Chapter Text
“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME, NAPOLEON?” Illya repeated with barely controlled panic.
“Illya? ILLYA!!” Napoleon squeezed the struggling baby, trying unsuccessfully to sort out his emotions. He was overjoyed having the Illya he knew back. But he knew he didn’t completely have him, his friend was still in the form of a baby. He still didn’t know if that serum was going to kill him.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” the shocked Doctor Martin asked. She had quickly called for Doctor Steele who was rushing in when he heard the shouting. He reached out to Illya’s jaw to check his glands again but his hand was batted away by the little arm..
“Illya, calm down. LISTEN to me, you have to calm down!” Napoleon set his thrashing friend on the bed and perched on the edge next to him, gripping the child’s shoulders. “What is the last thing you remember? It’s important.”
The look on Napoleon’s face told him he had better do what he was told. He regained his composure. “We were leaving that hillside satrap,” he began. “I was covering while you got that woman we rescued out. I was right behind you when… I was almost to the door when… I was shot in the knee. The back end of the place blew and it knocked me out. I came to and was trying to crawl out of there but there were two THRUSH guards left alive. They recovered too. They caught me and shot my other knee, then my elbows and my hands. My hands were blown off.”
Illya looked down at his tiny hands uncomprehendingly. He shook his head then took a ragged breath. “One of them called in to tell their bosses what happened and they said to bring me to a place called Mallard Medical in Charleston. Alive. When we got there… I’m trying to remember, it was like a dream. That man was there,” he said pointing to Doctor Steele, “and Victor Marton. I passed out and the next thing I know you were shushing me saying you were right here.”
Napoleon sprang to his feet. Victor Marton! They had to warn Waverly. He pulled out his communicator but before he could activate it, the thing signaled it’s two tone alert. He activated it and heard the urgent report that Marton had taken Waverly. He had eluded Waverly’s protection team and got away.
Napoleon whirled to rush back to Waverly’s office, Illya jumped up too, “Wait! What’s going on, take me with you!” but Napoleon was gone. The doctors descended on Illya.
***
“Alexander. Alexander, wake up.”
The voice, dimly perceived at first, rapidly cleared. Waverly raised his head and shook it trying to clear it. His eyes opened and a few blinks brought his surroundings into focus. He tried to stir but couldn’t. He was sitting in a wooden chair, wrists tied to its arms, his ankles similarly tied to the chair’s legs. He focused on the man sitting in a leather chair across from him. Victor Marton.
“So, Victor. Now we can REALLY catch up. You were about to tell me what you’ve been up to recently.” Waverly said dryly.
“Oh my dear friend, I have been busy. So very busy.” He sipped from a brandy snifter he held in his hand. “This is excellent brandy. I would offer you some, but you are unfortunately tied up at the moment.” He chuckled. “The reason I invited you, dear friend, is because you have something that belongs to me,” he continued.
“You could have just asked,” Waverly replied mildly. He had a feeling he knew what that ‘something’ was.
“A child. A child who is very important to THRUSH. He’s… vital to our interests, so to speak.”
“Ah! You mean Mister Kuryakin. I’m afraid he belongs to the Soviet navy. He’s on indefinite loan to UNCLE, but he is still theirs. If you want him, you should talk to them. I don’t plan on giving him up to anyone but the Soviets if they need him back.”
“The Soviets loaned you one of their people and you managed to lose him. Not very responsible of you, now is it, Alexander? Now the Russian is ours, and we want him back. We will get him back, and you are going to assist.”
“So it was you in charge of that so-called ‘fountain of youth’ program. It didn’t go quite as planned, did it?”
Marton sipped his brandy. “Not exactly as planned, no. We were and are still looking for that ‘fountain of youth,’ as you so quaintly put it. But it is still useful as is if it can be weaponized and used against government leaders, whole populations, soldiers on the battlefield.” Marton sipped his brandy. “The members of THRUSH Central are aging. If they could prolong their lives, their youth even, the rewards would be great for the one who can provide it to them.”
Waverly wanted him to say it. “And what does all this ‘fountain of youth’ for THRUSH Central have to do with Mister Kuryakin?”
Marton smiled, “Ah, Mister Kuryakin. An intriguing individual, that young man. Infuriating, but intriguing.” He swished his brandy around to watch the fingers of the golden fluid running down the inside of the glass. “We both know he’s a polymath, brilliant in any of a number of disciplines. I’m told he’s also an excellent musician.” He looked at Waverly who remained impassive. “We have use for such an individual. The Russians were wasting his talents and UNCLE is barely scratching the surface. Honestly Alexander, putting him in the field where he could be killed and his brilliance lost forever? Only THRUSH knows how to develop his talents and put them to their proper use. We will raise him, educate him, train him. He will be the perfect THRUSH operative. WE will keep him safe and give him important work to do and he will be completely loyal to us. THRUSH will be all he knows.”
Of course, it was as Waverly feared. “There is only one problem with your plan, Victor.” Waverly shifted in his seat. “That serum that was given to Mister Kuryakin and Mrs Clay. It’s having other effects you didn’t plan on. Your subjects may be dying. There is abnormal cellular activity that our scientists can’t explain that might be fatal. Even if you were to acquire Mister Kuryakin, he could be dead in a week. Or a month, we don’t know.”
Marton’s smug expression never left his face. He watched Waverly through lidded eyes. “Indeed? Our scientists can resolve that once we have him.”
Marton rose to take his leave telling Waverly he will return shortly and then, his friend Alexander will assist him in acquiring the child.
***
Napoleon listened to the observing agents’ reports with growing fury. He understood the difficulties of noonday traffic in Manhattan, but why was there no aerial support? Why wasn’t there a helicopter overhead watching? Waverly didn’t order one, he learned. Napoleon sent a team out looking for the car that was last observed carrying Marton and Waverly as described by the agent who was broadsided. The trail ended under an overpass where apparently there was another vehicle switch. He ordered a watch on Laguardia in case Marton decided to skip town, with or without Waverly, but he had little hope that it would help. After what Illya told them, he realized Waverly was right in suspecting that THRUSH would be after him. That has to be the reason why Marton grabbed Waverly, but why? Did they think UNCLE would exchange Illya for Waverly? They couldn’t be that naive.
Illya. He wanted Illya’s perspective, his advice. Napoleon had long ago come to the realization that he reached the status of chief enforcement agent not solely on his own merits but from his partnership with Illya Kuryakin. He needed him. He needed him now. He reached for the button to call Medical to have him brought up to Waverly’s office when the door hissed open to admit the toddler that was his friend.
Napoleon stared, shocked. Illya tried to stride purposefully into the office, but failed due to the stubby little legs that he had to work with. And he was wearing a badge with a twenty-six on it, Doctor Martin’s badge!
“What…? HOW?” Napoleon gaped.
“They took my badge, so I improvised” Illya explained calmly. "What is the situation?”
Napoleon picked him up and seated him in the chair next to him, trying to remember not to kiss him. He told Illya what he knew about Waverly’s strategy for backup and finding the cars under the overpasses.
“No doubt there are more. In this city, trying to locate an abandoned vehicle is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Napoleon pulled out a map of the city, pointing to the locations where the two cars they know about were found. “Mister Waverly met Marton at this cafe here.” He poked a position on the map. “That car was abandoned here,” he said pointing to a spot to the east near the river. “The second car was found here,” he said, tapping another location.
Illya watched closely, then sat back, rubbing his upper lip. He wished he had his glasses. “You would think he was headed to the airport,” he observed.
“That was my thought. I sent agents to watch the airport just in case Marton showed up, with or without Mister Waverly.”
Illya nodded. “That’s a good plan…”
“But… what?”
“We don’t know how many times he switched cars. To be really safe, I would say no fewer than three changes. Once he is sure his tail is lost, he could have gone in any direction. He could be guiding us to focus on the airport when his destination is somewhere quite different, perhaps in the opposite direction. It’s what I would do.”
Napoleon scowled. Of course Illya was right. “Well, Marton took Mister Waverly for a reason. He wants you back and will be wanting to use Mister Waverly as a bargaining chip.”
“Most likely, but he has to know we wouldn’t negotiate with him. If we DID, you would be lucky if Mister Waverly only fired you.”
He looked down at his tiny friend who was rubbing his forehead. “How do you feel?” He asked him.
“I’m fine, just hungry.” He felt the swollen glands under his jaw, and his armpits and other places. They were sore, but he didn’t feel feverish. The aches were easily ignored. Medical staff wouldn’t tell him anything about the results of the tests they’d done so far and they just scolded him when he insisted on knowing. He knew he should probably have stayed in the infirmary, but he was worse than useless there and he wanted to help get Waverly back.
“I’ll have lunch brought up, what do you feel like?”
Illya studied his little hands, “A sandwich is fine, but I might need a knife and fork. And a plate.”
Napoleon called down to the cafeteria and ordered the chicken salad for Illya and roast beef for himself with drinks to be brought to Waverly’s office. He had just disconnected when an urgent call came in from Medical.
“Sir, Illya’s gone,” Doctor Martin told him frantically. “And I can’t find my badge. I think he’s hiding with it but we can’t find him.”
Napoleon stifled a chuckle. “No need to worry, doctor. He’s here with me. I’ll have security bring Illya his badge then return yours. Just sit tight.” He disconnected before she could protest and gave the order to Security. He turned to his partner.
“How DID you get here without someone picking you up and taking you back to the infirmary?” He asked.
“Few people in the corridor,” Illya said matter-of-factly. “I’m small enough to duck out of sight in an entry when someone walked by.”
A security agent named Leon arrived within minutes to exchange Illya’s number two badge for Doctor Martin’s. Leon couldn’t take his eyes off Illya, who was still a toddler but with the self assured demeanor of the adult Russian. Illya was just sitting there, gazing coolly at him, as he affixed the badge to the top of the bib of the toddler’s overalls he was wearing. Leon felt creepy, looking at him. I was just tickling him the other day, he thought, hoping Illya wouldn’t remember.
Napoleon asked the man to send his apologies to Doctor Martin and dismissed him. The food arrived with the utensils Illya asked for with their drinks. It turned out Illya did need the utensils as the sandwich would have been too big even for his adult hands. They talked while they ate and devised then rejected a number of plans to find Waverly and how they were going to rescue him.
“Mister Waverly’s only been gone for an hour,” Illya observed. “Considering traffic, they could just be reaching their destination.”
Illya finished his lunch and crawled down from the chair he had occupied, wanting to stretch his legs. He was frustrated with his small stature and his clumsy movements. His untrained muscles weren’t responding the way they used to. He wandered over to a stand in the corner and found a collection of puzzles on the top that weren’t there before. He picked one up and started working on it.
“When did Mister Waverly start playing with toys?” He asked.
“They’re yours. Section III made those for you but I suspect Mister Waverly was playing with them too.”
“Why would I have toys in Mister Waverly’s office?” He started, then stopped suddenly at Napoleon’s grin.
“How long have I been like this? Napoleon!” Illya’s face was stormy as he toddled over to Napoleon who was by now laughing out loud at the sight.
“Oh, I have stories, yes sir. It’s been a very exciting month. And you owe me a bottle of bourbon.”
“Why would I…?” He started then shook his head. He didn’t want to know. “Did I stay here that whole time? I wouldn’t be able to go home.”
“You stayed with me. Got into everything too, and I do MEAN everything. Most of your toys are in my apartment, but Mister Waverly kept a supply for you too.”
“Mister Waverly did NOT babysit me!”
“He did,” Napoleon responded with a smirk.
They were interrupted by a call from Lisa Rogers. There was a signal coming in from Waverly’s communicator.