The Sins of the Father Affair - Part 5
Title: The Sins of the Father Affair - part 5 (the end!)
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Rating: soft R, I think...
Summary: Truths are revealed, and it's a dark night in the soul for our heroes. The conclusion!
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
---
“…And that’s why I need you to research Rose Blythe’s medical records. We have to see if there are any children that she may have had.”
“OK, Napoleon, but it seems like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” April Dancer said. “I’ll have Mark assist me and we’ll call you or Illya as soon as we find something.”
Napoleon closed his communicator and sat back in his chair. Brig sat, morose, in the same spot where he had sat before. Illya was on patrol, since he was the one who saw the mysterious young man and could recognize him.
“Brig, I know this is hard for you, but are you certain?”
The priest held his head in his hands. “I think I know what she looked like, Napoleon. But why would he be after me? Unless he believes I had some hand in her death.”
“You believe this is her son?”
“He has to be. But why would she continue on the path she was on if she had a child? Why didn’t she confide in me? She told me almost everything else. It just doesn’t make since.”
Napoleon sat opposite Brig on the sofa in the living area. “Why, indeed. But think about it, Brig. Why should she tell you, an UNCLE agent and someone who was supposed to be her sworn enemy, that she had a child? Wouldn’t a kid be the weakest link?”
“Possibly. That doesn’t excuse the fact that I don’t…” the priest stopped talking, and his eyes grew large. “That’s it. The year and a half that she disappeared. That had to be when she had the baby.”
“Excuse me?”
Brig snapped his fingers. “Of course! Napoleon, I saw her once the first year I was with UNCLE. I saw her again ten months later. Then I didn’t see her again for almost two years. After that, I saw her at least once a year, every year, until the Klaxon Affair.”
“And you think she was with child and in hiding?”
“No. Think of it as maternity leave.”
Napoleon smiled. “Son of a bitch. Oh, sorry, Brig,” he said, apologizing. “It makes as much sense as anything else.”
Illya returned to the house, pausing long enough to down a glass of water, then sat in a chair. He looked up at Napoleon and frowned. “Nothing so far. It’s almost as if we’re the only creatures around. I didn’t even see a feral cat.”
Brig shook his head. “It’s me he wants. I’ll need to draw him out somehow.”
“No, absolutely not! I’m not using you as bait,” Napoleon replied.
“I have to agree with Brig on this one,” Illya said.
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his partner. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” he asked, his voice low and dangerously silky.
“I’m on the side of right,” Illya said coldly. “This time, Brig is right. He’ll have to lure the killer. It may be our only way. Besides, we still don’t know what his motives are, if or when he’ll strike again. And we must stop him somehow.”
Brig stood up, drawing himself to his full, impressive height. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Napoleon, Illya, I am going to go to my room and pray for an hour. When I come out, we will all go into the woods. I will stand alone. If you want, you can wait in the shadows. But I will meet face to face with this young man, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
Illya cracked his knuckles. “Brig, I will assist you.”
Napoleon shook his head. “You’re mad. You’re all mad. I cannot be a part of this.”
---
He climbed the tree and stilled his breathing. The blond agent was searching. He knew he was looking for him. He wondered if he should just leap from the tree and take him by surprise, but he had a feeling that this man would be a formidable enemy. He just had to keep watch. Brig Baltz would be alone sometime soon, and he could wait. He had all the time in the world.
---
Brig changed his clothes. He wore his suit and collar, made himself look as much as a priest as possible. He wanted this unknown entity to know that regardless of who he was before, he was a man of the cloth now.
Napoleon and Illya had a heated argument. He heard them through the door. Finally, Napoleon acquiesced and the room fell silent. Brig heard the shrill beep of the communicator, and Illya’s rushed murmur. After a few more minutes of prayer, Brig took a deep breath and walked into the hallway.
“I assume that we’ve gotten word from Miss Dancer?”
“Mr. Slate, actually,” Illya replied. “Our sources state that Rose Blythe did indeed have a child, a young man around the time we determined. Mark says that from what he and April could gather, his name is Wallace.”
“She always called me Wally. My name is actually Walter, but I hated it. That’s why I go by Brig. But Rose never called me Brig. She called me Wally.”
“Do you think…” Napoleon began. Brig shook his head no.
“How do you know?” Illya asked.
“I cannot have children. I never could. When I was a boy, I was kicked by a horse. Emergency surgery, and they accidentally gave me a vasectomy. There is no way I could be young Wallace’s father.”
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other and nodded. Brig took a deep breath and opened the door to the manse. The sun was high above the copse, making it look both beautiful and mysterious. Brig began to walk into the forest, Illya and Napoleon flanking him from behind.
Brig stood in the middle of the wood, a shaft of sunlight piercing the thick green canopy and shining on his hair. He held his hands out to his sides, and stood firmly in place.
“Hello, my son. I know you are Rose’s child. I know you’re looking for me. Can we talk?”
The woods were silent. Illya and Napoleon moved apart and took positions deeper in the forest.
Brig continued to speak. “Rose and I were friends. Did you know that? I would have never hurt her.”
“You lie!” The young, quivering voice echoed through the glen. “You murdered her!”
“No, Father Baltz tells the truth,” Napoleon called out. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. He did not hurt Rose Blythe.”
“He hurt her in other ways!” the young man shrieked. “He hurt me!”
Brig raised his hands above his head in a show of surrender. “How did I hurt you, son? I don’t know you.”
The leaves shook violently, and Brig and the two agents heard the scrap of tree bark, then the quiet thud of boots on hard, packed ground. A tall, redheaded young man moved into the clearing. The sunshine cast a shadow on the man. He vibrated with anger. “Son,” he spat out. “You call me son. If you only knew the truth.”
“If I only knew what?”
The young man pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You have an idea, Father. Don’t you? I’m sure you do. Look at me. Look at me!” he screamed. “Don’t I look familiar to you?”
“You look like Rose.”
“I look like my mother, yes.”
Illya circled around the trees and kept his distance. Napoleon positioned himself behind Brig and held his gun steady.
Brig stood perfectly still. “You are Wallace, correct?”
The young man smiled coldly. “No one calls me Wallace. My name is Wally.”
Wally’s mouth curled into a harsh frown, and he stepped backwards, away from the priest. He dropped something, then fell to his knees and scrambled in the dirt to look for it. Brig stepped closer. Napoleon leapt out and yelled for him to stay away.
“Who is this?” Wally screamed. “Is the other here, too? The blond?”
Napoleon did not acknowledge him. Wally ran into the woods.
“Wally! Come back!” Brig called, while Napoleon looked around the trees for him.
“I’m at a disadvantage here, Brig. I’m not familiar with this area, and Wally certainly is,” Napoleon said.
Suddenly, the two men heard a cry from the forest, the sharp rustling of leaves and a scuffle. From the edge of the wood walked Wally, holding Illya close to him, his knife pressed close to the Russian’s throat.
“I will cut him. I have done it before and I will do it again. All I want,” Wally said, his voice quaking, “all I want is Brig. I will release this man, unharmed, if you give me the priest.”
“I cannot allow you to hurt Illya. He was trying to protect me, do his job.” Brig tried to reason with the boy.
“My mother was trying to do her job. And you killed her.”
Napoleon kept his gun pointed at the young man holding his partner. “Wally, you’re wrong. We didn’t kill your mother. In fact, Brig tried to save her. You can blame her coworkers for her demise.”
Wally’s body shook with rage. He held the knife closer to Illya’s throat, the edge scraping the Russian’s skin. The knife slipped slightly in his sweaty hand. His other hand was on Illya‘s gun, located on the agent‘s hip. “No. No, that’s not right. They told me…”
“Who? Who told you, Wally?” Napoleon asked. “Did someone tell you that Father Baltz was the culprit?”
Wally stifled a cry, swallowed his tears and sniffled. “All my life… they gave me the name. They gave me the name. I read her journal,“ he muttered. “You’re lying! You’re all lying to me.”
Napoleon continued to keep his gun trained onto Wally. He looked at his partner and nodded. Illya stood completely still. Brig reached out and started to walk toward the increasingly disturbed young man and his hostage.
“Wally… I cared very deeply for your mother. Truly, I did. But I want you to know that I had nothing to do with her death. It was an accident. A horrible accident. If I had known that she had a child…”
“No!” Wally screamed. “You had to know! You had to! You’re my father!”
Brig shook his head sadly. “That’s not possible, Wally.”
“It is. They told me. I read it! My mother said that she named me after the great love of her life. And your name is Wally, isn’t it? I’m not stupid,” he said, his voice quivering. “I have red hair. You have red hair.”
“Who told you, Wally?” Napoleon’s voice was low and soft.
“The people who raised me. The people at the orphanage. They said it was my duty to know, if I wanted to. That my mother had been seduced by an UNCLE agent and left to her own devices, and that the same UNCLE agent who fathered me killed my mom.”
Brig was a stone’s throw away from the young man. He could see the fear in Wally’s eyes, and the uncertainty in Illya’s. “Look at me, Wally. I swear to you, I did not hurt your mother. And I am not your father.”
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?”
Brig’s eyes never moved from Wally’s. “Son, may God strike me down if I am lying to you now. I am not your father.”
Tears flowed down Wally’s cheeks. “So everything has been a lie. I did all of this for nothing.“ He grabbed Illya’s gun, letting go of the agent, and ran into the woods. Brig started after him, but Illya stopped him. Napoleon also made his way toward the glen when the three men heard a gun shot.
“I must go to him,” Brig said.
“It could be a trap,” Illya countered, gingerly touching his throat.
“It doesn’t matter. He needs someone.”
Napoleon held Illya back. “Let him go. You okay, tovarisch?”
“I’ve been better,” Illya said, looking at the small droplets of blood on his fingers. “He got the jump on me.”
They watched as Brig walked into the woods, then heard his soft yet strong voice praying over the young man who had attempted to murder him.
…and thus do I commend thee into the arms of our Lord of earth, our Lord Jesus Christ, preserver of all mercy and reality…
“Last rites. Surprising, since it’s obvious he’s done this to himself,” Napoleon said.
“I could never do that,” Illya said. “I could never give comfort to a man who tried to kill me.”
“I think that’s why Brig is a priest, and we are UNCLE agents,” Napoleon replied. “Come now, let’s watch from the shadows.”
---
“It’s sad, really, that this young man was brainwashed by THRUSH to be an assassin.” Napoleon sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
Illya finished the rest of the lemon icebox pie and drank his own cup of coffee. “April said that there wasn’t a father listed on the birth certificate. Maybe she wanted her son to think that Brig was his father.”
“Maybe she did. Or maybe THRUSH erased the name of the true parent, I wouldn’t put it past them,” Napoleon replied.
The two agents heard the creak of the front door. They looked up to see Brig enter the room. His skin was pale, making the purplish-black circles under his eyes look like neon bruises. His shoulders were slumped and he sagged into a chair.
“He died,” Brig said simply.
Illya rose to his feet and left the room, leaving Napoleon alone with his old partner. The dark haired agent sat beside the priest and laid his hand on top of his friend’s. “I’m not sure what to say, except that we can’t save them all.”
“Napoleon, I know he tried to kill me. He tried to kill Illya. He killed Father Dennis and countless others, but he was a victim in this as much as anyone else. He was a child, and he never had the chance to be a child.”
“He wasn’t innocent, Brig. He had a choice. He chose to kill all of those people. He chose to run into the woods with Illya’s Special and shoot himself.”
“But his soul…it’s sad to see that kind of loss, Solo. I don’t expect you to understand.”
They sat alone in the quiet room for what felt like an eternity, then Napoleon whispered, “A wise man once told me that I cannot receive atonement for a sin that I did not commit.”
Brig sighed. “Tricky, tricky…using my words against me.”
“Well, when it’s true, it’s true.”
“Napoleon…”
Napoleon looked up and into his friend’s eyes. He saw a spark of warmth, and the ghost of a smile.
“Thank you.”
FIN
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Rating: soft R, I think...
Summary: Truths are revealed, and it's a dark night in the soul for our heroes. The conclusion!
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: I totally do not own The Man From U.N.C.L.E. - if I did, I wouldn't leave my house.
---
“…And that’s why I need you to research Rose Blythe’s medical records. We have to see if there are any children that she may have had.”
“OK, Napoleon, but it seems like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” April Dancer said. “I’ll have Mark assist me and we’ll call you or Illya as soon as we find something.”
Napoleon closed his communicator and sat back in his chair. Brig sat, morose, in the same spot where he had sat before. Illya was on patrol, since he was the one who saw the mysterious young man and could recognize him.
“Brig, I know this is hard for you, but are you certain?”
The priest held his head in his hands. “I think I know what she looked like, Napoleon. But why would he be after me? Unless he believes I had some hand in her death.”
“You believe this is her son?”
“He has to be. But why would she continue on the path she was on if she had a child? Why didn’t she confide in me? She told me almost everything else. It just doesn’t make since.”
Napoleon sat opposite Brig on the sofa in the living area. “Why, indeed. But think about it, Brig. Why should she tell you, an UNCLE agent and someone who was supposed to be her sworn enemy, that she had a child? Wouldn’t a kid be the weakest link?”
“Possibly. That doesn’t excuse the fact that I don’t…” the priest stopped talking, and his eyes grew large. “That’s it. The year and a half that she disappeared. That had to be when she had the baby.”
“Excuse me?”
Brig snapped his fingers. “Of course! Napoleon, I saw her once the first year I was with UNCLE. I saw her again ten months later. Then I didn’t see her again for almost two years. After that, I saw her at least once a year, every year, until the Klaxon Affair.”
“And you think she was with child and in hiding?”
“No. Think of it as maternity leave.”
Napoleon smiled. “Son of a bitch. Oh, sorry, Brig,” he said, apologizing. “It makes as much sense as anything else.”
Illya returned to the house, pausing long enough to down a glass of water, then sat in a chair. He looked up at Napoleon and frowned. “Nothing so far. It’s almost as if we’re the only creatures around. I didn’t even see a feral cat.”
Brig shook his head. “It’s me he wants. I’ll need to draw him out somehow.”
“No, absolutely not! I’m not using you as bait,” Napoleon replied.
“I have to agree with Brig on this one,” Illya said.
Napoleon’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his partner. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” he asked, his voice low and dangerously silky.
“I’m on the side of right,” Illya said coldly. “This time, Brig is right. He’ll have to lure the killer. It may be our only way. Besides, we still don’t know what his motives are, if or when he’ll strike again. And we must stop him somehow.”
Brig stood up, drawing himself to his full, impressive height. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Napoleon, Illya, I am going to go to my room and pray for an hour. When I come out, we will all go into the woods. I will stand alone. If you want, you can wait in the shadows. But I will meet face to face with this young man, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
Illya cracked his knuckles. “Brig, I will assist you.”
Napoleon shook his head. “You’re mad. You’re all mad. I cannot be a part of this.”
---
He climbed the tree and stilled his breathing. The blond agent was searching. He knew he was looking for him. He wondered if he should just leap from the tree and take him by surprise, but he had a feeling that this man would be a formidable enemy. He just had to keep watch. Brig Baltz would be alone sometime soon, and he could wait. He had all the time in the world.
---
Brig changed his clothes. He wore his suit and collar, made himself look as much as a priest as possible. He wanted this unknown entity to know that regardless of who he was before, he was a man of the cloth now.
Napoleon and Illya had a heated argument. He heard them through the door. Finally, Napoleon acquiesced and the room fell silent. Brig heard the shrill beep of the communicator, and Illya’s rushed murmur. After a few more minutes of prayer, Brig took a deep breath and walked into the hallway.
“I assume that we’ve gotten word from Miss Dancer?”
“Mr. Slate, actually,” Illya replied. “Our sources state that Rose Blythe did indeed have a child, a young man around the time we determined. Mark says that from what he and April could gather, his name is Wallace.”
“She always called me Wally. My name is actually Walter, but I hated it. That’s why I go by Brig. But Rose never called me Brig. She called me Wally.”
“Do you think…” Napoleon began. Brig shook his head no.
“How do you know?” Illya asked.
“I cannot have children. I never could. When I was a boy, I was kicked by a horse. Emergency surgery, and they accidentally gave me a vasectomy. There is no way I could be young Wallace’s father.”
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other and nodded. Brig took a deep breath and opened the door to the manse. The sun was high above the copse, making it look both beautiful and mysterious. Brig began to walk into the forest, Illya and Napoleon flanking him from behind.
Brig stood in the middle of the wood, a shaft of sunlight piercing the thick green canopy and shining on his hair. He held his hands out to his sides, and stood firmly in place.
“Hello, my son. I know you are Rose’s child. I know you’re looking for me. Can we talk?”
The woods were silent. Illya and Napoleon moved apart and took positions deeper in the forest.
Brig continued to speak. “Rose and I were friends. Did you know that? I would have never hurt her.”
“You lie!” The young, quivering voice echoed through the glen. “You murdered her!”
“No, Father Baltz tells the truth,” Napoleon called out. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. He did not hurt Rose Blythe.”
“He hurt her in other ways!” the young man shrieked. “He hurt me!”
Brig raised his hands above his head in a show of surrender. “How did I hurt you, son? I don’t know you.”
The leaves shook violently, and Brig and the two agents heard the scrap of tree bark, then the quiet thud of boots on hard, packed ground. A tall, redheaded young man moved into the clearing. The sunshine cast a shadow on the man. He vibrated with anger. “Son,” he spat out. “You call me son. If you only knew the truth.”
“If I only knew what?”
The young man pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You have an idea, Father. Don’t you? I’m sure you do. Look at me. Look at me!” he screamed. “Don’t I look familiar to you?”
“You look like Rose.”
“I look like my mother, yes.”
Illya circled around the trees and kept his distance. Napoleon positioned himself behind Brig and held his gun steady.
Brig stood perfectly still. “You are Wallace, correct?”
The young man smiled coldly. “No one calls me Wallace. My name is Wally.”
Wally’s mouth curled into a harsh frown, and he stepped backwards, away from the priest. He dropped something, then fell to his knees and scrambled in the dirt to look for it. Brig stepped closer. Napoleon leapt out and yelled for him to stay away.
“Who is this?” Wally screamed. “Is the other here, too? The blond?”
Napoleon did not acknowledge him. Wally ran into the woods.
“Wally! Come back!” Brig called, while Napoleon looked around the trees for him.
“I’m at a disadvantage here, Brig. I’m not familiar with this area, and Wally certainly is,” Napoleon said.
Suddenly, the two men heard a cry from the forest, the sharp rustling of leaves and a scuffle. From the edge of the wood walked Wally, holding Illya close to him, his knife pressed close to the Russian’s throat.
“I will cut him. I have done it before and I will do it again. All I want,” Wally said, his voice quaking, “all I want is Brig. I will release this man, unharmed, if you give me the priest.”
“I cannot allow you to hurt Illya. He was trying to protect me, do his job.” Brig tried to reason with the boy.
“My mother was trying to do her job. And you killed her.”
Napoleon kept his gun pointed at the young man holding his partner. “Wally, you’re wrong. We didn’t kill your mother. In fact, Brig tried to save her. You can blame her coworkers for her demise.”
Wally’s body shook with rage. He held the knife closer to Illya’s throat, the edge scraping the Russian’s skin. The knife slipped slightly in his sweaty hand. His other hand was on Illya‘s gun, located on the agent‘s hip. “No. No, that’s not right. They told me…”
“Who? Who told you, Wally?” Napoleon asked. “Did someone tell you that Father Baltz was the culprit?”
Wally stifled a cry, swallowed his tears and sniffled. “All my life… they gave me the name. They gave me the name. I read her journal,“ he muttered. “You’re lying! You’re all lying to me.”
Napoleon continued to keep his gun trained onto Wally. He looked at his partner and nodded. Illya stood completely still. Brig reached out and started to walk toward the increasingly disturbed young man and his hostage.
“Wally… I cared very deeply for your mother. Truly, I did. But I want you to know that I had nothing to do with her death. It was an accident. A horrible accident. If I had known that she had a child…”
“No!” Wally screamed. “You had to know! You had to! You’re my father!”
Brig shook his head sadly. “That’s not possible, Wally.”
“It is. They told me. I read it! My mother said that she named me after the great love of her life. And your name is Wally, isn’t it? I’m not stupid,” he said, his voice quivering. “I have red hair. You have red hair.”
“Who told you, Wally?” Napoleon’s voice was low and soft.
“The people who raised me. The people at the orphanage. They said it was my duty to know, if I wanted to. That my mother had been seduced by an UNCLE agent and left to her own devices, and that the same UNCLE agent who fathered me killed my mom.”
Brig was a stone’s throw away from the young man. He could see the fear in Wally’s eyes, and the uncertainty in Illya’s. “Look at me, Wally. I swear to you, I did not hurt your mother. And I am not your father.”
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?”
Brig’s eyes never moved from Wally’s. “Son, may God strike me down if I am lying to you now. I am not your father.”
Tears flowed down Wally’s cheeks. “So everything has been a lie. I did all of this for nothing.“ He grabbed Illya’s gun, letting go of the agent, and ran into the woods. Brig started after him, but Illya stopped him. Napoleon also made his way toward the glen when the three men heard a gun shot.
“I must go to him,” Brig said.
“It could be a trap,” Illya countered, gingerly touching his throat.
“It doesn’t matter. He needs someone.”
Napoleon held Illya back. “Let him go. You okay, tovarisch?”
“I’ve been better,” Illya said, looking at the small droplets of blood on his fingers. “He got the jump on me.”
They watched as Brig walked into the woods, then heard his soft yet strong voice praying over the young man who had attempted to murder him.
…and thus do I commend thee into the arms of our Lord of earth, our Lord Jesus Christ, preserver of all mercy and reality…
“Last rites. Surprising, since it’s obvious he’s done this to himself,” Napoleon said.
“I could never do that,” Illya said. “I could never give comfort to a man who tried to kill me.”
“I think that’s why Brig is a priest, and we are UNCLE agents,” Napoleon replied. “Come now, let’s watch from the shadows.”
---
“It’s sad, really, that this young man was brainwashed by THRUSH to be an assassin.” Napoleon sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair.
Illya finished the rest of the lemon icebox pie and drank his own cup of coffee. “April said that there wasn’t a father listed on the birth certificate. Maybe she wanted her son to think that Brig was his father.”
“Maybe she did. Or maybe THRUSH erased the name of the true parent, I wouldn’t put it past them,” Napoleon replied.
The two agents heard the creak of the front door. They looked up to see Brig enter the room. His skin was pale, making the purplish-black circles under his eyes look like neon bruises. His shoulders were slumped and he sagged into a chair.
“He died,” Brig said simply.
Illya rose to his feet and left the room, leaving Napoleon alone with his old partner. The dark haired agent sat beside the priest and laid his hand on top of his friend’s. “I’m not sure what to say, except that we can’t save them all.”
“Napoleon, I know he tried to kill me. He tried to kill Illya. He killed Father Dennis and countless others, but he was a victim in this as much as anyone else. He was a child, and he never had the chance to be a child.”
“He wasn’t innocent, Brig. He had a choice. He chose to kill all of those people. He chose to run into the woods with Illya’s Special and shoot himself.”
“But his soul…it’s sad to see that kind of loss, Solo. I don’t expect you to understand.”
They sat alone in the quiet room for what felt like an eternity, then Napoleon whispered, “A wise man once told me that I cannot receive atonement for a sin that I did not commit.”
Brig sighed. “Tricky, tricky…using my words against me.”
“Well, when it’s true, it’s true.”
“Napoleon…”
Napoleon looked up and into his friend’s eyes. He saw a spark of warmth, and the ghost of a smile.
“Thank you.”
FIN