“No, I don’t like it. I am the only one here who can identify him.” Solo folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

Illya shifted uncomfortably from under Solo’s gaze and spoke softly. “Napoleon, I am not some adolescent child who needs to be coddled and supervised. What Ray says makes sense. He knows you, expects you to be with me. He will not be able to believe his good fortune when he sees me alone in the bar.”

“Except he won’t be alone. You and I will be outside and Ray will be inside with Illya,” Bodie added for extra emphasis.

Solo continued to seethe. Illya saw the rage building and flinched away from its source.

“Adolescent or not, you are still in danger, and it's my job to protect you.” Solo’s voice was quiet, the control barely in place as he paced the small kitchen.

“I do not need protection, Napoleon.” Illya’s voice was as cold and deadly as an iceflow. Solo flinched as the words stung him. He paused his relentless pacing and looked down at his partner, his face a stony mask.

“All right,” Solo conceded with ill grace. “But you will wear a wire.” Illya grimaced and Solo held up a hand to halt the torrent of words before they began. “SOP. I am still senior agent, Illya.”

Illya nodded but despite the agreement, the tension in the room did not decrease.

“You may not need or want my protection, Illya,” Solo said stiffly, “But I cannot afford to lose you, especially due to stupidity.”

“The plan is sound, Napoleon, it is you who are being unreasonable.” Illya was ashamed of the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Perhaps, but have you ever considered in that hard head of yours, Kuryakin, that maybe, just maybe I need to protect you.” Solo’s voice was soft as he folded his arms. Not waiting for a reply he strode out the door and down to the agents lounge in the CI5 headquarters.

Illya shook his head and let out a whoosh of air that he didn’t realize he had held in. Ray smiled as he looked at the perplexed features.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Illya,” Bodie said.

“I do not need to be coddled,” Illya insisted. “I was recruited by the KGB when I was nine and killed my first man at twelve. I can, and do look after myself.”

Ray had grown pensive and quiet as he watched the man before him sitting casually in the hard backed chair.

“Be that as it may, Illya, Solo was right,” Bodie continued.

“Oh really?” The sarcasm could not be missed as cold blue eyes narrowed on the Englishman.

“Really. We need to look after you.” Bodie rejoined, looking the slender frame up and down.

“Why?” Illya snapped. “Because I am small and young?”

“You forgot pretty and blond.” Ray added with a playful smile taking the sting from the words.

“Appearances can be deceptive,” Illya countered.

“Well then,” Bodie finished his slice of cake and brushed the errant crumbs into his mouth before he stood up, “maybe we need to look after you because we love you.”

Ray’s eyes locked with his partner’s and narrowed. What he saw he understood and smiling back at Bodie, he looked down at the bowed blond head.

“Fight that,” Ray said softly, patting the hard shoulder encased in black cloth as he passed.

Illya stayed for long moments in the kitchen, his head bent to the task of reading the last medical report as Murphy came in with a tall slender black man.

They spared a glance for the slight blond figure and sat down at the table opposite.

“You’re the UNCLE man?” Murphy asked with his usual tact.

Jax poured himself a cup of tea from the ever present pot as he studied the quiescent agent.

“Yes. And you’re the owner of that damned awful couch,” Illya answered, his accent purposefully thick as he looked over at the battered couch by the wall.

“I will have you know, I spent some of my best nights on the Smurph’s couch.” Jax added.

Illya looked up, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he folded the file shut and stood. “Yes,” he said in a voice as smooth as decade-old whiskey. “I can believe that.”

Murphy guffawed as Jax bit back a retort and Illya left.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

The E-type Jaguar rolled to a stop beside the park. Long and sinuous movements glided it through the thick foliage cover as the driver surveyed the area with a critical eye. His body, swathed in glossy black leather, coiled out of the car as he watched the children play in the small park . His dark hair, cropped short, glistened in the autumn sky as he approached the see-saw.

She was tiny, small and delicate with perfect blue eyes and the innocence only a child could have as she smiled. Long cascades of golden hair bounced on her shoulders as she played on the see-saw with her friend. Several mothers watched their children from the benches sipping tea from polystyrene cups.

“Hello, mister,” she said in the lilting cadence of a London-born four-year old.

“Hello,” Christian replied. “That’s a very pretty dress you have on. Did your Mummy make it for you?”

The little girl smiled happily. “Yes, Mamma made it so I could go to the party this afternoon.”

“A party? You’re going to a party?”

“Uh-huh. My cousin Jessica is having a party today for her birthday. Mamma says there will be cake and ice-cream.”

A shadow fell on the small child as Christian looked over his shoulder at the slightly built woman who scowled down at him.

“Hello, Chris,” she said softly.

He stood and brushed sand from his dark clothes. “Helena. It’s good to see you again,” he said softly almost reverently, as he reached forward to caress her cheek.

“Amy, don’t wander too far.” Helena recoiled from his touch and bent down to kiss her daughter’s head as she bounced happily on the toy. “It’s been a long time, Chris.”

“Yes. Too long.”

“Nearly five years.” Helena began to walk slowly towards the park benches.

“Is that...?” Chris asked softly, eyes scanning the area with almost nervous energy.

“Your daughter?” Helena spat. “Yes, Christian, Amy is your daughter, not that we would know that.” She hugged the thick jacket around her frame as she sat down.

“I told you then I could never be a father to her, or a husband to you. It does not mean I don’t care.”

“Oh really?” Sarcasm dripped from her words like venom.

He ran his hand across his hair and looked down, frustration tinged with aggravation as he looked at her. “And what would that mean precisely?”

“Where were you when we almost froze last winter, or the year before when we had no food?” Anger blazed in her hazel eyes as she regarded the man next to her.

“I didn’t know, Helena. Are you all right now?”

She sighed as she watched Amy run across the park and leap into the sandpit with all the exuberance only a four-year old could have. “What is it you want, Chris?” she asked wearily.

“I just wanted to see you, and Amy.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. How could she understand? How could she know of his battles, how he was trying to make the world better for them both, and that these small trivial hardships were designed by God to make them stronger. In his jungle only the strong lived, and to think the issue of his body would be too weak nauseated him. He watched his daughter as an ache grew up in his heart.

“Are you all right for money, Helena?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her anger was barely controlled. “And you needn’t bother with us anymore, Amy has a father and I a husband.”

“She is my child.” Christian stood, a dark storm brewing behind his eyes.

“By issue only, not by right! You gave that up when you left me at the Liverpool station in labour. So don’t ask now, Chris. It’s too late.”

“She will always be my child, Helena. You have no right to take her from me.”

“Take her? For Christ’s sake, Chris, she doesn’t even know you! You’ve never been here, never cared, never showed up even when she was born. There is more to fathering than fifteen minutes of pleasure.” Helena stood and began to walk away. “We have a life, a safe life full of love and joy. Don’t you dare interfere with that, I’ve worked too long and hard to be denied our life!” Helena warned as she gathered her child to her and headed towards the parked cars.

Christian stood watching as they left and took a keen interest in the man who stood by the car that they got in to. For a moment the other man stood, his eyes boring into Christian’s and then he turned, and walked away. Not before he had memorized the license number of the little silver escort. A simple call to his office confirmed the name they now lived under.

“Helena Jillian Murphy,” he said softly, “and Amy Ann Murphy!” He slapped the steering wheel of the Jaguar in frustration. “My child will not be raised by a damned CI5 dog!” he spat as the tyres squealed and he pulled into the stream of traffic.