Illya Kuryakin was floating on a pleasant haze of food, drink and warmth. His stocking feet were stretched out to the fire and the chair he was in was so impossibly comfortable that he wondered if he would ever escape.

He smiled at the thought of his tiny great granddaughter. He'd spent an hour cuddling and tickling her while reciting some of the old nursery rhymes.

"Naar bed, naar bed, zei Duimelot
eerst nog wat eten zei Likkepot
waar zullen we het halen, zei Lange Jaap
in grootmoeder's kastje, zei Ringeling
ik zal het zeggen, zei het Kleine Ding"*

Then he swooped in and gently tickled the little girl's tummy. Angelica giggled and waved her chubby arms and legs in response.

"Grampy, that's silly talk," Ginny was fascinated with the baby. She'd been the baby of her family and it felt good to pass on that title to someone else

"It's Dutch," Illya corrected. "I can think of many people who would disagree with you about it being silly. Then he reached over and tickled her tummy.

Ginny squealed and wiggled. She would never be too old for her Poppy's attention, never. Poppy laughed back and hugged her. "Are you all ready for Santa?"

"Uh, huh. We're gonna sing songs and everything."

"Really? Why don't you sing one for me now?"

"Okay." She took a few steps away from him and composed herself. Clearing her throat, she started singing, "Oh, tiny bomb! Oh, tiny bomb—"

"I think you may have gotten the wrong end of the stick," Illya interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep from laughing.

"They didn't make sense to me," Ginny confessed. "I thought we were singin' about a tree, but Nessa…"

Illya nodded. "That's makes more sense. I think the word you are looking for is tannenbaum. It's German for tree. I'll have a little talk with your sister."

"I wish you would. She's awfully confusing."

"Is that the only song you are singing?"

"Oh, no, we have lots more. This one's my favorite!" She started again, He's making a list of chicken and rice—"

"Let me guess, Peter helped you with this one?"

"Uh, huh, he was makin' fruitcake and Mommy said he'd smelled the brandy one too many times..."

There was gentle pressure against his forehead and Illya opened his eyes lazily. Napoleon Solo was standing there.

"From the look on your face, I'd say that was a happy dream."

"Not dreaming, just thinking. Did you ever in your wildest dreams imagine being a great grandfather?"

Napoleon set down the cup of hot chocolate he was holding. "I can assure you my wildest dreams never involve grandchildren, great or otherwise. Honestly, I never expected to be a father."

Illya sat up in his chair and stretched. "Same here. Talk about having greatness forced onto you… and me." Illya sipped his hot chocolate. It was made just the way he liked it. There was just a pinch of red pepper in it to give it a snap. "I had fun tonight."

"Mmm, I'm having more fun now." Napoleon settled into his own comfy chair and leaned back. "I love our family, but being alone with you is nice, too." He thought for a moment. "How the hell did we get here, Illya?"

"One day at a time, just doing our job."

"I never believed the job would lead me here."

"That's the nice thing about life. It happens all around you while you are making plans for something else."

"You were in the eggnog tonight."

"How do you know?"

"It makes you philosophical."

"Well, I suppose there are worst things." He stretched out his hand and Napoleon took it as they both gazed into the fire.

"This is not one of them." Napoleon gave Illya's hand a gentle squeeze. Too many fist fights had left both of them with arthritis.

"No, this is definitely not one of them." He sighed. "I keep expecting to wake up and discover this is all some dream and I'm strapped to a gurney with THRUSH all around me."

Napoleon lifted Illya's hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers, "Me, too."

"Then let's hope neither of us ever wakes up. Merry Christmas, Napoleon."

Napoleon leaned in for a kiss, while pointed upward at the mistletoe dangling there. "Merry Christmas, partner."

*(to bed, to bed, said Duimelot. (your thumb)
first a bit of food said Likkepot. (your index finger)
where will we make it, said Lange Jaap (middle finger)
in Grandmother's locker, Ringeling said. (ring finger)
I will say it, said the Little Thing (pinkie)

My thanks to Gevr for this translation!