Napoleon was already waiting in the well-warmed apartment when Illya got back, looking forward to surprising him with his presence. At last he heard Illya's key scratching in the lock, and the door opened to admit him, snow on his collar and in his golden hair, a scarf wrapped around his throat, his dark blue overcoat firmly buttoned. His suitcase was in one hand, his cane was a white line in front of his body, and his cheeks were pink with the cold. He looked beautiful.

Napoleon hurried over to his partner with a broad grin, saying, 'Welcome home, Mr Magoo. Do I get a kiss? I have mistletoe.'

'If you call me Mr Magoo again you will get something far more solid than a kiss,' Illya retorted tartly, and Napoleon grinned still wider at the pouting expression on his face.

'All right, then,' he said in a placatory tone. 'Welcome home, honey. I still have mistletoe.'

Illya bumped the door closed behind him and put down his case and affected suspicion, turning his face towards Napoleon and holding his cane before him as if in defence. 'How do I know you have mistletoe? I didn't even know you were home yet. You weren't due in until midnight.'

Napoleon took the cane out of his hands and leant it up in the corner. He brushed his fingers affectionately over the lapel of Illya's overcoat. Snowflakes melted on his fingertips.

'I got an earlier flight. Flew back overnight. And here, let me show you.' Napoleon took Illya's hand and stripped off his glove and saw the bandage across his palm. 'Oh, ouch, is that from the glass?'

Illya smiled a little ruefully and pulled off his other glove too. Napoleon took them both and put them aside.

'That is from the glass, yes,' Illya said. 'But what about the mistletoe?'

'Hold out your hand.'

Illya held out his undamaged left hand, so Napoleon gently placed the delicate, pale-leafed sprig into his palm. Illya traced his fingers over the leaves and white berries very lightly, and smiled. The delicacy of his touch made something flip over in Napoleon's stomach.

'Well, I believe you,' Illya said. 'Now the kiss?'

Napoleon took the sprig from him and held it over their heads as he softly kissed Illya's chilled lips, then he put it on the sideboard next to Illya's gloves and took hold of him and kissed him hard.

'How was the mission?' he asked when they finally pulled apart.

Illya shrugged, unwinding his scarf and starting to unbutton his coat. 'I shouldn't have let myself get that drunk. It was stupid. But the mission was over by then. I got some vital intel about the drug Thrush are developing. It's a nerve drug, an insidious concoction. They'll be able to add it to any water supply and after a few days susceptibility to suggestion will be increased to such a level that any kind of subliminal message will have maximum effect. They could make subliminal suggestions through a variety of media; television advertising, radio messages, posters, public address systems. The possibilities are endless.'

'Ooh, nasty little Thrushies,' Napoleon said with a soft whistle, taking Illya's coat and scarf and hanging them both on the coat stand by the door.

'I just wish I could get my hands on that sample in the lab,' Illya said, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. Napoleon recognised that lit up look in his face. He knew how much Illya missed hands on work in the labs. Even if chemistry wasn't his forte he still loved to get involved.

'Well, we'll have the best team on it,' Napoleon tried to reassure him, 'and maybe Sarah can transcribe the reports. And how were the Laurel and Hardy of U.N.C.L.E.?'

'Doyle and Phillips did their parts well enough,' Illya conceded, 'and they were tolerable to work with, even Doyle, once he had got used to me. What about Yugoslavia?'

Napoleon grinned. 'I took out Djuric and shut down the whole cell. It went so well that Mr Waverly promised me we won't get any nasty calls until at least the twenty-seventh, and Aunt Amy reminded me about the invite to Christmas dinner with the family. Mom's been going on about how long it's been since she saw you. I promised we'd be there by midday.'

'Ah, that is perfect,' Illya smiled. 'We can have a quiet morning for ourselves and then drive over.' Then he turned his head towards the corner of the room, where a tall, fresh Christmas tree stood in its stand. As yet its branches were dark and unadorned except for a string of lights. 'Do I smell pine?'

Napoleon grinned. 'Yeah, I stopped by a yard on the way back from the airport and had it delivered. It's a real tall one this year, Illya. Ten feet. I've been waiting for you to get back so we can decorate it. It's Christmas Eve. I only remembered as the plane landed.'

'Surely you're tired?'

Napoleon laughed. He was tired, but sharing Christmas with Illya made him so happy that it was easy to shrug it off. He put his hand under Illya's elbow and walked with him over to the tree.

'Come take a look. I've put the lights on already. Right here,' he said, guiding Illya's hand to part of the long string. 'Do you see that?'

Illya brought his face very close to the tree and cupped his hands around his eyes and the lights and said, 'That one's blue, isn't it?' He moved along a little, his face coloured by the lights as if he were standing by a stained glass window. 'Yellow. Red. Green. Thank you, Napoleon.'

Napoleon loved the fact that Illya could make out the colours of those lights. He had bought the brightest ones he could find last year in the hope that Illya would be able to make them out, and although he couldn't see them at all at distance he had always been able to correctly name the colours if he got very close. It felt like a tiny gift, to give Illya colours at Christmas.

'Well, we'd better get decorating,' he said, but Illya said rather tiredly, 'Napoleon, would you mind if I had some coffee first? It's been a long day and I'm suffering for last night's excess.'

'Oh. Oh, yeah, of course,' Napoleon said quickly. 'I'm sorry, Illya. I've been back for a while, I've had a chance to rest. Look, I'll go make coffee, and why don't you phone for take out, and we can decorate when we've eaten? As long as it's done by midnight.'

'As long as we can spend some more time under that mistletoe afterwards,' Illya said very gravely, and he reached out a hand to stroke Napoleon's cheek. 'Why don't you hang it above our bed? I want to feel you with all of me.'

So Napoleon promised, because that sounded like a very good idea indeed. He left Illya by the Christmas tree and went to start the percolator, then he stood in the kitchen doorway and watched his lover. He was standing by the tree, gently brushing his fingertips over the pine branches and then bringing his nose close to them to smell them. Then he smiled and turned away from the tree and found his way to the sofa, where he sat with obvious weariness. Napoleon came back through and plumped himself down beside Illya and stroked his snow-dampened hair.

'It's going to be the best Christmas,' he said. 'We have so much to look forward to.'

'Yes,' Illya said simply, but he smiled and turned his head towards Napoleon and caught his lips in a long, slow kiss. Illya's fingers traced Napoleon's jaw, his ear, the short hair at the side of his head. There was so much love in his touch that Napoleon's heart swelled.

'It will be the best,' he said. 'And by next Christmas – well, perhaps you'll be able to see that tree. You'll be able to see the lights. Won't that be amazing?'

'Yes,' Illya said again, rather uncomfortably this time, and Napoleon knew enough to pull back from the subject before he went too far. Illya was so scared of being let down again, he knew. He stopped talking and took Illya's hand and just stroked his fingertips over Illya's soft skin until the coffee was ready.

((O))

Nothing could compare to the blissful, quiet Christmas morning together in their apartment, waking up far too late, making love, eating croissants and drinking coffee in bed, sharing a few little presents under the tree. The larger things would wait until later, at Aunt Amy's penthouse, but Illya had bought Napoleon cuff links and a book he had wanted, and Napoleon had bought Illya a new recording of the Ring Cycle and an expensive supply of tea which smelt divine. And then they stirred themselves to leave the warm and comfortable apartment to get to Aunt Amy's in time for dinner at two o'clock.

'Oh, do we have to?' Illya complained. 'It's so warm in here and it's so cold out there.'

'It'll be plenty warm enough at Aunt Amy's,' Napoleon said firmly, 'and we haven't got a scrap of food in the house – not food worthy of Christmas dinner. Now, get wrapped up,' he said, buttoning the top button of Illya's coat and wrapping his scarf more snugly around his neck, 'and let's go. Here's your cane. I've got the presents.'

He picked up the bag of presents they were taking with them and patted Illya on the arm.

'Come on. Let's go.'

It was freezing outside, quiet and dead with cold. The streets felt very empty as Napoleon drove across the city and the air bit into Illya's skin again as he got out of the car. Napoleon warned him about the ice on the ground and came around to guide him to the building. But as soon as they went in through the doors to Aunt Amy's building the warmth blossomed around Illya. He pulled his gloves off and pushed them into his pocket. As Napoleon tipped the doorman, Illya turned his head and tapped the cane on the floor to get a better impression of what felt like a vast lobby full of hard surfaces.

'I'd much rather open my own door,' Illya murmured as Napoleon guided him across the lobby, 'than have a man stand there all day to open it for me.'

'Ah, you can take the man out of the Soviet Union but you can't take the Soviet Union out of the man,' Napoleon laughed.

'Well, Napoleon, do you think it's right that he should have to stand there playing servant on Christmas Day just because he's not deemed valuable by society?' Illya asked indignantly.

'For a start, my little Bolshevik agitator, the man was Chinese. He might not celebrate Christmas at all. And second, I'm sure he's being paid extremely well for pulling Christmas day duty.'

'And money is your deity,' Illya sighed.

'Well, it certainly helps. Come on, here's the elevator. I'll tell you if the bellhop's Chinese.'

He didn't say anything to Illya about the bellhop and the man was so discreet and softly spoken that Illya could make no assumptions about his ethnicity. Napoleon tipped him too when the elevator reached the penthouse, and then they stepped out into a confusion of greetings and hugs, the scent of alcohol and perfume and aftershave, hands touching and lips brushing against Illya's cheek and hearty slaps on his arm.

'All right, Illya?' Napoleon murmured into his ear, and he grinned.

'Yes, just tell me who I'm saying hello to,' Illya grumbled good naturedly, so Napoleon raised his voice and said, 'All right, all right. Yes, merry Christmas, everyone. Okay, Illya. Illya, first and foremost, right in front of you here is my dear Aunt Amy. Aunt Amy, I've told you all about Illya.'

'Yes, of course you have, dear, of course,' said an older woman's voice as her hands came to touch Illya's arms. She kissed his cheek in a fog of perfume and powder scent. 'I've wanted so long to meet you, Illya dear. A real Soviet! How exciting! I'll let you get through the introductions and then you must come sit down and have some sherry.'

Illya murmured thanks and then Napoleon was saying, 'You've met mom and dad before,' and there were brief greetings, a kiss from Napoleon's mother and a slap on the arm from his father.

'Okay,' Napoleon said. 'Ah, well my cousins have hightailed it back to the other room, Illya. I'll introduce you to them later, but I want you to meet my sister, Antonia. Antonia, come here. Come meet Illya and look after him while I go put these presents under the tree, will you? Thank you, dear.'

'He's probably gone to scout out if there are any pretty maids on Aunt Amy's staff,' Napoleon's sister Antonia said covertly to Illya as Napoleon walked away, and Illya smiled, wondering what she would say if she knew what her masculine, woman chasing brother had been up to that Christmas morning. 'He didn't even introduce us properly.'

Illya smiled and held out his hand. 'Illya Nikolayevich Kuryakin,' he said, and she took his hand and then leant in and kissed his cheek.

'Antonia Solo. I'm delighted to meet you, Illya. Now, how do I look after you?' Antonia continued, laying a hand on his arm. She seemed a little shorter than he was and smelt of expensive perfume. He wondered idly what she might look like, whether she shared any of Napoleon's features, whether she had the same colour hair. 'Nappy said you were completely blind. No sight at all. Is that right?'

'Well, just some light perception,' Illya said awkwardly. 'Nothing of any use.'

Her hand moved a little on his arm as if she were trying to resist stroking him. 'You poor thing. Well, you could write my experience of that on the back of a postage stamp, I'm afraid, so you'll have to educate me. If I were to take you to a seat how would I go about it?'

'Oh, just let me take your arm,' Illya said quickly. 'The cane does a very good job. Yes, that's it. Thank you.'

He followed her through what seemed to be a hallway and into another room where the cane caught on a deep pile carpet and there was more chatter and noise, classical music playing on a record player, and a scent of alcohol in the air. He took a seat on a deep, low sofa and accepted the glass that was pressed into his hand. He found himself sandwiched between Antonia and a man who he thought must be a cousin because he sounded relatively young and had something of Napoleon in his voice. Antonia introduced him as Brett.

'We were just settling down to play Charades before dinner,' Antonia said. 'Do you think you can play Charades, Illya?'

'Well, I can try,' Illya said gamely. He had experienced the game at a few U.N.C.L.E. parties. 'I won't be able to see the charades but Napoleon can describe them, and I can certainly perform them.'

Then Napoleon was there saying, 'Move over, will you, Brett. I want to sit with Illya.'

'Nappy, we were about to play Charades,' Antonia said. 'I'd suggest splitting you two up to make the teams even, but maybe if we push Brett onto the other team with Ed and Brian you two can be together on mine. It'll be cousins against cousins.'

'Illya?' Napoleon asked as he sat, putting a hand lightly on his thigh.

'Well, I know how to play, Napoleon,' Illya shrugged. 'I'll be all right acting out a charade. For guessing, you'll just have to describe what's going on.'

'Well, if you're game, I am,' Napoleon said willingly.

Illya grinned. 'Then I'm game,' he said.

'Oh, but we've got the titles written down on pieces of paper. We're going to pull them out of a hat,' Antonia said suddenly. 'Illya can't read that, can you Illya?'

'Well, no, but you could have someone who isn't playing read it and tell me covertly,' Illya suggested.

So a game of charades started and Illya found himself up first, standing in what Napoleon assured him was a good open space between the Christmas tree and the sofa, trying to act out East of Eden. It was far easier to act out the charades than it was to help guess one when he couldn't see the person in front of him, especially when it was Napoleon acting it out and Antonia trying to describe his movements. It was fun stretching himself to try to guess the charades and listening to Napoleon's descriptions of the other side's mimes, but it wasn't so much of a surprise to Illya that their team narrowly lost to the three cousins on the other side, who seemed to be able to read each other's minds.

'Never mind, never mind,' Antonia told him magnanimously, putting her arm around his shoulders and squeezing. 'I think dinner's about to be served anyway. Illya, you did sterling work. Maybe we can have a rematch after dinner.'

Illya smiled rather apologetically. 'Well, perhaps I'll sit that one out. After all, I – '

'Don't be so silly,' she told him quickly, and then the cousins came crowding around to commiserate, all talking at the same time. It was something of a relief when Napoleon came to guide Illya through to the dining room, because he hated trying to talk in groups like that when he could hardly tell who was speaking. All of Napoleon's cousins sounded the same.

'Here you are, Illya,' Napoleon said, putting his hand to the back of a chair made of carved wood so smooth that it felt like glass. He traced his fingers over it and felt the sinuous carvings. 'I'm on your left and Ed's on your right with dad next to him. You've got mom opposite you, Brett next to her on her right and Brian on the other side, and Antonia's next to Brian. Aunt Amy is at the head, on your left.'

'Thanks,' he murmured as he sat down. He put his hands carefully to the table to feel a high quality tablecloth, the rows of cutlery, and the delicate foot and stem of a glass.

'Here, let me lean your cane up against the wall behind you,' Napoleon said, and then he sat down by Illya and told him, 'Be prepared to loosen your buttons. Aunt Amy never stints at Christmas.'

((O))

After a full, rich meal chairs were pushed back and drinks were passed around, and Illya just sat on his chair listening to the conversation, not trying to join in much because it was so awkward conversing with groups.

'Hey, Rip Van Winkle.' Napoleon nudged him in the side, and he jumped, putting his glass of sherry back on the table. He had started to get sleepy.

'Uh – What? Sorry,' he mumbled confusedly.

'Mom was just asking you about the transplant,' Napoleon said, sounding rather apologetic, and Illya picked up his drink again and said, 'I'm sorry, Mrs Solo. What did you say?'

'I asked if you were nervous about the transplant, Illya,' came her voice from across the table, and Illya understood why Napoleon had sounded apologetic. He didn't like talking about it.

'Well,' he began. He took a sip of his drink and then shrugged. 'Well, I've had operations in the past, so – '

'Oh, yes, of course. You and Napoleon got into such terrible scrapes, I know,' she said quickly. 'But this is different, surely? How certain are the doctors that it will work? What's the prognosis for improvement in your vision?'

Illya fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth where it touched his knees. He really hated to talk about this. Then he heard Antonia saying brightly, 'Come on, Nappy, come help wash the dishes,' and to his immense relief Napoleon whined, 'Hey, why can't Illya help with the dishes?'

'Napoleon, Illya's blind!' his sister hissed.

'Yes, Napoleon. I'm blind. You can't make me wash up,' Illya said, latching on to the lifeline of their conversation with a sudden grin. 'Listen to your big sister.'

He knew exactly what Napoleon would say.

'Antonia, Illya is very, very capable of washing the dishes,' Napoleon told his sister. 'Almost as capable as he is at dodging chores he doesn't like. But doesn't Aunt Amy have staff for that?'

'Oh, she sent them all home. Told them to enjoy the rest of the day. Come on, Napoleon. There's a mountain to do.'

Illya heaved himself up from his chair, groaning at his full stomach.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Solo. Duty calls,' he shrugged, and held out a hand. 'Come on, Napoleon. I'll wash. You and Antonia can dry and put away. I can't put away in a strange kitchen.'

'And that's about the only thing he can't do,' Napoleon said meaningfully to his sister. 'Don't underestimate Illya, Antonia. That's when he's at his most dangerous.'

((O))

They worked in the kitchen with wonderful smoothness, Illya carefully washing each piece of china or glass, then passing them to Napoleon to wipe dry, who then passed them on to Antonia to put away. Napoleon listened to his sister's chatter but he kept glancing at Illya, at his rolled up sleeves, at the muscles of his forearms and the gold hair on his skin and his hands reddened by the heat of the water. There were far too many times when he wanted to just grab Illya and stop him doing whatever he was doing, and kiss him.

They had almost finished the pile of crockery when Illya nudged him in the side and asked in an undertone, 'Napoleon, can you show me the bathroom?'

'Er, yeah. Give me a moment.' He wiped his hands dry on the towel and let Illya take his arm, leading him carefully through the apartment to the large, marble-tiled bathroom. He showed him the toilet and washbasin then asked, 'Want me to wait, honey?'

Illya grimaced a little. 'After all that turkey? No, that's okay. You go back to the washing up. If I can't find my way out of this echoing chamber I'll shout for help.'

'I'll leave you to it,' Napoleon said with a laugh. He kissed him quickly on the cheek and went back to the kitchen. Antonia was just finishing putting away the last few items of crockery as he came back into the room.

'Ah, Nappy,' she greeted him with a grin. 'Just in time to avoid the rest of the work, yes?'

Napoleon laughed. 'Of course. I always did have good timing.'

She looked at him curiously for a moment, and he cocked his head to the side.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

She wiped her hands briefly and took off her apron. 'I'm just looking, little brother. I haven't seen you look so relaxed in a long time, and it suits you. You seem sublimely happy, you and your boyfriend.'

'Uh, Tonia, he's not – ' Napoleon began, but she batted at his arm.

'Don't be so silly, Nappy. You're transparent as glass. You two are so in love. It's just nice to see you settled.'

Napoleon glanced around at the kitchen door. 'Uh, mom and dad – '

'Don't be silly. They wouldn't suspect a thing. You could be inflagrante with him on the sofa and they'd just think you were horsing around. None so blind, and so on. Anyway, I don't care, except that I think you two are absolutely darling together, and I hope that he's the one.'

Napoleon smiled at that and leant in to kiss his sister on the cheek.

'He's the one, Tonia,' he assured her. 'I'm sorry you won't ever be able to buy a hat for my wedding, but yes, Illya is the one. He always has been. I just didn't realise it until we were forced together by his blindness.'

'Well.' His sister exhaled and put her hands on his shoulders and smiled. 'I don't need a wedding, Nappy. I'm just happy you're happy. Don't worry, I'll be quite discreet. Now, shall we get back to the centre of things? Aunt Amy's absolutely bursting to give out the presents.'

'Uh, yeah. I'll swing by the bathroom and wait for Illya,' Napoleon said. 'Thank you, Antonia,' he added with great sincerity. 'Your blessing means a lot.'

((O))

Presents were handed out, and Illya was pleased by Napoleon's response to the expensive new woollen overcoat he had bought him with Sarah's help. Napoleon was like a peacock over his clothes, and he had been hoping that this coat would be as perfect as Sarah had said it was. He had felt the soft, heavy quality of the cloth, and wished he could see Napoleon wearing it. Then he was handed his own present from Napoleon, and he took it in his hands, passing his fingers over the paper that wrapped it and trying to feel the contours – but it was in a cardboard box, and there were no clues. So he ripped away the paper and touched the cardboard and asked, 'Can I tear this?'

'Yeah, it's just a box,' Napoleon assured him.

Illya began to tear at the cardboard, and Napoleon put a hand on his and said, 'Steady there. Keep it that way up. That's it.'

He finally got the top open and touched his fingers into the box and felt cool, smooth, curving metal.

'That's a teapot?' he asked, slipping his fingers further down, feeling what the teapot stood upon. 'Oh, Napoleon...'

He could feel the quality of the samovar just by the smoothness of the metal, and he carefully lifted it out of the box.

'To go with my tea!' he said in glee.

'That was the idea.' He could hear Napoleon's happiness. 'It's Tombak bronze, Illya. It's a beautiful colour, and the man in the shop assured me it was quite rare. I thought it might make you better tea than the old battered thing you have now.'

Illya couldn't stop the grin that was making his cheeks ache. His samovar was one he had found in a junk shop and bought on a whim not long after he had moved to this country. He liked it because it reminded him of home, but it dripped and it was awkward to use. He hated to think how much this rare specimen had cost Napoleon, but he knew better than to ask.

'It is perfect,' he said, running his fingers over and over the surface. He thought it must look amazing, but he said, 'I hope you will be the one to keep it polished, Napoleon.'

Napoleon snorted. 'Well, someone will have to, because your current one resembles nothing so much as a piece of coal.'

'My current one also leaves small puddles wherever it goes, like an errant puppy. Thank you for this, Napoleon,' he said in his most sincere voice. 'I will treasure it.'

Napoleon's knee pressed against his and he heard Antonia give a little sigh, but he put the samovar carefully back into its box and set it on the carpet between his feet so that he could give his attention to the other presents being passed around. He thought back on Christmases of his past, of his first years in the US when he hadn't celebrated at all because Christmas was not his festivity, of Napoleon gradually persuading him to join in with his own celebrations, and then of these past Christmases since losing his sight. This one felt like the best yet. It didn't matter that he couldn't see the other happy faces or watch the presents being unwrapped. Being here next to Napoleon, basking in his love, was the best gift he could have.