New York: 3 months later

              Ilya locked the door behind him and dropped his bags on the floor.  His first field assignment since his
              return to UNCLE had been successful, and he had the normal contingency of bruises to show for it.  He
              stretched aching muscles before picking up his bags and taking them into his bedroom.  He then undressed,
              slipped on a robe, started a bath, went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of vodka from the freezer which
              he placed in a bucket of ice.  Carrying the ice bucket and a glass, he returned to the bathroom and turned off
              the faucets as the tub had filled adequately.  Doffing his robe, he lowered himself into the water and poured
              himself a glass of vodka to soak, sip, and think.

              Insomnia had plagued his first weeks back in New York; nightmares had forced him to ask Napoleon if he
              could borrow his guest room the first week of his return.  Therapy and lab work had done a great deal to
              restore his shattered self esteem.  Going through a refresher course at the Survival school was required to
              reestablish his physical fitness, a test he not only enjoyed accomplishing, but passed with flying colors.  He
              also spent time catching up on world events and ongoing situations in the intelligence community.

              Sleeping wasn’t the only problem he had in bed.  A month after he came back, he ran into a co-worker who
              was between boyfriends and decided to try having sex.  He saw the man sitting alone at lunch, asked if he
              could sit down and struck up a conversation.  They agreed to meet for drinks and dinner after work, and
              ended up in bed.  Things had gone well until he attempted to penetrate Ilya, who had frozen at the first touch
              of penis to anus and couldn’t get himself to relax by any method.  Apologizing profusely, he offered both
              hands and mouth for his partner’s relief but the man simply took him in his arms and comforted him, saying
              the rumors must be true.

              Ilya asked what rumors and was devastated to learn what had been running through the office grapevine
              about him.  He’d been gang-raped by an entire satrapy.  He’d been given drugs that made him a willing and
              insatiable catamite to THRUSH leaders.  He’d gone in as deep cover to learn THRUSH secrets from a
              highly-placed member of that organization with a taste for blond boys.  He’d been brainwashed to think he
              was a prostitute, and had been selling himself to help finance a THRUSH operation.  The prostitution was a
              cover to find out what was going on or break up the ring.  He’d been tortured so badly that when he
              escaped, he didn’t know who he was and had spent weeks wandering the streets.

              He was so shocked by what he’d heard he snatched on trousers and shoes and left, carrying the rest of his
              clothes.  He went home and got so drunk Napoleon had come by the next day to find why he hadn’t come to
              work or reported in.  He’d found Ilya passed out on the couch, and when he woke him, he went straight to
              the kitchen for more vodka.  His partner had physically restrained him until he’d broken down in tears and
              told him the whole thing about the attempted sex and the rumors.  “I can’t go back and face those people,”
              he’d sobbed.  Napoleon had called his therapist, who’d come over, spoken to his patient at length, given
              him an appropriate sedative, and called Waverly to report the setback and place him on a week’s medical
              leave.

              Napoleon had stayed the night and the next day, reassuring his partner while keeping him away from the
              vodka.  Ilya had made a long-distance call to Ceylon, only to be told John wasn’t there and wasn’t expected
              to return soon.  He was so upset the older agent had insisted he take some medication and retire for the
              night.  The next week had been difficult, but Ilya had eventually returned to work.  But he avoided both
              co-workers and sex for some time.

              Eventually the rumors had died as newer, juicier tidbits had occupied the minds of the office gossips.  He
              suspected Napoleon’s attempt to juggle three girlfriends at the same time that started soon after his setback
              was a successful attempt to distract them, and he quietly thanked him for it.  He discovered Mark Slate and
              April Dancer had also added to the rumor mill, and one particularly hot rumor appeared to have been
              started by Waverly himself!

              Two weeks ago he had run into an ex-lover he hadn’t seen in almost a year. He’d always been patient and
              considerate, and when Ilya froze again he’d held him without saying a word.  They’d eventually managed to
              have sex with Ilya as top, but while it had provided him with relief, it hadn’t done anything more.  He left
              the next morning after breakfast feeling empty and used.  At least he now knew he was physically capable
              of some form of sexual intercourse, which gave him hope for the future.

              Two days later he’d met with his therapist, Napoleon, and Mr. Waverly in the latter’s office.  His therapist
              had pronounced him ready for field work, an opinion seconded by the Chief Enforcement Officer.  Waverly
              had congratulated him and sent the newly reunited team on an escort mission. The THRUSH agent in charge
              had recognized Ilya from his time with Phillips and had considered him an easy target.  His mistake; his
              LAST mistake.  The taunts had only served to make the UNCLE agent more determined not to fail. The
              lessons from John which he’d continued to practice privately hadn’t hurt, either.

              What had hurt was the fact John had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth.  Ilya feared he literally
              HAD left the planet, gone to whatever galaxy he called home.  He’d never forgotten the whispered “my
              love” and longed to hear it again.  Coming back to the present, he realized the water in the tub and the
              vodka in his glass were nearly the same temperature.  He grimaced as he polished off his drink and set the
              glass on the floor.  He pulled himself out of the tub and lifted the toggle which opened the drain, letting the
              water out.  He dried himself off, slipped back into his robe, and picked up the ice bucket, vodka, and
              glass.  Then he went to the kitchen where he dumped the ice and water from the bucket into the sink, put the
              bottle back in the freezer after drying it off, washed the glass and left it in the dishrack to dry.

              He searched the cupboards for something to eat, to no avail.  He checked the time; still early enough to have
              something delivered or dress and go out to eat.  He was just beginning to debate the merits and drawbacks
              of both when his doorbell rang.  He wondered who it could be as he adjusted his robe, belting it on more
              securely, and went to answer the door.  One look through the peephole almost caused him to faint: it was
              John!  Standing at his door like a dream come true!  He needed the wall to hold him up; he didn’t know
              what to do.  Some part of his mind was screaming 'Open the door, you idiot, before he leaves!'  His hands
              fumbled at the locks and then the door was open and there he was, holding a shopping bag in one hand and a
              wine bottle in the other.

              “May I come in?” he asked.  Ilya nodded and stepped to one side to let him enter, relocking the door behind
              him.  Seeing the confused look on his face, John said, “Alex told me you’d just returned from your first field
              assignment today.”  He smiled at the younger man.  “He also said you’d run into some unexpected difficulty
              and handled it beautifully.  I realized you probably didn’t have a thing to eat in your kitchen, so I stopped by
              this little place I know for some take-out.  Or if you prefer, we could put it in the fridge and go out to
              dinner.  Your choice.”

              Ilya took the bag and bottle to the kitchen and set them on the table, then turned and threw himself into
              John’s arms.  “The only thing I want right now is you,” he whispered into his ear.

              “Dinner first.  You’ll need your strength.”

              “Is that a promise?” Ilya said with a mischievous grin.

              John laughed and kissed his snowflake thoroughly before releasing him to let him unpack dinner while he
              opened the wine.