Impossible.

He couldn't believe that this was happening to him.

But it was.

All the symptoms were there.

Nausea...

Palpitations...

Cold sweat...

Dread.

A panic attack.

He -Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin- was having a panic attack...or  something pretty close to one.

And it was all Napoleon Solo's fault.

A cold hand surrepticiously wiped at the trickle of  moisture that  trailed down the side of  Kuryakin's slightly flushed face. He wasn't  a nervous person by nature -he prided himself on that- but this  mission...this affair had a swarm of butterflies fluttering in his  stomach.

And it was so Napoleon's fault...

...but then again, maybe it was just as much his for falling for the  elder agent's reasoning. "Illya," he had said with that frustratingly  winning smile of his, "it's not an unreasonable request. You know *I*  would do it. You know I *have* done it before -I just need to know if  *you* can."

No-one had questioned Illya Kuryakin's sense of commitment or courage  before...and he hadn't liked it. He'd liked even less that his  partner had made sense. They had to know -*he* had to know.  So, here he was, in a room full of people (wall to wall people, in  fact), looking for his target, determined to fulfill his mission on  one hand and on the verge of succumbing to nerves on the other. Maybe  a glass of champagne would help.

Just then...

*There*.

A small determined smile curled Kuryakin's lips as he spied his  target at last, champagne and nerves forgotten as he focused and  single-mindedly made his way through the crowd. He was resolute -when  he and his target met, the man would know it. "You!" His target  whirled on his heel, eyes wide, apparently not believing after all  that the Russian U.N.C.L.E. agent had actually come. Kuryakin's smile  widened further as he quickly reached toward his target, grasped him  by the head...

...and kissed him.

Hard.

Under the mistletoe.

After several seemingly endless minutes, pressed by a need for  oxygen, Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo pulled apart, barely aware  of  the clatter of clapping hands and one or two whispers of  "It's  about time" from the other attendants of U.N.CL.E.'s annual Christmas  party. "So..." Kuryakin whispered, "do you *still* think I'm too shy about our  relationship?"

For once, Napoleon Solo couldn't think of a word to say as he  captured his partner's lips and swallowed his words.
 
 

**The End**