time machine

By Loke

Author E-Mail: lokemele@cchono.com
WARNINGS: SLASH; Not-quite-consensual sex (drug induced); it also gets dark in spots.
Spoilers: None
Summary: Ilya is dosed with the latest THRUSH drug, and both he and his partner must deal with the consequences.
Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Ilya Kuryakin/others
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes, to The Nesting Place and anyone else who wants it!! Just let me know where.
Disclaimer: The Man from U.N.C.L.E. characters are copyright MGM. No infringement of copyrighted characters is intended, and no profit is being made. Original characters are mine; please don't use them without giving me credit. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, is purely unintentional.
Feedback: Yes, but be warned, I react very badly to negative comments!!
Notes: Despite the name, there is no time travel in this fic; I can't say much more without spoiling it, except to say it was inspired by one of the rumors about Ilya I wrote in my last story, "Interlude of Shadow"

Part 1
'Oh, not again! I hate playing pincushion for the newest THRUSH truth serum.' It seemed every time he was captured, Ilya Kuryakin was given a vein full of the latest concoction developed by their nemesis. He was beginning to wonder if they'd put a note in the dossier they undoubtedly kept on him: "Suitable for Use in Truth Serum Experiments".
He was beginning to feel dizzy as the drug took effect. He was also starting to feel warm and sexually aroused. When the questions came he answered them but kept adding his own questions and comments:
"Would you mind removing my tie?"
“Could you unbutton my shirt?"
“My pants are too tight. Would you pull them down, please?"
“I need one of my hands free to masturbate.” A very small voice in the back of his brain was whispering he really shouldn't have said that, but he ignored it. He was warm and happy and very aroused. He smiled at one of the people leaning over him, but the man only scowled back at him.
He could hear the woman off to one side speaking to someone over an intercom: "He's being completely cooperative, but the drug's having some very interesting side affects. I'd like to do some more tests; we could have something very big here."
“We don't have time for that," the voice on the intercom answered. "Solo will be here anytime now looking for his partner. We have to move now or lose what we already have."
“Then we take him with us," she replied. "This has too much potential to let slip through our hands.” She told her assistant to dress their prisoner while she gathered her notes and supplies. They moved quickly and were well away by the time UNCLE showed up.

Napoleon Solo paced the empty labs and offices cursing Fate and any lesser beings he could assign blame. Ilya had been here; he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. But now he was gone, and sift as they might through the detritus left behind there was no clue as to where he had been taken.
It appeared as though the people who were here didn't know where they were going, with a few possible exceptions who hadn't written anything down.
Drivers were apparently given orders to take people and material to destinations only they knew about; the people hadn't been told where they would end up. His partner was God knew where going through God knew what, and he was helpless to stop it.
He would have been shocked if he had seen his partner at that moment. Ilya was happily giving one of his captors cunnilingus while the other pounded his cock into his willing ass. He wasn't worried about where they were going; he just wanted to please and be pleasured. The doctor cried out as
she climaxed, triggering a chain reaction; her prisoner's orgasm led to her assistant's.
‘This is definitely going to merit more study!' she thought as her prisoner wiggled out from under her assistant and crawled up her torso to look her in the eye.
“Pretty lady," he said with a smile, "would you like to make love?"
Three weeks later at THRUSH's new compound, Dr. Sullivan was giving her report to her superior. "It's better than we hoped! The data is preliminary, of course, but I think it's safe to say if we can produce a
concentrated form which can be ingested orally, we could take over any population we desired by slipping it into the water supply! We're working on both that and a possible aerosol form which can be sprayed from an airplane to cover rural areas which don't have a common water supply."
"The spray would act on contact?" the superior asked.
"By inhalation; we're hoping to have small canisters of it to give our people for use on individuals."
"And your test subjects?"
"Totally pliant, seemingly happy, and, for want of a better term, horny as hell. They line up eagerly for their shots, especially the ones we've subjected to withdrawal. The substance doesn't seem to be physically addictive, but withholding it produces extreme psychological distress."
She continued, "Put two of them in the same room and you've got instant orgy, regardless of gender. Most of them do seem to prefer the opposite sex if given a choice, however some of them seem homosexual or even bisexual."
She recalled one subject who, unable to choose, had incited a group masturbation session. Others, like Kuryakin, would have sex with the opposite gender but seemed to prefer their own.
"Do you think UNCLE knew about Kuryakin's homosexuality?” THRUSH was always looking for material to use in anti UNCLE propaganda, to be left for agents to find. Pictures of what one of their best was doing now would severely jeopardize moral in their rival organization if it wasn't previously known.
"Kuryakin may not have known," she replied, "let alone UNCLE. I almost wish we'd have captured his partner instead. It would have been interesting to see how Solo reacted to the drug."
"Any other effects?"
"Most of them either won't or can't talk, using gestures when actions don't convey their meaning. Testing them has gotten to be a problem; they don't seem to want to communicate, beyond a few basic concepts, like food and sex. We have to threaten to withhold their dose to get them to do anything. They won't even wear clothes, claiming they're too hot. It's almost as if they've regressed to pre civilized levels; fully human but extremely primitive."
The phone rang, interrupting the conversation. The supervisor picked it up and spoke for few minutes. "It's interesting you should have mentioned Solo just now. Our people just captured him nearby; obviously he's found we have his partner here."
"I see," she said, smiling at the thought of a new test subject, and this one in particular. "Do you want to attend his interrogation?"
"Yes, but I want him to see what's become of his partner first. It might prove," he chuckled, "amusing.” She joined in the laughter before going to fetch her earliest test subject to meet her next one.
A short while later Napoleon Solo was dragged into the office, looking slightly the worse for wear.
"Welcome, Mr. Solo," his chief captor greeted him. "I suppose you're looking for Mr. Kuryakin.” He smiled.
Solo returned the smile. "Why, yes, I am. I don't suppose you could just trot him out so we could be on our way, could you?” He wasn't about to let the bastard know how worried he'd been for the past few weeks, or how greatly he feared they'd fulfill his request by showing him Ilya's corpse.
The smile on the other man's face broadened. "Normally I wouldn't do any such thing, preferring to send you to your partner's location. But I've decided just this once to let you have half of what you want. I'm trotting out your partner so you can ask him yourself if he wants to leave."
'Oh God,' Napoleon thought, 'they're bringing me his corpse!’ He was very much surprised to see a live if naked Ilya stroll through the door a few minutes later. At least it looked like his partner, but he couldn't conceive of the shy, proper Russian unashamedly parading around in his birthday suit. He was totally unprepared for what happened next.
The naked young man let out a wordless but happy cry at seeing him and he suddenly had a lapful of naked, over friendly Russian to contend with. It didn't help his hands were tied to the arms of the chair he was seated in.
He couldn't pull the hands from the sides of his head or free himself as his lips were claimed in a passionate kiss. He drew in a quick breath as Ilya's (or whomever's) mouth moved on kiss along his jaw line. "Ilya, please stop!" he whispered desperately into the man's ear. Much to his surprise, the man complied, though he gave Napoleon a confused look as he sat quietly on his lap.
He hadn't noticed his captor moving around his desk to stand leaning on the front of it. "Ilya," he man called softly. His lap was suddenly empty as Ilya darted across the room and plastered himself against he man who'd called, kissing him whole-heartedly. The kiss broke, and as the naked man
lowered himself to his knees, kissing and fondling as he went, the other man spoke.
"Something surprising happened a few weeks ago when we tried a new truth serum on Mr. Kuryakin here. The serum worked perfectly, but produced some very interesting side effects.” He paused as Ilya sucked him through the cloth of his trousers before pulling down his fly and reaching in to grasp
his cock and balls. As the Russian pulled them out and started kissing, licking, and fondling them, he closed his eyes a moment to gather his composure before continuing. "As you can see, he'll happily fuck anyone who wants him. As the project director put it, 'Totally pliant, seemingly happy, and, for want of a better term, horny as hell.’ Almost like H. G. Wells' Eloi, carefree and unambitious."
Napoleon was glad he had something to distract him from what his partner was doing. "With THRUSH and their minions acting as Morlocks? How do you intend to keep your own people from being exposed?"
"We simply have to be careful until we get an antidote worked out. If a few of our people are accidentally exposed, well I guess they just should have been more careful.” He had to stop speaking as Ilya speeded up what he was doing: deep-throating the man while masturbating. He cried out and grabbed the blond head at his crotch as the Russian spurted semen on the rug and his trousers. A few moments later as Ilya was licking the last of the semen from his cock and tucking into his trousers, he resumed speaking. "As soon as we can mass produce a concentrated form of the drug, we'll be ready to conqueror the world. The best part is," he looked down at the man who was rising up in time to kiss him, "once a person's exposed to the drug, he doesn't want to stop taking it. Do you, love?” Ilya shook his head "no".
"But where are my manners? You wanted to ask him a question. Why don't you rejoin your friend -- ?” He got no further.
Napoleon gasped as Ilya returned to his lap and resumed kissing and fondling him. He pleaded once again for the man to stop, and once again he was obeyed, though his partner continued to sit on his lap and snuggle. 'Oh, Ilya,' he thought, 'not here, and not like this.'
"I've noticed he's not exactly full of conversation," Napoleon noted. "Another side effect of the drug?"
"Yes," his captor said. "He stopped speaking except when threatened with having his dose withheld a week after his first exposure, I'm told. A week after that he wouldn't talk under any circumstances. He was our first withdrawal case; we learned a great deal from monitoring him."
He managed by force of will to keep his reaction to that statement off his face. He didn't want to think of what his partner had gone through and would have to go through again. "Don't you think you might want to hold off on world conquest until you have an antidote? What if you need to have an
intelligent conversation with someone who's under the drug?” An antidote might even help Ilya.
"They regain their ability to speak when the Eloi drug is withheld," he was told, "and they're very cooperative when they're promised more. It's an interesting thing: the Eloi drug isn't PHYSICALLY addictive, but psychologically speaking it's another matter entirely. Withdrawal after even 1 dose results in severe depression and suicidal tendencies. Of course, it's possible those are only short term, as we've only had the formula for a few weeks, but it has so much potential we've already forwarded samples, test data, and of course the formula itself to THRUSH Central and several other labs. This particular egg was far too valuable to keep in a single basket.” He didn't mention it was Dr. Sullivan who'd disseminated the information to her colleagues in what she called her "sewing circle".
'It's worse than I thought. If THRUSH really thinks they have something here, and they're passing it on, we may all be in trouble.’ "I suspect that's only the opinion of yourself and the project manager."
"We'll see," the other man said, and then to the guards, "Take them to the lab. I have other things to attend to."
Napoleon's bonds were cut and he and Ilya were escorted to the lab. He considered making a break for it several times, but realized he could no longer depend on his partner to back him up. In fact, right now Ilya was more of a liability than an asset, since he certainly wouldn't fight and might even hamper HIS fighting ability.
When they arrived, he was tossed into a cell immediately, but the guards kept Ilya out. From what he could hear through the door and saw when they shoved him inside with him, they'd taken turns at him, and they hadn't been gentle. His lips were swollen and blood trickled down his thighs. Why had
they been so rough? He knew Ilya was willing to share himself; there was no need to abuse him like this! He was furious at what they had done to someone who wouldn't even think of refusing them or defending himself.
Ilya for his part seemed not to notice or care what had been done to him. He snuggled next to Napoleon and nuzzled his neck, and the dark haired agent was so upset he didn't even try to fend him off. 'I only wish it was you and not the damned drug,' he thought. He'd noticed Ilya's beauty from Day One, and had to distract himself from showing how much he wanted the man by flirting with any available female. Usually there were plenty to be had, but not at the moment, and his partner's insistent petting was starting to get to him.
He managed to get the idea across he wanted Ilya to lay down on his stomach so he could see how badly hurt he was, but hadn't expected him to thrust his hips into the air and display himself so . . . erotically was the only word that fit. Napoleon gritted his teeth and remembered the noises he'd heard
earlier as he examined his partner. The guards had sounded so SATED, especially at the end. They'd laughed as they'd pushed Ilya at him, saying how good he'd been and they hoped Napoleon would survive. He didn't appear to be badly hurt and he tried cleaning him up as best he could with no
water.
Ilya held still until he was finished, then curled up next to him and renewed his attack by grabbing Napoleon's crotch, and the battle was on. As he pulled one hand away from one area it would settle elsewhere and start fondling. Or undressing. No amount of pleading on his part was going to stop his partner from having his way with him, it seemed. He hated to do it, and apologized before socking Ilya in the jaw, followed by a karate chop to the back of the neck. He slumped in a boneless heap in Napoleon's arms, and his partner held him close and silently grieved for what he'd just had
to do. He took off his jacket and wrapped Ilya up before laying them both down the floor. He hadn't the faintest idea how he would get them out of this mess. He slipped into sleep without noticing it.
The next thing he knew he was having a wonderful dream of Ilya unbuttoning his shirt and sucking his nipples to hardness before working his way down to his crotch and tongue bathing his genitals before swallowing his cock to the root. He awoke to discover it was no dream; he was half undressed and his
partner was sucking his cock as if his life depended on it. He let out a groan of mixed frustration and pleasure and tried to pull Ilya away. It worked to some degree; he stopped sucking his cock and tried to impale himself on it. Wrestling match, round two was interrupted by the arrival of two guards and Dr. Sullivan, who ordered the men pulled apart.
He could hear Ilya's wordless cries as he was taken away, and he turned away from the doctor to cover himself and repair his state of dress. Picking up his jacket, he followed her and the remaining guard out of the room, noting the guard was one of the ones who'd escorted him earlier.
"Did you know your guards are abusing your test subjects?" he asked her as she was strapping him to a table.
"Don't be silly," she replied, "you can't rape the willing.” She filled a syringe from a vial on a nearby desk. "Soon you'll BE the willing, and you won't want to refuse."
"I didn't say rape," he told her as she approached, "I said abuse. They left him bruised and bloody when they tossed him into the cell with me."
She paused. "Is this true?" she asked the guard.
"So the little queer likes it rough," he replied. "What of it? He's never tried to get away or offered the least resistance, so he must like it that way."
She nodded, satisfied with his answer, and continued toward the table.
She was wiping down the injection site with alcohol preparatory to inserting the needle when the alarm sounded. Before she could say anything, the lab doors were kicked open and several armed men entered. Napoleon was relieved to recognize both the UNCLE weaponry and Mark Slate, who warned the doctor not to move a muscle. She and the guard were quickly restrained while Napoleon was released.
"Where's Ilya?" he asked, knowing somehow he wouldn't like the answer.
"Outside, with April," Mark answered, "but don't worry --" was as far as he got before he was speaking to empty air.
Napoleon was out the door to the outside in record time, but not soon enough. His partner was curled in on himself under a blanket while April Dancer knelt above him, apologizing profusely for having to knee him in the groin.
"It's OK, April," he told her, "I've got him now. He's been drugged and out of his head for the past three weeks."
"What do they call it?" she remarked dryly, "The Napoleon Solo?"
Before he could retort he had a lapful of naked Russian again. Ilya had heard his voice and thrown himself at his partner, sans blanket. At least he wasn't trying to DO anything besides crying on his shoulder.
"Whatever the stuff is, it certainly has interesting side effects," commented Mark, coming up to join them. "We have a couple dozen more inside who don't seem any fonder of clothes than your partner there. Any ideas on how we're going to transport them?"
"Thoroughly sedated," replied Napoleon, "unless you REALLY enjoy watching orgies.” He realized sadly the sedation order would have to include Ilya before he recovered from April's knee to the groin.
They managed to put them all under without too much trouble and transport them to an UNCLE compound where they could be kept in separate rooms. Dr.Sullivan was offered the opportunity to continue to work on an antidote,although she wouldn't be allowed direct access to any of her former test subjects, and she grudgingly agreed. Ilya made the trip safely unconscious, wrapped in a blanket on his partner's lap. It was the last time they'd be that close for some time to come.
Sullivan's notes warned them what was to come, and they grimly prepared. Bodies were strapped down and fitted with devices to prevent the swallowing of the tongue during the convulsive phase; it also worked to somewhat muffled the sound during the screaming phase. Nothing could be found, however, to combat the severe, debilitating depression which seized the victims of this horrifying experiment and refused to release them. They screamed at their attendants, "Give us back our joy! We were happy! We want to go back to that!” As they realized their cries fell on deaf ears, they withdrew into
themselves to the point of catatonia, refusing to eat, talk or even move. They had to be restrained again as one by one they made various attempts atsuicide. As days passed into weeks and then months, everyone despaired of ever finding a treatment, let alone a cure, for their condition.
Napoleon had at first wanted to stay to be near Ilya, but eventually Waverly had told him he was needed back in New York and back in the field. It hadn't helped that once his partner regained the ability to speak, the first thing he did was blame him for rescuing him.
"I never want to see you again!” Ilya had screamed at him during his last visit. "I was happy where I was! If you can't do anything else, at least give me the drug and let me go back!” It was the normal litany from every patient.
"Ilya, you don't need the drug to be happy.” This too was litany; a litany which was rejected by every single one of their patients.
"If you won't help me, then just go away!" he had raged. Getting no response he shouted it: "GO AWAY! GO AWAY!!” He turned to the wall and spoke no more, weeping silently and ignoring his partner's efforts at comfort.
Napoleon had returned to New York on the next available flight. 'I can't help him,' he had said to himself, 'and now I'll never know if there could have been anything between us. Who am I kidding? It was probably just the drug anyway.'
Even if Ilya returned, he would probably ask for a new partner. All the patients had retained full memories of what they'd done while under the Eloi drug's influence, but strangely enough none had any regrets. They all claimed to have been the happiest they'd ever been in their lives, and kept
expressing a desire to return to their drugged state.
Once he'd returned to UNCLE HQ, Napoleon settled back into his old familiar routine of work, dating and missions. Their first priority was tracking down and destroying all of THRUSH labs where the Eloi drug had been sent.
It took some time to locate them all, even with Dr. Sullivan's help, but eventually they succeeded in wiping out every lab except the one at THRUSH Central. He was teamed with a number of temporary partners, including April Dancer for one mission, but no one even once hinted at a new permanent
partner. Not even Waverly. On the surface everything was normal.
Scratch the surface, however, and you would have found a man going through the motions of his life and wondering if it was worth it.
Then came the call from the lab: "We think we've got something!"
Preliminary tests looked good; the antidote appeared to work in mice, rats, and other lab animals up through Rhesus monkeys and chimpanzees. They were still debating the ethics of testing it on humans, however, when Ilya Kuryakin suddenly had a massive seizure and went into cardiac and respiratory arrest, quickly followed by kidney failure and coma. He was dying, and they decided the antidote was his only hope. It required Waverly's personal authorization to take that kind of risk. They injected a
dose and waited.
Napoleon had been at his bedside watching him slowly slipping away for several hours before the decision was made to risk the antidote, and he remained there until he fell into an exhausted slumber. When he awoke, he was told there had been no change and he had been given a second dose. The
nurses managed to get him to eat a little food and drink some juice before he returned to his vigil.
He sat by the bed holding Ilya's hand and not caring who noticed. 'Come on, you damn stubborn Russian, fight!' he thought. 'Don't give up! Come back to me. If you don't live I don't think I'll ever be the same. Just live and I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy.'
It took another 12 hours for Ilya to open his eyes. He focused, saw Napoleon, and immediately ordered him out of the room. His soon-to-be-ex-partner simply smiled and departed. It would be another week before Ilya was strong enough to stand on his own and start demanding to leave. It was another ten days later before he was released.
The rest of the patients received the antidote shortly after Ilya awoke, and within a week they were all more or less normal. Most of them, after being debriefed, were returned to their lives. The ones who were THRUSH operatives were taken into custody and dealt with as their individual circumstances dictated. With the antidote in hand, UNCLE tied up all the loose ends and marked the case "Closed". If anyone noticed their former patients were quiet and unemotional, they didn't mention it.
It was difficult to say which man was more disturbed by the impending meeting when Ilya Kuryakin walked into UNCLE HQ for the first time since his exposure to the Eloi drug: he or his nominal supervisor. The Chief Enforcement Officer was reading the updated Medical file on his partner when
the man walked through the door.
"Good morning, Ilya," Napoleon greeted him with a smile, which died a swift death from the cold.
The look on the other man's face could have frozen helium. Without saying a word he laid a neatly typed letter on the desk. He moved to his own desk and started to remove his personal belongings, what few there were, from it.
'It's worse than I thought,' he said to himself as the CEO reached for the letter which had just been placed on his desk. It was, as he feared, Ilya's resignation.
"This isn't necessary, Ilya."
"It is both a security measure and my personal choice," the Russian replied, stowing his things in a duffel bag.
"You're free of the drug, and there's nothing in your Psych profile to indicate any problems returning you to either the field or the lab."
"HA! Free? Is that what it says in that report? My body may be free of the drug, but I will always have the memories! You want to put me in a lab? Bozhe moi! How long do you think it would be before I gave in to temptation and started making my own supply of the Eloi drug? I ALREADY KNOW THE
FORMULA! And even if I didn't I could get it, either through proper channels or by subterfuge.” He laughed again. "It's what I've been trained to do."
Napoleon was appalled. This was so unlike the man who'd been his partner for nearly five years. The iceberg had turned to a man on the verge of hysterics. Hoping a calm demeanor on his part would help his partner relax, he replied, "All right then, we'll keep you in the field until the temptation wears off. Well away from any labs, I promise.” He desperately wanted to cross the distance between them, enfold the distressed and lovely man in a warm embrace and give him a reason to forget the Eloi drug ever existed. If only he knew how he'd react.
"You don't understand.” The voice was almost a whisper, and filled with despair. "It would be even worse to send me into the field. Do you really believe THRUSH destroyed their stockpiles of the Eloi drug simply because they've discovered it kills anyone who takes it regularly within six months?” The researchers now had repeated experiments to back this claim, extrapolating from work done on mice and monkeys. "I'm not that strong. If they offered it, I would do whatever they asked. Betray the mission, give them the secrets, even," he paused in the grip of some strong emotion, "kill you, to get a drug I know would kill me. And we both know they will offer it.” He looked up at Napoleon with eyes that held no hope. "This is why I must go, now, while I have nothing to offer them. I know they have it.
Eventually I will give in and find some way to contact them. The less I know when that happens, the better."
'Why did that infuriating Russian have to be so right about everything?' he thought. Then inspiration, or possibly desperation, hit. "Give me a few minutes to write out my own resignation, and we'll take them both toWaverly," he said.
Ilya's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious! Why would you want to resign?"
Napoleon hurriedly jotted down a few lines on a sheet of paper and signed the bottom. "I discovered something while you were missing: I care a great deal about you. If you left UNCLE for the reasons you just stated, I'd have to stay away and never see or speak to you again. That's not something I
want to do. I want to continue being friends with you.” 'At the very least. More if I can ever bring myself to ask.’ He would have asked then if some instinct hadn't whispered it wasn't the right time yet. He picked up Ilya's resignation and added it to his own. "Shall we go and see Mr. Waverly?"
Waverly looked at the two resignations in front of him. "This simply isn't acceptable," he stated. "I can't have my two best agents resigning at the same time. Would the two of you accept an alternative? I can give you a few months sabbatical, since we seem to have thrown THRUSH for a considerable loop and it looks like they might need some time to regroup."
"I don't believe a few months will change my mind," replied Ilya.
"Perhaps not," Waverly agreed, "and if it doesn't, I'll be willing to reconsider your resignation when you return.” He rose and shook hands with both men. "Good luck, gentlemen, and I hope you'll find some way to remain with us."
They were halfway to the exit when Ilya turned on his partner. "I suppose asking you to stay away from me is out of the question."
"We need to talk about a number of things," Napoleon replied.
"There is nothing you have to say which I wish to hear," the Russian shot back. "However, since you will doubtless badger me until you've said whatever is on your mind, where was it you wished to take me to say it?"
The darker agent considered his options for a moment before saying, "Would it be all right to go to your place?"
'He wants me to feel as if I'm safe,' Ilya thought. 'It's not going to be that easy to lull me into a sense of security.’ "I think neutral ground would be more appropriate.” He suggested a restaurant halfway between their apartments, and Napoleon agreed.
The restaurant was nearly empty when they arrived, and they were shown to a table immediately. They ordered quickly and after the waiter left Ilya gave his table mate a look and said, "Well?"
"I'm not sure where to start" Napoleon admitted. "I know you mentioned not having regrets about the things you did under the influence of the Eloi drug. I was wondering if that meant you might . . . consider doing some of them without the drug?"
"Are you worried I might make a pass at you?" came the scornful retort. Ilya had worried about being "outed" by what he'd done while in the grip of the drug. It now appeared his fears were justified.
"Not worried, no," his table mate said. "I think 'hopeful' would be a better term.” He looked up at the Russian for a moment before returning his eyes to the table. "I had a lot of time to think while you were missing and ill. I can't just let you walk away without saying it at least once: I've wanted to make love to you since the first time I saw you. As I got to know you better and learned what lay beneath that icy exterior, I came to realize how much you meant to me. I know you're probably going to ask me to step
out into the alley so you can beat the crap out of me in relative privacy for asking, but would you spend the night with me? Just tonight, with no strings attached."
Ilya stared at the top of the bowed head before him. 'Oh, God, what do I say?’ It was like a dream come true. He'd wanted his partner for some time, but hadn't dared even reveal his preference for men. Here was his dream sitting across the table, and he wasn't sure he should take this
offering knowing what he needed to do. He suddenly heard himself saying,
"Very well; one night, but no promises.” At least he could enjoy some small piece of the dream.
Napoleon's head snapped up. "You really mean that?" he whispered in disbelief.
"I do. How long will it take to get a room," Ilya smiled at him mischievously, "or does the hotel manager usually hold one for you?"
"You know I never use the same hotel twice in a row," replied the dark haired agent, getting into the bantering spirit of the conversation. Caution dictated never falling into too much of a pattern in anything;
patterns were quickly picked up by enemies and used against you. "We don't need to get a room; we can go to my place, or yours.” Another departure from standard practice: sexual partners were NEVER taken home, either yours or theirs. Especially theirs.
Before Ilya could reply, their meal arrived, and they ate in silence. As they were finishing dessert the conversation resumed. "Your place, I think; this is, after all, your seduction," he told his table mate, "and I wouldn't want to hinder you in any way."
Napoleon nodded, too busy planning strategy to respond verbally. He wanted this to be special; as close to perfect as he could make it. He wanted to take his time, slowly building to a crescendo which would result in his partner savoring the experience. He wanted to let Ilya know how much he was
loved and needed in his life. He wanted to convince him, with words and sensations, not to leave him alone and empty.
They had a single cocktail apiece before Napoleon paid the bill and they left.
Ilya was still uncertain as to why Napoleon was doing this. 'Probably just another conquest so he can pat himself on the back,' he thought. 'Another one who didn't escape the famous Napoleon Solo.’ He could deal with that; it didn't need to mean anything more. He could go through the motions without
feeling guilty about leaving in the morning. It would be one more "duty demands" interlude and he could finish what he had to do before midnight tomorrow.
He wondered why his soon-to-be lover was being so cautious about seducing him. He didn't touch him at all until they were riding the elevator up to his apartment, and then it was only to slip his hand gently into Ilya's own.
When they entered the apartment he expected Napoleon to pounce immediately, but he merely brushed the Russian's lips with his own.
The afternoon proceeded just like that, with the darker man moving with almost painful slowness. Finally Ilya could stand no more. "Please," he said, "just do it and get it over with!” He marched into the bedroom, undressed with a minimum of wasted movement and lay face down on the bed,
hips lifted and knees spread.
Napoleon took a moment to memorize the sight of Ilya sprawled so wantonly on his bed, ready to be fucked. 'He's so beautiful,' he thought, 'and I want him so much. I could take him now, as he wants, but it wouldn't mean anything to him but a physical joining. Perhaps I should leave it at that; take what I can and hope the memory will be enough to live on.’ He shook his head. 'No, I won't take him until I've convinced him to stay longer than one night. It means too much to me. Now that I've started, there's no turning back. Either I make him believe I love him or exist as less than a man.'
'Why is he just standing there?' wondered Ilya. 'Isn't this what he said he wanted? What is he waiting for, an engraved invitation? I am NOT going to beg; I'll leave first!’ He felt the bed sag as his partner sat down behind him.
The darker of the pair gently kissed his beloved on the small of the back before pulling him up and against him, kissing his way up his spine as he pulled him upright. "I'm sorry if I'm not moving fast enough for you," he said as he reached for Ilya's penis. "Let me pleasure you. I want you to
be happy," he kissed the side of his neck, "I want you to feel loved," he fondled his balls, "I want you to believe me when I say I love you," he gripped Ilya firmly and started stroking him.
The Russian leaned back and surrendered his body to his lover's ministrations. 'At last,' he thought, 'he is doing instead of talking. This I can understand; he didn't need to spend the whole afternoon
attempting to convince me of something I know he can never feel just to get me into bed.’ Then he ceased to think at all as he moaned and writhed in his lover's arms. He could Napoleon's lips and hands moving across his flesh, drawing forth pleasure as a concert pianist would draw forth music from his instrument. It was a promise of more and better to come, he knew, and he warned himself not to mistake passion for a deeper emotion. He gave a few more rapid thrusts of his hips and cried out as he climaxed, shooting sperm over the two of them and the bed.
"Feeling better?" his lover whispered in his ear before kissing it. "More relaxed?"
"Da," he replied, "yes.” He was feeling more relaxed, but certainly not better. He'd never cared for "duty demands" seductions; they'd always made him feel soiled, somehow. Luckily Napoleon didn't share his distaste for them; the man seemed to take an almost unholy glee in the prospect of
bedding the enemy, so Ilya let him whenever he could. "You should not neglect yourself simply to please me," he whispered back, turning to kiss his partner.
"I'm not feeling neglected," came the answer, "but I think I should have undressed earlier.” He released his love and scooted back to stand and remove his trousers, frowning at the large wet stain on the front. He undressed the rest of the way and rejoined Ilya on the bed. "Ilyusha," he murmured, pulling the unresisting man back into his arms, "what can I do to make you see how much I love you? How can I make you want to stay? Please, talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling."
Ilya wanted so much to believe, to share himself with this man without reservation. He could not; he dared not; it was simply too much of a risk to give his heart only to have it returned a short time later in small pieces. It would also be unfair to the man who asked it, considering what he had to do. What he was determined to do before midnight tomorrow. "That was not part of the deal, Napoleon," he said. "You asked me to spend the night here so you could make love to me. You did not mention an examination of my feelings, or yours for that matter. Do not pour words into my ear and expect me to believe them. I will do whatever you ask of me in bed to the best of my ability. Please do not ask for what I cannot give."
Napoleon sat, too stunned to move. He had no idea what to do or say in the face of what Ilya had just told him. 'Might as well move on to Plan B,' he thought. "Then I suppose I'll just have to take what I can get," he said, pushing the other man down on the bed. "You want to be fucked? Then fucked
is what you'll get!"
He was too hurt and too angry to even think about what he was doing, let alone be gentle about it. He shoved himself roughly up Ilya's ass without any preparation or warning, pounding into him as hard and fast as he could, heedless of his cries. Tears poured down both men's faces as they were locked in a dance of pain and passion. Napoleon grunted as he spent himself in Ilya's bowels, pulling out as soon as he started to soften.
When the Russian had recovered enough to move, he tried to get out of bed to dress, only to be stopped by an arm wrapping itself around his waist. "And just where do you think you're going?" his attacker asked. "You promised me all night, and by God, you're staying right here 'til dawn!"
Ilya sighed, recalling his promise, and resigned himself to whatever the night brought.
A few minutes later Napoleon noticed the stickiness on his thighs. When he checked to see what it was, he was horrified to see it was blood -- Ilya's blood. He cried out a denial and tumbled off the bed, staggering into the bathroom.
He left the doors open in his haste, and Ilya could hear him throwing up. He rose and walked into the bathroom, finding his partner kneeling in front of the toilet with tears pouring down his face. He wet a washcloth and knelt down beside him to wipe his face, only to have it batted away.
"Oh, God, Ilya, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, "I didn't -- I never -- never meant -- never wanted -- that to -- to happen. I only -- I wanted -- wanted you -- to love me -- like I -- I love -- love you. Didn't -- didn't want -- want to be -- be alone -- anymore.” He pulled himself somewhat together and continued. "How can you stand to even look at me, let alone touch me, after what I've done? I -- I --" He broke down completely, unable to even say the word.
Ilya held him through the dry heaves and the sobs afterward, finally getting him calmed down enough to clean him up and wrap him in a bathrobe. He guided him to the guest room and put him to bed, grateful the bed was fully made instead of having only a spread thrown over it. He sat with him until
he fell asleep, softly closing and locking the door as he left to do some necessary tasks.
The first thing he did was locate any weapons in the apartment, unload them, and lock them and their ammo away and hide the key. The next task was to strip and remake the bed in the master bedroom, piling the soiled sheets in a corner to take to the laundry room later. Only after he looked in on
Napoleon to make sure he was still asleep did he turn to seeing to himself.
He turned the water on in the shower as hot as he could stand it and let it wash away the last few hours. Despite the blood he wasn't badly hurt; after the surprise of the first few thrusts he relaxed enough to prevent any physical damage. He quickly washed his hair and body, not wanting to leave
his partner unattended too long, dried himself and dressed. He looked in on Napoleon once more before going to the kitchen and pulling the bottle of vodka he knew he'd find from the freezer. He took a large glass from the cupboard and filled it three quarters full, taking it back with him to the guest room and sitting on the bed to wait for his partner to awaken.
Ilya took a sip from the glass and considered the situation. Any plans he had for tomorrow night would have to be put on indefinite hold; he didn't want Napoleon misconstruing what he had to do as resulting from what had happened earlier. He also didn't want to leave him alone in his distraught state. Though he could call in someone from Medical, it would involve explaining things he didn't wish to reveal. Ilya didn't think of what had happened as rape since he had told Napoleon he was willing to do whatever he
wanted in bed. Others, however, might not see it that way. He would have to convince his partner that he was all right and hadn't been harmed by what had happened before he could leave him to do what he needed to do.
Then there was the matter of Napoleon's confession to consider. He'd said "I love you" under such circumstances Ilya knew it could not be a lie. He was also acting far too upset over what should have been a casual encounter, but that could be simply lingering concern over a man he'd had to depend on
and watch over for the last five years. Perhaps the love he'd mentioned was merely that of brothers and comrades. Why then this sudden desire for a sexual liaison? Napoleon's libido was world infamous, but he didn't think it extended to incest, even in a non-blood-relation sense. So what,
exactly, did his partner feel for him? And how was he supposed to feel in return?
He was about halfway through what he'd poured when the man in the bed moaned, shuddered, and sat up with a cry. "Ilya?" he whispered, trying to orient himself. "What are you doing here? I -- I had the oddest dream." He closed his eyes in pain as memory returned. "But it wasn't a dream, was it? I -- I ra --" he started to sob, "I raped you!" hee managed to squeak.
"Not rape, Napasha," Ilya told him, wrapping him in a comforting embrace, "you're not capable of such a thing, nor would I have allowed it. As I told you, I was willing to do whatever you wanted in bed."
"But I -- I hurt you!" he said. "You -- you were bleeding! I -- I saw iit! I saw it, your blood all over me!"
"Hush now, I'm here," he murmured comfortingly. "Would I be here if you'd hurt me? You see," he said, brushing away tears, "I'm all right; you didn't hurt me."
"You don't have to stay," Napoleon told him. "I'm surprised you're still here."
"I could not leave you alone in the state you were in earlier," Ilya replied, "and there are still those things we needed to discuss."
The darker man shook his head and stared at his hands on the covers of the bed. "The things I wanted to talk about are no longer relevant."
The fairer man took his face in his hands and turned it up to look into his eyes. "You brought me here to tell me you loved me, didn't you?" he said. "Not in the way of brothers or comrades, either, but in the way of a man and a woman. What is it they call it? 'The love that dares not speak its name?’ Did you hope I might feel the same way since the Eloi drug brought out my preferences for all the world to see?"
"I was a fool to think it," Napoleon said, lowering his eyes, "and doubly a fool to think it now, after what I've done. Yes, I love you, but I know now it's a hopeless thing; you don't return my love. You're hiding it very well, but I know you can't feel anything but disgust for a man who'd force himself on a lover, even one who'd just said he would consent to anything in bed."
"I'm not hiding anything," Ilya told him, "and didn't you bring me here to find out how I felt?” He smiled and leaned forward suddenly to kiss the darker man full on the lips, delicately probing with a tongue to ask entry.
He was just as suddenly on the bedroom floor. "Don't patronize me, damn you! I don't want you pretending to love me so I'll feel better! I'll be just fine, and since you're already dressed, you can leave now. In fact, I insist you go."
Ilya pulled himself off the floor and, taking his glass to the kitchen to leave on the counter, left Napoleon's apartment for what he was certain was the last time. He checked his watch as he was riding the elevator down to the lobby; it was still fairly early. Early enough he could move up his
timetable and do it tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow. He stepped outside and flagged down a cab, giving him an address in one of the seedier areas of town.
The cab dropped Ilya off in a dark and deserted area of the city.
"You sure you wanna be left HERE, Mister?" the cabbie had asked.
"Yes," the Russian had told him, "this is where I need to go."
Though it was dark, it was not as deserted as it looked. Several sets of eyes had noted his arrival, and pondered what it meant. He walked down to an alley and entered it, moving to a certain door which looked no different than others near it.
He knocked on the door in a certain pattern and when asked said a certain phrase, just as the agents who'd been keeping this place under surveillance had recorded. He knew this place would be raided in a matter of days, but by then he would have long ceased caring if his plans went right. He named an amount, the dealer named a price, and money and product were quickly exchanged. After Ilya left the alley and rented a cheap hotel room he dipped a finger into his purchase and confirmed it was indeed what he'd paid for: enough China White heroin to kill a man several times over.
He set up the apparatus and needle he'd purloined from the lab, and began to prepare an injection of the poison. When it was ready, he injected himself and lay down to die.

'What have I done?'
It was so terribly cliché, and yet so horrifyingly accurate. He'd done something unspeakable; he'd raped his partner. The one person he cared most for in all the world. The one man who should have been perfectly safe with him, whose back he'd guarded, and who he'd depended on to keep him safe.
He'd violated that trust as he'd violated his body.
Then he'd ordered him out like a used whore.
By the time he'd dressed and reached street level, Ilya was getting into a cab. He quickly flagged down a second and, flashing his UNCLE ID, ordered it to follow the first, but not too closely. He didn't want Ilya to spot him, thinking the man was simply returning to his apartment.
The cab didn't go anywhere near Ilya's place, and it started getting harder to follow as the traffic lessened when the cab entered an area known for drugs and violence. They lost the cab at one point, but saw it had pulled over on one of the side streets. Napoleon told his driver to pull down the
block from the cab so he wouldn't be seen alighting. He paid his fare and tipped the man generously.
Then he slipped around the corner and watched as Ilya ducked down an alley he knew they'd been watching as a drug dealer's place of business, emerging a few minutes later with a small packet which he tucked into his pocket.
What was Ilya doing buying drugs on the street when he had legal access to them?
One terrifying possibility popped into his mind as he followed his partner to a small, seedy hotel. He was delayed by having to make sure Ilya didn't see him, and further delayed by the hotel clerk's refusal to give him the room number until he drew his Special and stuck it under his nose.
By the time he reached the room and kicked in the door, Ilya was almost gone.

The ambulance from HQ made quick time in both directions, and the medics in the crew were treating him at the scene before they loaded him for transport, a practice which wouldn't reach civilian medicine for another decade. By the time they'd arrived, Napoleon had disposed of most of the evidence and claimed Ilya had called him gasping out a story of an attack by an unknown man with a needle. He'd also moved Ilya and the needle to the alley behind the hotel to further the deception. He knew the story
wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, but was depending on his position as Chief Enforcement Officer to keep questions at bay.
He rode in the ambulance with his partner, leaving a clean-up squad to investigate the alley and search for Ilya's "attacker". He stayed as close to his partner as he could, only leaving his side when barred further progress by Medical personnel. He paced the hallway and waited for word.
Several nerve-racking hours later he received it.
"It was a close thing," the UNCLE doctor in charge told him. "He had enough high-grade heroin in his system to kill at least six people. If we'd gotten to him even five minutes later he wouldn't have survived."
Napoleon closed his eyes and silently thanked whatever Power watched over Russian UNCLE agents. Opening his eyes once more, he asked, "When can I see him?" noting to himself he really HAD to do something about all the clichés he was using lately.

The first thing Ilya noticed was the steady beeping sound. None of the religious texts he'd ever read mentioned Hell beeped.
Then he noticed it wasn't hot, no one was moaning in despair, and he felt a distinct lack of torment. There were a few minor pains that felt almost like --
He opened his eyes, then closed them and let out his own moan of despair. He wasn't dead; he was in UNCLE's Medical Section. The hand holding his was Napoleon's, and the minor pains he felt were aused by needles and tubes which had been put into his body.
"You followed me," he accused. "Why?"
"Because I realized after you left I shouldn't have thrown you out," the other man said. "What I did to you was absolutely unforgivable, and what I did after that was even worse.” He bowed his head so Ilya wouldn't see the tears. "I'd say I'm sorry, but it's so wholly inadequate. The only thing I can do is let you go, and I can't even do that for fear you'll try this again. No one here knows about it; I destroyed the evidence and gave them a cover story. I told them you called and said you'd been attacked."
"It wasn't your fault, Napasha," Ilya said softly. "I'd been planning to kill myself since before I laid my resignation on your desk. It is the only way I can be certain I don't betray UNCLE -- or you. What happened laterhad no bearing on my decision."
"What can I say," Napoleon whispered, "to make you change your mind? The thought of you being dead hurts more than you could know. I meant it when I said I love you. I've never meant anything more in my life. If you kill yourself I'll surely follow you into death."
"Do not say such things!" Ilya hissed. "Simply because I'm too miserable to carry on a pointless existence doesn't mean you must end your life as well."
"Then let me try to make your life a little less pointless," the other man pressed. "Give me another chance to try to make you happy, please. We can go away together, somewhere too quiet and boring for THRUSH to even have heard of, and explore 'that love which dares not speak its name'."
Ilya closed his eyes and thought about it. Perhaps he SHOULD give Napoleon one more chance. If they were far enough away from the city, and the attempt at starting a loving relationship failed, he was nearly certain to succeed in taking his life. "Very well," he told his anxiously waiting partner, "I'm willing to give it a try, if you can find somewhere sufficiently isolated."

The place Napoleon took him made the phrase "sufficiently isolated" an understatement.
First they flew to Pittsburgh, Pa.
Then they took a bus ride south that lasted several hours.
After that they bought a used car. "So we can fit in," Napoleon said. They stopped at a realtor's office and picked up the keys and a map to the house his partner had rented for the next few months. Then they ate lunch and did some shopping for groceries and sundries they'd need, and started off
towards their temporary home.
They got lost four times in the maze of rural back roads before finally arriving near dusk. One town was so small it seemed to be barely more than a four way stop and a post office. It lacked even a traffic light.
Ilya was surprised to find their home had electricity, hot and cold running water, and indoor plumbing; the last being especially surprising since they'd passed a number of houses which obviously lacked it by the presence of the small buildings behind them. The house was a two-story affair, fully furnished, kitchen, living room and parlor downstairs and bedrooms and bath above. The kitchen was huge, doubling as a dining room, with a massive table designed for at least 8. The stove used bottled gas, as did the water heater, but the realtor said he'd PERSONALLY seen to it both bottles were full, so they shouldn't run out anytime soon.

There were three bedrooms upstairs, with the master bedroom (the largest) nearest the bath. The room was dominated by a massive bed with huge brass head and foot boards. The bathroom consisted of sink, commode and tub; the fixtures seemed to pre-date the advent of showers. The other bedrooms had several small beds, indicating they were used primarily for children.
They unloaded the car, put away the groceries, and unpacked. Then they ate dinner, took baths, and tried to think of something to do until bedtime, since the TV only received two stations and the radio only a few more and those tended to fade in and out.
They gave it up after an hour and mounted the stairs to the bedroom, Napoleon hopeful and Ilya resigned.
When he reached the bedroom, Ilya doffed his robe, revealing he was nude beneath it. Napoleon's breath caught in his throat as he watched his beloved Russian walk across the room to the bed.
"Wait," he said as Ilya turned back the covers to lay down. "I want to look at you," he continued shyly, following him across the room and wrapping his arms around Ilya's chest from behind. He gently held the naked man against him as his eyes roamed over his form.
His skin was translucently pale, the tan he normally wore faded by the months of his convalescence. A light dusting of hair graced his chest and ran as a single line to the dark golden curls between his legs. His body was slender yet muscular, well toned without having the "defined" lines of a body-builder. Pale pink nipples matched the lips he longed to devour with kisses.
The man was one of the most beautiful human beings he'd ever seen of either sex, and he doubted the Russian was aware of his beauty. Napoleon began to caress him, thankful he'd been this second chance.
Ilya responded to the touch of his soon-to-be lover almost instantly, arching his back and pressing his buttocks into Napoleon's groin. He tried to reach around behind himself to return the fondling he was receiving and divest the dark-haired agent of his clothing. "Napasha, please," he gasped, "bed."
"Yes," came the answer as he was pushed forward just enough to make him lose his balance and topple into the place he'd gasped out. He was quickly joined by a now naked partner, who renewed his explorations with his hands and joined them with his lips, starting by thoroughly ravishing Ilya's mouth
with lips, tongue, and gently, teeth.
The Russian's hands and lips were far from idle, making their own discoveries on Napoleon's flesh. When the dark head descended toward his crotch, he neatly flipped himself to a position where the pleasuring would be mutual. They matched each other in attempting to bring their partners
the most pleasure, each trying to make the other come first and hardest. Saliva moistened fingers were inserted into anuses to caress prostates, causing muffled cries and mutual thrusting into mouths. Both men climaxed with nearly simultaneous shudders, semen bursting into mouths that rapidly
swallowed it down.
Napoleon recovered first, turning so he was face-to-face with his love once more. "That was wonderful, my love," he whispered, "better than I've ever had with anyone. My sweet, beautiful Ilya, I love you more than life itself, and as soon as I can I'll prove it by making slow, gentle love to you."
"Not too slow and gentle, Pasha love," the beauty in his arms advised. "I'm not some fragile thing which will break with rough handling, nor will I be the only one in this bed to be made love to.” He quickly flipped them over so he laid atop his lover. "I wish to prove my love in the physical sense as well, and I do love you, my Pasha.” He stopped further comment for the moment by kissing his Pasha firmly on the mouth.
When he released Napoleon's lips after ravishing them as thoroughly as his own had been, the other man gasped out, "Ilya love, do you want to take me first? The idea of giving myself to you fills me with such love I want to do it right now!” He spread his legs so the other man was lying between them and
raised his knees to allow him better access to his opening. "There's lube under the pillow; I put it there after my bath."
"I know," Ilya husked, his lover's movements arousing him, "I found it when I added my own.” He'd already opened the tube and squeezed some on his fingers, letting it sit there for a moment to warm. He slipped his fingers down behind Napoleon's sack to his anus and after coating the outside with
lube pushed one finger gently inside. He heard his lover gasp as the outer ring was breached, and his moan as his prostate was brushed. He added fingers as his Pasha relaxed, gently stretching him for the larger object to come.
Napoleon moaned a denial as the wonderfully stimulating fingers were removed, even as he knew something even better would replace them. He felt the head of Ilya's penis at his opening and begged him to take him NOW. The Russian complied by easing himself into the body beneath him with
near painful slowness, first the head, then inch by slow inch until he was all the way in. He paused to let his Pasha adjust to the feeling and givehim a long, passionate kiss before beginning to move, being sure to thrust at just the right angle to provide maximum stimulation. He tried to draw it out as long as possible but human flesh has its limits and soon he was pounding into Napoleon with urgent speed, one hand wrapped his lover's leaking manhood as he felt the unstoppable pressure building within him.
Napoleon howled out something that might have been Ilya's name as his seed spurted between them, the clenching muscles of his tight channel pulling Ilya's own release from him as the Russian shouted in passion.
The next thing Ilya knew he was lying across Napoleon's chest, his now flaccid penis having slipped from his lover. He tried to roll off, only to have arms wrap themselves around him and hold him in place. "It's all right," he heard his Pasha say, "I like you just where you are."
"I'm not smothering you or anything?” Ilya asked.
"No. Not anything; you're perfect where you are."
They exchanged a few soft kisses and sleepy caresses before slipping into slumber, and for the first night since he'd been injected with the Eloi drug Ilya slept the whole night without waking.
Their sabbatical passed in idyllic bliss, lazy days passing into loving nights.
Though at times lazy days turned to loving days; the house and weather were both warm enough, and the house isolated enough, for clothing to become an option. Bare skin invited caresses, and caresses swiftly turned to foreplay, which in turn led to lovemaking. Whether it was Napoleon bending Ilya over the kitchen table or the Russian pulling his partner down to the rug in the parlor, loving was always special. Sometimes it was hard and fast (though even then they were careful with each other), sometimes it was slow and sweet and languorous, an afternoon passing into a night, with a meal eaten during love play.
As the days passed Ilya felt the need for the Eloi drug less and less; it seemed he'd found the cure for his unhappiness in Napoleon's arms. Each night he slept a little more restfully, sweetly exhausted by his lover, and each day he gained a little more hope by the love which so obviously shown from his Pasha's eyes. He thought less and less of ending his life as he found a better reason to continue living. When, towards the end of their sabbatical, Ilya realized he was actually looking forward to returning to New York and UNCLE and hadn't thought about suicide for a week at least, he told Napoleon immediately and they celebrated his recovery with a special meal and a night of lovemaking so intense it left them both breathless, exhausted and unconscious.
Less than a week later they were packing up to return and putting their UNCLE personas back in place. They cleaned the house top to bottom, returned the keys to the realtor, sold the car to a used car dealer, and returned to the city and Del Floria's. They'd discussed at length whether or not to reveal their new relationship to Waverly and decided to go ahead and come out at least that far and let him decide who else inside UNCLE needed to know. It meant possible censure or separation, but that was better than having something THRUSH could hold over their heads.
Alexander Waverly took the news with the same equanimity he took the weekly reports from the various sections. His only comment was to tell them they had to let their section head know, and a reminder to Napoleon that any idiosyncrasies of behavior among his underlings which might be used for blackmail by THRUSH needed to be reported to the head of Section 6.
"Speaking of which, gentlemen," he said, producing a folder from his desk, "did you wish these forwarded to that section or returned to you?” He held out the documents: their resignations, which he'd held during their sabbaticals. Both men said they'd reconsidered their decisions and wished
to remain with UNCLE, and took back their resignations.
"I'm glad to hear it," he continued, "Because something's just come up which requires your special expertise. We've had word THRUSH is trying to tamper with the elections in a small South American republic, to put their people in power and give them a legitimate base of operations. We'll be sendingyou in, Mr. Solo, as an executive looking for a location for a new factory, and you, Mr. Kuryakin, as an itinerant laborer looking for work at or near the polls."
The assignments reflected each man's forte; Solo was a master of deceptive showmanship with his suave good looks and debonair style. "Itinerant laborer" was a Kuryakin specialty; with his facility with languages and his flair for disguise, he could blend into the background with near invisibility. Between the two of them both ends of the economic and social spectrum were covered, and where one might fail to make any progress the other would invariably succeed.
They were given their working documents and vouchers for the mission and Waverly wished them luck. They went back to their office to put their affairs in order, update their dossiers with Section 6, and have a quick but ardent farewell before separating for their individual journeys to the tiny republic of Pradoritor.

The End (for now)