Illya sobered up quickly after he downed the strongest black coffee he'd ever tasted, that along with a full belly of carbohydrates and protein...spaghetti and meatballs on top of it helped him considerably. The food was of course made by Tillie and delicious. He wolfed it down they way he used to eat a meal when he had been a resident of the Soviet Union, there everything was eaten quickly, otherwise you didn't get any.

He showered and shaved then changed into the fresh clothing that had been sent up. Del Floria's must have pressed it as the creases were sharp. It felt good to be cleaned up.

Illya eyed the empty vodka bottle in the dust bin, deciding he'd had enough of that, as well as wallowing in his own self pity.

His mind was focused on going to see Elliott to straighten out his feelings for her, letting her know he still loved her and hoping she still loved him as Napoleon had said...Napoleon? The name still gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They would still have to deal with each other, but Solo was right as that too would have to wait.

Illya arrived home via taxi as the sun was just beginning to set, starting up the outside stairs slowly, each step he took was exact and deliberate as he hardened himself to expect the worst, but still hoped for the best.

He walked into the house, following his usual security routines. It was deathly quiet as the only sound was that of his shoes on the hardwood floor as he walked down the hallway until he heard the muffled chime of the mantle clock coming from the living room.

It's steady ticking was the only sign of activity in the living room as he checked there for his wife. Illya continued to walk through the house; the absence of his son's laughter echoing loudly in the back of his mind.

He found Elliott upstairs in the nursery, sitting in the white wicker rocking chair, moving to and fro, swaying gently with her eyes closed. The last of the suns rays were shining down through the white Irish lace curtains illuminating the shine of her bright red hair, making him pause for a moment to take in that serene picture of the woman he loved.

She was so beautiful.

Forgiveness, he needed to remember it and reminded himself it was one word they had used a lot this past year. He would forgive Elliott her mistakes and hoped she would think on him kindly and not continue to blame him for their son's kidnapping.

"Annushka, lyubov' moy_my beloved. He whispered the words he always used to alert her of his presence when returning home.

She said nothing in response, making his heart sink just a little. He wanted to take her in his arms so badly and to be held by her as well.

"Where's my son?" she snarled at him as she opened her eyes, giving him a cold blue-grey stare.

Illya lowered his head, calming himself before he answered her.

"Elliott, he is my son too...or have you forgotten that?" he said with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

She stood, raising her hand to slap him again but this time he grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her.

"You hit me once, you will not do it again," he warned her with an icy tone.

He held her tightly, not allowing her to move. "How do you think I feel having you blame me for this? You knew when we decided to spend our lives together and what risks there would be? We both went into this with our eyes wide open, understanding and accepting the reality of our lives " he hesitated, together." Annushka our past will always be lurking somewhere ready to haunting us from time to time, that we cannot control. It is not fair of you to blame me..."

Illya released his grasp on her wrist. "I do not understand what happened between you and Napoleon, but I am willing to try and to forgive. I love you Elliott Tatayana and I always will. Please say you still love me?"

He watched as tears began to roll down her cheeks, then she broke out into gasping sobs. Elliott reached out to her husband, placing her hands on his chest as her crying became more mournful.

Illya grabbed as her knees buckled, she collapsing to his grasp as he slowly lowered her to the floor; cradling her in his arms, rocking her as she continued to grieve.

"Shussh, please do not cry?" he whispered as he kissed her on the head.

"Illuysha, I'm so sorry," she whispered, " I've hurt ye and been so cruel to ye...I'm such a hag? I love ye, I really do, ye believe me don't ye? How can ye still love me after all the awful things I said to ye? And after what I did with yer best friend?"

"Annushka, I love you with all my heart." he said as he held her, stroking her long red hair." We will get through this, but we must do it together."

"Illya I'm so frightened. I've never felt anything like this before even on the worst of missions, it's almost overwhelming."

"Yes fear can do that." he said, knowing all to well what his fears had done to him in the past. "But our fears will not control us, we will control them," he said, remembering the consequences of his stay in the Solovki gulag and his subsequent recovery.*

She nodded to him quietly as he scooped her up in his strong arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her down the hall, laying her down on their big, soft bed. He helped her to undress, then stripped off his own clothing, laying down beside her.

Illya exhaled a long sigh, like a man who had just had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He was happy just to be able lay with Elliott in his arms; it was the first time they had been together in over a month.

He did not try to make love to her, being there and holding each other was enough. They were still passionate people, but no longer had that sense of urgency when it came to making love. Familiarity, comfort and security were sometimes enough and right now it was everything to them.

.

Napoleon Solo had landed via transatlantic flight to Heathrow Airport, having been sent on a courier mission by Waverly to deliver vital Thrush code changes; not a mere drop to be done by a section III agent.

The Old Man assigned it to give Solo a momentary respite from the search for Demya Kuryakin, as his number one agent seemed to be agitated and becoming nearly as obsessive as the boy's father in the search that had entered it's sixth week.

Except for the sighting in Albany N.Y. there had been nothing since then, no contacts, sightings for any chatter on the wires for that matter. Thrush was still trying to find out why they were interested in Smythe, and still hadn't connected a report on a missing child with their former operative.

Napoleon arrived at the London office located in a nondescript used books seller on Tavistock Street in the Covent Gardens section of Westminster. The simple three story brick building housed one of the busiest U.N.C.L.E. locations in the European arena, ranking second only to the Berlin headquarters in West Germany.

He nodded to the woman behind the sales counter as he made his way through the curtained doorway leading to a private reading room; the walls inside lined with shelving full off books on obscure subjects.

He reached for one entitled "The Life Cycle of the Cicada." Pulling the book, tilting it forward until the entire bookcase pivoted open to reveal the hidden world that existed behind it.

Solo walked into the reception area, being greeted immediately by a strawberry blond seated behind the security desk who was dressed in the standard blue blouse and black skirt worn by the female support staff.

"Welcome back Napoleon." She smiled, speaking with a slight Scottish inflection to her voice.

He couldn't for the life of him remember her name.

"Nice to see you too... Rosemary?"

"She glared at him for a second.

"Adrienne, Pauline?"

"Not even close."

"Wait, wait, " he said snapping his fingers, "Stephanie." He smiled at his success.

""Ew, very good and here I thought you'd forgotten me," she smiled coyly.

He turned on the Solo charm like he was flicking a light switch, touching his finger to her chin. "How could that happen with anyone as unforgettable as you?"

"Oh I bet you say that to all the lasses?"

"Only the prettiest ones."

Stephanie blushed, then shook herself back to reality. "Napoleon, Mr. Morton wants to see you in his office and asked for you to come up as soon as you arrived... hey maybe we can get together for a wee drink later?"She was practically purring at him now.

Napoleon crinkled his nose, winking at her."Ah all my possessions for a moment of time, but alas fair maid, I'm...ugh, on assignment."

"Hmm, very nice Elizabeth I quote for a no." she smiled.

He headed along the familiar grey corridors to Brian Morton's office; he being the Continental Chief for U.N.C.L.E. Northwest, succeeding in the not so illustrious foot steps of the late Harry Beldon.

Beldon had gone over to Thrush and had been killed during his own plot to assassinate the other Continental Chiefs during the last Summit 5 connference. It was surmised after that incident that he was also involved in the previous Summit attack the year prior in New York, his own CEA Eric Lehrner having been the point man for the attack, was killed by Illya Kuryakin.**

But that incident had unexpected positive results; if Napoleon had not been wounded in the attack, then he never would have met Bella. Life had a strange way of working out on that one.

The door to Morton's office opened silently as Solo entered. The last time he'd been there was when Beldon was still the occupant, it was filled with garish Grecian statuary, art work and plant life.

The office was now simply decorated, the focal point being a large oak desk, contrasting against the sterile color of the walls and carpeting. The only thing that stood out with a splash of color was the obligatory portrait of Queen Elizabeth on the wall behind the desk and even though U.N.C.L.E. had no political affiliations, Brian was after all very British.

Morton stood to greet him as he walked in, offering his hand to him.

"It's been a long time hasn't it my friend? Please have a seat, may I get you some tea, coffee pehaps as I'm sure you are jet-lagged?"

"Coffee would be great Brian, thanks."

Even though Morton was technically Solo's superior, both men had a long history together and were on a first name basis. After all, Napoleon would be following in Waverly's footsteps as CCO of U.N.C.L.E. Northeast some day so in their minds they were more equals than anything.

Napoleon dropped the envelope with the codes on the desk as he seated himself in the high back leather chair in front of the desk. He had to admit, this office was a lot more comfortable than the one in New York and mused for a second about having such a chair when it came time for him to assume the reigns of leadership.

A secretary entered the room carrying a coffee service; dressed in the yellow blouse and black pencil skirt, version of the women's uniform in the communications section.

Napoleon immediately noticed the fit of her blouse accentuated the fullness of her bust, and he hid a slight smile as he studied it with great interest.

Illya had once said when he was caught admiring the bikini-clad derriere of Senna Alegria during "The Island Affair," that just because he was married, did not mean he was dead." That sentiment held true for Napoleon as well.

The woman's special was holstered at the back of her waist, and though he was trying not to be too obvious, he admired the swaying of her hips as she sauntered past him.

"So old chap I hear that congratulations are in order on several fronts? You know that I speak from experience when I say that marriage to the right woman can truly be bliss. Just a shame that I had to retire from the field in order to to experience it, unlike you and Illya. Though as you recall by first choice of a bride turned out to be a Thrush agent. My wife Constance is a nurse at St. Mary's Hospital in Paddington, absolutely smashing woman and passed the U.N.C.L.E. vetting process with with flying colors.

The female agent cast a seductive smile in Napoleon's direction as she poured his coffee for him, then left in silence. He of course couldn't resist flashing her with his most charming smile in response.

"Hmm, my wife is a nurse too," Napoleon said," comes in handy for those recuperation periods."

"Yes quite," Brian agreed." Now Illya being married to a field operative is another story, there was a man I thought never would never take the plunge."

"You and me both." Napoleon chuckled, "His wife just retired from the field though, she's the chief of section III now in New York, deciding that it was the safer route to go since she's expecting their second child."

"I say, second child and now this tragedy with their son? Speaking of that" Brian said, "it's actually the reason that I wanted to meet with you. This situation with the boy's kidnapping is most distressing, but I have some news that may help."

"Oh really?" Napoleon said, " I'm all ears."

"One of our section III agents took these in Picadilly Circus yesterday." He handed a series of black and white photographs to Solo.

"The fair haired boy in them is without a doubt Demya Kuryakin, the man accompanying him, though dressed in a mack even with an upturned collar, dark glasses and wearing a fedora can only be Smythe attempting to cover that grotesque face of his. From the looks of the child, I would say that he's been drugged."

Brian shook his head in disgust. "To think I once worked with this man, and let him be near my own children. How he became so beastly, I'll never understand?"

"Greed does strange things to people, as does the wish for vengeance. We're pretty sure that's what this is all about, revenge against the Kuryakins for his disfigurement and for of course foiling all his plans to become rich."

Brian handed him another photograph, showing Smythe and the boy getting into a light colored Citroën DS, the registration tags were clearly visible.

"They are London plates, specifically the East End. We traced them to a building in the the Whitechapel area. I sent agents there to investigate, but it seemed to be abandoned, with no signs of occupancy, however some of the locals remembered seeing a man with a child fitting Demya's description in the area. Napoleon, " Brian smiled, " I think we may have the blighter."

"Brian that is the best news I've heard in a while. This is the most we've had to go on in weeks. We'll need to notify Illya immediately."

"Already took the liberty old chap, he and his wife are en route here via private U.N.C.L.E. jet and are due to arrive shortly. It seems Alexander is sparing no expense on this."

"He promised all of the organization's resources to find the boy, and he meant it." Napoleon allowed himself to sigh, hoping this was the final leg in getting the boy back alive and unharmed. He felt a nervous twinge at the thought of seeing Elliott and Illya together, but the fact that they were together was a good sign at least.

He would deal with the awkwardness of the situation when it arose and not worry about it until then.

.

* ref "The Enemy from Within Affair" ** ref "The Summit Affair"