Out of the Mouth of Babes Affair	Out of the Mouth of Babes Affair
by Spikesgirl58  
 

Stake outs are never my idea of a good time or even necessarily of time
well invested. They have their purpose certainly, but for others to
pursue, not me. 

I had come off from fifteen hours of staring through a pair of binoculars
and was just climbing into bed when there was a knock on my door. No, more
correctly, a frantic pounding. Before I was halfway there, I knew who was
on the other side. I have that sort of connection with my partner.
Napoleon only has to be within a five-block radius for me to hone in on
him or vice versa. 

There as something strange about this knock though, which is why I used
the peephole UNCLE had installed in the front door. Certainly it was my
partner on the other side of the door, but in a never-before witnessed
state of disarray. I have seen Napoleon unconscious, half crazed with
pain, drugged or drunk out of his mind, delirious from hunger or sleep
deprivation, and crazy with lust, but none of those were close to the
panic that was on his face. 

I opened the door and studied him for a brief second. His tie was loose,
the top button on his shirt was undone, his hair had escaped its Brylcreme
boundariesall this I'd seen before, in fact I loved it when he was rumpled
like this. But I never thought I'd see my partner holding a flowered
diaper bag...and a baby? I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. 

"Napoleon?" 

"Illya, thank God you're finally home!" Napoleon pushed past me with a
sense of relief. 

"Napoleon." This time I tried for a statement instead of a question. The
bundle in his arms started squirming and whimpering. Napoleon's eyes took
on that wild look steer get just before they plunge off a cliff. "Is there
something you wish to tell me?" 

"I came home and found this..." He thrust the bundle towards me. "...on my
doorstep, with a note." 

Busted came to mind, but I decided to not be cruel...well, too cruel.
"This is a baby, Napoleon." 

"I know what it is, Illya, I just don't know what you do with it." 

"Love it, nurture it, and after eighteen years, send it to university and
hope it doesn't come back home to live with you when it graduates. I told
you what happens when you sleep with women. I'm a much better choice." 

"This isn't funny, Illya!" 

"Napoleon, you're holding a diaper bag with big flowers all over it and a
baby in a bunny suitsorry, this is a little funny." I chuckled at the
anger I saw snapping in those brown eyes and very nearly kissed him, but
decided that making him sweat was even more fun. 

"I don't know what to do with a baby. I've never...never." 

"You have a younger sister." 

"A year younger, it wasn't like I took care of her or anything. Don't you
have any natural... proclivities?" 

"Why? Because I'm gay?" 

"No, of course not. Because you came from a big family." 

The closer he got to me with his bundle of joy, the more I could ascertain
as to why the baby was fussy. "Napoleon, this baby needs to be changed." 

"Into what?" 

"I'm serious. You should have a diaper in your diaper bag, didn't you even
look?" 

"Why would I do that? I don't know what to do with it once I found it.
I've never changed a diaper in my life." 

"Let me have the child." I held my arms out. I thought Napoleon would leap
at the opportunity, but he hesitated. 

"What do you know about babies?" Finally he handed the baby to me. 

"As you pointed out, I have five younger brothers and sisters. I started
changing diapers when I was six." I carried the baby to the sofa and laid
it down. "Does the child have a name?" I started pulling off the fleece
outwear . "According to the note, it's Leon." 

"You poor thing, named after your fatherthere should be a law." The only
thing that's harder than undressing a baby is dressing one, but that was a
future worry. I got the baby stripped down to its diaper and looked over
at my partner. "The diaper, Napoleon, and perhaps some powder?" 

"What?" 

"Watch the baby." I instructed, putting his hand on the child's stomach.
"Just keep him from rolling off the couch. My sister did that and broke
her collarbone." Thankfully, whoever packed this bag took every situation
into consideration. My poor Napoleon...he was just so out of his element
here. "All right, watch me. The next one is all yours." I folded the
diaper into the correct shapea task not unlike origami, got it close to
where it needed to be, and undid the dirty diaper. "You want to keep this
flap in place until the very last second." 

"Why?" I removed that last protective bit of cloth and little Leon became
the Petergof Fountain. "Oh, now I understand," Napoleon muttered, leaning
to one side to avoid being hit. 

"Little boys like to urinate when you take their diapers off. I don't know
why, nor did the rationale stick with me from my own childhood. All I
remember was Vyetka had deadly aim when it came to my father's eye." 

We got Leon cleaned up and repackaged and I took a bottle out of the bag.
It was already filled, but the contents were cold. 

"You need to heat this up and feed him." I pointed to the kitchen.
"Wouldn't that lead to a vicious cycle of having to change his diaper
again?" Obviously, Napoleon had put some thought into the 'cause and
effect' aspect of this. 

"At this age, all they do is eat, sleep, and defecate, I'm afraid." Seeing
that my partner was firmly frozen in place, I passed the baby back to him
and carried the bottle to the kitchen. Finding a suitable pan was a
challenge, but I did and ran water into it. Then I set it on the stove to
let it heat and tried to stay awake. I was so tired it was hard to
remember to breathe. 

Napoleon trailed after me, holding Leon awkwardly, half afraid of the
squirming bundle. "Oh my God, I am a dead man...Illya, what are we going
to do?" 

"We? As Tonto said to the Lone Ranger, "What do you mean we, white man?"
Napoleon, you are a father; you need to accept responsibility for your
actions. I'm sorry, but the child has dark brown hair and dark brown
eyesdefinitely not from my loins." I broke off to chuckle. "...which would
probably be quite the newsworthy event in view of my last few bed
partners." 

I saw a look of jealousy flair in Napoleon's eyes and sighed. He didn't
like me mentioning my past. "But you've had experience...and you like
children. I don't...that much." 

He was right. Growing up, I'd always figured I'd get married and have a
mess of kids, like Papa did, but later, when certain tendencies surfaced,
I surrendered that dream. Now it was being presented to me by the one man
I'd not been able to so far refuse anything. If I believed in a benevolent
God, I'd pray for patience and judgment. With any luck, the child would
survive the night. When I returned, Napoleon's paternal nature had gotten
the better of him and he sat rocking his son in his arms, talking softly
to him. "Then you need the experience." I handed him the bottle and he
offered it to the baby. It latched on with a vengeance and Napoleon
grinned at me. 

"He has your technique as well," I muttered, turning and heading back
toward my warm, inviting bed. 

"Where are you going?" The panic had returned to his voice. 

"Napoleon, I just came off fifteen-hour surveillance and I'm due back in
four short hours. I have to get some sleep." 

"I'll assign someone else. Here, burp him!" 

My least favorite of baby chores, but if it got me off the stake-out, I'd
gladly do it. Thankfully, Leon was a burper and belched noisily in my ear.
I looked around my apartment for some place to park him for the night.
Then I remembered my first crib had been a dresser drawer. I pulled out
the top drawer and shifted around my underwear and socks until he fit
comfortably in the middle of them. 

Napoleon had a triumphant look on his face as he walked into the bedroom.
"That's all settled." 

"I am going to assume Mr. Waverly loved your news." 

"Um, no, I can honestly say love wasn't one of the emotions he expressed
to me." 

"His response?" 

"My mistake, my responsibility. Deal with it." 

"That's harsh, even for him." In the meantime, I'd made it as far as
sitting on the edge of my bed and could hear my pillow whispering my name.


"What are you doing?" 

"I still need to sleep, Napoleon. I've only had six hours in the last
three days. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a living example of
Newton's Cradle or the embodiment of perpetual motion. Please..." 

He looked from Leon, happily snoring away among my socks to my bed and
back. "Where do I sleep?" 

"You have a choice, the couch or in here with us...with me. Your
preference." 

He was stripped and in bed before I was. He'd already experience the
torture that was my couch. Sleep on that one night and even a bathtub
looked good. "Thanks, Illya, for everything. I owe you." 

"You certainly do." I was expecting a huge 'get out of jail free' card out
of this. Instead I got an armful of UNCLE's finest. Well, any port in a
storm. 

"I really do appreciate this, Illya." I could feel his appreciation poking
me in the abdomen. Suddenly I wasn't quite as tired as I was a few moments
earlier. 

"How do you get into these messes?" 

"As God as my witness, I haven't touched anyone but you in the last year."


"Well, that child is about three months old, so that should narrow down
the field." I started to try and remember who Napoleon had been hot and
heavy with before he and I...connected. 

"Do we have to talk about that now?" Napoleon started nuzzling my ear and
I decided that it wasn't quite as important as other things. 

There are few things in life I enjoy as much as making love to or with
Napoleon. Either way is fine with me as long as we get there. There's that
blissful moment of connection with another human being, that sharing of
soulsyou want it to last forever, but at best, you have a few second
before a more instinctive and primal urge takes over, driving us to the
ultimate moment of sharing, of trust. 

And finally, I was allowed to sleep. For at least what seemed ten seconds
later when my peaceful sleep was interrupted by a piercing and demanding
cry. 

"Napoleon, your son wants you." I kicked him, none too gently. 

"Haven't actually proven it's my son, yet." 

"With those lungs, trust me, he's yours. It's time for you to solo, Solo."


He wasn't happy, but he dealt with it, making sure he woke me when he came
back to bed. "Ingrate," I muttered. 

"What do I have to be grateful for?" 

"A generous and understanding partner who didn't toss you out on your ear
the moment he opened the door and saw you standing there." I never heard
his response. I was already asleep. 

When I surfaced twelve hours later, I wasn't exactly sure what to expect,
but it wasn't an empty apartment. There was a hastily scratched note on
the floor by the front door, saying that Napoleon had been called into HQ.
It struck me as odd that he didn't wake me, but no matter. 

I'd had sleep, I felt relatively good, physically, and, most important, I
was alone. Happily and blissfully alone. Coffee, a shower and a half a box
of cereal later and life was starting to look just this side of rosy to
me. 

I was just contemplating what to wear...should I wear my black suit or my
black suit? Decisions, decisions... when there was a familiar knocking on
my door. 

"Ah the Lone Ranger returns," I said out loud, opening the door. No
surprise, Napoleon was there, but he was...unencumbered. "Napoleon, where
is the child?" 

"His mother took him back." 

"And would I know said mother?" 

"Never will you know said mother." Napoleon pushed past me and plopped
down on my couch. That usually wasn't his style. "She said she wanted to
teach me a lesson in responsibility." 

"And you already miss him. Napoleon, if you want to be a part of your
child's life, you do have that right." 

"No, it's not that. What kind of life could I offer a kid? He's better off
with his mother. We both are." 

"But you think about it." I stroked his arm, smiling as my fingers raised
goose bumps. 

"That's the funny part. I really didn't. Kids are okay, but I never really
saw any in my future. Is that odd?" 

"No, not really. Some people are more inclined. Perhaps your sister got
all those genes." I moved my hand from his arm to his thigh. "Others just
practice a lot." 

"Practice? Is that what I do?" 

"It must be, for you really do some things perfectly." 

"Like Russians?" 

"Certainly a specific Russian, one would hope." I pushed him back against
the cushions. "So tell me, the mother?" 

"What mother?" Napoleon's eyes burned with innocence. 

"You will eventually tell me, Napoleon, especially if we are to take this
relationship to the next level." 

"There's more after this? I'd thought we'd pretty much exhausted all
avenues." 

"I'm speaking of co-habitation, Solo. We start living together and I will
eventually know the identity of the mother. I am a spy, after all." 

"And a damned good looking one too, if you don't mind me saying." His
hands were roaming over me and that little buzz at the back of my head was
starting an itch that only one thing could fix. 

"Never, but you're avoiding the question." I worked his jacket off his
shoulders, unbuckled his holster and slid it off. "Tell me." I ran a
tongue along his jaw, feeling a slight burr of his whiskers against it. 

"She gave me an option, leave UNCLE and marry her or give up my rights to
the baby." 

That made me pause. It seemed unnaturally heartless; obviously the mother
wasn't a fellow UNCLE employee. "Napoleon, I'm sorry." 

"I'm notI made my decision years ago. I wouldn't change it for the world,
not if it meant giving you up. I've finally found what's important to me."
He kissed me. "You're my world, Illya, nothing else, no one else, matters
to me." 

See? This is but one reason why I love this man. He...ah... never did tell
me the mother's name, at least not then. I knew I could find out if I
really wanted, but for now I was content to know his mind and level of
commitment to me. And there was always tomorrow . . . as I said before, I
am a spy...  


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