The Matriphobia Affair
a.k.a The 'Georgiesmith Put Us Up To It' Affair

Authors notes: We didn't meddle with Act III. It was found to be acceptable.

Act IV v 2.0 (upgraded)
"Don't Crowd Mother"

Great men may endure torment to rise again to achieve new heights. Illya Kuryakin did not regard himself as a particularly 'great man' – although he had certainly endured his share of torments. And at the moment, he was achieving new heights as well.

He was also learning that climbing a tree with a raw-whipped back was not a pleasant experience, but he did it anyway. Such things build character, he reflected, as he crouched low among the thick leaves.

The car – a light green convertible with the top conveniently down – rolled to a stop in front of the sign post marking the way to Enciente. It stopped directly beneath Illya's tree, so close that both sides of the conversation taking place over the radio could be heard.

As the headmaster gave the order to trigger the remote-control bomb, Illya let the gift-wrapped package of death drop from his fingers to land lightly on the rear seat. He realized also that he had heard Jenks call the man in the car by name. He took a second to reflect on the irony of the situation: now that he had finally managed to figure out which one of the brothers was which, the point would soon be moot.

Scar writhing happily on his face as he smiled, Huck jabbed a button on the dash of his auto and began a countdown. "Ten..." he said, as he stomped on the accelerator, hoping to get within view of the doomed car that should have been somewhere ahead of him.

"Nine... eight... seven... six..." Illya dropped the last few feet from the tree, wincing as he jolted his raw back. He walked it off, continued counting down as he joined Napoleon and Anna where they had hidden the car. "... five...four... three... two..."

As he reached "... one!" an explosion shook the air, accompanied by a ball of fire and black smoke that rose like a balloon above the treetops.

Anna turned and hid her face in Napoleon's shoulder.

Illya smoothed down the hair on the back of his head. "Too bad. He did have the right-of-way, you know."

Napoleon gave him a look, comforting Anna as she trembled against him. He knew his partner had his way of dealing with the darker side of their work, just as Napoleon did.

"And what would you have done if he had decided to wait under your tree for the explosion?"

Illya paused. He hadn't thought of that. "I would have... improvised."

Napoleon smirked. "Let's go. They know where the conference is now... we need to 'improvise' a way to get there before they do."

xoxox

As it turned out, they did not arrive before Jenks and his junior assassins. The lawn of the lodge was already littered with bodies when Kuryakin and Solo arrived; UNCLE Geneva's finest had been ambushed. The Thrush bakery van was parked near the entrance.

Illya pulled alongside the vehicle and was met with a rain of gunfire. He and Napoleon bailed out of the car, dragging Anna with them to the sparse cover provided by the van.

A crossfire of bullets pinned them down. Napoleon chanced a look around the fender, spotting where one of the shooters was hiding. "Looks like the other half of the brother act."

Illya nodded toward the lodge. "Yeah, with an accompanist on the roof."

"All right... I'll take the one on the roof," Napoleon said. "You draw their fire. See if you can get that gun and cover me."

Illya reached for the weapon, but was forced to duck back quickly as bullets chewed the ground and hailed on the side of the van he was crouching behind. "What if I try for the roof and you go for the gun?" he quipped, but Napoleon was already gone; only Anna was there, regarding him with a frightened stare. He sighed and began looking around for other options.

The UNCLE Special he was trying to reach lay on the ground next to one of the fallen Geneva agents. Only ten feet away, but there was no kind of cover and no way Illya could reach it. But Napoleon was on his way, counting on his partner to give him covering fire. Illya needed to do something...

His gaze fell on the car they had driven up in. "Stay right here!" he whispered fiercely to Anna, pointing deliberately at a spot on the ground. She nodded emphatically. He slipped into the car and twisted the ignition key. Ducking down on the seat, he revved the engine and the car jerked forward. He risked a peek over the dash, trying to get close enough and yet not run over the bodies of his fellow agents.

The gunfire redoubled. At least I'm drawing their fire away from Napoleon, he thought grimly. He popped open the passenger door and leaned out, snatching up the weapon with the speed of a striking snake. More bullets thudded into the car. Illya let an amused thought pass that for once he could be grateful to Thrush for bullet-proofing their autos.

Illya had the gun, now he needed an angle on the shooters. Brother Tom was tucked down under the footbridge, a position with excellent cover. The other gunman was secure behind a sturdy column of a chimney stone. But Illya had the edge now; he was armed and he was mobile.

The car surged forward again, into the narrow gap between the bridge and a tree. Tom braced his elbows on the bank, aiming up at the passenger window where he expected Illya to appear.

Contrary as ever, Illya pushed the driver's side door open and lean out – upside down – to shoot beneath the chassis of the car. The bullet took Tom through the left eye; he fell back, dead before his body splashed into the water and sank.

A few seconds later another body fell, tumbling off the roof of the lodge and landing hard near the rear door. Illya looked up and saw Napoleon climbing off of the slippery blades of the waterwheel to reach the skylight. How had he managed to eliminate the gunman without a weapon? Illya wondered. I guess that's why Napoleon is Chief Enforcement Agent!

Illya scrambled out of the car and charged across the bridge, intending to enter the lodge and back up his partner. But before he reached the door, something caught his ankle in a grip of stone, tripping him.

It was Conrad, the gunman who had fallen from the roof. There was blood in his fair hair, and his head was cocked at an angle that told Illya that his neck was undoubtedly broken. He was still alive; he clung to Illya with unexpected strength.

Watery blue eyes blinked out of the scarred face. "M-Mother... F-Fear?" The words bubbled darkly on his lips, the last he would ever speak.

Illya had to use both hands to pry loose the dead fingers. "You have nothing to fear now," he said softly. He picked up his gun and hurried on.

Just as he reached the door, Illya heard Anna shout his name. He turned and saw her, ducking out of the lodge from the door beyond the waterwheel: Mother Fear.

xoxox

Illya took a step toward her, but they were separated by the slowly turning wheel and a low stone wall. He could see her clearly, her eyes widening in surprise, her overly made-up face blanching momentarily; then she recognized him, and her eyes narrowed and glittered. Her fingers slipped down to draw a gun from the pocket of her dress.

"If you move, I will stop you." His calm defied her. The spray from the waterwheel was wetting their skin and hair. It ran down Illya's face. He didn't blink.

She gave him a patronizing smile. "It looks like I have one more lesson to teach you, Illya dear ... how to die."

"I've already taught that lesson to Huck and Tom ... and it looks like Conrad is next. Can you not hear him, Mother Fear? He cries out for you. Will you not go and comfort him?"

Her eyes flicked toward the body on the grass and back to Illya, fast as light. The painted mouth twisted, eyes glaring. "Murderer..."

"Murderer, I? No – I am a soldier. I am a soldier and we are at war."

"Little boys... little boys playing at being men." She sneered at Illya. "You won't shoot me. You can hardly bear to hold your gun on me..." Her gaze had locked on his, and her voice had taken on the same sing-song tone she'd used during their afternoon 'tutoring session'. "You were a very poor student, Illya dear. Mother is very disappointed. Now put down your little gun before I really get angry." The last words were a hiss.

Her voice made Illya's hair prickle, as if his very skin were trying to crawl away from her, safely out of range. His back and shoulders burned. Her eyes were boring into his, trying to force her will on him, reaching for the shared memory of his helplessness and pain, trying to drag him down and force his head to bow again. His eyes seemed to retreat from her, deep shadows lurking behind the blue of his gaze.

Yvonne took a step towards the vehicles. The water wheel continued to turn between them, scattering water over both. If she could step clear of the moving screen, she'd have a better shot at him.

She saw him pass his gun from his right hand to his left, and smirked. "Trying to level the playing field, Mr. Kuryakin? How noble! But it won't be enough, you know." She laughed, shaking the moisture from her hair. "You won't shoot a woman. You – can't – shoot me."

The side of Illya's mouth curved into an ironic smile beneath the shadow of his eyes. Yvonne caught her breath as she saw a deep spark within that shadow – the darkness she had fed and the spark she had failed to extinguish.

She knew she had failed to break him – she hadn't been able to break him with pain, hadn't had time to break him with anger and humiliation. Her last chance, now, was to find a crack in his armor, to break him with fear. She felt the mask of her make-up running under the trickling water and tried to find a weak spot in his shuttered expression. She had never failed before. Only that afternoon he'd been at her mercy, screaming as she flayed his bare shoulders, tears and sweat soaking his garments. He must see the memory of that power in her own face.

His hand, his eyes, were steady. Her own hand trembled. She struggled not to let it show. She hissed, "Don't crowd Mother!" and moved another step toward the vehicles.

Illya moved at the same time, forcing her to step back behind the wheel. He stopped, watching her, meeting her eyes unwaveringly. She realized that with his gun held in his left hand, he had a better angle for cutting off her retreat.

"Put the gun down, Mother Fear," Illya said evenly.

"Or you'll murder me too?" Her voice wavered, lost its firm edge and cloyingly sweet tone. She fought for control. "You can't do that, Illya dear – you're one of the good guys." She spat the word like an epitaph. "If we'd had a little more time together, I could have cured you of that ridiculous attitude."

"Any time with you is too much time," Illya replied softly. "Do not count overmuch on my chivalry – you'll find I have none."

Standing so close to the chopping blades of the waterwheel, the spray saturating her clothes and skin, she raised the pistol in her hand, aiming for Illya's heart. Illya fired in the same instant. Her hand had trembled as she squeezed the trigger, and the bullet whined and ricocheted as it struck one of the arms of the wheel – but Illya did not miss.

Yvonne bowed over herself and crumpled to the wet pavement, the look of disbelief on her face slowly fading, washing away with her make up as the cool water continued to turn the great wheel.

xoxox

Illya checked inside the lodge to make sure the situation had been taken care of, and was promptly ordered by Waverly to secure the lodge perimeter. That was fine with him; it was too hot in the lodge and too crowded anyway. His coat felt as if it weighed a ton on his stinging back.

He found Anna Paola kneeling beside Conrad's body. She had closed his eyes and arranged his hands across his breast.

"Looks like the graduates of École Figliano will be celebrating their class reunion in the cemetery."

Anna looked up at him in shock. "How can you be so... so cold, Illya! He wasn't meant to be like this... he was once a child... that they used for their own, wicked purposes!"

"He was a child, once." Illya turned about slowly, his eyes raking over the area. Seeing no threat, he tried to tuck the gun in his shoulder holster, only to swear softly when he remembered he was no longer wearing it. "Then he was a killer."

"So are you."

"Yes." He turned as if to walk away, but he reached down to Anna, offering his hand. She let him help her up, surprised by how gently he held her fingers.

He took her elbow and guided her away from the dead. The lodge had a magnificent view of the mountaintops above the trees. He steered her toward it.

Anna drew a few breaths of the cleansing Alpine air and then felt ashamed of herself. "I – I'm sorry about what I said, Mr. Kuryakin. I know you are just – just doing your job."

"And you are doing yours, Miss Paola. There are many children who need help. Children for whom it is not too late."

"Children." She gave a defeated sigh, but her back straightened and her shoulders rose.

"They will need a woman with great caring and patience – a woman like you."

"Will that be enough?" She wondered aloud. She looked up at Illya; he was staring toward the ice-capped peaks in the greater distance. "Would it have been enough for you?"

He seemed not to have heard her, though she was standing right beside him. She turned away and hugged herself, taken with a chill.

She started slightly as Illya's suit jacket was draped over her shoulders. She turned to thank him, but he was already walking away. She saw the stains on the back of his shirt and nearly called to him, but checked herself. He didn't need her help.

Clutching the lapels of the coat, she drew it more warmly around her shoulders, and shivered.