With a satisfied sigh Illya eased into the hot bath water. Spring scents and sandalwood assailed his senses and he was carried with the heady mixture and steam into a languid, amorphous state. He smiled as he heard the bathroom door snick open and felt the first draught of cool breeze against his warmed flesh.

“Feel good?” Solo purred next to his ear and Illya smiled foolishly with half-closed eyes.

“Da. Could feel better though.”

“Really?” There was amusement in Solo’s voice as he dipped his hand into the bath water and splashed gently.

“Definitely,” came the softly slurred reply.

“How?” Solo sent the word with a tiny puff of air against the Russian’s lips. Illya shivered, tiny goose bumps making themselves at home against his flesh.

“Get in.” Illya’s eyes opened fully, large blue and luminous, pleading softly caught already with the first fire of desire.

“Later perhaps. I’m cooking.”

Illya sniffed and smiled appreciatively, “Steak?”

“Casserole with potatoes and sour cream.”

“And mushrooms?”

Unable to resist any longer Solo leaned down and tasted the soft full lips, pulling them to his own with a slowly smoldering urgency.

“What do you want me to do with these?” Solo reached down and fingered the black cotton shirt and pants.

Illya shrugged, “Put them in the wash.”

“There’s blood on the sweater.”

Illya opened his eyes and examined the cloth, “Not mine. Besides it will wash out.”

“I guess.” Solo sat down on the closed lid of the toilet seat.

“Are you alright?” Illya opened his eyes fully and inspected his friend.

“Yes. It just grieves me that I cannot comfort you in public.”

“Ah, Moya dushka, your presence comforts me, besides I wasn’t hurt.”

The dark eyes glittered like obsidian, “Weren’t you?”

“The pain was a long time ago, Napasha.”

“Yes, so you say.”

Illya leaned back in the tub and shrugged. “Does it bother you I killed him Napoleon?”

“No.”

“That I enjoyed it?”

Solo smiled, “I admit to enjoying knowing you killed him, so how can I reprimand you for something that I would have enjoyed doing.”

“So what is it?”

Solo smiled, “When I knew what you had done, and I watched you walk away, dressed in all black and so proud and capable, it made me hot.”

“Hot?” Illya repeated incredulously.

“Horny. And all I wanted to do was grab you there and then and,”

Illya blushed and smiled, “I...ah...get the picture. And the problem with this is?”

“Contrary to popular belief danger does not excite me in that way.”

Illya ducked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “Of course it does Napoleon. The adrenaline burns through the blood more powerful than most aphrodisiacs. It is why your skirt chasing is legendary after and during an assignment.”

Napoleon smiled as he sat back and surveyed the cool blond, a strange mix of lust and concern littering the fine dark features.

“And...” Illya continued fully aware of his partner’s gaze and admittedly a little unnerved by it, “...this is not the problem is it, Tovarisch?”

“No, it isn’t,” Napoleon admitted with a slight shrug.

“Then, without fear of being obvious Napoleon, would you care to enlighten me?”

“What do you normally do before you go on an UNCLE raid Illya?” Napoleon asked quietly.

“Ah, well normally I have a bath, a large vodka or three, a good meal and then sleep in a soft bed, usually dreaming of you.”

Solo smiled touched by the admission. “Not any more, dream...that is. And I would go out and chase a beautiful woman into her bed, control the situation and then leave her alone, with no arrangement to call her back.”

Illya nodded, “Do you want to go out and chase a pretty girl, Napoleon?”

“What?” Solo shook his head, “No that’s not what I meant, Illya. I’d end up chasing a pretty blond and wish it was you anyway. No my point is that we treat the night before like the last night of our lives.”

“Morbid but true,” Illya answered soberly. “Should we treat this night like our last night together, Napoleon?”

“Oh love, how can I tell you that now, in the very midst of this affair, that I am finally scared to die.”

“With that famous Solo luck? No I doubt it. But we all die, Napasha.”

“That’s just it Illya. I never was before, admittedly I did not want to think about it, thought it could never happen to me, but then it never troubled me before either.”

“And now it does?” Illya brushed the damp hair from his face.

“Yes,” Solo’s voice was quiet, the cultured dulcet tones fading into the approaching storm of his emotions.

“Because?” Illya frowned.

“Because now I finally have everything I have ever wanted or needed, I just never realized what it was until you said I could be with you.”

“Napoleon,” Illya’s voice was gentle as Solo raised his eyes to lock with startling blue across the room to the man incongruously draped elegantly across the toilet. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Napoleon closed his eyes and swallowed steeling himself for the moment. “Yes.”

“And that is?” Illya leaned against the side of the bathtub, his chin resting on his folded arms.

“That I love you.”

“Ah, such a revelation moya dushka. But forgive me if I am startled by this admission,” Illya teased. “You have as much told me before.”

“It’s different now Illya.”

“A different love?”

“No, I’m different. I don’t know how much longer I can do this job, knowing that you will be in danger and I may not be able to protect you.”

“Ah so now I understand. Napasha. Together we do this job and we do it well because we can. With another partner we could function but we are not as capable, we both know this and so does Uncle Alex. When you decide to leave I will come with you provided of course you will want me to.”

Napoleon’s head snapped up, “Want you to? How could I not?”

Illya shrugged as he leaned back into the warm water and watched Napoleon stand up and approach the bathtub. Illya has the insane notion that he was seeing the real Napoleon Solo for the first time. That the mask was finally gone to reveal the nature that made up the complex man he called partner. The wealth of need and desire so strong that for a moment he harbored his own doubts that he would be able to live up to his partner’s expectations of him. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he already did and that what Napoleon was asking him now went beyond duty and need. What he wanted touched the Russian’s soul leaving it trembling with warmth and expectation.

The expensive Park Avenue suit forgotten as Napoleon came to rest on one knee by the bath, the water seeping into the fine wool as it soaked up the fragrant spill.

“You have often commented rather wryly on my lack of seriousness when dealing with certain situations.”

“Guilty,” Illya whispered.

“I have never been more serious in my life than I am right now when I say that I couldn’t loose you. A life without you in it safe and warm and whole is no life for me, that it contains no future I could aspire to.”

“As it is for me,” Illya admitted softly all the while his eyes searching those of the man next to him.

Napoleon dropped a Russian wedding ring onto Illya’s stomach, the three bands of precious metal entwined with each other as Illya stared open-mouthed at the item.

“I had meant to give it to you later, after I dazzle you with my culinary expertise,” Solo said lightly.

Illya picked it up and brought it up close to his face as he read the inscription carved into the gold ring.

“Illya Nickovich Kuryakin Solo?” Illya smiled gently.

“Will you wear it?” Solo asked as he watched the beloved features.

“Always,” Illya answered as he slipped off the ring on his finger and slid the wedding band into place.

“You asked me earlier what I wanted tonight.”

“And you have decided?”

“Yes.”

“Ah what shall it be Napoleon, me in the shower, on the kitchen table, in front of the fire again?” Illya teased gently.

Solo laughed as he captured the demanding lips once again with his own and felt his heart swell with joy and pride that this untamed and wild creature would come so willingly to him.

“No, what I want Illya is to spend a night with you, a normal night without the masks we both wear, and to make love to you the way I need to. Will you indulge me?”

Illya smiled, “Will you feed me first?”

Solo couldn’t deny the smile that forced its way bubbling to his lips. “But of course. I am surprised you lasted this long.” Napoleon stood and headed for the door before turning around. “I love you Illya.”

“And I you.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Murphy struggled with memory as he lay prone on the cold damp floor, something in him had come undone and yet still he sought to find what it was. Beyond the point of caring and across the gulf of need he finally found that elusive thing in the darkness that was himself, and with unerring accuracy he moved towards the light and slowly reason returned.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Are you sure of this Cowley?” The chief secretary for security asked over the large single malt scotch in his hand.

“If he’s not than I am,” Waverly intoned quietly from the doorway. His hat in his hand, he leaned lightly on his umbrella and the long tweed coat elegantly across his arm.

“Alexander?” Cowley smiled genuinely pleased to see his old friend again. “Och man, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Last minute decision George,” Alexander Waverly smiled as his hand was clasped into a firm warm embrace.

“Sir Peter Lawton, Alexander Waverly.”

“Ah yes, the head of UNCLE. A great pleasure,” Sir Peter extended his hand as he stood to greet the elderly gent dark hair having long ago faded to gray but still dangerously capable despite his advancing years.

“You honor me Sir Peter.” Alexander said as George pushed a crystal glass into his hand, the fine whiskey casting an amber glow he sat down.

“This little affair that several of my agents are involved with has left us all unnerved. Nevertheless, when I spoke to Mr. Cowley a little while ago, I could see no flaw in the reasoning behind the agents' thinking. It would appear the implied threat to the royal family was indeed implied only.”

“What?” Sir Peter stammered as Alexander handed across a small folder that had been hidden under his coat to George Cowley.

“As you can see UNCLE Germany has been able to neutralize the problem before it arose however, with the planning being so accurate it has the hallmark of the man you now seek. Which makes our first priority gentlemen, the capture or destruction of the agent.”

“This is why you’ve come to London, presumably,” Sir Peter asked regaining his calm as he leafed through the documentation George had handed across to him.

“Ah well.” Alex sipped the scotch and looked over to George.

“I know that look Alex,” George warned.

“The KGB have become rather irate at the loss of one of the embassy staff here in London.”

“Gregorian,” George swore softly under his breath.

“Yes, hideous fellow deserved what he got from all accounts. Interestingly enough they proclaim no knowledge of this White Wolf.”

“Pakoslav Krasinskii? Why should they? To acknowledge him takes away his anominity within their system, I should think that they would want to orchestrate his disappearance completely before he becomes head of the division.”

Cowley smiled. “On the contrary Peter, such as broad statement means that they know he is here and if I’m reading the cipher of the message correctly, they have just given us authority to shoot to kill.”

Waverly smiled as he fished in his pocket for his pipe and his pouch of Isle of Dog No. 22. “No George, you are reading it correctly. Do you mind?” He asked as he held up the pipe.

“No not at all.” Cowley poured himself another measure of scotch, as Alexander tamped the tobacco into his pipe.

“I take it this is a good thing?” Sir Peter asked.

“Yes, it is very good,” Cowley answered, suspicion dawning on him. “Too good in fact. What does the KGB want in return?”

“Illya.” Waverly answered as he blew out lazy wreaths of sweetly scented smoke.

“And will you give in to their demands?” Cowley asked shocked.

“No, no of course not. Whilst they are prepared to give up Pakoslav to us, they are equally prepared to attempt blackmail. Since they have no claim to Mr. Kuryakin it becomes a mute point, needless to say I am sure the incumbent party would not be too welcoming of a major international situation should the KGB wish to push the death of one of their own.”

“Meaning this Gregorian person?” Sir Peter asked.

“Yes.”

“Aye, well you haven’t come all the way to London just to tell me that Alex,” George smiled as he looked at the craggy features of his old friend.

“No indeed, as you’ve guessed I do have a plan. One that will require the assistance of both the Home Secretary and CI5.”

“Aren’t we a little old to be playing spy?” Sir Peter asked as he finished off his scotch and leaned forward.

“Oh the contrary Sir Peter, I never play at anything,” Waverly answered with a glint in the old eyes that boded no good for the KGB plans.

“Oh good,” Sir Peter remarked.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Bodie curled around the gently slumbering form of his naked partner, the balcony doors open to allow a brief stream of pale sunlight in to warm the room and exposed flesh. He looked down and gently kissed the temple and trailed across to the broken cheekbone as Doyle stirred sweetly and burrowed closer. A long slender leg pushed between Bodies and the curly head came to rest on the broad chest, laying claim and being loved in one fell swoop.