An Unexpected Friend
Title: An Unexpected Friend
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: No pairing! completely gen!!
Rating: G
Summary: Illya makes a friend.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Dedication: To svetlanacat4, Patachou and also Theda, for inspiration and friendship!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
Illya Kuryakin would never admit to being lonely.
He was a proud citizen of Mother Russia, a scientist, and he didn't need such luxuries as warmth and tenderness and love. Or at least that's what he told himself on a regular basis.
The truth was he was as lonely as a boy far from home could be.
It was difficult for him to make friends, and as a result he was eating alone, again, on a Friday night while the rest of Paris went on without him, drinking and laughing and having a wonderful time. And he was eating the remainder of a hard baguette and some cheese that had been on the way to the bin when he bought it. Still, food was food, and bread and cheese would be better than beets and cabbage any day.
He was sitting on the stoop in the alleyway when he heard the scratching and mewing. Illya rose quickly, quietly, and walked to a stack of boxes. When he looked behind, he saw a small cat. No, not a cat, a kitten, really. It was tiny, white with a small brown spot near its eye. He put his hand down to the kitten and waited. The animal responded with a sniff and a shy lick. Illya then stuck a finger forward and stroked the cat's ear. The cat purred softly, arched its back and rubbed against Illya's finger. Illya reached down and picked up the cat. It was so small, this kitten; it fit in his hands. The poor animal was skin and bones. He wondered where its mother would be.
He looked down at the kitten in his hands and caught a glimpse of its eyes. They were huge, threatening to overtake its little face. It made the poor thing look even more forlorn and sad than it already did with its pitiful mewing.
"Oh, all right, you pathetic creature," Illya said, chuckling. "Let's see if I have anything for you."
He walked up to his microscopic flat and set the kitten on the counter. The cat promptly curled into a ball and purred. He rummaged through his ice box and found a little bit of milk. He put a few drops onto a saucer and sat it in front of the animal. The kitten raised its head, sniffed the air a little bit, then stood on its feet, stretched luxuriantly, and pawed its way to the saucer. A delicate lick, and then the cat started to groom itself.
"You must be a lady cat. You need a lady's name." He looked through his record collection, small bits of pieces of ephemera that he collected, trying to find a suitable name for such a beautiful and fussy animal. The cat meowed louder this time.
"Your meow has a musical quality, kitten. Perhaps I should name you after a French singer."
The cat put its tail in the air and turned in a circle, as if to say, "Whatever name you bestow upon me will never fully describe my beauty and power, silly human."
---
The cat claimed a pillow on Illya's bed. Unfortunately, it was the only pillow that Illya had. Every time he tried to shoo the kitten away, it meowed and made a terrible hissing noise. Illya had better sense than to try and make a cat do something it didn't want to do. Besides, he had yet to name the fuzzy creature, and it was difficult to put force behind "Hey, cat."
He reached to stroke the cat's head. "Kitten, I will be leaving soon. I have to purchase more food and possibly something for you. I will be back."
The cat looked up at him, yawned, and then curled into a ball.
While he walked down the street toward the pâtisserie that he favored, he heard music coming from one of the flower shops. Illya stopped and listened for a moment. To him, it sounded like the cat's meow, literally; the trills sounded much like the cat's mews. He walked into the flower shop, saw a thin woman standing next to a radio.
"Excusez-moi, mais qui chante, s'il vous plaît?"
The woman looked over at him with a look that may have intimidated other men. But other men were not Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.
"Mistinguett."
"Oui, je vous remercie."
Illya made his rounds, to the baker for his fresh baguette, to the lovely store that sold his favorite charcuterie. Then he stopped and picked up fresh milk for he and his new, furry roommate.
When he returned to the apartment, the kitten was standing near the door, seemingly waiting for him. He bent down to pet her.
"I have a name for you, my friend. Do you like Mistinguett?" The cat meowed. Illya smiled. "I thought you would."
FIN
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: No pairing! completely gen!!
Rating: G
Summary: Illya makes a friend.
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Dedication: To svetlanacat4, Patachou and also Theda, for inspiration and friendship!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
Illya Kuryakin would never admit to being lonely.
He was a proud citizen of Mother Russia, a scientist, and he didn't need such luxuries as warmth and tenderness and love. Or at least that's what he told himself on a regular basis.
The truth was he was as lonely as a boy far from home could be.
It was difficult for him to make friends, and as a result he was eating alone, again, on a Friday night while the rest of Paris went on without him, drinking and laughing and having a wonderful time. And he was eating the remainder of a hard baguette and some cheese that had been on the way to the bin when he bought it. Still, food was food, and bread and cheese would be better than beets and cabbage any day.
He was sitting on the stoop in the alleyway when he heard the scratching and mewing. Illya rose quickly, quietly, and walked to a stack of boxes. When he looked behind, he saw a small cat. No, not a cat, a kitten, really. It was tiny, white with a small brown spot near its eye. He put his hand down to the kitten and waited. The animal responded with a sniff and a shy lick. Illya then stuck a finger forward and stroked the cat's ear. The cat purred softly, arched its back and rubbed against Illya's finger. Illya reached down and picked up the cat. It was so small, this kitten; it fit in his hands. The poor animal was skin and bones. He wondered where its mother would be.
He looked down at the kitten in his hands and caught a glimpse of its eyes. They were huge, threatening to overtake its little face. It made the poor thing look even more forlorn and sad than it already did with its pitiful mewing.
"Oh, all right, you pathetic creature," Illya said, chuckling. "Let's see if I have anything for you."
He walked up to his microscopic flat and set the kitten on the counter. The cat promptly curled into a ball and purred. He rummaged through his ice box and found a little bit of milk. He put a few drops onto a saucer and sat it in front of the animal. The kitten raised its head, sniffed the air a little bit, then stood on its feet, stretched luxuriantly, and pawed its way to the saucer. A delicate lick, and then the cat started to groom itself.
"You must be a lady cat. You need a lady's name." He looked through his record collection, small bits of pieces of ephemera that he collected, trying to find a suitable name for such a beautiful and fussy animal. The cat meowed louder this time.
"Your meow has a musical quality, kitten. Perhaps I should name you after a French singer."
The cat put its tail in the air and turned in a circle, as if to say, "Whatever name you bestow upon me will never fully describe my beauty and power, silly human."
---
The cat claimed a pillow on Illya's bed. Unfortunately, it was the only pillow that Illya had. Every time he tried to shoo the kitten away, it meowed and made a terrible hissing noise. Illya had better sense than to try and make a cat do something it didn't want to do. Besides, he had yet to name the fuzzy creature, and it was difficult to put force behind "Hey, cat."
He reached to stroke the cat's head. "Kitten, I will be leaving soon. I have to purchase more food and possibly something for you. I will be back."
The cat looked up at him, yawned, and then curled into a ball.
While he walked down the street toward the pâtisserie that he favored, he heard music coming from one of the flower shops. Illya stopped and listened for a moment. To him, it sounded like the cat's meow, literally; the trills sounded much like the cat's mews. He walked into the flower shop, saw a thin woman standing next to a radio.
"Excusez-moi, mais qui chante, s'il vous plaît?"
The woman looked over at him with a look that may have intimidated other men. But other men were not Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.
"Mistinguett."
"Oui, je vous remercie."
Illya made his rounds, to the baker for his fresh baguette, to the lovely store that sold his favorite charcuterie. Then he stopped and picked up fresh milk for he and his new, furry roommate.
When he returned to the apartment, the kitten was standing near the door, seemingly waiting for him. He bent down to pet her.
"I have a name for you, my friend. Do you like Mistinguett?" The cat meowed. Illya smiled. "I thought you would."
FIN