A/N: I do not own The Cal Leandros novels. They belong to Rob Thurman. All kudos to her.

I was hesitant to post this, as it is pure conjecture on my part. But then I decided it's fan-fiction; I might as well toss in a little made-up fun.

As for the same last name...maybe they were cousins. :| (It happens. Some people aren't so picky.) Or briefly married. I don't know. You can decide.

Well, this has become a blatantly AU piece...

So I decided to put it here instead, and its sister chapter, so everything is all organized.

When Niko stopped and stared at the newspaper on the bar, I knew something was up. Even moreso when he picked it up, pulled a page out, and folded it up to stash it in his coat pocket. All this mid-meeting with Robin and Promise about a client who wanted their garden cleared of gnomes. Robin blinked, Promised raised an eyebrow, but Niko slid right back into the discussion as if it hadn't even happened. So we all said nothing, and we went on with the meeting, arranged dates to talk to the client, so on, so forth.

I, however, had the perfect opportunity to corner him later, when he pulled the paper out of his pocket and snipped an article out of it. I almost teased him about coupon-clipping, but then I read the bold black lettering on the top: 'Obituaries.' Not coupons for tofu, then.

"Nik?"

Niko glanced up at me, then silently passed me the clipping. For a moment I read it as 'Niko Leandros' and my heart damn near stopped. Then I realized it wasn't Niko's name, but a 'Nikolas.' It was a short terse entry, born this day, died this day, left behind family, yadda yadda. I looked up at him, puzzled. "Leandros. Any relation?"

Niko took the clipping back, newspaper ink staining his calloused fingertips. "Yes. My father."

For a moment I felt sucker-punched. I didn't know what to say. "How do you know?"

"Nikolas." Niko smiled faintly. "He called me 'little Niko.' He had an older son, Bethos."

That was...a lot more than I'd known. Niko had only said he'd met his father twice, and hadn't said any more. I'd figured it hadn't been a good relationship. Our relationship with Sophia certainly hadn't been. "So you've got another brother out there?" That gave me an unsettled feeling.

"No. I only have one brother."

Niko smiled at me and got to his feet. I followed him down the hall and into his room. He opened a dresser drawer, and took out an old shoebox. I recognized that box; it had traveled with us for a long time. It had a few pictures in it, some assorted crafts I'd made, a shiny pebble I'd once given to him, a stack of letters rewarding Niko's academic excellence, and several certificates of various importance, from college degrees to martial arts awards. All of Niko's life mostly unrelated to me fit in one shabby cardboard box, from back when they'd made shoe boxes to last forever.

He rifled through the box with expert fingers, not disturbing the stack in the least, and withdrew a single photo. He held it out to me.

I took it, curiously. It was an old Polaroid, faded so red and browns stood out more than the blue sky. It showed a blonde man sitting on the steps of an RV. His hair was in a long ponytail, his face was weathered olive-tanned, and he wore scarred leather workboots. Sitting at his feet was a blonde toddler holding onto a tiny baby with black hair. I blinked. The man - it was and wasn't Niko, and I knew then the child had to be Niko sitting there so gravely, not even smiling, holding me.

Niko took the photo back, paired it with the obituary, and put it away. "He wanted to take me from Sophia, but I wouldn't leave you. That was the last I saw of him."

"How old were you?" I asked, curiously.

"Five, I think," Niko answered, as he closed the box and put it away again.

Five years old, with a baby brother to take care of, and he'd stayed in hell with me. For a monster. I shook my head, and felt a little small. Humbled. "That settles it. Your priorities have always been screwed."

Niko chuckled. "That remains to be seen, little brother. I believe you left some dirty dishes in the sink..."

I grimaced. I didn't want to wash those, I'd been hoping he would.