Due to running unusually late, Illya was distracted as he left his apartment, so did not see the young man until he ran headlong into him.

"I'm sorry...," he started to say, but faltered when he got a good look at the man.

He was younger than Illya, but had the same blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Izvinite, vy Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin?" (Excuse me, are you Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin)

"Da," Illya replied, his suspicious nature kicking in. "Ya Illya Nickovitch." (Yes, I'm Illya Nickovitch.)

"Nakonets-to!" the stranger exclaimed, with a relieved smile on his familiar face. "Ya Alexey Nickovitch Kuryakin. Ya tvoy brat." (Finally! I'm Alexey Nickovitch Kuryakin. I'm your brother.)

Illya's mind almost shut down. It simply wasn't possible for the younger man to be his brother.

"Chto za shutka?" he asked. (Is this a joke?)

"Nyet," the man claiming to be Alexey asserted. "Eto pravda." (No. It's the truth)

Illya held the stranger with an icy glare while he tried to formulate a reply. Failing to come up with anything, which was unusual for him, he settled for punching the man hard in the face. He then turned on his heel and stormed back into his building.

Half an hour later, Napoleon Solo arrived at his partner's apartment following a mysterious summons. The Russian had sounded quite distraught. Given that Illya rarely let his emotions get the better of him, Napoleon knew something serious was going on. As he walked up to the main doors, he was struck by how much a man leaning against the wall looked like Illya. The fact he was nursing a bloody nose gave Solo some inkling that the man and Illya's summons were linked.

With the key his partner had entrusted to him, Napoleon let himself into the building and Illya's apartment. He found the Russian pacing the main living area in a very agitated state.

"Did you see him?" He demanded of the American.

"If you mean the bleeding man who looks like you, then yes. Who is he?"

"Do you remember I told you about my brother Alexey?" He asked, continuing to pace.

Napoleon did remember. It had been one of the few times Illya had talked about his childhood

"He died of influenza when he was two. You were about six at the time."

"That's right," Illya confirmed. "The man outside claims to be him."

Napoleon placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder and guided him to sit down. To his immense shock, Illya was trembling. Whether it was through anger or fear, Solo didn't know.

"I really don't want to ask this Tovarisch," he began hesitantly. "But, are you certain Alexey died. You were very young."

Illya was immediately back on his feet.

"Of course I'm certain," he yelled. "I may not have been old enough to understand, but I remember the funeral and my parent's grief."

"Okay, okay," Napoleon placated. "I'm just trying to cover the basics. How do you want to play this?"

"I want to kill this man for stirring up ghosts."

"How about I just bring him up here and we can take it from there."

Illya gave the senior agent a curt nod of assent.

"Okay, you just continue wearing a groove in your floor and I'll go fetch him."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUM

Out on the pavement, Napoleon found the man still leaning against the wall. It really was uncanny how much he resembled Illya. They were even similar in height. Solo, however, was never one to take anything at face value. He knew THRUSH were very adept at plastic surgery and lifelike masks and, if this was a plot to snare his partner, it was a very cruel one. Of course, the man could very well be who he said he was, but it was up to him to prove it.

"Mr … er … Kuryakin?"

"Da." (yes)

"Vy govorite po-angliyski?" (Do you speak English?) Napoleon could understand basic Russian, but he doubted he'd be able to keep up with an in-depth discussion between two native speakers.

"Yes, I do," the stranger replied. "Should I know you?"

"I'm Napoleon Solo," the America informed him. "I work with and am a friend of Illya. Apparently you're his brother, his dead brother."

"Illya is my older brother, and I can explain everything, if he'll let me."

Napoleon told him Illya was waiting for him upstairs and was ready to listen. He also asked him to keep using English for his benefit.

"But be warned Mr Kuryakin, Illya doesn't take well to being played."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUM

Illya was still pacing when the two men entered the apartment. Apart from a quick glance to acknowledge his presence, Illya kept his eyes turned away from Alexey.

"Illusha…" Alexey started to say, but was cut off by Illya.

"Don't call me that!" The older Russian snapped, without looking at the man. "Even if you do turn out to be my brother, you don't have the right to address me that way."

"You want me to call you Illya Nickovitch? Isn't that a little too formal?"

"Illya will be fine, and until I can prove otherwise, I shall address you as Alexey. Don't ever expect me to call you Alyosha."

From a chair in the corner, Napoleon watched everything as it played out. To anyone who wasn't aware of Russian culture, the whole conversation about names would have seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere. Solo knew differently. He was well aware of how important it was to distinguish between formal, informal and familiar forms of address. Illya was laying down the rules early. He was warning the younger man that he would not be getting too close, too quickly.

"So tell me who you really are Alexey," Illya demanded, still refusing to face the other man. "My brother died, a long time ago."

"I didn't die." Alexey said, as softly he could. "I was the fourth child. Mama and Papa simply couldn't afford to take care of me, so I was given to a childless couple several miles away. My adoptive mother told me shortly before she died. I set about looking for my birth parents, my sisters and my brother. Unfortunately, I found that you are the only one left. There is no-one living who can verify the truth."

Illya finally turned to look at his 'brother'. The look in his eyes could have frozen the core of the sun

"I will investigate this myself," he announced. "Napoleon, I shall need to take some leave."

"Not a problem Tovarisch," Solo said, with a warm smile. "With your permission, I'll tell Mr Waverly what is happening and I shall take some leave with you."

"Napoleon, I cannot ask you to…"

"You don't need to ask Chum. You've done it for me often enough. It's time to repay the favour."

Illya allowed a small smile to pass over his lips. It was gone by the time he turned back to Alexey.

"Imey v vidu, yesli ty lzhesh' - ya tebya ub'yu." (Keep in mind, if you're lying, I'll kill you)

To be continued…