Here we go again. I swore I wasn't going to write another John and
Luka epic. And I didn't! (This story completes itself in only five
chapters.) An ERFanfictionZONE cross-over challenge was issued by
High Blossom in Parade (I believe) and I found myself back at Cooke
County General Hospital.

For a long time, I was a one-fandom woman, then I found the File 40
website and there was no stopping me. (To date: ER, MFU, Horatio
Hornblower, Star Wars [4,5,6]) Some of my fellow ER fans may be old
enough to remember "The Man From UNCLE" (MFU) when it first aired in
glorious black and white during the mid-1960s. Others may be the
lucky owners of more cable/satellite channels than time allows you to
watch, and so may have caught the show in syndication. For my fellow
and sister "trauma-philes" who have never heard of MFU, here is some
brief background so my tale will make more sense than otherwise.

MFU's principal characters were the dark and debonair Napoleon Solo;
Chief Enforcement Agent for a world-wide do-gooder organization---
U.N.C.L.E. His partner in heroic derring-do was a blond-haired, blue-
eyed menace to a school girl's equilibrium: Ilya Nicolaievitch
Kuryakin*. I will try to post a picture in the "Files" section of the
ER groups so you can see these delicious dudes in their prime. (I
couldn't find the "Add Photo" thingie.) There were also numerous
gorgeous femme fatales cluttering up the original episodes but many
of us ignored them. Napoleon and Ilya were born to be slashed to a
fare-thee-well.

I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Natalyia for her "Chicago
Affair": a first-time story about Solo and Kuryakin set in the Second
City. I make brief references to her marvellous double portrait which
I consider SPOILERS. Read her story, archived at
http://file40.net/file40s/chic_one.html BEFORE you read mine. You'll
be extremely glad you did. In-depth knowledge of the MFU universe is
not needed to enjoy her tale of first (slashy) love.

My tale however, is most definitely an AU fic. I have taken the
liberty of moving the MFU universe forward in time so all of the
characters' ages fall within a decade of each other; somewhere in the
late thirty-to-mid-fortyish range. I have also tampered with my
(already skewed) ER time line to make things come out even.

In addition, for the "cousins" (UNCLE fans) this story makes
references to events I described in my John/Luka ER miniseries: "To
Dream..." Hearts in Darkness" and "For Such as These." All of these
angsty epics are now archived at the fanfiction.net website. If you
don't want to be SPOILED, cher cousins, check 'em out before reading
this work. If you don't care, don't worry. This tale (such as it is)
can stand on its own.


And now with no further delays... it's four years after the events
described in "For Such as These". Events which took place in "The
Three-Headed Eagle Affair," my second MFU tale, are also in the past,
but as I said before, the original MFU series time line has been
skewed to keep my agents from being great-uncles!.

John Truman Kovac-Carter grabbed the chart from Randi and headed up
the hall to Exam One. Flipping over the pages as he went, he
familiarized himself with the patient's symptoms. "Good afternoon,
Mr. Kuryakin?" Chicago was home to a large Slavic population, so
John's pronounciation wasn't too bad for a first try.

The patient was a surprisingly young-looking man for someone in his
early forties; with startling blue eyes and hair the color of pale
gold. He was accompanied by an elegantly attired dark-haired man who
held the remains of his companion's suit coat. John pulled up a stool
and moved over to examine what was described as a deep laceration on
the chart. He looked up at his patient after checking out the
damage. "This is a bullet wound." Over twelve years working as a
trauma doc had more than prepared him to correctly assess the nature
of the deep furrow in the man's side.

"We ran into some old enemies." The dark man said smoothly.

"This will need stitches."

"Please doctor, I know what is required. Get whatever you must have
and get started." The patient said flatly.

John scooted his stool over to the supply cabinet and pulled out a
suture tray. "You know I'll have to report this to the police?"

"We'd rather you skipped that part." The other man said quietly as he
pulled out his wallet. He showed the doctor an ID card featuring a
full-figure male silhouette standing next to a stylized globe. The
letters "U.N.C.L.E.", his picture, and a serial number were
superimposed over the image.

"UNCLE?"

"The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. In other words,
we *are* the police."

"And Mr. Kuryakin?"

"My partner." The man who had the unlikely name of Napoleon Solo
explained. "We are in somewhat of a hurry, doctor."

"Okay." John went to work after ascertaining his patient had no
allergies and was not currently taking any prescription meds.
Cleaning and suturing the wound took less than thirty minutes during
which the patient never flinched. "All done. Keep the stitches dry.
I'm writing you a prescription for an antibiotic ointment to be
applied to the wound. At home, it's best if the site remains
uncovered. If you need to go out, bandage it lightly. The stitches
may be removed in a week to ten days."

"Thank you doctor." The Russian spoke more politely this time. He
swung his legs off of the exam table. When he stood up, he swayed.
Before John could steady him, Solo had taken control of the situation.

"Easy does it, Ilya. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Somewhat dizzy thanks to that knock-out gas, but otherwise
I am quite fit."

"Uh-huh. Let's get you home and into bed, mon vieux. Our friends have
surely flown the coop by now." Solo's voice was soft in contrast to
the exasperated look he gave his partner.

"Don't be such a mother hen, Napasha. All I need is something to eat.
Let's get out of here."

John smiled at the pair as they headed for the door. If he was any
judge, they were more than mere "partners." All during the procedure,
the one called Napoleon had been holding the Russian's hand. Shaking
his head, John disposed of the sharps, removed his gloves, and went
off to his next patient. It wasn't everyday he found himself
ministering to genuine secret agents.

JC*LK*NS*IK

"Doc Magoo's?" Napoleon sounded dubious. The greasy spoon diner was
surrounded by an aroma all its own: stale fat from the deep friers,
onion-scented smoke, and a top layer of carbon monoxide from the
nearby parking lot. "The food here will be more lethal than bullets,
Ilya. Let's go find something a little more upscale."

"This will do fine, Napasha. Every now and then you need to rub
elbows with the proletariat." Ilya's voice was censorious but his
eyes shone with suppressed mirth.

"Suit yourself. One heart attack on a bun coming up."

JC*LK*NS*IK

"You'll never guess who I wound up treating today." Dr. John Truman
Kovac-Carter gave his husband a peck on the cheek.

"Elvis?" Luka Carter-Kovac yawned as he fastened his seatbelt.

"Close. A genuine bona fide secret agent."

"CIA?"

"Nope. You know those guys never carry real IDs. This guy was from
UNCLE."

"You're making this up."

"Nope. Shoulder holsters, automatic pistols, the works." John backed
out of their parking space and pulled out of the garage into the late
afternoon traffic.

"What was wrong with him?" Luka fished a stuffed rabbit and blanket
out from under himself.

"Gunshot wound. Couple of inches to the right and we'd have had to
admit him. As it was, he got off with a deep graze."

"Some folks will do anything to keep themselves busy." Luka yawned
again.

"Tell me about it. I wonder what they were doing here?"

"We'll probably never know."

"Yeah. That's the only problem with our jobs, we rarely get the whole
story."

JC*LK*NS*IK

"No sir. Ilya was shot. It wasn't serious but we did have to get
treatment. I left two of our Chicago operatives on surveillance."
Napoleon Solo was talking into his communicator which looked like an
ordinary cell phone. Actually, it was an ordinary cell phone with
satellite uplink and several secure channels.** The man seated across
from him, stuffing himself with french fries and beet soup had been
instrumental in the redesign of their communications equipment. "Sir,
it looks as if the nest was recently vacated. We'll continue our bird-
watching until somebody sings. Solo out."

The two agents finished eating and retrieved their car. "Any ideas,
Napasha?"

"No, but let's head over to their last known address. Maybe we'll get
lucky. 1256 Huron."

JC*LK*NS*IK

John pulled his Jeep up in front of 1254 Huron. They'd been delayed
by a minor traffic accident less than a block away. Luka got out and
headed into the building. It was a private elementary school. Ten
minutes later, he came out again with a little girl in his arms. She
climbed into the back seat where her father buckled her in. "Here's
Robert and his blanket." Luka smiled as Katerina immediately clasped
the bunny in her arms. "Next stop, home."

"Blast off!" The little girl said with enthusiam as the car moved
back into traffic. No one noticed the car parked across the street
with the two agents inside.

"Anything?" Napoleon's voice asked softly.

"There's nothing here. Not even dust. A forensics crew is on the way.
If they left anything of importance behind, we'll know by tomorrow.
Mendoza out."

The THRUSH agent limped towards the nearest El' station. He was
wearing a janitor's uniform and had used the secret exit through the
elementary school to make his escape. He noted the car across the
street and took ten seconds to secrete a computer disk in a kid's
backpack along with a homing device which resembled a loose button.
The tall dark-haired man with the little girl in his arms had no idea
how complicated his life was about to become. The homing device would
activate itself in two hours. A small matter of breaking and
entering; retrieval would be a cinch.

By the time the silent signal began transmitting, the Kovac-Carter
household was nearly done with the evening routine. Katerina had had
her bath and was in her pajamas. The dishes were washed and three
dark heads were bent over paperwork on the dining room table.
Katerina was drawing a picture of two men riding in an ambulance. Her
fathers were grading their med students' work. The large ships clock
in the living room chimed eight.

"Come on, Kitten. Bedtime for Robert." John picked up the little girl
and paused to admire her drawing.

JC*LK*NS*IK

"John?"

"Wha?" It was four in the morning.

"I think someone's in the apartment." Luka quietly rolled out of bed
quickly followed by his husband. A small noise from the living room
froze them where they stood. "Give me five seconds, then turn on the
light." Luka whispered against John's ear. He edged to the door
picking up the softball bat from wall next to the bathroom. Cooke
County General's amateur league had played two evenings ago.

Luka silently made his way up the hall towards their daughter's room.
He never saw what hit him. John, followed instructions and turned on
the light seconds before the front door slammed shut. Abandoning
caution, he raced to Katerina's room and fell over Luka's unconcious
body. Stumbling to his feet, he switched on the light in Kitten's
bedroom. She was gone. Her stuffed bunny was lying on the floor next
to the bedraggled blanket that "belonged" to him. John called the
police then went to see to Luka.

The sirens were now silent. Lights from police vehicles flashed on
the walls as the forensic team went over the apartment with fine-
toothed combs. Hair samples and fingerprints were taken from John and
Luka to be used as comparisons. The two men sat dazed and tried to
answer the officers' questions. A female detective arrived and the
questions began all over again.

The concierge and security guard who were in the lobby had been
rendered unconcious by some unknown substance. Paramedics took both
men to the hospital where blood samples would be taken. John wanted
Luka to go with them but he stubbornly refused. Two hours later, the
police left after installing surveillance equipment on the phones.
Surely the kidnappers would call with ransom demands before too much
longer.

John Truman Kovac-Carter was the sole surviving son of a very wealthy
man. John's daughter stood to inherit a significant amount of money.
John called his father and broke the news of his grandchild's
disappearance. After arranging to have a very large sum of money
converted to cash, Roland Carter called his private security service.

JC*LK*NS*IK

Napoleon and Ilya had filed their reports and were preparing to leave
Chicago when Napoleon's cell phone warbled. He listened for a few
minutes then switched off. "Come on, partner. A lead just turned up.
Looks as if we'll be staying for a while longer." The two men
hastened to UNCLE's Chicago office.

Covered as an employment agency, the Chicago office was located near
City Hall. Ilya and Napoleon went straight to the computer center
where a technician was waiting. The internet had proved a boon to
intelligence gathering. Despite the most sophisticated "firewalls",
UNCLE like other intelligence agencies, found it very easy to tap
into the billions of e-mail transmissions that flashed around the
world wide web. The routine forwarding of the lab reports on the
concierge and security guard to the police for their files, set off
an UNCLE alarm. Although the mixture of chemicals used to knock out
the two men went unremarked by the hospital, the UNCLE technicians
recognized them immediately. THRUSH had been involved. A few more
clicks of the mouse and the entire police report was printed out and
handed to the two New York agents.

They both looked up after reading the name "John Kovac-Carter." "Give
me everything you can find on this guy." Napoleon asked. "I want his
life's story from conception up until five minutes ago."

The computer technician clicked a few more times then sat back as
pages started to slide out of the printer. Ilya grabbed them as they
emerged then groaned aloud. "Napoleon look at this." He pointed to an
address for Katerina's elementary school.

"Damn." Napoleon sat down. "I hate it when civilians get mixed up in
our affairs. These guys must be going nuts." Napoleon pulled out his
communicator. "Mendoza? Check out the school at 1254 Huron. I'll bet
you'll find an escape hatch that connects the two buildings. Next,
arrange for school to be dismissed. A bomb scare aught to do it. Then
get a team in there and comb the place. Get the personnel files of
the staff including custodians and crossing guards. THRUSH has run
off with one of the students, a little girl. Ilya and I are on our
way over. Napoleon out."

"Should we contact her fathers?" Ilya had finally finished reading
the background files on both doctors. "Judging from what's in here,
neither of these physicians are helpless innocents."

"No. I want to be sure the kidnapping was triggered by something
other than our brief contact with Dr. Kovac-Carter. Confronting them
with the truth will be bad enough without having to admit all of this
is our fault."

Ilya nodded as their car raced through the city.

Author's Notes:
* When the MFU series originally aired, this character's name was
Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. Someone was definitely asleep at the
switch. I have corrected the egregious mis-spelling of this name. The
sins and flames be on my head.

** Okay, cousins. Those communicator pens were awfully cute, but they
were also conspicuous as all get out. I mean, secret agents are
supposed to be "secret" right? Everyone from ministers of the church
to ministers of state carry cell phones plus skillions of other
folks. Now, you stand out if *don't* have one. EP

For Christ's sake, can't you shut her up?!" The THRUSH operative was
at his wits end. The disk wasn't in the backpack but the homing
device had been. The child fell silent.

"You said something bad."

"What?" The secret agent-now-nanny turned the backpack inside out.

"Sister says we should only say 'Christ' when we pray." Katerina
explained solemnly.

"Listen kid, I don't care what your sister said..."

"She's not *my* sister. She's the bride of baby ..."

"Jesus!"

"You're not supposed to say that either." Katerina pointed out
frowning. "When can I go home? My daddies will be worried."

"In a little while." The exasperated agent kicked the contents of the
backpack out of his way. "Now honey, I'm looking for a special kind
of disk for a computer. Have you seen one? Here's what it looked
like." The THRUSH agent held up a similar disk. Katerina shook her
head. "It should have been in this bag. What happened to it?"

"I don't know. *Now* can I go home?"

"Hey Petersen, we just may have a solution to our problem."

"Yeah?"

"The kid's daddy is rich."

"How rich?"

"Stinking. His old man owns stock in quite a few of our overseas
operations."

"Does he know about our interests?"

"No. The dumb schlub is a window dummy. We cook the books a little
and he's clueless as to where his 'profits' are coming from."

"Yeah, well without the homing device, how are we going to find the
disk?" Mr. Big will eat us for breakfast."

"Whaddya say we play detective and go interview the kid's dad? If
they think the kid's been taken for ransom, so much the better.
Everybody knows kidnappers don't use the phone anymore. The internet
is much safer. No traces. We supply some disks so papa can download
his e-mail. Write a few complicated ransom requests and delivery
instructions, confiscate the disks, deliver the kid and everybody's
happy. We might even get a bonus in the form of a whopping big
ransom. As long as her dada stays dumb, we're home free. Awww, for
Pete's sake will you shut up!"

Katerina sniffed and did as she was told. Sister Graciela had never
mentioned taking St. Peter's name in vain, but Katerina was sure she
wouldn't approve.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Anything?" John came into their apartment to find Luka, ice-pack on
his head, stretched out on the couch. Under the circumstances, John
would have taken leave but a special delegation of African trauma
physicians had been scheduled to follow him during his shift. He had
helped to arrange the visit so Luka agreed he should go in.

"Nothing. Your father dropped by with two new cell phones so we can
leave our other lines clear. He's called six times today but apart
from that, nothing."

"I don't think who ever did this is after ransom money." John
shrugged out of his suit coat and headed into the kitchen. The sight
of Katerina's latest drawing on the refrigerator door stopped him in
his tracks. Luka heard a muffled sob and found John holding the
drawing and crying.

"Shhh, Janaskja, everything is going to be fine. We'll get her back."
He pulled John into his arms and kissed his cheek, not trusting his
voice any further. Both men remembered when Social Services took
their daughter from them while she was still an infant. When they
were finally permitted to adopt the little girl, their joy was
indescribable. Faced with this latest loss, both men were trying
desperately to remain calm.

John wiped his eyes and attempted to smile. "You're right. The crooks
are probably just being cautious. "You want anything?" John's
trembling hands replaced the drawing and opened the refrigerator.

"I had a sandwich about an hour ago. Fix something for yourself.
There's some leftover stew in the freezer." Luka returned the ice
pack to the lump on the back of his head.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Stomach acting up?"

"Big time. I don't think those Tanzanian docs were too impressed by
this so-called veteran who threw up four times in the space of eight
hours." John's nervous stomach had plagued him for most of his life.
At the first sign of anxiety, his food felt an overwhelming need to
get to Lake Michigan the hard way. John grabbed a yoghurt and some
crackers and shut the fridge with his hip. Thirty minutes later, he
was in the bathroom.

"The winner and still cham-peen." John griped after rinsing his mouth
out.

"You okay?" Luka asked from the bedroom.

"No. You?"

"No."

"Thank God misery loves company." John was allergic to compazine, a
routinely prescribed anti-vomiting drug so Luka handed him some OTC
meds and both men went to bed early. Sleep, however, eluded them.

NS*IK*JC*LK

After going over the results of the full-scale search, Napoleon and
Ilya also decided to get some sack time. They were staying in a
slightly seedy apartment where, years before, their professional
partnership had expanded to a more intimate relationship. UNCLE's
mandatory retirement age for field agents was forty. Both men had
passed that mark. So, the rules were changed. Now, an agent was
retired if he or she couldn't pass a rigorous quarterly physical.

Both men were still trim and possessed excellent muscle tone.
Napoleon's dark brown hair had touches of white at his temples, but
his partner's clear blond mop showed no signs of advancing age. Their
bodies were illustrated guides to what bullets, knives, and other
hurtful implements could do to human flesh. Napoleon carefully
applied the antibiotic ointment to his partner's most
recent "souvenir." Had John Carter but known it, both men could
probably be certified as EMTs on the spot. They'd been patching each
other up for over a decade.

"I think we should communicate with the girl's parents." Ilya was
insistent on this point. "If our THRUSH friends have made contact,
this is the most efficient way to find out. "If they haven't, at
least her fathers will be prepared.

"It's too soon, Ilyusha. We have a line on their phones, including
the new ones her grandfather purchased today. Considering the Carter
family's wealth, this still might turn out to be a routine
kidnapping. The FBI has been called in, we're monitoring all of
*their* calls, too."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Polya, you're not being objective. The child
was taken along with her backpack less than eight hours after she
left the school which is next door to a THRUSH installation. The
guards in her apartment building were dosed with THRUSH knock-out
gas. Thirty-six hours later, there have been no ransom demands or any
other suspicious contact. I would like to know how much more evidence
of THRUSH's involvement do you need?"

"Well..."

"I know this is hard for you, Polya. But we don't have much choice.
We need to tell them."

"Okay, you win. Let's go."

"Now?"

"Of course. You don't think they're asleep do you?"

NS*IK*JC*LK

The THRUSH agent worked quietly. It took less than a minute to disarm
the security system on the Kovac-Carter vehicle. Using a small
flashlight, he searched the car thoroughly. Nothing. On to plan B.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Luka, someone's at the door." John was half-way down the hall
pulling on his bathrobe and praying like never before. Instead of the
uniformed police officer holding his daughter, John opened the door
to reveal the men he'd met two days ago. "I *knew* this wasn't about
ransom money."

"You're probably correct." The Russian man said at once.

"John? Who are these men? Detectives?" Luka came into the room with
the baseball bat. With a child in the house, neither man would even
consider owning a gun.

"In a way. Remember the secret agents I told you about? Luka, this is
Ilya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo."

"You have an excellent memory for names." Ilya shook Luka's hand and
stepped aside to make way for his partner to do the same.

"Some names anyway. I don't think anybody's been called Napoleon
since..."

"Waterloo." Napoleon winced. "My grandfather was very eccentric. Less
money, and he would have been packed off to the Thorazine suite at
the Rubber Ramada. Listen, I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you,
but I don't think there's any alternative. Dr. Carter is right. Your
daughter was not kidnapped for ransom." Napoleon sighed. "What do you
guys know about UNCLE?"

"It's like the CIA, isn't it?"

"No. Although they can be highly pragmatic and at times seem to
further other world views, the CIA, NSA, and the rest of US
intelligence community owe their ultimate allegiance to this country
and her sometimes short-sighted political goals. UNCLE is an
international agency dedicated to upholding the law; fundamental laws
of right and wrong. Sometimes our goals coincide with those of the
United States, more often, they don't. Ultimately, we'd like to see a
stable world government with just laws for everyone, but we know
trying to force this state of affairs would yield the opposite."
Napoleon looked at John and Luka then shook his head.

"For example: The war in your homeland, Dr. Kovac. We saw it coming.
Tried like hell to reason with the leaders of the three factions
involved then sat back and let things work out for themselves. It was
ugly. A lot of truly innocent people got hurt, but the war came to an
end."

"Only because the UN stepped in." Luka said bitterly. His wife and
daughters had been killed in that war. "I can't believe we're
discussing politics while our daughter is God alone knows where."

"I'm sorry. Truly I am; for all of your losses, Dr. Kovac. However,
if UNCLE had waded in and assassinated a few folks, the hostilities
would still be going on. The Serbs, Croatians, and other ethnic
groups had to figure out for themselves that war is hell on earth and
an incredibly stupid way to settle disagreements. Fifty years ago,
that regional conflict would probably have triggered a world war.
Eighty some-odd years ago, the assassination of a crowned head in
Sarajevo, did just that. We're still picking up the pieces."

"Well if you guys just sit back and let things happen, what's the
point?" John wanted to know.

"The point is, despite regional conflicts, the world is a far more
stable place than it was fifty years ago." Ilya smiled sadly. If
anyone had told me, while I was prisoner in a gulag that not only
would I *leave* the Soviet Union, but that the Soviet Union would
cease to exist, I would have assumed they were drunk or certifiable,
probably both. Without "Star Wars" without a major war, communist
socialism fell by the wayside. Things are better. Not much, but the
most important step was taken."

"Nevertheless, we *do* take action on occasion. But only when vast
numbers of innocent lives are threatened." Napoleon's face was
solemn. "Imagine what September 11th would have been like if nuclear
weapons had been used. Thanks to UNCLE, they weren't. Still... too
many lives were lost. Yes, some buildings were destroyed, but New
York. Pennsylvania, and Washington, DC are still there." Napoleon
said quietly. "It's a matter of degree. Technology has grown up far
faster than human behavior. It's as if cavemen with all of their
unbridled emotions and no moral standards had been given automatic
pistols and hydrogen bombs. UNCLE primarily makes sure the technology
is in proportion to the size of the idiot minds wielding it. It's not
the best solution, but it saves more lives than you could know."

The sober-faced Russian nodded. "I am not exagerating when I state
that my partner and I have saved the world on four separate
occasions. By that I mean, averted epic disasters that would have
ended life as we know it."

"So what does this have to do with our daughter?" John was getting
very frightened now.

"Our chief adversary is an cock-eyed organization with an equally
fantastic name: THRUSH. To put it simply, they also want a world
government but their working model is the Third Reich. When we
interfere it's usually to stop their operatives and scientists from
destroying the progress we've made thus far. We believe they have
your daughter. Why they took her, is still unknown. That's why we
came to see you."

"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary, lately?" Ilya asked.

"No. Nothing." Luka looked at John who nodded. "Apart from the
excitement attached to our work, we lead extremely dull lives."

"Yeah." John interjected. "Treating Mr. Kuryakin was the first YWBT
case I've had in a while."

"Excuse me, YWBT?" Napoleon's eyebrows went up.

"Shop talk for You Won't Believe This." John explained. "As trauma
docs, we see all kinds of weird stuff, so much so, that it becomes a
strange kind of routine. You guys were the first secret agents I'd
encountered since I was a resident. Is that why Katerina was taken
from us?"

"It could be. But that would mean we were under surveillance before
and after we met you. No, more than likely this has something to do
with the fact that THRUSH had a center of operations located next to
your daughter's school..." Ilya broke off as Luka went deathly white.

"Janaskja! A janitor bumped into me and Kitten as we were leaving the
building! That must be when all of this started!"

"Can you describe the man?" Napoleon took out a small tape recorder.

"Early forties, mouse-colored hair. Looked hypertensive..." A spate
of medical terminology followed. Napoleon shook his head.

"In English, please."

"Ruddy complexion, slightly popped eyes, dry skin, and a slight
squint in his left eye; pot belly and probably a wrenched ankle."
Ilya explained as John and Luka's mouths fell open.

"No, I'm not a doctor. Quantum physics is my scientific discipline,
but as you can tell, our work means we spend a lot of time in
hospitals." Ilya smiled for the first time.

"Yeah, I'll bet." John shook his head as if to clear it. "So, what do
you want us to do? I mean, you came here for something, right?"

"Have there been any unusual phone calls? Wrong numbers, hang-
ups?..." Napoleon asked.

"Nothing. My father got us new phones. The hospital and our family
are the only people with the new numbers."

"Who, besides the Chicago police and your family, know of your
daughter's disappearance?" Ilya wanted to know.

"Apart from the ones who took her, only our boss. The papers haven't
picked up on it yet. We told her school that she has the flu." Luka
explained quietly.

"The internet." Ilya murmured.

"What?"

"Have you checked your e-mail, lately?"

"No. Not since that night. I didn't think..." John jumped up and ran
for his laptop while Luka cleared a space on the coffee table.

"Here. Luka, could you plug it in?"

"Let me." Ilya put the computer in front of him and quickly pulled up
the appropriate screen.

"How did you do that? We have it password-protected for our
daughter." John was surprised. There was his personal e-mail service
with all of his incoming messages.

"Let's just say, I can see why you'd want to limit access to your
machine." Ilya said drily without actually answering the
question. "Do you have a spare disk? I'd like to download your folder
and let our encryption team look them over."

"Uhh, do you have to?"

"Janaskja, what's wrong? Should I know about this?"

"Well..."

Luka whistled as he peered over Ilya's shoulder. "You're into slash?"

"Okay, so I'm not proud of it. It's something to do when you've got
the late shift."

"I'll say. No wonder you gave me a computer of my own for our
anniversary."

"Slash?" Napoleon wanted to know.

"A sub-genre of what is called "fanfiction." The stories feature
plots or sub-plots that involve same-gender relationships, usually
male." Ilya sounded as if he was lecturing.

"And just how would you know about this, partner?" Napoleon smiled.

"I read about it in a magazine?"

"Okay... Is there anything else of interest?"

"Dr. Kovac-Carter, I assume you know all of these correspondents?"
Ilya's elegant hands flew over the keyboard as he quickly duplicated
the directory containing all of John's incoming mail.

"Kinda. Most of them are docs in other parts of the country. A few
students, the usual. No pen-pals." John looked pointedly at his
husband. "Anyway, do you think these THRUSH people will use the
internet?"

"Probably. It's less easy to trace than the using the phones and a
hell of a lot easier for the average person to access in private and
manipulate. I'll download what you have archived so far and we'll tap
into this directory and get copies of any future transmissions, if
that's okay."

"Sure." John's face was the color of bricks.

"What about your computer, Dr. Carter-Kovac?"

"Luka, please, it's less time-consuming. I never hooked the thing up.
It's still in the box."

"Your anniversary was in November." Napoleon pointed out.

"How on earth?"

"Let's face it Luka, our lives are open books to these guys." John
was mortified.

"In a manner of speaking. We don't compile files on everybody. We
simply access the information that's already been compiled by someone
else. Employers, educational institutions, social services, local law
enforcement, credit card companies: the usual. The drugs used to
subdue the security staff in your building set off one of our alarms.
I recognized your rather unusual last name, Dr. John, and the rest
was a matter of routine." Napoleon explained.

"We celebrate two anniversaries." Luka sighed. "One in April when we
first became a couple, and the date we were married in November."

"I'll get you a disk. I think we have a few in the bedroom." John
called out over his shoulder.

"We're really sorry about all of this, Luka." Napoleon said softly.

"Yes. I must tell you there is still a chance of your daughter's
abduction being the work of kidnappers for ransom, but with every
hour that passes with no contact, the odds are decreasing." Ilya held
out his hand for the disks.

"I'm sorry, do you guys want something to drink?" John asked.

"Coffee, if you have it."

"That's a given. We're doctors; we live on the stuff." John headed
into the kitchen.

"Napoleon?" To anyone else, Ilya's voice would have sounded normal.
Napoleon came over immediately and sat down.

"Got something?"

"How do you say? Pay dirt." Ilya said quietly. "Look."

Napoleon leaned forward and gazed at the list of files on the
screen. "Give this man a cigar."

"You found something?" Luka wanted to know.

"Yeah, The reason Katerina was taken. If this disk is genuine, and
there's every reason to believe it is, THRUSH will do anything to get
it back. However, there's a catch. If they think we've seen it, all
bets are off."

"Meaning?"

"They will have no reason to return your child." Ilya said
bluntly. "And three billion reasons to want revenge.

Act 3 - What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?
**********************************************************
"Do we want to know what's on that?" Luka didn't like the look on the
Russian's face.

"No."

"John? I think you need to be in here." Luka called out.

"You guys found something."

"Yes." Ilya explained.

"We're never going to see her again." John put his head down.

"I'm the gloomy one, remember?" Luka hugged his husband. Despite his
smile, his voice cracked.

"You're going to have house guests." Napoleon had been thinking.

"THRUSH agents?" Luka looked to the windows half expecting to see
sinister operatives clambering over the sills.

"No, two old friends from New York. Remember? You met up with us at
Wigstock."*

"Uh-huh." Luka didn't like the sound of this. "Our travel records,
right? Shit, you guys know everything."

"Napoleon, you can't be serious." Ilya's face was as white as chalk.

"Come on, partner. A little girl's life is at stake. You've done
worse."

"Not willingly."

"Besides, we're no longer living in ..."

"San Francisco! You guys know about Charles and Cyril? I don't
believe this!" John's eyes went wide.

"Calm down, I think I know where Napoleon is going with this. We,
masquerading as your friends, were on our way to visit friends in the
City, you called to tell us about Katerina, and we decided to stay
with you for a few days." Ilya explained.

"Charles is conservative, dark haired... I borrow some horn-rimmed
glasses, part my hair in the middle..."

"Which leaves *me* to prance around the living room in a silk
dressing gown." Ilya muttered.

"Nothing quite so flamboyant. I seem to remember you have some old-
style Russian lounge wear that's pretty slinky..."

"Great. Ivana the Terribly Bitchy rides again." **

"Think of it this way, all those ballet lessons are finally going to
pay off." Napoleon smiled.

"You owe me, for this one."

"But you don't have any luggage." John pointed out.

"I can take care of that." Napoleon pulled out his cell phone. "Open
channel D. Emergency relay, Solo to Waverly." Napoleon grinned at his
partner briefly then began to update their boss. "Yes, sir. We think
we can orchestrate the exchange without our avian friends knowing
we're on to them. I'm feeding you the data now. Don't read it, don't
circulate it, don't do anything until we get the little girl back."
Napoleon slipped the disk into a slot in the base of his phone. After
another two minutes he removed the disk, confirmed the data transfer,
and closed the phone. "Our local office will be dropping by with
our 'lost' luggage by way of O'Hare. They'll be in a regular airport
taxi."

"When THRUSH makes contact with you, they'll probably be covered as
police or FBI agents. Go along with them as if they were the real
thing. If I were running the op' I'd probably give you a bunch of
disks to download ransom instructions from the internet. Leave this
one in plain sight, in a stack of disks scattered over the dining
room table. Everybody 'borrows' these things from work, friends, what
have you; you never noticed it's a different brand from the ones you
usually buy. They'll probably collect the ransom to make this look
genuine, let them. During the course of things, they'll take back the
disks they gave you plus the one they really want. Again, let them.
Your daughter will be returned to you and you shouldn't be involved
further." Ilya had been stage managing the dining room table as he
explained the scenario.

"What if the real police and FBI find out about the THRUSH agents?"
Luka asked. Inwardly, he was terrified.

"My boss in New York is handling that. The Chicago PD and the FBI
will back off until we give them the high sign. You guys get to feed
my partner, for which you will have to be re-imbursed handsomely by
the way, we get to sit up late and play cards, and hopefully your
daughter will be back at home in two or three days." Napoleon stuck
his tongue out at Ilya.

"And the media?" John looked up, his eyes were red.

"We've taken care of that as well. Any inquiries made to the police
or FBI will be answered by an extremely bored mid-level flunkie who
will state the whole thing was a hoax. Yes, an attempt was made,
yadda yadda and the kid and her family decided to go to the Bahamas
for a little R&R. Of course, if the media had left you guys alone
during that INS thing, all of this could have been avoided. In short,
they'll be made to feel the whole thing is *their* fault so they'll
back off." Napoleon sighed. ***

"For the truly unscrupulous newshound, we'll let slip a few details
about surviving members of the 'Sons of Thunder', and let them run
with it. All of those guys are dead or in jail... yes, we checked,
Luka. So, no harm, no foul. It sounds dramatic, and the bottom lie
remains the same, some amateur goons tried to get back at Luka, they
botched it, and you're out of town." Napoleon said flatly.

"Yes, if the fake police want to know about the false reports in the
press, tell them the truth. You didn't want to scare off the
kidnappers." Ilya headed into the kitchen.

"Do you really think it will be that easy?" Luka still had his arms
around John.

"Yes. Two look-alikes will be boarding a plane for New York in the
morning looking very dissatisfied. Everybody routinely checks airport
surveillance tapes. THRUSH will assume Ilya and I have gone home.
When the fake PD shows up, we'll be sound asleep in your bedroom with
a few artfully arranged articles left around to imply we earned our
rest." Napoleon made another call requesting some "special" items to
be included in their "lost" luggage and smiled at his partner who
grimaced.

"I draw the line at toe shoes. The damn things were invented by
Torquemada."

"You should know, dushka moi." ****

NS*IK*JC*LK

The two kidnappers looked very authentic. They could have walked into
any precinct bar in Chicago and been immediately recognized as fellow
officers. Their associates had the "ransom" e-mails all ready to go.
The next morning, John opened the door to two "detectives" who
flashed real badges. The couch in the living room had been pulled out
into a double bed. "You have company?"

"Some friends from San Francisco." John explained as he shut the
door. He was very nervous. Thank God the kidnappers would be
expecting him to be on edge. "Luka! Some detectives are here."

"I'll be there in a minute." Luka's voice carried from down the hall.
The sound of the toilet flushing explained where he was. "Good
afternoon, officers." The tall Croatian said quietly. "Do you have
any news for us?"

"None, I'm afraid. But we're confident you should be hearing soon
from the people who took your daughter. Sometimes, these bastards
like to wait a little to make the families extremely anxious, they
think it will guarantee a quick pay-off."

"Well, it's working. We'll do whatever we can to get her back."

"Fine. We'll be with you every step of the way. Do your guests know
what's going on?"

"Yes. We had to tell them. We don't usually have the police calling
our home or stopping by. Besides, they're godparents for our
daughter." John replied.

"Okay, they may phone the initial instructions in, but most of their
contact will be made over the internet. Here are some special disks
that will record all source URLs for any messages sent. I assume you
have a computer?"

"Two. Laptops. Only one is on-line though." John led them into the
dining room. "Here it is. I haven't checked my e-mail since last
night."

"Okay, doc. Could you access your account? Let's see if anything has
popped up." The older "detective" put on a pair of glasses and leaned
in next to John as the younger man pulled up his home page and logged
in. The disk was right in front of him. This would be a piece of cake.

"That's a lot of mail."

"I save everything as 'new;' it's kinda like a back-up tickler file.
Most of this stuff is job-related. Doctors usually keep in touch to
swap procedures, new treatments, things like that." John explained
amazed at how calm he sounded.

"Do you mind if we copy these?"

"Go ahead. Just don't delete anything. Some of these are requests for
information and few contain drafts of articles I'm working on."

"No problem, doc. This is a routine copy job. Hey, Peterson, have you
got those blank disks?"

"Sure. Here you go." The other detective had been nosing around the
living room.

"Thanks."

The "partner" picked up a lace teddy. "This belongs to your friends?"

"Yes. It's mine." Luka turned and nearly fell over. Ilya's hair had
been curled into a pouffe that fell over his bright green
eyes. "Sorry about that, sweetums." "Cyril" pursed his lips in Luka's
direction. "We didn't mean to make such a mess."

The two THRUSH agents rolled their eyes. This had to be the weirdest
case they'd ever been involved with: a kid, two guys married to each
other, and now drag queens. Ilya picked up the scattered pieces of
underclothing and swam out of the room. Cyril would have been proud
of him. No one noticed when the sylph-like creature adjusted the
UNCLE surveillance camera looking for all the world like a snow-globe
sitting on the mantle.

"Okay, that should do it for now. Here's our cell phone number. This
way you won't get hung up at the switchboard in the precinct house.
Call anytime you think you have something. We'll leave these extra
disks with you. Copy all of your e-mails. We'll decide what's
relevant, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Try not to worry too much. I'm sure they'll be in touch. Don't
worry, we'll see ourselves out." The two men left.

Napoleon didn't waste any time. He quickly counted the disks strewn
over the table. One was missing. "Ohh darling?"

"Yes?" Ilya was still in character. For all they knew, the THRUSH
agents could have infested the place with bugs.

"Why don't you make yourself decent and help Luka clean up the living
room?"

"Why do *I* always get stuck with the housework?"

"Because you look better in a maid's uniform?" Napoleon nodded in
reply to Ilya's unspoken question.

"Can I help it if I'm the beautiful one?" Ilya's soft crooning voice
was definitely at odds with his fierce frown.

He activated a small electronic device and began to sweep the room.
Ten minutes later, he made the "OK" sign. Now that they had what they
came for, THRUSH wasn't interested in John and Luka enough to plant
listening devices. Which meant, they would monitor their activities
the old-fashioned way with men on the street and tapped phone calls.
Roland had already played his part, leaving a message to say he was
going to by-pass the police and use his own security service to make
any ransom drops. So far, so good. Ilya brushed his hands through his
hair restoring it to the style he usually wore. Two passes with a
damp paper towel removed the blush and lip gloss. Ignoring the kiss
blown by his partner, he stalked out of the living room to change
clothes.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"So how long have you guys been partners?" Luka wanted to know. They
were sitting in the kitchen watching as Ilya polished off a third
helping of stew.

"Almost fifteen years." Napoleon sighed. His metabolism forced him to
adhere to a very strict diet to maintain his figure. Ilya shoveled
food in with both hands and never seemed to gain a pound.

"And you've been lovers for how long?" John smiled.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that question."
Napoleon grinned back.

"Nine years, Four months, eleven days." Ilya said flatly, his eyes
however were shining. The green contact lenses were in a case in his
pocket. He was once more in uniform: black turtleneck sweater and
black slacks.

"We thought our stay in Chicago would be a second honeymoon."
Napoleon began.

"You met here?"

"In a manner of speaking. Ilya drew an entrapment assignment
involving a male subject. I decided to help him get in the mood, you
might say."

"He was a most excellent coach." Ilya said softly.

"Thank you, liubov."

"Hey, that's almost how you say it in Croatian." John looked at Luka.

"You speak Croatian?" Ilya was impressed.

"Enough to get what I want." John blushed.

"The same can be said for my Russian." Napoleon remarked with a wink
at his partner. "What about you two?"

"We've worked together for about the same amount of time as you guys.
We were married four years before we adopted our daughter." Luka
replied.

"Are you guys open about your relationship at work?" John wanted to
know.

"Yes. How can you be blackmailed if everyone knows about you?
Besides, THRUSH knew we were in love before we did." Napoleon
chuckled. "Once in a great while, they get something right."

"A very great while." Ilya said gravely.

"We're probably the most famous gay couple in Chicago." John remarked
wryly. "Stuff keeps happening to us that winds up on television."

"It's only because you're as rich as Croesus." Luka shook his head.

"Not me, my family."

"You and Napoleon have a lot in common." Ilya said.

"I kinda noticed that. Both of us had crazy grandfathers. I take it
you're well off?"

"I believe the phrase is 'stinking'." Ilya said drily.

"Probably my aftershave." Napoleon demurred.

"What about you, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Please, call me Ilya. I get by."

"He's too modest to admit to holding half a dozen patents that have
made him into a filthy capitalist."

"You were married in Bosnia, Luka?"

"Yes. My wife and daughters... you know what happened."

"Do either of you have children?" John asked.

"Well, yes and no." Napoleon answered slowly.

"Yes. I had a son. He was put up for adoption." Ilya said softly.

"I'm sorry." Luka took John's hand.

"Don't be. Neither of us wanted to do it, but we had no choice. Our
enemies consider getting rid of us a top priority. The boy could have
been used against us; apart from being eliminated for revenge. At
least this way he's safe. THRUSH has no idea he exists. If he'd
stayed with us..."

"He'd be six now. Can we talk about something else?" Napoleon had not
failed to notice Ilya's saddened eyes.


Author's Notes:
* Wigstock: An outrageous drag festival held in New York City in late
summer. The more outlandish the getup, the better.

** Ilya's peevish observation relates to Charles's partner, drag-
queen extraordinaire Cyril Francis Madison. You can "read more about
it" in my short-shorts story "Summer in the City" archived at
fanfiction.net. Search for ER "Humor" with an NC-17 rating and that
sucker should pop up.

*** Wheee! I get to footnote my own stuff again!! Luka's troubles
with the Immigration & Naturalization Service (INS) are detailed in
part two of my three-part slash epic. The story is called "Hearts in
Darkness" and is also archived at "the net": ER "Drama" and NC-17 and
there you are.

**** My cousins will get to read all about Ilya's dance training in a
story called "The Three-Headed Eagle Affair." Unfortunately, you have
to join one of two MFU groups to read this one. Contact me off-line
and I'll be more than glad to supply the particulars. EP

"Do we want to know what's on that?" Luka didn't like the look on the
Russian's face.

"No."

"John? I think you need to be in here." Luka called out.

"You guys found something."

"Yes." Ilya explained.

"We're never going to see her again." John put his head down.

"I'm the gloomy one, remember?" Luka hugged his husband. Despite his
smile, his voice cracked.

"You're going to have house guests." Napoleon had been thinking.

"THRUSH agents?" Luka looked to the windows half expecting to see
sinister operatives clambering over the sills.

"No, two old friends from New York. Remember? You met up with us at
Wigstock."*

"Uh-huh." Luka didn't like the sound of this. "Our travel records,
right? Shit, you guys know everything."

"Napoleon, you can't be serious." Ilya's face was as white as chalk.

"Come on, partner. A little girl's life is at stake. You've done
worse."

"Not willingly."

"Besides, we're no longer living in ..."

"San Francisco! You guys know about Charles and Cyril? I don't
believe this!" John's eyes went wide.

"Calm down, I think I know where Napoleon is going with this. We,
masquerading as your friends, were on our way to visit friends in the
City, you called to tell us about Katerina, and we decided to stay
with you for a few days." Ilya explained.

"Charles is conservative, dark haired... I borrow some horn-rimmed
glasses, part my hair in the middle..."

"Which leaves *me* to prance around the living room in a silk
dressing gown." Ilya muttered.

"Nothing quite so flamboyant. I seem to remember you have some old-
style Russian lounge wear that's pretty slinky..."

"Great. Ivana the Terribly Bitchy rides again." **

"Think of it this way, all those ballet lessons are finally going to
pay off." Napoleon smiled.

"You owe me, for this one."

"But you don't have any luggage." John pointed out.

"I can take care of that." Napoleon pulled out his cell phone. "Open
channel D. Emergency relay, Solo to Waverly." Napoleon grinned at his
partner briefly then began to update their boss. "Yes, sir. We think
we can orchestrate the exchange without our avian friends knowing
we're on to them. I'm feeding you the data now. Don't read it, don't
circulate it, don't do anything until we get the little girl back."
Napoleon slipped the disk into a slot in the base of his phone. After
another two minutes he removed the disk, confirmed the data transfer,
and closed the phone. "Our local office will be dropping by with
our 'lost' luggage by way of O'Hare. They'll be in a regular airport
taxi."

"When THRUSH makes contact with you, they'll probably be covered as
police or FBI agents. Go along with them as if they were the real
thing. If I were running the op' I'd probably give you a bunch of
disks to download ransom instructions from the internet. Leave this
one in plain sight, in a stack of disks scattered over the dining
room table. Everybody 'borrows' these things from work, friends, what
have you; you never noticed it's a different brand from the ones you
usually buy. They'll probably collect the ransom to make this look
genuine, let them. During the course of things, they'll take back the
disks they gave you plus the one they really want. Again, let them.
Your daughter will be returned to you and you shouldn't be involved
further." Ilya had been stage managing the dining room table as he
explained the scenario.

"What if the real police and FBI find out about the THRUSH agents?"
Luka asked. Inwardly, he was terrified.

"My boss in New York is handling that. The Chicago PD and the FBI
will back off until we give them the high sign. You guys get to feed
my partner, for which you will have to be re-imbursed handsomely by
the way, we get to sit up late and play cards, and hopefully your
daughter will be back at home in two or three days." Napoleon stuck
his tongue out at Ilya.

"And the media?" John looked up, his eyes were red.

"We've taken care of that as well. Any inquiries made to the police
or FBI will be answered by an extremely bored mid-level flunkie who
will state the whole thing was a hoax. Yes, an attempt was made,
yadda yadda and the kid and her family decided to go to the Bahamas
for a little R&R. Of course, if the media had left you guys alone
during that INS thing, all of this could have been avoided. In short,
they'll be made to feel the whole thing is *their* fault so they'll
back off." Napoleon sighed. ***

"For the truly unscrupulous newshound, we'll let slip a few details
about surviving members of the 'Sons of Thunder', and let them run
with it. All of those guys are dead or in jail... yes, we checked,
Luka. So, no harm, no foul. It sounds dramatic, and the bottom lie
remains the same, some amateur goons tried to get back at Luka, they
botched it, and you're out of town." Napoleon said flatly.

"Yes, if the fake police want to know about the false reports in the
press, tell them the truth. You didn't want to scare off the
kidnappers." Ilya headed into the kitchen.

"Do you really think it will be that easy?" Luka still had his arms
around John.

"Yes. Two look-alikes will be boarding a plane for New York in the
morning looking very dissatisfied. Everybody routinely checks airport
surveillance tapes. THRUSH will assume Ilya and I have gone home.
When the fake PD shows up, we'll be sound asleep in your bedroom with
a few artfully arranged articles left around to imply we earned our
rest." Napoleon made another call requesting some "special" items to
be included in their "lost" luggage and smiled at his partner who
grimaced.

"I draw the line at toe shoes. The damn things were invented by
Torquemada."

"You should know, dushka moi." ****

NS*IK*JC*LK

The two kidnappers looked very authentic. They could have walked into
any precinct bar in Chicago and been immediately recognized as fellow
officers. Their associates had the "ransom" e-mails all ready to go.
The next morning, John opened the door to two "detectives" who
flashed real badges. The couch in the living room had been pulled out
into a double bed. "You have company?"

"Some friends from San Francisco." John explained as he shut the
door. He was very nervous. Thank God the kidnappers would be
expecting him to be on edge. "Luka! Some detectives are here."

"I'll be there in a minute." Luka's voice carried from down the hall.
The sound of the toilet flushing explained where he was. "Good
afternoon, officers." The tall Croatian said quietly. "Do you have
any news for us?"

"None, I'm afraid. But we're confident you should be hearing soon
from the people who took your daughter. Sometimes, these bastards
like to wait a little to make the families extremely anxious, they
think it will guarantee a quick pay-off."

"Well, it's working. We'll do whatever we can to get her back."

"Fine. We'll be with you every step of the way. Do your guests know
what's going on?"

"Yes. We had to tell them. We don't usually have the police calling
our home or stopping by. Besides, they're godparents for our
daughter." John replied.

"Okay, they may phone the initial instructions in, but most of their
contact will be made over the internet. Here are some special disks
that will record all source URLs for any messages sent. I assume you
have a computer?"

"Two. Laptops. Only one is on-line though." John led them into the
dining room. "Here it is. I haven't checked my e-mail since last
night."

"Okay, doc. Could you access your account? Let's see if anything has
popped up." The older "detective" put on a pair of glasses and leaned
in next to John as the younger man pulled up his home page and logged
in. The disk was right in front of him. This would be a piece of cake.

"That's a lot of mail."

"I save everything as 'new;' it's kinda like a back-up tickler file.
Most of this stuff is job-related. Doctors usually keep in touch to
swap procedures, new treatments, things like that." John explained
amazed at how calm he sounded.

"Do you mind if we copy these?"

"Go ahead. Just don't delete anything. Some of these are requests for
information and few contain drafts of articles I'm working on."

"No problem, doc. This is a routine copy job. Hey, Peterson, have you
got those blank disks?"

"Sure. Here you go." The other detective had been nosing around the
living room.

"Thanks."

The "partner" picked up a lace teddy. "This belongs to your friends?"

"Yes. It's mine." Luka turned and nearly fell over. Ilya's hair had
been curled into a pouffe that fell over his bright green
eyes. "Sorry about that, sweetums." "Cyril" pursed his lips in Luka's
direction. "We didn't mean to make such a mess."

The two THRUSH agents rolled their eyes. This had to be the weirdest
case they'd ever been involved with: a kid, two guys married to each
other, and now drag queens. Ilya picked up the scattered pieces of
underclothing and swam out of the room. Cyril would have been proud
of him. No one noticed when the sylph-like creature adjusted the
UNCLE surveillance camera looking for all the world like a snow-globe
sitting on the mantle.

"Okay, that should do it for now. Here's our cell phone number. This
way you won't get hung up at the switchboard in the precinct house.
Call anytime you think you have something. We'll leave these extra
disks with you. Copy all of your e-mails. We'll decide what's
relevant, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Try not to worry too much. I'm sure they'll be in touch. Don't
worry, we'll see ourselves out." The two men left.

Napoleon didn't waste any time. He quickly counted the disks strewn
over the table. One was missing. "Ohh darling?"

"Yes?" Ilya was still in character. For all they knew, the THRUSH
agents could have infested the place with bugs.

"Why don't you make yourself decent and help Luka clean up the living
room?"

"Why do *I* always get stuck with the housework?"

"Because you look better in a maid's uniform?" Napoleon nodded in
reply to Ilya's unspoken question.

"Can I help it if I'm the beautiful one?" Ilya's soft crooning voice
was definitely at odds with his fierce frown.

He activated a small electronic device and began to sweep the room.
Ten minutes later, he made the "OK" sign. Now that they had what they
came for, THRUSH wasn't interested in John and Luka enough to plant
listening devices. Which meant, they would monitor their activities
the old-fashioned way with men on the street and tapped phone calls.
Roland had already played his part, leaving a message to say he was
going to by-pass the police and use his own security service to make
any ransom drops. So far, so good. Ilya brushed his hands through his
hair restoring it to the style he usually wore. Two passes with a
damp paper towel removed the blush and lip gloss. Ignoring the kiss
blown by his partner, he stalked out of the living room to change
clothes.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"So how long have you guys been partners?" Luka wanted to know. They
were sitting in the kitchen watching as Ilya polished off a third
helping of stew.

"Almost fifteen years." Napoleon sighed. His metabolism forced him to
adhere to a very strict diet to maintain his figure. Ilya shoveled
food in with both hands and never seemed to gain a pound.

"And you've been lovers for how long?" John smiled.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that question."
Napoleon grinned back.

"Nine years, Four months, eleven days." Ilya said flatly, his eyes
however were shining. The green contact lenses were in a case in his
pocket. He was once more in uniform: black turtleneck sweater and
black slacks.

"We thought our stay in Chicago would be a second honeymoon."
Napoleon began.

"You met here?"

"In a manner of speaking. Ilya drew an entrapment assignment
involving a male subject. I decided to help him get in the mood, you
might say."

"He was a most excellent coach." Ilya said softly.

"Thank you, liubov."

"Hey, that's almost how you say it in Croatian." John looked at Luka.

"You speak Croatian?" Ilya was impressed.

"Enough to get what I want." John blushed.

"The same can be said for my Russian." Napoleon remarked with a wink
at his partner. "What about you two?"

"We've worked together for about the same amount of time as you guys.
We were married four years before we adopted our daughter." Luka
replied.

"Are you guys open about your relationship at work?" John wanted to
know.

"Yes. How can you be blackmailed if everyone knows about you?
Besides, THRUSH knew we were in love before we did." Napoleon
chuckled. "Once in a great while, they get something right."

"A very great while." Ilya said gravely.

"We're probably the most famous gay couple in Chicago." John remarked
wryly. "Stuff keeps happening to us that winds up on television."

"It's only because you're as rich as Croesus." Luka shook his head.

"Not me, my family."

"You and Napoleon have a lot in common." Ilya said.

"I kinda noticed that. Both of us had crazy grandfathers. I take it
you're well off?"

"I believe the phrase is 'stinking'." Ilya said drily.

"Probably my aftershave." Napoleon demurred.

"What about you, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Please, call me Ilya. I get by."

"He's too modest to admit to holding half a dozen patents that have
made him into a filthy capitalist."

"You were married in Bosnia, Luka?"

"Yes. My wife and daughters... you know what happened."

"Do either of you have children?" John asked.

"Well, yes and no." Napoleon answered slowly.

"Yes. I had a son. He was put up for adoption." Ilya said softly.

"I'm sorry." Luka took John's hand.

"Don't be. Neither of us wanted to do it, but we had no choice. Our
enemies consider getting rid of us a top priority. The boy could have
been used against us; apart from being eliminated for revenge. At
least this way he's safe. THRUSH has no idea he exists. If he'd
stayed with us..."

"He'd be six now. Can we talk about something else?" Napoleon had not
failed to notice Ilya's saddened eyes.


Author's Notes:
* Wigstock: An outrageous drag festival held in New York City in late
summer. The more outlandish the getup, the better.

** Ilya's peevish observation relates to Charles's partner, drag-
queen extraordinaire Cyril Francis Madison. You can "read more about
it" in my short-shorts story "Summer in the City" archived at
fanfiction.net. Search for ER "Humor" with an NC-17 rating and that
sucker should pop up.

*** Wheee! I get to footnote my own stuff again!! Luka's troubles
with the Immigration & Naturalization Service (INS) are detailed in
part two of my three-part slash epic. The story is called "Hearts in
Darkness" and is also archived at "the net": ER "Drama" and NC-17 and
there you are.

**** My cousins will get to read all about Ilya's dance training in a
story called "The Three-Headed Eagle Affair." Unfortunately, you have
to join one of two MFU groups to read this one. Contact me off-line
and I'll be more than glad to supply the particulars. EP

The four men sat up late talking and listening for the signal that
John had received a new e-mail message.

"Thank the Lord, you don't use Yahoo." Napoleon observed as he raked
in his pile of toothpicks. He'd been a consistent winner all evening.

"Yes." Ilya agreed glaring at his partner. Napoleon knew better than
to cheat civilians. "They could have posted the message five weeks
ago and we'd still be waiting." *

"So what's your average assignment like?" Luka asked. Neither he nor
John were paying that much attention to the game.

"Actually, about like this one." Ilya said as he examined his
cards. "I mean without this terrible complication. We're the top two
agents for this hemisphere and by all rights should have retired
years ago. Now, we're usually called in to scare the living daylights
out of junior agents."

"That I can believe." John folded for the third hand in a row.

"Come on, you guys look like a couple of stock brokers." Luka
disagreed.

"At first glance, but believe me, Ilya's reputation preceedes him. He
walks very softly indeed and usually carries a great big stick of
dynamite, or chews on a wad of plastique. He simply loves blowing
enemy installations to smithereens." Napoleon grinned. A pair of
queens, how apt.

"Do not under-estimate my partner. When he's not romancing some femme
fatale who should know better, he's a mortician's best friend." Ilya
tossed ten toothpicks into the pile. "I'm in."

"Leaving guys like us to pick up the pieces." John observed bitterly.

"If Ilya's involved, you'll need a vacuum cleaner to get the job
done."

"Or an electron microscope to find them." Ilya all but purred.

"I don't think that's funny." John threw his cards down.

"We weren't trying to be." Napoleon said quietly. "Listen, I'm sure
you docs have developed a kind of "sick" humor, for want of a better
word, over the years. If your hearts bled for every patient that came
through the door, you'd be exsanguinated by now. Our jobs are
similar. We perform surgery, cutting out the extremely rotten bits so
the rest of the body can heal and go on about its business. Do we
enjoy it? Yes. In the same way most professionals enjoy being able to
get a difficult job done with a minimum of collateral damage. If it's
any comfort, we don't start shooting unless large numbers of innocent
people are threatened."

"We have our share of bad dreams." Ilya added softly looking directly
at John. "But they're nothing in comparison to the nightmare your
lives would become if UNCLE didn't exist. One day, my partner and I
will face God and have to answer for our lives' work. I, for one, am
hoping He'll at least allow us to take an air-conditioner where we're
going."

A tinny sound resembling a toy ambulance siren was heard. John had
received some mail. All of them gathered around as Ilya opened the
file.

"Two million dollars in non-sequential unmarked bills are to be
placed in a large gym bag and brought by your representative to
Lakeside Park at 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. Do not call the police or
FBI. The pick-up will be made and the money examined. Your daughter
will be returned to you once we are satisfied we were not followed
and you have fully obeyed instructions. Your representative should
wear a Portland Trailblazers sweatshirt and pants. Attached is a
video file of your daughter: time-stamped ten minutes ago. We will
contact you tomorrow evening with instructions for picking her up."

John quickly downloaded the attached file and held his breath. The
sound was poor and the image was not very clear, but it was Katerina
and she was sobbing. Two black-gloved hands held her around her
waist. Luka began to cry and John held him as his own tears began.
Ilya flinched involuntarily as Napoleon's hand clamped down on his
shoulder. "Turn it off, Ilyusha. I think we've seen more than enough."

Napoleon put the cards away and gathered up their "winnings." "I
could use a drink. Ilya?"

"It's in our luggage." Ilya was copying the "ransom note" and its
attached file.

Napoleon fetched two bottles and some glasses from the kitchen. Luka,
John?"

"No thank you." John sniffed and wiped his eyes. I don't drink.
Recovering drug addict."

"Sorry." Napoleon poured a shot of vodka for his partner and scotch
for himself.

"Don't be. I limit my alcohol intake: two glasses of champagne a
year; Christmas and our November anniversary. Although, I might make
an exception when we get Kitten back." He tried to smile.

"Kitten?"

"Our daughter's nickname." Luka poured a small amount of vodka and
swallowed it like medicine. "When we found her, she'd been abandoned;
she made these mewing noises when John gave her some formula. We had
to call her something."

"You have no idea who her parents were?" Napoleon sipped his scotch.

"None. She's been ours for almost six years and no one's come
forward. The adoption papers are final. Considering the circumstances
of her abandonment, the judge assured us, that even if her parents do
turn up, they have lost all rights."

"I see." Napoleon put down his drink and began rubbing Ilya's
shoulders. The Russian was seated between his partner's feet on the
floor. "Listen, John. Why don't you call your father? It's probably
going to take him a while to get the money together."

"It's already here." John said. He almost laughed as the two agents
nearly choked. "Our nanny, Mrs. Riordan, brought it over this
afternoon.

"The laundry bags." Ilya shook his head. They were piled up in the
kitchen. "How did you know how much money would be needed?"

"We didn't. Dad sent five million. I was to call him if they asked
for more." John explained.

"And we just spent the evening playing poker for toothpicks." Luka
shook his head and wiped his eyes. "Janaskja, my love, after all of
this is over we're going to have a serious talk about your casual
attitude towards money."

"I don't see why. Once you've housed, clothed, fed, and educated
yourself and your kids; what good is it? You can't eat it. I suppose
you could stuff it into a mattress and sleep on it. It wouldn't even
keep you warm for very long. We've both got steady jobs, enough in
the bank to cover emergencies... who needs any more?"

"Plenty of people and they cause no end of trouble until they get
more than they can use." Napoleon said grimly. "You are a rarity, Dr.
Kovac-Carter. I'll never have to worry about *you* trying to take
over the world."

"Why would I want to? I'd only have to do the paperwork."

At John's dry response, Ilya surprised them all by laughing aloud.
For a moment, Luka saw the young man he must have been before a
stretch in the gulag and his work for UNCLE had made his eyes cold
and expressionless. Napoleon was more fortunate. He'd seen this look
on his partner's face nine years ago in a lumpy bed after they'd made
love for the first time. He was obsessed with restoring that look at
every conceivable opportunity.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Listen, Ilya and I will sleep out here and keep one ear open for
more incoming mail. "Why don't you two stretch out for a bit and try
to sleep? We'll get her back, trust me."

John and Luka headed for their bedroom. Both men were exhausted,
physically and emotionally. Luka went to the linen closet, preparing
to change the sheets when John told him there was no need. Ilya's
devotion to order had removed all traces of the two agents' brief
occupancy of the master bedroom. John slithered into his caftan, a
gift from Luka, and climbed into bed. Luka finished brushing his
teeth, put on his own caftan and joined his husband.

"Those are two very scary guys." John said quietly, his head on
Luka's chest.

"I don't know. They remind me of us. Did you see Ilya's face when he
talked about his son?"

"Yeah. Until he laughed, I figured he ate little kids for dinner."

"It's an act he puts on. If he spent time in a prison camp with his
looks, looking fierce probably was a survival tool. Backing up those
glares with his fists would have followed soon after." Luka yawned
inspite of himself.

"If they've been together for nine years, and Ilya's kid is six years
old, I wonder who his mother was?"

"You heard them. Part of their job calls for seducing people. Maybe
the condom broke..."

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Did you read this?" Napoleon held out a small pink book to his
partner. The title was "Kitten's Tale" and the author was John Carter.

"No." Ilya stretched, wincing as his stitches pulled. John had
insisted on checking him over earlier in the evening.

"Come on, Ilyusha. I'll read you a bedtime story." Napoleon settled
his partner in his arms and opened the book. "Once upon a time..." **
When Napoleon put the book down, his tough-as-nails partner was
shivering. "Are you okay? Ilya?"

The younger man raised a tear-stained face. "You know, I used to hang
around in toy stores and museums at lunch thinking I might see him.
Everytime I see a blond boy about his age I wonder."

"Shhhh, my love. I know. We didn't have any choice, remember?"

"Didn't we?" Ilya buried his face in Napoleon's side. Had John Carter
but known it, the story of Ilya's child was even stranger than he'd
imagined. One of the myriad scars on Kuryakin's torso would have told
a very unusual tale indeed.***

NS*IK*JC*LK

At quarter to five in the morning, John found himself in Katerina's
room. Something had managed to wake him, and he automatically went to
check on his daughter forgetting she was gone. Standing by her empty
bed, he put his head in his hands. When the Social Services people
had taken her away while she was still an infant, John had almost
died of grief. As he dried his eyes, he nearly shouted when a voice
addressed him in the semi-darkness.

"I did not mean to disturb you." It was Ilya Kuryakin, on his knees
before the icon and lamp in the corner of Kitten's room.

"That's all right. Are you okay?"

"I had a nightmare, couldn't sleep."

"Welcome to the club. I'm surprised I haven't had my own yet." John
explained his frequent spates of bad dreams and their causes.

"This is a beautiful icon. Did Luka buy it?"

"No, I did. It was my Christmas present to him the year we found our
daughter. You didn't answer my question." John persisted quietly.

"No, I didn't."

"You still miss him." John came over to where Ilya was kneeling and
sat cross-legged on the floor.

"I always shall. He was a beautiful child. Giving him up was the most
difficult thing I've ever done."

"Couldn't his mother have taken him?"

"She died."

John fell silent. He couldn't keep the vision of Ilya standing over a
woman's body with a smoking pistol in one hand and his infant son in
the other from invading his mind.

"It wasn't like that. His mother died... when he was born." Ilya said
very softly.

"Wasn't like what?"

"You thought I killed his mother."

"How on earth? You guys read minds too?"

"No. I'm a borderline telepath. Occasionally, especially when under
stress, I get flashes of what people around me are thinking. It's
probably what's kept Napoleon and I alive."

"That's why you looked at me when you mentioned having nightmares."

"Yes."

"Did you give your son a name?"

"No, it would have been too dangerous. He was taken to an orphanage
in another part of the country as 'John Doe: parents unknown'.
There's nothing to connect him with me."

"Except grief."

"He has no way of knowing who I am, let alone how I am feeling."

"You'd be surprised. When they took Kitten away from us, 'cause we
were gay, I had dreams where I could hear her crying for us..." Ilya
gasped as John said this. "... When they finally admitted they'd made
a mistake and gave her back to us, we found out she *had* been
crying, almost constantly. You've had dreams too, haven't you?"

Ilya nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hadn't told Napoleon
despite their promise not to keep secrets from each other. "It's
better as it is." Ilya sighed and got to his feet. "There was no way
we could have protected him without going off somewhere isolated. He
would have missed having friends his own age, going to school, all of
the things that normal children have..."

"Maybe that's why our daughter was abandoned. Maybe her mother or
father gave her up to protect her from someone or something. It would
explain why no one has come forward to claim her." John accepted a
hand-up from Ilya.

"Ilyusha? Are you okay?" Napoleon stuck his head in the doorway.

"I'm fine, 'Polya. Go back to sleep."

"Not until you do. We can get a couple more hours before we start
arranging to drop off the money.

Ilya followed his partner out of Kitten's room. "Should I be
jealous?" Napoleon's smoothly voiced question produced a snort from
the Russian.

"Should I?"

"Me? Run off with a married man? Not on your life. God help the man
who cheats on you, Ilyusha. I have no wish to form an intimate
acquaintance with the other concrete-shoe-wearing folks at the bottom
of the East River. Besides, as soon as this is over, I fully intend
to celebrate our second honeymoon."

"I'm glad your sense of self-preservation hasn't diminished, 'Polya.
I would deeply regret having to shoot you." Ilya got back into bed
and drew the blanket over both of them.

NS*IK*JC*LK

John took the rosary from the small shelf below the icon and knelt.
Sleep would be impossible. He might as well put the time to good use.
Luka found him later that morning, slumped against the wall, snoring
softly. Shaking his head, he picked up his husband and went back to
their bedroom. Two pairs of eyes: blue and brown watched from the
living room.

"They make a nice family." Napoleon observed as he made up the bed.

"They will when we get their daughter back." Ilya folded the bed back
into the couch and replaced the cushions. "Do you want some tea?"

"No, but I'll watch you drink yours."

"Polya, you need a life."

"Uh-huh. I bet you say that to all the boys."

NS*IK*JC*LK

The THRUSH agents were overjoyed. Their superiors had been livid at
the initial failure to retrieve the disk. Now, when informed of
disk's recovery plus the two-million dollar bonus, they eagerly
agreed to the scheme for returning the little girl. For Petersen,
getting rid of Katerina could not be done soon enough.

Getting the child to cry on cue was accomplished by telling her the
two men she lived with had been killed in a car crash. When the video
was completed, Petersen told her they had lied to her. Katerina did
not know what to believe. The agents made their plans talking over
her soft whimpers. She wanted to go home, even if no one was there
anymore, she wanted to go home.

The silence made Petersen look up. He nudged his partner and pointed.
The little girl was on her knees by the cot, her hands clasped in
front of her. Even THRUSH agents have their weaknesses. Petersen went
over to her and put her on his lap.

"I'm sorry, honey. We had to make you cry for the camera. One of our
friends saw your daddies yesterday. They're fine. You'll be able to
go home soon. I promise."

"You aren't making up another fib?"

"No, honey. Please try and sleep. Before you know it, you will be
going home."


"I have to finish my prayers first."

"Okay. What are you praying for?"

"I'm gonna ask baby Jesus to be nice to you even though you told a
lie and made me feel sad."

"You do that honey." The THRUSH agent shook his head. Maybe it was
time to retire. He was getting soft.

NS*IK*JC*LK

Roland Carter and his security aide arrived early. When Luka opened
the door, John's father was surprised to see two men seated in the
dining room wearing automatic pistols. "Are these men detectives?"

"No, Dad." John came out of the kitchen with the coffee
service. "They're from UNCLE."

"How did my brother get involved in this?" Roland was confused.

"Not Uncle Robb, Dad. U*N*C*L*E*." John began to explain.

"Mr. Carter? My name is Napoleon Solo. This is my partner, Ilya
Kuryakin." He showed his identification. I believe you know our boss,
Alexander Waverly?"

"Yes. I roomed at college with a great-nephew of his. So what's the
drill?"

Ilya outlined the plans for the ransom drop. When he finished, Roland
shook his head. "Are you sure planting this homing device is
necessary? What if they find it? We don't want anything to happen to
Kitten."

"They won't find it, sir. We don't have time for me to explain the
scientific theory behind this device. It's completely silent. It
doesn't transmit. The locator does all the work. We need it to find
out where they are holding your grand-daughter. Some of our men will
monitor the place very discreetly. If they move her, or make any
other changes to their plans, we'll be able to react quickly. It's
simply a precaution, but I'll feel better if we have a contingency
plan. Our adversaries usually aren't very creative. Nevertheless, if
they decide to become clever, we can keep tabs on them."

"Alright. How much money do they want?"

"Two million." Luka said quietly.

"That's all?"

"They have what they really want, Dad. The money's just for 'cover'."
John handed his father a coffee mug.


Author's Notes:
* I couldn't resist. (Smile) I hope those bozos don't "eat" my
postings.

** "Kitten's Tale" can be found in its entirety by clicking your way
over to "the Net"; searching for ER "Angst" and (of course) NC-17.
If I remember correctly, it's in chapter nine of "For Such as These"
if you want to skip the rest of the story.

*** Yep, I discovered to my surprise that I'm an mpreg fan. I promise
not to squick anyone. This is as close as I'm getting to a subject
that is weird, but fun, and will be definitely explained in detail,
elsewhere (grin). I'm coming, Athea, Sajin, and Cobaltblue Kitty! EP

The ransom drop went according to plan with one small variation. John
and Luka wrote a short note to their daughter, pinned it to her
stuffed rabbit and put the toy in with the money. One of the buttons
on "Robert's" overalls was actually the homing device. THRUSH could
scan the bunny until doom's day without eliciting so much as a peep
in response. Ilya was banking on the enemy agents' desire to keep
Katerina cooperative by letting her keep her toy. Even if they moved
her to a new hiding place, Robert would make finding her very easy.

UNCLE agents from Chicago observed the ransom pick-up and when the
coast was clear, transmitted a description of the THRUSH operative
and his vehicle. Shortly after dinner, John's computer signalled the
arrival of a new e-mail message. The money had been accepted. Ilya
grinned when the attached video file showed a smiling Katerina
holding her bunny. "They're on the North side..." Ilya adjusted the
controls on the locator. "Okay, here's the address." Napoleon relayed
the information to Mendoza and his team.

"Don't show yourselves. We have every reason to believe they'll go
ahead with leaving her at the museum. Solo out. Who's up for poker?"

No one mentioned sleep. Roland checked in with his office then sat
down at the table. The remaining money was on its way back to the
bank. "Jacks bet."

It was a long night. By two in the morning, Roland gave up and
stretched out on the couch. The other men remained at the table
talking. John was sitting on Luka's lap getting a neck rub. With his
eyes slitted shut and a loopy grin on his face he resembled a large
cat. Napoleon smiled when Luka finished his ministrations and planted
a sloppy kiss on the back of John's neck. The younger man showed no
sign of moving from his perch.

"Have you always been partners?" John asked as Luka's arms surrounded
him.

Napoleon chuckled and began to relate the edited version of the early
days of his partnership with Ilya. The two agents could be
themselves. Despite the gravity of the situation, they were enjoying
being able to openly express their affection for each other. John and
Luka easily saw through the dry bantering style. All while they were
speaking, the UNCLE men's eyes were glowing.

"... I was used to working alone. When the old man told me I was
going to get a partner I nearly resigned. Figuring I might as well
meet the guy, I went to Uncle Alex's office and ..."

"Proceeded to confirm all of my estimations regarding your
character..." Ilya dead-panned.

"Charming, witty, sophisticated, well-groomed..."

"Arrogant, patronizing, shallow, flirtatious..."

"I decided to give the little Russian a chance to impress me."

"Which I did by leaving a permanent imprint of your face on the west
wall of our gymnasium."

"We work well together."

"I get to crawl through sewers, drain pipes, tunnels---get captured,
tortured while my partner has cocktails with the enemy and arranges
for my rescue usually about two hours after I manage to escape on my
own."

"In between missions..."

"I get to familiarize myself with the latest advances in our various
medical facilities."

"Only because you refuse to duck when I tell you to."

"And if I did, *you* would be the one in hospital."

"I'm always willing to take my turn, Ilyusha."

"Too eager. You'd think I was made out of porcelain."

"Alabaster, dushka moi. Besides, I keep hoping that if I am the
injured one, you'll get the opportunity to pamper me."

"God forbid. You're spoiled enough already." Ilya took Napoleon's
hand and raised it to his cheek. "Although you did scare me one
time..."

"Shhh. That's all over. I've got the scar to prove it."

"You nearly died, Polya."

"Nonsense, it was just my way of making sure you were stuck with the
paperwork."

Once again, Ilya looked at John. Both men knew what it was like to
keep vigil over a lover who'd taken a bullet in the heart. It was no
joking matter.

NS*IK*JC*LK

The Chicago Museum of Art opened at ten in the morning. John and Luka
were parked outside at eight thirty. Neither man had slept. Napoleon
and Ilya were monitoring the situation from a command post at the
Chicago office. No one wanted to spook THRUSH at this stage of the
game.

"When we get her back, I'm going to sleep for a week." John yawned.
He was leaning over on Luka who'd been startled awake by John's
observation.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Sacha. Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to disturb you."
John put his arm around his husband and settled him more comfortably.
Looking out of the window, John wondered if their lives would ever
get back to normal. Although the two agents hadn't revealed any
sensitive information, they'd managed to impart enough data to make
John reconsider his assumption that the world was a relatively safe
place.

He wondered what it would be like to face the threat of losing the
most important person in your life on a regular basis. Napoleon and
Ilya's wry humor was an understandable defense mechanism. He'd
noticed scars on both men that made his own minor disfigurement look
to be the result of a cycling accident. If the pale ridges of flesh
that marked both men were anything to go by, the two agents had each
been close to death on more than one occasion; with the Russian
getting the lion's share of these dubious "honors."

Checking his watch every five minutes, John felt as if the appointed
hour would never arrive. Luka woke up an forty minutes later,
apologizing for leaving John to fret alone. "I'm fine, Sascha. Having
you in my arms is enough to keep me sane. Actually, I was thinking
about our houseguests."

"Should I be jealous?" Luka teased.

"No, beloved. I've got the only man I've ever wanted. I won't deny
Ilya is a walking invitation for date rape but he scares the shit out
of me. You know he reads minds?"

"Then when this is over, we'll go out of town. I have no wish for my
fellow Slav to get any ideas of what I'm going to do to you once
we're alone." Luka grinned.

"How can you think of sex at a time like this?"

"I'm not thinking of sex. I'm thinking about making love with someone
who is the other half of myself; a much better idea altogether."

"Only if you really get your kicks from masturbation." John smiled at
the image of Luka pleasuring the other half of himself. "Do you think
Katerina will need to see a therapist after all of this?"

"It couldn't hurt." Luka was used to John's suddenly changing their
topic of conversation. "I'll ask MacIntyre. He probably knows someone
who's good with children. Luckily kids are pretty resilient. Those
THRUSH people have no reason to harm her anymore than they did by
kidnapping her. I don't think you have to worry too much, strong
heart. We'll get her back, take a much needed vacation, and put this
behind us."

"I'm tempted to take her out of school and hire a governess." John
muttered.

"Janaskja, this was like being struck by lightning. It's not going to
happen again. Our daughter will be fine unless we over-react by
smothering her; making her afraid of her own shadow. Nevertheless,
installing a security system in our apartment can't hurt. I doubt if
we'll be plagued by any more secret agents but there's plain old
ordinary crooks out there by the hundreds."

"You're right. I worry too much." John sighed.

"No, you only said aloud what I was thinking. We'll all be jumpy for
a while but eventually, things will get back to the same old
blessedly boring routine. Now, why don't you let me be *your* pillow
for a bit. You could use some beauty sleep."

"Great. On top of everything else, you're telling me I'm getting old."

"Actually, you don't look all that different from a young man I fell
in love with nearly nine years ago."

"I love you, Sascha."

"As you so eloquently say, right back atcha, Janaskja."

NS*IK*JC*LK

Luka grinned when the uniformed security guard opened the doors to
the museum. John was already out of the car and half way up to the
main entrance. The two men headed for the salon containing the large
pointillist masterpiece: L'Apres Midi sur L'Isle de Grande Jatte.
Shortly after Kitten was removed from their home by Social Services,
John spent hours seated in front of the painting which featured the
indistinct image of a little girl.

They sat on one of the benches and waited once more. A soft chime
heralded an announcement from the public address system. "A little
girl has been separated from her family. Would her parents please
come to the main desk on the the ground floor? Thank you." Luka and
John ran for the stairs. There she was. Her pajamas and robe had
sparked curious comments from the guards who'd found her. Her fathers
never heard them.

"Oh sweetheart, we missed you so much." John had Katerina in his
arms. Both of them were in Luka's.

"Some bad men told me you were dead so I would cry. They told a fib."

"Yes they did, Kitten. We're both fine. Are you alright?"

"They wouldn't let me go home."

"We know. But we're going home right after we stop at the hospital so
Dr. Scott can take a look at you and Robert." Luka took his daughter
into his arms and kissed her cheek. They didn't notice a blond
security guard speaking softly into a walkie-talkie.

"She's safe, Napasha." Ilya had been in the museum as back-up. "I'll
check the place over then meet you at headquarters."

Dr. Scott Welles confirmed that nothing was physically wrong with
Katerina. John briefed Kerry and informed her that he and Luka would
be taking their vacations starting immediately. When the examination
was completed, by unspoken agreement, the family headed to the Carter
estate.

Millicent Carter hugged her grand-daughter tightly. "How's Robert
doing?" The elderly woman asked when she could speak.

"He's fine. He says he missed me." Katerina had not let go of her
bunny since he'd been returned to her.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"They're at the estate." Ilya closed his cell phone. "Mr. Waverly is
arranging to 'acquire' the data from the disk through other means. As
soon as he sets up the false leak, we can shut down most of THRUSH's
European operations."

"Good. Then I'm taking you on a nice long vacation." Napoleon was
sprawled, naked on the bed. "Come here, liubov." Ilya did not have to
be told twice. "You know THRUSH may want revenge on that family even
if we set up the dummy leak?"

"I was thinking the same thing. But if we're seen in town, THRUSH
will know for certain that we copied the diskette." Ilya was getting
his neck massaged. John wasn't the only one who purred when stroked.
The blue eyes were half closed.

"You are a mass of knots, my love."

"Are you saying I'm kinky?"

"Well... *I* wasn't the one who went to sleep in a lace teddy with
satin shoulder straps."

"That was part of my disguise."

"Sure it was."

"I think it only fair to remind you I achieved a perfect score the
last time I was on the firing range."

"As I was saying, you're very tense. But I think I know of a way to
relax you...

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Kerry? There's been a change in plans." Luka was on the phone with
Dr. Weaver. John was lying next to him, idly stroking his husband's
cock. "We won't be going on vacation just yet..." Luka sucked in his
breath as John's fingers stopped and his mouth took over. "We think
we'd be better off if we resumed our regular routine. We'll be at
work day after tomorrow. See you then... Ahhhh shit!"

"Luka? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Kerry. I've got to go."

"Gee, and I was doing my best to make you 'come'." John moved up into
Luka's arms.

NS*IK*JC*LK

Ohhh that's it, Ilyusha. Right there." Napoleon was impaled by his
lover. Ilya's face was flushed gloriously as he concentrated on
driving his partner over the edge. The UNCLE safe-house had sound-
proofed walls; another reason they preferred the somewhat seedy
apartment over more luxurious accommodations.

Ilya pumped his hips rapidly then slowed as Napoleon's moans
increased in fervor. Slow languid strokes stalled the impending
completion of their lovemaking. "For heaven's sake, Ilya faster,
harder, I'm dying here." Ilya grinned evilly and pulled back until he
was barely inside Napoleon. The older man used his legs to impale
himself once more, crossing his ankles in the small of Ilya's
back. "I've got a gun under my pillow. I suggest you put your own
weapon to work, now."

Ilya loved it when his partner began to beg. He resumed his thrusts
which were matched by reciprocal motions of Napoleon's pelvis. Before
too long, the Russian cried out and collapsed on top of his lover.

NS*IK*JC*LK

Katerina was safely tucked in. One of Roland's security guards was
stationed outside of her room. Luka, after locking their door, was
returning the favors his husband had done earlier in the evening.
John's hips bucked upwards as the powerful suction obliterated his
higher brain functions. At some point during their marriage, Luka had
mastered John's secret weapon. Tuneless humming elicited John's
orgasm. He vaguely felt Luka remove the condom and move into position
next to him.

"I swear they'll give you the Nobel Prize before you're through."
John murmured into his husband's chest. I'm a dead man."

"Necrophilia, huh. What's *in* those stories you've been reading?"

"Nothing that can compare to what you just did, Sascha. Trust me on
that."

"I trust you in everything."

Snores. John had fallen asleep.

Afterword

Discreet surveillance by Chicago UNCLE agents was maintained on John
and Luka for a year. The information contained on the diskette
was "discovered" as the result of a senior THRUSH agent's defection.
His cohorts never realized this "traitor" actually defected from the
land of the living to his new address in South Central Hades. When
one by one, the European THRUSH installations were located and
destroyed, their unwitting host governments decried this increase in
terrorist activity. Ilya had been very busy.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Who can tell me the name of the capital of Illinois?" Sister
Veronica asked her class. Several hands shot up.

"Yes, Alexander?"

"Springfield, Sister."

"That's right." The nun nodded at her newest pupil. The children
shared desks. Katerina smiled at her seat mate. The boy smiled back.

When the school day ended, Katerina raced for the door where John was
waiting. "Daddy, this is Alex. He just started school today."
Katerina had her friend by the hand. "Alex, this is my Daddy. His
name is John."

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Alex extended his right hand.

John was speechless. A miniature Ilya stood before him with hazel
eyes and clear blond hair. "I'm very glad to meet you, Alex. Do you
like school?" John finally managed to ask.

"Oh yes, sir. I'm going to be a scientist when I grow up."

"My daddy's a doctor." Katerina said proudly. The three of them
walked outside to where Luka and other parents were waiting. John
watched as Alex ran over to a couple who hugged him and helped him
climb into the back seat of their mini-van. As the Kovac-Carters rode
home through the late afternoon traffic, John said very little. He
wrote a short note to his father and enclosed another one to be
addressed to Waverly's great nephew. His father's old college room
mate should be able to forward it on.

NS*IK*JC*LK

"Dear Ilya, you made the right decision. I have seen him. He's happy
with a mother and father and baby sister. He and my daughter are
friends. He says he wants to be a scientist when he's older. I know
this is not the same as having him with you, but you can take comfort
in the fact that he's safe and loved. The next time you and your
partner come to Chicago, please stop by for a visit. You know the
date of Kitten's birthday in December. I think we can arrange a party
for her and her school friends. We thank you and Napoleon for
everything you did for us. John Kovac-Carter"

"Are you going to take him up on his offer, Ilyusha?"

"No, but it's nice to know I have the option. Things are best left as
they are."

Finis