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They stood in a waiting room and watched as Jacob paced the floor like a madman. He was so anxious that the doctors told him to stay out of the delivery room. He walked off the excess energy, but still, he almost vibrated with worry and excitement.
Napoleon sat in a rock hard chair near the door. His focus was on both the expectant father and his own partner, who was almost as nervous as Jacob was. Illya's leg was bouncing up and down, the coffee in his cup sloshing around. Pauline sat beside Illya, knitting a blanket furiously. It seemed that everyone in the family had more energy than they knew what to do with.
It had been a difficult pregnancy, and Jacob treated his wife like a queen. He pampered her, rubbed her stomach with cocoa butter, washed her hair in the shower, gave her foot massages. Illya had fussed over her, too.
It was funny. It had been almost ten years since Napoleon and Illya found each other again, and in that time, Napoleon had gained not only his love and partner, but a family. Pauline and Jacob was part of their family. When Jacob married, Napoleon and Illya were there. Illya stood in as a surrogate father. And now, the first grandchild.
Napoleon didn't consider Jacob's little one his grandchild, but he had a soft spot in his heart for the child already. He would spoil him or her rotten, cuddle her, give him kisses and coos. He wasn't shy about opening his heart, not anymore. Those years away from Illya had changed him, and made him different, more demonstrative.
A nurse came out of the room. She pulled down her face mask and smiled. "Mr. Liebhaber? You can come in now."
Jacob visibly paled, looked at his mother and Illya with a scared yet hopeful look on his face.
"Go on," Pauline said softly. "They're waiting."
The boy - and Napoleon would never stop thinking of Jacob as "the boy" - walked into the delivery room, shoulders square, back ramrod straight. Like he was meeting his destiny.
Illya stood up, stretched. His body was still as lithe as ever, even with the limitations of age. "Pauline, would you like me to get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A shot of vodka?"
The grandmother-to-be grinned. "Somehow, Illya, I feel you're the one who needs the vodka."
"You're damn right," he murmured, causing both Pauline and Napoleon to laugh.
It felt like they had been sitting in the waiting room forever. Napoleon's experience with hospitals were usually poor ones; sitting around trying to hassle doctors about Illya's condition, or the health of one of the UNCLE field agents. Never, though, had he sat in a hospital waiting room to wait for a new life to begin. He wasn't sure what to do.
Illya sat down next to him, took his hand. He squeezed it gently. "We're a real pair, aren't we, mon sombre?"
Napoleon sighed, tightened his grip before releasing his hand when he saw the delivery room door open slightly. Jacob walked out, his eyes wide, his smile beaming.
"He's a miracle," Jacob quietly said, then walked over and hugged his mother, who began to sob in his arms.
"My baby! My little Jacob is a father," she said, her voice shaking. "Oh, I wish your dad were here right now."
"Me too, Mom. Me, too."
Napoleon and Illya looked at one another, wondering if they should leave the room to give Jacob and Pauline time to connect, to celebrate the birth of a son, to mourn the loss of a father.
"Doc?" Jacob called out. "Don't leave. You too, Napoleon. The nurses are going to wheel him into the room soon, and we can see him."
"How's...."
"Oh, she's fine. Tired. The baby looks just like her," Jacob smiled. "We could be so lucky, right? She sends her love to you, but wanted to take a nap."
Napoleon nodded. "Not that I blame her."
Jacob eagerly watched the nurses at the end of the hallway. Finally, one waved to him. "Mr. Liebhaber, come introduce your son."
The little family made their way to the observation window, where a tiny, squirming, red faced little thing wrapped in a soft, blue blanket lay in a small bassinet. Pauline began to cry again. "Look at him. Look at all that dark hair! Jacob, you said he didn't look like you," she said.
"I don't think he does, Mom."
Illya stood next to Jacob, put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "He's beautiful. You're going to be a wonderful father, my boy."
Jacob turned, hugged his friend and mentor tight. "Thank you, Doc. I know I'll be all right, because I know you and Napoleon will help me if I need it."
They looked at the new addition to the family for a few minutes more before a nurse came and shooed them away. Napoleon shook Jacob's hand and offered his congratulations once more, knowing that Jacob would want to go to his wife's room and be with her through her recovery period. The poor boy probably needed a nap himself. He motioned to Illya, who understood instinctively what Napoleon's intentions were.
"We'll go now. Tell Momma in there that we said hello and that her son is lovely," Napoleon said.
"Wait, guys. Before you go, I should tell you. We've already named him. We decided to name our firstborn son after the two men who have meant the most to his father."
"You're naming your son after Guy LaFleur and Bobby Clarke, or Starsky and Hutch?" Illya teased.
Jacob laughed, and when he stopped, he looked calm, relaxed. "No. I hope tomorrow, you'll be able to make the acquaintance of Thomas Alexander Liebhaber."
Illya's eyes welled with tears. "Alexander?"
"We both thought Illya might be too much for the kid, with a last name like ours," Jacob said, "but Alexander? That's a fine name. Don't you agree, Doc?"
Napoleon's emotions threatened to get the best of him. Alexander Kulik might have been a false name, but the memories were real, and for Jacob to honor Illya in that way was more than a tribute to their friendship and love for one another.
Illya nodded, his eyes bright with unshed tears. For a man who had so little family, this was the greatest gift that anyone could have given him. He smiled. "Yes, son. It's a good name, for a good boy."