Pairings: NS/IK

Status: Teaser. Currently in print and available from http://www.lionheartdistribution.com Comes complete with the first part of the story - The Castle Keep Affair. Cover art by Val Westall.

Author’s note: I want to dedicate this to my dear friends and fans. Firstly to Sharon without whose suggestion when I was desperate for a plot to write, this would never have been written; to Carol, for keeping the whip handy. And to Bonnie -  this one, love, is for you.
 

“You’re going ahead with it?” Solo asked as he watched Illya don his favorite black turtleneck.

“Yes.” The answer, like the question, was rhetorical.  For the past five months they had been on back-to-back assignments and now with two week’s down time in New York, it was time to finally repay the debt.

Illya finger-combed his blond hair, which was still slightly damp from his recent shower. He turned to look into the storm-dark features of his partner.  Solo sat half propped in the king-size carved timber bed.  The dark green linen pooled about his waist and the dark tartan comforter had been kicked to the bottom of the bed.

Solo was silent, his anger almost palpable as Illya came to sit next to him.

“You could wait a few more days, Illya.” the American snapped.

Illya bowed his head and moved closer. “Napasha. You made the agreement, not I. What would you have me do, go back on your word?”

“Yes.” Solo rumbled through gritted teeth.

“You’re jealous.” The comment was born from weeks of watching his carefree partner, his often over- protective partner, fret.

“Of what?” Solo spat back in anger, picking at a stray strand of cotton on the edge of the sheet.

Illya took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “Nicky will make no discernable difference to our relationship, provided of course you do not allow it, Napoleon.” Throughout his reply, the Russian had managed, with great restraint, to keep his voice level.

“Nikolai Andreyev will make no discernable difference to our relationship if you don’t go,” Solo immediately snapped back.

“Correct me if I am wrong.” Illya glowered. “But it was you, was it not? You who agreed to this as part of the bargain?  This is the reason why Nicky came in from the cold in Switzerland. Yes?”

“Yes, and you, my stubborn Russian, can say no. That was also in the bargain,” the American answered, throwing back the covering sheet and stalking into the small bathroom.

Solo depressed the shaving foam into his hand and lathered his face with the cold substance; it did little to cool the heat of his rapidly rising temper but then again, he had never really expected it to.

Illya approached the bathroom door and leaned on the frame. His shoulder dipped where it connected with the wood and he smiled.

“’Pasha, please.  For years I looked and I never knew what happened to him.  I have to go. I have to know if it was something I did wrong.”

The sadness in the luminous blue eyes speared the American with guilt. “Don’t be stupid, Illya.  He said himself where he went he couldn’t take you.  It was his way of making sure you were safe.” Solo ran the razor under the hot water and winced as it connected with the foam-cooled flesh.

“Yes, so you say.” Illya bowed his head not quite convinced with Solo’s words or the sentiments contained in them.

“It’s not enough, is it?” Solo asked with sudden awareness of his partner’s aching heart.

“I have to know, Napoleon, if it was something I did.” He stopped to draw a deep breath before continuing, “I can’t afford for this to affect us.”

“It already is affecting us.” Solo rinsed his face and towel dried it.

Since Switzerland, a powerful wound had opened in his Ice Prince partner.  Rare flashes, when Illya thought he wasn’t being observed where self-doubt appeared in his eyes. At those moments, he would become introspective and quiet, trying valiantly to overcome the nightmares.  The fear of having had done something terribly wrong in his relationship with Nick still haunted him.

THRUSH had worked insidiously upon his body, their malicious hands wounding him. Yet it was the mental torture that tormented him.  The long-held need he had kept hidden that they had managed after all this time to find. They had used the one tool that would cause catastrophic discord upon his psyche.  Somewhere the rapists knew what he himself had thought to hide all these years.  Illya rarely gave his trust, and definitely not to himself in this regard, so he restrained the basic primal urge to mate, to love and belong.  All of this was forced upon the blond man standing hunched in the doorway.  Add to that the shock of seeing the only man he had cared enough about to risk loving in his homeland, the only man who had made his way past all his carefully-erected defenses, turn up on his doorstop years later as a THRUSH double agent.

It would have been too much for anyone else, but Illya bore it stoically, needing once again to prove that he could rise above the fear and repulsion he felt for himself and once again became the agent he was known to be.  Cold, ruthless and arrogant.  Too strong for their games, too brilliant to be confused.

Solo shook the water from his hair and walked forward, clasping the black-clad shoulders in his hands,  shoulder’s that even now, months later, proved to be too slender. Always barely minimum weight for a field agent, Illya now fought a constant struggle to keep his weight up.  And to a degree, the American realized belatedly, that Illya did not need him to offer a mother-hen support. What he needed was to be loved for his decision to go along with this, to be trusted.
 
“My love,” he breathed softly as he raised the shock of blond hair to reveal the blue eyes.

“I am sorry.” Illya shuddered under Napoleon’s gentle hands.

“No. I told you once not to apologize to me.” Napoleon reached forward and pushed his fingers through the golden hair. “I can’t afford to lose you, Illyusha.”

“You won’t,” Illya returned, his voice underscored with urgency.

“And logically I know that but..” Napoleon’s voice trailed off as he pulled the dark-clad figure into his arms.

Without hesitation Illya returned the embrace. “You are still afraid?”

“Yes,” Solo breathed into the sandalwood scented hair.

Illya pushed back and retreated into the bedroom, making the bed as he gathered his strength. “I was very young Napoleon, and after everything in my past, Nicky still found he could love me.  Imagine that? A gangling youth too pigheaded for his own good and too strident to be anything other than arrogant.  He forced me to love him.”

Solo snapped his head up, momentarily misunderstanding his lover’s words, and glared as he helped pull the comforter back into place on the bed.

“No, not like that, Napoleon.” Illya smiled, a small half-rueful smile that spoke of remembered pain. “No. You think I am introverted now?” He picked up a pillow from his side of the bed and fluffed it, returning it to the bed and sat down.

“I never said that.” Napoleon stopped and began to dress, going as slowly as possible.  So rarely did Illya talk about his past.  About Russia, yes, about the ballet and his music and his books, most definitely, and even on the rare occasion he discussed quantum physics, teaching Solo as he went.  Now was not the time to break the mood.

“No?” A rare full smile bent the mobile lips. “Back then it was a nightmare, Napoleon.  I came back from university fully qualified and because of my father’s rank went into the forces as a lieutenant.  You can imagine the bullying that happened.  It was not pleasant.”

Solo winced, the scene all too vivid in his active imagination.

“Nevertheless, when I finished the basic training intact I transferred into the KGB.”

Solo dropped the socks he was preparing to put on and looked at Illya. “Does Waverly know?”

Illya laughed, “Of course, Napoleon. How else do you think he recruited me?”

“I, ah, admit I have no idea.”

“Hmmm? Oh, I thought you did.  There were several rumors when I joined the London office.”

“You were, admittedly, a rare commodity.”

“What, a Russian in UNCLE?”

“No. A scientist in Section Two,” Solo countered.

“Perhaps I was.  Anyway you know how Nick and I met. I thought that maybe the nightmares would stop. That if Nicky could love me and want me despite knowing about the years in the labor camps during the war, about the times in the Navy, that somehow I could exorcise the demons and I could learn to love me.  I came close. There were times I could look in the mirror and not hate the person I saw.  Then he left.”

“And this is to make me feel better about you seeing him today?”

Illya nodded. “I have to know what I did wrong.  All the dreams, Napoleon, all the memories came back. It is like the haunting never stopped.  I have to understand why he left me alone, without a word.”

“Logically I know I should understand this, but Illya, I just don’t. Please -- he hurt you once, and then after THRUSH had finished with you, he came back after you had been hurt again.  I waited years, Illya. Years to hold you. I would ache sometimes and you would just look at me and frown and then move away.  When you hurt, when you’re angry, you close in on yourself. It feels like you’ve been acting this way with me since Switzerland.”

“Not just with you, ‘Pasha. I am like that lately with everyone, even with myself.”

The American stilled himself by pure force.  “I don’t trust him.”

Illya smiled sadly for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “Neither do I, but you should trust me, Napoleon.”

“I do trust you,” Napoleon answered as he zipped up his fly and turned with hands on hips to look at his partner.

“No,” Illya said sadly. “No, I don’t think you do. Not completely.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” The American turned as he dropped the slate gray sweater over his head and glowered at his partner, partly out of wounded pride but mainly out of guilt.

“Since we have been back you have carefully avoided what happened to me in Switzerland. Instead you have decided to blithely go on as if nothing happened.”

“What? You want to talk about the rape, Illya? Want to tell me the mechanics of what they did to you?” the American spat his own pain wounding him, forcing him to ignore the strained look on his partner’s face.

“And if I did would you even be able to listen? To support me?” Illya got up and grabbed his jacket and stormed into the living room.

“Illya, please I’m sorry.”

“No, Napoleon, you are not.  You think because you can screw me, you own me? You lose trust in me because I have a need to put my past behind me? Are you so insecure that you think I will run off with Nicky if he asked me to?”

“I wouldn’t dream of owning you!” Solo spat back, studiously ignoring the real issue.

“You do think that of me though?”

“What?” Napoleon’s mind whirled, confused by this change in direction, by the hurt tone and the slumped shoulders of his partner.

“That I would leave you for Nicky?” All bluster and argument gone as Illya leaned back against the kitchen bench.

“I cannot protect you from all the hurts in this world, Illya, as much as I want to. I know you don’t need me to, but,” Solo shrugged, “you don’t seem to need me for anything. It’s hard to be so close to you then have you withdraw so totally. Even when we’re having sex, you fade out on me as if I’m not there.  Another man would think you didn’t want to be here with me.” Deep despair was audible now in Solo’s voice as he filled his coffee mug and made Illya a cup of tea.

For long moments he watched the blond head, the morning sunlight catching the silvery gold strands.

“Sometimes I’m not sure what I want,” Illya carefully admitted.

The American gritted his teeth, not used to being anything less than perfect in the field of romance.  He was at a loss.  Still he carried on,  needing the exorcism of these ghosts so he could claim a life with his Russian partner. “Is it really so bad with me, Illya?” All the fears and hurt pushed into the quiet voice.

“No. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

Illya gratefully took the cup of tea and looked up, the steam rising to sting his nose and warm his face.  Despite the sunshine the days had remained chill.

“Please, can we sit?” Illya asked as he headed towards the lounge room and curled into the corner of the leather sofa.

“All right, Illya. You have my attention.” Solo was beyond control of his emotions, his anger still dangerously too close to the surface.

“How to start?” Illya closed his eyes and sipped the tea again. “I loved Nicky, but then you know that.  With the exception of a handful of women I have had no relationships outside of that one, ever.  After my childhood I found that the only solace I could find was in my studies.  They gave me the freedom I craved.  I got to travel, was privileged within my own country and later made to be somewhat of a hero.  Mr. Waverly has given me more than I could hope to ever have, for both my country and for myself.  But Napasha, my rewards are visceral.  I don’t have much because I never fully believed I was worthy of much.  You grow up a child of the party and you remain so, all of your life.”

“Even now?” Solo asked as he took up the opposite end of the sofa.

“Yes, even now.  What I had with Nicky was a crime in my country and despite your progressive Western culture it is still labeled as wrong here. I was abused by those I was in the care of, abused by the very system itself to keep me in line.  I don’t blame him for leaving me.  No doubt in time you shall do the same thing, but until that time, Napoleon, I have to find out his reasons, I have to lay the past to rest so I can at least pretend, if only to myself, to be free.”
 

“I never knew, Illya.  Brief comments you passed over the last few years have never been enough to make me understand what happened to you. Even now, I can’t even pretend that I understand.  What I do know, is that you came into my arms in Switzerland before Nick came back into your life and I don’t want to lose you.  Nothing you have said this morning changes that simple fact.” Compassion laced Solo’s cultured voice and he leaned back into the soft arm of the sofa, studying the face before him. “You have all but accused me of ignoring the fact that you were raped. It’s not true.”

Illya looked up.

“Not true at all.  I don’t talk to you about it because I cannot kill the men who did that to you, -- they can only die once.  There is nothing I can do, and I will freely admit to being a coward in not wanting to hear about it.  I honestly don’t think I could take you telling me in that voice of ice you adopt in stressed situations precisely how they hurt you.”

The Russian tilted his head to one side. “Napoleon?”

“Look Illya, you went through hell and back, but that’s our job. We get paid to do distasteful things that other people are not capable of doing. What happened to you was painful and personal, but it makes no more difference to the person you were and are than a broken leg on assignment.”

Illya smiled as he tilted his face in the sun. “Do you know how long I have wanted you, Napasha?”

Napoleon shook his head.

“Not from the very first minute I met you. I couldn’t say that but soon after we became partners.  Another THRUSH cell, cold and dank and you found me. I think it was then, I knew that I could learn to trust you, to love you.”

“I remember. It took me nearly four days to get to you. I thought I would be too late.”

“But still you came.”

“And the point?” Solo asked, becoming vaguely aware there was a message here that he wasn’t getting.

“The point, millii moy, is that all the time in between I watched you with your women, literally dozens of beauties and I never thought I had even a tiny chance to be in your arms.”

Solo put the cup down on the side table and stood up, starting to pace. “And you thought I only slept with you out of some form of misguided comfort after they raped you? That when you were capable of being left on your own I would go back to my dozens of women?”

Illya dropped his head and sighed heavily. “It is what I expect, ‘Pasha.”

Solo dropped to his knees in front of his partner and took the strong square hands into his own. Strength for strength and skill for skill, he had never given any thought to the heart of the man behind the wall.  Solo accepted him and his gift of love as the miracle he had hoped for silently for so long.

“Illya, if I could marry you, if it were acceptable, practical -- I would.  You are not some passing fancy, not some phase I will grow out of next week or next month.  I ask you almost daily to move in permanently with me.  To come with me so I can tell Mr. Waverly that we are together. And you are the one who says no.  What more am I to do?”

“It is not within my nature to be treated like an object, ‘Pasha.  I couldn’t stand the gossip and the pain if you were lying to both of us.”

“So you retreated from me as well as our relationship on some perceived farce? Is that it?”

“To me it was a very real danger.”

Solo rocked back on his heels and looked up, a smile on his passionate mouth. “You’re a goose, you know that?”

“Da. Large noisy bird that pecks you if you get too close,” Illya admitted.

“Illyusha.”  Solo moved closer and brushed the long blond fringe back from the high forehead and kissed his lover. “I love you.  Now and always, I will never leave you willingly and would be honored to grow old with you. I have rushed you and made you nervous of my intentions. For that I am sorry.” Solo pulled the black-clad body into his arms, marveling anew at the hidden strength of this man, and kissed him deeply.

Illya moaned into the hot wet recess of his lover’s mouth, his eyes bright with love and peace. “Please, I need time, Pasha.” Illya traced the full bottom lip of his lover, as he lay cradled in the strong arms.

Solo looked down and smiled, “Yes I can give you time.”

Illya smiled. “And do you still have a problem with me seeing Nicky today?”

Solo tightened his hold and took a deep breath. “Yes, but please before you go off the deep end again, listen to me?”

Illya narrowed his eyes and pushed his hand through his hair then rose up from the floor and took his neutral position on the couch.  Only this time Solo remained crouched at his feet, steadying his breathing. “I’m listening, Napasha.”

The endearment gave the American the courage he had lacked and in that moment he pressed on. “Here it is.  I don’t trust Nickolai, but then I don’t have to.  He is a KGB double agent working both sides of the cold war with THRUSH neatly thrown into the middle.  So no, I do not trust him on any level.  I do not know that he will not play on your need to know the truth of those days and make you feel guilty or obligated or simply lie out of spite.  I don’t want to see the aftermath of that, Illya.”

To his incredible surprise Illya reached forward and cupped Napoleon’s cheek in his hand. “Pasha, what ftermath can there be when I can come home to you?”

“Not convinced,” Solo answered tersely.

“About?”

“You being hurt. There it is again -- that terrible overprotective streak that annoys you.”

“Who said it annoyed me?” Illya answered softly kissing Napoleon’s troubled forehead.

“You have complained bitterly about my mother-hen complex where you are concerned.” Solo shut his eyes as he felt the feather-light touch of lips to his eyelashes.

“And I am still here with you.”  Illya’s lips trailed across to rest against the tip of Solo’s nose.

“And I still don’t want you to go,” Solo answered breathlessly.

Soft warm lips brushed across one cheek. “I am going, ‘Pasha.”

“I know.” Solo breathed into the mouth that suddenly captured his in an exciting game of tag. Strong hands pressed down on the sweater-covered shoulders urging the American gently onto the thick rug.

This moment was not about sex and both men realized that, the touches and caressing although arousing were meant to touch heart and soul with reassurance and love.  Illya laid his head against the strong chest, the steadily beating heart soothing him. “What will you do for the day?” Illya asked as he made lazy patterns on his lovers’ stomach.

“Apart from brood?”

Illya sat up and looked down at his partner, his hand still in contact with his body. “’Pasha, don’t.”

“I thought I might go into HQ with you. Since we have two weeks off I can finish the paperwork and not have to go back.”

“Yes, and I can pick up Nicky and then ride home with you.” Illya bent his lips to the American’s and kissed him softly.

“I assume you’re taking him to the Russian Tea Room?” Solo asked as he stood up and brushed his dark pants, smoothing them back into acceptable lines.

“Da. Mr. Waverly has agreed to me taking him out for a couple of hours, but I still have to tag him with UNCLE H.Q.”

Solo frowned.“Tag him?”

“Yes we have developed a new tracing device to be used within the city area.  Most of what we have now has a good range, provided there is no interference.”

“Oh yes, the dreaded rogue buildings.” Solo laughed.

“Yes.” Illya said as he took his partner’s proffered hand and stood up. “As you know the stone edifices interrupt our signal and we often only gain the correct location because of strategically cross-referenced telemetry devices.”

“So the geniuses in the lab have figured a way around that?” Solo asked as he helped Illya on with his jacket taking more time than strictly necessary in smoothing it across Illya’s broad shoulders.

“Yes.” Illya smile was pure imp as he moved out into the hallway.  “I did.”