Illya walked from the office holding the envelope tightly to his chest. He stopped for a moment leaning against the grey corridor wall, as his heart had started pounding wildly again. He felt as though the were having an anxiety attack, fighting to compose himself as he finally continued through the maze of corridors in to the agents exit in Del Floria's.

He headed home for the first time in weeks with some semblance of hope in his heart. He drove over to Park Avenue to Broadway, then over past the University on Sullivan Street, the but the street parking was scarce because of an event going on there so he was forced to park several blocks away from home. The news about Demya gave him a little spring in his step and putting a good leg under it, he reached the front gate to his home in no time then, taking the stairs in three strides; he paused looking at his wristwatch.

Olga would be gone to her doctor's appointment...then he noticed the date on the calendar. It was his birthday, he had completely forgotten about it. Not that birthdays were of any significance to him, but Elliott liked to bake a cake if he was not off on assignment, more so for Demya's benefit. The boy loved blowing out the candles and of course eating the cake, it was his job to lick the icing from the spoon when the cake was being decorated.

Illya always told his wife no gifts and at times there weren't, but then there were times that she would surprise him with something quite special, one year it was a silver samovar, another was a hand-carved chess set made in Russia.

Napoleon too would manage something, in the old days they would go carousing and drinking, but alas they were both beyond that now. He'd received some tokens from his partner over the years such as pens, tie bars and lastly a gold Omega wristwatch, the very one he was wearing. He kept it at home. making a point of not wearing it on assignments just for safe keeping. His being pulled out of the field temporarily gave him the opportunity to wear it again. Napoleon said when giving it to him, that he needed a little decadence in his life now that he was a homeowner and on his way to becoming an American citizen; that was if the C.I.A. didn't stop stonewalling the process for him.

The Russian permitted himself a bit of a smile when he thought about the inscription on the back of the watch; partners by chance, friends by luck, brothers by fate. The news that his son was alive like this watch was an unexpected gift, but finding Demya would be the best birthday gift of all.

He called out to his wife as he reset the alarm system. "Elliott?"but as usual there was no answer," Where are you? I have news."

He found her seated at the dining room table, still dressed in her nightgown and robe. There was a plate with toast and a fried egg set there, but it seemed untouched.

"Annushka there has been a sighting." he smiled with a sigh.

She had photographs spread out across the table, family photographs. She held one of Demya playing on swings in the park and turned it up to Illya, "Remember when this was taken, taken... he had played on swings and monkey bars that day too, the day he was taken," she said with a terrible sadness in her voice. It seemed everything reminded her of that infamous day.

"Elliott, stop. Listen to me?" He grabbed her by the arm to get her to focus.

"Demya was seen three days ago with Smythe in a bank in Albany, that means he is still alive! Napoleon is there now looking..."

"Why aren't ye out looking fer him? What kind of father are ye, not lifting a bloody hand ta find yer own son?"

"Elliott I have been trying to find him. I am using all our resources and calling in any favors that are owed to me. You know I am assigned to monitor communications while..."

"Sure sit back on yer arse and let other people out there do the searching fer ye? Ye and yer feckin' machinery doin' the work fer ye. Why can't ye be a real man and get out there lookin' fer my baby!" She suddenly switched into Irish, cursing him out with passionate vehemence. "Is feckin' amadán mhór thú... fear caillte na himeartha_you're a big fucking jerk..loser!"

Illya stood with his mouth open, not knowing what to say to her. The pitch of her voice was rising as was her volume. Even though he had given her good news she was ignoring it and for some reason was focusing on lashing out at him.

"This is all yer fault! Ye did this, ye didn't kill Smythe when ye had the chance! Chyortu! Damnaigh thú! DAMN YE if ye don't find my son!" She switched between Russian, Irish and English without so much as batting an eye.

"Elliott please do not do this?" He released her arm, taking a step back.

"Why didn't ye just do it?" She slapped Illya across the face, taking him completely by surprise.

"Ye feckin' coward, ye don't care do ye!" she screamed at him, "Napoleon, he's a man, a real man out there lookin' fer my boy. I should have known that the day he made love to me... I should have married him when he asked!"*

Elliott covered her mouth with her hand, realizing what she had just blurted out in her uncontrolled tirade.

Illya stood aghast as the sting of her words hurt him as had the slap; his heart felt like it was breaking.

"You and …when?" his voice hardened.**

"Brazil, when he rescued me from the General."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"It hasn't...it was just the one time, please Illya it was ..."

He couldn't say it at first, "You lied to me when you said that you were raped, did you not? You were pregnant and YOU said it might have been the General's child," for a moment Illya thought he was going to be sick. "It was Napoleon's?"

"No Illya no no, it was your child! Max confirmed that! That's the truth of it!" She wouldn't go that far, lying to hurt him, as angry as she had been with him. She couldn't believe that she had let her dark secret slip out, cursing herself silently for her callousness and stupidity.

"You lied about everything else, why should I believe you!" Illya's face turned beet red as he spun on his heels, then stormed out the front door slamming it so hard behind him that he cracked the frosted glass panel in it.

He walked across the street into the park, bumming a cigarette from a man sitting beneath the great Arch. Illya puffed on the noxious thing, coughing a bit as he'd quit smoking, his lungs now rejecting the offending nicotine-filled smoke. He tossed it aside, snuffing it with his shoe as he kept on walking, block after block as his anger began to rise. He stopped when he found himself in front of Del Florias, though he had not intended to go there but subconsciously his mind led him to his home away from home.

He went into headquarters up to his office; the look in his eyes and the determination with which he moved made anyone in the corridors give way to him, perceiving that the Ice Prince had returned. Illya locked the door to his office then sat at his desk, pulling out a bottle of vodka that he kept there for medicinal purposes then a glass, filling it; he downed the shot in a single gulp.

"S Drem Rozhedenya grebanyi_happy fucking birthday, Kuryakin, he mumbled to himself. He poured another glass, then did it again and again. "Da, pit' zapôem poca on ne byl p'yan v stel ku_yes, he would drink like a fish until he was shit faced. That was the only plan he had at the moment in hopes of numbing the pain and hurt that he was feeling. He had been duped by his wife and his friend.

.

Napoleon arrived at headquarters from Albany with nothing new to add or any successful leads. He remembered that it was his partner's birthday and though Illya generally didn't want gifts, he had decided to get him a new throwing knife. That was something he didn't think his partner would mind. He had it wrapped in a soft leather sheath, no paper or bows, as it would have been over the top. It was a custom-made Hibben knife designed by the martial arts expert himself.

Heather gave him fair warning when she pinned his ID badge to his jacket. Something big was up with his partner, Illya had come into headquarters with foul and furious temperament and had locked himself in the office he shared with Solo.

Napoleon went there immediately, banging on the door for it to be unlocked. "Illya what's wrong? Open up? Heeey, I've got your birthday gift for you?" He tried joking.

He heard a string of epithets slurred in Russian, telling him to go to hell, then calling him a grebanyi huesos?

"Illya that's a little filthy even for you?" he replied, "Will you open up and let me in? Tell me what's wrong please?" Napoleon remained calm in spite of Illya's vicious verbal attack against him.

Someone from R & D showed up with a device used to override interior electronic locks; Napoleon entering his own door code into it to countermand Illya's. The door opened silently and Napoleon stepped in, seeing his partner hunched over his desk; a nearly empty bottle of vodka sitting in front of him.

"What the hell is going on? Please don't tell me something has happened to Demmy that I don't know about?"

"Fuck you! You back stabbing bastard!" Illya growled at him."Vy predatel' skaya svoloch'!" he repeated it in Russian.

"Now that's going to require an explanation tovarisch?" Napoleon said, his annoyance becoming detectable in his tone of voice. It was obvious that his partner had too much to drink and for this time of night that was not a good sign.

"Do not call me that, you are not my friend...friends would not do what you did to me, or should I say to Elliott?"

"Oh boy?" Solo mumbled as he tucked Illya's gift in his back pocket, " aaaaand what exactly was that?"

"You know damned well! You could not resist could you? You could not stand to let me have anything to myself?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You fucked my wife! You bastard." Illya stood up, stepping towards Napoleon, grabbing him by the lapels, shoving him violently against the wall with a loud grunt. He drew back his fist taking a drunken swing at him. Solo ducked easily as his partner's hand drove past his head into the wall, making a sizable hole in it.

Napoleon backed away out of arms reach, just in case tried it again then gestured with his palms up and open wanting to show his sincerity. "Illya, I can explain..."

"Sure you can, it was just another case of you not being able to keep it zipped up right...but you proposed to her too? Was there anything you ever held sacred. I loved her, she was the mother of my son and you just had to have her did you not? I trusted you all these years, told you my deepest secrets, loved you like a brother and this is what I get, being played the fool?"

"Illya it was a mistake, it happened in the heat of the moment, we both thought the other had been killed. We...we both regretted it instantly and knew what we'd done was wrong. As for the proposal? I thought you were dying because of what Smythe had done to you, she, Elllie told me she was carrying your child. I offered to marry her to give your child a father, if in name only."

Napoleon let out a long sigh. " I won't lie to you, I did have feelings for her at one time, but those are gone. I only feel deep friendship and respect for her...it's you I love, you're more a brother to me than Hannibal* ever was."

"Right, a brother...so you screwed my woman, a real brotherly move?"

"Illya I can't apologize enough." Napoleon ran his fingers though his neatly coiffed hair, causing a dark strand fall to his forehead. "Elliott and I swore we'd never tell you of our mistake. I don't understand why she let it out to you? We both wanted to spare you the pain of our stupidity. You never deserved this."

"Apparently Elliott feels I do, as she told me that you are more of a man than I am."

"I'm so sorry, please, she's yours you know that?"

"What, a cast off, a scrap from the table of the great Napoleon Solo thrown to his mongrel Russian dog?"

"Please? It wasn't...isn't like that and you know it?"

"Quit your prostrating, it will do you no good." The Russian covered his eyes with his hand as he realized his entire world was crashing down around him, his head was reeling from it and being drunk was not helping matters.

"I am going to request a new partner Napoleon." Illya said coldly,"Stay away from me and my wife, that is if I still have one?" Then he staggered out into the corridor, heading towards the elevator. There was no one in it when the door opened quietly, and he stepping inside holding himself up unsteadily with one hand against the wall. He exited to the nexr floor, entering one of the guest quarters where he promptly passed out on the bed.

.

*ref "The Mind Control Affair" ** ref "The Archangel Affair" * Hannibal is Napoleon's younger brother