Napoleon followed Illya's directions into an expensive residential neighborhood and pulled into an empty parking spot across the street from a huge mansion styled home with a high brick wall around it. Even though the house was set quite a distance back from the street, the sounds of a party rang through the night air.

Napoleon shut off the car, and turned to Illya, a puzzled look on his face. "Were you expecting a party?" He glanced down at himself and then at Illya again. "We're not exactly dressed for one." He had been at one point, but it felt like a thousand years ago. His tuxedo was filthy, with several tears, and he had no idea what had happened to his bowtie.

Illya scowled. "No. He forgot to mention that part."

"Ah, our helpful turncoat?"

Illya nodded. He sat there silently for a minute, listening to the revelers.

Napoleon decided he wanted some information. "So, is it time to tell me what plan 6W is yet? Especially as I'm pretty sure you don't like it."

Illya's brow furrowed. "Why do think that?"

"Because I've asked you about it three times now, and all you do is frown, avoid the question, and the last two times, curse in another language. Was that Russian, by the way?"

Illya sighed. He didn't meet Napoleon's eyes. "Do you remember I told you that Waverly told me to seduce Angelique?"

"Yeah." It only took him a couple of seconds. "You can't be serious? He wants you to do it again?"

"He wants me to try."

"Is he crazy? You slit her throat. I can't imagine she's going to be all sweetness and light after that."

"I only slit her throat because she tried to kill me."

Napoleon stared at Illya in disbelief. "Oh, well, I'm sure that makes all the difference."

Illya chose not to respond.

It didn't stop Napoleon. "Tell me you're not really considering this, please. Tell me you're coming up with another plan."

"She won't kill me in front of all those people. Maybe she still."

Napoleon clenched his jaw, interrupting. "What? Still has feelings for you?" He was a bit overwhelmed at the waves of jealousy coursing through him. "Like you still do for her?"

Illya shook his head. "No, it's not like that, not any more."

"Are you sure? Because what you're talking about sounds like suicide, and I can't see you doing that for just anyone."

Illya reached out and put a hand on Napoleon's arm. "She didn't kill us when she had us and she could have. She might know who's trying to kill me, us. It's worth a chance if I can get some information. There's too many players involved in this game and I don't know any of the rules."

"And she might be the one who's trying to kill you. Maybe that little knife scar on her neck didn't respond well to plastic surgery."

"Napoleon.."

"No, Illya. This is stupid. You can't actually expect me to just sit here and let you go in there?" He gestured at Illya's clothes. "Especially dressed like that."

That got a small grin out of Illya. "I don't have any choice. I need information. She has it. I'll be safe enough as long as I stay at the party."

"Are you trying to convince me or you?"

Illya slumped back in the seat. "It doesn't matter. I have to try."

"So, you think you can go in there, sashay up to her, and woo her, just like that?"

"It worked before."

"I don't want you to." Napoleon didn't want Illya wooing anybody, let alone a black widow like Angelique. If wooing included more of those kisses, and Napoleon was sure it did, he didn't want Illya wooing anyone but him.

Illya rolled his eyes and when he spoke his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Well, why didn't you just say so? That changes everything. I'll come up with a new plan immediately."

"I mean it."

Illya's grip tightened on Napoleon's arm. "I appreciate your concern, but it isn't up to you. This is my job. I can take care of myself; I've been doing it for a long time now."

Napoleon touched Illya's wrist, and the places on Illya's chest where Napoleon knew he was badly bruised. "I think you could use some help. I don't think I like the way you take care of yourself."

Illya's eyes darkened and he jerked back from Napoleon's touch. "I'm done arguing."

Napoleon was just getting started. He turned on his seat until he was facing Illya and he grabbed his shoulders. "I don't want you touching her."

"Do you want more innocents to die, like Helen, like that poor girl? We need information."

"I don't want you to die."

"We all die, Napoleon. No one's immune to that."

Napoleon blanched at the thought of Illya dead. He was stunned at how much the Russian had come to mean to him in such a short period of time. The thought of his death was untenable. Napoleon moved his hands up the sides of Illya's neck until he was framing the Russian's face with his hands. His thumbs caressed the cheeks and then brushed against Illya's lips.

Afraid Illya would jerk away again at any moment, Napoleon didn't waste another second. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Illya's, his tongue gently tasting the soft curves, softly asking for entry.

He let out a moan when the lips parted and hands came up to pull him even closer. The kiss took his breath away, just as it had before. The man's touch was magic. Napoleon cradled the back of Illya's head, holding him captive. He swept his tongue inside, meeting its mate, the taste driving him insane.

He swallowed Illya's moans, each one sending a jolt of desire through his body. Napoleon cursed the captain-style seats in the van, it made it difficult to get close enough. He wondered what the odds were of getting Illya to climb in the back of the van with him. Napoleon could barely believe that he was so caught up in touching the man that he had every intention, if allowed, of actually having sex in a parked vehicle. He hadn't done that since high school.

He shifted his body, trying to get a firmer grip, figuring out the best method to take them to the back. Then he felt a tug and he grinned as his first thought was that Illya was taking the initiative. It took a moment for Napoleon to realize that Illya was pulling away. He held on tighter, not wanting to let go, not done touching, staking his claim.

Illya tore his lips away, and rested his head on Napoleon's shoulder, panting. "This is insane."

Napoleon began to nibble his way back to Illya's lips. "I don't care. All I know is that I want you."

"Napoleon." Illya turned his head away. "You must stop. Even if I. it doesn't matter, we don't have time."

"Even if you what, Illya? Even if you wanted me?" His hand reached down, cupping the telltale bulge in Illya's pants. "Your body wants me, even if the rest of you isn't sure."

Illya let out a soft moan, and Napoleon could feel Illya's hips move, pushing further into his hand. But then Illya reached down and grabbed Napoleon's hand. "Stop. We have to stop. Angelique likes parties and will probably be here for some time, but I can't take the chance. I need to get in there."

Napoleon closed his eyes, trying to get back some semblance of control; Illya's plan wasn't helping. Either Illya went in there, and successfully seduced Angelique, ending up in bed with her, or he went in there and Angelique killed him. Neither option was acceptable to Napoleon right now. And Napoleon was deathly afraid that even if Illya was successful in getting the black widow into bed, that it would only defer Illya's death by a few hours. There was no way he was letting Illya in that house.

He shifted away until he was facing front again, thinking furiously. "Well, you can't go in looking like that. They won't let you in the front door."

Illya looked down at himself and scowled. "No, they wouldn't. And even if I somehow found a way in, Angelique wouldn't be caught dead standing next to me looking like this."

Napoleon thought Illya looked wonderful. Good enough to eat. All night. He shook his head and got back to business. "I actually don't live too far from here. There's a good men's shop down the street. If we hurry we can get there before they close."

Illya nodded. Then he gingerly reached out and touched Napoleon's hand. "I'm sorry, Napoleon."

Napoleon grabbed Illya's fingers, and brought his hand up to his lips. He kissed Illya's palm, his tongue flicking out to get one last taste. Feeling his body respond to just that small touch, he gave Illya a wry smile. "Not as sorry as I am."

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, the air thick between them. Then Napoleon regretfully let go of Illya's hand and started up the van.

***** It was a lucky punch. Napoleon knew that. He knew that it was unlikely that anyone could take Illya down with one punch. Of course, the fact that Illya had been knocked unconscious twice, beaten and shot all in a short period of time, undoubtedly helped. Not to mention that he certainly hadn't expected Napoleon to hit him.

They'd gotten to the men's store, and Napoleon had parked in back. He'd come up with a plan during the drive, but it was necessary for Illya to be unconscious for it to work, mostly because Illya wouldn't ever have agreed to it otherwise. So, Napoleon had gotten out of the car, met Illya on the other side, and whaled him, right on the chin. He'd seen the astonished look on Illya's face, right before he'd crumpled to the ground in a heap. Napoleon wrestled him back into the car, locking him in.

Hoping Illya would have the good grace to stay unconscious, Napoleon walked around to the front and entered the store. The man behind the register glanced up and smiled. "Mr. Solo." Then he let out a cry and almost ran to Napoleon, taking in his rumpled appearance with a truly appalled expression. "What happened to your tuxedo?"

Napoleon grinned. "Long story, Benny." He waved any possibility of an explanation off with a sweep of his hand. "I don't suppose my new tux is ready?"

Benny nodded. "I just got it in. I left a message this morning at your place."

"Well, I need it right now, and a new shirt and bowtie. Can you fix me up?"

Benny gave him an affronted look. "Can I fix you up?" Without another word he walked into the back.

Fifteen minutes later Napoleon looked like a new man. "Call me a taxi, would you?"

Benny immediately complied.

Napoleon opened the front door. "I'll be right back." He headed for the back and when he got to the van he looked in the window. Illya was still out. He unlocked the door and reached inside Illya's pocket for his communicator. Napoleon was pretty sure, after watching Illya, that he could operate it. He was right. Within a minute he was connected to Waverly.

"Mr. Solo. Where is Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I'm afraid he's out like a light right now."

"How did that happen?"

"Doesn't matter. I just wanted to let you know that there's been a slight change in plans. I'm going to go meet with Angelique."

Waverly's disapproval was almost palpable. "No, Mr. Solo, that is not acceptable."

Napoleon ignored him. "You need to send someone to pick up Illya." Napoleon gave him the address.

"Mr. Solo, I would strongly advise."

Napoleon twisted the communicator off. He was tired of arguing. Angelique was a woman, and if anyone could woo a woman, it was Napoleon Solo. He saw the taxi pulling into the parking lot. Napoleon looked down at Illya, and was even more determined to do whatever it took to keep this man alive. He brushed a quick kiss on Illya's lips, and then he put the keys in Illya's lap, and locked the door before shutting it. He kept the communicator. Walking over to the taxi, he opened the rear door and slid in.

***** Illya came to suddenly, looking up in surprise to see Mark Slate hammering on the window of the van. It took Illya a second or two for all the facts to filter in, but he finally unlocked the door. "What are you doing here?" He lifted his hand to gingerly touch his jaw. "Ow." Then his eyes widened as memory hit, and then darkened as anger swamped him. "Napoleon hit me. Where the hell is he?"

"It seems as if you're rubbing off on him. He's gone off half- cocked determined to meet with Angelique."

Illya staggered out of the car. "And you let him go?"

"Me? I had nothing to do with it. He called the old man and announced that there'd been a change in plans and then signed off before Waverly could work himself up into a proper enough snit to talk Solo out of it."

Illya let go with a string of Russian curses. "He is a fool. He has no idea what Angelique is like. Why would he do something so stupid?"

Mark's eyebrows rose. "Good question. Why is he doing something so stupid? And why did he knock you out? And how did he knock you out?"

Illya was glad it was nighttime so Mark couldn't see the blush. It was humiliating that he'd been disposed of so easily. At the same time, he was paradoxically proud of the man. And terrified for him. And warmed that Napoleon was being stupid on his behalf. And angry as hell that Napoleon would be so presumptuous. He cupped his jaw again, testing its movement, making sure it wasn't broken. The man packed a powerful punch.

He glanced over at the dark sedan. "Is that you?" He held out his hand for the keys.

Mark gave Illya's hand a dubious stare. "Uh, you've just been unconscious. Maybe I should drive." Illya glared at Mark and with a sigh, Mark relinquished the keys. Illya got in, started the car and screamed out of the parking lot.