Cold War/Hot Romance

A White Collar Fan Fiction

Disclaimer: White Collar is the property of Jeff Eastin and the USA Network. This story is intended solely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Author's note: I'm not sure if the disclaimer is completely necessary this time around, but since this story uses characters invented by one of Jeff Eastin's characters, it's better to be safe than sorry. And it's entirely possible I've lost my mind … or maybe just my grip on reality, but I like to think Mozzie would approve of this version of history.

Cuba, late 1961

Alvin strode purposefully through the white sand. He had no idea what was so important that they had to meet in the middle of the night, but when the summons came, it never crossed his mind that he wouldn't keep the appointment. He paused in the shadow of an abandoned fisherman's cottage to survey his surroundings. A quick flash of moonlight reflecting off glass caught his eye. He smiled as he headed towards the source of the reflection, his sandals slapping at his heels in an odd syncopation with the rhythm of the surf.

She stood next to a wooden pier clutching her awful, sensible shoes in one hand. Her other hand pushed her glasses up her nose – those dreadful, thick lensed, black rimmed glasses which were apparently all the Soviet Socialist Republics could provide their faithful servants. She didn't return his smile. This can't be good, Alvin thought.

"Alvin, we are in trouble, awful trouble," she said without preamble. A gust of salt-scented wind pulled at her brown hair, pulling several thick strands loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. She shoved them back with a shaking hand.

"Elise, what's wrong?" Alvin held her hand in both of his. His hands weren't shaking, but she was scaring him. He knew how much it took to scare a seasoned KGB agent.

"I'm pregnant," she said flatly. Her eyes scanned his face, watching for his reaction.

The reaction was hard to miss. His skin paled under his tanned complexion until it almost matched the white-blond of his hair. His blue eyes shifted away from her face, then back again.

"That can't be," Alvin said slowly. He looked away towards the moonlit waves.

"But it is," Elise said. "I have confirmed it," she continued, anticipating the question on his lips.

"You didn't go to a Russian doctor?" Alvin asked urgently.

"No, of course not. I went to a doctor in old Havana." Her eyes never left his face. "I paid him very well for his silence."

Well, thank God for that, Alvin thought. The ramifications of Elise's news made their way slowly through the sluggish synapses of his brain. "How did this happen?" he wondered aloud.

Elise's brown eyes sparked with anger. "Certainly, even your priggish, Victorian education explained the mechanics of procreation!" she snapped at him.

"Certainly, Comrade!" Alvin's anger met hers. "The bee visits the boy flower, than flies to the girl flower. The boy pollen mixes with the girl pollen – ." His head snapped back with the force of her angry slap.

"This is not the time for your stupid, thoughtless – !" Elise choked out.

"I know. I'm sorry, I know!" He reached for her, but Elise pulled out of the embrace. Stepping back, she stood rigid in front of him.

" I could end it," she said stiffly. "It wouldn't be difficult to do."

Alvin's gasp of shock sounded a lot like a moan. He grabbed her arm so tightly, she flinched in pain. He didn't pause, but pulled her towards him.

"My God, Elise! What are you saying? That's our child you're talking about. You're talking about murdering our child!"

"I know!" she sobbed. She fell against him and cried as if her heart was breaking. It was breaking.

The lovers remained in the darkness of the fishing pier, unmoving except for Elise's sobs and Alvin's clumsy attempts to pat her hair.

"What are we going to do?" Elise asked finally. "It will be in such danger. Our child." Her head was pressed against Alvin's broad shoulder, but he heard her all the same.

"You could defect," Alvin said hopefully. "You could ask for political asylum."

"Oh, I'm sure your government would be very pleased to have a KGB agent defect," she responded bitterly. "They would parade me in front of all the world like a performing dog. We would not have a moment to ourselves." Her hand went protectively to her still flat belly. "And what would happen to our child?" she whispered. "Even if I betrayed everything I believe in, it would be of no benefit to our child."

"God," Alvin said hoarsely. He watched the waves pound relentlessly at the beach. The tide was coming in. They didn't have much time.

"Alvin," Elise began, "would you defect to Russia?"

He looked down at her tear-streaked, miserable face, and knew his answer. "I can't," he said. "For all the same reasons you can't, I can't." She nodded wordlessly. She had known what he must say.

"We need to find a way to protect our baby," he said briskly. Alvin was a man of action. "We will find a way. How long can you hide the fact that you're pregnant?" he asked.

Elise looked at him in disbelief. "How do I know?" she snapped. "I've never been pregnant before!" She put up a hand to stop his apology. "For as long as I can," she assured him. "For as long as I need to."

"We'll find a way to keep him –" Alvin began.

"Or her," Elise interjected.

" – safe." he finished.

They stayed together for minutes more, watching the approaching tide.

Cuba, mid-1962

The tiny apartment was dark, airless, and smelled of cooking spices Alvin didn't recognize. The building had been constructed during the Colonial era; its walls were thick and soundproof. For that, he was extremely thankful. Alvin had never seen a child born, and he hoped he would never would again.

Elise's screams had filled the tiny room as their child – their son – pushed his way from her body. Now mother and son slept while the midwife cleaned up the remains of the birth. Alvin had been horrified when Elise calmly introduced him to the woman who would help bring their child into the world, but the old woman – stooped and toothless – had handled the event with calm efficiency. Both mother and child were fine.

A piercing cry startled the new father from his reverie. Alvin moved to take the baby from Elise's side, to let the tired woman sleep a little longer. She woke before he could reach them and shifted the baby to the crook of her arm.

"He's hungry," she said as she shifted, guiding the baby to her breast.

"We could let the woman – " he began hesitantly.

"No," Elise said firmly, "I want to do this. We have so very little time together." Her voice broke at the last minute. She turned her face away, pushing her glasses into position on her nose as she sniffled.

"I am so sorry, Elise." Alvin sounded hopeless, defeated.

"Stop it!" Elise scolded. "We agreed this was the best way." She looked down at her son. He looked back at her with dark eyes, almost as if he understood what was going to happen. "It is the only way to keep him safe. Is everything ready?"

Alvin's eyes shifted to the old midwife, who shuffled around the room putting things in order. Could they speak safely in front of her?

Elise's eyes followed him. "Don't worry," she assured him, "Hilda will not give us away. She has been well paid. And," Elise continued bitterly, "she finds our story romantic. Tragic, even."

Alvin snorted in response. "Yes, everything is ready. Silvia will take him into her family. With all of her children, no one will notice one more."

Elise shifted the baby to her other breast; the little guy seemed to have quite an appetite already. She cradled him protectively against her.

"It's okay." Alvin stroked at his son's downy head, while he tried to reassure the baby's mother. "Silvia is a kind, loving woman. She'll care for him the same way she cares for her own children. And he'll be raised a Communist," he added unhappily for Elise's benefit.

Elise sighed heavily, but made no comments. "And you have the documents I need?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," Alvin's answer was short and flat.

"I am sorry." Elise reached out her free hand to clasp his. "It is the only way." Alvin nodded in unhappy agreement. "I said I was undercover," she continued. "I must have something to justify my absence."

He jumped up suddenly and paced across the small room. "Elise, I'm betraying my country!" His voice was filled with pain.

"But you are saving your son."

Alvin turned to look at her. His eyes softened as he nodded in agreement.

"Come here." Elise held out her hand to him. "Join us. Let us make the most of the time we have."

Detroit, late winter 1963

It was much too warm for February, Alvin thought. It would probably snow like the dickens before the week was out. He shifted his position, careful not to disturb the basket next to him. His son looked up at him with dark, short-sighted eyes. He was so much like his mother – it hurt Alvin with a pain that was almost physical. He had to give the little guy up. Again.

Everything had gone so wrong! Governments and politicians, he cursed them all. Elise, rewarded for her undercover work, was sent back to the motherland. That had hurt, but both Alvin and Elise knew it was for the best. Silvia took their baby, loving and caring for him with her own children. His son was happy and healthy. Alvin stayed in Cuba, still working with the CIA. His duplicity hadn't been discovered, and he did what he could to make up for it.

But then Khruschev and Castro, and the Kennedy brothers and Sorensen took the world to the brink of nuclear war. Damn them all! The crisis was averted, barely, but Silvia was too scared to keep any ties to a U. S. citizen – especially a CIA agent. Terrified of being detained, Silvia gave up her adopted son. Now Alvin stood here on a street corner in Detroit with little Bernardo. He looked down at the basket again. He didn't think his son looked much like a Bernardo. Hopefully the little guy would have a better name when he was older.

Alvin watched carefully as a tall ,Negro man approached the church. A little girl with blonde curls walked along side him, clutching at his hand. The little girl stopped suddenly, and began to cry. The man – his name was Jeffries, Alvin knew – squatted down next to the girl. Jeffries put the book that was in his other hand down on the church steps so he could hug the little girl. Soon she was smiling again, as Jeffries wiped away her tears. He picked up his book and the couple went on into the church.

Alvin looked down at his son, then across the street at the church. From everything he could see, Jeffries was a kind, honest man – intelligent, well-read and caring. He would see that Bernardo – no, not Bernardo! – was loved and cared for. Alvin picked up the basket and strode purposefully across the street. He placed the basket on the top stair, close to the church door and out of the wind. Pulling a small, stuffed bear out of his coat pocket, Alvin placed it gently in the basket. He reached down, caressing his son's soft cheek with a big finger.

"Goodbye, little man," Alvin said in a choked voice. "Be strong, be smart." He hurried down the church steps and onto the sidewalk, ignoring the tears streaming down his face.

Manhattan, 2012

June and Mozzie pulled up to the curb in front of Hester's Storage in June's Jaguar. It probably would have been easier for them to just take the subway, but it always paid to make an entrance. It was the best way to intimidate their fellow bidders. The couple walked up the sidewalk with their heads together, planning their strategy and making sure they had their signals straight. Just as they walked inside, Mozzie said something and June threw her head back and laughed before she smacked him playfully in the shoulder. They entered arm-in-arm.

Across the street, a man watched their arrival. He was an older man; his hair was white, but he was tall and still fit. The blue eyes in his lined face seemed to take in everything that happened up and down Pearl Street, but they were especially focused on Mozzie. He smiled in satisfaction.

"Good going, little man," Alvin said. "Good going."