Napoleon Solo watched with well concealed concern as Illya Kuryakin stepped cautiously past the nurse and through the door
of his hospital room. From the slight shake of his head, the blue-eyed Russian was still a trifle disoriented. Understandable,
considering all Illya had been through in the last few days, but still... Napoleon hurried over to his partner's side.

"Illya." Napoleon's voice, while soft, still echoed in the silent hall.

"Ah, Napoleon." Illya looked up, smiling slightly. "I had wondered if you might be here?"

"Where else?"

"True," Illya nodded. "You always hover when I get shot."

Ignoring the indifferent orderlies and staff passing down the hall,  Napoleon checked his partner carefully. Yes, the brilliant fire was  back in those sapphire eyes, and the coin-blond hair actually  glowed with a golden light. Illya was *still* a bit thin, in
Napoleon's never- spoken opinion, but... he shrugged to himself.  Compared to the terrible emaciation brought on by the  gruesome wounds and their grave treatment? Illya was  wonderful. Truly a vision of the divine. Which, Napoleon  considered, had been his opinion of the younger man since the  first moment he had seen him. Still, looking at him now?

Napoleon wanted to tell his partner how missed he had been.  How welcome he was now. How glad Napoleon was that, after
such a long time apart, they were together again. What  adventures they now had to look forward to. But - for all of  Napoleon's famed repartee - such words did not come easily. It  had been too long, and before that such dangerous words too  rare. So instead he reached out, pulling his partner into a brief  but firm hug.

Illya returned the pressure, sharing without words that he too  had regretted their time apart and welcomed this reunion. Still,
when they stepped apart what the Russian did say was, "Nice  suit."

Illya raised one eyebrow at the finely tailored ivory linen jacket  that set off Napoleon's darker coloring to perfection. As did the  golden silk shirt that lay under the perfectly knotted white tie with  it's gold-winged tie-tack. "The new boss must be more
...generous... then Waverly."

"Company policy." Napoleon preened slightly, then tried passing  it off as a shrug. "We get what we want. Which in your case?"  Napoleon smiled slightly at Illya's floor length white gown. "Roll  top and pants?"

"Mine in black, no doubt."

"If you want." Napoleon grinned at his partners sarcastic wit. That  was his Illya. "The new management is...very accommodating.  Especially to someone as welcome as you. And you are *very*  welcome."

"Of that I was less certain."

At Napoleon's surprised look, Illya continued quietly. "I knew you  would do well here, but for myself? I did not expect
my...background.. to quite...fit in."

"Nothing new there." Napoleon's voice took on a teasing note.  "You were always the odd duck in the New York office. A
Russian, a scientist, an intellectual - not the usual profile for an  Enforcement agent. But," in the stillness the words were almost
a caress, "if you were different, you were also the best."

"UNCLE is one thing. However strict, Waverly was at least... able  to be persuaded.."

"Waverly? Give in to pressure?" Napoleon shook his head  slightly. "Never. Not then. Not now. The man is a rock."

"He is here, also?" Illya's expression was somewhere between  relief and surprise.

"From the day he left UNCLE," Napoleon answered. "Different  branch, but..." Napoleon's wave took in the immediate universe.  "I've seen him around. Up in the higher circles. He's not a  Guardian, but he keeps his hand in."

"That - does not surprise me. He was always inclined to...  manage things."

"But he does it so well."

A glib answer, but one too which Illya could make no argument.

Napoleon waited a moment, then asked softly. "If you aren't  surprised that Waverly came in to the company, why would you
doubt..?"

Illya turned away slightly. "My... actions...were not always...in line  with the book. As you know."

"We all make mistakes. You always did your best." Napoleon  reached out and turned his friend back until they were face to
face. "You followed your highest beliefs. That's what counts."

"Yes. My beliefs." Illya took a deep breath. "That was the other  thing. The..organization does not have a reputation
for...welcoming... atheists. In fact, I had rather assumed....  the...Chief...would not.."

Napoleon waved that off. "Questions are part of our job. He never  takes it personally."

"And then there was my... our..."

"This?" Napoleon reached out and pulled the blond man into a  hard embrace, kissing him firmly. "I wondered a bit at that too. As  it turns out, totally not a problem. Slight misreading of the  personnel manual."

"Oh." Illya's heavenly blue eyes became somehow impossibly  brighter. Almost as bright as his smile. "Then we are...back on
duty?"

"Eventually. When you're up to it." Napoleon punctuated his  words with another kiss, this one less passionate but somehow
far fonder. "I told them I'd be taking some time off. Getting  reacquainted with you. The management is very big on family
leave." The next kiss moved halfway back towards heat. "I figured  you might want some recovery time. That was some very nasty  damage you took back at the river."

"Yes." Even now, in this place of safety, Illya shivered at the  memory of that fire fight. That hopeless, bloody ambush of
himself, Mark Slate, and a boatload of potential hostages.  Innocent children, most of them, caught in the crossfire of a drug
lords turf war with two UNCLE agents as their only hope of  escape. Given the odds, a rather forlorn hope.

Illya shoved back the painful memories. "The others? They did  get out? I think I remember you telling me that."

"Absolutely. A few wounded, but no civilian deaths." Napoleon's  fourth kiss was sweet and reassuring. "You held the gangsters  off long enough for the boat to get safely down river. Almost long  enough for  Mark to come back with the rescue team. Both  `armies' were rounded up and the mission was listed as a  success. Sir John didn't want to damage your perfect record." He  winced a bit at the painful memory. "You know, Mark feels really  bad that he couldn't get there before you got shot."

"I hope you told him not to." Illya leaned into the embrace, but his  thoughts were clearly with their long-time friend. "I was senior,  and he was already wounded. I was the one who sent him off  with the boat. Any mistakes were mine. Mark was doing his job,  and doing it well. We were just outnumbered."

"I tried." Napoleon stroked the blond curls, offering reassurance  beyond words. " And April is helping on her end. But you know  how stubborn Mark can be. These days I can't really get through  to him."

"Still, he should know.."

"Tell you what." Napoleon cut off the comment with another kiss.  "We'll both go and see him. Maybe together we can push an idea  through his stubborn skull."

"Now?" Illya asked, before returning Napoleon's kiss and thus  stopping any possible answer.

"When he gets home," Napoleon answered. "I don't want to  distract him while he's driving."

"No, I suppose not." Illya stepped back slightly. Not so far as to  be apart, but enough to move the conversation to a less physical  plane. "Napoleon. I  also want to thank you for your backup."

Napoleon, for once, looked truly confused. "Backup? I did even  less then Mark. When I saw that bastard..."

"Napoleon." Illya's tone was firm. "If Mark - who had a helicopter  gun ship and a team of Marines - could do nothing more,  what  do you expect to do?"

"More then just watch while you were ..." Napoleon's voice  thickened, the failed, as the vision of Illya's injuries came back to
haunt him. "I know, we all... understand the  rules of engagement  going into this job, but that doesn't make it easier. I wanted to..."

"Cut them down with a flaming sword?" Illya's fingers brushed  over his partners lips and sealed off the words. "You gave me all  the backup you could. Even when I was assigned with Mark..."

"Which I hated."

"As did I. He is a good friend, and a good agent, but he could  never replace you." Illya closed his eyes at a still darker memory,  then continued. "Even after...what happened to you in Istanbul ...  you never abandoned me. Not for a moment. "

"You are my *partner*! Always!"

"Absolutely!" This time Illya initiated the kiss. Which was long,  and very passionate, and quite possibly extended for slightly
more than mortal time. But which also had the evident property of  answering any and all remaining uncertainties, because when  they finally separated the only question on Illya's lips was a  quiet, "So now?"

"Now?" Napoleon appeared to consider the point. "How about  lunch? It's been a while since you had a decent meal."

"I thought that was my line?"

"You're gorgeous, but you're still too thin. Which *is* my line."  Napoleon's expression settled into the classic Solo grin as he
added, "I know just the place."

Illya pulled aside the hem of his flowing robe to show one bare  foot. "I don't think I'm ready for a fancy restaurant just yet."

"You don't like the gown? OK, it's not you." Napoleon smiled as  the flowing white was replaced by Illya's preferred outfit. Also in  shining white. "Trousers and roll-top, like you asked. Not that the  best local places don't welcome the classic robes. But for right  now I was thinking we could  try the commissary."

 At Illya's rather shocked expression, Napoleon added. " Why so surprised? We've had lots of lunches there. There are lots of old  friends waiting to see you again. And you won't believe the talent  of the new chef."

"As long as I don't order the Devil's Food cake?"

Napoleon took Illya's hand, and together they stepped out of the  building and into their new life. "I knew you'd catch on."

*THE BEGINNING*

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