Work Text:
Man from U.N.C.L.E.
1960s TV
Madame Grushenka and the Spy from Kiev Affair
Part One of the Illya and Madam Grushenka Stories
Napoleon thought he was being funny; virtually 'sicking' Madam Grushenka on Illya. Illya, of course, knew Madam was Russian; suspected she was; like himself, Ukrainian. During the “affair”, he had no dealings with the woman and had, in fact, only just met her at the table in Mary’s newly acquired night club. When Napoleon called Illya by name, Madam had become most interested. "You are Russian.", she said to his back, as he had attempted to turn away from her; dark glasses in place. In a much softer voice, she continued with her attempt to draw him out. "Ilyusha.", her voice even softer. "Ilyushenka. Darling."
At first Illya was upset with Napoleon, but hearing the diminutive of his given name spoken in his native tongue had touched a sweet memory of Illya's own mother and grandmother and despite himself; Illya gave Madam his full attention. Upon seeing Illya occupied, Napoleon quickly forgot about his partner and lost himself in the dance...and the lovely and “independent” Miss Mary Pilgrim.
He and Mary danced for quite some time. When they finally decided to have a seat and more cocktails, they were both surprised to discover that Illya and Grushenka were gone. Mary explained that Illya probably had escorted Grushy back to the hotel. Napoleon agreed and stated that Illya was probable back in their shared rooms by now; settled on his bed, reading a physics journal; which, to his chagrin; had for some reason interested Mary. Within ten minutes of answering questions about his partner; Napoleon had begun to lose interest in the “no longer” delightful Miss Pilgrim.
They were partially correct. Illya had escorted Madam back to the hotel where they were now seated in the suite that Grushy and Mary had shared when they first became part of the affair. They had left the club, arm in arm and speaking their own language; something that Illya had discovered he missed and more than speaking it, he had missed hearing it.
Napoleon had taken it easy, making his wine last while Mary had enjoyed herself; dancing and drinking almost to excess. She had been very attracted to Max and they had been planning to marry. Napoleon was trying to “help” Mary over her sadness, but the more wine that Mary drank, the angrier she was with Max and Napoleon was making no impression on the now drunken and angry Mary.
During the affair; as usual; Napoleon had the “cush” job, while Illya; who was the more talented at leaving his own personality behind and becoming whatever was needed of him had been needed by his partner to pilot a helicopter and to actually land it on top of a moving furniture van. This he did; even after being accosted with a Billy club within the confines of a phone booth with no room for or means of self defense. Beaten, battered and with a splitting headache; he was once again…the unsung hero.
Napoleon soon forgot Mary Pilgrim and moved on to the next attractive woman in despair while Illya had cultivated a lasting friendship with Irina Grushenka. Their relationship was very special to the young, uprooted Ukrainian spy and every time the partners found themselves in Paris; Illya visited. Irina, at that time, was able to find a lovely, older flat on a tree lined, cobblestone street. The flat had a smallish, second bedroom that Grushy kept for Illya and the older woman enjoyed cooking Ukrainian food for her young friend in the flat’s bowling lane-sized; long and narrow kitchen. Their friendship lasted until Irina’s death some years later with Illya and Mary at her bedside.
Irina had nothing much to leave to either friend, but, to Mary she had left some pieces of jewelry that had belonged to her grandmother. Irina had worn a certain brooch nearly everyday of her life and although the piece was attractive, Mary believed it to be rather goshe and merely paste. When Mary had the brooch appraised, it was discovered to be the real thing and holding none of the sentimental value that Grushenka had for the brooch; Mary was able to open a second club when she sold the piece.
To Illya, Irina left her entire book of recipes…all Ukrainian fare and all handwritten in their shared language. He also took over her flat where Irina’s book of recipes sat open as pride of place upon a stand on the counter in the long and narrow kitchen. The kitchen and indeed, the entire flat; somehow held onto the scent of Stroganoff and borscht. Throughout the ensuing years; Illya’s own cooking added to the lingering scents.