Part Three: All's Fair in Love and War

The sound of a helicopter heralded their rescue. Napoleon, aided by the flight crew got Ilya strapped in. A medic took the Russian's vital signs. UNCLE headquarters in West Berlin had excellent doctors on staff. At Napoleon's urging, they carefully shaved the area around the wound and sutured it. They left enough hair to cover the scar. Napoleon knew his friend disliked looking unkempt. In anyone else, it would be taken for vanity, but in Ilya's case it was yet another manifestation of the man's precision and dedication to order.

Napoleon worked on his report as he sat next to Ilya's bed. He should be waking up soon. Faint stirrings from the bed caused him to look up from his writing. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty." I was starting to wonder if you'd ever come around." Napoleon closed the folder and stood up. "How are you feeling?"

"Apart from the headache, alright. We're in West Berlin?"

"Holed it one, mon ami. You have a very hard head."

"When will I be able to leave?"

"Whoa, pardner. Despite your thick skull, that was a pretty bad thump you took. They want you here for forty-eight hours while they do their best to make you into a pin cushion. I've been given permission to sit on you if need be." Napoleon grinned.

"You don't have to stay. I'm not going anywhere." Ilya said flatly. "I'm sure you have other things you'd rather be doing."

Damn. Ilya's mood had not improved. While he tried to figure out a suitable reply, the nurse came in with a tray. Napoleon assured her he would get his partner to eat something and shooed her out.

"Listen, Ilya Nicolaievitch. You've been about as cheerful as a Victorian funeral for weeks. What's on your mind? Running off on your own, barely speaking... Anyone would think you didn't want to work with me anymore. Come on, tell me what's bugging you."

"I'm resigning.", a blunt reply.

"Oh." Napoleon was shocked. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?" He leaned over the bed to examine Ilya more closely. Half a mountain fell on the guy and he was more gorgeous than ever. "So, my fabled charm is wearing thin." Napoleon said softly. "Or have you decided to run away and join the Russian circus?"

"I don't wish to discuss it."

"Hell, Ilya! This is me, your partner, your friend! I think I deserve to know what it was I did to make you decide that resigning is your only option." Napoleon was getting angry.

"Did you ever stop to think that this has nothing to do with you?" Ilya asked quietly turning his face to the wall.

"Oh." Napoleon thought for a minute. Oh shit, something *was* wrong with Ilya. "Did the doctors tell you something?" Ilya was silent. If Napoleon thought he was ill, then that would make his next step easier.

"God, they found something. You're really sick. That's it isn't it?" His anger was forgotten. This explained everything: the moody silences, the abrupt manners, that almost suicidal rush to track down Markevitch. "Please, Ilya, talk to me. Tell me what's the matter." Without thinking, Napoleon took his friend's hand. When Ilya snatched it away, Napoleon turned on his heel. "Okay, have it your way. Suffer in silence if you want. Just remember, whatever hurts you, hurts me. Whether you want me to or not, I'm going to sufffer right along with you."

Ilya winced when he heard the pain in Napoleon's voice. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn his suave cosmopolitan friend was trying not to cry. It was too much. His own pain he could live with. Hell, he'd lived with it most of his life. Harming Napoleon was something else. He couldn't live with that and had no intentions of doing so. If anything, this strengthened his resolve.

"Napoleon, sit down." Ilya said in a softer tone and waited for his friend; who was he kidding? Waited for the man he loved desperately, to resume his seat. "Napoleon, there's nothing wrong with me apart from a moderate concussion and a few bruises. You have my word on that." Fixing his eyes on the ceiling, Ilya heard the heartfelt sigh of relief. "Although you managed with your usual flair to completely destroy that installation, I cannot be sure that its inhabitants didn't communicate with others before you came to my rescue. If they did, and it's more likely than not, THRUSH will use information I gave them while under the influence of a truth drug to blackmail me into working for them. They want me as a double agent. To betray UNCLE and you and everything I've worked for. So, I'm resigning."

"Is that all?", Napoleon's relief was palpable.

"No. That's not all. More than I value my own integrity, I value your respect. If what I revealed becomes generally known, I'll lose that. It would be worse than simply resigning. We've trusted each other and I need you to trust me now. Don't fight me on this. I've thought about it and I know what's best for all concerned. I'll disappear. The world still has a few places where discredited secret agents can hide. I've enjoyed working with you, but you would be better off if you forgot I ever existed."

"As if I could. Ilya, there must be something we can do. I refuse to accept anything else. I care about you. I wouldn't rest until I fixed it so you could work again. The idea of your disappearing is ridiculous. *I'd* find you, so you know THRUSH would.

"No you wouldn't, you couldn't. Not where I'll be going." Ilya said to himself not realizing until too late, he spoken aloud.

"You're going to kill yourself." It was not a question. "My God, what in the hell did they find out?" Napoleon's whisper was fearful.

"Let's just say it would compromise me totally." Ilya said in a carefully controlled monotone.

"You've been working for the KGB all along. That's it. It has to be. Hey, it could be worse. All of the foreign nationals employed by UNCLE help out their home services from time to time, willingly or not. Believe me, Waverly will understand. So what if they tell everyone you are a dutiful son of Mother Russia? Hell, I've moonlighted for the Surete on occasion and I'm not even French by birth, only by ancestry."

"I thought you were Italian." Ilya was distracted for a moment by this new fact about his soon-to- be-ex-partner.

"You and everyone else. I'm used to it."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"Come on, old friend. This isn't like you, the real you, anyway." Napoleon smiled ruefully. "You're such a stickler for the rules and regs. So, if you finally got around to bending them a little do you think Uncle Alex is going to drum you out of the corps? Whatever it is, I'll back you, one hundred percent."

"You would do that. Napoleon, you don't even know what *it* is. How can you make a statement like that?"

"How can you ask a question like that? I seem to remember someone saying they value their integrity; well, so do I. In fact I've come to depend upon it. I trust you Ilya. If you broke the rules, you had a pretty good reason for doing so."

"Always the optimist." Ilya murmured. "You mentioned your trust in my judgement. Well, again I must ask you to accept that what I've done cannot be explained away. Despite your exaggeration of my Russian temperament, I am not over-reacting. Do you think I would even consider resigning simply because I cheated on my expense reports?"

This was not going well. Ilya should have known better than to tell Napoleon anything. Why couldn't he lie as easily and convincingly as his partner? "My head hurts. Why don't you eat that lunch they brought and let me go back to sleep?" Ilya turned on his side and shut his eyes. If he was lucky, Napoleon would be gone when he woke up. If he were really fortunate, he wouldn't wake up at all.

Napoleon was extremely concerned. It was painfully clear that Ilya didn't want him to remain. However, in his present state of mind, Ilya was liable to do anything. Napoleon could drop a few hints about his partner being depressed, but that would only make things worse. By the time the shrinks finished with him, he really *would* be depressed. Not to mention it would not be the best idea to have possible mental instability entered on his friend's service record.

Napoleon sat there thinking hard. What could Ilya have told them? Reading Ilya's mind was not easy. The formal mask he hid behind was all but impenetrable. He'd heard the unflattering nicknames given to his partner. "Frozen Freddy", "Gina Lolafrigida", the "Ice Prince"... Napoleon shook his head. There was no way Ilya could not have heard these nasty-minded appellations, yet day after day he worked with these people and never responded with anything but bland courtesy. Maybe the gossips were right. He remembered the fairy tale about a beautiful little boy whose heart had been frozen by the Ice Queen...

"Queen:" the word had another meaning. Considering the number of offers from his female colleagues that Ilya turned down, it was nothing short of miraculous that someone hadn't chosen this nickname before. Napoleon sat up. "Ice Queen:" could *that* be the horrible secret that was gnawing at his partner? "It would compromise me totally..." That had to be it. There was only one way to find out. Asking his partner wouldn't work. Ilya would simply refuse to answer. Napoleon smiled, he always preferred action to more cerebral excercise anyway.

Napoleon got up quietly and locked the door to the room. From the sound of his breathing, Ilya had indeed fallen asleep. Slipping off his shoes, he padded over to the bed and looked at his partner. Ilya looked to be no more than eighteen years old. He was curled up in the foetal position, one hand under his cheek. The other loosely grasped the lightweight blanket. His face was wet. It was this evidence that Ilya had silently cried himself to sleep that did it for Napoleon. Carefully leaning over the bed rail, he kissed his partner softly on the mouth.

Ilya stirred a little but didn't waken. Napoleon gently wiped his friend's face, then kissed him again. Ilya's ruddy lips were as soft and sweet as he'd imagined. This time, his partner moaned and muttered something. Leaning closer, Napoleon caught the words "Polya" and "Can't tell". Napoleon lowered the bed rail. It was putting a cramp into his back and his style. He kissed Ilya again and this time, was rewarded when two very large blue eyes stared into his own.

"I know why you wish to resign, Ilyusha. Remind me to get some truth serum for the future. I figure it's either that, or physical torture to get you to trust me with your feelings." Napoleon smiled warmly.

"You kissed me." Ilya's voice was barely audible.

"Only because it's our first date. I didn't want to presume, my love." Napoleon had no qualms about revealing his own secrets. He was trying to save a life.

"Napoleon don't do this." Ilya's mind reeled. Napoleon said he loved him. Could it be true? And if it was, could he keep Napoleon from embroiling himself in this catastrophe? "Napoleon, It's bad enough they know about *me*. I couldn't stand the thought of your career being destroyed as well." Ilya was having a very difficult time trying to maintain a coherent train of thought.

"Why don't you let me worry about my career?" Napoleon leaned over and kissed Ilya again. The soft lips yielded to his and when Napoleon came up for air, the room tilted a little. "It's even better when you help.", he quoted grinning.*

"This is madness." Ilya murmured. Why wouldn't his partner see sense? Why wouldn't he kiss him again?

"Then I'm insane." Napoleon replied wiping the remaining tears from Ilya's face. "I'm going to get you sprung from this joint then I'm going to check us into a hotel, lock the door, and flush our communicators down the toilet. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life in the booby-hatch, I want some memories to last."

"Napoleon..."

"Shhh. Ilyusha. I've loved you since forever. Did you really think I was going to let you run off somewhere without me? We're partners. We're supposed to look out for each other. With or without us, one day the world is going to blow itself to bits. Then again, maybe peace will break out. Either way, we've both paid our dues in full. If THRUSH starts spreading rumors, we will both resign."

"And do what?"

"Well, I've got enough money to see that we don't starve to death or end up sleeping on park benches. Fifty or so-odd million dollars buys a lot of frozen dinners. You were correct in one assumption, however. There are a few places in the world where we could go and no one would be able to find us. Then I can spend the rest of my life making love to you."

"Napoleon, please be serious."

"That's *your* job. I'm the devil-may-care lightweight sophisticate, remember?"

"You're hopeless."

"Yup. Hopelessly in love with the sexiest man in the world." Whatever Ilya was going to say next went unspoken as Napoleon's communicator warbled. "Solo here."

"Mr. Solo. I trust Mr. Kuryakin is well."

"As well as can be expected, given the injuries he sustained." Napoleon winked at Ilya and stuck out his tongue.

"Excellent, I want the two of you on the next plane back to New York. We've received a very interesting communique from THRUSH Central."

"I'll just bet you have." Napoleon grinned at Ilya's horrified look. "Listen, sir. Ilya's not going to be able to travel for at
least seventy-two hours. Whatever this is will have to wait."

"Nice try, Mr. Solo. I've spoken to the doctor. He feels Mr. Kuryakin is up to making the trip. The order stands. Waverly out."