by LRH Balzer
They had a 7:00 p.m. flight out of Toronto, and by 10:00 p.m. he would be back in Washington, D.C. Normally he would be pleased with the prospect, but his energy level was seriously depleted and it was difficult to think about anything more than going back to sleep and trying to get a few hours in before he dreamed again.
The last few times he had woken the night before, and during his afternoon siesta, the dreams had been strictly about his death, and the constant barrage against his psyche was wearing him down. Even Napoleon had dark lines around his eyes.
"We're here," Napoleon said, and Illya realized the cab had stopped and his partner already had his door open.
He nodded, and dragged his aching body from the vehicle. Napoleon had already grabbed a cart, and put their two small pieces of luggage on it. They had to cross a road to get to the terminal, and he sighed quietly and stepped onto the road.
The next few seconds passed in a blur of activity: Napoleon grabbing his arm and throwing him backwards, brakes screeching, a truck driver swearing at him, and Napoleon swearing back.
"Idiot!" Napoleon yelled as the truck drove away. He turned back to Illya. "Are you okay? He almost hit you. These guys think they own the road. Illya?"
Illya had dropped to the curb, his legs shaking.
"Did I hurt your arm when I grabbed you? Sorry. I should have been more careful," Napoleon said quickly, crouching down beside him as he waved off the small crowd which had gathered. "Illya?" he asked again, as he realized his partner was laughing. "Illya? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine." Illya let himself be helped up, then grabbed hold of Napoleon's face between his hands and kissed him roughly, alternating cheeks. "Let's go catch the flight, my friend," he said smiling, his arm thrown over Napoleon's shoulder.
"What just happened?" Napoleon asked, as though uncertain of ruining his good mood.
"Let's just say that I will sleep peacefully tonight. And I'm buying us a round on the plane. Come on!" Illya hobbled across the road, looking back once to make sure Napoleon was following. "We've got a party to prepare for tomorrow."
* * * * *
Monday, December 27,1965
Washington, D.C., Safe House
Two cakes. One with a single candle on it, and the other with twenty-seven candles. For the first time he celebrated his birthday and for the number of years he had lived.
He knew they watched him still, almost reluctant to accept his good mood. Suspicious that he would dream again and it would all shatter. But he had known it was over the moment Napoleon had flung him away from the truck's path; fate had been cheated by his partner. Once again, it was Napoleon's damned luck that had kept him alive. And he wasn’t about to argue with it.
Instead, he danced slowly with Tanya, his arm around her waist, her head comfortably on his good shoulder, enjoying the quiet jazz music filtering through the room. Tony and his girlfriend were dancing near them, Norm and Trish on his other side, all swaying comfortably to the melodic strains.
Napoleon and April lay sprawled on the couch, as drunk as he was, laughing at something Kelly Robinson was saying. Sam Lawrence challenged him, only making Kelly's story continue on even more unbelievable. Alexander Scott was in the comer of the room playing a deadly game of chess with Mark Slate, oblivious to young Michael watching their every move.
Friends and family.
The record ended and the impromptu dance floor dissolved back into the living room. Illya found himself alone on the back veranda, watching the Potomac River race by under the light of the moon. The air was cold, but the veranda had been shoveled clear of snow, leaving only a slick icy surface he had skated across to get to the balcony railing.
A coat landed on his shoulders, and he gratefully slipped into its warmth, his arms stiffening already from the exercise of the evening. "Thanks."
"No problem," Napoleon said, huddling into his own heavy jacket. "What are you doing out here?"
"I didn't stop to figure it out. Just needed some fresh air."
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
Napoleon's eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he turned to him. "Just 'yes'?"
"Alexander Waverly needs us back in New York the day after tomorrow. Sam cleared me, providing my shoulder continues to heal."
"I think a lot of things are healing." Napoleon handed him another glass of wine, then held his own out, proposing a toast. "It's been a busy year and not an easy one. But I couldn't ask for a better colleague, a better friend, or a better partner."
"In that order?"
"It doesn't matter the order. Happy Birthday, Illya. Glad you are here."
Illya nodded, turning to look back through the patio doors to the friends gathered there. He tilted his head back to catch the moonlight, feeling the light against his closed eyelids. A single tear formed, trickled through his eyelashes and down his cheek.
It had been close this time. Closer than he had ever remembered it. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. This day had almost never happened.
"I'm glad I'm here, too," he whispered. And meant it.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Act One
Act Two
Act Three
Act Four
