Round Robin 2, Part 26 (Robin's End)

by Kei


"We might as well start in here," Illya offered and then stopped short as snarling laughter began to resound off walls of circuitry and turned sharply to face his cousin. "Stupid child," Fyodr hissed. "Go! Gather my chemical brainchild from the warhead -and from wherever else you can find it in this base- but you will not win. You *cannot* win!" It was then that those
gathered, both UNCLE *and* THRUSH who were beginning to wonder just what they had bought into, saw the rivulets of blood that had begun to trickle from Fyodr's nose, and then his ears...and then his eyes. "You see, little cousin? You see 'Pierun'?  *I* carry the weapon in my body. *I* carry the weapon in my very blood because *I* am the hammer that will sunder this Light-tainted world!!"

Almost as one, UNCLE and THRUSH backed off from the bleeding dark priest. He was right -that they all knew. A single bullet might kill the body, but it would also hurl millions upon millions of deadly chemically-mutated microbes into the air where they would be carried on invisible currents and eventually all around a world that lay unsuspecting...not that it would matter if it did. This scourge had no cure...perhaps could not be cured. "You evil son of a-" Napoleon choked on the words. This couldn't be happening -not after all they been through. You'd willingly murder innocent billions!"

"A BILLION of billions if it would please my masters -and it WILL, 'friend' of Pierun. It will please them to see the world as it was before the dark was tainted by the Light. It will please them hear billions turn from their gods to beg mercy from the Darkness. It will please them to rule over a DAMNED world!" From some unseen place, all around them and nowhere at the same time, the chilling laughter of  absolute corruption echoed, growing ever louder. There was the snapping of metal as Fyodr suddenly raised his arms in profane supplication, the broken links of  his handcuffs hanging from his wrists, before he suddenly lunged and grabbed a gun from one of the stunned UNCLE agents and pointed it to his own temple. "Darkness, I bid thee welcome!"

"No." Illya Kuryakin spoke that one word alone and time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as a small object, sparkling and gold, suddenly hurtled through the air, thrown from his outstretched hand toward his cousin -and as the tiny torch that was the gold cigarette lighter that Napoleon had given him only days before hit black cloth, Fyodr screamed, loud and inhuman, as
that single spark impossibly became a blaze.

No-one interceded.

No-one tried to help.

No-one *dared* as flames of black and red began to consume the wailing figure which batted at the growing conflagration and yet did not move from that spot as though invisible hands bound him there. Maybe they did. The laughter had changed. It sounded now like that of children. Not understanding and not bothering to try, Napoleon Solo grabbed and pulled aside his partner who stood as though mesmerized by the conflagration despite the fact that his own clothing had begun to smolder. How..? This was *not* possible. An ordinary cigarette lighter could not have-

As if sensing his partner's thoughts, Illya allowed himself a vague smile and said, "Perhaps with faith...anything is possible...even miracles." With that the Russian crumpled bonelessly against the strong chest, Solo holding the limp form tightly as he slowly nodded, dark eyes riveted on the gradually diminishing pyre that no-one dared approach even now. Somehow, thanks to whatever higher power that had lent a hand, he knew that there would be little more left than ash...and no disease. "Amen to that, Lyubov," he whispered. "Amen."

"Yes, sir, we should be- Yes, all samples of the mutant contagion were destroyed... No ...no, the Russian government was more than co-operative -they wanted no part of it. Yes, sir -Mr. Kuryakin and  I are just fine.Yes, sir...we'll *both* be glad to get back. A week it is then, sir. Thank you. Close Channel D." Napoleon Solo sighed aloud as he set aside the communicator
pen. A week. A week hardly seemed enough time to recover from the horrors he and his partner had experienced -the improbable and the seemingly impossible -but that was all that Waverly was going to allow them.

Battle demonic forces and avert Armageddon one day, back to business the next -that was UNCLE.

One day, it would all make sense.

Maybe.

A muffled murmur to Solo's side alerted the agent to the fact that his partner was probably about to wake up. Sleep. Illya had been sleeping a lot  since their trial by fire -not that he could blame him for so had he. Sleep healed...and allowed one to begin to forget things that modern man generally didn't want to know -that there were things out there worse than the most
terrible human mind. But then again, there were also powers that there to help...at least, sometimes.

A small smile turned Napoleon's lips as he caressed Illya's smoothly muscled back. They had slept, but they had done other things too. He had feared that once the urgency of the past days had passed, that what he and Illya had experienced together in that curtained bed would pass with it -he needn't have worried. Should have known that the intensity of Illya Kuryakin's
loyalty could only be equaled by both  his passion and his love. "Was that Waverly?"

"Thought *you* were still asleep."

"Was," came the reply as Illya came to face his lover with a slight grin. "And now, I'm not. So..?"

"The 'Old Man' has given us a week to recover..."

"Most generous."

"And generally 'fool around'."

"Somehow, Napasha, I doubt Waverly meant *that*," the small Russian retorted, a still sleepy smile still on his face.

"Oh? I'll have you know that Mr. Waverly is a *most* progressive individual when it concerns his agents' welfare," Napoleon said with mock severity. "I'm *sure* he meant 'fool around'."

"Perhaps, but..." Illya regarded the senior agent with large, hopeful eyes. In the madness of battle, he had forgotten...but in the quiet aftermath, he had remembered something, his mind drawn to the "little one" of which Sergei had spoken when he had first returned to his homeland a seeming lifetime ago. Little one. A child he had never known. The child Sergei had hidden from those who would have used it against him. *His* child. "There is something I must tell you... I mean, would you mind if-"

"Yes, Illyusha," Solo murmured, placing a kiss on the high forehead. "I think that it's about time you finally met your son."

"How did you..?" Illya didn't bother to finish the question -how Napoleon had known about something he had never told him, he did not know for sure. What had the ancient text said -"twins of heart *and* mind"? Then again, maybe the elder agent just had his sources. It didn't matter. After all they had both experienced, he could accept both answers.

It was just a matter of faith...

...and a little love.
 
 

--The End--