Excerpt from To Rent A Spy - TRAS I
2004 FanQ Nominee for Best Standalone Gen Zine
Written by Marie-Louise Yately
Pairing IK/F
Rating PG13

As the guards finished their abhorrent task and departed, Candy moved to Illya's side and settled down on the floor next to the bunk. The tight set of his jaw told her more about his state of mind than any words he might have spoken. She realized that the immobilizing body wraps, blanket and professional blindfold amounted to near-total sensory deprivation and wondered exactly how much turmoil he was in from the lack of sensation.

Not wanting to startle him and add any further stress to his already overwhelmed faculties, the redhead decided to proceed slowly. "I'm here, Illya," she murmured softly. Kneeling beside the cot, she gently laid one of her mitten-encased hands on the man's bound chest.

"Carly?" Kuryakin queried in an unsteady whisper, instinctively turning his head towards the source of her voice. Not normally claustrophobic, he was fighting a growing sense of panic, verging on terror, at finding himself virtually unable to move. Forcing himself to concentrate, he attempted to focus one of the few senses the restraints left available to him: hearing. Carly's voice was a connection to the world beyond the hellish nightmare he fought to keep at bay.

"Yes," Carly answered quickly, but when she made no further reply Illya could feel that lifeline slipping away as the seconds ticked by. "Please-keep talking," he urged, hoping his words did not sound as needy to her as they did to him.

Candy blinked, surprised at the underlying hint of terror in the agent's request. As a rule, her marks were content, even elated, to talk about themselves. All she needed to do was ask a few leading questions. Providing reassuring conversation was not one of her usual tasks on a job. However, she knew the agent was barely able to listen right now, much less engage in an active conversation. In addition, an agent of his caliber would instinctively resist answering questions. Knowing his mind was barely functioning, he would not dare to risk revealing sensitive material in his weakened state.

Candy hoped she could promptly find a topic that would spark the agent's interest. His attention would be hard to capture, considering his current mindset. Seizing quickly on a hopefully acceptable subject, she began, "I went to school at U.C. Berkley."

Illya struggled to follow her statement. "Yes," he breathed, recognizing the name of the university. "Near San Francisco," he added, trying to participate in the conversation, realizing that it would be the best way to focus his battered mentality.

"That's right," she agreed, smiling, thankful the blond man was aware enough to follow their simple conversation. "I love it there. It's so beautiful and so strange, at the same time." Candy paused, trying to determine what to mention first: the twisted roads, the restaurants, Chinatown-all subjects she felt might intrigue the man.

The silence grew overwhelming for Illya. He fought to maintain his tenuous grip on reality as the sensory deprivation pressed in on him. While the conversation helped, it was insufficient to keep the demons at bay. Thankfully, it was not the total, deliberate suppression of all sensory input. Looking toward what he hoped was her location, the struggling agent whispered, "Carly...listen to me, please. I need...something...I can feel...help me to focus...some kind of touch...Will you help me?" It was a terrible effort for him to get the words out, and, afterward, he lay panting in exhaustion.

His disjointed request tore at Candy's heart. "Of course, I will," she responded. Instantly, she brought up her right arm, reaching for the agent's uncovered face. She laid her mitten-covered hand against his cheek, trying to apply as much pressure as she could to serve as the distraction Illya so desperately needed. Her gentle touch, however, offered fewer sensations than the pillow attached to the body wrap that his head rested on. She could see that the thick, quilted fabric of the mitten restraints was dulling the tactile stimulus she was trying to supply.

"It's not working, is it," she asked regretfully.

"No," replied Illya, disappointment coloring his voice. The muted sensations produced by the mittens were not enough to break through the chaos in his muddled mind.

Candy could see that it would be difficult for her to do as Illya asked while wearing the mittens. She racked her brain for another means of pulling the blond back from the abyss that threatened to consume him, scattering his conscious thoughts beyond recall.

A time-honored solution presented itself in a flash, but she was loath to put it into action. It was the most expedient way to give him the stimulation he needed. It simply had to be done. Slowly, Carly leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on Illya's lips. It wouldn't correct all the problems they were facing, but it did solve the current dilemma.

Carefully, Candy lowered herself against Illya, trying to balance her weight on his chest without leaning on his overtaxed arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her lips next to his ear. "It was the quickest thing I could think of." Her voice broke, catching in her throat as she spoke. She was straddling a thin line between helping Kuryakin through a hateful situation and hurting him as Marissa had done. Her dedication to Thrush was rapidly evaporating. She should applaud all the demeaning, hurtful things done to the U.N.C.L.E. agent, but she couldn't.

The simple kiss affected Illya more strongly than he wanted to admit. Perhaps it was because she seemed genuinely interested in his well-being, or because her simple action helped to blot out his memories of Madame T's parting gift to him. Either way, he was deeply grateful.

"No need to apologize," he whispered back. He basked in the warm touch of her breath against his ear, and the reassuring sound of her breathing. Her presence was becoming the bedrock that allowed him to anchor his sanity while beginning the arduous task of reestablishing his reserve. He attempted to freeze this moment in his memory to use as a buffer against the harsher aspects of his captivity.

Gradually, Illya began to relax, as vivid recollection of the last few hours no longer plagued his every conscious thought. The intense memories were beginning to fade; he found he could concentrate on other things now as well. Quickly, he realized sleeping arrangements would have to be his next priority.

He wanted Carly close by, not only for her safety but also for his sanity; yet he also knew the narrow bunk was scarcely large enough for both of them to share. The folding bunk was far from spacious to begin with. The full body restraints in which he was bound only made the situation worse. Swaddled as he was now, there was barely any available space beside him. She would have to use her own bunk, the agent regretfully concluded, unhappy at the prospect but seeing no other solution.

"We need to rest," Kuryakin announced reluctantly. "You should return to your own bunk."

"I'm not just going to go off and leave you alone this way, wrapped up like some mummy!" Candy exclaimed, indignantly. She pulled away, glaring at the bound man even though he could not see her.

The firm conviction in Candy's voice surprised even her. She struggled to hide her feelings from 'both' of her marks - Illya, and the person monitoring the couple from the AV room. For now, both were the enemy.

No, Illya's not a mark or an enemy, she thought, and the recognition of that truth shook her to the core. Had someone told her, even as late as yesterday, that she would be empathizing with an U.N.C.L.E. agent, she would have made sure they regretted the comment. Yet, here she was, not only concerned with the man's difficulties, but actively seeking ways to aid him in their solution!

It was as though he had become an 'innocent' in her eyes, one needing protection during his attempts to rally back from the degrading treatment he had endured at the hands of the Pervert Queen. That same degrading and humiliating treatment heightened Candy's resolve to help the mentally abused agent. The deck was stacked against him here, and if she did succeed in gaining his trust and affection, she wanted it to be on her own merits. She also knew that in his present disoriented, defensive mental state, he presented even more of a threat than during his usual missions-his normal cool control was damaged, and he was no longer predictable. Candy fervently hoped he would not learn of her duplicity while in this overwrought state.

She had been watching Illya closely, attempting to assess both his physical and mental states. The signs were not encouraging-his cheeks appeared sunken and his head was listing to the side. He was clearly on the brink of exhaustion-he needed sleep, but Candy could not bring herself to leave him alone yet, especially not in his current state of heightened turmoil. In fact, the blond man seemed to be increasingly agitated with every minute that passed. His respirations were becoming shallow and rapid. Wondering if her suddenly pulling back had triggered his mental anguish, Candy leaned over him to whisper, "I'm right here, Illya mein freund."

Although Illya's anxieties had begun easing, Candy's reference to being wrapped like a mummy had flooded the agent's mind with earlier memories of the megalomaniac Alexander's crazed mentor, Mr. Kavon. The demented former archeology professor had used him for a human guinea pig to test his ancient cult's restored formula for mummification-only with a live subject. Once again, Illya felt himself edging towards the abyss.

Concerned by Kuryakin's unexpected reaction, Candy was even more convinced she dare not leave him alone just yet. Her conscience told her he still needed her presence, to stimulate his senses and help him to keep the dark forces that threatened to engulf his mind at bay. She was mulling over possible methods of action when one possible solution occurred to her. Although it did necessitate close contact with the stricken agent, it was a way to insure they could both get some sleep.

Candy realized she needed to inform the agent of her plan. As his breathing began to settle down, becoming more measured and less erratic, she whispered, "I know a way we can both fit here on the bunk, but I'll have to lift your head to do it."

Illya forced himself to speak calmly. "Do...whatever you must."

Candy slipped off the cot. Lifting the thin pillow attached to the body wrap beneath Illya's head, she used it to raise him enough for her to slide into position. With her back against the wall, she gently lowered the agent's head and shoulders onto her lap.

Resting a bare right forearm against his cheek, she asked cautiously, "Do you think you'll be able to sleep like this?"

The touch of her arm against his face reminded Illya of the outside world, of a life beyond the captive existence Madame T had planned for him. It was a world he would soon be a part of once again if he had to die trying. He would not spend the rest of his life as that madwoman's toy. He would find a way to escape, and take Carly with him, no matter how long it took. The resolve steadied him, providing a much-needed mental focus. Feeling much more in control than the previous few minutes, he took a slow, deep breath-or as deep a breath as the crushingly restrictive wrappings permitted.

"Do you think you can sleep sitting up?" he asked, evading her question.

Candy was surprised once more that despite his own multitude of problems, the U.N.C.L.E. prisoner was still more concerned with her comfort than his own. Lightly rubbing his jaw with her left arm, she assured him firmly, "I'll be fine. It's not the Ritz, but we'll get by." She smiled down at him, even though he couldn't see it, and idly began humming Brahms Lullaby, a comforting memory from her own childhood. Under her breath, she sang a few, dimly-recalled snatches of lyrics in the original German, as her family's old housekeeper used to do when she was very young.

"Guten Abend, gute' Nacht, Mit Rosen bedacht..."

As the soothing melody filled his consciousness, Illya felt his spirits ease. Finally able to relax for the first time since awakening to find himself a captive earlier in the day, he let down his guards and allowed the sleep he so badly needed to overtake him.

Once the blond man's gentle regular breathing indicated he had finally fallen asleep, Candy sighed in satisfaction and drifted off herself.

© 2004 Marie-Louise Yately

Feel free to write to me if you have any comments.

Available through Twisted Tsisters Productions. Contact the publishers for a copy of the first few chapters.

A sequel to this story, called To Retrieve a Spy is also available.