Scholar stared at the stars beyond the one-way pane of glass that was the lone window to her quarters in the most secret section of Area 51 ...stared and bemoaned the fact that the constellations that surrounded this tiny blue planet were becoming as familiar to her as those seen from her home world...a world that she knew she would not see again. She knew that as well as she knew the reason why. Governments changed, but attitudes did not. Her people, dying as a species though they might be, were proud, too proud to admit that there was a problem; something they would have to do if she returned with news of her research and of experiments that had failed. The peace of the public mind was more important than truth -most of her people still believed that. Even her Overlord, it seemed. So foolish.

Scholar considered the gift she had bequeathed to the offspring of her two most prized test subjects -it was the gift of thousands of years' worth of her people's knowledge: their culture, their history, their arts, their science. Especially their science. She hoped that their parents would guide them well and that they would not only grow as intelligent as they had been engineered to be...

...but that they would be wise as well.

********************

"My dear Dr. Egret, if *I* can keep a reasonable pace, so can you."

Dr. Egret answered Justin Sepheran's taunt with a slew of unladylike expletives that matched her ill-temper. She was hot, she was irritable, and the air in this jungle was as thick and unbreathable as soup. From the moment she and her cohort in THRUSH had awoken, she had cursed the aliens, hoping that they would be consigned to whatever Hell that extraterrestrials went to...and she had yet to run out of hateful steam. It was a rancor that continued to grow every time she thought about the moment their befuddled memories had cleared and they had become aware of the nature of the aliens' punishment...and it was far worse than having dumped them in the steaming jungle, miles from civilization.

Their extraterrestrial "friends" had a perverse sense of humor.

Sepheran forged ahead through the thick foliage, belly as large as that of an eight-month pregnant woman...no...not just *like* a pregnant woman. He *was* pregnant, but not by the seed of either of the UNCLE agents -he was pregnant by *hers*. That was the other part of their punishment -what they had done to her, after the original sperm sample had failed ...she who had always laughed at Freud's theory that all women suffer from "penis envy" now actually had-- "Sepheran! Stop this instant! We talk -*now*!"

"About *what*!" Face flushed and damp with sweat, Sepheran thumped down onto a fallen tree trunk. "In case you hadn't noticed, we don't have much time before nightfall and before then, I would *prefer* to get to--"

"*Where*!? To the nearest THRUSH base, hmn?" the "good" doctor snapped. "*Look* at me. Hell, look at *you* -a man who is going to give birth like a woman! Do you have any idea of what THRUSH sciences would do to freaks like us!"

"What *you* would have done under other circumstances, no doubt," Sepheran snarled. The THRUSH agent's shoulders slumped, suddenly tired, as he dashed the sweat from his eyes. "Look...I have certain personal allies not far from here -they don't ask questions. They can get us to the right people. Some of this," and he gestured between himself and the doctor, "can be fixed -hidden. THRUSH needs not know."

"You included me," Egret retorted without quite as much venom as was her wont. "I'm almost touched."

"You *should* be," Sepheran said with a groan as he pushed himself to his feet, "but I would prefer that you not read too much into it, my dear. It isn't like we are engaged--" Sepheran stopped with a gasp, eyes wide as he clutched at his expanded waistline. "Oh my. I suspect that there might be a delay in reaching our destination."

Egret paled. She didn't want to ask, but she had to. "What is it!"

Sepheran flashed her a weak smile. "My water just broke."

********************

"A ruble for your thoughts."

Illya started slightly at the sound of Napoleon's voice, so deep in thought had he been. "Is that all they are worth?" he retorted, playing the game they played so well. A sigh of satisfaction escaped the Russian's lips as strong, warm arms gently encircled his narrow waist.

"Just wanted to learn what's going on in that busy head of yours," Napoleon replied, his voice low and warm as he nuzzled the mop of sweet-smelling golden hair. "You've been quiet...and I worry about my three favorite people, you know."

Three -his "three" favorite people. The concept still felt strange to the Russian UNCLE agent, but he was getting used to it. In a large, old-fashioned crib (donated by Mrs. Waverly) two tiny girls lay dreaming, both practically buried by the matching cotton-candy pink sleepers that they wore. Galina whimpered softly in her sleep, but settled down as Napoleon reached over and gently drew a finger through the dusting of flaxen hair. Jessamy also stirred, partly opening pale eyes that showed no sign of darkening as babies' eyes often do. No, their brown-haired girl would have eyes of the same crystalline blue as Illya. She settled and drifted off almost as quickly. "You have the magic touch even with these ladies," Illya murmured, bemused.

"But of course -as if you could ever doubt it." The famous mega-watt Solo smile faded slightly. "Illya -talk to me."

Illya met his partner's fudge-dark eyes and saw the wealth of love and concern there. He could also read Napoleon's fear; that having after agreeing to live together, here in Napoleon's much larger apartment, and to raise their unique daughters also together, that his Russian was on the verge of panic and flight...at least, from him. Illya sighed. "My Polya, things are not going to be easy."

"If it's about the size of our apartment, my Aunt Amy has offered--"

"Nyet, nyet...it is not that." Illya sank back against his lover's broad chest. "I know that I vowed not to give up my career in UNCLE, but..." There was a deeper sigh. "I was orphaned as a child. The longer an agent remains in the field, the greater his chances of not returning. I *know* Mark and April would do right by Galina and Jessamy should the worst come to pass, but I-- I will *not* chance making our daughters orphans -I cannot."

"I understand."

Illya turned in Napoleon's arms, facing him. "You do?"

"Uh huh..." Napoleon tilted his forehead to meet Illya's shaggy blond mane. "It might interest you to know that I have *brains* as well as exceptional good looks." He heard a muffled chuff of laughter against his chest. "So, listen to my suggestion -Mr. Waverly's too, actually."

"What suggestion?" The Russian regarded the American uncertainly. "When did Mr. Waverly make a suggestion?"

"Ah-ah...hear me out first." Napoleon tightened his embrace. "First, we agree to move into the penthouse apartment that my dear aunt has offered us -after all, growing children need lots of room- and then-n-n-n... we accept Mr. Waverly's request for us to fill two of the newly-opened positions in Section One. It's not as exciting as fieldwork, I know, but we can still make a difference in the world our little ones are going to have to grow up in. So...what do you think?"

Pouty lips curled with the beginnings of a smile. Dratted American -had everything worked out, didn't he? Napoleon was often too smart for his own good -and it would only make his already enormous ego swell all out of proportion to agree too readily. "I tell you what," Illya said finally, "I shall let you 'convince' me."

"I'll certainly do my best." The American grasped the Russian's smaller hand, guiding his unresisting partner out of their daughter's room towards their own.

Epilogue:

It was his first mission for THRUSH; a chance to prove himself and join their elite ranks. His job -to prove or disprove the rumors that had reached Central; that agents Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were cohabiting and more, that they both had custody of children...a situation with all the potential of providing means to control UNCLE's premier agents through blackmail or kidnapping.

He rappelled down the side of the building, the night hiding him from prying eyes, nearing bullet-proof windows that belonged to Napoleon Solo's apartment, a camera at the ready. Maybe, he thought gleefully, he could do better than just take pictures...maybe he could grab one of the little brats if they were there. *That* would get Central's attention.

Within, two tiny form wriggled, wakening, troubled by what they knew not...but it was bad. Not the two that loved and held them. Something *very* bad. Eyes of chocolate and eyes of blue snapped open, instinct making them try to focus on what still-weak infant eyes could not see. The bad thing. The bad thing that had to go away.

Without, above the would-be THRUSH operative where he had secured his cable, a skillfully twisted knot unwound itself, the cord pulled by invisible fingers. He didn't get his prey or his pictures -he didn't even have time to scream as his safety cable threw itself over the side of the building and he fell twelve storeys.

Within, two tiny babes slept like angels.

---fini---