Twenty Five Days of Christmas Fic - for Everyone
Title: Nothing was Stirring
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
The prompt - This prompt came to me via Reapermum. Illya is watching the fort. When he decides to stretch his legs, he expands his mind. So for everyone out there still reading - enjoy!
Illya Kuryakin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at the column of numbers for so long that they had morphed into one big blur. It was time to move a little.
He got up from the big circular table. It didn’t surprise him that, even though he was the only one in the command office, he still sat in his usual place. Everywhere else felt… odd.
Illya walked to the window and looked out over the city. Somewhere out there, Alexander Waverly was laughing and celebrating with his family and Napoleon Solo was at some party.
Illya shook his head fondly. Napoleon was always at some party. The only difference was how many people were involved. Napoleon was the only man Illya had ever met who could have a party with just another person.
Illya liked his new partner very much. They seemed complete opposites of each other, but they melded in one when the situation demanded. Each of them seemed to have the ability to instinctively know what the other man would do or go and that was only after a few months.
Napoleon had invited Illya along for the party tonight, but he’d been to enough parties to know it would be too loud, the food too unsubstantial, and the drinks watered down.
Instead, Illya volunteered to work tonight, giving someone else the opportunity to have Christmas Eve with their families and friends. After all, his Christmas wasn’t until January 7th.
Illya turned from the window and walked back to the console. It was quiet, but he still clicked it over to feed directly to his communicator. The last thing he needed was for Waverly to check in and Illya be away from his post.
That accomplished, he grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the canteen.
As Illya exited, Lillian Yee, the secretary manning Lisa Roger’s desk, glanced up from the magazine she was reading. She hurriedly pushed it under a stack of papers.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Please, my name is Illya.” He smiled at her and she shyly dropped her gaze to the table. “It’s Miss Yee, isn’t it?
“Yes.” She looked back up and returned the smile.
Illya looked around at the walls. “What brings you here tonight? You have nowhere else to be?”
She laughed. “Not yet. Next month I’m going home to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday, which just happens to coincide with Chinese New Year.”
“Where is home?”
“San Francisco.“ She sighed happily. “Have you ever been in Chinatown for Chinese New Year?” Illya shook his head. “It’s one big party from one end to the other. This year, Granny is turning eighty and we have a huge celebration planned.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“It will be.”
“Would you like to stretch your legs or get some coffee?” Illya nodded to the phone. “I think I can handle one of those if you’d like a break.”
“That would be wonderful! Thank you!” Lillian grabbed her purse and stood. “I feel as if I was becoming one with that chair.”
Illya watched her walk away. After she turned the corner, he slid the magazine out from beneath the stack of papers where it had been hidden. He’d thought it would be a fashion magazine or possibly one of those movie magazines, but instead it was a copy of US World and News Report.
He laughed and returned it. That’s what he deserved for jumping to conclusions.
****
It was truly amazing how quiet UNCLE HQ was tonight. It was not the first time Illya had pulled an evening shift, but somehow it was very different. Nearly everyone was gone, all non-essential employees having bailed out hours earlier, leaving just a few people to man the few jobs that couldn’t be left unattended. The rest of the place was locked down.
Even the canteen was empty. The staff had set out plates of sandwiches, fruit, and sliced vegetables in the cold line and left two large urns on a side table, along with carefully-worded instructions of how to make more coffee, if necessary. Illya skipped the coffee and opted for hot water and a tea bag. While it steeped, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and an apple.
Illya acknowledged that he wasn’t really hungry, but, rather, a bit bored. Perhaps it was time for a stroll around HQ.
His first stop was the reception area behind the Masque club entrance. It took him a moment to place the man behind the desk.
“Mr. Cohen, isn’t it? Section Four?”
“You got it in one, Mr. Kuryakin. They talked you into working tonight as well?”
“This is just another night to me.” Illya winced at a sudden blast of noise from the club. “It sounds as if there are a few folks doing enough celebrating for both of us.”
“I stuck the Christmas tree in front of the entrance to dissuade any drunks. One year we had a guy stumble in here and set off about every alarm that we have. Thankfully he was too drunk to remember anything that he saw. Now Waverly makes sure someone watches this entrance, just to be sure.”
“Sounds reasonable. I just stopped in to see if you’d like a break. The canteen’s sandwiches aren’t bad and the coffee’s hot.”
“My wife packed me a care package. We are still eating leftovers from Hanukkah.” He dove under his desk and came up with a large bag. He dug into it and pulled out something wrapped in wax paper. “Try this.”
Illya unwrapped it carefully. It was a pastry, deep fried and drizzled with honey. He bit into it and closed his eyes with pleasure. “This is wonderful. What is it?”
“A loukoumade. We eat them as a representation of the cakes that the Maccabees ate.”
“Who?”
“Not a who really. More of a what. The Macabbes were a rebel army who took control of Judea and reasserted the Jewish religion. We celebrate Hanukkah as part of the eight-day rededication of The Temple.”
“I had often wondered about that.” Illya smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ah, if you could spare the time… I have been dying for a smoke.”
Interesting choice of words Illya thought, but he said, “Please, take your time.” He nodded to the Masque club. “I shall regale myself by listening to the not-so-huddled masses in there.”
****
The elevator doors opened and Illya took a deep breath before stepping out into Medical. It had the smell of antiseptic and chlorine. He hated the smell, but understood its need.
The woman behind the desk glanced up as he approached. A momentary frown crossed her face as if she disapproved of his being here. She was wearing a head scarf and appeared Middle Eastern, but Illya didn’t recognize her.
She stood as he drew nearer, her finger close to the security button. “Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, Miss…
“Dr. Kaur.”
Illya bowed his head. “Excuse me. I did not mean to slight you, Doctor.”
“And, again, I will ask, can I help you? You don’t seem to be in obvious distress.”
“No, I was getting a little bored upstairs and thought I would see if anyone needed a break.”
“Should you be away from your post?”
“I am linked directly to it via my communicator and Miss Yee is very capable of alerting me in the event of an emergency. You are alone?”
“Mercifully, yes. We were able to discharge the last of our patients today. You don’t need to check up on me. I’m capable of handling things.”
“Doctor, I fear I have gotten off on the wrong foot with you, and, as I may one day have need of your services, I would like very much to rectify that. I am Illya Kuryakin, Section Two.”
Kaur stared at him for a moment, as if unsure of his sincerity, before offering her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kuryakin. I just feel like I have to constantly prove myself to a male world.”
“Try being a Soviet in America.” Illya studied the immediate area. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually been conscious out here.”
She laughed. “That might be why I didn’t recognize you.”
Illya joined in. “While it fulfills a very important role, it is good this place is empty. You are?” Illya indicated her headscarf.
“Sihk.”
“Which explains why you work tonight. “
“It was a trade so I could have January 14h off.”
“Your holy observance?”
“That’s right. It’s the Maghi.”
“Maghi?”
“Maghi commemorates the martyrdom of the Forty Immortals," She answered. “They were forty followers of Guru Gobind Singh who deserted him, but then returned to fight bravely against overwhelming Mughal army forces in Muktsar. They, of course, died in battle and were martyred. We meet then to sing hymns and remember our ancestors.”
Illya nodded. “I was sincere in my earlier invitation.”
“Which was? I was too busy being defensive.”
“Would you like to have an opportunity to leave your position for a few minutes?”
“I don’t know…”
“There are only about seven of us in the entire building and I think the worst that might happen is a paper cut.”
“I would like to get some fruit from the canteen,” she admitted. “You are certain?”
“Yes.”
****
“Hey, Ali, look who’s come to grace our door!” The other Ali, as he was known, stood in order to greet his friend. He and Illya had gone through Survival School together, but Illya had ended up in Section Two while Ali went to Section Three. They still saw each other frequently and Illya would be spending the New Year’s with Ali and his extended family.
Ali Mo clicked off a screen and glanced up to follow Ali McFerson’s point. “Illya, they have you working tonight as well?”
“Aye,” Illya’s normal accent shifted for a Scottish one. “Tis a wee bit of quiet out there.”
McFerson laughed and waggled a finger at him. “Ah, leave it to professionals, lad. You’ll only hurt your tongue. We are still good for New Year’s?”
“As long as THRUSH doesn’t get a burr under their saddle… or wing, as it were, I will be there.”
McFerson sank back into his chair and ran a fast check on communications. “Nothing is stirring. All the good THRUSH agents, an oxymoron, are at home dreaming of all the mayhem Santa will bring them.”
“You are celebrating New Year’s together?” Ali Mo flicked on another screen, stared at it, then clicked that one off.
Illya hitched himself up onto a work table and nodded enthusiastically. “One of the many things I learned in Cambridge was that the Scots love to party nearly as much as Russians do and it always involves a great amount of food, alcohol, family, and revelry.”
“So Illya’s joining my family at the Caledonian Club for a wee bit of Scottish cheer.”
“And you, Ali, how goes your quest?”
“We are three-quarters of the way there, thanks to my willingness to work shifts that no one wants. I will also be working New Years, while you and my friend are out making joyous fools of yourselves.” Ali Mo and his brothers had been saving hard to enable them to take the whole family on hajj to Mecca.
“The way I see it, lad, is that every man needs a hobby. Mine is doing as much damage to the whiskey supply as possible.”
“Excellent. That leaves the vodka for me.” Illya laughed.
“So, tell me, Section Two Agent, what is going on?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Is that what you are doing here? Checking up on us?”
“Checking on, but not checking up. You two are fortunate enough to be company for each other, but our other fellow employees are alone at their posts. I have been offering them a much needed chance to escape their desks for a few moments.”
“And, you, as well, I think.” Mo reached his final screen. He checked it and clicked it off.
“I won’t confess that I was getting bored with my paperwork. When I was asked to join UNCLE, I didn’t think it would involve quite as much paperwork as it does.”
“Be glad you are in Section Two, then. Much of my day is paperwork. We have to file something in triplicate whenever we want to get reimbursed for something. It doesn’t matter how big or small.”
“Try losing a moving van at some point. I’m still fighting with Accounts over that.”
“What time do you have, Ali?” McFerson asked.
Illya checked his watch as Mo answered, “One minute to midnight. You should go now.”
McFerson sat forward at his console and flicked open a switch. “This is coming from the UNCLE HQ - North America, we want to wish everyone a safe and peaceful Christmas Day. May we truly find tidings of great joy and all the love our hearts can handle. Remember, no matter what you think, we are never alone as long as we have each other. “ He clicked off the microphone. McFerson smiled at Illya whose brow was wrinkled. “I started this tradition the first year I pulled the overnight shift.”
“And?”
“Wait for it.”
Suddenly the intercom crackled on.
“This is the London office. A day of Peace and Joy to you, our American cousins! Happy Christmas!”
“Joyeux Noël!”
“¡Feliz Navidad!”
“Frohe Weihnachten!”
“Merīkurisumasu!”
“С Рождеством!”
Illya grinned at the last one. “Even though it’s not their Christmas yet.”
“There is never a wrong time to wish for peace and goodwill,” Mo murmured softly as the speaker fell silent again.
“Amen to that,” Illya said. “My neighbor would say, from your mouth to God’s ear.” His communicator beeped just then and he grabbed it out of his pocket. “Channel D is open, Kuryakin.”
“Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, partner.”
Illya grinned at the sound of Napoleon’s voice. There were murmurs in the background and Illya knew Napoleon must still be at the party or else entertaining.
“And to you, my friend. Sleep well. “ There was a giggle, definitely feminine. “Or not. Kuryakin out.” He tucked the communicator away and headed for the door. “If you gentlemen require nothing, I will be off.”
“Will do. And, Illya?” McFerson’s voice stopped him.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for checking in with us.”
****
Illya would repeat the process several more times during the evening. At first, his co-workers resented him, but gradually they realized the Russian was not checking up on them, but rather checking in with them, making sure that they were as comfortable as they could be given the circumstances. It was his gift to them this night of nights. A night of brother and sisterhood, for good will and peace to all men.
This finishes my Twenty Five Days of Christmas fic and my gift to all you - my wishes for a safe and glorious year ahead. However and whenever you celebrate, I wish you peace, love, and happiness.
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
The prompt - This prompt came to me via Reapermum. Illya is watching the fort. When he decides to stretch his legs, he expands his mind. So for everyone out there still reading - enjoy!
Illya Kuryakin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at the column of numbers for so long that they had morphed into one big blur. It was time to move a little.
He got up from the big circular table. It didn’t surprise him that, even though he was the only one in the command office, he still sat in his usual place. Everywhere else felt… odd.
Illya walked to the window and looked out over the city. Somewhere out there, Alexander Waverly was laughing and celebrating with his family and Napoleon Solo was at some party.
Illya shook his head fondly. Napoleon was always at some party. The only difference was how many people were involved. Napoleon was the only man Illya had ever met who could have a party with just another person.
Illya liked his new partner very much. They seemed complete opposites of each other, but they melded in one when the situation demanded. Each of them seemed to have the ability to instinctively know what the other man would do or go and that was only after a few months.
Napoleon had invited Illya along for the party tonight, but he’d been to enough parties to know it would be too loud, the food too unsubstantial, and the drinks watered down.
Instead, Illya volunteered to work tonight, giving someone else the opportunity to have Christmas Eve with their families and friends. After all, his Christmas wasn’t until January 7th.
Illya turned from the window and walked back to the console. It was quiet, but he still clicked it over to feed directly to his communicator. The last thing he needed was for Waverly to check in and Illya be away from his post.
That accomplished, he grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the canteen.
As Illya exited, Lillian Yee, the secretary manning Lisa Roger’s desk, glanced up from the magazine she was reading. She hurriedly pushed it under a stack of papers.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Please, my name is Illya.” He smiled at her and she shyly dropped her gaze to the table. “It’s Miss Yee, isn’t it?
“Yes.” She looked back up and returned the smile.
Illya looked around at the walls. “What brings you here tonight? You have nowhere else to be?”
She laughed. “Not yet. Next month I’m going home to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday, which just happens to coincide with Chinese New Year.”
“Where is home?”
“San Francisco.“ She sighed happily. “Have you ever been in Chinatown for Chinese New Year?” Illya shook his head. “It’s one big party from one end to the other. This year, Granny is turning eighty and we have a huge celebration planned.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“It will be.”
“Would you like to stretch your legs or get some coffee?” Illya nodded to the phone. “I think I can handle one of those if you’d like a break.”
“That would be wonderful! Thank you!” Lillian grabbed her purse and stood. “I feel as if I was becoming one with that chair.”
Illya watched her walk away. After she turned the corner, he slid the magazine out from beneath the stack of papers where it had been hidden. He’d thought it would be a fashion magazine or possibly one of those movie magazines, but instead it was a copy of US World and News Report.
He laughed and returned it. That’s what he deserved for jumping to conclusions.
****
It was truly amazing how quiet UNCLE HQ was tonight. It was not the first time Illya had pulled an evening shift, but somehow it was very different. Nearly everyone was gone, all non-essential employees having bailed out hours earlier, leaving just a few people to man the few jobs that couldn’t be left unattended. The rest of the place was locked down.
Even the canteen was empty. The staff had set out plates of sandwiches, fruit, and sliced vegetables in the cold line and left two large urns on a side table, along with carefully-worded instructions of how to make more coffee, if necessary. Illya skipped the coffee and opted for hot water and a tea bag. While it steeped, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and an apple.
Illya acknowledged that he wasn’t really hungry, but, rather, a bit bored. Perhaps it was time for a stroll around HQ.
His first stop was the reception area behind the Masque club entrance. It took him a moment to place the man behind the desk.
“Mr. Cohen, isn’t it? Section Four?”
“You got it in one, Mr. Kuryakin. They talked you into working tonight as well?”
“This is just another night to me.” Illya winced at a sudden blast of noise from the club. “It sounds as if there are a few folks doing enough celebrating for both of us.”
“I stuck the Christmas tree in front of the entrance to dissuade any drunks. One year we had a guy stumble in here and set off about every alarm that we have. Thankfully he was too drunk to remember anything that he saw. Now Waverly makes sure someone watches this entrance, just to be sure.”
“Sounds reasonable. I just stopped in to see if you’d like a break. The canteen’s sandwiches aren’t bad and the coffee’s hot.”
“My wife packed me a care package. We are still eating leftovers from Hanukkah.” He dove under his desk and came up with a large bag. He dug into it and pulled out something wrapped in wax paper. “Try this.”
Illya unwrapped it carefully. It was a pastry, deep fried and drizzled with honey. He bit into it and closed his eyes with pleasure. “This is wonderful. What is it?”
“A loukoumade. We eat them as a representation of the cakes that the Maccabees ate.”
“Who?”
“Not a who really. More of a what. The Macabbes were a rebel army who took control of Judea and reasserted the Jewish religion. We celebrate Hanukkah as part of the eight-day rededication of The Temple.”
“I had often wondered about that.” Illya smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ah, if you could spare the time… I have been dying for a smoke.”
Interesting choice of words Illya thought, but he said, “Please, take your time.” He nodded to the Masque club. “I shall regale myself by listening to the not-so-huddled masses in there.”
****
The elevator doors opened and Illya took a deep breath before stepping out into Medical. It had the smell of antiseptic and chlorine. He hated the smell, but understood its need.
The woman behind the desk glanced up as he approached. A momentary frown crossed her face as if she disapproved of his being here. She was wearing a head scarf and appeared Middle Eastern, but Illya didn’t recognize her.
She stood as he drew nearer, her finger close to the security button. “Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, Miss…
“Dr. Kaur.”
Illya bowed his head. “Excuse me. I did not mean to slight you, Doctor.”
“And, again, I will ask, can I help you? You don’t seem to be in obvious distress.”
“No, I was getting a little bored upstairs and thought I would see if anyone needed a break.”
“Should you be away from your post?”
“I am linked directly to it via my communicator and Miss Yee is very capable of alerting me in the event of an emergency. You are alone?”
“Mercifully, yes. We were able to discharge the last of our patients today. You don’t need to check up on me. I’m capable of handling things.”
“Doctor, I fear I have gotten off on the wrong foot with you, and, as I may one day have need of your services, I would like very much to rectify that. I am Illya Kuryakin, Section Two.”
Kaur stared at him for a moment, as if unsure of his sincerity, before offering her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kuryakin. I just feel like I have to constantly prove myself to a male world.”
“Try being a Soviet in America.” Illya studied the immediate area. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually been conscious out here.”
She laughed. “That might be why I didn’t recognize you.”
Illya joined in. “While it fulfills a very important role, it is good this place is empty. You are?” Illya indicated her headscarf.
“Sihk.”
“Which explains why you work tonight. “
“It was a trade so I could have January 14h off.”
“Your holy observance?”
“That’s right. It’s the Maghi.”
“Maghi?”
“Maghi commemorates the martyrdom of the Forty Immortals," She answered. “They were forty followers of Guru Gobind Singh who deserted him, but then returned to fight bravely against overwhelming Mughal army forces in Muktsar. They, of course, died in battle and were martyred. We meet then to sing hymns and remember our ancestors.”
Illya nodded. “I was sincere in my earlier invitation.”
“Which was? I was too busy being defensive.”
“Would you like to have an opportunity to leave your position for a few minutes?”
“I don’t know…”
“There are only about seven of us in the entire building and I think the worst that might happen is a paper cut.”
“I would like to get some fruit from the canteen,” she admitted. “You are certain?”
“Yes.”
****
“Hey, Ali, look who’s come to grace our door!” The other Ali, as he was known, stood in order to greet his friend. He and Illya had gone through Survival School together, but Illya had ended up in Section Two while Ali went to Section Three. They still saw each other frequently and Illya would be spending the New Year’s with Ali and his extended family.
Ali Mo clicked off a screen and glanced up to follow Ali McFerson’s point. “Illya, they have you working tonight as well?”
“Aye,” Illya’s normal accent shifted for a Scottish one. “Tis a wee bit of quiet out there.”
McFerson laughed and waggled a finger at him. “Ah, leave it to professionals, lad. You’ll only hurt your tongue. We are still good for New Year’s?”
“As long as THRUSH doesn’t get a burr under their saddle… or wing, as it were, I will be there.”
McFerson sank back into his chair and ran a fast check on communications. “Nothing is stirring. All the good THRUSH agents, an oxymoron, are at home dreaming of all the mayhem Santa will bring them.”
“You are celebrating New Year’s together?” Ali Mo flicked on another screen, stared at it, then clicked that one off.
Illya hitched himself up onto a work table and nodded enthusiastically. “One of the many things I learned in Cambridge was that the Scots love to party nearly as much as Russians do and it always involves a great amount of food, alcohol, family, and revelry.”
“So Illya’s joining my family at the Caledonian Club for a wee bit of Scottish cheer.”
“And you, Ali, how goes your quest?”
“We are three-quarters of the way there, thanks to my willingness to work shifts that no one wants. I will also be working New Years, while you and my friend are out making joyous fools of yourselves.” Ali Mo and his brothers had been saving hard to enable them to take the whole family on hajj to Mecca.
“The way I see it, lad, is that every man needs a hobby. Mine is doing as much damage to the whiskey supply as possible.”
“Excellent. That leaves the vodka for me.” Illya laughed.
“So, tell me, Section Two Agent, what is going on?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Is that what you are doing here? Checking up on us?”
“Checking on, but not checking up. You two are fortunate enough to be company for each other, but our other fellow employees are alone at their posts. I have been offering them a much needed chance to escape their desks for a few moments.”
“And, you, as well, I think.” Mo reached his final screen. He checked it and clicked it off.
“I won’t confess that I was getting bored with my paperwork. When I was asked to join UNCLE, I didn’t think it would involve quite as much paperwork as it does.”
“Be glad you are in Section Two, then. Much of my day is paperwork. We have to file something in triplicate whenever we want to get reimbursed for something. It doesn’t matter how big or small.”
“Try losing a moving van at some point. I’m still fighting with Accounts over that.”
“What time do you have, Ali?” McFerson asked.
Illya checked his watch as Mo answered, “One minute to midnight. You should go now.”
McFerson sat forward at his console and flicked open a switch. “This is coming from the UNCLE HQ - North America, we want to wish everyone a safe and peaceful Christmas Day. May we truly find tidings of great joy and all the love our hearts can handle. Remember, no matter what you think, we are never alone as long as we have each other. “ He clicked off the microphone. McFerson smiled at Illya whose brow was wrinkled. “I started this tradition the first year I pulled the overnight shift.”
“And?”
“Wait for it.”
Suddenly the intercom crackled on.
“This is the London office. A day of Peace and Joy to you, our American cousins! Happy Christmas!”
“Joyeux Noël!”
“¡Feliz Navidad!”
“Frohe Weihnachten!”
“Merīkurisumasu!”
“С Рождеством!”
Illya grinned at the last one. “Even though it’s not their Christmas yet.”
“There is never a wrong time to wish for peace and goodwill,” Mo murmured softly as the speaker fell silent again.
“Amen to that,” Illya said. “My neighbor would say, from your mouth to God’s ear.” His communicator beeped just then and he grabbed it out of his pocket. “Channel D is open, Kuryakin.”
“Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, partner.”
Illya grinned at the sound of Napoleon’s voice. There were murmurs in the background and Illya knew Napoleon must still be at the party or else entertaining.
“And to you, my friend. Sleep well. “ There was a giggle, definitely feminine. “Or not. Kuryakin out.” He tucked the communicator away and headed for the door. “If you gentlemen require nothing, I will be off.”
“Will do. And, Illya?” McFerson’s voice stopped him.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for checking in with us.”
****
Illya would repeat the process several more times during the evening. At first, his co-workers resented him, but gradually they realized the Russian was not checking up on them, but rather checking in with them, making sure that they were as comfortable as they could be given the circumstances. It was his gift to them this night of nights. A night of brother and sisterhood, for good will and peace to all men.
This finishes my Twenty Five Days of Christmas fic and my gift to all you - my wishes for a safe and glorious year ahead. However and whenever you celebrate, I wish you peace, love, and happiness.