Chapter One-"Don't You Dare Ever Call Me That Again!"

1975

Napoleon Solo was nervous. An unusual state for him, to be sure, but still… He had not seen Illya in nearly three long years, and he didn't know how his old partner would receive him. He wanted him back. UNCLE wanted him back…but after that last disastrous mission…and the horrid outcome for Illya, in all likelihood; Illya would never want to see him again. So, a few nerves were quite natural; and the flight to Virginia was spent in fear and self-doubt.

The betrayal of his partner had not been Napoleon's, but Illya never knew that. And Illya had paid the price…a terrible price. Disgrace; and dismissal. And now, after painstaking investigation on the part of UNCLE, the truth had been discovered, the traitor punished…and UNCLE had tasked Napoleon Solo with righting a terrible injustice.

Just finding Illya had taken months. He had finally been located in a small valley in the Ozarks. What he was doing there was anyone's guess. As a former member of the Soviet military, and the KGB, Illya Kuryakin was an expert at keeping his activities completely hidden from all surveillance of any kind, although there was apparently no technology anywhere around; no sign of any kind of civilization at all. No one could get close to his location. Several unsuccessful attempts had already been made.

At first, Napoleon had thought this odd, until he remembered Illya's family…his wife. And then it all made sense. Napoleon Solo was sure what he would find if he found Illya. When he found him. And he was equally sure, then, that Illya would never willingly return to UNCLE.

Through his contacts at the Alexandria office, Napoleon arranged to be dropped as near to Illya's last known location as possible. Living as he apparently did, Illya could be anywhere, the field agent had cautioned Napoleon. But Solo had a good idea that Illya didn't move around as much as was thought. He's a smart Russian, you see... Napoleon's heart twisted with grief at this familiar thought. How he missed his partner! He had grown to hate working alone, but had refused to work with any other partner. Not after what UNCLE had done to Illya…

1972

"After ten years together, partner?" Illya Kuryakin spat the word contemptuously. "You! You would do this to me? Be a party to this…this betrayal? I did nothing! I had nothing to do with that file, and you know it! You were there—you saw it all!"

As much as it hurt him, Napoleon hadn't seen what happened to the file. And he couldn't lie about it, even though he wanted to. The surveillance camera had shown Illya himself had taken the disk. The evidence was clear. And Napoleon wasn't in the room with Illya the whole time. Illya also knew that. He had begged a few minutes to go out and make a personal, private call. Napoleon knew about those calls. He knew about the special transmitter Illya had rigged so those calls couldn't be traced, and Napoleon knew why. But UNCLE didn't. And when they found both the file and the transmitter on Illya, and he refused to explain the transmitter to them…his guilt was obvious to everyone, except Napoleon. But neither agent could explain the presence of the file, a file so sensitive that it could have exposed all the Section Heads to mortal danger, had Kuryakin succeeded in removing it; as he very nearly had. Mr. Waverly was beside himself with grief, although as Section II Head he could not show it as he pronounced the next step…

Justice was swift within UNCLE, though not as harsh as within THRUSH. Illya Kuryakin, Section II, Number 2, was sent to be deprogrammed. His partner, the CEA, Section Chief, Section II, Number I accompanied him. Kuryakin was silent, until Napoleon whispered to him, "I am so sorry, my tovarisch…"

Blazingly cold blue eyes met despairing chocolate ones. "Don't you dare ever call me that again!"

The door closed between them swiftly.

And with that, Illya Kuryakin, UNCLE agent, was gone. When he emerged from the cubicle twenty minutes later, he was led through the maze of hallways, slightly dazed, and out through a doorway into the busy streets of New York City.

Within three days, he had disappeared completely. But at least, UNCLE's secrets were safe once again…or so they thought. The true betrayer, still within their ranks, laughed ironically, sighed with relief, and began to prepare the next move…

1975

As Solo hiked through the dense woods, he marveled at the beauty of his surroundings, while keeping a sharp eye out for traps. It would be just like his former partner to mine the area with booby traps or explosives. In fact, the utter peace and quiet of the area was unnerving the agent even more than any trip wire or bomb could have. At this realization, Napoleon smiled bitterly. Now that would be just like Illya's twisted sense of humor…

Napoleon knew very little of Illya's life before UNCLE, or much of anything of his past at all. The only things he had learned were on the rare occasions when Kuryakin had given him glimpses behind the steel walls he had built up around himself. His childhood had been extremely painful, and he had experienced the horrible loss of his family during the Nazi atrocities. He suspected Illya came from a noble background and wealth, though it had been ripped from the family during Stalin's brutal regime. He knew he was from the Ukraine. Oh, and there was the fact that he had served in both the Soviet Navy and the KGB, was now wanted by the KGB; had a death sentence issued if he ever returned to Russia; and had once burned down an igloo…though he had refused to discuss the finer details of that little caper.* Illya could be an interesting drinking companion when he wanted to be…

For years, not even Napoleon knew a thing about Maryam, his fiery Gypsy wife. They had been married for several years before he ever came to UNCLE. It was her ring he wore. Not a Rom custom, perhaps, but one that pleased her. She insisted that they both have rings made, and one of her uncles had immediately set to work. A narrow, plain gold band was fashioned for Illya, or Niko, as he was known to the tribe, as that was his Gypsy name—taken from his middle name, Nickovich, a family name—and a delicate gold filigree band was crafted for Maryam. They were married within days by the head of the tribe in a ceremony whose celebration went on for days. Illya never could drink vodka or Slivovitz alone with Napoleon without recalling those wonderful happy times. And no one else ever knew.

In fact, Napoleon recalled, the ring was a bone of contention within UNCLE, because his stubborn partner refused to remove it, regardless. He had defied orders as a recruit to remove all personal identification, or anything that could be used against him by an enemy, which included sentimental objects; i.e. the ring. When asked if it was a wedding ring, he was enigmatic and vague, as always, answering that it was a family heirloom. But he still refused to remove it, claiming it had been a promise he had made. The matter had been dropped after an icy stare-down, which Illya had won, hands-down. The only concession he had ever made, was to Mr. Waverly. He would move the ring to his right hand, on occasion, but only for him, out of his vast respect for his superior. And only when the issue was deemed imperative, which was rare indeed. This was the manner of man his partner was. This was why Napoleon knew Illya had not committed the crimes of which he was accused, and why he had spent the past three years tirelessly attempting to clear Illya's name. Justice was finally served, but he was not sure it would do any good now. His thoughts went back to his partner and his ring.

It had been removed from him under torture, but never under threat of torture. He would never allow it. Napoleon had seen him endure much worse pain than he would have received simply over the loss of the ring to his tormentors. Usually, it was removed only after he fell unconscious, or once, after his ring finger had nearly been severed from his hand.

Napoleon knew exactly why: though misplaced, the guilt Illya felt every time it happened ate at his soul. Several times the ring had been discarded or pocketed by his captors. And every time, either Illya himself if he was able, or Napoleon, if he was not, had gotten it back. Every time. And patiently, Illya would wait until he was restored to her, and then she would place it back on his finger…just as she had that very first time. Illya carried the scars proudly, as badges of honor to his hidden devotion.

Napoleon only knew because of a mission that had nearly ended Illya's life…when he had asked Napoleon to take his ring to Maryam, and to care for her as would a brother…but the Solo Luck had intervened in the persons of April Dancer and Mark Slate. But that was another story, and he and Illya had lived to fight another day. **

Eventually, Illya had found a way out of the Ukraine for the entire tribe. He never explained it to Napoleon. But he had found a way, and had taken them…somewhere. He would never tell anyone where he went during his time off. But now, Napoleon knew. He had brought his tribe, his family, here. He was one-fourth Rom himself, but Maryam was full-blood. Because he had married her, he was considered a full member of the tribe himself. It was his marriage, his calls to her using the transmitter that he had been protecting. Maryam was the reason he had accepted disgrace. She was the reason Napoleon had said nothing. She was part of the secret that had nearly destroyed the lives of both partners. The betrayal of Illya was the largest part.

Napoleon suddenly found his way blocked by several men, Gypsies, from the look of them, all armed. Their leader suddenly dropped from the tree in front of him and eyed him carefully. His youth surprised him, but the sharp blade at his throat convinced Napoleon not to move. The teenager nodded to one of the men, who tied Napoleon's hand behind him securely, then re-sheathed his dagger. The boy moved to get a better look at him. Napoleon did the same. Riotous curly black hair fell past his shoulders, but his sinuous, slight build and luminous blue eyes…Napoleon's own eyes widened. As his captors stared mockingly at him, the boy said something in to the others in Romany—and then, chin raised proudly, he smiled coldly, one eyebrow canted in a hauntingly familiar expression. There could be no doubt. Apparently, his enigmatic partner hadn't told him quite everything about Maryam. The proof stood before him, in the person of the seventeen-year-old son of Illya Kuryakin.

TBC

*A/N The fact that while in the Soviet Navy, Lt. Illya Kuryakin, assigned to the submarine Moskva, did in fact, burn down an igloo, is canon. It was alluded to by MGM as backstory for the press, but never, as far as I know, mentioned in the series itself. Please see "Lt. Kuryakin's Claim to Fame" by MLaw for an awesome treatment of this particular incident.

**This mission will be elaborated upon in another story, as will other aspects of Illya and Maryam's lives together.