Mark Slate carried his suitcases down the basement stairs and into the
              family room with its pool table, comfortable old sofa and fireplace.
              Continuing past the bathroom and into the spacious back room, he set
              them down and looked around with a curious gaze.  Double bed with
              bookcase headboard to his left, an old six drawer oak dresser with a
              mirror above it on his right and doors which should be a walk in closet
              straight ahead, all caught his wandering eye.

                      "Why the hell did I have to move?"  He asked the still air.  Shaking
              his head, he opened a suitcase and began to fill the drawers with folded
              clothes.  Thinking back to the summons to Mr. Waverly's office and the
              apologetic but firm order to move into the safe house off of 53rd
              Street.  There'd been a twinkle in the faded blue eyes and Mark had
              simply nodded before taking the day off to pack and move.

                      He still had boxes to bring in but April had said she'd help at four
              and it was almost that time now.  Taking the empty suitcases, he set
              them in the back of the closet where he'd hung up his suits.  Measuring
              with his arm, he decided to put the bookcase that doubled as his
              shoetree in the closet.  It would look tidier that way.

                      "Mark?  Are you down there?"  A familiar voice echoed from the stairs.

                      He went out to the bottom of the staircase and looked up into
              Napoleon's face.  The number one agent was in jeans and a sweatshirt
              that somewhat shocked Mark.  He didn't think he'd ever seen him dressed
              in anything but a suit.  And relaxed . . . very relaxed with a grin on
              his face instead of the practiced charming smile.

                      "We just got here with our rental truck.  We've got a porter's dolly if
              you've got boxes to move."

                      "Great!  April should be here any minute to help."  Mark came up the
              steps and saw Illya over Napoleon's shoulder, unloading several boxes
              onto the bright red, two-wheeled dolly.  "You needed an entire truck?"

                      "Illya has books and bookcases like you wouldn't believe.  And I've got
              furniture that belonged to my parents."

                      "And boxes and boxes of clothes.  Don't forget them, Napoleon."  The
              soft accents drifted up from the sidewalk.

                      "At least they're not as heavy as your books, Illya."

                      Mark listened to their familiar bickering while they emptied his car of
              boxes and got them down to his new home.  Puzzled, he listened for the
              new note he thought he heard beneath the joking asides.  By the time
              April got there, they'd moved all the furniture out of the truck and up
              the stairs to the first and second floors.  The only furniture that
              Illya had was a beautiful stained glass lamp that looked like a Tiffany
              but probably wasn't.

                      It sat nicely on the Chippendale table with the graceful lines of the
              eighteenth century that sat behind the comfortable stuffed sofa that
              came with the brownstone.  The elaborately framed art from Napoleon's
              apartment were stacked against the wall in the living room while the
              simply framed posters went on up the stairs to Illya's room on the
              second floor.

                      There was a lot of shuffling of furniture to make room for Napoleon's
              family antiques.  The bedroom suite from his room went up the steep
              steps to the third floor above Illya's bedroom at the front.  Then the
              heavy carved oak headboard came up the steps to Napoleon's back
              bedroom.  Mark was slightly envious of the nice wide queen sized bed.

              Maybe it was time he broke down and bought some furniture, he mused.
              Except for his stereo, records and clothes, he traveled extremely
              lightly.  Of course, his part of this move had been accomplished in less
              than an hour while they didn't finish unloading the truck until almost
              eight p.m.  Once the door to the truck slammed down on empty space,
              Napoleon ushered them down the street to the little Italian restaurant
              on the corner.

                      They ate as if they were starved.  The appetizer tray disappeared
              quickly and the first bottle of red wine led to another with their
              entrees.  Mark watched his friends and fellow agents with an assessing
              eye.  He still couldn't understand why he'd been moved in with them or
              why any of them had to be moved at all.

                      While they waited for dessert, he ventured his query.  "Guys, why are
              we living together?"

                      Napoleon shrugged elegantly.  "Uncle Alex said something about budget
              cuts.  April, has he said anything to you about moving?"

                      She shook her head, dark hair swirling over her shoulders.  "I know
              that two of the girls in Section Four moved in together yesterday.
              Lainie and Helen, you remember Helen, don't you, Napoleon?"

                      "Blond, curvaceous and lips to die for?"  He tilted his head to one
              side.  "I only dated her once.  She never stops talking."

                      "Well, she is in Communications."  April teased him and Illya chuckled,
              surprising them both.

                      "Frederick Lowell from Section Five - Security moved in with his cousin
              Peter Baynes."  Illya volunteered.

                      "I heard a rumor about some FBI agent who's coming up for an
              interview.  I'll have to tell Uncle Alex that we have a furnished third
              bedroom he could rent out."  Napoleon said dryly.

                      "Well, I can top that one."  April said smugly while curling a
              fettucine noodle around her fork.  "One of my old college friends works
              for the New York City District Attorney's office and she got a call from
              Uncle Alex about possibly coming to work for us."

                      "Interesting.  There have been no departures as far as I know from the
              ranks.  So why the expansion?"  Mark threw in his two cents worth.
              "Increased activity on THRUSH's part?"

                      "Some of the scientists in the propulsion lab are due to retire this
              year."  Illya offered.  "And Garibaldi is always threatening to quit."

                      "Good riddance to him.  He has to be the most sour man I've ever met."
              April scowled and stabbed another ravioli.  "Maybe there are some
              promotions coming up."

                      Mark caught a quick look between the two men across the table and once
              again wondered about the undercurrent to the conversation.  "You haven't
              mentioned what happened in Switzerland, Napoleon?  You were supposed to
              be back ten days ago."

                      "We ran into a spot of trouble and had to recuperate."

                      "What Napoleon means is that I had a bad reaction to a drug overdose
              and he had to wait for me to get better."

                      "You're all right now, right?"  April placed her left hand on his and
              surprised a shy smile from the usually reticent agent.

                      He nodded.  "I am fine with no lingering trauma.  We rested in an old
              castle, complete with ghosts.  It was most interesting."

                      "Ghosts?"  Mark asked.  "You don't believe in ghosts, Illya?"

                      "There was a vast array of different manifestations including auditory
              and optical illusions that might or might not present evidence of
              another dimension."

                      April burst out into laughter in which Napoleon joined heartily.  Mark
              knew he'd been had by an expert.  "Now that sounds more like the kind of
              explanation I'd expect from you."

                      "I shall endeavor to come up to your expectations, Mark."  Illya said
              with a dead pan expression that didn't quite hide the twinkle in the
              bright blue eyes.

                      They ended the meal with cannoli drizzled with honey before returning
              to the brownstone to start unpacking.  April joined him downstairs and
              helped him hook up his stereo system.  Then while he put a metal
              bookcase together, she opened the boxes of his extensive music
              collection and got ready to hand him the records.  Teasing him about his
              penchant for alphabetizing, she nonetheless took the time to keep them
              in order so he could fill the shelves correctly.

                      "April, have you noticed anything odd about the other two?"  Mark
              wondered if he was imagining things.

                      "Goodness, yes.  Something happened in Switzerland, I expect.  Did you
              notice how they distracted us with ghost stories?  And Illya still looks
              a little shaky.  Normally he's tough as old boots but did you see how
              Napoleon made sure that he didn't lift anything too heavy?"  She was
              bent over his box of tools and assorted hardware.

                      "I wonder what kind of overdose it was?  He does look a little
              translucent.  But then Napoleon has always been a bit of a mother-hen."
              Mark shrugged and finished shelving the records, sitting back on his
              heels.

                      "Do you want this poster over your bed like it was in your apartment?"
              April straightened up with a nail in one hand and the hammer in her
              other.

                      "Yeah.  I think I'll put the travel posters up in here.  It looks a
              little sterile."  He looked around at the dark paneled walls.  "And
              dark.  I wonder if they have any 100 watt bulbs in the kitchen storage
              closet."

                      "Why don't you go see while I hang this.  You're going to need
              something brighter in the bathroom too.  Of course, you don't have to
              worry about putting on your make-up."  She batted her eyelashes at him
              and sent him upstairs laughing.

                      Thank goodness they weren't attracted to each other Mark thought,
              crossing the living room back to the kitchen.  Opening drawers at
              random, he found one filled with light bulbs.  Pulling out four 100-watt
              bulbs, he headed back to the stairs only to be stopped by an unfamiliar
              sound.  Detouring to the stairs up, he heard Illya laughing infectiously
              from his bedroom.

                      "Are you sure I can't help you, Pasha?  You seem to be having a little
              trouble with the nail."

                      "Just you wait, Illyusha.  I'll show you how much trouble I have
              'nailing'."

                      "Promises, promises."

                      Mark froze.  He'd never heard that tone of voice before from either of
              the senior agents.  Especially not to each other.  A thump then a
              breathless laugh drifted down from the second floor.  Mark wasn't sure
              he knew what was happening upstairs but he was going to have to do some
              hard thinking.  Lost in thought, he found himself by the pool table with
              his hands full of light bulbs and no memory of coming down the stairs.

                      "Mark . . . Mark, what's wrong?"  April's hand on his arm startled him.

                      "Um, nothing."  He didn't know what to say or whether he could even put
              it into words.

                      "Heard something you shouldn't have?"  She smiled and tugged him over
              to the sofa.

                      Shocked, he could only stare at her.  "How did you know?"

                      "Oh, Mark."  She pushed him down on the sofa and fiddled with the
              controls for the gas fireplace, only stepping back when the even flames
              shot up.  Rejoining him, she curled up sideways to him so she could
              watch him.  "Would it make so much difference if you knew they were . .
              . together?"

                      He grimaced at the picture that painted in his mind.  "I hope I'm not
              so intolerant as all that but Napoleon is such a womanizer and I always
              thought Illya had earned his nickname."

                      "Napoleon flirts with anything in a skirt, Mark but he's never been
              serious.  Illya is the only one to whom he is completely and irrevocably
              committed.  I think whatever happened in Switzerland, they both woke up
              to how they feel about each other."  She held his hand.  "It doesn't
              mean they're weaker now.  Loving doesn't mean they're going to go
              limp-wristed on us.  I think they're probably stronger now then they've
              ever been."

                      Mark thought about that.  His main image of homosexuals came from the
              Soho
              District and the bars that catered to transvestites, cross dressers and
              raving queens.  With a sigh of relief, he couldn't see Napoleon or Illya
              acting that way.  So how did he see them now?  With a blush, he found
              himself wondering who was on top.

                      "I'm confused.  My brain tells me that homosexuals are weak and petty
              minded men who can't control themselves."

                      "Wow, that's a pretty negative picture.  What do you think about
              Professor Grim in Weapons?"  She asked him.

                      "What about him?"

                      "He lives with his 'cousin', Vance.  They've been together for 26
              years.  They had a small party on their twenty-fifth anniversary.  Mr.
              Waverly and I went and had a great time."

                      Mark felt as if his world had turned upside down.  Bill Grim was a
              first rate shooter who had come up with some refinements that made their
              weapons even more dangerous.  He was big and masculine with an air of
              no-nonsense practicality.  Mark thought that he was as tolerant as they
              came but he didn't seem to be reacting to this situation very well.
              Taking a deep breath, he tried to get back to basics.

                      Napoleon and Illya were competent men who were given the tough
              assignments because they could handle them.  As senior agents, they were
              often sent into impossible situations but they'd always come through for
              UNCLE.  The fact that they were . . . damn, he couldn't even think about
              the physical part.

                      "I think I can accept it if I don't think about . . . um . . . you
              know."  Mark stammered.

                      April grinned mischievously.  "That's the part I find so yummy.  I'd
              love to be a mouse in the corner and watch them.  They're so sweet
              together."

                      Mark looked at her in shock.  "Two men making love turns you on?"

                      "Well, sure.  Don't tell me that the thought of two beautiful women
              making love doesn't turn you on."

                      A flush crept up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.  He'd
              been part of a threesome in his college days and watching the two of
              them keep making love while he was recovering had been hotter than hot.
              "Okay, yeah, I have to admit that's a turn on.  But I can't see two
              guys."

                      "Then we're going to have to agree to disagree on it then.  Are you
              going to be so uncomfortable here that you'll have to move?  Or can you
              live and let live?"  She looked sympathetically at him.

                      "I think I'll have to think about it for awhile.  See how it goes.
              Maybe stay out of their way."  Mark sighed and let his head fall back
              onto the sofa back.

                      "Well, you may not have to worry about it for awhile.  I got a call
              asking us to come in tomorrow morning for a new assignment."  April
              grinned at him before getting up.  "Walk me home and stretch those long
              legs of yours.  We'll only be a few blocks away from each other now."

                      "Ten blocks is more than a few."  Mark protested weakly but allowed her
              to pull him up.  "Let me get my jacket."

                      They headed up the stairs and April called her goodbyes to the others.
              Napoleon came down and kissed her cheek.  "Thanks for all your hard
              work, April.  We appreciate it."

                      "How is Illya really?"  She asked him quietly.

                      "Better.  The doctors are still going over the combination of drugs
              that he was injected with."  The grim note in his voice and the
              clenching of his jaw gave away his feelings.  "It was a devil's brew
              that brought up years of old trauma."

                      "It's a good thing you were there to protect him."  She kissed his
              cheek.

                      "For once . . . he let me."  Napoleon's smile was slight but genuine.
              "Thanks again.  Do you need a ride home?"

                      "Nope, I'm going to walk her home to stretch my legs."  Mark said as
              naturally as he could.

                      "Fine.  We're going to turn in early.  It's been a busy day.  See you
              at headquarters tomorrow."  Napoleon smiled at them both and headed back
              upstairs.

                      Locking the door behind them, Mark took April's arm for a brisk walk
              down the block.  "Okay, I see what you mean.  I always thought of
              Napoleon as essentially cold hearted with a good brain but without a
              kind bone in his body.  But he's not."

                      She tucked her hand into his elbow and smiled affectionately up at
              him.  "You're getting there, my friend.  Just take it one day at a
              time.  I expect they're going to be as discrete as can be."

                      "Yeah, you're probably right."

                      "Hah!  I'm always right.  You should know that by now."  She teased
              him.

                      He laughed out loud and they continued into the night, sharing their
              friendship and the banter that characterized their relationship.  Mark
              decided that for now, he'd take what came and mind his own business.
              That should prove interesting enough to keep him busy for some time to
              come.