//You said that love would last forever Neither one of us will ever surrender//

Napoleon awoke to the insistent tones of his communicator.

"Solo here." He groaned.

"Mr. Solo. Do you have any idea what time it is, or when you were supposed to be in my office??

"Mr. Waverly!" Suddenly, he was wide awake. They were supposed to meet with Waverly that morning.

"I know who I am, Mr. Solo. I presume you have some sort of excuse?"

"Well, ah, yes, I do."

"I also presume that this excuse is inadequate. Oh, but correct me if I'm wrong?"

He sighed, knowing his superior's tone a little too well. "I'm sorry, Sir. At two-fifteen in the morning, Illya was abducted, and I was--"

"THRUSH?" Waverly questioned, his interest caught.

"Ah, yes, we think it might have been. But they were, ah, one of the more incompetent nests, and Illya's fine. I, ah, checked him out myself."

Illya, now sitting up in bed, smiled wryly.

"And yourself, Mr. Solo?" Waverly asked sharply.

"I'm fine, Sir. Just a--"

"He will be checking into medical when we arrive." Illya interrupted.

"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. You're there, too. And where is there, might I ask?"

"I'm at Napoleon's. After the rescue, it was decided that the best course of action would be sleep, and he had offered his spare room so that I wouldn't have to drive so soon after my ordeal, and at such an hour. We hadn't wanted to be at less than peak efficiency at work, Sir."

"Well, in light of all of this, I've decided to bump your meeting back. I will be speaking to Mr. Leamas first, and the two of you can fill me in on anything he may have left out this afternoon. Waverly out."

Napoleon lifted an eyebrow, looking over to Illya. "Well, that's that, then. What do you think Leamas will tell him?"

At the very mention of the man's name, Illya had started fuming. "What does it matter? To Leamas, the problem is solved. Whatever he tells Waverly about us he will believe to have been in the past, and we won't be changing anyone's mind."

"Right. Absolute secrecy." Napoleon nodded, stretching. He paused, suddenly mindful of his injured shoulder.

"Be careful, will you?"

"Yeah. I just remembered." He winced, testing it. "The real problem is going to be my holster... it'll rub against the graze whenever I move my arm."

"I'll fix it." Illya promised. "After a shower."

---/-/---

He sighed and tilted his head back, luxuriating in the feel of hot water cascading over his body. It was a simple pleasure, but sometimes those were the nicest. And, like other simple pleasures-- sunrises, the way sunlight breaks through the clouds after an overcast morning, or the sound of rain on a windowpane, when you're safe inside by a roaring fire-- the shower was nicer shared.

Napoleon had suggested it, of course. Illya had almost refused, but given in to the pleading look in his lover's eyes. After all, it was a *shower*. What was romantic about a shower? It was practical, something you did every day for hygiene purposes, and didn't think about twice unless you had been forced to go without.

Showering with Napoleon changed this view. For one thing, Napoleon had insisted on washing Illya's hair for him, which was so nice he felt guilty for it. And Illya had kept Napoleon out of the direct line of the showerhead to keep the bandaged shoulder dry, which Napoleon had said meant that Illya would have to sponge-bathe him, and after a token logic-based protest, Illya had enjoyed being able to run his hands over every inch of Napoleon's body-- well, every inch except the injured shoulder.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Napoleon asked, his voice silk. He trailed one hand up his partner's arm, then past his collarbone to follow the path of water trickling down his chest.

"Mm... Did we do this before, do you think?"

"We did..." Napoleon murmured, pulling Illya closer and dropping a kiss to his shoulder. "Mm... I know, because I remember what order you wash up in... so I must have watched you before..."

"You know, when I agreed to share the shower with you, I thought we would be taking *less* time."

"Awfully silly of you. You should have known I'd want to make love to you."

"It might be useful, in any case." Illya sighed, turning off the rapidly-cooling water.

"Lovemaking isn't supposed to be useful, Illya mine. It's supposed to be fun."

"We might recover more of our memories, I mean. After all, what we did recover came from your kissing me, from touching each other intimately, even if the touch wasn't strictly sexual."

"So it's the intimacy."

"I think so, yes."

"That's very romantic." Napoleon reached for a towel, wrapping it around his lover. "Here, dry off. Wouldn't do to have you dripping all over the bed."

"I didn't say we would run off to-- to do it right now! Napoleon, we have--"

"I didn't say I expected you to. I merely mentioned bed, and for all you know, I was trying to suggest that you get a little more rest, now that our meeting with Waverly's been postponed."

"And were you suggesting a little more rest?" Illya challenged.

"Of course not." He smiled. "I want to make love to you. I mean, it's not moving so fast, if we were already lovers before. Right?"

Illya sighed. "Breakfast first. And if we make love, we'll have to wash up again."

"I can live with that."

"And we can't take too long, because you still have to check into medical, and I've got paperwork to finish."

"*We've* got to check into medical."

"Then *we'll* finish the paperwork."

"It's a deal. Go get comfy, I'll make eggs."

Illya nodded and dried his hair, watching Napoleon out of the corner of his eye as the other man stepped into his robe and headed off to make breakfast. Once Napoleon was out of sight, Illya flopped back onto the mattress and started trying to place his newly recovered memories.

---/-/---

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