Illya took a deep breath. Things were not, he told himself, as bad as he had thought. After all, if Napoleon was asking, that meant Napoleon did not already know.

He thought back. Had he been writing in English or Cyrillic? Cyrillic. Of course it was, because he hadn't been paying any attention to what his hand was doing, and it came more naturally to write in his native alphabet. This he was thankful for, because maybe that would throw Napoleon off. After all, his partner's initials, translated into another alphabet, looked exactly like a fairly innocuous English 'HC'.

What had he been thinking, anyway? Or, rather, not thinking, but still... Writing the man's initials, drawing little hearts? It was all rather childish. In fact, even as a child, Illya had never done something so inane.

He threw himself down onto his bed with a petulant sigh. Of course he had to go and fall in love-- No. Don't use that word... never use the word. He had to go and fall for his handsome, witty, urbane-- and hopelessly heterosexual-- partner.

"Nevozmozhny." He spat, turning onto his side. Impossible.

---/-/---

The next morning, Napoleon Solo strode into his office a man with a mission. Namely, make his stubborn little Russian forget all about anyone else-- particularly this 'HC' person-- by the end of the month-- already half over, a lofty goal. By the end of the week, if he was lucky.

Illya, on the other hand, crept in, dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey... you all right?" The senior agent placed a gentle hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Maybe I have caught your 'I don't know what it is'." He shrugged.

Napoleon pursed his lips. He knew what it was now, all right. And if he had any say in the matter, Illya would be contracting an acute case. However, that was neither here nor there. "What did you do when I left you last night, anyway? You look terrible."

"I did nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing." Illya flashed a humourless smirk. "Including sleep. I couldn't stop thinking."

"And?"

"And I'm still thinking. And I wish I would stop."

"Well, if you think an aspirin would help, I've got some in the top right-hand drawer of my desk. You're welcome to it if you need it."

"Right. Can't have me operating at any less than peak effiency. Reports to write and all that."

"I finished the re-write last night. If you want to take a quick nap, we're actually not that busy today."

"No, some mind-dulling work would really help quiet my thoughts right now. But you said you wrote the report already?"

Napoleon winced. How was he supposed to know that for once, Illya would want to do all the paperwork? "Ah, yes... actually, I sort of... finished everything."

"Oh. I see." He eyed the American suspiciously. "Well, then, I suppose that I could find a nice, dry technical manual to read until I am bored enough to sleep."

Napoleon nodded. "Might as well. I was going to catch up on some reading. Hey, I'm going to lunch in a couple of hours, maybe then you'll be rested enough to catch a bite with me?"

"Rested or not, I am not in the habit of turning down the offer of lunch." Illya smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Wake me then. You will be able to find me."

It was a statement, not a question, and Napoleon agreed silently. He didn't need to be told where his partner would catch a few winks, he would just find him, like he always did.

And with Illya thus out of the room, he returned to the enjoyable task of plotting the lithe blond's upcoming seduction.

---

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