Additional notes: Before I get on with the fic, I have to put in the first 1/2 chorus from 'If This Is The Last Kiss (Let's Make It Last All Night)', because it was fitting (the second 1/2 chorus not so much)

//If this is the last kiss, let's make it last all night If this is the last time I'm ever, ever gonna hold you Let me hold you tight till the morning light//

Napoleon allowed himself to be strapped onto one of the beds. He could feel Illya watching, and a part of him wished he could just keep looking away, because he knew the pain in his lover's eyes would mirror his own. But how could he look away during the last precious seconds he had of this?

Illya chewed on his lower lip as he watched the two men secure his partner. His eyes were shining with tears he stubbornly refused to shed, and behind his back, his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, fingernails digging into his palms. The despair threatened to swallow him completely, but there was still that mulishness inherent to his nature, and he refused to break now. He was going to drag this out until the bitter end. It was the only way he knew how.

Napoleon knew what the worst part was for Illya. It was the helplessness, the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do. Maybe it was the worst part for both of them, or maybe all the pain he felt was coming to him through the filter of Illya's emotions. They looked into each others' eyes, and despite all the stoicism he could muster-- and he had trained himself to muster a good deal of stoicism-- a tear managed to escape, roll down his cheek...

They were just leading Illya to the second bed, and the doctor was preparing Napoleon's first injection, the one that would put him out. His shirtsleeve had already been rolled up, the alcohol rubbed on the inside of his elbow.

"Wait." He choked the word out, his mouth and throat uncomfortably dry. "Wait just a minute..."

The doctor paused, unsure. Leamas scowled, suspicious. Illya opened his mouth to speak, but found it was all he could do just to breathe.

"Illya... lyubov... Goodbye."

"Napoleon..."

The needle went in. The guards strapped Illya down to the second bed. Napoleon's eyes began to close.

"I love you!" Illya shouted, hoping he had spoken quickly enough, gotten through the haze of the fast-acting sedative.

Napoleon moaned wordlessly, and then his breathing evened out. Illya watched the doctor inject him with something else.

"The memory drug?"

The man nodded. "The memory drug."

He let out a defeated sigh, and waited for his own sedation, which did not come. Instead, the doctor had paused to speak with Leamas.

"Yes, yes, wheel him into the other room with me. Dr. Sherman and I will modify his memories." Leamas said, waving his hand imperiously.

"Get on with it!" Illya yelled hoarsely. "Or did you plan on leaving me like this?"

"Of course. And Kuryakin?" The doctor gave no indication of having heard him, instead speaking as though he wasn't there.

"I'll need about twenty minutes just to work on Solo before you even bring him in, so don't even administer the memory drug until then."

Twenty minutes. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, trying to block out the rest of the room, and the recent happenings. Any time spent awake now was sheer torture. They couldn't possibly want him to remain strapped to this bed awake for twenty minutes, knowing Napoleon was being treated in the other room, to forget him. Why couldn't they just have done with him now?

"Twenty-- Mr. Leamas, I really don't see how I can justify keeping him tied up for twenty minutes like this!"

"Thank you." Illya whispered. "Please... end it? This procedure, can't you just do it now? You could work on us both at once!"

"How romantic." Leamas sneered.

"It's practical. After all, we were both present for the incidents you wish to erase."

There was a definite edge to the Russian's voice on the last line, and even though he was strapped to a bed and Leamas was armed, the older man felt nervous.

"You're not to administer the memory drug until I tell you, but, look, go ahead and sedate him now."

---/-/---

When Napoleon woke up, he was in medical, with a pounding headache. He looked around for his partner, but Illya was nowhere to be seen.

Leamas, however, was. "Ah, Mr. Solo. I see you've decided to rejoin us."

"Yes, so it seems... Ah, is, um, Illya around?"

Leamas' face changed, but Napoleon couldn't tell what the new expression meant.

"Mr. Kuryakin is in another room."

"Is he all right? I don't-- I don't remember how I got here..."

"He's fine. The two of you were working on something which we keep under incredibly high security, and your memories had to be modified to protect certain... secrets. Vital, need-to-know-only-basis secrets. And you no longer need to know them."

Napoleon nodded. "Yeah, yeah, can I see my partner?"

Leamas gave him a hand. "Well, you don't need to be kept here any longer. You're not injured, we just needed to put you somewhere while you recovered from the process."

He led Napoleon down the hallway, to Illya's room, and stood in the doorway to monitor their interaction, watching for any possible indication that the alteration did not take.

Illya was lying in bed, still under the second dose of sedatives that the doctor had had to administer. Napoleon pulled a chair up to the bedside and ruffled the shock of blond hair affectionately. Illya's ice blue eyes fluttered open, his face setting into a glare.

"Morning, sleepy-head."

"It is not morning, and I am not... sleepy, I am medicated. And my head hurts, and you *know* I hate medical and-- When did I get hurt?"

"You didn't." Napoleon smiled, still good-natured, despite the remainders of a headache, and the remainders of some ill-defined doubts and fears. "Apparently we were privy to some information that was never meant for us."

"And this is related how?" Illya scowled.

"They had to erase said sensitive information from that otherwise flawless memory of yours." Napoleon grinned, gently rapping his knuckles against Illya's forehead. "Mine, too."

"All in a day's work, eh?"

"That about sums it up. Come on, partner, now that you're awake, we can get you out of here. Feel like grabbing lunch?"

"Always." Illya groaned, pulling himself out of bed. Napoleon offered his assistance, but was ignored.

"Maybe that cute blonde'll be working the counter." Napoleon mused.

"What kind of sensitive information?" Illya asked, more inclined to stick to the business than the pleasure.

"Well, I'd tell you, but, ah, you see, I've, ah, forgotten."

He gave a little silent laugh in acknowledgement, and followed Napoleon down to the comissary. Leamas let them go, convinced that they remembered nothing of their previous relationship. He checked his watch for the fifth time that hour. Waverly would be back soon.

---/-/---

~FIN~

---

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.