The Iron Curtain Affair: Act 2
The Iron Curtain Affair
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business.
Act 2: "I won't start anything if you don't."
It took Illya longer than usual to recall where he was and why he was there when he woke the next morning. It was the sense of deep contentment and comfort that confused him the most, for this was not a state to which he had ever been used. Comfort made one soft, lead one to a sense of security which was always false. Comfort was never meant to be his lot in life-not when he was a child scrounging for food in famine torn Ukraine, not when he'd trained to be a Naval officer, and certainly not in the KGB.
Yet he was suffused with these sensations as he woke and, stranger still, these comforts were not associated with the rather prosaic bed in which he'd slept (and done other things as well, it was dawning on Illya) but the man who slept next to him in it. Even as he sat up in the bed, Illya found himself loath to give up the contact with the warm body beside him. Brushing his fingers over smooth skin, Illya was beset by a memory of waking earlier, in the small hours, to the sensation of this man… his Guide, sucking on the skin over his collarbone, hands caressing him everywhere, body pressed along the length of his.
The memory seemed like that of a dream, of his mouth coming to cover Illya's cock, of himself, thrusting sleepily into that mouth as his fingers clumsily tangled in his Guide's dark locks. It seemed like a dream, but Illya knew that it wasn't and he didn't need to see the man's tousled hair against the pillow where he slept for evidence. His eyes fell there anyhow, lingering over the delicate, aristocratic features of his sleeping Guide. The urge to touch, to kiss, to serve him as he had been served just hours ago, was all but irresistible, but Illya mastered himself.
He, the Superior Soviet, would rise above these base instincts, as he had been trained. Yes, the Sentinel within him was a creature of nearly pure instinct, even his Soviet trainers admitted as much, but he would be made to serve Illya's ends, not the other way around. There was a mission, and when Illya focused on this he found himself able to pull himself away from his new and unasked-for Guide, and make plans for how best to move forward with that mission.
Icy cold water from the sink in the washroom, applied with a washrag, erased the physical traces of last night, and sharpened the mind abruptly when applied to certain reluctant appendages. Last night's trousers and underwear were still wearable, though the shirt was torn badly. Happily, Illya discovered a few items of clothing beneath the bedding in the trunk, and the dark turtle-neck sweater he found there fit him perfectly, with the added benefit of covering the mark his Guide had made last night.
Next he set about making coffee, and while that was brewing Illya procured powdered eggs, canned ham and canned hash-browns from one of the cupboards, and found a skillet and bowl from another. He was just mixing up the eggs when his Guide awoke.
"Coffee! Brilliant!" he said, throwing the bedclothes off to reveal his complete nakedness without a trace of shame. Illya kept his back turned, mixing the eggs.
"But why the clothes, Sentinel mine?" By not looking, Illya missed the man coming up behind him, and stiffened, drawing a controlling breath when he felt his Guide press his whole body up against his, arms wrapping around his waist.
"We have a mission, Agent Solo," he said, carefully keeping his voice steady. "Since it was impressed upon us both the threat to world peace constituted by this situation, I assumed that you would also wish to rejoin our fellow agents in the field as soon as possible." Illya was relieved to note that the 'Agent Solo' had the man stepping back, but he remained facing away, and those eggs were getting the beating of a lifetime.
"The name's Napoleon," his Guide said, neutral voiced, "which you had no trouble remembering last night, but you can't tell me you think we're done. We've hardly started, Sentinel."
"I am most certainly done," Illya said, making himself stop beating the eggs. "If you believe there is really more of this 'bonding' to be done, I suspect that it is more a matter of your bourgeois conditioning. I believe that our duty to UNCLE takes precedent over any further self gratification."
There was a pause, then the sound of Napoleon shuffling away to sit on the bed. "Right," he said. "Bourgeois conditioning. Must be."
Illya continued to ignore him as he set the eggs aside and poured himself a cup of the now brewed coffee. He usually took it with sugar and cream, but he was feeling abstemious this morning. The brew was bitter and seared his tongue (and yet could not sear away the memory of the velvet texture of his Guide's cock there…) He grabbed the skillet to set on the hot plate, then realized he would need oil.
"Looking for this?" Napoleon asked, velvet voiced, suddenly standing at Illya's side and holding the bottle of olive oil. He was, mercifully, wearing his pants, but that was all. Illya took it carefully, as the whole surface was slick with spilled oil (which he'd spilled coating his fingers to lubricate Napoleon's opening, to press into him, feeling slick, hot flesh, enclosing…)
Illya drew in a harsh, steadying breath and set the bottle of oil on the counter. "There are spare sweaters in the chest," he said. "I imagine you'll find one there that fits."
The rest their meal passed with a minimum of conversation, though Napoleon did not behave himself entirely. Illya had never seen anyone consume such commonplace foods so seductively, and Illya ended up wondering if Napoleon had learned these tricks in training to be a honey-trap, or if he was just naturally talented. Napoleon did more than his share of the tidying up afterwards, however, making Illya regret the 'bourgeois conditioning' remark, but not enough to take it back, Not when he knew what that would lead to.
Illya's Guide did behave himself once they were out on the street, however, and they ended up checking back in at UNCLE Munich's headquarters at around 10:30 that morning. Both the receptionist, and Senior Agent Altergott gave them odd looks, but had their train tickets to Zwiesel ready in time to catch the noon train. The train was a full one, with a mix of workers, school children, travelling families and businessmen, and Napoleon was all business for the entire trip.
He was ever so slightly flirtatious with Agent Fischer when she met them at the train station, but Illya had a feeling that this was as normal as breathing for Napoleon, who knew as well as he did that Agent Fischer was, herself, a bonded Sentinel. She was also not exactly young, being fifty-ish, with her salt and pepper curls cropped relatively short. They met her Guide and husband, Herr Mateus Fischer, retired professor of ornithology and amature nature photographer at the closed-for-the-season holiday lodge where they'd be based for the duration of the mission.
Their cover personas, she informed them over beer and a late afternoon snack of rustic pate and rye rolls, were of American and British business partners looking for investment properties in the area, including the place where they were staying. Agent Fischer, who would be 'showing them around' various potential properties, was well known locally as her family had been gamekeepers for the nobility hereabouts for generations.
"We became Park Rangers when the nobility became a thing of the past," she explained. "My dad was a Sentinel and a Ranger for the Böhmerwald National Forest, north of here, he showed me all the old trails and back ways. The real mission is going to be patrolling some of those routes, looking for signs of recent activity, and checking for radioactive traces. That will mostly take place late at night or very early in the morning. During the day we'll be putting in appearances at local pubs and talking about what a popular tourist destination this is and how much money you could make."
"Seems simple enough," Napoleon said. Illya nodded, as well.
"More or less," their hostess said. "Which is convenient, since that leaves plenty of time for your training as a bonded pair."
"That's right," Napoleon said enthusiastically. "Agent Altergott said that UNCLE would provide a trainer. Is that you?"
"I am, in fact, a certified trainer for Sentinels and bonded pairs," she replied with a smile. "My Guide is a certified Guide trainer as well, if you feel you need any brushing up in your Guide skills, Agent Solo."
Illya waited for Napoleon to offhandedly mention he was fine but that his Sentinel possibly had a few shortcomings, but Napoleon only nodded, saying that he appreciated having the option.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in character, as Mr Franklin (Napoleon) and Mr Symington (Illya), while Agent Fisher gave them a cursory tour and introduced them around at a few pubs. Beer, and lots of it, was the social lubricant of choice, but this was nothing new to Illya, nor it seemed to Napoleon, who managed himself professionally and, when they returned to their lodgings, proved to have been gathering intelligence at the same time.
"That fellow, Gruber, we met at the Black Boar," he said as they finished the evening in front of the fire with a nightcap. "He's hiding something, and badly."
"Very good," Fischer said with a smile. "He's in a bad situation with his taxes and desperately wants to sell his ski lodge, but he doesn't want the buyer to find out that the foundations are bad, and the whole building is in danger of falling off the mountain. Unfortunately, nearly everyone in town already knows it."
Illya glanced over at Napoleon, expecting to see him looking smug, but found him instead looking thoughtful.
"Agent Kuryakin," Fischer said now. "Were you able to catch that your Guide had spotted someone acting suspiciously?" Illya shook his head, quashing the instinctive resentment he felt at having his effectiveness questioned.
"I've found that most newly bonded Sentinels have no idea how much more their Guide can do for them than they realize," Agent Fischer said with a knowing smile. "And that most Guides don't realize how many ways they can help their Sentinel, besides regulating their senses. You'll both have your first taste, first thing tomorrow morning."
She rubbed her hands gleefully at this, and Illya saw reflected on his Guide's face the same mix of curiosity and trepidation he felt himself. So maybe he and his hopelessly bourgeois Guide had something in common after all.
She'd given them a room with a single large bed to share, of course. Illya met Napoleon's gaze over said bed, uncertain whether they were on the same page in this regard as well.
"I won't start anything if you don't," Napoleon said with a sigh. "We're on a mission and have an early morning ahead, as I'm sure you'll agree."
"Of course," Illya replied and set about preparing for bed as if he were alone. Napoleon took a bit longer than he did, so Illya was already in bed when Napoleon returned from the baths down the hall. He turned off the light as he lay beside Illya, and dutifully kept his hands to himself. Illya, curled with his back to Napoleon, assumed he would have no trouble falling asleep, as he'd certainly shared beds with other agents on a mission many times in the past. He was unprepared for how much he wanted to roll over and take his Guide in his arms, just to sleep.
Napoleon would undoubtedly call this 'starting something' however, and that would lead to a rather less sleepful night than they both wanted. Determined that this not be the case, Illya willed himself to ignore the urge and, after longer than he would have liked, finally dropped off to sleep. There were no words for the dismay he felt upon waking the next morning to find Napoleon in his arms, just the same.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
The training proved to be grueling, as Napoleon suspected, but also enlightening. It had been difficult not to resent the way he'd been dismissed that morning in the safe house, but Napoleon tempered his resentment with the knowledge that Illya Kuryakin had been lied to for much of his life as a Sentinel, about just what bonding with a Guide meant. Napoleon had harboured a secret wish, that Illya would find himself 'put in his place' by the bonded pair training, but found, to his chagrin that they both had a lot to learn about their respective 'places'. Agent Fischer and her Guide had introduced many UNCLE Sentinel Guide pairs to the unexpected aspects of their new relationships, and were unfailingly kind and understanding about it.
That first morning they engaged in several variations on the game of Hide and Seek, with Illya seeking Napoleon, constrained to seeking by scent alone, or by sound, or by following his trail by touch through the brush and grasses of the surrounding forest land. Over the next few days Illya was also made to identify Napoleon's heartbeat from among a dozen others, with that sound alone to go on. He would use his Guide's heartbeat, he was told, to orient or ground himself, even in the heat of battle or the depth of a crisis.
Napoleon, for his part, was made to carefully examine his own body language and nonverbal expressions, and to develop a consistent set of cues by which Illya could know that someone was lying, hiding something, or seemed uneasy or hostile for no evident reason. Napoleon was also taught how to modulate his voice so that it could be identified and understood by his Sentinel under a variety of types of cacophony.
These exercises took place both indoors and out, and at different times of day. In addition, there were daily, and sometimes nightly excursions into the nearby mountains and forests, partially to inspect for signs of recent use on certain trails, and partially for Illya to stretch his senses out in a natural setting and to see how much farther he could stretch them with Napoleon at his side.
Raised a city boy, Napoleon had learned how to survive in a wilderness setting from his military training and UNCLE's famous Survival School, but had little other experience with woodland lore. Agent Fischer, naturally, was a font of it, and her Guide as avid a birdwatcher as anyone Napoleon had ever met. Napoleon tried his best to spot the little signs and clues of the forest life happening all around him, but naturally missed the majority of the things that the two Sentinels and the veteran birdwatcher spotted everywhere.
One afternoon as the four of them were making the short hike from town to a low mountain pass where a couple of trails intersected, Napoleon found himself catching a glimpse of something moving in the underbrush, always just from the corner of his eye, and never giving him more than a fleeting impression of sleek brown fur and a long tail.
"What are you looking for, Agent Solo?" Fischer finally noticed him squinting off into the brush for the umpteenth time.
"I don't know. Maybe nothing," Napoleon said, tired of being the least observant person in their little group. "I just keep seeing, or thinking I'm seeing, something following me in the grass and bushes by the path, but I never seem to be able to get a good look at it."
Agent Fischer paused, sniffing at the air like a hunting dog, then turned to her Guide. "You notice anything?" She asked. Herr Fischer shook his head and Napoleon waved it off.
"I'm probably just seeing things. Or hoping to be the first one to spot something interesting for once," he said.
"Not necessarily," Agent Fischer said. "What, if anything, were the two of you taught about Spirit Animals?"
Napoleon shrugged. "That the more powerful Sentinels and Guides sometimes have them, and that nothing more is really known about them," he said.
"My instructors in the KGB told me that they are, more than likely, superstitious nonsense," Illya said. "But this may well have had more to do with the Party's take on the matter than their own actual opinions."
Napoleon raised his eyebrows to hear Illya confess any bias in his training, but perhaps the last few days had served to change his perspective somewhat. Agent Fischer nodded, evidently unsurprised at their answers and led them forward again.
"More probably could be known," she said after a moment, "but they're not the kind of thing that can be tested empirically. Furthermore, Guides and Sentinels who are in touch with their Spirit Animals tend to feel their relationships with these… manifestations as deeply private, and seldom share their experiences with researchers. I actually tried, once, because I thought that someone ought to do something to lift the cloud of ignorance around Spirit Animals, but I found I couldn't really explain anything to the researcher that he could make any sense of."
"So, you yourself… are in touch with your Spirit Animal?" Illya asked. Napoleon could hear where Illya had carefully excised the words 'claim to be' from his question, and figured Agent Fischer would give him credit for at least trying to keep his skepticism at bay.
"Both my Guide and I interact with our Spirit Animals fairly regularly," she answered. "We both began noticing them more after we bonded, but I know for a fact that other, generally more powerful Sentinels and Guides saw theirs long before they met their bond mates. I suspect it has to do with the environment a young Guide or Sentinel grows up in, and how accepting their families and teachers are of such things."
"So…" Napoleon asked hopefully, "You think that what I saw might possibly have been my Spirit Animal?"
"Possibly," Agent Fischer cautioned. "If it was, he probably won't show any more of himself while Mati and I are here, but if he is ready to show himself to you, I suggest taking a little quiet time to yourself, it doesn't matter where, and keep your mind open to the possibility. You're both strong enough to have them."
This proved much food for thought as they continued on their way, and that plus the lovely mountain vistas and wildflower strewn meadows they passed left the party in silence as they walked. The pass was evident when they came to it, as was the intersection of two well kept footpaths, each identified with different color-coded trail markers painted on adjacent trees and boulders.
A small stream passed through here, inviting a drink from its cool waters with a splashing serenade, and the narrow defile they'd been walking through opened out into a broad, green meadow. Just off the trail, standing at the high end of the sloping meadow, stood a sort of hut on stilts, built in a rustic manner, with the small logs used in its construction still covered in bark.
"What's that?" Napoleon asked as Agent Fischer led them to a large flat rock where she sat and removed her pack-a signal that they were stopping for lunch at last.
"Gamekeeper's blind," Agent Fischer answered as she sliced up a sausage and some cheese. "It's the Park Rangers that use them now, to keep an eye on the local wildlife."
"Not for hunting, then?" Napoleon asked, taking a rye roll and tearing it in half.
"In the fall sometimes, especially when the deer need culling." The Sentinel took a handful of grapes as she replied.
"The deer don't have any natural predators here any more," Herr Fischer put in. "Not since wolves were eradicated, more than a century ago. I believe there are still a few black bears and lynxes to be found in the Bohemian Forest, as well as foxes and hunting birds, so the populations of small animals, mice and rabbits and such, are usually self regulating, but not the deer."
"What would you say is the most dangerous animal we might encounter around here?" Napoleon asked.
"Oh, that would be the wild boars," Herr Fischer said. "Especially at this time of year."
"Why this time of year?" Napoleon asked, feeling very much the city slicker, as the other three all seemed to know the answer immediately.
"Is the same in all European forests," Illya replied. "If you see the babies, go away, quickly, but do not run. Also with bears."
"They're the most darling little things," Agent Fischer said. "My father found one that had lost its mama when I was a little girl, and we had to nurse it and raise it up at home till it was big enough to go back into the forest. Illya's right, though. If you see baby boars, move away quietly, as fast as you can. The mothers are ferocious."
"I'll keep that in mind," Napoleon said. "So do you ever have to 'cull' the boars?"
"Oh, sure," said Agent Fischer, pointing to the sausage they were eating. "They don't have any natural predators here either."
"And on top of that, they're delicious," Napoleon said with a smile.
~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~ ⇔ ~
Act 3
-a Man from UNCLE slash fanfic by Taylor Dancinghands
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin; Characters: Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin
Genre: slash, h/c, BDSM, A/U: Sentinels and Guides, Sentinels are a known institution
Warnings: explicit m/m sex
Rating: Mature/PG 17
Chapter Index
Prologue: A Very dangerous game...
Act 1: Why did it have to be you?
Act 2: I won't start anything if you don't.
Act 3: Good Morning sisters!
Act 4: They call him... KIng of Šumava.
Epilogue: ...unfinished business.
Act 2: "I won't start anything if you don't."
It took Illya longer than usual to recall where he was and why he was there when he woke the next morning. It was the sense of deep contentment and comfort that confused him the most, for this was not a state to which he had ever been used. Comfort made one soft, lead one to a sense of security which was always false. Comfort was never meant to be his lot in life-not when he was a child scrounging for food in famine torn Ukraine, not when he'd trained to be a Naval officer, and certainly not in the KGB.
Yet he was suffused with these sensations as he woke and, stranger still, these comforts were not associated with the rather prosaic bed in which he'd slept (and done other things as well, it was dawning on Illya) but the man who slept next to him in it. Even as he sat up in the bed, Illya found himself loath to give up the contact with the warm body beside him. Brushing his fingers over smooth skin, Illya was beset by a memory of waking earlier, in the small hours, to the sensation of this man… his Guide, sucking on the skin over his collarbone, hands caressing him everywhere, body pressed along the length of his.
The memory seemed like that of a dream, of his mouth coming to cover Illya's cock, of himself, thrusting sleepily into that mouth as his fingers clumsily tangled in his Guide's dark locks. It seemed like a dream, but Illya knew that it wasn't and he didn't need to see the man's tousled hair against the pillow where he slept for evidence. His eyes fell there anyhow, lingering over the delicate, aristocratic features of his sleeping Guide. The urge to touch, to kiss, to serve him as he had been served just hours ago, was all but irresistible, but Illya mastered himself.
He, the Superior Soviet, would rise above these base instincts, as he had been trained. Yes, the Sentinel within him was a creature of nearly pure instinct, even his Soviet trainers admitted as much, but he would be made to serve Illya's ends, not the other way around. There was a mission, and when Illya focused on this he found himself able to pull himself away from his new and unasked-for Guide, and make plans for how best to move forward with that mission.
Icy cold water from the sink in the washroom, applied with a washrag, erased the physical traces of last night, and sharpened the mind abruptly when applied to certain reluctant appendages. Last night's trousers and underwear were still wearable, though the shirt was torn badly. Happily, Illya discovered a few items of clothing beneath the bedding in the trunk, and the dark turtle-neck sweater he found there fit him perfectly, with the added benefit of covering the mark his Guide had made last night.
Next he set about making coffee, and while that was brewing Illya procured powdered eggs, canned ham and canned hash-browns from one of the cupboards, and found a skillet and bowl from another. He was just mixing up the eggs when his Guide awoke.
"Coffee! Brilliant!" he said, throwing the bedclothes off to reveal his complete nakedness without a trace of shame. Illya kept his back turned, mixing the eggs.
"But why the clothes, Sentinel mine?" By not looking, Illya missed the man coming up behind him, and stiffened, drawing a controlling breath when he felt his Guide press his whole body up against his, arms wrapping around his waist.
"We have a mission, Agent Solo," he said, carefully keeping his voice steady. "Since it was impressed upon us both the threat to world peace constituted by this situation, I assumed that you would also wish to rejoin our fellow agents in the field as soon as possible." Illya was relieved to note that the 'Agent Solo' had the man stepping back, but he remained facing away, and those eggs were getting the beating of a lifetime.
"The name's Napoleon," his Guide said, neutral voiced, "which you had no trouble remembering last night, but you can't tell me you think we're done. We've hardly started, Sentinel."
"I am most certainly done," Illya said, making himself stop beating the eggs. "If you believe there is really more of this 'bonding' to be done, I suspect that it is more a matter of your bourgeois conditioning. I believe that our duty to UNCLE takes precedent over any further self gratification."
There was a pause, then the sound of Napoleon shuffling away to sit on the bed. "Right," he said. "Bourgeois conditioning. Must be."
Illya continued to ignore him as he set the eggs aside and poured himself a cup of the now brewed coffee. He usually took it with sugar and cream, but he was feeling abstemious this morning. The brew was bitter and seared his tongue (and yet could not sear away the memory of the velvet texture of his Guide's cock there…) He grabbed the skillet to set on the hot plate, then realized he would need oil.
"Looking for this?" Napoleon asked, velvet voiced, suddenly standing at Illya's side and holding the bottle of olive oil. He was, mercifully, wearing his pants, but that was all. Illya took it carefully, as the whole surface was slick with spilled oil (which he'd spilled coating his fingers to lubricate Napoleon's opening, to press into him, feeling slick, hot flesh, enclosing…)
Illya drew in a harsh, steadying breath and set the bottle of oil on the counter. "There are spare sweaters in the chest," he said. "I imagine you'll find one there that fits."
The rest their meal passed with a minimum of conversation, though Napoleon did not behave himself entirely. Illya had never seen anyone consume such commonplace foods so seductively, and Illya ended up wondering if Napoleon had learned these tricks in training to be a honey-trap, or if he was just naturally talented. Napoleon did more than his share of the tidying up afterwards, however, making Illya regret the 'bourgeois conditioning' remark, but not enough to take it back, Not when he knew what that would lead to.
Illya's Guide did behave himself once they were out on the street, however, and they ended up checking back in at UNCLE Munich's headquarters at around 10:30 that morning. Both the receptionist, and Senior Agent Altergott gave them odd looks, but had their train tickets to Zwiesel ready in time to catch the noon train. The train was a full one, with a mix of workers, school children, travelling families and businessmen, and Napoleon was all business for the entire trip.
He was ever so slightly flirtatious with Agent Fischer when she met them at the train station, but Illya had a feeling that this was as normal as breathing for Napoleon, who knew as well as he did that Agent Fischer was, herself, a bonded Sentinel. She was also not exactly young, being fifty-ish, with her salt and pepper curls cropped relatively short. They met her Guide and husband, Herr Mateus Fischer, retired professor of ornithology and amature nature photographer at the closed-for-the-season holiday lodge where they'd be based for the duration of the mission.
Their cover personas, she informed them over beer and a late afternoon snack of rustic pate and rye rolls, were of American and British business partners looking for investment properties in the area, including the place where they were staying. Agent Fischer, who would be 'showing them around' various potential properties, was well known locally as her family had been gamekeepers for the nobility hereabouts for generations.
"We became Park Rangers when the nobility became a thing of the past," she explained. "My dad was a Sentinel and a Ranger for the Böhmerwald National Forest, north of here, he showed me all the old trails and back ways. The real mission is going to be patrolling some of those routes, looking for signs of recent activity, and checking for radioactive traces. That will mostly take place late at night or very early in the morning. During the day we'll be putting in appearances at local pubs and talking about what a popular tourist destination this is and how much money you could make."
"Seems simple enough," Napoleon said. Illya nodded, as well.
"More or less," their hostess said. "Which is convenient, since that leaves plenty of time for your training as a bonded pair."
"That's right," Napoleon said enthusiastically. "Agent Altergott said that UNCLE would provide a trainer. Is that you?"
"I am, in fact, a certified trainer for Sentinels and bonded pairs," she replied with a smile. "My Guide is a certified Guide trainer as well, if you feel you need any brushing up in your Guide skills, Agent Solo."
Illya waited for Napoleon to offhandedly mention he was fine but that his Sentinel possibly had a few shortcomings, but Napoleon only nodded, saying that he appreciated having the option.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in character, as Mr Franklin (Napoleon) and Mr Symington (Illya), while Agent Fisher gave them a cursory tour and introduced them around at a few pubs. Beer, and lots of it, was the social lubricant of choice, but this was nothing new to Illya, nor it seemed to Napoleon, who managed himself professionally and, when they returned to their lodgings, proved to have been gathering intelligence at the same time.
"That fellow, Gruber, we met at the Black Boar," he said as they finished the evening in front of the fire with a nightcap. "He's hiding something, and badly."
"Very good," Fischer said with a smile. "He's in a bad situation with his taxes and desperately wants to sell his ski lodge, but he doesn't want the buyer to find out that the foundations are bad, and the whole building is in danger of falling off the mountain. Unfortunately, nearly everyone in town already knows it."
Illya glanced over at Napoleon, expecting to see him looking smug, but found him instead looking thoughtful.
"Agent Kuryakin," Fischer said now. "Were you able to catch that your Guide had spotted someone acting suspiciously?" Illya shook his head, quashing the instinctive resentment he felt at having his effectiveness questioned.
"I've found that most newly bonded Sentinels have no idea how much more their Guide can do for them than they realize," Agent Fischer said with a knowing smile. "And that most Guides don't realize how many ways they can help their Sentinel, besides regulating their senses. You'll both have your first taste, first thing tomorrow morning."
She rubbed her hands gleefully at this, and Illya saw reflected on his Guide's face the same mix of curiosity and trepidation he felt himself. So maybe he and his hopelessly bourgeois Guide had something in common after all.
She'd given them a room with a single large bed to share, of course. Illya met Napoleon's gaze over said bed, uncertain whether they were on the same page in this regard as well.
"I won't start anything if you don't," Napoleon said with a sigh. "We're on a mission and have an early morning ahead, as I'm sure you'll agree."
"Of course," Illya replied and set about preparing for bed as if he were alone. Napoleon took a bit longer than he did, so Illya was already in bed when Napoleon returned from the baths down the hall. He turned off the light as he lay beside Illya, and dutifully kept his hands to himself. Illya, curled with his back to Napoleon, assumed he would have no trouble falling asleep, as he'd certainly shared beds with other agents on a mission many times in the past. He was unprepared for how much he wanted to roll over and take his Guide in his arms, just to sleep.
Napoleon would undoubtedly call this 'starting something' however, and that would lead to a rather less sleepful night than they both wanted. Determined that this not be the case, Illya willed himself to ignore the urge and, after longer than he would have liked, finally dropped off to sleep. There were no words for the dismay he felt upon waking the next morning to find Napoleon in his arms, just the same.
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The training proved to be grueling, as Napoleon suspected, but also enlightening. It had been difficult not to resent the way he'd been dismissed that morning in the safe house, but Napoleon tempered his resentment with the knowledge that Illya Kuryakin had been lied to for much of his life as a Sentinel, about just what bonding with a Guide meant. Napoleon had harboured a secret wish, that Illya would find himself 'put in his place' by the bonded pair training, but found, to his chagrin that they both had a lot to learn about their respective 'places'. Agent Fischer and her Guide had introduced many UNCLE Sentinel Guide pairs to the unexpected aspects of their new relationships, and were unfailingly kind and understanding about it.
That first morning they engaged in several variations on the game of Hide and Seek, with Illya seeking Napoleon, constrained to seeking by scent alone, or by sound, or by following his trail by touch through the brush and grasses of the surrounding forest land. Over the next few days Illya was also made to identify Napoleon's heartbeat from among a dozen others, with that sound alone to go on. He would use his Guide's heartbeat, he was told, to orient or ground himself, even in the heat of battle or the depth of a crisis.
Napoleon, for his part, was made to carefully examine his own body language and nonverbal expressions, and to develop a consistent set of cues by which Illya could know that someone was lying, hiding something, or seemed uneasy or hostile for no evident reason. Napoleon was also taught how to modulate his voice so that it could be identified and understood by his Sentinel under a variety of types of cacophony.
These exercises took place both indoors and out, and at different times of day. In addition, there were daily, and sometimes nightly excursions into the nearby mountains and forests, partially to inspect for signs of recent use on certain trails, and partially for Illya to stretch his senses out in a natural setting and to see how much farther he could stretch them with Napoleon at his side.
Raised a city boy, Napoleon had learned how to survive in a wilderness setting from his military training and UNCLE's famous Survival School, but had little other experience with woodland lore. Agent Fischer, naturally, was a font of it, and her Guide as avid a birdwatcher as anyone Napoleon had ever met. Napoleon tried his best to spot the little signs and clues of the forest life happening all around him, but naturally missed the majority of the things that the two Sentinels and the veteran birdwatcher spotted everywhere.
One afternoon as the four of them were making the short hike from town to a low mountain pass where a couple of trails intersected, Napoleon found himself catching a glimpse of something moving in the underbrush, always just from the corner of his eye, and never giving him more than a fleeting impression of sleek brown fur and a long tail.
"What are you looking for, Agent Solo?" Fischer finally noticed him squinting off into the brush for the umpteenth time.
"I don't know. Maybe nothing," Napoleon said, tired of being the least observant person in their little group. "I just keep seeing, or thinking I'm seeing, something following me in the grass and bushes by the path, but I never seem to be able to get a good look at it."
Agent Fischer paused, sniffing at the air like a hunting dog, then turned to her Guide. "You notice anything?" She asked. Herr Fischer shook his head and Napoleon waved it off.
"I'm probably just seeing things. Or hoping to be the first one to spot something interesting for once," he said.
"Not necessarily," Agent Fischer said. "What, if anything, were the two of you taught about Spirit Animals?"
Napoleon shrugged. "That the more powerful Sentinels and Guides sometimes have them, and that nothing more is really known about them," he said.
"My instructors in the KGB told me that they are, more than likely, superstitious nonsense," Illya said. "But this may well have had more to do with the Party's take on the matter than their own actual opinions."
Napoleon raised his eyebrows to hear Illya confess any bias in his training, but perhaps the last few days had served to change his perspective somewhat. Agent Fischer nodded, evidently unsurprised at their answers and led them forward again.
"More probably could be known," she said after a moment, "but they're not the kind of thing that can be tested empirically. Furthermore, Guides and Sentinels who are in touch with their Spirit Animals tend to feel their relationships with these… manifestations as deeply private, and seldom share their experiences with researchers. I actually tried, once, because I thought that someone ought to do something to lift the cloud of ignorance around Spirit Animals, but I found I couldn't really explain anything to the researcher that he could make any sense of."
"So, you yourself… are in touch with your Spirit Animal?" Illya asked. Napoleon could hear where Illya had carefully excised the words 'claim to be' from his question, and figured Agent Fischer would give him credit for at least trying to keep his skepticism at bay.
"Both my Guide and I interact with our Spirit Animals fairly regularly," she answered. "We both began noticing them more after we bonded, but I know for a fact that other, generally more powerful Sentinels and Guides saw theirs long before they met their bond mates. I suspect it has to do with the environment a young Guide or Sentinel grows up in, and how accepting their families and teachers are of such things."
"So…" Napoleon asked hopefully, "You think that what I saw might possibly have been my Spirit Animal?"
"Possibly," Agent Fischer cautioned. "If it was, he probably won't show any more of himself while Mati and I are here, but if he is ready to show himself to you, I suggest taking a little quiet time to yourself, it doesn't matter where, and keep your mind open to the possibility. You're both strong enough to have them."
This proved much food for thought as they continued on their way, and that plus the lovely mountain vistas and wildflower strewn meadows they passed left the party in silence as they walked. The pass was evident when they came to it, as was the intersection of two well kept footpaths, each identified with different color-coded trail markers painted on adjacent trees and boulders.
A small stream passed through here, inviting a drink from its cool waters with a splashing serenade, and the narrow defile they'd been walking through opened out into a broad, green meadow. Just off the trail, standing at the high end of the sloping meadow, stood a sort of hut on stilts, built in a rustic manner, with the small logs used in its construction still covered in bark.
"What's that?" Napoleon asked as Agent Fischer led them to a large flat rock where she sat and removed her pack-a signal that they were stopping for lunch at last.
"Gamekeeper's blind," Agent Fischer answered as she sliced up a sausage and some cheese. "It's the Park Rangers that use them now, to keep an eye on the local wildlife."
"Not for hunting, then?" Napoleon asked, taking a rye roll and tearing it in half.
"In the fall sometimes, especially when the deer need culling." The Sentinel took a handful of grapes as she replied.
"The deer don't have any natural predators here any more," Herr Fischer put in. "Not since wolves were eradicated, more than a century ago. I believe there are still a few black bears and lynxes to be found in the Bohemian Forest, as well as foxes and hunting birds, so the populations of small animals, mice and rabbits and such, are usually self regulating, but not the deer."
"What would you say is the most dangerous animal we might encounter around here?" Napoleon asked.
"Oh, that would be the wild boars," Herr Fischer said. "Especially at this time of year."
"Why this time of year?" Napoleon asked, feeling very much the city slicker, as the other three all seemed to know the answer immediately.
"Is the same in all European forests," Illya replied. "If you see the babies, go away, quickly, but do not run. Also with bears."
"They're the most darling little things," Agent Fischer said. "My father found one that had lost its mama when I was a little girl, and we had to nurse it and raise it up at home till it was big enough to go back into the forest. Illya's right, though. If you see baby boars, move away quietly, as fast as you can. The mothers are ferocious."
"I'll keep that in mind," Napoleon said. "So do you ever have to 'cull' the boars?"
"Oh, sure," said Agent Fischer, pointing to the sausage they were eating. "They don't have any natural predators here either."
"And on top of that, they're delicious," Napoleon said with a smile.
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Act 3