Missing scenes from --

The Summit 5 Affair

Episode:

Investigating a security leak for the upcoming Summit Five meeting (the gathering of the five Section One Number One leaders of UNCLE around the world), Napoleon discovers a traitor in UNCLE HQ Berlin. He is framed as the double-agent. Beldon, Number One Section One in Europe, and Gerald Struthers, station chief of Berlin, advocate torturing Napoleon to wring a confession out of him. Over Illya's strong objections, Napoleon agrees and subsequently figures out a lead, then dramatically pretends to confess, much to Illya's distress.

SAVING THE WORLD AGAIN

by

GM 

---

 September 1967

"I demand to see him!"

Gerald Struthers paced the room with the lithe arrogance of a predator dominating a helpless prey. The lean, aquiline-featured head of Berlin HQ surrendered a sly smile to the irate Russian. "He has confessed, of course, as I knew he would. As you see the scant details --" 

"I want to see him! Your -- methods -- are barbaric! I place no value on the supposed confession." Illya Kuryakin's expression was as cold as his brittle, controlled, dangerous tone. "What I want is to see Napoleon Solo."

Struthers reluctantly agreed and Kuryakin was allowed into the prison wing. As he walked to the cell he fumed on the unconscionable techniques used to wring a false confession from his partner. When Napoleon had broken down and wept -- crying out -- begging for him -- Illya's heart had crumbled. He didn't know what kind of game Solo was playing, but he would never forgive him for the anguish caused by this ploy.

During the long walk through the foreign headquarters Illya reviewed his options and the possible repercussions over this intolerable affair. Escape? No, what was the point now that the "confession" was complete? Appeal to Beldon? No, he not only condoned -- but encouraged the torture of his partner. Appeal to Waverly? Little use in attempting that -- the five leaders of UNCLE were about to embark on their important, top secret summit. Besides, Waverly was only interested in whether or not it was safe to proceed with the summit. Lastly, as the cell door opened and he approached his unconscious, battered partner, he imagined the various methods of revenge he would have on this irritating person whom, for some reason, he cared about above all others.

***

"I hope you're satisfied."

Napoleon Solo attempted brushing dirt from the white jump suit he was wearing. It was a lost cause. Tumbling, sliding through the underbrush during the battle had ruined the clothes. Not that it mattered -- the suit wasn't even his -- but neatness was an inborn trait.

"What?" he wondered absently, "That we saved the world again?"

With a huff Illya Kuryakin walked away. Still preoccupied with the grime, Solo followed along tiredly, not really paying attention to his cohort. He had a throbbing headache and every muscle seemed to hurt in his weary, worn body. His focus was more on a nice long nap rather than his partner's cryptic attitudes. At the edge of the clearing they stopped and watched as an extra security detail for the Summit Five gathering assumed their primary duties of protecting the remaining world leaders of UNCLE. Now that he and his comrade had discovered one of the leaders was a THRUSH traitor! they could get back to normal duties. Like some rest, he hoped.

"Saved the world? I thought you only saved UNCLE."

Rubbing his sore neck he tried to lighten the obviously strained mood. "Same thing, right?" Confused at the irritation -- anger -- emanating from his friend, Solo grabbed onto the Russian's soppy jacket and halted the slighter man before he escaped toward the landing area. "We caught a traitor, saved the other four leaders of UNCLE -- which by default saves the world. And we cleared my reputation. Not a bad day's work even for us. What are you so mad about?"

Kuryakin pulled away. "You." He stalked toward the helicopter.

Napoleon jogged up to him and grabbed his shoulder, again forcing the shorter man to stop. Fastidiously he wiped off the moisture transferred from the wet Russian. Illya had jumped into the river to escape the blast that killed Beldon. "Why? What did I do?" Realizing his hand was trembling he instantly folded it under his arm. The physical torment had drained him more than he realized. Or perhaps he was coming up on a delayed reaction to the torture.

The obvious aftereffects intensified Kuryakin's distress. The blue eyes were afire with wrath. "I sacrifice blood, sweat and energy to constantly save you from torture and death at the hands of our enemies. I've nursed you back from the grave! But to prove your prowess and flame your already inflated ego you decide to volunteer for our own people to torture you! I won't bother to rescue you anymore now that your masochistic nature is so obviously revealed!"

Regaining consciousness in the cell at UNCLE HQ Berlin, Solo had recognized the coldness, the aloof restraint from his companion. Selfishly he had thought Illya was upset at watching his friend and partner tortured by colleagues. It was a shock to see the anger was directed at him now!

"You're blaming me for being framed and tortured --"

"You volunteered!"

"I had to clear myself! Struthers was convinced I was the traitor!"

Illya's nostrils flared, his face flushed with ire. "You are the head of Section Two in New York! You had other options! How could you sacrifice yourself like that?"

Pushing his hair away from his eyes, Solo breathed out a sigh of exasperation. Completely amazed at the verbal attack, at the confrontational attitude, he was too confused to counter with any kind of tactical deftness. Illya was actually blaming him for everything! No, not everything. For the torture. Even now the memory of the pain made him queasy, the soreness and weakness in body and mind made him quiver. The disorientation, light/dark chaos, drugs, temperature spikes, lack of food or water -- worst of all the sleep deprivation. It had taken a toll. While he had managed to get through the rest of the investigation and come with Illya to save the Summit Five leaders, it was all catching up to him now.

Disturbed, Kuryakin led him over to lean against a tree. "You need to see a doctor. You're weak and dehydrated and reacting to those drugs Struthers gave you."

"I'm fine. And while I can't say I enjoyed the experience, I was never in any real danger." He stared levelly at the blond. "I was counting on you to save me. Like you always do."

Glaring, Illya tenderly rubbed his face and flexed his jaw. "You didn't have to hit me so hard."

Solo scowled. He had not wanted to punch his partner in their little play-acting escape attempt. It was Illya's sense of the over-dramatic that got him hurt. "You asked for it."

Kuryakin ran fingers through his long hair and cringed. "I was sent to find the traitor. I wasn't good enough or fast enough to catch Beldon. Or clever enough to save you from the frame-up."

"You would have --"

"Then you should have trusted me! How could you be so stupid? There was no need for you to be put through that!" He sighed and paced away, then paced back, shaking his head. "I have been forced to helplessly witness your torture before. It was worse this time, knowing it was so unnecessary. And your confession --" he shivered, his face twitching. "If you ever pretend to break like that again I'll kill you myself."

Solo scowled, remembered anguish twisting through his system in a tangible wave of memory. The weeping confession, the desolate cry to see his comrade. How much of that had been staged? Perceptively, Illya must have understood that only part of it was acting. Some, maybe more, had been a release, had been real -- the end of the line from the emotional and physical torture. The very sincere pleading for his friend to come save him as he had countless times before, had exposed him to the core. It had been a necessary emancipation to end the drama and prove he was innocent -- deliver the evidence to Illya. But both of them knew all too much of it was genuine. Napoleon Solo had been turned inside out and smashed into pieces. Not a pretty sight for either of them.

"Sorry. I didn't think you would like it any more than I did, Illya, but --" he sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry.It seemed necessary at the time." He sighed again, a deep, weary, soul-fatigued expression of utter surrender. "And we saved the world again."

"At times that has less meaning than at others." The anger in the blue eyes had transformed into emotions that were soft and compassionate. "This time, I would rather have saved you."

Solo's throat knotted, overwhelmed by the bond between them that at the moment seemed tangible. His essence had been violently ripped open for enemies and friend to see. The foes had been vanquished. The friend was still at his side.

"I've heard it said," he confessed in a shaky whisper, "that true friends know who you are and still like you. Thank you. For everything."

Illya was staring in the distance and Napoleon glanced over, watching the four top leaders of UNCLE emerge from their secret meeting. The nucleus of the whole nasty affair they had just experienced seemed so simple, yet so vitally important. The lives of these four old men kept the world from destroying itself. Some days their job seemed a little more important than other days. Was it ever as important as the times they were required to save each other? Napoleon knew he never wanted to put that question to the test. UNCLE and the rest of the world might lose out.

Kuryakin shrugged, but didn't meet his eyes. "Your secrets are safe with me." Napoleon nodded in appreciation of the pact. The Russian continued gruffly. "And next time you try to save the world, trust me to do my part."

"No problem." The senior agent smiled. His friend had a knack for saving the world. And partners.

THE END