So far, dinner seemed to be going well. Illya was actually talking, a lot, his words blending seamlessly between English and Russian as he told the story of a particularly grueling day in the lab, helping deal with an accident caused by some scientist's new assistant.

Napoleon nodded politely and tried to keep up. He knew enough Russian to understand what his partner was saying, except for when Illya listed the exact formula involved in the minor explosion that had occurred, at which point he was lost.

There was a pause in the shop talk when their food arrived, and conversation was more sporadic, now that it had to compete with dinner, but between bites, Illya finished his story.

"Fascinating." Napoleon smiled, pouring his partner another glass of wine. "Utterly. I take it you got the damage under control quickly?"

"Da. I think that the monkey will be traumatized for life, though."

He laughed in spite of himself, refilling his own glass. "I see. Well, you win some, you lose some."

"Bednaya Cheetah." Illya shook his head.

"Poor Cheetah, indeed. How's yours?"

"Good." He nodded, suddenly enthusiastic. Well, as outwardly enthusiastic as he ever was, anyway. "Very good. And yours?"

"Excellent."

"And your day? Aside from sleep, how did you amuse yourself while I was down in the labs?"

"Oh, you know, filling out paperwork. Re-writing reports for the LA office, which really shouldn't be my job. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"I wish I could say that the explosion was out of the ordinary." The blond chuckled. "Fifth time this month. We've been trying to analyze some very unstable chemical compounds."

"I spoke with Mr. Bull from Los Angeles, too." Napoleon remembered. "He's not so bad. Guess what their cover operation is over there?"

"In Los Angeles? A movie studio."

"Was that you being facetious?" He laughed. "No, but closer than you think. It's a prop shop. They rent out set pieces and things. You know, when they're not saving the world."

"Props and set pieces?" Illya asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, it must be easy to hide any real equipment."

"Yup. They keep one of their computers in plain sight. Nobody believes it's real."

"Still rather careless. Suppose someone wanted to rent it?"

"Well, then they bring out the fake."

"I see."

After a few minutes passed in silence, food and wine steadily disappearing, Napoleon decided it was time to make another try.

"So what's her name?"

"Beg pardon?" Illya stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"The girl, the back of the report, the heart. What's her name?"

"There is no girl."

"Don't tell me there's no girl, I saw her initials. Come on, you can tell me."

"Napoleon, there is nothing to tell." He said, shutting down. "Believe me. There is no girl. Just let it go."

"Illya, you can tell me. I mean, I'd tell you."

"Yes, I know. You do." He sighed. "In great detail."

"So why wont you tell me?" Napoleon asked, hurt. "I mean, we're friends, right?"

"Of course!" He answered quickly. "You are my best friend. But--"

"Vy doveryaete mne?" The question, asked quietly in Russian, was accompanied by the most endearing expression he could manage.

"Napoleon, it isn't that I don't trust you, it's-- You do not really want to know."

"I'm asking you, aren't I?"

"Napoleon." Illya stood. "There. is. no. girl. Do you understand this? Now please... excuse me. I-- I do not feel well..."

He slumped where he sat, watching his partner walk off. How is it that he got himself into these messes?

---/-/---

Back at his penthouse, Napoleon Solo continued to pace and worry. He had only wanted to know who his rival was-- Rival? Where did that come from? No. Not rival. He had only wanted to know who Illya had a thing for. After all, if someone was going to steal his partner away from him, he had every right to know who.

Steal Illya away from him? As if he had some sort of claim on the man? He needed to sleep... right now, things were too confusing.

Or perhaps they were all too clear. It hit him, rather unexpectedly, and he was very glad he was standing so close to a chair, because at the revelation, his knees buckled and he fell.

Napoleon Solo was in love. With Illya. His mind protested immediately, saying it wasn't right, it wasn't possible, it wasn't natural--

His heart countered immediately. Of course it was right. Illya was the one person he could always trust. He was always there, he had always been there in the past. Nothing else could be so right. Of course it was possible. Illya was full of good qualities; he was attractive, intelligent, fit, a crack shot, a good agent, he had a great sense of humour. He was a wonderful person. Of course it was natural. Illya was Napoleon's best friend. Who better to fall in love with? After all, when you ask couples who have been married for a long time, don't they always tell you 'Well, the secret to my success is that I married my best friend', something like that? So yes, he loved Illya. And it was right and fair and natural that he do so.

It was also incredibly hard, because Illya loved someone else. No. Illya *thought* he loved someone else. But Napoleon was sure that, if he tried hard enough, he could win his Russian partner's heart. After all, he was Illya's best friend, too. And winning hearts was something he was good at. Maybe this would work out after all.

---/-/---

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