“It would be nice.” Uriel nodded his ascent but his tone clearly indicated he didn’t believe it was possible.

“Yes it would make a pleasant change,” Illya agreed. “How well do you know your wife?”

“Stella? About as well as any man can.”

“She has a reputation for being cold and cruel, Braht! I had expected you to choose more wisely.”

“At the time I did not know, but now it is obvious. But in the days I defected she had worked with the agencies to give me political asylum and was my companion. She seemed a logical choice at the time.”

“Dear sweet Uriel. You married an American spy.” Illya’s voice was unaccountably soft.

“I had thought as much.”

“Then you will know that her presence will cause an unnecessary complication.”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

“I...” Uriel stammered and Illya’s eyes widened. “I was lonely, dushka. She reminded me of you.”

“Boyzhe moi! Uriel, what were you thinking?”

“Not a great deal at the time. I had made a mistake one that cost me everything.”

“You could have called.”

“So could you.”

“Yes. I have followed your progress over the years. However, the last time I saw you was fleeing under a hail of bullets from my gun. Forgive me for thinking there was little I could save in our relationship.”

“I tried hard to hate you, Illya. For father, for mother, for everything in my life that diminished me, but in truth you were the only one who gave me faith.”

“Then we are to be reconciled?” Illya stood back into the shadows as a movement to his left caught him off guard.

“We were the moment I realized somewhat belatedly that you let me go.”

“I did no such thing,” Illya said, smiling.

“Yes, you did, and for that ever, my brother, have I loved you.”

“You know that your wife speaks Russian and is listening.”

“But of course, though Mama did always say that listeners hear no good of themselves.” “She said a lot of other things, too,” Illya shrugged lightly and nodded. “But you have a concert tonight. I will come and see you as soon as I can.” Then switching back to English he looked towards the back of the auditorium and spoke. “You can come out now, Napoleon.”

Solo smiled. He knew that Illya was aware of his presence. And he too spoke Russian. Heartened by the reconciliation between the estranged siblings he came forward.

“Ah, a music lover?” Uriel smiled.

“Sometimes, generally my partner.” Illya huffed slightly. “You realize for a spy you’re very obvious.”

“Illyusha?” Uriel frowned as he caught his brother’s arm.

“Boyzhe moi! Nyet! moya dorogoy bratik.” Illya admonished. “We work together.”

“Ah my apologies.” Uriel stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother, and for a moment Napoleon was taken aback. Where Illya was golden, Uriel was dark, where Illya was slight, Uriel was tall and strong, yet there was an unmistakable kinship within the eyes of each man. The same stance, the same actions that were unconscious and unmistakable.

“I’ve heard you play before, Uriel. I did not know you were Illya’s brother.” Napoleon extended his hand and with no hesitation Uriel shook it. Another step away from the brothers. This was the open affection and trust Illya had lost through the harsh years and Napoleon mourned the loss of innocence of a man he barely knew.

“Napoleon Solo, Uriel Gregorian Kuryakin.” Illya intoned softly.

“Napoleon, strange name for an American.” Uriel thought for a moment.

“My father had a perverse sense of humour,” Napoleon said as he nodded. “Illya, are you ready to go?”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“You are nothing alike,” Napoleon said as he stole a glance over his coffee cup.

“On the contrary, we are very much alike.” Illya folded his legs and surveyed the area.

“Nevertheless, you should have told me.”

“I was under no orders to, Napoleon.” Illya frowned again. A whiff of perfume caught him unaware and he filed it for future reference.

“No, but now you are.” Napoleon pushed the sunglasses onto his face. “We should walk.”

“Yes, there is something wrong here.” The sixth sense that kept them alive was niggling at the back of the Russian’s skull and he felt the hair rise.

“I know.” Napoleon set a steady pace and headed downtown, the noise and bustle of the street affording them a comfortable silence. “Mr. Waverley told me of the orders from the KGB and also about your sisters.”

“I assumed as much, or you would not be skulking around spying on me.”

“Don’t be petulant, Illya. I have arranged for the girls to be retrieved and moved to Hong Kong. Your step mother is too ill to be moved and has elected to stay in Russia. She knows her time is close and has a wish to be buried alongside your father.”

“How?” Illya stopped dead in his tracks.

“You may have noticed, Illya, that I am neither without influence nor without friends in places where sane men would not tread. However, their extraction has already occurred. The plane they were on has gone down and as far as the KGB is concerned the girls were in an unfortunate accident and did not survive.”

“I see.”

“Not entirely, Illya, Waverley has taken exception to the Polit Bureau and is taking steps to ensure your safety. I’m assuming you have no regrets about giving up your citizenship.”

“Of course, I have regrets, Napoleon. But if my family is safe then I must do what I can to look after them. I am no longer a child of the State.” Illya’s mouth twisted into a bitter line as he looked away.

“We live in a distasteful world, my friend. We cannot afford to take the moral high ground if we are to save the lives of at least three innocents.”

“And you lecture me because?” Illya had grown angry. He disliked being compromised and he certainly did not need to be rescued. Napoleon was his superior but he had vainly assumed that over the passage of years his advice had meant something.

“Don’t.” Napoleon grabbed him by the suit sleeve and pushed him into a dark alley. “Don’t, Illya. This is not about being incapable, nor in control. This is about Waverley securing a top agent and his family. The actions would be the same if you were anyone else.”

“But that’s the problem, Napoleon. I’m not anyone else.” Shamed, Illya looked at his hands.

In a moment of weakness, Napoleon moved forward, pressing his body close as Illya leaned against the filthy brick wall. Hot breath tickled his ears as the hand came up to caress the side of his face the cygnet ring cold in against warm flesh, and Illya’s eyes flittered shut.

“You have many secrets my friend. Sometime soon, some of them at least you will have to tell me about, but for now, we make them safe. Agreed?”

Illya drew a deep shuddering breath. “Agreed. So if they are now in Hong Kong, where to then?”

Reluctantly Solo stepped back, the loss of contact spearing him with a desire he had safely kept in check for years.

“Hong Kong is a British Colony. At this moment they are staying with friends at the Embassy; however they will be enroute to Canada tomorrow morning and should arrive in New York within the week.”

“Thank you.” Illya rubbed a hand over his face and trembled.

“Would you have killed your brother?” Napoleon asked as he saw the mask his partner wore slip firmly back into place.

“Yes.” Illya nodded slowly. “I would have done what was necessary.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“You fool!” Stella spat as she orbited the quiet man who sat impassively in the living room.

“No more than I was when we were married.”

He’d suffered her tantrums long enough, and there had to be an end. He was tired of it and of her.

“You snivelling bastard! It was you who crawled to us screaming for political asylum! We didn’t look for you, you weak-willed pig!” Her once pretty face set in hard unforgiving lines as she slowly unravelled in front of him.

“Yes,” he said. He stood up and pushed the dark hair from his face. “Yes and you like a good little Western whore could not wait to offer me comfort! You’ve screwed me once too often Stella. I will stand for this no more!” His voice rose thunderously high as he became still.

The slap that stung his face drew blood from the ring that had once been a symbol of their love. Now it was a symbol of hatred, and like trapped and wounded animals they paced each other in their Manhattan apartment.

“You are not a wife; you’re a harridan who’s getting old and you’re scared Stella! Scared that if you lose me you will not have a meal ticket to buy you your pretty jewels.” Uriel reached up and touched the welt on his face that slowly congealed.

“I’m the only person who ever supported you, Uriel! The only one! And this is how you treat me?”

“Given the nature of your marriage Stella, you will find I have treated you well. Did you honestly think I did not know?”

“Know what?”

“About your affairs?” He moved close to her. He caressed the side of her face with his hand and she flinched as he pulled her hard against his body. “That you have for years,” he said, “been a spy for your government.” He kissed her ear and she shuddered. “And that as a good spy and a good citizen, you spread your legs to any who offer you. You, my dear darling wife, are nothing but a cheap and tawdry whore!”

“You have never complained about my sexual prowess, especially when you are incapable of satisfying me,” she spat as she pulled out of the confining arms.

“Perhaps because I don’t take sloppy seconds. We are married in name only and as much as you have used me, I have used you. You were my security here in the great USA. Now, I no longer need you, nor can I look upon you without feeling ill. Go look in the mirror, see what you’ve become and tell me,” he said, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and pulling the door open with a loud bang, “if you like what you see!”

The sound of a vase crashing against the solid wood of the door as he slammed it shut echoed down the hallway as he moved into the still night air.

The dark clad figure that watched smiled nastily as he glided to the door and with the ease of a consummate professional let himself in with a small lock pick.

Stella whirled on the intruder, believing her husband had returned. Her eyes went wide as she saw the face, and before she could utter a word, the silencer coughed, sending cordite into the air to mix with the blood that poured from her chest and she fell to the floor like a mass of wet leather.

He shook his head. “You should have been more careful, comrade.” He pushed the long blonde hair back from her face with a leather gloved hand and dropped the gun in a nearby trash can as he pulled the door closed, sinking back into the shadows from whence he came.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“The question, Uriel,” said Mr. Waverly. He puffed his pipe and looked at the younger man who sat in his office. “Is did you kill your wife?”

“No. Ours was not a happy union Mr. Waverly; however I did not kill her.” He put his head in his hands and shivered.

“But you argued?”

“We always argue.”

“Loud enough for the neighbours to hear you?”

“Loud enough for the neighbours to call the police at times. But I did not kill her.”

“The gun was yours.”

“It most certainly was not.”

“It was registered in your name in New York three weeks ago.”

“Be that as it may, it was not mine; three weeks ago I was in Chicago, Mr. Waverly, at a very public appearance.”

“Yes,” Waverly said as he patted his shoulder. “We know. However, someone has gone to some trouble to make it appear that you killed your wife.”

“It is not my welfare that bothers me.”

“Your family is safe. Mr. Solo has seen to that. However, it would be advisable for you to lie low until we can sort through this mess.”

“Thank you seems inadequate and unappreciative,” Uriel said. He looked tired.

“It is neither. However, this is a dangerous business, Mr. Kuryakin. Your brother, our agency, and his partner are working overtime to ensure the safety of innocents. I have no doubt that they will come up with a suitable arrangement.”

“Thank you.”

“Miss Hobbs will take you to the guest suite. You will be staying with us for a few days.”

“Illya?”

“Is busy. I’m sure he will visit you later.”

Uriel nodded as he followed the pretty red headed agent down the maze of corridors.

~~~ooOOOOoo~~~

“Care to explain?” Napoleon crossed his feet at the ankles and perched them imperiously on his desk.

“No.” Illya didn’t even bother to look up.

“Not even curious?” The American stopped twirling the pencil in his fingers and arched an eyebrow at the younger man. Such a stark contrast, he thought so much fire and light and yet with it, fear. He was perhaps the only man he had ever know who did not fear unnecessarily, so now when faced with the flicker of it across the clear blue eyes, Napoleon was startled.

“About?” Illya took a deep steadying breath as he lifted his head and flicked the dark framed glasses off. “Clearly something is bothering you Napoleon; if you’re seeking answers it might be prudent to at least furnish the question.” Each word delivered like the sting of a wasp’s tale and Napoleon chuckled.

Much better my friend, much more like the acerbic Russian. Always go on the attack, after all the best offense is a good defense. “Can I buy you dinner?” Napoleon asked.

Illya frowned. “You are offering me food because?”

“Do I need to have a reason?”

“Usually,” Illya snapped back.

“We can talk here or over a good meal, choice really is yours.” Napoleon twisted the ring on his finger, the only outward sign of emotion.

“Ah, so now we have the patented Solo interrogation technique.” Illya closed the folder shut.

“I would never be so obvious.”

“Oh yes you would. Besides, if you want to talk, then we talk here. I refuse to allow you to ruin good food.” Illya sat down and waited.

“In the auditorium your brother made a comment, nothing out of the ordinary really. However your reaction was, unsettling.” Napoleon chose his words carefully.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean. I do not, despite reports to the contrary, commit every conversation I have to memory.”

“You said, ‘No, my god, my dear brother, we work together.’ Unlike you it seems I do commit every conversation you have to memory.” Napoleon narrowed his eyes.

Illya sat back in his chair, fingers laced across his stomach as he stared at Napoleon, blue eyes blazed furiously at his partner.

“Apart from having an unhealthy interest in all things Russian,” Illya began coldly, “Uriel does know my taste. He made an assumption and I simply corrected him. I apologize if it offended you, but that Napoleon is the only thing I will apologize for.”

“I never expected you to admit it.” Solo’s voice grew soft as he spared a glance to his partner.

“I never expected you to ask. However, there you have it Napoleon, would that I were free to indulge my base instincts as you are. I am not. Therefore my sexual status is a moot point considering the consequences. Now are you satisfied?”

“I would be if you had dinner with me.”

“Why do you persist?” Illya frowned.

“Because we are partners, and for the most part friends.”

“Again you state the obvious.”

“I’m an American, Illya; I’m paid to be obvious.” Napoleon smiled as he stood to reach for his jacket. With ill grace Illya conceded to being pushed towards the door.

“Really, so if you’re being obvious now,” Illya began as he blocked the doorway with his body and turned back to meet his partner’s confused glare. With a tilt of his head and a small sigh, he pouted as he looked up from under gold fringed hooded eyes and whispered as soft as a lover’s caress, “Does this mean we are dating?”

At that Napoleon laughed out loud, partly out of mirth, primarily to cover the flare of arousal that shot through him. “You are positively evil, Illya.”

“Da, but you haven’t answered my question.”

“Perhaps.” Napoleon leaned forward and brushed his lips across the high forehead.

“I’m not a cheap date, Napoleon; I expect at least three courses, vodka and chocolate.”

“Illya, you always expect three courses, vodka and chocolate.” Unable to hide the laughter that bubbled from him, Solo rolled his eyes at his partner and began to reconsider an entirely new set of options.