'Lo artless child,
Thou art the cumulation of days under the lash,
And yet still you look at me with eyes of wonder,
Of innocence that you should not feel,
And the counterpoint to this malignance is this:
How easily I understand you.'

Illya closed the small floral journal in his hands and looked back over at his sister as she rested in the chair. Napoleon was nothing less than animated, adoring her in ways he could only imagine.

"Illya?" the soft cadence of her voice calmed him and he closed his eyes briefly. His life was a series of moments, things he would remember until he died and these things defined him. He concluded that Anaya was one of those moments, too rare and beautiful like a fractured dove that radiated a peace over him he longed to feel.

"Da."

"Have you finished reading my journal?" she teased lightly.

"Your poetry is getting better, lubeouf, melancholy but better." He smiled and opened his eyes to find Napoleon watching him intently.

"High praise indeed!" Anaya's laugh was quicksilver. "So since I'm all packed I assume we will leave soon yes?"

Illya looked down at his watch, unwilling to break the moment or loose the solace that swirled around him, if only momentarily. "Yes, soon."

"Am I to stay with you?" she was nine again in his eyes, face beguiling and adoring in the same instance and his heart warmed.

"Actually, Illya is staying with me, and there is only one room. I doubt you'd be comfortable."

She shrugged and golden curls bounced on her shoulders. "I would be with my brother."

"I'm not sharing a bed with you." Illya grinned and walked towards her.

"I should think not." Napoleon chastised.

"No you're right, he kicks." Anaya intoned and looked up.

Instinct honed from years of association with women had Napoleon reach down to scoop Anaya into his arms and carry her to the car. Illya reached out and stopped his hands from making contact.

"Illya carries me." Anaya smiled and softened the blow.

"But of course." And with a gracious bow he moved away and made room for his partner.

In an almost fluid movement Illya stooped and stood with her in his arms, a light kiss planted on her forehead as he cradled her to his chest. It was a sight and aspect that Napoleon never considered. This was a side he seldom if ever saw, the gentle touches, the comfort of home and the ease with which his heart beat as he talked softly in Russian to his sister. Small inconsequential things about the flowers, her classes, the colour of her hair, and it was not to the woman that the roguish American's eyes travelled but to the broad shoulders and strong arms that bore her. The proud tilt of jaw, the large hands that tucked her so gently into the car, the thick finger that traced the side of her face as he handed her a pretty scarf that she covered her hair with.

He had been drawn to the female, because she had been safe, she was the female version of his partner, but he came back and found his eyes softened as he looked directly into powder blue.

The moment would echo with Napoleon for years, he knew with absolute clarity, what it was that he had missed and cursed himself for the fool he was. Illya stood before him, strong, proud, independent and safe. Napoleon turned to lock the door and with it pushed down the desire to fall into the well of comfort he knew lay before him and would never be denied. Not now, perhaps not ever, but knowing it lay beneath the surface of the man was enough to grant him hope.

He wasn't sure what stayed his steps the seconds longer, as Illya turned and fine leaves littered the sky around him, warm sunshine glinted off the car as Anaya smiled and it was as if time stood still. His heart beat echoed slowly and he felt himself smile as the first spray of bullets hit the stucco of the house and sent plaster flying. Anaya's faced contorted into terror as she sank down in the seat, Illya dropped beside the car, gun drawn. Napoleon saw his eyes close for a second and the peace was replaced with something far colder, far more sinister and this was the man Napoleon knew.

Whilst a part of him grieved for the loss, he was inordinately grateful for the catlike reflexes that pulled him to the ground and safety.

"Brown Lincoln, two men. Hurry get in." Words flashed and training bore the pain of isolation from him like a melancholy well, filled to overflowing with indignation as true pain lanced his shoulder and Illya pushed him down in the seat.

The car tore from the kerb, shattering the urban silence with a brutal blow as Illya opened the throttle on the car and powered the engine. The stark contrast to domesticity a shout of disapproval and anger. Corners were cut, hands clenched and eventually they slowed and Illya's face went white.

"Anaya?"

"Da." Her voice small but strong, relief flooded the fine patrician features as the Russian drew breath.

"Is it safe to come up now?"

"Nyet, stay down. Napoleon are you alright?"

The American nodded and felt the world tilt dangerously around him.

"Bozhe Moi! Your shoulder."

"Nicked me, looks worse than it is." Self consciously Napoleon plucked the linen handkerchief out of his pocket and wedged it against the wound.

"Local office?"

"Fifteen minutes away, Anaya, stay down." Napoleon looked over the back of the seat and she smiled back up at him, curiously enjoying the adrenalin that rushed through her system.

"There's a safe haven in Windsor Locks, but they are a relay station. Not equipped to deal with an armed assault."

"In that case I suggest we make the run for our office."

"At this time of day?" Illya looked incredulous. "It will take an hour, besides even if your shoulder is only nicked your likely to bleed to death before I get there."

"Pessimist." Napoleon grinned wolfishly. "Take US 1 and we'll change cars in Fairfield."

"Fairfield?"

"We have a gas station check point; we can swap cars and head in. In the meantime I'll alert HQ to the situation and organise things ahead of time."

Illya nodded. "Anaya are you hurt?"

"Nyet only cramped. You do this a lot?"

"Me personally no, Napoleon on the other hand seems to manage to always have a beautiful woman in a compromising position."

"Any idea why they are taking pot shots?" Napoleon asked quietly as he put the communicator away.

"Not yet."

And the promise in his voice left no room for doubt that he would find out and this time it was personal.

---

This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.