The last thing Illya expected to see, as he drove back from another successful assignment, was a heavily pregnant woman in the middle of the road; especially miles from any town. Given her size, the Russian could easily have believed she'd gone beyond her third trimester. He brought his car to a stop behind, what he presumed, was her vehicle.
"Are you okay?"
"The babies are coming," she gasped. "And my car has broken down."
Illya quickly helped the woman, who introduced herself as Lucinda Benoit, into the back seat of his car, and drove as fast as he thought safe. After about twenty minutes, Mrs Benoit screamed for him to stop.
"You have to deliver the babies," she told him. "They won't wait any longer."
Illya Kuryakin had faced death, destruction and torture, and would have gladly faced any of them again, if it meant not having to be in his current situation.
"I . . I don't know how to do that," he stuttered.
"Me neither, so we'll learn together."
"What about your husband?" Illya asked, desperately trying to find a way of avoiding the inevitable. "I sure he wouldn't want a strange man looking at his wife's . . uh . . intimate area."
"Right now, I wouldn't care if the whole of congress were looking, just get back here and help me get my underwear off."
"Okay, I'll just be a minute."
There was no real way of being discrete, so Illya openly took out his communicator and called HQ. He gave them his location and situation, before asking for medical assistance to be called. The word 'urgently' was uttered with emphasis. With extreme reluctance, Illya moved to the back seat, and slowly lifted Mrs Benoit's purple dress.
An hour later, the requested medical assistance wasn't quite so urgent, as Mrs Benoit had given birth to twin boys. Illya sat, holding one of them, and was grinning madly. He'd never felt such an overwhelming sense of rightness. Throughout his whole life, he'd witnessed more suffering and death than anyone should. To play a part in life beginning was simply incredible.
"What names have you chosen for them?"
"Christophe and Henri. My husband is French," she explained. "They will need middle names. May I ask your full name?"
"I would be very honoured if you named them for me, but it wouldn't be a good idea to give them Russian names in America."
"That's for me to decide."
He told her his full name, and explained about his patronymic. Before anything could be said, an ambulance arrived, along with a midwife. Illya got out of the way so she could check over the new mother and her tiny children.
"And who do we have here?" she asked Mrs Benoit.
"This is Christophe Illya Benoit and Henri Nickolai Benoit."
Without saying a word, Illya used the commotion to quietly slip away. As he carried on with his own journey, he wondered if he would be blessed with children one day. He smiled at the thought. The odds were against him, but at least he would always have the knowledge that his name would be remembered by someone.