Work Text:
About a month after The Long Way Home Affair.
U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, New York, NY
Cafeteria
UNCLE Enforcement Agent Illya Kuryakin was in the staff cafeteria ordering a hot roast beef sandwich for lunch. He had just returned from medical leave and was eager to get back into the field.
Then as he was receiving his cup of chicken noodle soup, he heard a male voice a couple places ahead of him in line saying loudly, “Did you hear? Now Waverly has gone and brought in another Commie! This one’s supposed to be a doctor!”
The man next to him followed up with, “Not just a doctor! I hear this Russky is going to be head of Medical! No wonder Tower and Jamison are retiring: they probably knew what was coming.”
A secretary chimed in, “A Russian doctor? What’s he like? I hope he isn’t as cold and unfeeling as the Ice Prince or I’d be scared to go to him.”
The first man answered, “Probably worse. If you get shot, he’ll just saw off your arm or leg. Reds don’t value human life like we do.”
Another woman volunteered, “I saw a big, fat man with a huge bushy beard, and wild hair arrive this morning. He was wearing a rumpled, stained suit and didn’t smell very good. Do you think that was him?”
“The Old Man must be losing his mind, bringing in all these damn Commies!” concluded the first man.
“So much for international cooperation and goodwill,” Illya thought cynically as he paid and carried his tray to an empty table in the corner where he could watch the room.
A few minutes later, he saw Dr Anna Pasternak heading toward him with her lunch tray. “Hello, Illya, may I join you?” she asked.
With a sigh of relief, Illya understood who the new “Soviet” was. He half rose and gestured welcomingly toward the chair across from him, “Please do, Anya. I hear you have joined UNCLE. We’re very fortunate.”
She flashed her quick smile again and sat. “Thank you, Illyusha, I’m very grateful that you recommended me to Mr. Waverly. How is the leg?”
“Fine, thank you. I have been released for fieldwork.”
“Excellent! And your memory? No more gaps?”
“None that I can remember. Although I do have nightmares about being forced to wear a pink gown.” Illya said with a straight face. He was grateful that she had taken him in from the street when he was a very disreputable-looking stranger and saved his life, but still hadn’t quite forgiven her for throwing out his filthy clothes and offering him nothing to wear other than that very feminine robe.
“Maybe you should have a talk with Dr. Baumhauer about that.” She smiled, referring to the UNCLE psychiatrist.
“I’m sure he’d love that. He has been trying to find a way to get me out of UNCLE ever since I arrived. He pries into things that are not his business and makes professional pronouncements based on personal antipathy.” Illya had a deep aversion to Dr. Karl Baumhauer due to the doctor’s obsession with Illya’s past and other information Illya preferred to keep private.
“He has given me the distinct impression that he dislikes women in positions of authority.”
“He dislikes Soviets even more than most Americans do. That probably explains his reaction to you.”
“But Illyusha, I am an American citizen. I spent my teenage years in Brooklyn.”
“You were born in the Soviet Union. That makes you a Communist in his book.”
Putting her napkin into her lap, she quickly and neatly addressed herself to the bowl of chicken noodle soup on her tray. She had managed to snag three packs of Saltines with the soup, but her only other food was an apple. She was drinking water.
As he continued the quick dispatch of his own meal, Illya amused himself in deciding whether she was dieting or short of money. She wasn’t overweight or fashion-conscious and it was the cheapest meal available in the canteen.
“By the way, how did you end up in America, Anya?” He asked while casually placing his own pack of Saltines next to her plate.
“When the war ended, I was in British-occupied territory. Long story, but that’s where I was, and since my only surviving relative was my mother’s cousin in America, I was eventually sent to her. I believe that Mother Russia had a sufficient number of war orphans without me.”
“As I recall, there were certainly enough of us in the orphanage I was sent to, so I’m grateful that you weren’t yet one more that I would have had to share my blankets with.”
Anna put on a mock-indignant expression. “I’ll have you know that when I was a teenager there were plenty of American boys who wanted to share a blanket or a back seat with me! The first English word I needed was ‘No’!”
Illya’s ears turned pink as he realized he had almost given away a secret. “Americans are much more precocious than Russians. I was twenty-two before I shared an ice cream soda with a girl. It was a most distressing experience; she insisted on peppermint-flavored ice cream and then made me pay for it.”
“How awful! With such a horrible experience in your past, I’m amazed you can even talk to a woman.”
“She was French secret service. After she finished the soda, she pulled out a gun and tried to arrest me. That’s when I decided I’d never get romantically involved with any woman who worked for a secret agency.”
“I’ve heard the same is good advice about Uncle agents in Sections Two and Three.”
“That is true. Here comes a prime example.”
“Well, hello! May I join you?” Illya’s partner belatedly arrived at the table with a laden tray.
“Dr. Anna Pasternak, I believe you have met my chronically late partner, Napoleon Solo?”
“Yes, I remember. Nice to see you again, Mr. Solo.”
“Delightful to see you again, doctor, and please call me Napoleon. Are you getting settled in here?”
“I get lost every time I venture out of Medical. Half the time I don’t even know what level I’m on. Other than that, everything is going well.”
“It takes most people a few weeks to find their way around and even then a lot of them get lost if they venture outside their usual areas,” Napoleon said sympathetically. “At least you haven’t set off any alarms.”
“Only because I have unrestricted access. I found the East River entrance yesterday while looking for the Budget and Accounting Office.”
“Easy mistake. Large rats in both places.”
“I think I prefer the river rats. Mr. Farrell keeps telling me I use too many surgical gloves. Does he expect me to wash them between surgeries? He’ll have a stroke when we begin enlarging Medical to allow more in-house treatment of field agents like Mr. Waverly wants.”
“Mr. Waverly mentioned that. We’ve had a number of problems with agents being attacked or kidnapped in hospitals. Assigning security details to every hospitalized agent just takes too much manpower.”
“Not to mention that the injuries are usually the type that require police reports and the injured agents are often accompanied by overwrought partners waving guns. I’m sure the local emergency rooms will be glad to forgo your business.”
“Unfortunately, it will force UNCLE’s nurses to endure more of Napoleon’s heavy-handed flirting,” Illya said, returning to the conversation as he started on his dessert.
Napoleon glared at his partner. “Tolerate ME? It’s a certain ill-mannered Russian patient that they complain about.”
Illya favored Napoleon with a glare before changing the subject, “Is the rumor that you are to be the new head of Medical correct, Anya?”
“Yes, after Dr. Towers retires. He has agreed to stay on until the new year. We’re very short-staffed as it is and planning the physical expansion is going to take a lot of my time away from routine administration for several months. Dr. Towers insists that I handle the expansion and hiring from now on since I’m the one who has to live with the decisions.” Anna dropped her apple core into her empty soup bowl and picked up her tray. “Speaking of which, I have a meeting with the architect in a few minutes, if you will excuse me. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Napoleon watched her walk away. “Definitely prettier to wake up to than Dr. Towers. Well, tovarishch, the quarterly mission summaries await us.”
“Sorry, Napoleon, but I have a research assignment from Mr. Waverly, so you will have to complete the reports yourself for once.” Illya answered, almost hiding his smug smile as he took his tray to the return window.
With a sigh, Napoleon finished his coffee, bused his tray, and trudged back to his office.