"Well. I assume you asked me here for a reason, Holden."

Williams nodded, sliding a panel of his desk to reveal a small console. He pressed one button, and a section of the wall behind him revolved.

Now, chained to the new wall, was Lydana Charles, a face Leamas hadn't seen for an even longer time.

"What's this?"

"Think of it as a belated 'thank you' gift." Williams chuckled.

Leamas stood, crossing to the prisoner. "Hello, Lydana. Long time, no see."

"Not with depth perception, anyway." She spat.

"I'm afraid she's not very ladylike." Williams rose, joining the two.

"She's aged well enough, hasn't she? Of course, I could be wrong." He smiled wryly at her. "I've just been reminded, my vision's not as good as it used to be. You know, when I had two eyes."

"What am I doing here?" The woman demanded, straining uselessly against her bonds.

"You are about to become a message to THRUSH." Williams informed her, toying with the letter opener from his desk. He ran its point down her throat, barely touching the skin. "A warning. How severe a warning is up to old Johnny here."

"What's your game, Holden?" He barked, gaze locked onto the voyage that the tip of the letter opener made down delicate white flesh.

"Revenge, pure and simple. THRUSH failed to destroy me, but they put quite a dent in my business, and this little minx is personally responsible. For both our troubles."

"I've got bigger troubles than an eyeball I can play catch with."

"Are you still an ambitious man?"

Leamas shrugged. "Don't bother offering me a job with your company, Holden. There's one thing I do well, and I'm doing it. Well."

"How'd you like to be doing it in a bigger office?"

---/-/---

Napoleon looked over his partner's sparsely-furnished apartment, shaking his head.

"What is it now?"

"You've really got to move out of this dump."

"And into where? Yours? That would raise a red flag to Leamas if ever anything did. Besides, it's not that bad." Illya shrugged, putting cans away into cupboards. "Are you going to give me a hand in the kitchen or what?"

He stepped into the small space designated 'kitchen'. "I'm here. Do you want me to move back over there so that you have enough room to work?"

Illya sighed. "Do whatever you like. I can see you're going to be of no help to me whatsoever."

"How about I fix the drinks?" Napoleon offered, flashing his most charming smile.

"Good, good." Illya answered, his attention focused more on the task at hand than on the brunet just out of reach.

Napoleon stopped, staring fixedly at a spot on the floor, near one corner. "Illya?"

"What is it, Napoleon? If I don't get some water boiling now, you're not going to eat."

"Is that a mouse trap?"

"Probably. Does it look like one?" He replied flippantly.

"You have mice?"

"No." Illya rolled his eyes. "It's decorative. Yes, but I've spoken to someone about it, and I'm being fumigated in a couple of nights."

"How do you sleep?"

"In bed, where the mice can't reach."

"They could scurry up the legs and--"

"Maybe they have their own beds. Maybe they are lucky enough to spend the nights with their little mouse lovers, in their mouseholes in richer apartments, because their mouse employers do not leave them in the clutches of some-- some Nazi who--"

"First of all, there are no mouseholes in nice apartments. Not in mine, anyway. And is that a note of bitterness I detect?"

"You'd be a lousy spy if you didn't detect it, lyubov." Illya replied, ripping open the package of freeze-dried perogi. One of the dumplings flew over his shoulder, bouncing on the counter and landing on the floor. He picked it up and carried it into the living room, setting it in the mousetrap.

"Maybe you have mice because you spoil them." Napoleon teased.

"Only if they can get it out without being killed. Besides, I didn't cook it for them." Illya parried, returning to the stove.

Napoleon sighed and went about the task of preparing drinks. With dinner on the stove and nothing more to do but wait, Illya joined him in the 'living' portion of his one room.

"Sorry I didn't have time to do more. Homemade is better, but work, you know..." His explanation trailed off as he dropped to the couch.

"I want to hold you." Napoleon said softly, taking his lover's hand. "Forever, if you don't have any other plans."

"I really should check my calender before I agree to anything foolish..." He smiled, squeezing gently. "But I can't think of any pressing engagements that would interfere with our forever. I can just cancel any that come up."

"Good." He leaned forward, pressing his lips tenderly against Illya's.

---/-/---

Agent Donahue was stuck doing night shift security detail in the labs, a change made when Leamas was in charge and never un-made.

"So how's the exciting world of watching the hallway?" A voice behind him asked.

"Dull. How's the exciting world of watching computer printouts?"

James Newton grinned. "Deadly dull. Wanna come into the lab and play a quick game of poker?"

Donahue looked up and down the corridor, and with a shrug, he followed his friend in. If anything happened, alarms would be set off long before the trouble got to him.

Danny Richards, a courier, and Ginger Lawson, a girl from archives, were sitting at the table, awaiting their dealer. James took one of the remaining seats, and Donahue took the other.

"How'd you get stuck working graveyard, Rob?" Ginger asked, deliberating her ante.

"Leamas." Donahue grunted.

Danny nodded. "I had to drive him today. Man's a dick."

"Never met him." James shrugged, dealing the last card.

"Me either, but I've heard from people who did. Seems lots of stuff'll set him off, and the general consensus is that we'll be glad to see the back of him." Ginger turned her cards over, supressing her response to a full house. "What did you do?"

"Had to take Solo and Kuryakin in a couple of days ago."

A shocked silence exploded through the small lab.

"You what?"

"Solo and Kuryakin? But I just saw Mr. Kuryakin today! He was in the lab, I assisted him!"

"And I saw Napoleon. I was feeding his cat just this afternoon!"

"Yeah, well, I guess what happened--" Donahue looked around, dropping his voice. "So you mean none of this got out?"

"None of it. I would have heard if any of the girls knew."

"Yeah, and nobody in the garage's heard anything. I'm pretty in with those guys."

"Or in the lab." James added.

"Leamas got it into his head they were--" He stopped, taking the score sheet and pencil from James.

'Leamas found out they were having an affair'

Danny's eyes widened.

"Then what happened?" James asked.

'he erased their memories or something, so now they're not' Donahue scrawled.

Ginger looked like she wanted to cry, or possibly scream. "Bastard." She whispered.

"You were supposed to arrest them? Isn't that kind of... dangerous?"

"Not as much as you'd think." Donahue shrugged. "Only... well, it was hard. I mean, those guys are-- well, they're *them*. I didn't think I could do it. They're--"

"Everybody's heroes." Danny finished. "The guys every agent wants to be. So now everything's just normal?"

"Yeah, except that for defending them to Leamas, I got put on the worst shifts ever."

"Normal." Ginger spat. "That's not normal, that's-- that's tyranny! Just thinking about it gives me chills... He just erased their memories? They forgot all about being-- being--?"

"He's gone now." James offered, touching her shoulder.

"The knowledge that someone could do this, and that someone would, and that-- Does anyone have a paper bag I can breathe into?"

"Calm down..."

Just then, before anything else could be said, the door to the lab slid open, a shadowed figure appearing.

---

This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.