lilidelafield.livejournal.comAs he drove, Napoleon glanced sideways at Illya.
“So…?”
“So…Dimitri loved cats, he loved cows…he hated milk! He loved his papa…”
“All little boys love their papas.”
Illya shook his head.
“No, he really loved me. He almost never saw me. The KGB were…I could only safely see him two or three times in a year, for just a few minutes. He was just three when he died…I was going to give him my balalaika…”
There was a long pause, then Illya shook his head and smiled sidelong at the tear in his partner’s eye.
“Your turn. Tell me something about Millie.”
Napoleon heaved a shaky sigh.
“Fifteen years ago, my wife Martha was killed in a car crash. She was eight months pregnant when it happened. I was unconscious for three days. I woke up with a broken arm, broken ankle and concussion, to find my wife dead and my baby daughter delivered by emergency caesarian.”
“Who took care of her?”
“Martha’s parents. Millie suffered a loss of oxygen for a time, until they managed to… anyway, she had learning difficulties, but she was so loving…she looked so much like Martha…”
His voice broke.
“She was my baby!”