Father's Day? - Pic Fic - June 21st

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Emerging from a closed operations meeting, Illya decided it was long past lunch time, so he and Napoleon headed towards the commissary. Solo was just beginning to regale his partner with stories of his latest dalliance when George Dennell called to them down the corridor.

“Did you hear what happened about two hours ago?” he blurted out as he caught up with them.

“I have no interest in office gossip,” Illya stated, turning to carry on his journey. It had been a long meeting and he was hungry.

“Someone left a baby outside Del Floria’s!”

Kuryakin stopped in his tracks and turned back to the other two men.

“Why?” he asked.

“Who knows?”Dennell replied with a shrug. “I can only assume the mother thought she had no choice.”

“No, I mean, why outside Del Floria’s?” Illya clarified. “Is child something to with someone at U.N.C.L.E.?”

“As you can imagine, the rumour mill going at maximum,” George continued. “The main theory is that the baby is yours, Napoleon.”

Solo snorted a laugh and ignored the look of amusement Illya was failing to fully suppress. Admittedly, he had enjoyed intimacy with many women, but he always had protection. In fact, things were doubly safe since the advent of female contraception. Still, he always had that little voice in the back of his mind reminding him that nothing was infallible.

“Just supposing the child was mine, which it isn’t, why would the woman leave it there?” he queried. “The women I date here would know there’s a camera on that door, and I don’t exactly give this address to the women I date outside.”

Before anyone could make any further comments, a voice came over the public address system ordering Solo and Kuryakin to medical. The pair exchanged puzzled looks. George explained that the child had been taken to medical to assess it’s health, while investigations were made into the parentage.

Napoleon was beginning to feel nervous. As the two agents made their way to medical, he could almost hear the grin Illya was carefully not allowing onto his face.

“The child isn’t mine,” he asserted.

“I believe you,” Illya told him, sounding almost sincere. “But you have to admit the odds are for it.”

The rest of the journey was made in silence until they reached their destination. As soon as they arrived, and saw the baby girl sleeping in the basket she’d arrived in, the grin left Illya and appeared on Napoleon’s face. Her hair was the exact same colour as the Russian’s.

“Is there something you wish to tell us, Tovarisch?”

“We found this note,” a nurse told them, and handed it to Illya.

He read it before handing it to Napoleon, who read it aloud.

“The man with the blond hair and maroon jacket is my baby’s father. I know he uses this tailor shop. I cannot take care of her, I’m sorry.”

Illya was a pale man at the best of times, but the note had drained all remaining colour from his face.

“She has nothing to do with me,” he stated.

“Are you sure about that?” Napoleon asked.

“Ah, gentlemen, you’re here.”

Everyone present turned at the sound of Mr Waverly. Illya immediately began to protest his innocence. The Old Man held his hand up to quiet him.

“Fear not, Mr Kuryakin,” he told the panicked Russian. “You are not the father of this young lady.”

He explained, to a very relieved Illya, that their security cameras had filmed the woman leaving the baby and then going into an apartment block across the street.

“We’ve had people go over to see her and she explained why she pointed the finger at you,” Waverly continued. “Her husband was killed in an industrial accident shortly before the child’s birth. She was left with little money and was facing the prospect of losing her home. She had seen you entering Del Floria’s a couple of times, and thought you looked a little like her late husband. Enough, at least, to pass you off as her father.”

“What is the baby’s name,” asked Napoleon, trying not to show how much the woman’s story had moved him.

“Anne-Marie,” Mr Waverly told him.

“The child may not be my daughter, but she has a mother. No child should grow up without their parents,” said Illya quietly. “I wish to do something to help her.”

“That is very decent of you young man,” the chief replied, with genuine admiration. “However, you have no need. I have already set the wheels in motion to give them a financial head start. In fact, following a background check, we will probably be able to give her a part-time job here. Anne-Marie will be going home shortly to her mother.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were becoming sentimental, Sir,” Napoleon quipped.

“Yes, well,” Waverly harrumphed. “I have an office to get back to,”

“So, Tovarisch, how did temporary fatherhood feel?”

“Terrifying,” Illya replied. “And not something I wish to repeat soon.”


The end.

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