“Tovarisch?” the question was heavy with unspoken concern. Illya shook his head a wry smile ghosting across his face for a second. Napoleon opened the door and motioned for Illya to make himself comfortable in the spacious limo. He stifled a frown as his friend hissed slightly as he stretched his legs out. He made a mental note to talk with Illya’s doctor about the pain he had begun to experience while traveling. Surely there was something they could do, and he knew that his stubborn Russian partner would never volunteer any information. He settled himself across from Illya who promptly rapped on the glass, signaling the driver to leave. Illya closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force his protesting muscles to relax then he looked at Napoleon.
“Tell me.”
“A transmission came into Communications at 19:00 hours. It lasted only a few seconds, long enough for the red flag to be raised before it ended. The com tech contacted me per protocol. When I got there the computer had completed the ID, confirming that it was made from your old communicator. The transmission lasted long enough for the new tracking program to pin down the location of the signal. But not long enough to open a reciprocal feed. And there were no other transmissions.” He held Illya’s gaze. He handed over the paper talisman, his hand shaking slightly. Illya took it laying it on his knee as he fished out his cheaters to read the address in the passing street lights.
“309 S 298th St, Federal Way Washington. West Coast.” He spoke softly, reading the address that Napoleon had memorized. His voice was calmly neutral but Napoleon with years of reading his partner to his credit, could hear the tension, the hope that they both were denying. He looked over the top of his glasses his eyes pinning Napoleon in his seat. “Why are we not on the plane, Napoleon?”
“Illya we need to decide how we are going to handle this. There are questions that we need to think about.” Napoleon managed to keep from squirming in his seat as the cobalt steel gaze of his CEA sliced through him. He had spent that past several hours going over this conversation in his head and still hadn’t figured out how he was going to handle this. To be honest, though he had had twenty years to think about this stuff, he had never faced the questions that finding her would have brought. “Illya, you—we need to think about what this could mean to Paige. It’s been 20 years tovarisch, things have changed. What if she’s happily married? Has children? Have you thought about what this could do to her?”
Illya had to force down the pain that Napoleon’s questions raised in his heart. He had thought of those things, had thought about them every day for the past 20 years, wondered if she had forgotten about him, if she was happy with someone else. A flare of jealousy pierced his heart at the thought of anyone else with his wife but he man-handled it back into the box that he kept all those emotions in. If she had remarried, then he would deal with it then, but not now. “I know Napasha, I know.” His head ducked for a moment and he found himself swallowing tears. “But I have to know, I have to see her. To know that she’s all right. Even if it means letting her go finally.” He glanced out the window at the passing city lights. Napoleon caught the glint of tears hidden by the darkness and the glare of the reading glasses. “Napasha, you don’t understand. I never told you what happened …”
“Hey Paige, honey, we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.” He knocked on the door to the bathroom as he straightened his cuffs. They had plans to go dinner and then to the opera for opening night of Madame Butterfly. Paige had been so excited about attending that he hadn’t had the heart to refuse when Napoleon had gifted them with the tickets. A frown of worry crossed his face for a moment, he didn’t like the fact that his partner had been loaned to another office for an unspecified amount of time. Now that Napoleon was just a few months away from ‘retiring’ to admin status, he found himself worrying more and more about his partner. His frown deepened when he realized that Paige hadn’t answered him. He knocked once more on the door, a sharp staccato noise guaranteed to get his wife’s attention. When she still didn’t answer he tried the knob, but the door was locked. His instincts kicked in and he pulled the Walther from where it laid on his dresser. “Paige!” he raised his voice preparatory to kicking in the door but stopped when he heard the lock of the door disengage. Still holding his gun at the ready, he opened the door carefully, scanning for any danger. His eyes found his wife sitting on the edge of the tub, her face pale. Her wide blue eyes met his then dropped to the floor. He noted her breathing, which was fast and shallow and he could see the tremors that were running through her. “Bozhe moi! Honey are you ok?” he dropped to his knees next to her, laying the gun within easy reach if it was necessary. She shook her head and he gathered her into his arms.
“Illya.” She whispered burying her face into his shoulder. He pulled off the edge of the tub and into his lap, holding her tightly as her sobs tore at his heart.
“Dushka, tell me what happened. Was it a vision?” he kept his voice soft, his concern lacing each word. He hated what her talent did to her, the way it left her an emotional wreck when it manifested. The only good thing he could attribute to its capriciousness was the fact that it had brought them together. He continued to rock her slowly and kept up the litany of comfort that he had learned over the past year would settle her down. Finally she raised her head and managed to smile rather weakly at him.
“Illyusha I’m sorry.” She whispered coloring slightly. He shushed her apology and wiped the tracks from her cheeks, kissing her lightly as he did so.
“Talk to me.” He exhorted. She leaned against him and snuggled into his arms.
“Lusha I have something to tell you.” She brushed her lips against his ear and whispered. He pulled back and looked at his wife in shock. A vision he had expected but this… this was beyond his wildest dreams. She smiled a little uncertain, then laid his hand against her stomach. He traced the softness there and then the reality sunk in.
“A baby.” He repeated dumbfounded. “Are you sure? When?” the questions tumbled out faster than he could think. Paige grinned at him.
“Mid March. And yes I’m sure, Dr. Tabor confirmed it this morning.” She bit her lip suddenly uncertain once more. “Are you upset? I know we never really talked about children…”
“Upset. Oh my wife, I am not upset.” He laid his head back against the tubside. He chuckled deeply in his chest and pulled her up tighter. “I just never thought about it, Paige. But I like the idea.” He spread his fingers against the place where his child was growing. His child, his wife… the words brought tears to his eyes. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears. She had thought he would be angry with her, how could he explain how this made him feel? How at last he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore. He decided not to use words to show his pleasure, so what if they were late to dinner and as far as he was concerned the opera could wait.
They weren’t that late to the theater, deciding to go to dinner afterward. He held her hand tightly, keeping her tucked into his side despite her gently laughter. He couldn’t explain the sudden need to wrap her in cotton but it was there. She sparkled up at him as he growled at someone who dared to jostle her during intermission. To be honest he wasn’t paying any attention to the opera, his thoughts on his wife and their child. He found himself wondering about the tiny life they had created. As he watched Paige chatting with someone she had just met, discussing the diva and her talents, he was inordinately proud of his wife. He couldn’t wait to share this bit of news with Napoleon, he could only imagine his partner’s reaction. He stifled a shudder at the good natured teasing he was sure would follow. He made a mental note to put pressure on his father-in-law to transfer him to the inactive agent roster, he could use his talents in research. He knew that his tenure with UNCLE was contingent upon his status as an agent, but after having been with UNCLE for more than ten years, he felt confident that there wouldn’t be any difficulty with Moscow. He shared a smile with Paige and made up his mind in that moment to pursue a change in his citizenship. He would start the paperwork in the morning. His child would grow up here, would never know the insecurity that he had. He joined his wife content with his course of action. Yes, he would leave Russia behind once and for all.
“It’s fairly straight forward, Mr. Kuryakin.” Waverly was coolly professional as he watched the color leach from his son-in-law’s face. “Your petition for asylum has been denied and the Soviet Consulate has been informed of your intention to defect.”
“But..”
“The state department feels that any value you had as a KGB operative is no longer sufficient to warrant your naturalization. Unfortunately your scientific credentials are also not sufficient to be of value, you haven’t published anything that would justify any interest on their part.” He turned his chair slightly, indicating his reluctance to continue this conversation. His discomfort failed to register with Illya.
“Sir…”
“I am sorry Mr. Kuryakin, but my hands are tied. You are to report to the Soviet Consulate where you will be taken into custody and then transported back to Moscow.”
“Paige?” he whispered.
“As a citizen of the United States she will remain. Her loyalty is not in question.” Waverly waved a hand toward the door. “Turn in your badge, ID and gun on your way out. Dismissed Mr. Kuryakin.”
Illya had no idea how he ended up outside Del Floria’s. He could scarcely believe what had just happened. UNCLE had turned its back on him, cut him free with out so much as a hand shake. He still held the letter from the state department in his hand and as he walked the few blocks to the apartment he shared with Paige, he crumpled the sheet of paper dropping it unnoticed onto the snowy sidewalk. His mind already running through scenarios, plans for their disappearance foremost in his thoughts. He knew that Paige wouldn’t mind leaving the streets of New York behind. Her relationship with her “family” was beyond strained and she held no loyalty toward UNCLE at all. His only concern was getting her out of here and reaching Napoleon to let him know what had happened. He didn’t doubt that his partner would be on the first flight he could jump. He knew that they would have to move fast, GRU and KGB wouldn’t wait, more than likely they were on their way right now. He knew what happened to agents who wanted to run, and as of right now he was top on their sanction list. Despite what the State Department believed, he had no illusions about what would happen should he be naïve enough to report to the Consulate. He would never see Moscow much less a plane. Bitterness settled into his eyes as he trotted up the steps to their apartment.
He had to give Paige credit, she listened to what he had to say and then calmly cursed her father into the Ninth Level of Hell as she began throwing clothes into suitcases. They would take only what they needed for a couple of days. He opened the small safe in which he kept his contingency plans. He had always known that the possibility of something like this happening was there, and had been prepared. It hadn’t been too difficult to include Paige in these preparations. Just a few minor changes and she had a new name, passport, social security card, and driver’s license. He rifled through the different IDs available before settling on several that would confuse and hopefully slow down any pursuit. He gave her a quick kiss as he passed her. She smiled tightly at him and closed the last suitcase with a snap. She watched him as he pulled the back off the wet bar and removed the stash of cash that they kept there.
“Ready?” he asked her. She slipped her arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. He hugged her tight, fear running through him for a moment. Then he pulled back and ran his hand over her hair. “We’d better get going.”
‘Whither thou goest.” She said repeating the vow she had given him on their wedding day. “Napoleon?”
“He’ll know what to look for.” He assured her. He kissed her once more and laid his hand protectively against the small protrusion that was their child. She had started to show in the past few weeks and he though she never looked more beautiful. He buttoned her coat up and opened the door for her. One quick look around the apartment, then he closed the door on his life as an UNCLE agent forever.
He stared at the letter in his hand, horror in his eyes. “I don’t understand.” He looked at Mr. Waverly for confirmation.
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On to Chapter Nine