly take stock of the damage around the room, Samantha quipped, "I thought the earth wasn't supposed to move until later in the process." She moved toward her purse, lying on a table near the front door. Withdrawing her pistol from it, she inspected it for signs of obvious damage and then placed back in the purse.
"I think we had a little help." Illya shot back as he hurried over to the chair holding his jacket and holster. "If not, we will need a very secure room later on," he added with a small grin as he wriggled into his holster. Removing his gun from the holster, he also checked his weapon and returned it to its place.
Walking into the kitchen area, purse in hand, Samantha checked for any signs of leaking gas or other possible dangers in the room. Unplugging the coffeepot, she returned to the dining room area.
Illya finished slipping into his sport coat as she left the kitchen. "I will check out the area of the explosion," he stated firmly. He hoped Samantha would continue to be calm in spite of the turmoil. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was an emotional scene. He had to find the cause of the explosion and if it was related to his presence in the building.
She could see the same look of stubborn determination that she often observed saw on Toby's face. Samantha knew that further discussion of his plans would only slow his attempts to find out what had happened. The young woman finally nodded in agreement. "Will you please be careful? I don't want you to get hurt trying to help out here."
The Russian smiled and nodded. "What are you going to do?" he asked as he walked to the front door to the apartment.
"I'm going to close up here and then make sure the neighbors are safe and out of the building," she replied, standing close behind him. "Then I'll wait for you outside."
Illya placed his hand on the entry door. Feeling it cold to the touch, he opened it and slid out of the apartment into the smoke filled corridor. He tried to avoid the press of the crowd as the inhabitants of the building hurried away from the destruction.
Instinctively, the agent moved quietly through the area. He was slowly advancing toward the source of the smoke, even as it abated. Descending two flights of stairs, he finally reached the basement level.
There was only smoldering metal left where the boiler once stood. When the boiler exploded, the resulting waterfall had doused most of the flames in the room. All the smoke was from small fires, slowly burning themselves out.
By the time the firemen had arrived, no fires were left. Illya had determined that a small, rather crudely constructed incendiary device had caused the explosion. Judging by the remaining evidence, it had been attached directly to the boiler. The bomber had planned no real damage, the agent decided. That fact made it unlikely to be a THRUSH attack. He also suspected that there might be human remains if they were responsible.
Illya approached the men with caution, still suspecting a THRUSH trap. Without speaking, he handed them his U.N.C.L.E. identification with his left hand. After each of the firefighters in turn had seen it, he retrieved it. After placing the identification in his pocket, he began to speak. After explaining his presence to them, the Russian told the men what he had found. Then he left to join Samantha outside.
Scanning the area, he found her standing with a pair of older woman, slightly separated from a larger crowd a few feet away. The woman standing closer to Samantha was her height and had white hair, while the one farther away had brown hair and was slightly shorter.
Approaching the trio, he struggled to form a witty greeting for the women. As he walked toward them, the woman standing closest to Samantha commented in Italian, "Your young man is so handsome, dear."
"And so protective, making sure everything is safe for you," chimed in the other, also speaking in Italian.
Samantha's cheeks grew flushed. She knew Illya spoke Italian and would be able to understand the woman's compliments. However, she was unsure how he would react to their words. She WAS sure the women did not intend him to comprehend them. They often conversed in their native Italian, using it as a way to insure their privacy. They had been surprised when they found out unexpectedly that Samantha knew the language.
The ease with which Illya had dealt with the explosion made the young woman change her impression of the man. Earlier in the day, she had suspected he had the same job she did, a courier for a corporation. Now, with his cool reaction to the potentially deadly situation, she started to suspect he was more of a 'fixit' man: a professional caretaker for a company and its personnel.
Illya reached the women and took Samantha's left hand in his. "Am I interrupting anything?" he asked in English, feigning ignorance of the woman's comments.
"No," replied Samantha, smiling at the Russian. "We were wondering if you found out whether it's safe to go back into the building."
"They will probably not allow it without an escort. In addition, there will be water problems as the pipes in the boiler room are broken."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the white haired woman closer to Samantha, also speaking in heavily accented English. "That means we might not be able to stay here tonight."
Samantha looked at the two women, a serious expression on her face. "I'll call the owners and make sure you have a place to stay tonight," she vowed.
"You have already done so much for us," the shorter woman stated, her accent almost as strong as her companion's.
"I didn't do anything any other decent person should have done," responded Samantha, blushing slightly at the woman's comments.
"That's not true, and you know it, young lady," the closer woman declared.
Although he could not determine the incident the women were discussing, he knew the conversation was making Samantha uncomfortable. Her body language told him that much. "There is a phone in the parking garage," he said, attempting to return a sense of ease to the young woman.
Samantha glanced quickly in Illya's direction, smiled and then looked back at the women. "I'll get this taken care of for you!" she vowed. The Russian squeezed her hand in response and the couple started out toward the garage. The streets were nearly deserted and he felt he could relax his guard, at least a little.
Once they were out of hearing distance, Samantha looked at Illya. "I stopped them from getting mugged about a year ago," she stated, a slight hint of anger in her voice. "Some of the other neighbors at the time just ignored the situation."
"Those kind women? That is hideous." Illya declared.
Samantha paused, her brow furrowed in thought. Finally, she stated, in Russian," They are lovers, and are not treated nicely by some of the neighbors."
Illya now realized why the women were standing away from the other inhabitants of the building. "What they do in their own home is nobody else's concern," he declared, also switching to Russian.
"I agree. While my taste in romantic situations is more conventional, I will defend their right to be unconventional."
"Conventional?" the Russian asked, squeezing Samantha's hand as he tilted his head in her direction. He smiled at her, encouragingly.
"Or boring, as my brothers would say. I am pretty traditional. I won't think I'd care for handcuffs or hot wax or groups or any of the more exotic things they like." Suddenly realizing that she had no idea of Illya's sexual preferences, she stopped walking and turned to look at him questioningly.
Illya brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "We will be compatible," he replied. Samantha ran a single finger over his lips and then allowed their hands to float down between them at their sides.
"I'm glad," Samantha commented after they started facing forward again and moving toward the garage.
The couple walked in silence for the remaining few blocks to the garage. Once inside the building, Illya became more cautious. He quickly scanned the building, as he always did, for possible dangers lurking in the area. Satisfied there was no immediate threat, he turned toward his companion, finding her also looking around the large open space. When she finished, he led Samantha to the pay phone next to the stairs.
Fishing through his pocket, he handed her several coins. She looked questioningly at the change, more than what was needed to make one phone call. Seeing the quizzical expression on her face, the Russian explained in English, "You may want to call your step-brother. Better to hear it from you than on the news."
Samantha was touched by his empathy for others. Having grown up an orphan, she would have expected he had very little understanding, or appreciation. of the dynamics of living in a family situation. Maybe it WAS because he grew up that way, she mused. "Thank you, Illyusha," she cooed. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his cheek and then walked the last few feet to the pay phone.
Illya kept his distance, giving her privacy for her phone calls. When she finished and started walking toward him, the Russian hurried to join her. "That's taken care of," she stated, handing the remaining coins back to him.
"Ready to go on to my place?" he asked, depositing the change back in his pocket.
"Yes, I'm ready," she replied as she reached her hand toward him. Illya reached out and enveloped her hand in his.
"I'll have to warn you, my apartment is not nearly as grand as yours is," the Russian stated as they walked out of the garage.
"Mine wouldn't be so large if I didn't need a lab for my experiments," Samantha replied.
"You do experiments?" he asked, his amazement clearly reflected in her voice.
"A girl has to have a hobby," Samantha replied, flippantly. "If it weren't for those experiments, I would probably be in a much smaller apartment." Laughing, she added, "I decided on the minimum area I needed for my lab and then looked for an apartment to match those requirements. Nothing else was important, since I didn't spend much time anywhere else in the place."
"No place else?" Illya asked, a thinly veiled attempt to determine her past romantic history. Glancing at her obliquely, he watched a wry smile appear on her face as she realized the implication of his question.
"Not very often," she replied cryptically, turning her head toward him. Illya smiled back at her, squeezing her hand. Blushing slightly, she volunteered, "I find most men don't like smart women. Or maybe it's just me. I don't know. Haven't been, uh, involved since, 3 or 4 years ago, when I was engaged. After that 1 night, I found he had ulterior motives for dating me and we broke up."
Illya smiled at her again. Although his history was more recent, he suspected she was the one with more knowledge of an in depth relationship.
As the couple proceeded to Illya's apartment, they began to talk in general terms about the experiments and the science behind them.
Once inside his apartment, Illya asked Samantha to select some music she might like while he pored them some drinks. As she sat down her purse and began to look through his collection of records, Illya slipped out of his jacket and holster.
Samantha noticed the first record on the stack was a Sam Cooke record. She remembered that she had to explain to Illya who he was, so she was surprised to find a recording by him. Picking up the disk, she turned to look at the Russian. She was surprised to see him watching her.
"I wanted to make sure I had at least one record you would like, in case you ever came over," he stated in response to her unasked question. Smiling briefly at her, he turned and entered the kitchen area.
"Thank you," she called to his retreating back. She was touched by his attempt to make her feel at home, especially since there had been no plan for her to ever be at his place. Placing the Sam Cooke record on the player, she also added a couple of others, mostly soft jazz tunes. Judging by the wear on the jacket cover and their relative position in the stack, she deduced they were his favorites.
Samantha started the record player and then turned around. Scanning the room, she found Illya had migrated to the couch that marked the start of the 'living room' area. She sat down next to Illya, accepting the glass of wine he held out to her. After taking a few tentative sips, she placed the drink on the end table next to the couch.
"You don't like it?" the Russian asked, disappointment ringing in his voice.
"I love it. That's the problem. I don't want to get drunk." Reaching out to place a hand on Illya's cheek, she added, "I want to remember every minute of tonight." Leaning in slowly, she kissed him and then drew back.
Reaching behind Samantha, the Russian placed his still full wine glass next to hers. Both hands now empty, he placed one on her shoulder and the other on her waist. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck, running her hands on his neck and shoulders.
Illya shifted the hand he had placed at her waist to the small of her back. Pulling her into him, he kissed her passionately. He allowed the intensity of his desire for the woman to build as he deepened the kiss.
Samantha finally broke off the kiss, breathless. Looking at her, Illya saw the passion flashing in her eyes. After a quick smile, Illya once again leaned toward her, planting a line of fiery kisses down her neck.
Raising his head slightly, Illya saw the lust she was feeling clearly reflected on Samantha's face. "You want to go back where we can be more comfortable?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
"Yes," she replied, breathlessly.
Standing up, he pulled her up and into his arms. He quickly crossed the distance to his bedroom, setting her down on the bed and joining her on it. Kissing her passionately, he moaned as he allowed his mind to wander over the pleasures they would share.
**********
After their lovemaking, the couple snuggled together. Samantha began to lazily trace patterns on Illya's chest with her left hand. From the look on her face, Illya suspected her mind was active.
"Ruble for your thoughts," he said, kissing the top of her head as it rested on his shoulder.
Samantha had indeed been thinking. She knew that their idyllic weekend would soon end. By this time tomorrow, he would be back to his demanding job protecting some anonymous company and she would be either carrying some papers someplace, studying or working at the jazz club. Shifting slightly so she could look up into his face, she replied, "Right now, I wish I knew some way to stop time." A wry smile drifted across her face.
"I assume you are not looking forward to tomorrow morning either."
"It will mean the end of out time together this weekend."
"It will also mean going back to a way of life where I won't see you for days or weeks at a time." Illya shifted his glance toward the ceiling and the couple lay quietly holding each other.
"Ruble for your thoughts," stated Samantha when she felt the silence between them becoming oppressive.
The Russian shifted his gaze back down toward her. "You deserve better what I can offer you," he stated, his voice a monotone.
"You offer me more than I ever dreamed of!" she shot back emphatically.
"Maybe, for a few hours every couple of weeks. Maybe, if we're lucky, a weekend here and there." A bleak tone crept into Illya's voice as he spoke
Samantha frowned at him. "I deserve to be happy and you make me happy, delirious in fact, if you want to know."
"You are willing to settle for the small amount I can offer you?"
"Delirious and settle for should not be mentioned in the same conversation," she quipped, trying to restore Illya's prior mood. "Besides, I don't think of it as settling. Being with someone I only halfway care about, just because they're around, would be settling."
"Do you realize what you'll be putting up with? Broken dates, sudden disappearances when I have to go into work, no matter what time it is?"
"Yes, if you are willing to put up with some hassles from my life, too. You've already seen what that can be like sometimes."
Illya finally smiled for the first time during the tense conversation. She seemed to accept him, without the myriad of questions most people posed before doing so. He leaned forward and kissed her; not a passionate kiss like the ones earlier, but a gentle kiss to show his rapidly growing affection for the girl.
After the kiss, his smile grew even wider. "Now, for a really important discussion," he quipped.
"And what is that?" Samantha asked, her mind dancing over several possible topics that could make Illya so happy.
"Do we really want to get dressed to go out to dinner?"
"I'd ask if we really want to have dinner, but I know the answer to that one already," she shot back, smiling also.
********************
Part 5
June 12th, 1959
Sunlight was just starting to stream through the spaces between the drapes in Illya's bedroom. In the dimly lit room, he watched Samantha as she slept. A serene look graced her face and he felt at peace lying next to her. It was a rare feeling for someone in his line of work and he savored it.
He had woken up just minutes before, his well-tuned internal clock rousing him to face the day. He lingered in the bed, not wanted to disturb her slumber. They had not fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning and he wanted to allow her as much time as possible. Although he was used to odd sleeping schedules, he knew a student working on a PhD needed to go to class well rested.
Moving slowly, he turned slightly to reach the bedside table next to him. He turned off the alarm before it rang. Leaning over her, Illya brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Time to wake up, **liubovnik**."
Disquieted by the unfamiliar surroundings, Samantha became momentarily startled. She instantly remembered the night before, however, and softened against him.
"Nice way to wake up," she purred as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Not as nice as it could be," he responded, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "We have to face the real world today."
Samantha glanced up at the clock on the wall across the room. She grumbled a curse under her breath and then frowned. "Since you have to be at work earlier than I have to be to class, why don't you get into the shower, while I see what I can find in your kitchen for breakfast."
The Russian climbed out of the bed and headed into the bathroom. "Have to admire such a brave woman," he quipped and shut the door behind him.
**************
Napoleon walked out of the medical section of the New York office. He started to move toward Waverly's office. As he did, the slight twinge in his upper left arm reminded him again of his reason to visit the doctor. The wound was very minimal, but it gave him the excuse for two days medical leave in London after his loan out there. That respite had allowed him to spend time in the company of beautiful young women. He greatly looked forward to such indulgences. The agent had spent the weekend entertaining several ladies socially and sexually, enjoying the time off immensely. There had only been one negative in the entire escapade. It had been when a pair of the woman he had been escorting had run into each other. He had found out, in a rather loud scene, that he had been involved with sisters.
He had temporarily been 'on loan' to the London office. It was supposed to coincide with the recuperation period of his partner, David Talbot. The man had twice the time in service as Napoleon and was the current CEA. While the two men were not especially close, he felt they made a workable team.
While Napoleon was overseas, the older man's health took a turn for the worse. He had succumbed to a heart attack. The news struck the younger agent hard when he had learned of the man's fate early in his loan out period. In addition to the obvious tumult caused by losing a partner, he also wondered what changes would happen when the now vacant CEA position was filled.
Waverly had flown to London to break the news to him personally. Upon his return, he would now serve as CEA for the New York office. Napoleon was glad his talents were recognized. However, he hated it to be at the cost of an excellent agent such as Talbot. He counted the former agent as a comrade in arms and knew the older man would always have some wry observance to turn even the most boring courier assignment lively. One question answered. Waverly then went on to explain about his new partner. It would be a recent arrival, the taciturn Illya Kuryakin. Since the Russian's former partner, Michael Davidson, had transferred recently, the older man thought the pairing seemed efficient.
While in London, Napoleon asked about the Russian. He knew the agent had worked there until his transfer 4 months before. Although everyone he talked to spoke in glowing terms of his abilities, both in the field and the lab, no one offered any personal comments. In fact, it seemed none of them really knew the quiet younger agent and never spent time with him socially.
That one fact bothered him more than anything else he could have learned. Napoleon counted on his partner to help break up the monotony of the longer assignments and it did not bode well if the younger man was socially reserved.
As Napoleon walked into Waverly's office, he wondered what his new partnership would be like.
*****************
When Illya walked out of the bedroom dressed in his robe, he saw Samantha moving around the kitchen area of his apartment. He felt a twinge of regret that she had her clothes on, but he knew it was how things had to be. He hurried to her side and planted a light kiss on her cheek. "A shame you had to get dressed," he whispered as she turned to look at him.
"But a necessity," she responded, handing the Russian a plate containing scrambled eggs and toast and then picking up a second one for herself. Moving to the small table at the side of the room, the couple began to eat and their conversation lagged.
Samantha explained she would probably be living temporarily at Toby's club. She asked Illya to drop her off there and he agreed. He knew it was the simplest way to find the club. He had been looking forward to seeing it and decided he would be visiting there soon. After the meal, the Russian helped Samantha clear the table.
Illya dressed quickly while Samantha cleaned up. He had never had such mixed emotions about going into work in his life, he mused, as he got ready.
After dropping Samantha off at the club and making sure she got inside safely, the Russian drove on to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. After checking in, he hurried to his office. Once there, he began to process the stack of paperwork on his desk. Illya had cut the size of the stack in half when he received a message that Mr. Waverly wanted to see him in his office.
He walked toward his superior's office. The blond realized that this would be his first official meeting with his new partner, Napoleon Solo. He had met the older agent during his first few weeks in New York. However, he had never had an in-depth conversation with him. Knowing the well-thought of agent would be his partner, Illya took special pains to listened to any mention of the man in casual conversation. It was personal information he was interested in. What he had heard was not encouraging. There seemed to be a consensus that he was a charming womanizer. Illya knew it was frivolous to toy with women like that. He held that belief even stronger now, after meeting Samantha.
He had heard other bits of information that indicated, in some respects, the men were exact opposites. He hoped that fact would prove an asset to their partnership, not a hindrance.
As he walked into Waverly's office, the Russian nodded a greeting to the two other men in the room. He joined them at the back of the office.
"I believe you gentlemen know each other," Waverly commented. When both men nodded, he continued. "I have an courier assignment for you."
Both men realized the older man was picking an easy assignment to ease them into the partnership. They listened to the details and found them simple. Deliver a package to the Washington D.C. sub-office and then return to New York. Maybe deceptively simple, Solo mused as they left the office.
As the pair walked toward the garage, Illya commented, "I like to drive."
"Alright," agreed Napoleon, struck by the abruptness of the sentence. "That will give me more of a chance to watch the scenery," the older agent added as he craned his head to watch a secretary walk through the intersecting hallway.
'It's going to be a long drive,' Illya observed as he watched Napoleon.
As the two agents got into Illya's car, Napoleon suggested, "Why don't we take the train? It will be a little easier to navigate." The older agent was also hoping the train trip would relax the younger agent. He had heard the Russian was rather reserved and knew he had to put the man at ease if they were to build any kind of rapport.
"And for you to take in the scenery," responded Illya. The Russian had heard of the rumors of the American's ability to charm women and was intrigued with the concept. He wondered if it were true, or simply office gossip. He watched the older man's gaze follow the only other occupant of the garage; a young brunette woman in her mid 20's, probably a member of the U.N.C.L.E. secretarial staff.
Napoleon smiled innocently at the Russian, glad that the younger man seemed to accept that facet of his personality. The two men settled into the car for the drive to the train station.
********************
The trip to the train station was very quick, and very quiet. Illya, retiring by nature, was ill at ease with small talk. This was especially true when he was driving. Napoleon, for his part, seemed content to sit quietly and watch 'the scenery. However, it was the farthest thing from the truth. Whenever he tried to start a conversation, he found his overtures answered with short sentences. So much for drawing the man out, he realized.
Upon arrival at the station, they discovered the next train to Washington D.C. would leave in 25 minutes. The agents decided to wait for their departure call in the station coffee shop.
As they waiting for their coffee to arrive, Napoleon inquired, "What do you think we should talk about? Do you follow any sports?"
"Rugby," Illya responded. A frown crossed his face as he added, "They don't play that here though. Do you like jazz?"
Napoleon shook his head. This is going to be harder than I thought, he realized. He knew he wanted to make the effort; it was just a matter of finding the right topic.
The pair stopped talking, as the waitress appeared to fill their coffee cups. "How about girls?" the older agent countered tentatively after she left.
"I like women, yes; enjoy talking about them, no." Illya responded quietly. He knew talking about women would only increase the chances that he might make some slip about Samantha and their life together.
Napoleon chuckled wryly. So, the man has a personality under all that reserve, he realized. He was particularly aware of his new partner's wry sense of humor. One of the things he found so enjoyable about his previous partner was his ability to crack jokes at anything and it seemed the blond also had that particular ability.
The question was, how to break through his icy demeanor. Finally, he remembered something that had struck him odd about the thin, young agent sitting with him. The few times he had seen the man at lunch, he seemed to eat an inordinate amount for his size.
Switching his approach, the older agent smiled at Illya. "Have you ever been to D.C. before?" When the blond shook his head, Napoleon continued, "I know this great restaurant, right in the station. Makes great steaks. Maybe we should eat there before we go back." Illya smiled and nodded. "I'd like that." The younger man cast his eyes down as he sipped his coffee. Before Napoleon could frame his next comment, the overhead speaker announced their train was boarding. After Napoleon threw a couple of one-dollar bills on the table. He wanted to cover the cost of the coffees and leave a good-sized tip for the waitress. Satisfied he had done that, the pair headed out to the loading platform.
The train ride down was uneventful. While Napoleon spent the trip socializing with the women passengers, Illya amused himself by watching all the people occupying the car. He watched the other agent's actions behind a veil of disinterest. Actually, he was quite intrigued at watching the ease at which the older agent charmed the women. He could easily see where a charming partner could be a definite asset in their line of work.
The courier drop at the sub-station was equally as uneventful. Before long, the agents were back at the train station, lunching on steak in the upscale restaurant there. As the men eat, they compared their opinions on some of the restaurants they had been to in Europe and a few in the states. When the older agent asked Illya his favorite restaurant in New York City, the blond shrugged. Although he did now have a favorite, the Italian one next to the Granada Theatre, he wanted to hold to his promise to keep his life with Samantha separate from his professional life.
While they waited to board the train back, Napoleon quipped, "If we can't think of anything else to do on trips, we can always eat. That's something we both agree on."
Illya rolled his eyes. "Our expense account will be horrid," he responded, a wry smile on his face.
"Not to mention the fact that medical might have something to say about it if we gained 20 or 30 pounds the first few months of our partnership. They might declare us unfit and put the two of us under medical supervision until we lost the weight."
Illya chuckled. "I already spend to much time in that hideous place as it is," he responded. "Besides, I suspect you have ways of keeping the weight off."
Napoleon wondered if he was making a veiled reference to his social life. If he assumed it had been, and it wasn't, it might prove embarrassing. Deciding to answer in an equally veiled way, he commented, "Don't we all?" He graced the blond with one of his most charming smiles and Illya smiled shyly back in response.
*************************
Illya walked into his office after he returned from the courier mission. Scowling at the stack of still uncompleted paperwork, he sighed and slipped into the seat behind the desk. The Russian made it a habit to check each of his lab reports twice. Usually, he had the library staff pull his reports and would spend one weekend a month going through them. That had been his pattern ever since joining U.N.C.L.E three years before. THIS weekend, however, he had not returned to the office.
Remembering the last few days with Samantha brought a smile to Illya's face. Forcing himself to concentrate, he began to work through the reports. After checking the facts on each report, he made a tiny mark at the end of the page. Turning it over, he placed it, face down, on the far right side of his desk. When he completed each successive report, he marked it and added it to the face down pile.
He was working on his last set of papers when Napoleon walked into his office. "So, you like to do paperwork, too, I see," he quipped, referring to their first conversation.
"Double checking lab reports," Illya responded, not looking up from the page he was looking at. After making a notation at the bottom of the paper, the Russian added it to the stack of reports on the corner of his desk. That done, he looked up at his visitor.
"I thought we might go for a drink, celebrate the end of our first successful mission together." The older agent smiled at the younger agent encouragingly. "Maybe we will even find some common interests.'
"Da," agreed the Russian. He realized he could join Napoleon for a couple of drinks and still arrive at the club in time to take Samantha to dinner.
******************
The agents walked to a bar that was within walking distance of HQ. Once inside, they settled into one of the booths toward the center of the room and waited for a waitress to take their drink order.
After the first round of drinks was delivered, Illya decided it should be his turn to try to bridge the gaps in their knowledge of each other. The approach to take became obvious to the Russian when he remembered where the man had been just days before. "Did you get a chance to go to the Museum of London?"
"Yes. Saw their display of ancient mariner tools. I'd hate to go sailing with that equipment. The stuff I have is bad enough."
"The stuff we had in the Russian Navy wasn't much better, either," Illya quipped. "You go sailing often?"
"Not as often as I like. I hate to go out alone. If the sea's get rough, I like an extra pair of hands around."
"Where is your boat?"
"Out on Long Island. Would you like to go sailing sometime?"
"Always look to the younger partner for slave labor," the Russian teased, a wry smile on his face.
"Oh, didn't you hear, it's in the unofficial U.N.C.L.E. procedures manual, right next to the section on not getting married."
Illya chuckled at the comment and then grew silent. He wondered why the older agent chose to include a marriage reference in his statement. However, since he himself had marked woman as a topic to be avoided, he could not bring it up. "What I found amazing was the weapons they used. Subtlety was not part of their function."
Napoleon nodded, agreeing that the ancient weapons were different that the ones they worked with now. Although they had to be careful about what they said in a public place, the agents began a lighthearted discussion of what the 'spy game' might have been like if it existed in the times of the ancient mariners.
***********
They had been at a bar for over an hour when Napoleon excused himself from the table. As Napoleon walked toward the restrooms at the back of the bar, Illya began to scan the crowd, as he usually did. The interaction between people fascinated the Russian.
He was watching the people move through the room when he saw the older agent talking to a woman standing at the bar. After a few words, Napoleon smiled charmingly at the girl and started to walk back to the table. Realizing the agent was forgoing a chance for feminine companionship to spend time with him, he felt both pleased and guilty. The feeling was compounded when he realized he had to leave soon to meet Samantha for dinner. He knew he did not want to stand in the other man's possible connection with the young lady at the bar.
When Napoleon reached the table, Illya stated, "I hope you didn't leave her on my account. Since I just came for a couple of drinks, I should be leaving now."
"You sure you don't want to stay longer? Maybe grab dinner later?"
"I'm afraid I have plans." Illya responded.
"So, do you 'have plans' with a young lady?" the older man asked with a smile.
"I'll see you in the morning, Napoleon," responded Illya, smiling but not answering the other man's question. The blond turned and started to walk toward HQ.
*********************
Part 6
******************
June 12th, 1959
Samantha sat at the bar, chatting with some of the regular customers of the club. Each time the door to the dimly lit club opened, her head swiveled to look at each of the new arrivals.
One of the older men also sitting at the bar smiled at her. "You waiting for someone, kid."
Samantha turned toward the man. "More like hoping. Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"Only because it's so unlike you," the man replied as the door opened. Turning to face the entrance, Samantha could see Illya standing in the doorway. Jumping to her feet, the young girl walked toward the front of the club.
Halfway between the bar and the entryway, Samantha walked past one of the waitresses for the club. Hooking her arm into Samantha's, she whispered, "He's gorgeous," she whispered softly, a smile on her face. "Will you share?" she teased.
"No, mine," she responded softly, teasing the woman back. Samantha quickly crossed the distance to the door, reaching there before the Russians eyes had adjusted to the darkened interior of the club. Not wanting to startle the man, she stopped an arm's length away and called "Illya."
The Russian turned toward the sound of Samantha's voice as his eyes finally becoming acclimated to the dim lighting in the club. Smiling at her, he reached out and took her hand after kissing her briefly on the cheek.
"This way," she announced, leading him through the crowded club. As the moved toward a section of booths on the side of the club opposite the bar, various customers called out, "Hi, Sami" or "How ya doin', kid". In response, she answered, "Hi there," or "Glad to see you're back."
The pair found an empty booth at the far side of the club. After she sat down facing the door, Illya slipped in next to her on the bench seat. He slipped his arm around the back of the seat and the young woman laid her head against it, smiling up at him.
The waitress Samantha had talked to a few minutes before hurried to the booth. After taking their drink order, she slowly turned and walked toward the bar. Within a few minutes, she was back with the drinks, smiling broadly at the couple.
After she left, Illya observed, "Friendly people here."
"That's why I like it so much," Samantha responded.
The couple listened to the music filtering through the club and sipped their drinks. After a half hour, Illya suggested going to dinner and Samantha agreed.
"Before we go, however, I'd like to talk to Toby," the Russian explained.
"You want to tell him he has a nice club?" she suggested.
"That too," Illya replied, leaning over and kissing her lightly.
"He should be at the bar," Samantha explained. He nodded and walked across the bar at the opposite side of the bar.
As he approached the bar, he could see no one who matched his mental image of the man who had helped to raise Samantha. Sitting on stools at the far end of the bar were 2 colored men in their late 50's. Sitting next to them was a white man in his mid 40's.
When he reached the bar, he sat on an empty stool at the opposite end of the bar. He had positioned himself across from the bartender, a tall colored man, who didn't look much older than 30. "I'd like to speak to Toby," he explained, hoping the young man could point him in the right direction.
"You're talkin' to him," the bartender answered as he wiped down the bar. A slight grin started to appear on his face. "So, you're the kid's new friend?" he asked, letting go of the rag. He leaned up against the back of the bar, sizing up the agent.
Illya was startled by the youthful appearance of the man, but managed to hide it. At least, he hoped he did. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I would like to compliment you on your club."
"Thank you," Toby responded, eyeing the intense young man.
"I also wanted to tell you that you raised a very wonderful woman. I hope to keep seeing her, as long as you agree." The Russian did not want to find Samantha trapped between the two men. If her stepbrother objected to him for some reason, up to and including his Soviet nationality, he wanted to know about it now.
The bartender looked at him, his gaze seeming to bore into him. Finally, he answered, "As long as you keep her happy and healthy, I don't see why not." Picking up the rag and starting to wipe the bar again, he added, "You hurt her, and I'm come after you, though."
"I can't guarantee a happy ending, sir," the Russian answered, hoping to reassure the man of his good intentions. "Any situation has its low points, but I'll try to make the good times make up for it, however."
Toby leaned into the younger man, a menacing scowl on his face. "Let me make myself clear, in case you didn't understand what I just said. You EVER lay a hand on her in anger during one of those, uh, 'low points' and I will make you regret it. No, on second thought, you'll be lucky to live to regret it. Do I make myself clear?"
Illya realized he had misunderstood the man's earlier comment. Not allowing the man to intimidate him, he scowled back and hissed, "I will never lay a hand on her in anger. If I did, you'd be right to come after me. Do I make MYSELF clear?"
"Da!" replied Toby, showing the younger man that he knew Russian.
Illya took a long, appraising look at the man. The odd exchanged puzzled the young man. "Sir, may I ask you a question?" he finally asked. After Toby nodded, Illya switched to Russian and asked, "Why do you think I would hurt her. I've never done anything the least bit threatening, at least toward her."
"A boyfriend she had in her first year of college smacked her around," Toby explained, also switching to Russian.
Illya's anger flared up again. "I trust you dealt with him in a sufficiently timely manner."
"Oh, most definitely." Toby replied, obviously appreciating the fact that the Russian could empathize with his need to avenge his sister. "I also like to make sure that it doesn't happen again. You can understand that, right."
"Oh, most definitely," Illya responded, finally switching to English.
Toby relaxed as he stepped away from the young man. Illya also relaxed, resting his elbows on the bar. Placing his chin in his hands, the Russian asked, "Are all her siblings so volatile?"
A slight smile crossed his face as Toby replied in English, "I'm the calm one of the brother's."
Illya smiled. "Family dinners must be interesting," he said, deadpan.
"Maybe you'll be around enough to find out," he responded. "We done here?" he asked. Illya nodded and Toby walked toward the group of men at the opposite end of the bar.
Samantha had seen the conversation between Illya and Toby start to grow heated. She stood up and started to walk toward the men when they separated. Their exchange of smiles afterward did much to reassure the young woman.
Sitting down on the stool next to Illya, she asked, "Things go like you wanted?"
"They ended the way I wanted," the Russian replied. "I'm glad you have someone like him around."
"I can usually take care of myself," Samantha answered quietly, leaning in to Illya.
"I know," he replied, "but it's comforting to have someone to rely on."
"Like you and your new partner. By the way, how did your meeting go with him today?"
"Promising. I think we can work together nicely."
"I'm glad. It would be rough if you couldn't." Samantha smiled at the Russian. Illya smiled back and ran a single finger down her jaw line.
As he began to lean over to kiss her, Toby walked back to their end of the bar and cleared his throat. The couple turned to face the older man, who was grinning at them. "Okay, you two. Get out of my club before you scare off the paying customers."
"Yes, sir," answered both blonds in unison. Standing up, the pair walked quickly out of the club to go have dinner.
********************
The couple ate a leisurely dinner at a Chinese restaurant. During the meal, Illya began to teach Samantha to eat with chopsticks. After initially commenting about the extreme amount of work required to procure a minimum of food, she was able to learn the technique quite quickly.
On the walk back to the car, Samantha looked at Illya and smiled. "Illyusha, I have something I want to talk to you about."
Illya tried to determine what she wanted to talk about in the nearly empty parking lot. Had he done something at dinner to offend her, he wondered.
"I've made arrangements to stay someplace else tonight. If you don't mind, could you take me someplace else in the city."
"I don't mind. Is there a problem?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
"Um, Toby just met a new girl over the weekend. I don't like sleeping at the club when Toby has girlfriends over. It's hard enough to sleep through the club noise, much less, uh." She let the sentence trail off as she started to blush.
Bringing the girl into a loose embrace, Illya asked, "What is this new place like?"
"Well, it's a small one bedroom apartment my father's company uses for out of town visitors. When I found out that Toby would be having a guest, I decided I might try to borrow it. Papa said it was okay, so I went over this afternoon and made myself at home." Blushing, she added, "I even put some things in there that might make you feel at home if you showed up."
Realizing he had done the same thing when he bought the Sam Cooke album, he asked, "Like what?" A shy smile crossed his face as he watched her face brighten in response to the question.
"Well, there's Vodka in the freezer, some soft jazz records, and plenty of food in the fridge."
"A man could get used to all this attention," the Russian responded, paraphrasing one of Samantha's earliest comments to him.
Samantha blushed as she remembered the end of that earlier conversation. "You know it's only because I want you to be comfortable, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," he answered. He leaned over and kissed her gently. When the kiss was over, he walked to the passenger door and opened it so she could get in.
**************
When the couple arrived at the apartment in the financial district of Lower Manhattan, Samantha went into the kitchen to pour a round of drinks. While she was occupied, Illya removing his holster, suit coat and tie. "I'm going to put on some music," he called when he finished.
"Sounds great," Samantha responded.
After stacking a selection of records on the turntable, the Russian walked toward the kitchen. As he did, he looked around the apartment, or rather, the section of it he could see. Like Samantha's home, it was spartanly decorated, but each of the pieces was of high quality.
When the Russian reached the kitchen, he found she had not only poured drinks, but also built an entire tray of drinks and food. "Let me get that," he offered as he lifted the tray off the counter.
The couple walked out of the kitchen into the living room. After placing the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch, he turned around to face Samantha. Taking his hand, she led him to the couch and they sat down.
As the cuddled on the couch, the couple compared notes on their activities for the day. Although Illya was guarded about some specifics, he enjoyed talking about his trip, including the restaurant where he and Napoleon had lunch. In turn, Samantha talked more openly about her activities; except for a courier run that she had done for her father's business. She referred to it obliquely, citing 'the errand' as the reason she had been at her father's office.
Illya was glad Samantha understood the secrecy required by her courier activities. He felt it made her more readily understand his reticence to talk about some of the aspects of his life or job. She never pressed for more details when he tried to evade a question and he did the same in response to her less than complete answers.
As they talked, Illya began to slowly run his fingers over the cuffs of the silk blouse Samantha was wearing. His attentions seemed to affect both of them and they grew silent, watching each other.
As the conversation between the couple lagged, Illya suggested, "Let's dance," as he eased himself off the couch. Once on his feet, he reached down to help Samantha to hers.
Placing her hand in his, Samantha stood up. Slipping her arms around his waist, she quipped, "Hope you aren't thinking about folk dancing." Seeing the surprised look on the Russian's face, she added, "Pavel taught me one weekend when we got snowed in as kids. He got tired of watching me read and wanted to do something together."
A devilish twinkle appeared in Illya's eyes as he started to pull away from her. As he started to assume the traditional stance for folk dancing, the girl grabbed him and pulled him back into a standing position.
"Where do you think you're going, mister?" she teased.
"Right here!" the Russian responded, pulling her into a very close embrace. They began to move in time to the jazz album that was playing. It was the last one on the turntable and was a collection of instrumentals.
When they realized that the last album was over, the couple stood in the middle of the living room smiling at each other. Illya pulled her even closer, kissing her passionately. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hips, pressing her lower body into his.
Samantha tightened her grip on the Russian, starting to run her hands over his back and shoulders as the kiss deepened.
Eventually, the kiss ended, leaving both of them weak in the knees. Slowly, they eased themselves down to the floor, lying next to each other on the carpeting.
Illya brought one of his hands to the front of her blouse, running his hands over the silky material. Slowly, he began to unbutton the cloth-covered buttons. While he undressed her, he murmured compliments to her in Russian, telling her how beautiful she was, and how sexy.
As he dealt with her blouse, Samantha buried her face in his neck, kissing anything her lips could reach.
The girl's rapid fire kisses fired Illya's libido. He realizing he did not want to make love to her on the living room floor. Ignoring her mews of protest, Illya forced himself to his feet. Lifting her up, he carried her into the hallway at the back of the apartment, guessing that the bedroom lay at the end of it.
******************
Chapter 7
******************
June 16th, 1959
Illya tried to be patient as the waited for his turn to disembark the plane. Instead of feeling the mixed emotions he usually did at the end of a European mission, the Russian was actually feeling elated about being back in New York.
Maybe it was the fact the mission was so mundane. They had traveled to Paris to investigate reports that Thrush had a mobile chemical lab. While they had received confirmation almost immediately that the lab did exist, they spent two days driving around the French countryside trying to find the truck that held it. When they did find the lab, it was remarkable easy to overtake the Thrush guards.
However, it could also be that he no longer felt Europe was his home. He was beginning to set down roots in New York, form bonds. Establishing friendships had never been easy for him, he knew that, and here he was establishing two potentially lifelong and totally different types of attachments. Time spent with Napoleon had been the highlight of the otherwise commonplace mission.
As their turn came, the pair of agents walked off the plane and into the terminal. As they walked through the airport, Illya fought the urge to call Samantha on one of the half a dozen pay phones they passed. Not in front of Napoleon, he decided, trying to keep his relationship as hidden as possible.
After recovering his luggage in the baggage claim area, the Russian caught the older man's attention. Nodding his head toward the sign that read 'restrooms', he turned and left the area, leaving his sole piece of luggage with Napoleon.
Knowing he had just a few minutes of privacy, Illya slipped into a nearby waiting room. Fighting the urge to charge across the room, he walked to one of the pay phones partially hidden by the foliage themed decorations in the room.
He dialed the number for Samantha's apartment, hoping she had been allowed to move back there after the explosion. The phone was picked up on the second ring and the Russian smiled when he heard her voice on the other end saying 'Hello,"
"Hello," Illya repeated. "I just called to see if you are busy tonight."
"I am now," she answered. The Russian suspected that she was also smiling, from the tone of her voice. Before he could reply further, the loud speaker above him blared to announce the arrival of another flight. The interruption irked the agent, and he frowned at the offending appliance.
He was still frowning at the inconvenience when Samantha asked, "Do you need me to borrow Toby's car and come get you?" The question temporarily startled him. He was not used to such gestures of friendship.
"No, I have that worked out, but thank you," he replied, stumbling over the words. "I'll see you tonight. Is 7 o'clock okay with you?"
"Seven o'clock," Samantha repeated. "See you then."
"Goodbye," Illya stated and hung up the phone. Walking out of the waiting area, he hurried back to the baggage claim area.
**************
The afternoon seemed to drag on for the Russian. He knew that his excitement over seeing Samantha was disrupting his concentration, and it nagged at him. By the time he finished his debriefing and started on the paperwork required at the end of every mission, he had become quite irritable. When Napoleon pressed him on it, the younger agent passed it off as jet lag. For the rest of the day, he fought the urge to snap at anyone who came near him. Every interruption, every conversation slowed down his progress on the paperwork. Finally, he finished the documentation for the mission and prepared to leave.
As he made his way to the garage, he hoped he did not run into Napoleon. If the older man asked about joining him for a drink, he would be torn. He enjoyed spending time with the man, but right now, he wanted to see Samantha. The thought of the young woman brought a shy smile to his face.
Reaching his car, Illya placed his luggage in the trunk. Before closing the trunk, he opened the suitcase. After digging down through the contents of the bag, he removed a simply wrapped box of Parisian chocolates he had bought for Samantha in Paris. Not as good as Swiss, but you work with what you have available, the agent mused. He slammed the trunk and got into the car, quickly leaving the area.
The Russian navigated to the garage near his apartment and parked the auto in his assigned spot. He didn't go home, but instead headed toward Samantha's place. He took precautions to prevent both Thrush and U.N.C.L.E. from tracking him to Samantha, however. After leaving the garage, he took a roundabout path to her apartment, constantly checking to see if he was being followed. Finally reaching his goal, he hurried up the stairs to her home. In his left hand was Samantha's present.
When Samantha answered the door, Illya was once again struck by her natural elegance. Even though she was wearing a simple sleeveless cotton dress, she still managed to look beautifully regal.
The Russian stepped through the open doorway and slipped his right arm around her waist. His left hand, holding the present, was tucked behind his back. Before resting her arm around Illya's shoulders, she pushed the door shut.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, the Russian pulled her into a tight embrace with his free arm. He could feel her heart beat joining his as he pressed her chest against him. Burying his face in her hair, he murmured, "I missed you."
"I missed you too, Illyusha," Samantha responded, resting her cheek against his hair. She relaxed into his embrace and sighed contentedly.
Positioning himself to look into her face, Illya asked, "Are you sure you are safe here? That there won't be any more incidents like the bombing?"
"It's okay. It was just the ex-super, trying to cause problems for the new one. The police arrested him day before yesterday." Samantha brought her hand up to place it on the Russian's cheek. "You were worried about me?" she asked, a half smile appearing on her face.
"Yes. I was." Illya started to slip his left hard around her waist, and realized he still held her chocolates. Pulling away from her a little more, he brought the box around to the front. "I got you a present while I was in Paris," he explained, handing it to her. As she started to tear away the wrapping, he added, "Just wanted to show I was thinking about you."
"Thank you," Samantha responded, smiling fully at Illya when she finished opening the present. Temporarily slipping out of his arms, she placed the package on the kitchen counter. Illya turned with her toward the kitchen and was surprised to see an array of foods on the kitchen counter. Samantha positioned herself beside him as he eyed the elaborate display. "How does an indoor picnic sound?" she asked, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen area.
"Sounds better than an outdoor one at this time of night," he answered.
Samantha set about adding the chocolates to one of the trays. "I was thinking about you, too," she commented as she worked. "That's why I had Mary help me redecorate the bedroom. I think you'll like the changes. They look wonderful."
"Mary?" Illya asked, not recognizing the name.
"Another, uh, sibling," explains Samantha as she finished laying out the chocolates. "Mary helps decorate a lot of different apartments for the family. You probably noticed that my apartment and the guest apartment look a lot alike"
Illya gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. A knowing half smile crossed his face as he responded, "Let's go see how wonderful it is." Placing a hand on Samantha's back, he started to guide her toward the bedroom.
"Dinner first, then the grand tour," she exclaimed, smiling as she turned toward him. "Why don't you go get out of your holster and all while I lay out the picnic?"
Illya walked over the dining room table and draped his holster, jacket and tie over one of the chairs at the table. By the time he finished, Samantha had moved the trays to the coffee table in the living room and was laying down on a king sized blanket beside it.
Illya stretched out next to her, wrapping Samantha in his arms. He pulled her close for a passionate kiss. Even when the kiss was over, he did not release her completely, but held her closely to him. Although there was so much he wanted to talk about, words failed him. He was content to hold her and hoped she felt the same.
The couple took turns feeding each other tiny morsels of food from the trays. As more and more of the food disappeared, they had to edge up closer to the end table.
When the couple finished eating, Samantha rested her head on Illya's shoulder. The Russian ran his left hand into her hair and brought her face close to his. He ran his tongue over her lips, licking up the remnants of the whipped cream that had been topping the strawberries. Afterward, his mouth descended on hers, kissing her hungrily.
The couple began to exchange passionate kisses, running their hands over each other. Letting out a ragged breath, Samantha pulled away from Illya enough to ask, "Ready for the grand tour?"
He nodded and Samantha rose to her feet slowly. The Russian stood up next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. Slipping her arm around his shoulder, she led him down the hall to her bedroom.
The room had been completely redone. The lighting was softer, more subdued. In addition to the overhead light and a smaller one by the bed, there were several new lamps scattered through the room. The overhead light seemed less glaring and the room took on a more romantic feel.
All the furniture had also been replaced. The pieces were larger, including a king bed with padded headboard. Walking over to it, Samantha pulled down the quilted bedspread to reveal silk sheets beneath.
Illya's eyes grew wide when he realized what the sheets were made of. She grabbed him playfully, pulling him onto the bed. In a lilting tone, she exclaimed, "I thought you might enjoy them."
"You know how I feel about silk," he responded. He began to plant a line of quick, fiery kisses down her neck.
"Yes, I do," she whispered, her voice soft. "That's why I got them."
After leaning over to kiss Samantha, Illya stated, "You are so wonderful to me. I would be content to stay like this forever if I could."
"I wish that were possible, too," Samantha agreed as she snuggled into him.
***********
July 13, 1959
After that weekend together, Illya and Samantha spent very little time together. Either he was away from the city or Samantha was often busy working at the jazz club or for her family as a courier. Sometimes, it was few hours; other times, it was just a few minutes for coffee.
Interspaced with those short dates were also a large number of broken dates, often with very little notice. On one occasion, Illya only had a few seconds to scribble a quick letter and slip it under her door to say goodbye.
After nearly a month of abbreviated, broken or nonexistent dates, Illya finally looked to spending a good deal of time with Samantha. He and Napoleon had been out of the country for well over a week and the agents had been given extra days off as a reward at the end of that particularly grueling and physically punishing assignment. Although there were very few remnants of that abuse, a bandaged cut on his arm, a bruised knee; he still was glad for the time off.
The Russian hurried to his apartment after leaving HQ. He tried calling Samantha at her place, but there was no answer. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed casually and then tried again. Still unable to reach Samantha at home, he decided to call Toby's club.
The woman answering the phone seemed reticent at first to answer any of Illya's questions, but once he identified himself by name, the woman informed him that Samantha was there, along with her sister Mary. Deciding to make his arrival a surprise, he asked the woman on the other end of the phone not to mention his call to Samantha. She agreed to keep his secret, even helping if she could.
Illya took a taxi to the club. He walked into the darkened interior, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, he scanned the room trying to see either Samantha or her stepbrother. He found Toby standing behind the bar, pointing toward the section of the club that he and Samantha had been sitting in during his first visit.
Navigating toward that area, he was able to see Samantha in profile. She was sitting with her back to the door. Sitting on the other side of the booth was another woman, considerably larger than Samantha. He would guess that she was well over 6 foot tall, probably closer to 6 foot 4. It was more than just her height. She was a modern day Amazon, dressed in exquisite designer clothes. Could this be Samantha's sister Mary, he wondered.
If this woman was indeed Mary, it was too bad that Napoleon couldn't know about her, the Russian mused. I'm sure they could have a lively discussion on clothes. Maybe the four of us could even double date, if such a thing were possible.
He walked up to their booth and stood next to Samantha. Both women turned toward him. When she realized it was Illya, the smaller woman reached out and pulled him into the bench next to her. After a quick kiss of greeting, the couple smiled at each other, holding hands under the table.
The other woman cleared her throat, waking them out of their reverie. Blushing, Samantha exclaimed, "I'm sorry," as she turned to face her. Smiling, she explained, "Mary, this is Illya." Turning toward the man, she added, "Illya, this is Mary," waving at the other occupant of the booth.
Shortly after the introductions, a waitress came by to get their drink orders. After they were delivered, the group settled into a discussion of depression era movies, with Mary leading the conversation. Illya and Samantha answered when needed, but left most of the talking to the animated larger woman. The Russian was amazed at the love of life the woman obviously possessed.
The Russian had been in the club a half an hour when a large, muscular man approached the booth and stood next to Mary. This new arrival was tall and he towered over the group. "Hello," he said, the one single word difficult to hear through his thick Russian accent. On the newcomer's face was a scowl as he eyed Illya. Under the table, Illya released his hold on Samantha and moved his hand closer to his weapon.
Samantha reached out and placed her hand on Illya's knee. Smiling up at the new arrival, she exclaimed, "Okay, Pav, you can drop the Ugly Russian act."
"Who says I'm acting," Pavel snarled, never taking his eyes off Illya. His accent, however, was significantly less intense. He slid into the booth next to Mary. Illya moved his hand to place it over Samantha's.
"Well, the ugly part certainly fits," Mary quipped.
Pavel turned his head toward Mary. "You're no vision of femininity without your makeup, so I wouldn't talk," he shot back, a hint of a smile starting to appear on his face.
"True," responded Mary, "but at least I get better looking."
"That's it. No more to drink for you. You're hallucinating again!" was his reply. Mary playfully shoved Pavel and they both broke out laughing.
Illya cast a sideway glance at Samantha, who was shaking her head at her siblings.
Pavel once again turned his attention to Illya, or rather his drink glass. "Vodka, **Tovarishch**?" he asked, his heavy accent appearing once again.
"Of course," Illya replied in Russian. Pavel smiled at him and nodded. He picked up the smaller man's shot glass, held it for a second and then set it back down. Rolling his eyes, Pavel exclaimed, "I'll be right back."
Illya looked at Samantha questioningly. She smiled back and explained. "He hates room temp vodka. He's going to get some of his private stock from the freezer in Toby's apartment upstairs."
"Well, if he's getting you guys some of the good stuff, I'll get us girls something good too," Mary exclaimed. She hurried toward the bar, leaving Illya and Samantha alone for the first time.
After giving Samantha a quick kiss, Illya asked, "Are those two always so, uh, intense?"
Samantha laughed. "Believe it or not," she explained, "That WAS an example of some of their better behavior. Usually, she starts with calling him a 'scummy lawyer' and he counters with 'ditzy drag queen'."
So much for double dates with Napoleon, Illya observed. Could have been interesting, since Mary is so personable. He took note of the additional tidbits of information Samantha had just offered on her siblings. Deciding to discuss the rather surprising bits of information later, he gently squeezed her hand under the table. The Russian cast a quick glance in Mary's direction, disbelieving the charming 'woman' was really a man in disguise.
"Have they changed your mind about meeting the rest of the family?" Samantha asked, drawing his attention back to her.
"It will take more than a lawyer and a cross dressing brother to scare me off."
"How about 3 more worse than that at home?" Samantha asked. "Why do you think I wanted to take meeting the family in stages?
"Whenever you think it's time," Illya replied, once again wondering what family dinners were like for this group. "Speaking of time, I have a couple of days off. Is there anything you'd like to do?"
Samantha leaned into the Russian and whispered, "Besides the obvious?" Pulling away, blushing, she added, "We could see a little more of the city, Carnegie Hall, Radio City, that sort of thing."
"ALL of that sounds good," Illya agreed, squeezing her hand. Just as he started to slip his arm around the back of the bench, Pavel returned to the booth, with Mary joining them in just a few seconds. Illya took an appraising look at the man, amazed at his ability to hide his masculinity so effectively. If they ever learn what I do for a living, 'she' and I will have to compare notes on how to create effective disguises. For the time being, he decided the best course of action was to address her as if she were a woman, as both Samantha and Pavel did.
The larger Russian smiled at the young couple as he placed a large pitcher on the table. The pitcher was chilled and Pavel had poured a bottle of Vodka he had just removed from the freezer upstairs into it. As he sat down, he teased, "I always try to encourage any fellow Russians in whatever they want to do, but seriously, comrade, that's my **bibliofil** little sister you are interested in."
"Now, Pavel, you can't blame her for preferring books to your company, now can you?" asked Mary as she slipped in next to him, also setting down a large pitcher on the table. Unlike Pavel's pitcher, however, this one was filled with a reddish liquid. At least we can see the difference easily, Illya observed.
"Of course I can!" Pavel responded emphatically. "I was just wondering what's going on in his brain." He picked up Illya's shot glass and filled it.
"I suspect that you also have had too much to drink, even by Russian standards, if you can't figure out what I see in your sister," shot back Illya. Picking up the now full glass, he downed the contents in one gulp.
"Oh, he's going to fit in good," squealed Mary as Illya set his shot glass back down on the table with an emphatic thump.
"Of course, he's Russian. We are GREAT at anything we do!" replied Pavel loudly, obvious pride ringing in his voice. After his grand pronouncement, he also downed his drink rather quickly. Illya glanced quickly around the room, suspecting some sort of reaction, but none was forthcoming and he relaxed.
"You doth protest too much, methinks," interjected Samantha as she passed her glass across to Mary.
"Sami, you know Pavel quit reading Shakespeare the minute he hit that wonderful advice to kill all the lawyers," retorted Mary as she filled Samantha's glass.
Smiling over at Mary, Illya teased, "I suspect that if interior decorators had existed in his time, he would have included a few choice words about them the minute he came home to a rearranged house."
"That's probably true. He was known for his ability to ridicule," added Pavel.
"Almost as good as you are," Samantha observed, grinning at the larger Russian.
The four people continued to drink, squabble and question each other until Toby poured them into cabs. He gave the drivers written instructions as to their intended locations, along with good-sized tips. Although no one in the party was drunk, they were definitely under the influence and, as older brother, the bartender felt very protective about the group.
When Illya and Samantha reached her apartment, they lay down, fully dressed on her bed. After wrapping their arms around each other, they kissed goodnight and fell into a deep, liquor-assisted slumber.
******************
Chapter 8
******************
August 8, 1959
The assignment sounded simple. The agents were to find Thrush's connection to the Anderson Corporation, a multi-national conglomerate. One of the company's secretaries staff had been observed passing information to a known Thrush courier. Their task was to determine if Thrush had infiltrated the business or if the operative was acting alone.
During their pre-mission meeting, Waverly briefed the men about the firm. It was a family owned and operated business. Warner Anderson, grandson of the original founder, currently oversaw the daily operations.
The secretary was Andrea Anderson, Warner's youngest granddaughter. She had started working for the company during the last year. Before that time, she had been living a high life and actively enjoying it.
After Waverly supplied the men with files on the firm's management, the agents left the meeting. Within the hour, they were driving to Philadelphia, the location where Andrea had always met her Thrush contact.
***********************
The agents arrived in Philadelphia at the start of the evening rush hour. They spent an hour weaving through the harried traffic on unfamiliar roads before finally reaching their hotel. After checking in, they ate a quick dinner. Then they proceeded to a club where Andrea Anderson was known to often spend her evenings.
When they arrived, the agents were surprised to find Andrea already there. By the time their eyes adjusted to the darkened interior, they had become aware of her looking at them. Other men were already sitting at the time, possibly conquests from earlier in the evening. She ignored the men sitting with her as she stared at them, her gaze one of hungry appraisal. At first, her attention seemed to waiver between the two men, but ultimately it settled on Illya alone as they sat down in a booth near the door.
The club's entire atmosphere had put Illya on edge as they had walked through the bar. Loud music blared on the sound system. The press of the crowd jostled against him as he attempted to stay close to Napoleon. To find the woman now gaping at him in undisguised carnal desire just added to his uneasiness.
"It's obvious which one of us the woman prefers." Napoleon observed. He was slightly concerned about his recently acquired partner, wondering if he was up to the task at hand. He had a reserved demeanor around people in general, a trait that became much more obvious around women.
Nodding his head, the Russian replied, "I now understand how the Christians felt walking into the Coliseum." Illya stood up and started walking toward the woman. As he moved through the crowd, he watched the woman intently. Neither of them took their eyes off each other.
Napoleon, confused, watched as his partner advanced toward the other table. The somber young man seemed honestly disquieted by the woman's attention. He knew if the worldly woman had set her sights on him, he would not have made THAT analogy. Granted, the woman's clothing sense bordered on the ultra-modern, in her multi-colored print dress, but she probably had very interesting stories to tell about her travels and experiences.
As Illya walked toward the woman, he fought to hide his uneasiness with the situation. He had observed that she had a slight resemblance to Samantha, in that they both worked in non-management jobs for their family business. However, he suspected that was where the similarity between them ended. Andrea's decadent appearance and lifestyle offended him. In addition, the way she treated the other men at her table was rude, if not insulting. The Russian knew that even Napoleon, at his womanizing worst, would not behave so badly. Although he had only seen his partner interact with woman on their out of town missions, he knew the man did not ignore his current companion to leer after another possible conquest.
Affecting a pleasant smile, Illya reached out his hand to the woman when he finally reached her table. "Good evening," he said.
"It is now," she exclaimed, taking Illya's hand. Andrea glared at the man sitting in the closest chair and he immediately relinquished his seat. As the Russian slipped into it, he noticed that the woman did not release her grip on him.
"I don't remember seeing you here before," she stated, running a finger over his hand. Her voice had a seductive quality, deep and throaty.
"I'm in town on business and heard about the club." Illya responded, fighting the impulse to pull his hand away. He tried to hide the contempt he felt for the woman and dreaded what he might have to do to keep her occupied while Napoleon searched her apartment.
"Isn't it great?" Andrea exclaimed, looking around the darkened room. In the area around the table, he could make out the outlines of couples in various stages of erotic activity.
"I've never seen a place like it," Illya observed, wryly. He wondered if the woman even knew that the statement had different meanings, not all of them complimentary. He was hopeful she did not catch on to his derogatory feelings toward the club.
A waitress appeared to take their drink orders. Illya ordered a beer, a drink he did not particular care for, but seemed to fit the theme of the night.
Seeing the round of drinks delivered to the table where Andrea and Illya were sitting convinced Napoleon that they had settled in for the long run. He left the club and hurried to the young woman's apartment to search it for clues to her connection with Thrush. Illya watched him through the corner of his eye, while still feigning interest in the woman's inane conversation.
***********************
Napoleon easily gained access to Andrea's apartment through its sliding glass door. After taking a step into the cluttered living room, he shut the door behind him. Looking around the room, he saw several obvious hiding places, and a few others not so obvious.
The agent decided to search all of them. Selecting the closest, a large roll top desk, he began to rifle through the drawers. In the second one, he found several folders. The label for each contained the word "Thrush": Letters to Thrush, Information for Thrush, Progress on Thrush goal, and several others. Napoleon was amazed at the naiveté of the woman thinking no one would come looking for the documents. Flipping through the folders, he was also amazed at the precise detail in the files. It named people, places, dates and times - enough information to identify several East Coast operatives and their assignments.
Collecting up the folders, he stacked them next to the glass door. Returning to the desk, he searched the other drawers but found nothing of interest. He didn't find anything else in the rest of the apartment, either, except for two journals in the bedroom. Picking up the small books, he added them to the stack of folders. After checking to make sure he had left no visible signs of his search, he left the apartment through the glass door.
Placing the materials in the trunk of the car, he headed back to the club. Napoleon knew he was more comfortable with the current role switch than his partner would be. Illya was much more familiar with the role of sneak thief rather than seducer. He hoped the younger agent had been able to carry off the task without too many rough moments.
***********************
There had been rough moments, several of them, in fact. For the first part of the evening, Andrea had dominated the conversation. She had directed it toward subjects that Illya was either unfamiliar with or uncertain about. Concerned that she might see his lack of response as disinterest, Illya could only come up with one solution.
Reaching across the table, he wove his hand into Andrea's hair. Pulling her close, he kissed her passionately. It was something he was not particularly proud of, but it did succeed in keeping the woman's attention. He wondered just how far the situation would have to go before Napoleon returned.
When the kiss was over, the young woman smiled seductively at the agent. "Was wondering if I would have to be the one to make the first move," she commented.
"Well, you seemed to enjoy talking," Illya responded. The smile that crossed his face did not reach all the way to his eyes.
"I enjoy kissing, too, lover." Drawing the Russian even closer, she kissed him, shoving her tongue into his mouth. Trying to keep up the pretense, the man had no choice but to respond in kind.
Immediately, the dynamics of the evening changed. It became Illya's turn to make attempts at conversation, while Andrea attempted to use her physical wiles to charm the man. After an abortive attempt at conversation, the Russian was surprised to see the woman jump into his lap. With a flirtatious smile on her face, she began to massage his chest and shoulders.
Illya forced himself to smile encouragingly at the woman. In reality, he wanted to throttle the woman rather that encourage her. He hoped what Napoleon found in her apartment, if anything, was worth all this physical torment.
That brief smile from Illya was all it took to convince Andrea to take additional liberties. Slowly, her hands started drifting lower and lower on his body. The combination of the lack of lighting and the position of her torso served to shield her activities from the other patrons of the club. Hiding his growing unease from the woman, the Russian realized that he had to keep attempting to talk to the woman. He also knew he had to respond in kind or she would begin to suspect something was amiss.
It was during another of the abortive conversations that the woman's attention started to shift to the other people in the room. Unlike Illya, however, she didn't watch people to learn about them, she watched to make verbal fodder of their bodies or clothing taste. Her continual comments about men's physical attributes left the agent feeling like he was the dish de jour at a social meat market.
Illya wanted desperately to change the subject away from such sexually charged topics without reverting to another round of mouth-to-mouth combat. The Russian knew he had to start talking, trying to distract her. Forcing a smile, he commented, "With your keen sense of form, I suspect you would have never fallen for the plot in "Some Like It Hot." He hoped that a discussion of current movies would direct the woman's attention away from her increasing ribald comments about the other occupants of the club. He picked a movie he had seen recently with Samantha, fighting the shame thoughts of her brought to his mind.
"Never saw that one," Andrea responded as she brought her hands up to Illya's collar. "That idiot Tony Curtis is in it." She undid Illya's tie, dropping it on the table next to them.
"You don't like movies with him in them?" the Russian asked, glad the conversation had veered toward a more benign topic. The fact she had started to undress him, however, was not a pleasant development.
Even his relief over the change in conversation was short lived. The woman's answer brought new insight into just how boorish she was. "I haven't watched any of his movies since he did that one chained to that darkie. Could have been worse, I guess, could have been chained to a Ruskie." In addition, she was toying with the upper button of his shirt.
An ironic grin crossed Illya's face. I wonder how she would feel if she knew her current 'playmate' was a 'Ruskie', he thought. He debated telling her, facetiously, in his best English accent, that he was born in Kiev. He did not, however, because he saw Napoleon through the corner of his eye standing a few feet away.
Excusing himself with the pretense of going to the restroom, the Russian left the table. Suspecting that the woman would completely ignore him after he left the table, he walked through the crowd to where the older agent was standing. "Did you find anything?" he whispered, just loudly enough for Napoleon to hear.
"More than I thought possible," the older agent answered. A pleased smile crossed his face at the success of his search. It was in marked contrast to the look of chagrin that had been on the Russian's face just seconds before.
"Great. Then we can go," Illya responded, a slight smile forming on his face as he enthusiastically looked forward to the end of this evening's duties. He started to walk toward the door when his partner placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"You have to find some way to beg off without burning us, because he will have to take her in for questioning later. I'd like to be able to get her out of here without creating a scene," Napoleon commented. Although the older agent's tone was conversational, Illya know it was an order.
"I'd rather call her from the hotel," the blond observed in a curt response.
"Illya," responded Napoleon, "you know that isn't right." The instant he made the comment, he could imagine several different comebacks his partner might make.
"True. I'd rather call her from New York," the Russian retorted.
Napoleon smiled but shook his head. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Illya slouched forward and nodded. "My treat for breakfast tomorrow," the American commented, slapping the younger man on the back.
"You'll just put it on the expense account," the Russian muttered as he walked away. Slowly making his way back to Andrea, he told her he has going to take his under the weather friend back to their hotel. Implying he would be back later, the Russian hurried back to Napoleon and the pair left the bar.
Back at the hotel, the agents went through the materials recovered from Andrea's apartment. Within an hour, they had identified Andrea's main Thrush contact, along with several others. After enlisting the aid of the Philadelphia office to collect up the men her notes listed, Napoleon and Illya returned to the club to bring in Andrea themselves.
Illya entered first, with Napoleon following at the discrete distance. The older agent stopped at the farthest edge of the table area, sitting down in the first available chair he reached. Although Illya noted the action, he had no visible reaction to it. Walking directly to the table where Andrea was holding court, he stared at the woman with a knowing smile.
Ignoring him at first, Andrea finally turned toward him. A flirtatious smile crossed her face as she commented, "So you finally decided to join us again, handsome?" Her words were slurred as she struggled to focus her eyes.
"More than that," he answered, forcing the smile into a seductive grin. Placing a hand on the side of her breast, he massaged it gentle. "Why don't we go someplace a little more private? I have something very interesting in mind."
"Like what, lover," she asked as she grasped the agent's unoccupied hand. Andrea brought it to her lips and planted a kiss on it.
"A quiet room, just the two of us ___." Illya let the sentence trail off as he reached out to stroke the woman's cheek. He suspected that the statement would easily mislead the woman, as he intended.
Andrea smiled back at him lecherously. Bracing herself on Illya's outstretched hand, she rose unsteadily to her feet. "I'm agreeable to that," she slurred, slipping her arm around his waist for extra support.
"And that's exactly how I want you. Agreeable," the agent replied. He placed his left arm around her shoulders, making sure there was a large space between the drunken women and his holster. He steered her toward the outside door, smiling as Napoleon fell into line behind him.
Once they were outside, Illya looked over his shoulder. He was pleased to see his partner holding his handcuffs.
Andrea turned her head in the same direction, nearly losing her balance in the process. After flashing Napoleon a boozy smile, she commented, "Handcuffs, lover? That's my kind of party."
"And you are the guest of honor," Illya replied, still playing the attentive seducer.
You know, you could even ask your friend to join us if you'd like."
Illya began to wonder if the woman's submission to Thrush was not voluntary. Could they have blackmailed her into an alliance of sorts, he mused. "Like you were invited to join Thrush?" he asked, conversationally as he helped her into the back seat of the car. The Russian sat down next to the girl, holding her hand to insure she did not suddenly bolt through the door at the other side of the sedan. The American agent slid behind the wheel and turned to face the couple.
"Those idiots," Andrea declared with a snarl, or as near as she could get to a snarl in her inebriated state. She giggled drunkenly and added, "I asked them to join me. Figured I could use them to get rid of the fools running the company and then it would all be mine." A treacherous smile crossed her face.
All sympathy the Russian might have been feeling for the woman immediately vanished. He looked at Napoleon as he placed his forearm on the bench seat in front of him. The older agent dropped the handcuffs into the younger man's grasp without a word. A resounding clink echoed through the space as the two metal circles knocked against each other in Illya's hands.
Effortlessly opening the handcuffs, he placed them around Andrea's wrists. "These aren't necessary here in the car, lover. I'm not silly enough to run away."
"But you are silly enough to hide papers on Thrush in such an obvious place as a desk drawer." Illya's tone was no longer that of a flirtatious paramour but that of a coolly professional agent.
Andrea, suddenly sober, eyed the men with alarm. "You're from Thrush Central?" she whispered.
"No, I'm an U.N.C.L.E. agent. A Russian U.N.C.L.E. agent," Illya responded, a wry smile on his face. A look of horror crossed the young woman's face. The blond was unsure which upset her more, that he was an U.N.C.L.E. agent or Russian.
Illya settled down on the bench seat next to the woman. His face became a mask of calm. Napoleon, however, was grinning. Won't have to worry about him not being able to handle someone's offhanded comments or romantic advances, he observed.
"I won't tell you anything!" the woman declared, testily. She threw herself into the far corner of the car. Her jaw set, Andrea glared at Illya as he sat next to her. No trace of emotion showing on the younger agent's face.
"You don't have to. We will just let it be known that you taken in for 'questioning'!" the Russian explained nonchalantly. He placed extra emphasis on the last word.
"After all, you were seen in public, physically involved with an U.N.C.L.E. agent," Napoleon added before he turned around and started the car.
Andrea seemed to crumple down into herself. All her bravado seemed to disappear as she stated, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know.
****************
Once at the Philadelphia office, the agents took Andrea's statement. The woman seemed resigned to her fate. After they finished questioning her, the men instructed the nearby guard to take her back to wherever her car was and leave her there. Since she had 'cooperated', there was no reason for detaining her any longer.
The partners then questioned the Thrush agents. When the last one finally broke, the agents called it a night, or rather a morning. The sun had already risen by the time they returned to the hotel. What was not rising was Illya's mood, which had been bleak since they had left the club the first time. Even the success with the questioning of Andrea and the Thrush agents had not improved his sour disposition.
******************
The agents slept in until noon. They had a hearty 'breakfast', even by Illya's standards, though the meal was a blur to the younger agent. After Napoleon paid the bill, they checked out of their Philadelphia hotel.
The Russian slipped behind the wheel for the return trip. During the start of the one hundred mile drive between the hotel and HQ, the agents talked little. Illya wore a constant frown on his face, ignoring Napoleon's attempts at lighthearted banter. Frustrated, the older man eventually stopped trying.
After a half hour of stony silence, Napoleon tried again. He suspected the younger agent was still upset over the way they had treated Andrea. "We did what we had to, Illya. We did our job."
"I do not like misleading women, Napoleon," the blond replied. "That part of the job is something that will always bother me."
"You spent time with an attractive well, traveled young woman. Not exactly the worst part of our job," the American agent commented. "In fact it's one of the better parts of it, if you look at it that way"
"I don't," responded Illya curtly.
"With all we do, it's a nice perk."
"I doubt the ladies involved would appreciate your attitude. Or any other woman you might be dating in the city," explained the blond.
The vehemence of the Russian's answer made the older agent wonder if the intense young man had a girlfriend back in the city. If so, he should understand the situation now, before things got too serious. "How would they ever find out? It's not like I announce my activities to the women I meet away from work. The one time I did 'confess' so to speak, she stormed off in a huff, never to be heard from again."
Illya grew silent as he considered Napoleon's comments. "Did you ever get, uh, caught?" he finally asked, his voice barely audible.
"Only once," the older agent answered. As an afterthought, he added, "She broke it off with me too, so I don't see any advantage of advertising the facts to them, when the outcome is the same. Might as well keep it light while it lasts."
Illya fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. Could Napoleon be right, he wondered. If Samantha would leave him either way, should he tell her and avoid wasting time in a relationship doomed to fail, or should he bluff his way through the situation. It would become just another facet of his life to hide from her until he was sure she could handle the truth. After all, she HAD said that she didn't share well.
When Napoleon spoke to the Russian again in a few minutes, it was about something light and inconsequential, and this time he did respond.
****************
August 9, 1959
The agents returned to HQ after the long drive from Philadelphia. Illya returned the fleet car to the motor pool while Napoleon returned to his office. After leaving the motor pool, however, the Russian walked out of the U.N.C.L.E. complex. Although he was conflicted over how to proceed with Samantha, he had decided to telephone her and set up a date.
Knowing he didn't want to make the call from an office phone, Illya headed north several blocks to a coffee shop he was familiar with. Once inside, the Russian rushed to the pay phone at the back of the shop. He called Samantha, arranging to meet her for dinner that evening at 7 o'clock. After the conversation, he hurried back to the office.
The simple memory of the sound of her voice served to elevate his previously somber outlook. However, his good mood only stayed with him until he began to work on his activity reports for his time in Philadelphia. As he documented Andrea's antics in the club, the blond thought of Samantha's probable reaction to his activities the night before. His mind wandered over many possible scenarios that might occur if she found out. None were pleasant. Breathing a heavy sigh, he returned his attention to his paperwork.
After several attempts to complete the reports, Illya gave up in frustration. Shoving his chair away from the desk, the agent stalked out of the office, heading home.
When Illya returned to his apartment, he immediately headed for the shower, his second of the day. Even though he had scrubbed his skin to the point of redness and beyond, he could still smell the woman's perfume on him. Probably just psychological, he chided himself as he stepped out of the shower. It had been almost an entire day since he had seen the offensive woman.
As he got dressed for his date with Samantha, the Russian analyzed his various options. Should I tell her, he wondered, hoping she would understand? Or should he act as Napoleon did and hope she wouldn't find out? Illya had to admit that the older man did have more experience with relationships. His thoughts wavered between the two choices.
Even after he shaved and dressed, Illya could not come to a decision. He went through his last minute preparations, still conflicted. Walking out of his apartment, he realized this situation, and future ones like it, would be yet another aspect of his life he could not share. He deduced that if she ever found out, Samantha might put an end to their relationship. She would be right to do so, his logic told him. He HAD been publicly affectionate with another woman, for whatever reason. He did not want to lose her, though, and debated avoiding the topic entirely.
Realizing he was over 2 hours early for his dinner date, the Russian decided to drive to the jazz club for a drink. He knew that this early in the evening, there would be few patrons there and the relaxing atmosphere might help him make sense of his jumbled emotions.
He had been at the club for a half hour, trying to organize his thoughts, when he became aware of a person staring at him from the next booth over. Lifting his eyes to look in that direction, he realized that it was Pavel. "May I join you, **Tovarishch?**" he asked, his Russian accent almost unperceivable.
Illya nodded and the larger man slipped into the booth across from him. "You look like you could use a friend," he commented in Russian.
Illya studied the other man intently, wondering what he could, or should, say to him. After taking a sip of the drink he had been nursing all evening, the agent responded, also in Russian, "I did something that might make your sister very unhappy."
Pavel stared at the intense younger man, taken aback by the comment. Finally, he declared, "I don't think you should naturally assume my sister will be upset. She is one of the most forgiving people I know. Has she told you what would happen if you did, uh, whatever it was you did?"
Illya considered Pavel's question. "No," he replied, taking another sip of his drink, "not specifically."
"Then I would say you might be pleasantly surprised. She is VERY forgiving." Pavel responded. "When you two talk about whatever is bothering you, I advise you to be honest with her. She would rather hear bad news honestly, than have you lie or try to skirt the truth."
Downing a shot of vodka, the older Russian eyed the despondent younger man. "Let me tell you a story," he announced. "When Sami was a freshman in college, she found that great bookstore downtown where you two met. She had bought a set of Italian literature books, and when she came home the day after she bought them, one of the books was missing. She was upset that her book had disappeared and asked me, and a couple of the other brothers, if we'd seen it or borrowed it without telling her. We told her no."
Empathizing with the young woman's predicament, Illya asked, "Did she ever find the book?" He also noted that Samantha had obviously talked about their relationship with her siblings. It was the only way Pavel could have learned about their meeting was from Samantha; he had not mentioned it to the man.
Sighing, Pavel answered, "Yes, and no. Mary came home and confessed that she he had borrowed the book and fallen asleep in the bath reading it. The book had dropped into the water and was soaked. She had taken it to a book restorer in the city to try to have it repaired before Sami found out. In her confession, Mary told Sami that she and I had tried to fix it first, but it hadn't worked."
The similarity between Pavel's story and the current situation was obvious to Illya. He was considering either pretending nothing had happened or lying about it should Samantha figure it out. "What happened next?" he asked.
"Samantha instantly forgave Mary, saying accidents happen, but that she wanted to be told the next time Mary borrowed something of hers. After Mary instantly agreed, the argument was settled, at least between THEM."
A wry smile started to appear on the younger man's face. "She did not forgive you, correct?"
A knowing smile crossed Pavel's face, as he replied, "No. Not until I acknowledged I'd lied to her and apologized. After that, she never mentioned it again and seemingly doesn't hold it against me."
Thinking back about the interaction he had seen between the two of them, Illya agreed that Samantha did not seem to be holding any grudges against the man. Nodding, the smaller Russian replied, "Thank you for your advice." Downing the last of his drink, Illya stood up. Extending his hand to Pavel, he added, "Until we meet again," hoping there would be a next time. After the two men shook hands, he turned on his heel, heading out the door of the club and ultimately to Samantha's apartment.
During the trip, Illya fought to improve his somber mood. He knew that he had to lift his spirits or she would realize that something was wrong. The Russian forced himself to remember that he was going to be with the woman he cared for above all others. Since it was possibly the last time, he should enjoy it. If he did a good enough job of hiding his anguish, maybe she would not even catch on.
The fact that it had been exactly two months ago when he had met Samantha did not escape his notice. He hated the thought that a date she might see as a cause for celebration might be marred by such ugliness. His frustration grew, as he knew he did not want to ruin what could be a special occasion for her.
By the time he knocked on Samantha's door, Illya felt he had his darker emotions under control. The beaming smile on her face improved his mood even more. Pulling her into his arms for a quick kiss, he pulled away slightly when she tried to deepen the kiss. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was only interested in her physically. Having been on the receiving end of such attention from Andrea, he wanted to reinforce that their relationship was built on more than just his libido.
The thought of Andrea started to shatter the reserve the Russian had fought to hard to build up during his walk to Samantha's apartment. He fought against the undertow of despair that threatened to pull him beneath it. A half smile crossed his face and he asked Samantha, "Are you ready to go to dinner?"
"Didn't they feed you on this trip?" Samantha teased, massaging Illya's back. The Russian fought the impulse to run his hands over her silk-covered body as he held her.
"I didn't get a lot of what I needed," Illya replied honestly. He had spent his private moments on the trip missing Samantha, often times considering calling just to hear her voice.
"We'll have to make sure to correct that situation," she stated, kissing him playfully on the cheek. She picked up her purse from the dining room table and headed out the door.
The couple walked to a nearby restaurant for their meal. As they ate, Samantha noticed Illya's behavior became more and more 'off-center'. Nothing too alarming, just subtle changes in his behavior, she observed. Illya was as reserved as he had been on their first date exactly two month before.
She noticed that he wanted to be physical close to her, but not touch her. At first, she thought it was out of fear his reaction might embarrass them. As the evening progressed, however, she began to doubt that idea. By the end of dinner, she had a different explanation, but hoped it was not true.
On the trip back to her apartment, the couple walked in companionable silence. Once inside, Samantha poured them drinks as Illya went through his ritual of removing his jacket and holster and draping them over a dining room chair.
As they settled into the couch, Illya draped his arm around the back of it. Another subtle difference, Samantha noted, realizing that by this point in time, he was usually running his hand on her back or waist. She missed the closeness, the sense of belonging to him.
Deciding to act on her assumption, Samantha gulped her wine, finishing it in one long drink. After taking a deep breath, she set the glass down and turning to face him, she asked, "Are you trying to come up with a tactful way of breaking up with me?" Her voice had a slight quiver in it as she spoke.
Illya's eyes grew wide with alarm. "**Nyet, lyubimyj,**" he exclaimed, pulling Samantha into a close embrace. As he buried his face in her hair, she luxuriated in the sensations his body against hers created. She enjoyed the closeness, the warmth.
The feeling did not last, however. She began to dwell on his off-key behavior again. Had their lengthy separations finally taken their toll on him, she wondered. An even more disastrous explanation occurred to her. If he did not want to break up with her, maybe he felt she was going to break up with him. I haven't given him any indication of such a thing, she observed. What could have taken place in the last few days to convince him of such a thing?
"Did something happen on the trip?" she whispered. The young woman was afraid to hear the answer, but knew she had to understand what was happening.
Illya did not answer and Samantha took that as a positive response. "Illya, what ____." She let the sentence trail off as the possibility that Illya had been with another woman drifted into her mind.
"I'll leave now," he mumbled, his voice wracked with guilt. As he started to stand up, she gently pulled him back down into the couch.
The girls mind flashed on all the hateful things the only other man she had ever been with had shot at her when he dumped her. A single tear trickled down Samantha's cheek as she muttered; "I really must be lousy in bed if you needed someone else." She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face once she concluded her sexual ineptitude had been the cause of the situation. She released her hold on him, placing her hands in her lap.
Realizing that she was blaming herself for his problems, Illya was wracked by strong emotions. Pulling her into his arms once again, he exclaimed, "**Nyet, lyubimyj!**" his English failing him. After a heavy sigh, he blurted, in Russian, "I didn't have sex with her. I didn't even want her anywhere near me."
Samantha considered his last statement carefully. Had he been forced into doing something for his job? After all, it had been a 'business' trip. Taking a deep breath, she took a minute to compose herself. Pulling out of his embrace, she switched to Russian as she asked, "Are you going to see her again?"
"NO!" Illya snapped forcefully. "She meant nothing to me." When Samantha recoiled from his intense response, he placed his hand on her cheek. "It WAS necessary," he answered quickly, and then paused to consider his next response. "It was meaningless to me. Meaningless, except for the fact it would make me lose you." Samantha rested her cheek on his palm, unsure of how to respond. Feeling as if each passing second was a year long, the Russian waited for her to react.
He ran his thumb over her face, gently stroking her. As awkward as this moment was, Illya was convinced that the next few would be the end of their fledging relationship and he knew that was something he would find intolerable. Patiently waiting, he was torn between wanting to have the situation resolved and dreading what the solution would be.
Finally, Samantha raised her head to look at him evenly. "If it meant nothing to you, I guess it has to mean even less than that to us."
Was she willing to overlook his indiscretion, Illya wondered, thinking he might have heard her wrong. "You can forgive me?" he whispered, holding his breath.
Samantha paused for a minute and then slowly nodded her head. Placing his forehead against hers, Illya started breathing again.
Realizing she would prefer to avoid any future discussion of the matter, Samantha knew she had to elaborate on her 'forgiveness' and settle the subject once and for all. Pulling away, she looked at him. "I NEVER want to know details or have it thrown in my face, since I assume this WILL happen again and actions could get more, uh, heated, right?" Taking a deep breath, she waited for Illya to react to her ultimatum.
This time, it was Illya's turn to pause and then slowly add his agreement. With a simply bob of her head, she acknowledged his response. "I also don't want the, uh, OTHERS, anywhere near me. Since it was something you were forced to do for your job, I can forgive you. It was almost as if you were, uh, raped or something. Forced against your own wishes. All I'm doing is trying to react how I hope you would if I were assaulted. What would you do in that case?" she asked, hoping to get some clue as how to comfort the man.
The mere mention of someone possibly hurting Samantha instinctively made Illya stiffen in anger. He could not tolerate such an outrage. "You mean after I tracked down those responsible and killed them?" he asked, in a matter of fact tone. Surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor, but not the comment itself, Samantha swallowed and nodded in response. Illya's body language softened once he dismissed the possibility of the threat. He stroked her cheek gently. "I would put my arms around you and try to make you feel as secure as possible."
Pulling Illya into a close embrace, Samantha declared, "I will be here for as long as you need me. I'm not leaving, and neither are you." The Russian rested his head on her shoulder as she held him. Gently laying her check against Illya's golden blond hair, the woman explained, "We're good together." "I don’t want things to stop over something, uh, meaningless."
"I don't want that to happen either," he agreed, looking at her through his lashes. "I'm just amazed there were no angry ultimatums or outbursts."
Pulling away slightly, Samantha cupped his chin in her hands and turned his face toward hers. "I'm not the outburst type, sweetheart," she explained with a crooked smile. "But if I ever fight and I get REALLY quiet, worry." She released her hold on his chin and placed both hands on his shoulders.
Slipping an arm under her legs and the other around her waist, Illya pulled Samantha up onto his lap. "Anything else I should worry about?" he asked, starting to smile also. He knew he could finally relax, holding her as they talked in his native language. Here in her apartment, he felt comfortable, at home. He did not have that feeling in his tiny austere apartment.
"I wouldn't say worry, more like think about," Samantha replied. "Do you remember what today is?"
"August 9th," Illya responded in a matter of fact tone. Although the look on most of his face was deceptively calm, his eyes broadcast his amusement.
Well aware of this particular quirk of his personality, she ignored the unstated teasing. "Do you remember what happened on June 9th?"
"I met a beautiful, charming woman, who is silly enough to enjoy spending time with me," the Russian answered, tightening his grip around her waist.
And I met a handsome, intelligent man who makes me feel complete." Samantha leaned over and kissed Illya softly. Not deeply, or hungrily, but a gentle kiss to assure him she was still interested. "This is the longest, and best, romantic relationship I've ever been in," she added, beaming at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, running her fingers through his hair.
"Undoubtedly because I'm never here to fight with!' the Russian quipped. "I've been told I can be quite stubborn." He finally smiled at her as he began to run a hand on her back.
The young woman nodded, fighting to control the smile curling the corners of her mouth. "But you are also the most gentle, kind and logically thinking man I know. And it's your logical nature I want to appeal to."
"Go on." Illya smiled back at her, wondering what she had on her mind. Her good mood was infectious and he placed his other hand on her leg.
"Repeatedly going back to your place to change clothes for dinner or work is totally inefficient." Samantha stated, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She knew her elation was starting to show through, but no longer attempted to mask it.
"You have a suggestion to correct this inefficiency, I assume," he replied in his best 'scientist' tone. The glint in his eye hinted at his mirth. The Russian suspected where this conversation was leading. However, he enjoyed seeing Samantha's ecstatic demeanor and decided not to interrupt. It was a luxury he thought he would never see again and he rejoiced knowing how wrong that assumption had been.
"Indeed I do, sir," she responded. Swinging her legs off Illya's lap and standing up, she extended a hand down to him. Taking her hand, he brought himself to his feet. Not wanting to relinquish the closeness they had shared just seconds before, he pulled Samantha into a close embrace. Murmuring her pleasure, she laid her head on Illya's shoulder.
Pulling his head away slightly, Illya said, "Why don't you show me what you have in mind?" Nodding, Samantha stepped away and led him down the hall toward the bedroom.
Once inside, Samantha stopped in front of the dresser that had been replaced during the June redecorating of the room. Turning to face the Russian, she stated, "When Mary and I bought this new furniture, we made sure it had more drawers than my old set did." A shy smile crossed her face as she looked toward the floor and added, "We did it just so, uh, if we stayed together, there'd be enough space for anything you might want to have here."
Illya tipped Samantha's face back toward him. "You didn't need to do that for me," he exclaimed, both touched and confused by the girl's actions. That she would go to such extremes to spend time with him was something that surprised him.
"Not for you," she explained, "for us." Her eyes flashed with such intensity it startled the Russian even more. "No, that's not true. It's really for me. I don't have much time with you as it is, so if I can find some way to eliminate the trips to your apartment, I will." A wry smile crossed her face as she added, "Greedy, I know, but I treasure our time together."
Illya pulled Samantha into a close embrace. "I treasure it too," he whispered into her ear. He had never expected acceptance of his actions and was amazed at the degree of control she possessed. Not only was she forgiving him, she had seemingly dismissed the issue entirely. He struggled to do the same.
Tightening his grip on the woman, he began to plant a trail of fiery kisses down her jaw line and neck. Sighing contentedly, she arched her back, pressing her body into his. She could feel her desire starting to build as her knees slowly began to quiver.
"I want you," Illya whispered, still talking in his native language. As he held her trembling body against his, he could feel his own need building, his breathing becoming more ragged.
"I want you too," Samantha agreed, also speaking Russian. Her voice came in husky whisper as she pressed her lips against his ear, kissing it.
*******************
As the couple snuggled together after their lovemaking, Samantha eyes suddenly widened. Illya instantly tensed, rising up on one elbow. Although he was certain no one else could have been in the room with them, he scanned the area for intruders.
Instantly realizing he had misconstrued her actions, Samantha gently laid a hand on his chest. Smiling at him, she explained, "I just forgot something, that's all." Rolling away from him, she turned to face the dresser as he stroked her naked back. Purring contentedly, she glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling.
Scrambling off the bed, she walked over to it, opening one of the drawers. Shooting a quick glance in Illya's direction, the woman said, "This drawer is where I keep all my non clothes things, such as my extra gun." Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out a tiny box, smaller than the palm of her hand. Climbing back onto the bed, she held the box out toward the Russian as she stood on her knees next to him. Placing one hand around the fingers holding the box and the other under her left elbow, Illya helped to ease her back down beside him. Once she was settled down on the bed, he took the offered box from her.
Extracting the oversized pillows from under the bedspread, Samantha placed them against the padded headboard and rested her back against it. Smiling at her shyly, Illya followed her example. After he found a comfortable position, he draped his left arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Finally satisfied that both of them were settled in, he turned his attention to the small cardboard box. It was white in color and had no markings or wrappings to indicate where it was from, or what was inside. Without realizing it, he began a critical examination of the box, acting out of the ingrained training he had received from U.N.C.L.E.
"Open it," she ordered, laughing. "It's not going to blow up or anything!"
Nodding, Illya removed his left arm from around her. Carefully lifting the lid off the box, he peered into it. Inside, there was a brass key, lying on a bed of cotton. After turning to look at her quizzically, he glanced at the box once again and removed the key.
Samantha beamed at him. "If you are going to have clothes here, I thought you might want to have a way in to them," she explained. "I know you could probably get in without it, but I didn't want you to have to try." Changing her angle slightly, she leaned over and kissed Illya on the cheek and then returned to her earlier position. Gently laying her hand on his shoulder, she began to trace imaginary lines on his upper arm and back.
After putting the key on the nightstand next to 'his' side of the bed, he slipped his arms around Samantha. Placing one arm just under her shoulders and the other around her lower back, he edged her closer. Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, "Thank you, lyubimyj. I'm glad you still want me here."
Translations and Notes:
Tovarishch = friend
babnik = womanizer
Do svidaniya = Until we see each other again
Liubovnik = Lover
Bibliofil = Book lover, bookworm
Lyubimyj - Darling, beloved
The title is a play on the fact that some experiments use a double blind system to keep test results private. With 2 blond scientist characters, it seemed like a natural title.
The Granada Theatre is a made up name, originally from the art theatre in Dallas, Texas. The location in the story is the theatre currently known as Cinema Classics.
