Solo paced. Three steps up and back. The tiny room, sterile and pale in its impersonal decor, caused him to shudder involuntarily. He looked down at the styrofoam coffee cup in his hand and was mildly startled when the door swung open. Doyle smiled and flopped down in the nearest hard-backed chair as Bodie followed close behind.

It had been almost an hour since Napoleon had carried Illya through the doors to the UNCLE infirmary. The CI5 duty doctor rang ahead on Bodie’s RT to inform the ward staff of the situation. With reluctance he allowed the orderly's strong arms to relieve him of his precious burden. The nurses descended immediately, stripping the blanket and sheet away from his pale shivering form with almost automatic precision.

Orders were barked as he had watched. Being aware of the standard procedure did nothing to stop the empty and painful feeling that welled up in his chest. He felt so terribly alone as he saw the myriad tubes invade his lover’s body.

Lover.

The recrimination that the word brought was bitter on his lips now. How could he not have seen or known? Illya had not been himself in the shower and now he had pushed Solo away, leaving the American to feel shamed and guilty.

Vivid memories haunted him. Illya laying passive and shivering, naked on a hospital bed, the severe scowl the doctor wore, and his own stressed breathing.

“Get a line into him. D5W, 10 mgs diazepam, IV push nurse and hurry!” The doctor’s voice was sharp and cold as he had checked Illya’s reactions. The light from the pen moved over his eyes as he moaned.

“I want a full Tox screen done. Hurry up with that IV, nurse.” Long seconds ticked by as the needle found the vein and Illya had thrashed on the bed.

An oxygen mask was snapped onto his face without preamble as they rolled him onto his side and began the process of collecting samples for analysis. It was then that the doctor came over and took Solo gently by the elbow and led him out into the waiting room.

Section two agents, especially CEA’s watching over their partners, were disturbing to the medical staff and it was often prudent to place them some where safe, and had the doctors have had their way padded. Still the tiny room off the emergency area was the best they had on offer.

Solo continued his restless pacing aware, not for the first time, the pensive stares of the two CI5 agents.

It seemed like forever before the doctor emerged and slid the horn- rimmed glasses off his nose and into the jacket of his white surgical coat.

“Mark says you identified it as Ketamine?” The doctor said looking at the seated men.

Doyle nodded slowly. “It had all the right signs.”

“Well done. It depends on the dosage of course and how it was administered but your partner should be alright to take home in the next four or five hours.” The doctor announced solicitously patting Solo on the shoulder.

“Depending on?” the American asked, all energy leeched from his body as the mental and emotional stress threatened to overwhelm him and he sagged down into the hard plastic chair.

“Depending on the amount of the drug in his system. He’s very slight, too much and he could have died, but his vital signs are good and so long as he doesn’t seize again he can be discharged.”

“What are the side effects of this drug?” Bodie asked not certain he wanted to hear the response.

“They range from user to user. General disorientation, confusion; not unlike a mildly drunken state. Headache, nausea, tiredness.”

“And how long will this confusion last?” Solo asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, not long, six maybe eight hours. It will take forty-eight hours to clear his system completely and he will need to be closely watched in case he has another reaction. We know a lot about Ketamine of course, and we can tell you more when we get the tox screen back. Any idea how it was administered?”

Solo shook his head.

“Alright then, Mr. Solo I suggest you go home and come back later for your partner,” the doctor offered. Solo looked up. The obstinate set of his jaw and the narrowed eyes were enough for the UNCLE doctor to recognize the signs. “Then again, maybe not, but go and get some tea and have something to eat. I’ll page you if he wakes up earlier.”

The doctor patted the American on the shoulder again and turned back into the room. Leaving the three alone in the tiny enclosure.

“Come on,” Doyle prompted. “Let's get some tea. It's going to be a long night.”

“I’ll get Jax and a couple boys from the labs to go over the house, just in case Chris got in there. I’ll see you back home.” Bodie smiled at Doyle and leaned forward and brushed his lips against his lover.

“Oi. Take care Sunshine,” Doyle said softly to the retreating form.

Napoleon lost in his own pain barely registered that Bodie had left and allowed himself to be led towards the commissary. Doyle’s uncanny sense of direction kicked in as he led them unerringly through the maze of slate-gray corridors. The long line of late duty officers in the commissary was testament to the agency's size and power.

“Doesn’t this place ever sleep?” Doyle asked as he watched the bustling throng.

“No, not usually. Too many agents coming back from assignment and going out at all hours.”

“Hey, chin up mate, Illya will be alright.” Doyle steered the sombre man to the queue. Doyle ordered for both of them and found a relatively quiet booth table. Every now and then pretty girls flirted with Solo. He smiled automatically as he walked passed and quiet whispers were passed around the room.

The great Napoleon Solo. UNCLE’s own Lothario. The hero worship rang in Doyle’s ears as he settled them down and suppressed a grin.

“Is there another problem, Napoleon?” Doyle asked his copper's nose sensed something was wrong. Illya was safe, about to be sent home in a few hours and the dark brooding of the man before him should have lifted. Solo should have been euphoric knowing Illya was well and about to be sent home, instead something lurked unsaid beneath the urbane exterior which made Doyle distinctly uncomfortable.

“Yes.” The response was so quietly passed it was almost unheard.

“I’m listening”, Doyle voice was cold, intending to draw fire from the dark man and Solo smiled, recognising that tactic as he stretched full length in his seat and crossed his ankles in front of him and sipped the hot black coffee.

“Doesn’t matter," Solo said finally.

“Not likes it’s any of my business what did to him, is it?”

Solo’s head snapped up. The American’s dark eyes full of fear and anguish as he looked into Doyle’s open face. “What makes you think I did anything to him?”

“Your reaction, Napoleon. I don’t usually get involved in other people's lives, but I find it hard to believe you have survived so long in this game, with the current attitude you have towards your partner.”

“Precisely what are you implying?” Solo’s voice was flat, calm and lethal as his gaze bored into the man across the table from him.

“I am implying nothing. It’s obvious that you don’t trust in your partner's abilities.” Doyle read the implicit threat and was glad that they were in such an open location.

“I trust Illya with my life.” Solo’s voice lost none of its defensive edge, if anything he seemed to become even calmer.

“Then stop being jealous. Stop treating him like a rookie that needs your supervision.”

“You’re right. It’s none of your business.” Solo sipped the coffee, every defence mechanism in the man on full alert.

Doyle smiled the sweet face contorting to show that he too understood the violence his companion was capable of. “Whilst you live in my house, whilst I am ordered to work with you and whilst the life of my partner is on the line because of your stupidity, whose business do you think it should be?”

“That bad?” Solo asked after an interminable silence, he ran his hand through his slightly dishevelled, short, dark hair.

“I am surprised the volatile Russian hasn’t killed you,” Doyle answered taking the sting from his words with a smile.

“He still may.” The American’s face became dark again.

“Why?”

“I...ah...raped him.” was the soft reply. All the self-loathing and revulsion for his act was forced into the painful admission.

“When?” Doyle asked careful to keep his voice level and neutral.

“In the bathroom. That’s what set this off.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know what I did.”

“Feel better?” Sarcasm dropped like caustic soda from Doyle’s words.

“No.” Solo sipped the coffee and made a face as the hot liquid scalded the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t listen too well do you?” Doyle finally broke the silence and leaned forward.

“I listen.” Solo defended.

“Ketamine is a drug used in dance clubs and as an aid to sex. It causes a tremendous rush and euphoria that heightens the emotions. You cannot rape a willing partner, Napoleon.”

“I should have known better. Illya is never that open, that...” Solo’s voice quavered for a moment, “...wanton.”

Doyle chuckled. “How would you know?”

“He’s my partner,” Solo seethed.

“Yes.” Doyle amended softly. “But you have never had sex with him before tonight, have you?”

Solo shook his head.

“So you didn’t know what to expect, what his reaction would be?”

“No. It doesn’t help, Ray. I appreciate the effort, but I know what I did,” Solo countered miserably.

“It’s little consolation Napoleon, but Illya probably won’t remember the event. This drug causes amnesia in some people. And he will expect you to be loving and supportive. If you pull away from him now you will tear his heart out.”

“He wouldn’t even let me touch him.” Solo swallowed the last of the bitter liquid and reigned in his much-vaunted control.

“Nor would he let Bodie close,” Doyle continued.

“But he let you close.”

“Yes, but then I don’t matter Napoleon. I don’t want anything from him, so I was safe, that’s all.”

Solo shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“Hello Guv!” A soft English drawl, not quiet cockney and yet definitely not uneducated, somewhere upper middle class sounded close to Solo's ear.

Mark Slate slid into the seat next to Doyle and smiled cheerfully.

“Hello Mark,” Solo answered, his eyes still closed. “Ray Doyle, CI5.”

“Pleasure.” Mark answered. “You work for the Major then?”

“You’ve met Mr. Cowley?” Ray asked as he shook the other man’s hand.

“Worked with the Smurph on the IRA bombing’s last year. Recently got married didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Lovely lady with a little girl,” Ray answered with a smile.

“Sorry I missed the wedding,” Mark said as his eyes appraised Solo coolly. “How’s Illya?” he finally asked.

Solo looked directly into the English agent’s eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

“Office grapevine working overtime?” Ray chuckled.

“Not a chance, Guv. Napoleon here always looks like hell when the Ice Prince is hurt.” Mark wolfed into his plate of chips and smiled around a bread roll as Solo’s eyes crinkled at the corner.

“I guess I do at that,” the American answered. “Speaking of partner’s where’s yours?”

“April is being kitted out.”

“Where are you off too?” Ray asked.

“Ask his lordship,” Mark quipped. “He does the duty roster, and April has promised if she breaks a nail on this one that your life will be living hell.”

Solo actually managed a laugh at Mark’s response. “Ah, East India.”

The comfortable silence was broken by Doyle’s RT.

“45?”

“37. Hello sunshine.”

“Anything?” Doyle asked.

“Nah, house is secure, nothing out of the ordinary. Jax has gone over the house with the security and lab boys. It’s clean.”

“But?” Doyle prompted.

“Nothing, that’s just the point. Even quizzed the neighbors.”

Doyle chuckled, “I am sure Mrs. Jenkins will be thrilled at being pulled out of bed at this hour.”

“Never underestimate the Bodie charm, old son. How’s Illya?”

“Fine he’ll be discharged soon.”

“I’ll stay here with the crew and go over the house again. Out.”

“Then it could only have been Claude Perkins,” Solo intoned quietly.

“He was the only one to lay his hands on Illya, but that was through several layers of cloth. I doubt it.”

“No one else got even close to him,” Solo spoke.

“Where was he?” Mark asked.

“In a Soho bar.” Ray pushed his fingers through the spilt sugar on the table, making lazy patterns.

“Ergh. Cruising a gay bar,” Mark shuddered. “Well it seems the great Napoleon Solo has overlooked the most obvious.” Mark’s tone was insufferable.

“Obvious enough for you to speak or should I break a few bones.” Solo’s smile was feral and cold as he glared at his fellow agent.

Mark wiped his mouth with the cafeteria issued paper napkin and waved as April entered the door and beckoned for him to follow. She turned on a pretty dainty heel and abruptly turned back and waved at Solo with a smile and a glare at her nail polish.

“Rule 101, Mr. Solo. If the patrons of the bar fail to elicit interest, look at the staff.” With a salute and a turn he trotted across the packed room and after his partner.

“He’s got a point,” Ray answered already pulling the RT out of his coat.

“Yes, yes as a matter of fact he does. No doubt Ketamine is easily ingested.”

“Very and toxicology on Illya will support that or not. But still it’s a place to start Napoleon.”

Despite the fact that Solo rose smiling, Doyle found that there was a bleakness behind the dark eyes that wasn’t there yesterday. His smile was a little too tight, his pain a little too obvious and Doyle found that he was praying to a half-forgotten God that Illya didn’t remember. And that Solo could forgive himself.