Time had run out.

The window of safety had closed.

Napoleon Solo cursed himself as he carefully met the slate-grey eyes of the man who held a wicked-looking semi-automatic of THRUSH design on him., his own weapon kicked aside. THRUSH -the UNCLE agent had always known that THRUSH would come on to the scene eventually -there was no real surprise there- but so soon...*too* soon. Two other THRUSH goons (he supposed that they considered themselves soldiers) wearing heavy arctic gear were holding their weapons on April Dancer and Drs. Brewer and Cruise. Odd. Not wearing environmental suits...and where were--  "Did you find anyone else!"  *Grey-eyes* demanded.

"No, Mr. Borodin -these seem to be the lot."

"Sir!" One of the THRUSH heavies had knelt down beside the bloodied body. "I know this man, sir -by his ring...must be Llewelyn from the ice-core crew. He was one of ours!"

"Very well, Tobias." Borodin's mouth pulled into a tense thin line. "So...Mr. Solo...what should I do with you? UNCLE agents trespassing on THRUSH sovereign soil...and *this* one-" he said, waving his gun in a dazed Illya Kuryakin's direction. "So obviously the killer -perhaps of *all* the people here. *Scientists*, Solo -not even soldiers- and UNCLE invades our territory and kills--"

"For *your* information, *Mr.* Borodin," Solo hissed. "*Your* people called *us*." Despite himself, the leader of the THRUSH reconnaissance team flinched, seemingly more than a little rocked by that bit of information. Pressing the momentary advantage, Solo added. "*We* received a distress call directly from this base -didn't know that, did you? Perhaps your own people were too afraid to contact you about whatever was killing them -maybe one of your `germ' weapons run amok, *Mr.* Borodin?"

Borodin's face reddened. "Killers...There is only *one* killer here of which *I* know, Mr. Solo," he snapped, glaring at the nearly catatonic Kuryakin, "and for *your* information, I have no idea where you could have gotten the idea that we were creating biological weaponry here! This is a low-security research station for the securing of ice-core samples for the study of rare minerals -there are *no* bio-weapons here! Do you think us foolish enough to enter this base without protective gear were such things on the premises!"

For a long moment, Napoleon found that he could not answer because, despite himself, something about what his opponent said rang true and yet... The moment stretched on as both senior agents, one UNCLE and one THRUSH, locked eyes, trying to divine who was telling the truth, but the seemingly endless space in time was suddenly shattered by a blood-curdling cry as the THRUSH agent known as "Tobias" suddenly leapt to his feet, Uzi submachine gun drawn. "YOU killed him!" he
shrieked, eyes almost literally blazing with rage. "UNCLE *bastards* -YOU killed Llewelyn!"

A single shot rang out...

...and the THRUSH henchman stopped in his tracks, blind outrage giving way to a blank expression of astonishment as a stain of bright liquid red bloomed from his left shoulder to begin to trail down his chest...and he collapsed to the cold floor. Immediately, the men from THRUSH grasped their weapons, ready to return fire when: "*Ah!* Ah...ah! Naughty, naughty! We *won't* be having any of that, shall we?" said a mocking voice with its familiar British accent as first, Mark Slate and then Jimmy Logan emerged from their hiding places. "Guns DOWN, mates."

Borodin hesitated. "You hardly have us at an advantage, sir. We are two  to *your* two -equal odds."

"Not quite." Napoleon Solo stood up, deliberately putting his body between his enemies and Illya -the senior UNCLE agent was holding and aiming Tobias' Uzi. "*We* have *you* surrounded at three *very* advantageous angles -do you care to try your chances?"

"I see." Borodin lowered his gun and motioned his remaining man to do the same. He met the senior UNCLE agent eye to eye. "I am neither a gambling man nor a fool -so, for now, may I suggest a truce? We both have wounded who require immediate care and I suspect that it would be to our mutual advantage to discuss certain matters." Slate-grey eyes glanced through thick windows at an even greyer sky. "Besides, it may well be that we will have to share each other's company for quite some time."

DECEMBER 27, 12:53 A.M.

"I don't understand."

Dr. Brewer pursed her lips in frustration, drying red-brown stains on her medical smock a testament to useless effort. She glanced at THRUSH agent Pavel Borodin who sat silently nursing a luke-warm mug of tea, and then returned her attention to UNCLE's Number One Section wo. "It doesn't make sense to me either, Lee.  `Agent' Tobias' wound wasn't all that severe -our present facilities are limited, and Dr. Cruise and I *were* able to repair the damage...but the man died. Blood pressure went through the roof despite our best efforts...heart pumped like that of a hummingbird -it was as if he was pumped full of
pure adrenaline and burned out. If I didn't know better, I'd say he died from sheer terror."

"And..." Solo swallowed deeply, struggling to maintain a stoic facade of which his partner would have been proud. "And Mr. Kuryakin's condition?"

"Apart from mild hypothermia and minor dehydration, there is nothing really physically wrong with him. I'm hoping that he will waken from this withdrawn state on his own. As for what caused it however--"  Brewer was forced to shrug. "We will have to wait until he comes to and can be debriefed."

"My man--" Borodin interrupted. "I expect that you prepare his body so that THRUSH doctors may perform an autopsy."

Brewer shot Napoleon a questioning look -Napoleon returned the look and then nodded grimly. "As you wish," she retorted icily to the THRUSH leader. "Lee..?"

"Keep me informed of Mr. Kuryakin's condition...and take care of him." Napoleon watched as the UNCLE physician made her exit, leaving himself and his equivalent in THRUSH alone. There had been other times, long before friendship had grown into intimate love, that he had found himself at his injured partner's side, comforting him as best he could and he wanted to be there now....to stay there with Illya until he could be sure that he was well and safe.

But he couldn't.

There were too many questions to which he had to find answers and he had found that he had come to the unavoidable realization that some of that knowledge would have to come from the man who sat across from him now. "You are concerned for your lover, nyet?"

"I don't--"

"Please, Mr. Solo," Borodin said with a dismissive gesture of his hand, "do not insult my intelligence by denying it. THRUSH has suspected this for some time now and *known* it before *you* did. Had we believed UNCLE policies to be the sort not to accept your relationship, we might have had substance for potential blackmail, but..." He shrugged. "As it is, it is simply useless information, good only for the trivia section of our monthly THRUSH newspaper."

With some difficulty, Solo squelched the urge to wipe the smirk off Borodin's face. "Useless information? As useless as the information you've given me so far."

"Mr. Solo..." Borodin leaned forward slightly. "I suggested only that we might have matters to discuss -not that I had some secrets to impart. We of THRUSH may follow a different philosophy, but we *do* have other pursuits than tangling with UNCLE. This base, as I indicated, was for the purpose of gathering rare mineral deposits for scientific curiosity only. As for what happened to your people and mine, I cannot say -except, of course, for Llewelyn whom *your* man killed."

"And you're satisfied with not knowing?"

Borodin leaned back against his chair. "Mr. Solo, it is a well-known fact that few humans can endure life in these climes with their sanity intact and *I* am satisfied that when the weather permits, if we wish to maintain this temporary truce, that UNCLE will vacate THRUSH territory and allow THRUSH to determine the exact nature of this unfortunate imbroglio *ourselves*." He stood up. "And for now -I tire. Perhaps we will continue this discussion in the morning."

Napoleon noted his enemy's smile -he had never seen one half as cold.

DECEMBER 27, 3:20 A.M.

"God -NO!"

Napoleon Solo woke with a strangled cry, his heart beating a violent tattoo. "Dammit..." It had been a mistake to have agreed that he needed sleep -he had suspected what he would find in the realm of his subconscious and he had not been mistaken. Even as the mental ghosts faded, he could still remember images of hands closing around some struggling, faceless figure's throat, *feel* the terror that came from the phantom victim in waves...and know, that in that dream, the crushing hands had been his own. Yes...he had suspected the likelihood of nightmares, but like that..? What--

There was a low, metallic creak and the door to Solo's temporary quarters inched open. Even as he carefully began to draw out his personal side-arm, a slight silent figure appeared in the resultant shaft of light. "Illya..?" There was no answer. "How did you -what are you doing out of the infirmary..?" Still no answer -just a disconcerting quiet as the lithe blonde figure slowly drew closer and almost hesitantly sat on the edge of the cot, at Solo's side, crystalline eyes piercing even in the semi-darkness. Soft lips gently brushed over Solo's, silently *hesitantly* asking permission. Puzzled, Napoleon nonetheless felt himself reach for the strangely taciturn being that was his partner, fingers drawing gently through strands of gold. "Illya...you're not... You shouldn't be out of..." Protests faded to silence, loneliness and longing refusing to be
denied, as clothes were shed and skin met skin in passion.

When Napoleon woke again, another hour had passed, and he half-expected to have to dismiss the love he and his partner had made as yet another mental phantasm, but no...a familiar, warm body lay curled up beside him, one arm draped over his chest. "Illya..?" Ice-blue eyes looked up and met his own. "Do you know what happened here?" The blonde head nodded slowly and a small voice was heard. "...da..." Solo gently massaged a lean arm. "Tell me." Just then, the keening wail of Napoleon's communication pen sounded. Damn. "Solo here."

"It's Mark -mate, you'd better get to the lab!"

"What *is* it!"

"It's Dr. Cruise, Napoleon -someone's strangled him!"