Being married was probably a mixture of infuriating and amusing, Napoleon concluded. In the space of an hour, Gaby had managed to make him want to giggle at her antics as she played her role, and then five minutes later want to jump in the fountain -which looked only about 6 inches deep- and simply drown the next as she reminded him painfully that he was simply not allowed to do what he did best. Flirt. It was part of his modus operandi, and he found that marriage was very very crippling to that.

...until, suddenly it shifted. Like an emergency power system, Napoleons mind found a way to make it work, and he found Gaby to be a much better partner to bounce off than he'd had in the past. She hung on his arm at times, playfully commenting that she had to keep an eye on him, and wordlessly showing him that even in this situation one could charm much better as a team.

It was almost a pity, he thought, that she hadn't been able to do more in Italy.

The excited sounds of the young man that Gaby had allowed to flirt with her a little while before came to his attention, his insistent chattering to a very short head as he moved through the people almost puppylike.

"Now darling, our love is about to be tested." Napoleon said to Gaby, earning an amused look from her as she tried to sip on champagne.

"Whatever do you mean?" She replied, looking around the room as if Illya was coming. Now he felt bad for bringing it up.

"Arthur Howard is returning, and we know how you wandered off last time. You know how I get when you leave me alone."

Gabys face fell slightly but she covered it up with a chuckle. "Well, I'll have to make sure I don't do that won't I?" She replied, looking to where the young man and his companion were. About ten feet. "Though I think you're more in danger with who he's brought."

Napoleon followed her gaze, and landed upon one of the prettier women in the room. She wasn't as tall as he liked, but she had an elegance, and an air of confidence combined with large eyes that would drew probably any man in. All factors which made her just the type that he always managed to get in trouble with. Gaby was right, he was definitely in more danger.

She returned his look with one of exasperation towards Arthur, her glance flickering across the room briefly before she put a smile on her face, and approached with a hand extended toward Gaby with introduction.

...he knew that smile.

"Margaret!" Waverley, who had previously been in deep conversation with the Earl himself and forgotten about his agents for a moment. "How lovely to see you, dear. It's a very nice party, I can see you put a lot of...political thought into it."

"Thank you, Alexander, I do try." Margaret replied with a chuckle, turning her smile on Napoleon. "Jonathan Drake, I presume? My brother only had the manners to introduce me to your wife, I'm afraid. He said you're in some sort of business?"

Click. Illyas photograph of the woman with the Blackwood case, albeit a few years older and without a haunted look in her eyes . What a coincidence.

"Yes well-" Napoleon started and stopped motioning to where Arthur was ceaselessly talking to Gaby who sighed. "Is he always like this?"

Margaret shook her head and rolled her eyes. "He only gets like this when he's excited and nervous-would you like some help?"

It couldn't hurt. "If you would be so kind." Napoleon replied, flashing Margaret a disarming smile...

But instead of charming her, she only raised a brow, giving a hum of disapproval before she gently tugged on Gaby's arm. "Arthur, don't monopolize. I do believe Alexander had a reason in bringing them?" She looked toward the man expectantly but he was once again in conversation. "Alexander."

"Hmm? Oh! Yes right." Waverley laughed to himself. "I thought I'd bring them around to meet Findley, heaven knows he needs more business ventures and Jonathan here is a wonderful opportunity."

Margaret hummed. "Well in that case maybe we ought to introduce them to him?" There was a skeptical look in her eyes, Napoleon observed. "Father, do you mind me snatching your companions for a bit?"

The Earl shook his head, said his goodbyes to Waverley, and took Arthur somewhere to discuss some other matters... at Margaret's insistence.

Detaching herself from Gabys side, she threaded her arm through Waverleys, quiet tones barely heard between them and Napoleon and Gaby in the back.

"She doesn't sound happy." Gaby whispered to him as she threaded her own arm through his. "Do you think she knows why we're here?"

"Impossible." Napoleon answered. "Unless she's psychic, which I highly doubt."

Gaby lightly smacked him. "This isn't a joke. I think she suspects something." Margaret turned to look at them briefly before turning toward Findley Howard. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Napoleon."

"It's going to be alright." He assured her, a hand on top of hers. "I'm sure that even if she does know, she's the type that can be reasoned with."

"How do you know that?"

Napoleons gaze shifted to where Illya was, the Russian making his way into the house.

"Call it a feeling."


There was something more homey to the inside of the house, and Illya briefly wondered just how much influence Margaret had over the decorations. The antiquity of the house reminding him greatly of the rooms in Blackwoods house that she was proud of lavishing her attention upon...

Focus.

With the distraction of the party outside, Illya was able to move about in relative ease, searching behind several doors for whatever resembled an office. The target doubtless had one, and in an office he had to have paperwork, either to damn or clear him. All that mattered was that Illya find it.

And after about five minutes more he found what he was looking for. A large room, ornate and impressive, and against one wall stood a deep mahogany desk, with a portrait of a woman who looked much like Margaret hanging high above the desk. Approaching the desk in a few strides, Illya could confirm that it was indeed Findley Howards desk, letters addressed to him laying out disheveled.

With an eye on the door, he began his search.

There was little of use to Illya on Findleys desk: political letters, a few personal, several business, a note from a jeweler. Nothing which pointed toward THRUSH, the USSR, or any other questionable organizations. It seemed like a dead end.

He was running out of time, there was no doubt that eventually someone would enter the room. He looked at the desk, knowing that there had to be something he was missing-what man of influence didn't have a safe? His search shifted from paper to metal, and it didn't take long to sift through and find a small key in the bottom of a drawer. Only question was: where did it belong?

The sound of running feet approached the door quickly, and before Illya could react a child threw open the door, flew in, and shut it quickly with a click of the lock.

Illya counted himself lucky it wasn't an adult... until the little girl, not more than six, turned around.

"Who are you?"

Illya tucked the key into his pocket. There were pros and cons to this.

"Are you a friend of Uncle Finns?"

"Yes and no." Illya answered. "I do not know your uncle personally..."

"Are you a friend of mummys then?"

Mummys? Although the first thought in Illyas head was more Egyptian in nature, It took a moment, but Illya cataloged the black ringlets framing the girls face, her age, and the fact that she called the target 'uncle'. "...Rosie?"

Her eyes brightened. "You know my name?

"Your mother mentioned you." Illya replied. She'd grown so much. The babbling baby who smiled so easily had turned into a little girl, who apparently still was fond of smiling as she bounded up with a grin.

"Mummy mentioned me?" Her excitement was so innocent, it brightened his heart. "What did Mummy say?"

Illya lowered himself to her height as much as he could, a gentle smile on his face as his memory went back several years to a conversation he only now remembered in snippets. And so, with sincerety and fondness he relayed it: "She told me you were a very happy little girl, very 'giggly' I believe she called it." It was not as detailed as he recalled Margaret was, leaning over her crib, a hand on her cheek as she tried to sleep, but he didn't think the rest would be suitable for a reply.

Rosie didn't seem to mind as she giggled in response. "I am!" She exclaimed with glee. "Uncle Teddy says I'm just like mummy when she was my age."

"Your uncle would know." Illya replied, trying to picture a young Margaret running about without a care. An image he'd never seen, for even in the times she was relaxed there was a shadow over her head.

"Why are you in Uncle Finns office?" Rosie suddenly asked, her head tilting to the side.

Illya looked around the room momentarily. He didn't want to lie, an odd desire given his profession, but it still was there, and with her eyes looking so wide and accepting he felt it simply wasn't the right thing to do. "I'm looking for something."

Rosie's little face became very serious. "What?"

He hesitated for a moment, then removed the key from his pocket, holding it up for her to see. "I'm trying to help your Uncle Finn, there are some bad men trying to get him in trouble." He prefaced, motioning to the key. "Do you know what this goes to?"

"Uncle Finns cupboard, It's where he hides sweets for when we're good." Rosie answered with a nod, pointing to a cabinet. Illya walked toward where she pointed, the small key fitting perfectly. "Does Mummy know Uncle Finn is in trouble?"

"I don't know." Illya answered with a sigh, swinging the doors open. "I've not been able to speak to your mother about it." He found some papers, giving them a quick search through. Deeds, contracts, taxes... nothing. He closed it in confusion. Nothing?

"Did you find it?" Rosie asked, and Illya replaced the key to where it belonged with a 'no'. "...perhaps mummy has what you're looking for? I know she keeps some things safe for Uncle Finn. I hear them talking sometimes, something about birds."

Of course. "Thrush?" Illya tried.

Rosie shrugged. "I don't remember."

Coming around from the desk, Illya approached Rosie. "Thank you, Rozushka." He said, holding out his hand to her. "I-"

"Rosalind Anne, open this door at once!" A shrill voice suddenly came from the other side of the door, the handle jingling with impatience.

Rosie gasped. "It's Miss May!"

"Who?" Illya inquired, but her little hand was tugging at his with urgency. "Where are we going?"

"Come on!" She led him to a bookcase against the wall, her hand disappeared behind the books before something clicked and the wall moved, the child pulling Illya through the opening before shutting it behind them.

Illya found it endearing, she was definitely her mother's daughter


She was playing with him, a twenty-three year old woman playing hide and seek in the middle of a city. Though he could appreciate her desire to leave the confines of the manor, to get away from the smothering household and husband, he didn't like that she had decided to go off on her own without him.

Didn't she know he was there to protect her? How could he do that if he had no idea as to where she was?

Besides that, Elliot would surely kill him for losing track of her.

боже мой.

The sound of giggling as he rounded the corner into the square met his ears, and he followed it, hoping that it was Miles' laughter he heard and not some random child.

Turned out it was some random child.

Why did she have to do this? Things were going quite well...

The last place to look would be the shops, if she wasn't there then that left open another possibility, one he felt very uneasy to think of. Elliot Blackwood had many enemies, and while he wasn't the best of husbands, Illya was fairly certain he was better than those he did business with. The very thought of Margaret and Miles in the hands of worse men...

"Viktor! Viktor!"

Alert. Adrenaline. The childs voice was unmistakably Miles', and he moved quickly to where it was, prepared for whatever may meet him, scenarios playing in his head as to just what he'd find. Whoever laid a hand on-

He stopped short, looking in confusion as Miles waved happily from the steps of a shop, smiling widely. He blinked, watching as the boy jumped off the step toward him and catching him just in time.

"What took you so long? I've been waiting for-eva."

There was no danger. No reason for action. Though his heart still thudded in his chest with vigor, his limbs ready to spring into attack, there was no cause. The boy in his arms was perfectly fine, and looking through the window, so was his mother.

"I got lost." He mumbled back, climbing the steps to go in.

Margaret was smiling in greeting, though her brows pinched in confusion as she took in his flushed face and tense posture. "Everything alright, Viktor?"

Setting the boy down, Illya turned to her unhappily, his voice low as he replied. "I have been looking all over for you, you should not have left without telling me where you were going."

"I did...didn't you see the note?" Margaret replied. Illya was silent. "I left you a note on the table next to your bed, didn't you see it? I said we would be here and waiting for you."

A small piece of paper seemed to flutter into his memory as he ran through the morning once more. It was insignificant, and clearly not enough to have made an impression... but at least he couldn't be angry about that anymore. "You should have woken me." He still grumbled.

"After you were up so late? Heh, never. Unlike some people I actually have a decent view of sleep and that we need it." She sent him a pointed look, playful and teasing, but at the sight of him still glowering at the wall she laid a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry for worrying you... if I'd known you'd have reacted like this, I would have taken greater care."

Illya sighed and nodded.

All was forgiven.

She smiled and winked, the playful manner returning. "Oh! We bought you a present. I'm surprised Miles kept it to himself-oh he didn't." Illya turned to see Miles with a small bag in his hand, excitement clearly thrumming through the boy as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Casting Margaret a dubious glance, he plucked the bag out of Miles' hands. It had been a long time since he'd received a gift.

"Open it! Open it! Open it!" Miles chanted, his mother chuckling at him as she too encouraged Illya to open the bag.

Long fingers withdrew the object, a pocket sized leather-bound book with a tie around it, a pencil attached.

"It's a sketch book." Margaret said softly. "I've seen some of your drawings, they're very good, and I thought you might appreciate something that can travel with you. I got it in leather so it'll last, and we had it engraved." She laughed nervously, and Illya met her look in silence. "Merry Christmas, Viktor. I'd have given it to you next week but Elliot..."

"Thank you." Illya cut in, she didn't have to apologize. Yet she always did.

"My pleasure." She replied, a look in her eyes he couldn't quite describe.

"Look inside! Look inside!" Miles excitedly broke the focus, and obediently, Illya did so, reading the engraving aloud.

"'To Viktor, the Great Russian Bear, on his first Christmas with us. This December, 1957, with our love.'" He paused, bringing the book closer for some smaller text. "'May he never leave us'"

"I had them put that in!" Miles shouted a little too loudly, followed by a series of 'do you like it?' Said many times over.

Illya, unable to fully find his words gave a nod. "Дa..."


Rosie peeked out of the secret corridor cautiously before she scurried out with Illya in tow. It was almost a pity no one else was there, or they could've had the amusing sight of the small child dragging the Six-foot-five Russian out of a wall.

"Now I've got to go." Rosie said hurriedly, looking down the hallway. "Miss May will probably get Mummy, and if Mummy is busy, she'll get James. And I like James, but I don't want to disappoint him."

"Who is James?" Illya asked with a twitch of his lips.

Rosie beamed. "He's my Daddy!" She proclaimed, not noticing how Illyas smile dropped immediately. "Or he will be soon. Mummy is going to marry him."

"Rosalind? Is that you?" A male voice came from down the hallway, and Rosie immediately got nervous.

"Got to go!" She cried, taking off down the opposite end of the hallway, leaving Illya standing there still unsure of what to do with himself.

For all intents and purposes, Illyas mind was elsewhere, trying to recall if he'd seen a ring on Margaret's finger indicating any attachment. There it was. He could see it now, a diamond on a silver band, elegant and obvious to everyone but himself.

"Oh hello there, who are you?"

Illya should have left, he wasn't supposed to get caught snooping around and yet here he was. He turned to 'James', as he assumed he must have been, taking in the man for observation, a protective side rising up in suspicion. If Margaret was to marry him, then he wanted to know just what kind of man he was...


A/N: Thank you AnnelieSkylark for you review. You really inspired me to finish this all up and post it. I'll work on the next chapter and get it up as soon as possible :) Thank you again