During the course of dinner Illya’s mood began to darken, and Napoleon felt the storm before it broke to drown the dour Russian. Fatigue etched the boyish face as he slowly pushed the remainder of his dessert around the plate and seemed lost in thought. Too much time together, too many battles fought and lost for Napoleon not to recognize the signs of distress on his friend. Finally unable to bear the oppressive silence, he leaned forward. Elbows perched on the table as he rested his head on his hand and waited.

“Out with it.” Napoleon swirled the wine in his glass as it caught the flicker of candle light in the small restaurant.

“With what?” Illya started guiltily, his reverie broken.

“You’re slipping again, my friend.”

“Ah,” Illya said. He dabbed his lips almost delicately as he leaned back from the table, all pretense of eating gone as he drew a deep breath and ran lazy circles with his finger on the linen tabletop.

“Ah what? I know that look, and I know the signs. What’s wrong?”

“I spoke to my step mother.”

“And?”

“Acrimonious as ever.”

“Has she spoken to Uriel yet?”

“Today. He told her that I let him go all those years ago and that I wasn’t to blame for his foolishness.”

“What did you expect her to say? Thank you for kidnapping my babies from their home?” Napoleon looked darkly at his friend, the coldness in his voice unmistakable, but with it the knowledge that it was not intended to wound, simply clarify.

“I expected something more than what I received, but then children often do.”

“She resents that it was you who rescued them, and have been doing so for years. You cannot berate her for that. Her son, Illya, left her, and because of it your father died.”

“Her son? Yes I am nothing more than the spy.” Illya said bitterly as he reached for the wine and sipped slowly, his face half hidden by shadows.

“You are her husband’s son, a grim reminder that there was another before her. Women don’t change all that much, Illya, and no one likes to be compared.”

“She wouldn’t talk to me about my sisters.”

“Would she ever?”

“No, but once I had hoped that they would remember me.”

“Uriel and your sister will make certain that they don’t forget you, Illya.”

“Perhaps I put too much stock in an emotion that has no place in my world.”

“Since when do you have to stop loving in order to be a spy?”

Illya’s laughter was mirthless as he looked on the urbane man. “Since when was it prudent?” he asked

“Love is never prudent, Illya, but we are human.”

“Nothing but men?” Illya arched an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “If that is the case why then are we made to be something other than what we are?”

“Slow down, Illya. I’m not following you.” Napoleon could see the intelligence spark in the sapphire eyes as he considered his words.

“Napoleon, I've never understood the ethos of stupidity of the public.”

“People believe what they need to believe, Illya, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I imply nothing. Are they so honestly naive to believe we are here to save the world?? I mean really? All we do is keep the balance, stop the rest of the more extreme groups from getting too powerful and stop the world tilting dangerously into madness. There is absolutely no romance in being a spy.”

"You’re being a little harsh, Illya."

"I am not; it is a social not moral statement. I have survived two agencies, Napoleon, as have you, both of which will use us for whatever ends they deem appropriate, and we are nothing more than cattle.”

"I resent being called cattle. I do have free will, and so do you. Look around you, Illya. We cannot expect them to know what we do. We cannot make them understand because they need to have their beliefs that keep them safe. We don’t have the right to remove that."

"I never said we did. It's just that the common perception is that we are something we are not. As you have pointed out, we are men, Napoleon, nothing more. Why must they make us heroes?"

“Because my sweet Russian, like it or not, we are heroes.”

“Ah, now you taunt me with my own words. I am no hero Napoleon; I’ve never been a hero.”

"I’ve never taunted you. Well, not to the extent that would cause you grief, Illya. Look at the big picture. If they were to truly know what we do, then we would have defeated the purpose. UNCLE is not a save the world organization, and we are more than the some of our assignments and files, but within that is the entire antithesis of who we are, Illya. We are here because there is no one else who can do what we do. And because of that, if they were to know who we are, then yes we would to them, in their pretty suburban ideologies be the heroes.”

"And you accuse me of idealism?"

"I'm not an idealist."

"You’re not practical either. Boyzhe Moi! Do you not understand,Napoleon, we don’t always win, we don’t always wear the white hats, and innocents die in our care and from our hands to serve the greater good."

"What cost a human life for a way of life? It is an age old dilemma."

“One that has no happy conclusion,” said Illya.

“I am forced to agree with you; however, I think you’re missing something.”

“And that is?” Illya shook his head in consternation.

“You have always been loved, wanted and needed. Sometimes, my friend, you just can’t seem to find the reason why anyone should want to.”

“What precisely do you think you know of me, Napoleon?” Illya stood and threw a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover both meals as he stalked from the restaurant leaving a bewildered and confused Section Two head in his wake.

~~oooOOOooo~~~

“You know even at the best of times, I’m a miserable old bastard.” Solo slouched against the doorframe and waited for Illya to step back and allow him into the tiny apartment. Minimalist didn’t even come close and Illya shuddered.

“I’ve never known you to be that.” Illya replied as he took a healthy swig from the bottle of vodka on the kitchen bench.

“Oh yes you have, many, many times.” Napoleon crooned softly as he brushed passed his partner.

“In what way?”

“I never keep a woman more than a week. I was lying, Illya, you know that. Love is not prudent, but it happens, and we, the morons of a thankless society, are here to make sure our loved ones are not compromised because of us.”

“Yes, well, is there another reason why you’re here?”

“Stella.”

“Ah, my erstwhile sister-in-law…what of her?” Illya smiled as he poured the cold vodka into his throat.

“Why did you kill her?”

Illya shrugged. “You know very well why.”

“Because she was a double agent?”

“Because the KGB sanctioned her.” Illya found no remorse in his actions, only lethargy.

“And?”

“And so did UNCLE and the CIA. It seems, Napoleon, I am made to dance and serve as many puppeteers as they like.” The bitterness in his words stabbed at Napoleon, and he began to see the truth behind the machinations.

“So, we are back to what price a human life.” Napoleon rubbed at his forehead and sat down on the tattered couch.

“If you are here to preach morality to me, Napoleon, don’t bother,” Illya snapped.

“You hate being manipulated and yet here you are, the centre of attention. Was that your idea, Illya? Make yourself the bait?”

“No. I was following orders.”

“Neat justification, but hardly plausible.”

“I know.” Finally Illya sat down opposite his partner and sighed heavily.

“I guess its time to start winnowing then.”

“Winnow?”

“Sift the wheat from the chaff.” Napoleon stood up. “Do you think you can prevent yourself from doing anything stupid till the morning?”

“Probably.”

“Good then get some rest. There are things here, Illya, that are compromising both of us, and I for one will not lose you to them.”

“Even now, you would fight for me?”

“My white knight? Who else do I have left to fight for?” Solo smiled as he left the room, the night deepening about him as he curled onto the narrow couch and slept.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Files.” Napoleon deposited the stack of manila folders on his partner’s desk and looked down to the boxes on the floor.

“Yes, thank you. I can see them.”

“Good. Then open them up and let’s find out who or what thinks they can manipulate you and UNCLE and to what end.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“It’s not as convoluted as it sounds, Napoleon.” Illya took the opportunity to roll the kinks out of his neck as he stood up.

“Then perhaps you can explain it to me simply.” Even the American’s voice was tired. He often mused that nine hours of trolling files was far more taxing then three days on assignment.

“Stella was born in Kiev, her mother was Russian, and her father a member of the American diplomatic corp. Not terribly highly placed but nevertheless, the Americans always like to look after their own.”

“Especially if there is an agenda or reason.”

“Well in Stella’s case there was reason enough. She was recruited at twelve by the KGB and later trained and placed within the American embassy in West Germany. From there she was utilized by the CIA who were fully aware of her background, to entrap my brother and keep him on a leash.”

“Yes,well, it’s certainly a scenario we have come across too often to dismiss.”

“Having said that, Stella wanted out. She was tired of working for two masters and was currently in negotiations with both agencies to consolidate her position given the sanction the KGB had placed on Uriel.”

“All right then but what information did she have that made the agencies so scared that they both wanted her terminated? You have to admit, Illya, that a dual sanction is not a usual occurrence.”

“True, and I have no answer my friend. However, I can surmise.”

“By all means, surmise away.” Napoleon waved his hand in compliance and closed his eyes. The soft lilt of the Russian’s voice was soothing and the American felt his body relax whilst his mind focused on the voice.

“I would suggest that Stella was in a position to betray a highly placed double agent.”

“It’s not you, is it?” Napoleon cracked open an eye.

“No, but thank you for asking.” The ghost of a smile flickered across the stern face, and Illya stopped his restless orbit of their shared office.

“So, if we assume that was the reason for her sanction, then it would appear to be badly timed, but not essentially involved with the matter with Uriel.”

“Nyet. While I’d like to believe that to be the case, reality is often different.”

“So the two are not mutually exclusive.”

“I doubt it. The departments are generally independent, but with a sanction they would at least compare notes.” Illya paused again and frowned.

“How long since you’ve eaten?” Napoleon closed his eyes and folded his hands across his stomach as he propped his feet on the desk.

“Last night,” Illya answered distractedly.

“Then I suggest we take a break and have lunch.” He looked down at his watch. “Dinner,” he corrected.

“No you go ahead. I want to see Uriel.”

“Speaking of which.” Napoleon was up and mobile. “Need to ask, what chance is there that the double agent who would be compromised is your brother?”

“There is a chance, however, I’m not certain what, if anything, Uriel has other than position and access.”

“To the media?”

“Some political and diplomatic positions could make him a courier, but I don’t think, if he were the double agent, he would be regarded highly enough to kill his wife. Besides, the sanction was very specific in that they wanted Uriel implicated.”

“Yes, well you were not up to your usual standard on that this time, Illya. Far be if for me to criticize you, I must at least show some concern to the lowering of professionalism.”

“Pfft. You know, Napoleon, if I truly wanted to compromise Uriel, there is no court in any land that would not uphold the evidence bought before them.”

“Then you let him go again.”

“At the moment he is a pawn and being used to manipulate me. Until such times as he becomes a liability, I will treat him as an innocent.”

“Ah, now that’s the partner I know and love.”

“Careful Napoleon, your sentiment is showing,” Illya reproved without any real heat.

“Perhaps I should let it show a little more often,” Napoleon crooned softly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game Napoleon.” Illya narrowed his eyes.

“I’m used to playing dangerous games, tovarisch.”

“Nyet, I don’t think you realize what it is you’re doing apart from marking your territory.”

“I marked that a long time ago,” Napoleon said. “However, I am concerned about the long term effects and have no intention of playing this game for anything less than keeps.” Napoleon swayed forward and Illya took a step back, color flushing his pale features and Solo smiled. “I have to see Mr. Waverley, in the meantime visit with your brother. I’ll meet you in thirty minutes.”

“For?”

“Dinner. Illya, you still need to eat and rest, and like it or not, the KGB won’t give you up so easily. So until we resolve the issue,” Napoleon whispered as he invaded the other man’s space. Illya swallowed, hard pressed to ignore the proximity. “Tovarisch,” continued Napoleon, “ I intend to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“I would think that is like sending a wolf to guard sheep,” Illya snorted and regained his composure as he walked away.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Did you kill her?” Uriel spoke from the depth of a darkened room, his voice replete with fatigue and pain.

Illya sighed, the cruel cold under dark of espionage throbbed around him dispassionately and he drew it to his soul like a mantle to shield himself from the pain and cold.

“Yes,” he answered at length.

“I knew, Illya.”

“How?” He was drawn to the man who had been so much of his early life like a moth to flame, the trepidation evident in his halting approach.

“Ah, Illya, who else would care enough to kill her with a single shot? Stella was a viper; she had many enemies and few friends. And even those she counted upon would take viscous pleasure upon her flesh. Did you think me so naive as to not know it was you?”

“I had considered that you would know.”

“Would you have ever told me?” Uriel looked up, his face far calmer than Illya would have expected and he was unnerved. Genetics aside, Illya looked into a face that should show some turmoil; instead he saw the glassy surface that hid the true man. His words were too contrived to satisfy his need to exonerate his brother and insanely he felt a flash of fear course through him.

“No.” Illya said, shaking his head.

“I expected as much. You’re wondering now aren’t you, braht? How can I sit here and be so calm, so implacable in the midst of what should be a catastrophe.”

“It occurred to me.” And there it was. The feeling had a name and Illya sighed inwardly, not allowing the emotion to color his judgment. Manipulation. Pure and simple but to what end he could not see.

“What do you expect? That I should rend my garments and throw myself upon the ground like a grieving spouse.” The hard edge to the voice was not anger but disdain and Illya remembered his step mother doing just that on her husband’s grave. No matter what else, she had loved him and gave him all that she had. Alone she was hollow, and Illya remembered that pain and kept it near. It was why he sent the money home to her, why he never challenged her right to his father’s inheritance. “It is hardly fitting since there was no love lost between the two of us.” Uriel handed him a glass of vodka and broke the moment.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Uriel sat back down on the leather sofa and frowned.

“For answering my questions.” The vodka was left untouched as he replaced the glass on the small table.

“Illyushenka, you didn’t ask any?”

“Are you sure, Uriel?” And Illya, carved from the ice womb of a cold land, let the anger and despair wash over him and away, untouched and unmoved. He turned and left the younger man to his silent musings.