Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don't own Napoleon, and *nobody*  would even try to own Illya. ( I'm brave, not crazy.) And  nobody is  ever going to pay me for this. So - no harm, no foul, no sue.

Slash: Napoleon Solo /Illya Kuryakin ( Modern time,  non-Yesterday continuity. Possible continuity for Uncle Vanya.)

Rated: G

Archive: Ravens Lair, File 40 (If they want.)

The door slammed slightly , caught in the brisk wind, as Illya  Kuryakin stepped quickly into the warm hallway.

"Illya?" Not truly a question, for Napasha would have seen his  approach on the house monitor, or the door would never have
opened. Unless. Illya considered, moving toward the kitchen, the  question was `what do you want for lunch?' In which case...?

"Coming, Napasha," Illya shouted back, hanging his jacket on  the coat rack. Perhaps he should take it upstairs, and bring
down his coat?The fall air was turning brisk early. Soon he  would have to insist  that they move Napoleon's' silly sports car
into the garage and rely on Illya's more sensible sedan. Which  brought up the question...

"Napasha? Did you move my car?" Because, now that Illya  considered, neither it nor the Jaguar had been parked out front.
Illya usually remembered to park in the garage at night, but  Napasha seldom bothered unless the lawn service was coming by - and that was generally on Thursday, so...?

"In the ga..." Napoleon leaned through the living room door,  television remote clutched in one hand. "Oh." The American gave
Illya a strange look as he ran the other hand through his already  -disheveled hair. " You haven't seen...."

"Seen what?"

Napoleon stepped aside, beckoning the blond man towards the  big-screen TV, which was currently showing a landscape of fire  and twisted steel.

"Da.....?" Illya stared at the screen, running a quick list of  probable combat zones. There was something familiar about the
scenery, if he could only place it. Western, definitely. Good steel  construction. Maybe... Egypt? Peru?" A dark possibility clutched  at his heart. "Zagreb?"

Napoleon shook his head slightly. "New York."

"Chyort!"

"The World Trade Center."

"Bomb?"

"Two planes. Hijacked. Another hit the Pentagon." Napoleon  clicked the remote, changing to a channel which showed the
familiar building with dark smoke billowing from one side.

"Govno." The word was more a whisper then a curse.

" Four planes were taken. Three are down. The last one... we  don't know yet." Napoleon clicked the scene back to New York as  he continued. "Bush is underground in Nebraska. Congress is  being dispersed. There's a call waiting for you in your office.  Uncle Ivan."

"What does he want?"

"Fashion advice?" Napoleon suggested with a raised eyebrow.  "You know he refuses to admit you are anything more then a very  expensive dress designer - at least  to me. But he's holding the  line."

"I..." Illya hesitated. "will get it ... now."

Illya gave one last look at he almost-hypnotic scene before  heading off to his office. Three minutes later he was back - and
whatever color he had still had heading in was now vanished,  leaving him with the expression and complexion of a well
prepared corpse.

"Ivan said..."

"No. Don't tell me." Napoleon reached over and pulled Illya into a  loose embrace. " Ivan always gets nervous when he thinks about  you talking to a known American spy."

"I have explained to him. "Illya smiled slightly. "You are *not* an  American spy."

"Well, I'm and American And I'm a spy. And he tends to find the  combination disturbing." Napoleon released his partner and
headed for the hall closet. " I packed your winter suits. Except for  the gray one which is on the bed upstairs." He opened the door,  pulling out the case in question. " I think you should take your  winter parka. It's already cold in Tajikistan, and you had that bad  cold last winter..."

"Napasha!" Illya stepped back up and brushed his fingers over  Napoleon's lips. "Ivan asked me to come back as an advisor. I'll  be in Moscow... where they have perfectly wonderful central  heating."

"Right. " Napoleon answered,pulling down another case. "And I'll  be boating on the Potomac." He opened the box and pulled out  several objects. including a gun and a phone. "Take the  sat-phone. It may work a bit better then the military links."
Handing Illya one, he slipped the matching phone into his own  pocket. "April's sending someone over to watch the house."

"You are also..."

Napoleon shrugged into the shoulder holster. "Local calls come  faster." He lifted another suitcase and  set it over by the front
door. "Air travel is locked down, but I'm heading our as soon as  your ride gets here. I just wouldn't leave without telling you."

"Do you want a lift?" Illya offered, checking his own clip. "The limo  should have room. I'm apparently flying out of Canada.
 "No,  I'm going east first."Napoleon turned, taking his partner in  his arms. "Be careful, Illyusha. I love you."

"And I you, my Napasha."

There was a silent stillness as they leaned into each other.

"Give Vladimir my best - and stay away from those Afghani girls."

"Really, Napasha." Illya slid forward and brushed a kiss over firm  lips. "Should that not be my line?"

"If they were good enough for Alexander the Great.."

"They will still not attract me," Illya insisted, running his hands  over his partners shoulders. "NOT that I will be seeing any
Afaghani's, sitting in an office in Moscow."

"Right." Napoleon's grip tightened on Illya's waist. "That's my  Fashion Designer. The famous Vanya. London, Paris, Italy, and
only occasionally Beirut. Ivan just wants you to help Putin pick the  right tie."

"Why not?" Smiling faintly, Illya raised his fingers to stroke lightly  over his partner's cheek. "You were the one who told me that  public appearances were important."

"As long as *you* don't make an appearance anywhere with too  many bombs."

"That is also my line, I suspect." Illya opened his lips for one last  kiss before slowly stepping back."Take care of yourself,
Napasha. And say hello to Crowley when you get to London.

"Washington." Napoleon lied automatically.

"Whatever."