//The clothes you're wearing Are the clothes you wore The smile you are smiling you were smiling then But I can't remember where or when//

Back in the living room, Napoleon sat down on the couch, tucking one foot up under his body, and turning to face the blond beside him. "Now what's bothering you?"

"A lot of things, if you want the truth."

"I like the truth."

Illya took a moment before speaking. "First of all, how far back did that mission we were on go? The one we don't remember. I started thinking, when I was in that cell, and there were gaps... I don't remember last night at all. I mean, the night before they did the procedure. We were very deep into something, Napoleon. Just because we've forgotten, doesn't mean that everyone involved has. We could be targets for something we know nothing about."

Napoleon also took a moment to weigh out his words, considering what Illya had told him. "I don't remember that night at all, either. Only that you came over. I can't even remember what you said to me. Then it's a blank."

"We were working, then." Illya nodded, mentally berating himself for putting off the truly important subject. "What else?"

"Little things, I guess. How do you know when it's something that's been removed and when it's something unimportant that you've just forgotten?"

"Because I don't forget. I've never forgotten a single thing you've said to me since we became partners-- since before that, even. Not until this whatever-it-is."

Napoleon smiled. "Not a single thing?"

"Not a single thing." Illya replied evenly.

"What's my favorite color?"

"I've never asked. But it's blue."

He laughed. "Really? I mean, it is, but... when did I tell you?"

"You told me-- I forget." He shook his head, sighing. "I remember you said 'you know, blue is my favourite colour', and I said 'why is that', and then... nothing."

"Maybe I didn't answer."

"I get the feeling you did. Why would that be erased?"

Napoleon shrugged, this time remembering only to move his unhurt shoulder. "So you're worried about the memory thing?"

"I'm worried about more than my memories, Napoleon." Illya looked away, staring into his mug at the now-cold tea. "I'm worried about us."

"You think that we may be targets for something, and that we're woefully unprepared because our memories have been wiped." He nodded.

"No. I mean, yes, but-- Napoleon, the subject of mortality has forced itself upon my consciousness as of late."

"Very poetic."

"But hardly pleasant." He stood, heading into the kitchen. "I am going to toss this out and make myself a new cup. Shall I do the same for you?"

"If it's no trouble." Napoleon idly played with the fringe on a throw pillow, trying to anticipate Illya's train of thought. Mortality was never a pleasant subject, true, but it was one that all agents faced when they first started, and tried not to think about too much afterwards. An agent who fretted too much about mortality was going to be the one getting a firsthand knowledge of the subject.

Illya wasn't the type to make mistakes like that, dwelling too much on what almost was, or on what might be. He was the type who did everything he could to see that it didn't, the type who got the job done with the maximum of planning, a minimum of unhealthy obsession. Something must have come up to make him start thinking about death, and Napoleon wasn't sure whether to put his money on the dream or on something that might have happened during his abduction. Illya had claimed not to remember, but he could be evasive when subjects got personal.

"Here," Illya returned with two mugs of tea and a tired expression.

"Why the thoughts of mortality?"

"There are things you should know, about me, what I think, how I feel. And I put saying thses things off until next time, but in the back of my mind, I know that this next time won't always be there. And I've finally-- I hope I have-- built up the courage to say them now, instead of finding out I've waited too long."

"What things, Illya?" Napoleon asked gently, placing a hand on his partner's arm. "Whatever it is, you don't have to be afraid to tell me. You know that."

"It's just-- You might not want to hear it,"

"Is it about your past? Or more of that mortality talk we usually shy away from? Are you unhappy about something now? I mean, have I done anything?"

"What? No! No, Napoleon, nothing like that. I suppose I should begin at the beginning, yes?"

"It might make things easier." He smiled, rubbing his hand in small circles on Illya's upper back. "You're a little tense."

"I'm very tense. Please, Napoleon--" He shied away, as though the touch pained him. "Wait until you've heard me out. If you're still worried about how tense I am, we'll deal with it then. If not, well... we may have other things to deal with."

Napoleon nodded. Not only was Illya tense, he was scared. Possibly scared of Napoleon, what he might think, which was ridiculous. But then again, not even Illya is perfectly logical all of the time.

"First of all, Napoleon, know that I care a great deal about you. Your opinions on certain matters are very important to me, and I enjoy your company." Illya began stiffly. "Above all else, you are my partner, and more importantly, my best friend."

"I know that." Napoleon's stomach knotted in worry, and a variety of scenarios ran through his head, the most insistent-- and most troubling-- that Illya was sick. In fact, almost every scenario involved Illya being in some sort of terrible trouble. "Illya, why are you telling me that now? It's-- Well, ah, I mean-- What's wrong?"

"I love you." He swallowed, still looking down into his untouched tea, an expression of pure misery on his face. "Very much, and I'm afraid you don't-- that you wouldn't-- well, it's not something a lot of men say to each other, is it? And certainly under our circumstances, I-- Are you upset?"

He put an arm around the other man. "Now why would I be upset? Illya, when you started out, I thought you were going to tell me you were dying!" Napoleon laughed briefly, then quieted. "You-- you're not, right?"

Illya looked at him, surprised. "Why would I say that?"

"Well, if it was true, you might."

"But it's not true." He shook his head.

"I'm very glad to hear that, partner." Napoleon said softly, giving Illya's shoulder a squeeze. "I still don't see why you were so upset. So men don't say 'I love you' to each other all that often, so what? Illya, you--"

"Maybe you don't quite understand, Napoleon." Illya began again, setting his tea down and finally looking up at the other man. "Perhaps I phrased it too vaguely, I mean. And as much as I might rather hide behind semantics, I can't. That time is long since past. This is important. I meant to say as I was in love with you. You know... *in* love with."

Napoleon nodded, leaning forward to press his lips chastely to Illya's.

"Very glad to hear that, too."

---/-/---

Illya's eyes widened. There wasn't enough time to react to the kiss before it was over, but it had been a kiss, no doubt about that.

"Napoleon... You just-- You kissed me!"

"I did." He nodded slowly, taking Illya's hands between his own.

"Please... tell me you meant it."

"Of course I meant it! Illya, you are far too important to me to-- Why would I kiss you if I didn't mean it?"

"I don't know, but if there was a reason, and-- I mean, if you're just curious, or tolerant, and sorry for me, then-- But no, you said... You said you meant it. Napoleon, you love me?"

"More than words can say..." He breathed, leaning in again. "I love you to the height and breadth and depth my soul can reach."

"Wooing me with Barret-Browning, eh?"

"Do you like Barret-Browning?"

"I prefer Kipling."

"I've never Kippled."

They laughed.

"Actually, I prefer Shelley, as far as romantic poets go." Illya smiled. "But I like Browning all right. Both Brownings."

"Illya..."

"Yes, Napoleon?" He asked, licking his lips in anticipation. He wasn't entirely sure what to anticipate, but he hoped it would involve lips.

"Would you think it terribly forward of me if I kissed you again?"

"I would, Napoleon. But I like you terribly forward." He grinned, wrapping his arms around Napoleon's neck gingerly.

The next kiss was deeper, longer, and Illya surged forward slightly, making small noises into Napoleon's mouth. Then suddenly, he sat back, obviously startled by something."

"Illya... what's wrong? Was I moving too fast, what?"

He shook his head, searching for his voice. After a long moment, he swallowed a couple of times and spoke.

"Napoleon... did you feel it? See it, or-- whatever-- Did you?"

"Not if it scared you. The only thing I felt was the kiss."

"This kiss, or another one?"

"What do you mean another one?"

"Napoleon, when you kissed me, it was like all of a sudden, it was something else... I wasn't here, on your couch, I was-- somewhere, and-- You were kissing me, but my hand was on your shoulder, that shoulder, where you're hurt, and it *wasn't* hurt, and--"

"Slow down, Illya... Now explain it to me again. You were somewhere else?"

"We both were, in the middle of the kiss, it came in flashes. And I was-- you had your shirt off, and I was naked."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"But, Napoleon, it was-- it wasn't what's happening. It was... something else."

"Well, when you think you know what it was, you tell me." Napoleon said gently, holding Illya in his arms. "Maybe it wasn't anything to worry about."

"It wasn't bad, just-- it startled me. To suddenly be somewhere else, somehow else. But kiss me again... If it happens again, it won't be so startling."

Napoleon nodded, leaning in slowly. Illya leaned up, capturing his mouth and kissing him expertly. They pulled away out of necessity, oxygen having been temporarily forgone.

"That was nice." Napoleon gasped, dazed. "That was quite possibly the nicest kiss I've ever been party to."

"I know. Wait... how do I know? How did I know, Napoleon? I *knew*. It wasn't a guess, I *knew* exactly how to-- and only moments before, I was behaving like a shy virgin, and then I *know* how to make love to you?"

"Illya, don't be-- Wait-- Knew? Like I know this?" He kissed Illya again, running his tongue along the roof of the blond's mouth, making him jump.

"Don't *do* that! Well, all right, do do that, only next time, could there be a bit of a preamble? A warning shot?"

"Tickles, doesn't it? And I bet you like being bitten, too."

Illya turned scarlet. "Just a little. Not hard, you know, just--"

"Nipped."

"Yes, but only by you! I wouldn't mind, if it was you. It might be kind of... good."

"I get the feeling you bite back."

"I'd like to." He grinned.

"It's late... come to bed with me?"

"Napoleon!" Illya drew back, his tone scandalized.

"Just bed." Napoleon clarified, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Honest. I woke up at two in the morning, and now it's near five, and I didn't even fall asleep until midnight... not to mention the running around, and the emotional roller coaster, but-- I want you with me. Not across the hall."

He nodded, replacing his hand in Napoleon's. "I would sleep better with you by my side, too, I think. Goodness knows everything felt empty without you."

"Bed seemed cold?"

"And too big." Illya smiled. "You too?"

"Come on... consider yourself upgraded to the honeymoon suite."

"What kind of turndown service do you offer?"

"How about 'not tonight, dear'?"

Illya laughed. "Well, then, I hope it's not regular."

"Service is regular, turndown is rare." Napoleon winked. Then he yawned. "Well, sandman beckons..."

---/-/---

//It seems we've stood and talked Like this before And laughed before, and loved before It seems we've stood and talked like this before But who knows where or when?//

Napoleon pulled the covers up around their bodies, snuggling around Illya. Then the revelation struck.

"Your head belongs on my shoulder.

"Wha'?"

"Your head belongs on my shoulder." He repeated. "It always goes on my shoulder. I-- Illya, how come--?"

"Touch me." He said decisively, sitting up.

"Illya, I'm exhausted. I'm far too tired to--"

"No, just touch me. Anywhere, it doesn't matter."

Napoleon decided that greater powers were at work, and he obliged, placing his hand over Illya's heart.

Another flash; this time, they were making love.

Illya, the real Illya in bed with him-- swore softly, his voice awed.

"You like to be on your back." Napoleon whispered. "Face to face."

"I think I know how you taste."

"Well, of course you do. We were just kissing."

"No." Illya shook his head, reddening. "I mean... how you would taste if we-- you know, if I-- when you-- Well, you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Oh..." He nodded. "All right, now tell me how this is happening."

"I don't really know for certain how it's happening. Maybe I'm wrong, but I wasn't wrong before, when I kissed you. You weren't wrong, about my being... ticklish. Or about how I would want to make love, only-- You said it like we'd already..."

"And it comes kind of disjointed... not like a fantasy, and not what I would think up on my own, like-- Could we just be psychic or something? I mean, we've always been on the same wavelength, and stranger things have happened."

"No..."

"Well, if it's not that, then all I can think-- Illya...?"

"Napoleon, the first time-- did you make a pass at me in the commisary? In Russian?"

He took a deep breath. "Illya, does this mean...?"

"They're not fantasies, and they're not psychic flashes. Napoleon, they're memories."

He fell back onto the bed, exhaling the air he'd been holding in. "So it's true. Then that means..."

"We were lovers."

"And that mission we were on--"

"--never existed." Illya finished. "We were 'reprogrammed'. They found out about us somehow. And Leamas... It was him, I know it! It was all him... Negodyaj!"

Napoleon sat up again, wrapping his arms around his partner. "Shh... worry about it in the morning. *Later* in the morning. You've been through enough."

"We both have. More than we knew." He replied, the weight of betrayal a clear burden in his voice.

"Sleep now." He pulled him back down onto the mattress gently. "We'll deal with it when we're rested enough to think clearly."

"No one can know we remember." Illya mumbled, turning to bury his face against Napoleon's neck.

"We'll be more careful this time, love." He whispered, stroking Illya's hair soothingly. "I think I loved just doing this."

"Mm... me, too. Tomorrow, we should try to remember everything."

Napoleon nodded, pulling the blankets back into place. "All right."

Illya muttered something about triggers and drifted off, Napoleon following shortly.

---/-/---

~FIN~

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