If he was lost he certainly made no attempt to find out where he was. And despite his age he seemed able to control what confusion he was in.  Too controlled for one so young.  Del thought as he went about his business.

He looked the tiny well-dressed figure up and down again noting the European tailoring of his jacket.  Before his children had grown up he himself had once been a family man and to this day coveted his children.  Lavishing on them great care and affection. How anyone could leave a three-year-old on the steps of a shop and not miss him for so long caused him concern, that he himself had not gone outside caused him greater grief and yet he waited as Security had instructed him.

With unease Del rubbed his arms as he watched the child, only faintly registering the emergence of UNCLE’s top two agents.  He turned to look straight into the face of Number one, section two and his Russian companion.

As shock worked its way across his craggy face, he looked from the child to the man that was Illya Kuraykin and back again, the resemblance uncanny and breathtaking.

Solo leaned against the doorframe as he gazed out the window and into the large blue luminous eyes that regarded him curiously from the step.

“Illya?” he called nodding to the child.

The Russian now held the child’s gaze and the likeness was complete.  The little boy smiled a little lopsided grin mirroring that of the older man inside.  Illya frowned and all but held his breath.

“Well, well old friend,” Solo breathed teasingly into his lovers ear, “is there something you forgot to tell me?”

Illya shook his head dumbfounded slowly opening the door and approaching the child.  He crouched down in front of the tiny specter and smiled offering his hand as he did.  The boy sat back and looked at him with an unnerving scrutiny.

“Hello.” Illya said softly.  The child made no move, no reaction to the man before him at all. Yet he did not once loose eye contact, regarding the Russian with an almost scientific detachment.

Solo approached and joined his friend on the step; “My guess Tovarishch is that he doesn’t understand English.”

“Or he is waiting for something.” Illya spoke softly as he nodded his ascent and tried again. French, Dutch, German all met with no success, prompting Solo to even try Italian. The child merely shrugged a small elegant gesture showing no fear as one might expect  in the same circumstances.

“Illya, try Russian.” Solo finally offered.

Illya dropped his voice and spoke in the low soothing tones of his native tongue, as he watched the complex play of emotions across the face of one so small.  A tear finally slid down the boy’s cheek as he turned to the blond man again.  Illya continued offering his name to the now distressed toddler. Finally,the boy smiled and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.  Solo leaned in and offered a handkerchief and the boy took it drying his eyes and nose.

Still silence prevailed.

Illya continued to in Russian, asking questions and getting no response except the occassional smile and a halt to the tears.  The little hand moved into his pocket and handed across an envelope addressed personally to I.N. Kuryakin in Cyrillic.

The Russian agent unfolded the home made paper, smiling softly to the child and began to read it.  The shock registering on his face as he read it again. A small line creasing between his brows, marring the high forehead in consternation, finally he handed it across to his partner.

Solo frowned, the writing small and concise yet the cursive hand took some moments before he fully understood the contents.

“Ah, Illya is this possible?”

Illya nodded once and turned back to the child.  “Of course it’s possible Napoleon, just very unlikely.”

“You know the woman who wrote the note?”

A long pause.

“Yes, I knew Vanya.” He finally breathed.

“And you were intimate?” The ghost of a smile playing across Solo’s mobile lips.

“Yes.”

“Then this could be your son?”

Illya shrugged as the child took his hand standing up.  “I don’t know.” Illya finally admited. “I really don’t know.”
 

From across the street she watched.  Her face awash with tears, as she made no sound.  Her eyes studied the form of the young blond Russian agent and her heart constricted. How could he not love her child? She knew he would, love him, as he did the waking day. And perhaps with Kuraykin’s fathering of Alexi the child would stand a chance, would be protected and have the future that she could not give him.  She watched for long moments, in her own way saying goodbye to her only reason for life and marveling at the slight blond man who took, so easily to the abandoned child.

His strong shoulders, handsome face and aristocratic bearing.  How any man or woman for that matter could stand before him and not be humbled by the sheer power his character possessed she did not know. She watched with keen interest the body language of the slightly older man with Illya, tall and classically handsome with dark hair and dark eyes.  She read the closeness between the two, in fact had even met him in passing, Napoleon Solo, ladies man and socialite, yet she wagered no less lethal then her own sweet Russian.

As if sensing her presence, her anxiety, Kuryakin looked up and almost saw her, she shuddered and pulled the wide brimmed black felt hat down on her face as she hunched back into the shadows of the busy street. The dark beige coat, exquisitely cut was pulled about her too thin frame

Anyone looking closely would see the gaunt and troubled look on the woman’s face, the too thin posture that leaned with pain. Perhaps they would have seen the dried blood that stained her leather gloves yet no one looked, no one saw and still she watched as the two most important men in her life, her son and Illya walk away. A hollow aching need opened up and without thought she almost called to the child, almost ran across the street and took him back in her arms to fill the chasm of her need.
 

The pain growing fiercer now rocked her slender form, and with an unsteady hand she leaned against the cold stone façade of the old building.  Vanya swooned, caught on the knife-edge of pain as her eyes scanned the street. She felt them before she saw them, the black clad men dogging her every step.   Blowing a final kiss to her son she took flight, offering a prayer to the silent gods, and was instantly lost to the crowded New York street.

A bowl of ice cream, two sodas’ and half a chicken sandwich Illya finally found out the child’s name.  The softly spoken words, heavy with accent and rolling innocence that could only come from a child caused him distress.  He sat back as Solo entered their shared offices with a print out on the known information regarding the boy and his mother.

“Anything?” Solo asked smiling softly at the child and closing the folders in his hand.

Illya shrugged, “His name is Alexi.”

“Alexi what?” Napoleon came to rest at his own desk; the little boy moved away warily from the dark agent and clung to Illya’s knees.  With what Solo took as paternal pride Illya looked down at Alexi, smoothly consoling the child in Russian.

“Alexi Kuryakin.” Illya answered.

Solo frowned, “We don’t know that for sure yet.”

Illya’s hand ran through the child’s hair, Solo watched with disquiet as Alexi closed his eyes and moved into the touch smiling softly. “His words Napasha, not mine.”

“Be careful.” Solo counseled.

“Of what? A three year old?” Illya’s eyes narrowed.

“Of getting hurt. What if he’s not yours Illya? Have you even considered that he may not be?” Solo sat forward suddenly uncertain of his own feelings in the matter, let alone those of his often reticent partner.

Wearily Illya looked up and smiled sadly. “For the last two hours, it is all I have thought about.”

The American got up and moved towards his partner drawing him into a firm embrace. “You want this don’t you?”

Alexi stood back and studied the two men; he frowned and chewed his fingers absently.  Whatever the internal debate he pondered something known only to himself as he watched them kiss each other.  Then just as suddenly he smiled and reached forward tugging on Napoleons jacket.

Solo smiled, as he looked down into the open face and crouched down to meet the child’s level gaze. “Da?” he asked softly.

Alexi reached forward and tentatively put his arms around the big American sobbing softly.   Solo gathered the child to him and rocked slowly smoothing the tousled hair until he fell asleep in the strong arms.  Standing he turned to look at his partner, the child draped across his body the tiny head nestled on the broad shoulder finally succumbing to sleep.  Illya smiled enjoying the sight of his partner caught up in paternal pride by a tiny blond bundle.

“What?” Solo demanded softly so as not to wake the child.

“You asked me if I want this?”  Illya sat down. “I had never considered it Napasha, what a child would mean not just to me,” here he paused and looked pointedly at his partner. “Yes, if Alexi is mine then I think I would be happy. If he is not?” he shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Solo reached forward stroking the face of the man he loved. “If he is yours Illya then he will be ours. If not then maybe we should talk about the options at a later date.”

Illya frowned again, “Options?”

“Yes, options.”

The bus lurched slowly to a stop in the pretty suburb; Vanya pulled her coat about her and skewed a glance over her shoulder as she got out.  The black car she expected to see was conspicuous by its absence. The tiny medallion twirled around her fingers that belonged to her son.  She dashed the tears from her face as she walked in the slight rain.  Memorizing the address she prayed that her associates had not gone on without her, prayed that soon she would find a bed and an answer.

An answer she chided herself.  She knew she had always known that they would come for her, the dark denizens of the night. The men who pawed at her soul and dragged her from her life, despising her future and turning her back bowed from the pain of her indiscretion.  Her only consolation in the fact she had seen Illya with her son, that he was loved and that he was safe.  She owed them both an explanation and knew now that none would readily come to her.

The pain in her side sent her sight blurred as she clutched at the now blood soaked clothes. Her footfalls growing slower and her heart emptied of all hope as she saw the front door of the house hanging from its hinges.  The police cordon stopped curious onlookers, bodies were being removed on hard stretchers, the white clothes soaked in blood.

She moved on carefully avoiding the sight, knowing to stop and ask for help would end in her death and the death of her son and Illya.

Oh Illya, she thought I have wronged you so many times before, I shall not fail you again.  I won’t take from you what is yours.

A sob broke her as she leaned heavily against the sturdy stone fence and then she saw it.  A cheerful boarding house, the windows hung with lace and flowers in the garden outside.  She walked desolately up the paved garden path and was relieved when a bored middle aged woman took her money and handed over a room key with little conversation and less care.

Vanya climbed the long flight of stairs and closed the door behind her; the small single bed made with quilts and the room warm, safe.  She locked the door and dragged a straight-backed chair to it, propping it under the handle.  She winced as she removed the binding cloth and soaked the small hand towel hanging beside the sink in cool water and wiped at the blood.
 

From under formidable brows Waverly surveyed his two top agents.  Both sitting comfortably in his briefing room, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing different except perhaps for the three year old child drawing happily with pens at the low coffee table.  Gratefully he was using the pad of paper Betty had thoughtfully provided and not the expensive sofa.  Waverly returned his gaze to the two men.

“Most peculiar.” He said finally.

“Sir?” Solo asked.

“Well for a mother to abandon her child this way, it’s most disconcerting.” Waverly watched Kuryakin secretly pleased when the young blond agent bristled. But true to form said nothing, his strong hands convulsing in his lap stilled only when the child came close to show him some drawing or other and mutter imperceptibly in Russian.  Then Illya would smile, a sight all too rarely seen and most agreeable Waverly concluded.  His agent’s voice pitched low and soothing to the child in his native tongue and all reticence and distrust seemed to abate in that one glorious second.

“I take it you knew the lady well.” Waverly asked breaking the moment and drawing the young man’s attention back to details.

“Apparently.” Illya answered.  At that Waverly smiled and looked to Solo.

“Have you been able to gather any useful information?”

Solo nodded, “Yes sir, its pretty sketchy but we should have Alexi’s birth certificate and details of Vanya’s entry into the country, passport etc.”

Waverly tapped his pipe; the child stopped his drawing for a moment at the sound and smiled at the old man, if there were doubts in Alexander’s mind about the truth of this child, it certainly was fading as the resemblance between father and son shone through.

Betty came in unannounced and placed some milk on the table for Alexi and continued over with a sheaf of faxed information. She smiled demurely at Solo, topped up their coffee cups and left with a faint rustle of silk skirt.

“Curious Mr. Solo it seems that Vanya Kosivsky did not enter the country at all, nor is there any social security information, no tax information, nothing.”

Illya looked down sharply, “That’s because you’re looking under the wrong name, Kosivsky is Vanya’s maiden name.”

“Still Mr. Kuryakin if what you say is correct there should be some records unless she was married outside of the country and gained entrance on a married passport.”

“Ah Illya,” Solo asked reading the faint trace of trepidation pass over his normally implacable partner. “What name do you suggest we look under then?”

Illya cleared his throat; the old mans eyes boring into his soul, “Kuryakin.” Illya finally answered.

“Explain yourself Mr. Kuryakin.” Waverly said in a tone, which brooked no argument.

“Vanya,” Illya almost stammered and then cleared his throat and looked straight ahead ignoring Solo’s stare. “Vanya was a gifted ballerina, she studied with the best schools and toured with the Bolshoi when she was only twelve, her family was poor and so the state paid her education. Before I left Russia to study in Paris and then England we became friends.”

“How?” Solo asked, aware that even in Soviet Russia of Illya’s youth such a meeting between two so different families was hard to believe, and right now, he had to make sure it was all clear.

“Oh ah,” Illya stammered lowering his head a little at the sound of Solo’s voice, regret clearly visible in his eyes, “My sister studied with her, she used to drag me along to carry her things, and to stop the other children’s fighting.”

“Little brother protector?” Solo asked slyly and Illya colored again, Waverly watched with growing interest, a patient man at all times he knew that this confession was one better not hurried.

“No actually more like big sister protector.” Even now twenty years later Solo still heard the hurt and reached across to lay his hand on his partners arm. Illya stilled his fidgeting and looked back to Waverly. “I used to watch from the Gorlock, they were so pretty.” He said wistfully, “ Anyway.”

“The Gorlock?” Waverly asked leaning forward.

“Oh sorry sir, yes how you say the cheap seats, high up and way back. We lost track of each other and I was at Cambridge before we met again, Vanya had toured that summer and had applied for scholarship to the Royal Academy.  When she won, Colonel Praven came to see me.”

“Colonel Stefan Praven, KGB?” Solo asked unaware of much of Illya’s secretive past.

“Yes that’s him, he had the dubious honor of watching all of us, the KGB protected its children,” there was bitter humor in the words and with understanding Solo sat back determined not to interrupt again. “When it became obvious that Vanya wanted to stay in England the Colonel convinced me that I should marry her, it was no hardship really but it was the tool they needed to orchestrate our obedience.  She was only seventeen and I was not that much older but we had grown up together from the poor edge of Mother Russia.”

Illya paused and took a sip of his coffee, Alexi’s eyes bright as he listened intently to the conversation, not understanding but somehow comforted by the smooth rich voice of the man who could be his father.

“After I graduated I was recalled to active duty, and was packed off back to Russia, Vanya still had three months to go before she came home. She never made it.”

“Ah yes,” Waverly spoke softly, “I remember an incident with a young ballerina in London around that time, how is it Mr. Kuryakin this marriage does not appear on your Soviet military record?”

“When Vanya defected, the Colonel had decided that there was little use in tainting my reputation with her error, or so he said, and neatly arranged for the files to be expunged.”

“The marriage remained valid?”

“Yes, we were married in a small civil ceremony in Cambridge it has never been annulled.  I didn’t see her again until you sent us to England after THRUSH threatened the talks between Ireland and the Prime Minister. That was nearly four years ago.”

“The Embassy party.” Solo remembered with stunning clarity the beautiful tiny blond woman at Illya’s side, the one who seemed completely smitten and for a change his dour Russian friend actually enjoyed the attention and looked happy.

“Yes you met Vanya there, we spent several days together before we came back to New York.”

“Well at least the timing was right.” Solo said a little relieved.

“Before I left Vanya told me she was in trouble. The CIA had been using her as a courier and she was afraid, something had gone wrong and she said she felt uneasy. I gave her the address of Del Floria’s if she was in New York I’d do what I could to help her.”

“Well that solves a few things,” Waverly said unaccountably honored by the young Russians trust in him.  He knew how circumspect Kuryakin was about his life, this had not been easy, but then neither was life.

“Vanya asked me for a divorce, under the circumstances I agreed but I received no papers, and no further contact until Alexi arrived today and this.” He handed across the hand written letter and Waverly frowned when he saw it was written in Russian.  Solo intercepted it as a minor explosion occurred when Alexi spilt his milk on the paper he was drawing on.

Without hesitation Illya gathered the crying child in his arms and soothed him until the sobbing passed.

“Would you like me to read it to you sir?” Solo asked as he looked back to his superior.

“Yes if you would Mr. Solo.”

“It says:

“My Dearest Illyusha,

How do I begin? So long I have loved you, though you would not count this as true given how many days we have spent together.  I asked you once for a divorce and then realized as I watched you leave me again I could not go through with it.  As the days pressed to weeks the child you now hold grew inside of me and I have kept him hidden these passed years.

So many years and we have lived without each other for most of them, yet still I know you are always forever in my heart and my thoughts.  As I look down on our son, yes beloved, he is our son I see your eyes and smile.  Forgive me please that I have kept him from you but it could not be helped, things have not been terribly easy and now I find I must give away what little is left of my heart.

Fear not. You know I am a woman of my word, I shall never take him from you, where I am going he cannot follow, nor would I ask that he tread these paths.  Once your work drove us apart. The KGB, The Military, then for me the CIA I only pray that you have found UNCLE to be a safe country and in this that you will find a way to protect our child and raise him with the love you are capable of.

I know, you have many questions and I will try some day to answer them, but not now, please keep him safe and free. No child deserves our childhood hey love? Not when so often it will come back to haunt us. His name is Alexi Kosivsky Kuryakin; he was born on the twenty first of February, exactly nine months after we parted.  His birth records are available from the Great Ormond Street Hospital and you will find he weighed a healthy seven pounds at birth, and like his father had the nurses’ attention from the moment he was born.

I have taught him Russian, but he understands English.

Please do not come to look for me, it is better this way, know that I love you both and pray remember me to my son.

Always.

Vanya.”
 

Illya was sitting on the floor drawing with Alexi as he listened to Solo read the letter, even now the words opening a painful wound in his soul, one that no knife no matter how sharp had ever been able to make.  Waverly was also strangely silent, overcome by the emotion he blinked back to stare into the glittering jewel like eyes of Solo.

“The ah, hospital is confirming the records now.  Blood tests should prove conclusive regarding Illya’s paternity.” Solo added softly.

Waverly nodded grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath, “It would seem that your wife is in trouble Mr. Kuryakin and since it involves the fate of an innocent I suggest you and Mr. Solo solve the matter post haste.”

Illya picked up Alexi and came back to the table, “Yes sir.” He said simply as he sat down.

“We have a well equipped crèche here Mr. Kuryakin make full use of the facilities and inform the nurse of the need of after hours care.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Mr. Solo a moment of your time please. Mr. Kuryakin you will report to Dr O’Brien so she may make the necessary blood tests.”

Illya nodded once, “Sir.” And left.

Solo let out the breath he was holding and looked at Mr. Waverly, to the old mans credit he moved into the lounge area, carefully avoiding the spilt milk and poured two measures of scotch, handing one to the CEA.

“I take it you knew nothing of this situation Mr. Solo?”

“No, I had meant to ask Illya why he wore a wedding ring but never found the time,” Solo rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back, his head cushioned on the soft leather. “There are other problems sir.”

“Yes I suspected there might be, enforced fatherhood does not sit well on many men, even when there is nine months to equip yourself for it.”

Solo smiled, “Speaking of which sir, you are aware of my personal relationship with Illya and our current living arrangements, I doubt Social welfare would be happy in letting Alexi stay with both of us.”

Waverly smiled gravely, “I see you have been doing a lot of thinking about this Mr. Solo, you’re to be commended, what have you decided?”

“If they try to take Alexi from Illya, I’ll move out.”

“Just like that?” Waverly drained the scotch from his glass and watched the younger man carefully before speaking again.

“No sir, I make no pretense how I feel about him, but every child deserves at least one parent, Illya had neither and I know how hard he will fight to keep Alexi now he has him.”

“So you believe Alexi is his son, that no duplicity has taken place here.”

Solo nodded wearily.

“I do not often interfere in the personal affairs of my agents Mr. Solo but you should know both UNCLE and I look after our own.  If the child is Illya'’ and the mother cannot be found I assure you, you will have no problem in keeping him.”

“You mean Illya won’t have any problems.”

“No, Mr. Solo that is not what I said, parenting is a difficult feat at the best of times, but I do believe that a child raised in a loving environment benefits greatly even when both parents are the same sex.  We are not puritanical nor do we suffer from the linger homophobia that runs rife through most government agencies.”

“You’d do that sir?” Solo asked incredulously.

“Of course. Now I suggest you contact the people you know at the CIA and see if they are prepared to shed any light on Vanya.”

Solo stood straightening his jacket and looked back again. “Thank you sir.”

“Yes well, be on your way Mr. Solo some of us have work to do.”  He watched the young agent leave as he returned to his desk and smiled at the photo of his wife, touching the frame briefly he was confident she would be proud of him and elated by the events of today.

Filling his pipe with Isle of Dog No. 22 he tamped down the tobacco tightened the lid on the humidor and sat back to enjoy his pipe.
 

“So how did Alexi go with Dr. Kate? No problems?” Solo asked casually as he leafed through the compact case file he carried with him.  The atmosphere in the small office he shared with Illya was charged, without looking, Solo knew his partner was dazed and confused by this whole affair.

A soft smile found its way to the edges of Solo’s mouth as he looked at Illya directly.  The lithe frame sat hunched over his desk.  White gold hair shone under the harsh fluorescent lights and the slight tremor Solo saw across the room that coursed through Illya set his heart racing.  Wanting nothing more than to reach forward and comfort his lover, Solo forcefully restrained himself.  This time he knew it was up to Illya to cross the difficult ground that had opened between them this morning.

 Illya looked down, his hands clasped on the desk just a little too tightly.  Solo, did not need to see his face to know that a faint stain of blush graced the pale aristocratic features. “Alexi, was good, Napasha, very brave.” The Russian could not help but remember the little blond child who had held perfectly still as the needle sought a vein in the tiny arm.  Alexi had made no sound, trust shining from impossibly luminous blue eyes had stared up at him.  Eyes that reminded the Russian agent of his own past, many years before, in almost another life, he too had been silent as the Nazi’s worked their evil on his tiny body.

Solo nodded as he sat down. “Well, I expected no less.”

“Huh?” Illya frowned, his high brow marred in consternation.

“That Alexi should be brave, it is after all a Kuryakin trait.”

“Then you believe he is my son.”

“Kate has the final say in that but for the moment yes. I do believe it.” Solo’s voice softened becoming intimate as he continued, “Tovarishch, do you have anymore secrets likely to turn up on our doorstep?”
 

“Napoleon, I, “ Illya stammered and pushed the chair back around to face the desk. His face burning scarlet showed his inner turmoil as he dropped his face between his hands.  With a crashing heart, Solo maintained his cool professional calm and his distance. This matter between them must be settled and settled now.  In the field it would be lethal to remain so strained.

“You what?” There was a sharp sting at the end of the controlled voice.  Illya shrank further; he had heard that controlled tone before, usually used against subordinates who had somehow managed to earn the CEA’s wrath. Never had Illya been on the receiving end and he admitted with a tiny silent hiccup that it hurt.

“I am sorry.” The Russians’ voice very small as he gathered himself together.  Pulling the pieces of the last few hours into a tangible whole he found he was still afraid to look at it, still dazed by the consequences both past and present.

Silent moments seemed to stretch endlessly as Solo watched the hunched shoulders, the fine tremor that had not abated in the compact frame.  Finally the American laid gentle hands on Illya’s shoulders and began to massage, re-establishing that vital link that was theirs alone and some of the tension receded from the quiet blond.  Warmth flooded the Russian as he leaned back into the comforting touch.

“Don’t be sorry, you were not to know this would happen.  Besides that we have a son is good, yes?” Solo said softly in Russian, the warm breath caressed the small ear.

Illya shivered and the chill that went through him scorched his bones as he hung his head again. “Napasha, how is it that you can forgive me?”

Solo tightened his hold on the broad shoulders and bent to kiss the back of his neck. “Because I love you.”

“And I you, but this could...” the fear in Illya’s voice halting and breathless made Solo surrender to his higher feelings and pulled over the chair they kept for guests to sit beside his partner.

“Okay, let’s put a few things into perspective shall we? Vanya, said in her letter that she will not take Alexi from you, do you believe her?”

“Yes. She would not lie.”

Solo smiled, the response was so certain the American was heartened to continue, “But, you worry.  How do we become parents, given our job, given that our life expectancy is somewhat limited, what will become of him?”

“Yes. Napasha, he needs a full time parent and I can’t do that and still be your partner.” Illya soft words filled with anguish.

“I know you would quit UNCLE to raise Alexi.  And if push came to shove you would leave me as well.” Solo raised a hand forestalling the comments barely dammed behind the pouting lips of his lover. “ I know you would not give him the childhood you had, and that you will fight to be all that you wished yourself to have had as a child. So knowing this my love, I had a talk to Mr. Waverly when you went for the blood tests.”

“And?” Illya queried softly, not certain he was capable of intricate sentence structure at the moment.

“UNCLE has always had facilities for single parents.  We have several ex-agents who act as foster families; they will look after Alexi when we are away.  You know as well, that there is a crèche and day care center within the complex.  Mr. Waverly does not want to loose you as an agent, so he will make certain that all the facilities be allocated to our disposal.”

“What about the social stigma, Napasha? What will happen when he is old enough to know that he doesn’t have a regular Mom and Dad? When he starts to question these things what will we do? Assuming of course we get to that stage, whilst progressive, Social Services will not be thrilled that two men in a morally questionable relationship and employment should look after a child. Napasha, I appreciate everything, no one has ever stood up for me before you, but..” Illya spread his hands wide, blue eyes brimming with anguish.

Solo smiled again, cupping the soft cheek in his warm palm as he looked into Illya’s eyes. “Mr. Waverly said that UNCLE looks after its own.  We know this to be truth Illya; he will not abandon us, and will keep Social Services off our backs.  He will in effect make the transition into parenthood relatively painless.”
 
“He will?”

“Of course. And before you say anything….” Solo held up his hand to still the words he felt certain Illya would speak, “We will make full use of UNCLE’s facilities, and our assignments usually last less than a week.”

“We will?” Illya smiled gently, looking up for the first time.

“Yes baby we will, you know,” Solo reached forward to brush the bangs from the high forehead and smiled, “up until today there have been whispers about our relationship and I know that my recalcitrance in being open amongst our friends has been hard on you.”

“Not as hard as this is on you ,Napasha.”

“It’s hurt you,” Solo said confidently. “Here where we are safe, where there are no problems socially I should have been more forthcoming in the past.  This way I can finally put the rumors to rest, and consequences be damned. You’re mine Illya, you and Alexi. Its about time I celebrated that don’t you think?” Solo leaned forward and kissed the soft lips, “I have been a cad to you Illya, every time my mother rings I make up some excuse as to who and what you are, and find a willing lady to accompany me on my infrequent visits home.  There too, its time they know.”

“Napasha, please. Stop and think a little before you do this.  I should hate for you to come to resent what we have together.”

“Oh Illyusha!  I will not give you up as either a lover or partner, Alexi will live with both of us and we will be a family, and I intend to be rapturously happy and let those who should know, know. Do you understand Illya?”

The Russian leaned across the small space and touched his lips sweetly to the Americans’.  “Yes, Napasha.”

Solo smiled and leaned into the kiss before he sat back his hands still held onto his lover. “We have nothing for Alexi, no clothes, and I strongly suspect no food to appease the appetite of a three year old. How about you take him out and buy him some things? Yes? I’ll meet you at home later.” Solo pressed his credit card into Illya’s hand and closed the long fingers over the plastic.

“How much later?”

“I’ll be home by six, it’s your night to cook isn’t it?” Solo leaned in for another kiss and smiled. “ Let me do this baby, let me do this for us?” Illya nodded slowly, tears threatened to mist his vision. “Go on get out of here.”

Illya smiled this time, hope burning in his heart as he took his jacket from the back of the chair. When the door to their office slid shut he had a sudden feeling of apprehension. Despite his lover’s words, despite his own need to love his child and to raise him in a family, gnawing at him. He knew that it would not be so easy on Solo.  His mother and brother’s would not accept their Napoleon as a faggot and he would shoulder the blame for the fall of their “normal” son.

Illya shuddered as he pulled the coat on over his UNCLE special and headed towards the day care facility on the floor above.  Praying to a half-forgotten God that the feeling was nothing more than his dour Soviet nature telling him it won’t work.

The afternoon passed quickly into lassitude; Illya learned many things in those few hours.  When they went shopping for clothes, Alexi automatically reached a small hand out to the brightly patterned shirt and then withdrew and opted for the same dark somber clothing he himself favored.

Illya hugged his son to him, took both items, and completed his shopping list.  By the time he finished in the large department store, Alexi had everything from coloring books and toys, to a toothbrush with Micky Mouse on the handle and pajamas similarly adorned with Donald Duck. In all Illya’s meager days, the simple joy of that afternoon would burn as bright in his mind as the first time he and Solo lay together as lovers.

Alexi began to talk that afternoon, he managed several sentences in Russian and in English but it was the shouted “Pappa!” as the tiny child stood before the chocolate counter and looked in wonder at the sticky treats.

“He’s beautiful.” The pretty little red head behind the counter trilled happily as she gave the toddler a free candy.

Illya dropped his hand to the golden hair and smiled, “Yes, say thank you to Melissa.” Illya instructed the child after belatedly reading her nametag.

Alexi bowed almost formally in his gray overcoat and reverently holding the candy before him spoke shyly, “Spasibo, Melissa.”

She inclined her head. “Russian?”

“Yes.” Illya answered as he gathered his son to him.

“Do you work around here?” She asked demurely.

Illya nodded. “Yes, not far.”

“He’s so beautiful, bring him back to see us again?” she asked shyly.

Illya colored and smiled softly. “As often as I can.”

So pre-occupied with the beautiful day and the joys of being a parent, for the first time in his adult life Illya failed to see the dark shadow that stalked him from a distance.

Lucien stretched tired legs as he moved behind the wheel of his car.  For the last several hours he had had the blond man and child under surveillance. To his mind there was no doubt they were father and son.  But still he was confused, if they were why the trepidation in the child’s eyes, the hesitance with which he watched his surroundings.  Even now as they emerged from the department store into the gathering shadows of early evening.  The man’s arms fully laden with boxes and packages of all shapes and sizes yet as he gazed down at his son with unmistakable joy, the boy seemed reticent.

Although no more than three years of age the boy stood, quietly, in front of the adult. His hand gripping tightly the man's coat, the other a small bag of See's Chocolate Turtles.
 
“Typical.” Lucien thought.  “In all things Russian’s are taught obedience.”

Long moments passed as the two stood at the entrance of the carpark, the man settling his parcels more carefully, taking the opportunity to rest briefly.

The man’s melodic voice spoke gently in Russian to the child, his voice carrying across the carpark.  Lucien recognized the word as “home” and saw the child smile openly for the first time. A huge yawn escaped his cherubic lips as his hand scrubbed tiredly at his eyes.  Lucien noticed that even in this action the child refused to give up his almost vice like grip on the man’s overcoat.

 Lucien’s car was parked close to the mouth of the carpark and only metres from the Attendant’s booth.
It took a mere ten minutes for the blond to secure everything, including the boy, in the late model valiant convertible.

As the car passed Lucien he scribbled down the license number as a smile of pure malice lit his classically handsome features.  If what he suspected was true this was his opportunity to finally prove his worth to his section head.  This small piece of information could well be enough to put him exactly where he wanted to be and he thought, as he pulled out into the peak hour traffic, consequences be damned.

Less than fifteen minutes later Lucian strolled into the richly appointed outer office of Derrick Picard. With the arrogance only possible of small men attempting to live up to their own delusions of importance, he slammed the door shut. The noise and the strutting man attracted the attention of the pretty receptionist who sat pertly behind the large mahogany desk.

"May I help you, sir?” she asked as she stretched the last word into three syllables and fought hard to maintain her professional objectivity.

She scowled as he perched himself on the edge of her desk and appraised her inviting cleavage with a propriety air.

“Tell Derrick, I’m here.” Lucien demanded his voice a sibilant hiss as he continued to stare openly.

To her credit she remained unruffled, the ‘let me intimidate you because you are a woman' type were all too frequent in this office and over the years as a top paralegal she had learned to ignore their bluster and ignorance.

"Your name, sir?” she said in a voice of ice, cutting into his confidence as she thumbed the intercom open.

“Just tell him November 22, 1963. He’ll know what it means.”

She remained unimpressed, “Your name please, sir?”

Lucien reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his black leather wallet and flipped open the I.D.  With an imperious air he waved it in front of her,"Does that answer your question?"
 

"Couldn't we have done that to begin with? Or were you just trying to impress me?"
 
Lucien smiled his dark eyes boring into her green ones.  "Whatever; just let him know I'm here."

"Mr. Picard has instructed me he is unavailable for the rest of the day, if you wish to make an appointment..." her voice trailed off as she opened the diary and skipped several weeks ahead, turning her pretty face up to his.

"Fine." Lucien answered standing and heading toward the door at the far end of the room as the door swung opened to reveal Mr. Derrick Picard, Attorney at Law.

Picard was a strong stately man somewhere in his early sixties with silver gray hair and an impeccably cut Saville Row suit.  He narrowed his blue eyes and stared at the man menacing over his secretary.  Giving her an apologetic smile he beckoned to Lucien.

“It’s alright Miss. Matthews, I have a few moments to spare for Lucien”. Derrick’s voice was as rich and cultured as the man himself.

“Very well, sir.”

“Please hold my calls Miss Matthews and show my next meeting into the conference room. Lucien, this way, please.” Derrick held the door open and closed it firmly as he stalked passed the man to his desk, his displeasure obvious.

"You have impeccable taste in secretaries Derrick, where did you find her?" Lucien asked as he slid easily into the leather seat.

"Trade secret."

" I'm a busy man and you said it was important." Lucien blustered trying to intimidate the man before him.  Picard was unimpressed, as he always was when this man confronted him. It was unfortunate, he reflected that he had to lower his standards to even consider dealing with him.  How the times had changed he thought.

"Time is a subjective issue Lucien, I suggest you relax.”, Picard ordered, his voice more forceful than normally required.

“I did not come here to play word games with you.  You wanted something.” Lucien spat.

"For someone with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head you are awfully rude Lucien."

Lucien perched his feet on the corner of the large desk and crossed his ankles.  "Derrick, Derrick", he said, shaking his head as if talking to a headstrong child.  "Am I hearing a threat here? Are you forgetting what I could do to you; not mention what I've done for you?"

Picard shrugged his face as serene and calm as only an innocent man can be.  "You would have a difficult time proving anything Lucien.  Your playing in the big league here and you my friend have a great deal more to loose than I.  Now since you wish to terminate our agreement, I have decided to oblige you. In fact, I could prove that you have harassed me, threatened my clients and done so for your own vicarious pleasure.  Even in today’s enlightened times this is an indictable offence.”

“I have brought you big clients with big bucks.” Lucien shot back his eyes narrowing.

"Ah, yes.  The mob bosses, crooked cops, even a crooked Mayor are all friends of yours are they not? Do not attempt to paint yourself as the pillar of moral virtue Lucien. I have forgotten nothing.  Therefore this afternoons discussion will terminate any agreement we have had in the past. I am not ungrateful, as you have said I have made a great deal of money from your associates. When you leave this office this afternoon Lucien, I will not see you again, in any capacity.  Your days of harassing my staff and my family are at an end."  Picard reached into his desk and pulled out a document sized manila envelope.
 

“What is it?” Lucien asked as he took the envelope from the attorney.

“Opportunity, Lucien. The contents of the envelope have the potential of making even a low-level CIA clerk a big man if handled correctly."

“Derrick, you're beginning to sound like my brother.” Lucien chided as he opened the package.

"Read it, Lucien.  Carefully." Picard instructed as he lit the business end of a small Havana.

Lucien sighed, “Very well, I'll humor you.”

Anger replaced rational thought as he read the first line of the document. “You’re bluffing.” Lucien spat as he threw the paperwork on the table and stood.

“I never bluff, sign it. The rest of the information is as I said it would be.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, then obeyed as he scrawled his signature on the bottom of the page and thew it back to Picard.

“It had better be, Derrick, otherwise you and I are not finished.”

 The Attorney smiled as he watched the complex play of emotions as Lucien read the rest of the documentation.

"Are you certain of this, especially the address?"  Lucien asked the old smugness returning.

"But of course."
 
“Might one ask how you obtained this information?”

“No, you cannot, consider it compensation in full. I will tell you though that the girl is the current object of an international search by the CIA and Interpol.  And that her child is now in this country residing with his father.”

“So my superior was right, he had the right man and the kid with him is Vanya’s brat.  Well,well, well.  I do believe Derrick, that we have concluded our business. This last Will and Testament is complete and registered?”

Derrick nodded, “Yes, and the Living Will gives specific instructions as to the child’s welfare.”

“Then Kuryakin is the beneficiary and I haven’t just spent the last five hours on a useless tail?”

“The information is yours Lucien, take it and get out of my office.  I have clients to see.”

Lucien took his time folding the paperwork and replacing it back into the manila envelope. “I’ll see you around.” He said, his mood considerably better than it had been for several days.

“No, I thought we had covered that Lucien Solo.  When you leave this office, you and I shall never meet again.  Is that understood?”

Lucien nodded, “Perfectly. It’s been a pleasure.”

“No doubt.”

Illya tooled the car into the underground security car park and looked across at the small child strapped in the seat next to him.

“Ready?” Illya asked, coaxing the child now in English.

“Yes, Papa.” The small voice echoed in the subterranean landscape.  Together they retrieved the plethora of shopping bags from the back of the car and were greeted at the door by two security guards.  An extra precaution both Solo and Waverly had insisted upon, given the circumstance.

With a rare show of co-operation Illya had acquiesced to their demands quickly and now stood staring at the two ex agents assigned baby-sitting duty.

Milton Fowler and Lafayette Robbins both had been the top men in the field before they chose to retire to semi-active duty.  Partnered for over eighteen years they had both been wounded one too many times in the line of duty and could no longer face the thought of loosing the other to a THRUSH bullet or poison.

Helping to carry the excess baggage and with a watchful eye on the senior agent and his precious charge, they shared sidelong smiles at each other before proceeding Illya into his shared apartment with Solo.

As all four entered the living room, two things happened immediately - the automatic timer
kicked on flooding the room with light and Illya's communicator signaled.

Removing the pen-like device from his breast pocket, he smiled.  The private signal had been perfect -
one short, high-pitched whine then silence.

"Open Channel P, hello Napoleon.” Illya  answered.
 
"Hi." Came the comforting warmth of Napoleon’s voice.

The sound of the American's voice distracted Alexi.  The device his father spoke into and watched it carefully, expecting to see Napoleon appear at any moment fascinated the little boy.

“Any news?” Illya asked into his communicator.

“No, nothing yet.  We should have the files through within the next hour or so, we have a lead on the lady as well.  April and Mark are on the way to see if they can find her.”

“There is an old Russian ballet master she may have gone to, he was her tutor when she came to America many years ago and they still keep in contact.”

“That would be Uri Reshenko?”

“Yes, he has a studio not far from here, we can check it out later if you like.”

“Already on it love, how’s my family anyway?”

“Your family is well.” Illya answered with a smile as he watched Alexi frown and leave the adults.

Fowler was less than three steps behind the toddler and watched amused as he pulled back cupboard doors and looked behind curtains.  Perplexed he returned to his father and folded his arms. His cherubic face filled with confusion and curiosity. "Po'len?" he queried in exasperation.
 
 

Illya smiled and knelt down to his son's level, he tapped the top of the communicator and looked at Alexi. “Say ‘hello’ right in there.” He instructed the boy.

Alexi titled his head to one side, looked from the communicator to his father, then obeyed, speaking in broken English.  "Hello."

"Hello, Alexi." Napoleon’s rich voice sounded tinny from the tiny speaker.

 “Po'len inside?” Alexi asked as he backed away clearly confused with the device.

"No, I’m still at the office, but I will be home soon." Solo replied.

Alexi turned to his father and frowned as a tiny finger caressed the top of the pen, “Po’len not inside?”

Illya smiled and shook his head. “Nyet.”

“Alexi?” Solo called again.

“Da?”

“When I get home I will teach you how it works, okay?”

“Da. Po’len teach Alexi.” The little boy nodded as he walked away and continued the inspection of his new home.

"How long will it take you, Napoleon?", Illya asked, leaning forward to speak into the device, all the while enjoying his son's reactions.

"It's six now.  Giving traffic, I would say about seven thirty." Napoleon’s voice was wistful as he spoke, clearly wanting nothing more than to be with his family.

"I'll feed Alexi, then fix our dinner.  How about Spaghetti ala’ Solo?"
 

"Sounds good to me.  Be home soon.”

“We’ll be here.” Illya answered simply.  Fully aware that even secure channels were often monitored the precious declaration of love would wait till they lay in each other’s arms.

“Da, hurry Po’len.” Alexi chimed in from the living room where he had made close friends with the two security guards.

Illya straightened up as he closed the channel and looked over to the two ex-UNCLE agents in his living room.

“Extra duty tonight sir, Mr. Waverly believes it will be necessary.”  Fowler spoke as he came back into the foyer of the apartment.

“Rooms are clear.” Robbins nodded as he joined the other two men.

“Cooper is on duty and we will be in the apartment next door.”

Illya nodded.

“Let us hope, gentlemen that it will be a quiet evening.”

“Amen to that.” Fowler smiled as he left.

Vanya tightened the belt of her coat about her too thin frame.  The dark stain of blood now oozing a thick slime down her side no longer concerned her.  She felt her forehead and was not worried when she withdrew her hand and found it slick with sweat.  Similarly as she beheld her reflection in the old mirror above the tiny washstand she saw death lurking only hours away.

“Miles to go before I sleep.” The phrase replayed over and over in her fevered brain.  All the while the only coherent thought that kept her going was getting to her husband and son.  To know that they were safe, to warn them of the danger that would hunt them both after she was gone.

Her fingers slipped on the plain wooden chair as she removed it from under the doorknob.  She blinked and looked down at the wood she held, uncertain as to why it felt so greasy beneath her shaking hands.  She smiled. Oh yes, the blood will make it slip. She thought.

At some point reality slid away and time passed in a blur as she negotiated the stairs with difficulty.  Luck was finally on her side when she made it to the front door. Unassisted and unrecognized by the residents of the tiny bed and breakfast she made it into the quiet suburban street.  The full moon reaching zenith wards as it chased Venus across the night sky enchanted her.  How the stars looked the same from every country, how freedom itself was more or less the dichotomy of old men who had long ago given up hope. And despair was the privilege of those who had something left to loose.  Vanya smiled as she wove her way down the tiny street.  Her stiletto heels clicking on the hard asphalt as a new wave of strength ebbed over her, just as assuredly the blood leaked from her body, seeking its own escape.  Nothing left to loose. She thought now, hope was gone, pain was gone, and all that fueled her dying body  was the burning desire to amend the tenants of her past.  To bring to her child, safety.

“Illya.” She thought.  “My proud young Cossack, always at war with the forces of darkness and mostly they lay within your own hands.  I pray that your heart beloved, is too strong to pity me now.”
 

Illya lay curled in the huge carved bed around his lover. His careful ears picking up the tiny sounds made by the sleeping child in the next room as his fingers stroked the strong chest next to him.

“You know tovarishch, even fathers get a day off now and again.” Napoleon spoke softly and turned to face his partner.

“I thought you were asleep.” Illya admonished as he propped his head up on one hand.

“It is the duty of a good agent to be convincingly asleep when in the hands of the enemy whilst plotting their escape.”

“Are you plotting your escape, Napasha?” The quiet uncertain tone of Illya’s voice stopped the American’s heart.

“Ah, that you could think that my love, wounds me.” Napoleon intoned softly his voice grave as he too propped on one elbow and stared into pools of liquid blue.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, enough of that.  We will find Vanya and we will keep Alexi.” Solo nuzzled the soft lips as he kissed them gently.

“I know I’m a little, hmmmm, confused.” Illya answered.

“You and me both. But Alexi will have the love of two parents, and will be raised as an American with Little League and Hotdogs and,”

“Capitalist pig.” Illya laughed.

“And you would have him taught?” Joyful now at the teasing and happy note in the Russian’s voice.

“Science.”

“Good, so he can identify all the bits of the bugs he will disect.”

“Math.” Illya continued.

“Even better then he will know how much his education will cost us.”

“English.” Illya offered, his voice almost whimsical.

“And Russian.” Solo added.

“Maybe even Italian.?” Illya lay back down his eyes staring off into a future both bright and daunting.  It was a challenge, he decided he would be only too happy to meet.

“What if he doesn’t have the gift of lanugage you do?” Solo enquired as he snuggled closer.

“Oh but he will.  It is a Kuraykin trait.  We all could speak several languages.”

“All?” The American made lazy patterns on the soft white skin.

“Yes. And maybe even music.”

“So he can sing us to sleep in our old age.”

“Ballet?” Illya ventured.

“Oh no! No son of mine will go to ballet school, no matter how talented his mother is.”

Illya laughed again, the sound pure joy as he pulled the American down to lay chest to chest. “Perhaps you should teach him boxing?” he asked with an edge of playful sarcasm.

“Queensbury Rules?” Solo asked as he kissed his way down Illya jawline.

“But of course, you do realise that the son of the Marquis of Queensbury was gay?”

“Now your teasing me.” Napoleon scowled slightly.

“No not at all, in fact he was the lover of Oscar Wilde. Now, which school should we book him into?”

The American found the soft pad of skin behind Illya’s ear and began to nibble gently. “He’s only three! Illya, he has a little while to go before he gets to school.”

“Napasha! I can’t think when you do that.” Illya admonished as he tried to move away from the tender assault.

“Precisely.” Solo mumbled his lips sending waves of warm air across Illya’s ear as his teeth gently took the lobe and nipped playfully.

“Barbarian.” Illya chided as his body shuddered again and he felt an answering cry in his cock as it lengthened and thickened with each of Solo’s movements.

“Oh yes.  Second rule of being a good agent.”  The American’s mouth continued down untill it found a puckered nipple and nipped again.

“And that would be?” Illya asked breathlessly.

“Enjoying the spoils of war.”

As the dark head dipped over his groin, he gave up on conscious thought. His long fingers tugging at the dark hair as he was engulfed in a hot wet mouth.

Reason collided with sensation, coalesced and folded back on itself, and Illya was lost to it’s heady desire as he bucked on the bed under skilled hands and tongue. Overcome, vanquished and cherished in the same moment as his cry was cut short when he remembered the sleeping child.

Napoleon wasn’t sure what woke him.  He tried to move and found his lovers leg firmly placed against his bladder, as his body screamed in protest.  He looked down at the sleeping man, fine features softened in his slumber as a gentle smile curved  the full lips.  With reluctance Solo moved Illya to one side bestowing a soft kiss on the high forehead, as he answered the call of nature.

There it was again.  Something tapping at his sleep fogged brain as he turned in the hallway towards Alexi’s room.  He peered in through the open door and found the little boy clad in Donald Duck print pyjamas curled around a large stuffed teddy with the covers thrown off.  Solo smiled, he even slept like his father. Except of course he was now Illya’s teddy.  He smiled as he pulled the bed clothes up around the tiny form.  Brushing a kiss across his forehead as he had with his father a few moments before and the response was identical.  Alexi smiled and buried his face further into the stuffed toy.

The tapping continued and Solo stood still back out in the hallway.  Ears straining to the unusual sound, a soft scratching like a tiny kitten at the front door.  Then something happened, what he could never identify but he knew that there was someone there and that someone was Vanya.  He bolted for the bedroom and dressed quickly as he gathered his gun up in a strong fist.

He used the command voice, the one that instantly brought his partner awake when they were on assignment or in danger.

“Illya, get dressed.” He ordered into the deep clear eyes that looked up at him.

Illya nodded and dressed in jeans and a shirt, thrown on haphazardly as he too grabbed his gun.

“Napoloen?” he whispered in the hallway.

Solo paused and inclined his head to the door. Again, the soft tapping, the slow scratching growing fainter and even more indistinct.

Illya paused and tensed. “Vanya.” The word sighed like a caress laced with fear and dread.

Napoleon looked down at the tiny eye hole and scanned the area, a pile of what appeared clothing moved just out of full vision.

He pointed Illya to the side as he flung the door open and she crumpled inside, her strength gone as she finally caught the shining blue eyes of her husband.

“Illyusha.”

Time passed in a blur, between them they manouvered Vanya into the foyer, the door was locked behind them, their two security guards appeared and took up flanking positions on either side outside the front door.  The lights were flicked on and Napoleon wrapped a blanket around the tiny feverish figure that Illya cradled in his arms.

Her voice was low as Illya deftly probed to find the weakening pulse.

“Vanya, milli moy I have to take you to hospital.” Illya looked up into Napoleons eyes and saw the truth that lay there.  Vanya’s hand stroked the proud chin and drew her husband back to her.

“Nyet.” Her voice dry and raspy like the autumn wind over fallen leaves.  Gone the desire to struggle, she was safe in Illya’s arms and that was all that mattered now. “I do not have time, moya dushka. Alexi?”

“He is asleep in his room, do you want to see him?” tears rolled freely down Illya’s face as he began to gently rock his treasured burden.

“Nyet, nyet he is safe in his fathers arms, it is all I could ask for and more.” Vanya’s eyes drifted to the large dark haired man who stood protectively at Illya’s  shoulder.  “And you?” she asked Solo.
 

Napoleon crouched down and took her trembling hand in his own. “Napoleon Solo.” The American answered with one of his best cavalier smiles, as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the parchment like skin.

“Ah yes, we have met before no? The Embassy ball with Illya, you are his partner?”

Solo nodded.

“And more I should think.” Vanya added her eyes narrowing against the pain. “Will you love my son, as you do his father?” her perception surprising given the circumstances.

“With all my heart and more.” Solo answered softly seeing the tears that graced both of the faces in his arms.

“Ah luybeof you have done well. And truly I believe that Alexi will be safe finally.”

“Vanya, please what happened?” Illya shifted her in his arms as she began to cough, the sound rattleing hollowly within her chest and Solo winced.

“Ah, Illya.” Her eyes closed as she moved closer to him.

Solo stood and opened to the door to the soft tap and was not surprised to see Alexander Waverly.

“Mr. Solo, I see you have found Mrs. Kuraykin.” He said in his typical British aplomb as he took off his hat and coat as he entered and steered the senior agent to one side.

“Thank you for coming sir.”

“Quiet allright Mr. Solo, I was on my way home anyway.” Solo glanced at the clock and noted the time at a quarter to four in the morning and smiled. “What is the situation?”

“She arrived a few moments ago, she’s dying.” Solo’s words were flat and toneless, having seen death too many times to be truly shocked by it anymore.

As if on cue Vanya began to cough again, the rattle in her chest more pronounced and deeper.  Waverly winced.

Vanya began to mutter softly in Russian, Illya bent his ear closer to her to catch the words, all the time cradeling her in his arms and rocking gently.  Solo steered Mr. Waverly into the kitchen and put the kettle on for want of something to do, feeling both at once an incredible urge to comfort Illya and allowing him time to be with his wife.
 

Long minutes passed as he made tea and coffee and sipped slowly, staring out the kitchen window at the New York skyline.  A shudder passed through his body as he turned back around towards the door.

Vanya lay sleeping in her husband’s arms, her lips curved into a gentle peaceful smile and her tiny form wrapped within the huge blanket, swaddled like a babe in Illya’s arms as he stood standing in the door.  His face sticken with grief as he looked to Napoleon, at once lost and unsure.

Solo took a step forward and convulsively Illya tightened his grip on her body.  Waverly needed no words to know that she was gone, his Russian agent’s stiff back and almost formal features told him of that fact.

“Illyusha.” Solo said softly as the tears flowed freely down Illya’s face, silent in their misery and despair. Illya took a step backwards as Solo held his arms out again. “Please, I will look after her.”

Illya shook his head resolutely, “Alexi should see her.”

“Do you think that is wise?” Waverly asked from the kitchen table.

“She looks like and angel sleeping, he will learn not to fear death sir, as I have done.” Illya’s voice was soft and strong, an odd combination as he continued to hold Vanya to him, her body cooling now as the flow of blood soaked the side of his shirt.

“Illya, you grew up in a labour camp where death was a welcome releif.  Alexi, does not need to learn the harshness of life at three.” Waverly’s voice was soft as he looked at his agent, the portent of the moment not lost on any one of them.  The old man never used first names and never referred to Illya’s harsh past.

“Please love.” Solo stepped forward and took Vanya from Illya and walked back towards the foyer where the UNCLE medical team waited with a stretcher.  He laid her down carefully and tucked the blanket around her little body, kissing her on the forehead and strapping her on the gurney himself.

Waverly had led Illya into the kitchen and sat him down with a cup of tea.

Solo took in the forlorn features as he sat at the table and kissed him on top of the head.  The open display of affection taken with regard from Alexander who smiled.

“Illya?” Solo crouched down by Illya’s side and embraced the smaller man.

“Look after her for me,Napasha.  I don’t think I can.” Illya’s voice broke for a moment, before his back straightened.

“Of course, I’ll ride down to the office with her.  You will ah, need to take a shower before Alexi wakes.” Napoleon pulled at the blood soaked shirt which stuck to Illya skin.

“I’ll wait for your return.” Waverly said sofly. “My wife will be here soon, she will keep an eye on your son till you get back.”

Solo stood, as his hand stroked his partner’s strong and tense shoulders. “Thank you sir.”

“No need, take care of the lady, UNCLE will take care of her family.”

With a final nod of assent Solo left to accompany Vanya on her final journey.

Showered and shaved Illya stood in the kitchen as he watched the waking world.  Elli Waverly had taken Alexi to the park for the morning as her husband sat now in the living room.  Napoleon would be a couple of hours away as Illya turned around and padded softly into the room with his superior.

“Sir, we have a problem.” He said slowly sinking down into the soft carpet by the open door.

“Yes, I had suspected as much.  What happened?”

“Vanya was working as a courier for the CIA.  She was courted when she joined the New York State company and told it was the only way to assure her residency.”

“I see their tactic’s have not changed.” Waverly said with quiet disdain.

“They will never change sir, to them what is one more life lost?  Vanya had just delivered a package to the French mule when she recognised a man who should not have been there.”

“Go on Mr. Kuraykin.”

“ In deep conversation with a very high ranking KGB officer and the French Security of Defense was an American.”

Waverly sat back and chewed on the end of his pipe.

“During this conference a large sum of money was handed across to the American who pocketed it and handed back an envelope with a security seal on it.  The same envelope that she had delivered less than an hour before.”

“The American?” Waverly asked as he narrowed his eyes.

“Well, that is the tricky part.  Vanya, did not recognise him at first.  When she came back to New York she was debriefed, standard proceedure and came face to face with the traitor himself. She was sent back out into the field almost immediately and was to pick up a microdot and deliver it to a group of undercover agents.  When she arrived the agents had been executed.”

“Good Lord, Waters Street? Yes we have been asked to investigate.  Nine agents lost their lives, two of them ours.”

“She went to ground and has been followed ever since, she believes by the KGB.  The clerk that she recognised sir was Lucien.”

“Lucien?” Waverly frowned.

“Yes sir, Lucien Solo, Napoleon’s half brother.”

“Do you think your partner is involved somehow?”

Illya went if possible paler. “No sir.  Napoleon is loyal to UNCLE.  Lucien and he have had problems in the recent past and that more than anything has kept Napoleon from telling his mother about us.”

“From what Mr. Solo tells me he intends to break the news to his family soon.”

“Yes, well I dare say they already know.  Lucien is his father’s son by an earlier marriage.  There was a degree of animosity after the divorce and he married again.  From what I understand his sister and mother are very close to him, but the fathers shadow is rather long and brutal.”

Waverly sat back and puffed on his pipe as he sat in contemplation whilst Illya rested his head in his hands in the bright warm sun.

“I suggest you leave Lucien to us Mr. Kuraykin, I shall talk to your partner in a couple days.  Did I tell you that I know his father?”

“No sir.” Illya looked up a slow smile across his boyish features.

“Hmm interesting man.” Waverly commented as the front door flew open and Alexi burst in rushing headlong to his fathers arms.

Tackling the small child in a gentle embrace Illya smiled as he dropped a kiss on the little boy’s head.

“Grandmama bought me a balloon.” Alexi said as he reverently held the shiny red orb.

“Yes, so I see.” Illya looked up into Ellie’s eyes and saw a wealth of compassion and smiled as he mouthed the word “Grandmama?”

“She said.” Alexi began.

“Who said?” Illya asked.

“Sorry, Grandmama said it was for Mama.”

Seeing the confused look on Illya’s face Ellie moved closer, her elderly body still supple and strong despite her age took up the floor next to them.  Her pretty brown eyes shining from under greying auburn curls.

“You see, when Mama went to heaven Alexi didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.  So we got a special red balloon and we will write a message on it and let it go.  When it floats up to heaven, Mama will get it and won’t be alone anymore.” Her hand resting against Alexi’s golden hair.

There were tears in his eyes as he took the balloon off his son. “What shall we write then.”

Alexi took the balloon off his father and thought for a moment, the elegant small shrug a mirror of the older Russians.

“Wait for Daddy.”

“Daddy?” Illya asked and Alexi frowned.

“Po’len. Grandmama says I should call him Daddy.”

Illya hugged the child closer.

“Yes, I think he would like that.”

“Grandmama says that I live here now.”

“Forever.” Illya intoned.

“And Daddy.”

“Da.”  Illya answered, his eyes bright with love and gratitude as Ellie took him in her arms.  He allowed himself a small moment to grieve what he had lost, but in that grief was joy.  He discovered a family he never knew he had, and a son for him and his partner.  A proper family at last, and if they could accept him, nothing would ever take them from him or him from them.
 

EPILOGUE (3 Months later.)

Lucien stood on the deck of the ATLANTIC JEWEL, her bow and stern packed with the early blush of tourists who took the journey  out around the harbor to Ellis Island and back.  He pulled down his wide brimmed hat and blended in with the crowd, keeping a careful and vengeful eye on the two men by the side.

That his brother was in a relationship with his fair haired partner was obvious to any who looked and that the child in his arms was the Vanya’s son was also obvious.  He spat on the deck, even the sound of the name in his mind caused him grief.

Vanya Kosivsky Kuryakin, damn the woman. Between her and his perverted brother he had lost everything. The CIA had disavowed him, his collection of associates treated him with something akin to disdain and his father would not hear a word against his golden haired son.  Lucien paced, too long he had been dismissed, too long he had worn the mantle of the unwanted child. Too long Napoleon Anthony Solo had taken what was rightfully his, and now he had the pry bar to  put things back in balance.

The new CEA of UNCLE NY was a faggot, not only a faggot, but was living with his communist Russian lover and his son.  His father would have to listen to him now, would have to see that he was the rightful heir to his fathers affections and not the back of his hand as he had come to expect.

With murderous intent he watched the blond child with a dripping ice cream in hand race across the deck of the boat, pulling out of Illya’s hand and racing towards his brother.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” The child’s gleeful voice echoed around the stern as enchanted onlookers smiled and made way for him.

Napoleon bent to scoop him up and caught the infectious laughter, “Whoa! Slow down, Alexi.”

“Daddy look!” Alexi pointed with his ice-cream, “Big lady.”

Napoleon turned and looked at the rapturous face of his son as he saw  for the first time the Statue of Liberty.

“Very important Big Lady.” Illya answered as he came to stand hip to hip with his partner.  Napoleon reached out and caressed his lovers shoulder.  Lucien almost vomited on the spot and hung his head over the side of the boat taking in great gulps of fresh air, opening up some good natured ribbing from the tourists who made way for him.

In that terrible moment, Lucien decided to destroy his brother and his catamite. The child, he reasoned, would be looked after eventually, raised in an orphanage to rid the stench of immorality the parents had visited upon him. A fitting end and one he would relish.  As the boat docked Lucien was amongst the first to leave, for the first time in months a cruel smile played on his lips as he headed towards the subway.

“Have you thought any more to the business side of things, Illya?” Solo asked gently as they sat on the seats in Battery Park.

“No, not really.”

“Well, Vanya left you a sizeable estate with several business interests.  Some of which will need your attention soon.”

Illya winced. “Us Pasha, she left us, you, me and Alexi. And yes I know, the fashion label she has is rather small but should make a good profit over the next few years, but Pasha what am I to do with computers?” Illya frowned as he put on his dark glasses and stretched his legs, taking full advantage of the warm sun.

“I would have thought as a scientist you would have been more interested in the computer business or even in the small diamond mine she has.”

Illya shook his head, “Everything is under management at the moment anyway.  I don’t see why we should be discussing it, I have no intentions of  leaving UNCLE unless you do. Alexi, come away from the water please.”

The little boy did as he was told and crawled up into Illya’s  lap.

“No matter what, Alexi will be well cared for.” Solo said softly as he leaned over and kissed the little blond head, wishing that circumstance would allow him to do the same thing to his lover. “And since I have just been promoted to CEA of North America and you’re my heir apparent, I should think that our careers in UNCLE will last a considerable length of time.”

Long moments passed as they sat in companionable silence, watching the stream of people pass them by.  Two young lovers, a pretty blond girl and her beau stood by the water edge and giggled before sharing a kiss.  From under hooded eyes Illya watched his lover who had turned away from the sight.

“Do you miss it?” Illya asked quietly still seemingly to doze on the wooden seat.

“Miss what?” Solo asked defensively.

“That.” Illya said softly drawing his partner’s attention back to the lovers who walked slowly away arm in arm.

“Sometimes.” Napoleon answered wistfully as he turned to look at Illya. “But then I never had a family before who loved all of me, and with them I had never found the missing part of me until I admitted that I loved you. So do I miss it? Yes, but not the women only the freedom to show you how I really feel in public.”

Illya smiled, “I think even if I were a woman for you to show me that Pasha both of us would be arrested.”

“No doubt.” Solo answered as he took the sleeping child from his partner’s lap and settled him onto his shoulder. “But, soon at least my family will know, and Mr. Waverly knows, and we have friends at work who know.”

“Ah yes Pasha, but I know.” Illya said with a small shy smile as he stood up and fell into step with his partner.

“Ah well then, that’s all that matters.”

The feverish life of New York surged around them.  The circle line ferry’s taking their precious burdens out to meet the great lady of Freedom. Planes taking off and landing at Leguardia and Kennedy airports in an endless stream. Men and woman who ran, sat and talked or simply cycled or strolled down the banks, despite the noise, the sounds and the sights, Napoleon had never felt calmer or more at peace in his life.  And he knew, without doubt, that he had finally found what he was looking for.  Solo hugged Alexi closer and smiled the whistle born on his lips as he looked over at the golden hair of his partner.  Step for step, through the years and suddenly he wondered what had taken him so long.
 

Finis

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