Doyle paced backwards and forwards in the confines of the large apartment. Semi-detached in a nicer neighborhood, it was a gift from the controller when Cowley finally accepted their feelings towards each other. His partner stalked, no rephrase that Doyle thought with growing impatience, threw himself around the guestroom.

After two hours of the storm refusing to dissipate, Doyle sighed heavily and turned towards the centre of the storm.

"Bodie." His voice was soft, barely heard above another filthy curse aimed at the innocent spare bed.

He cleared his throat and tried again, "Bodie!" This time he was standing behind the large man who was putting the clean sheets on the oversized double bed.

"What?!" Bodie snapped.

Doyle came around the bed, reaching out and taking the pillow from Bodie's hands. He turned his partner to face him.

"Do you love me, Bodie?" It was true that as far as emotional manipulation went it wasn't particularly subtle, but then neither was the situation as he stole a furtive glance at the bedside clock.

Bodie sputtered and looked down, both his hands helplessly entwined with unresisting sheets. "'Course I do, sunshine."

"Then would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"Nothing Ray. It's personal." The words borne on Bodie's frustration cut into Doyle like a knife. Rarely in the years they had been partners did Bodie completely shut him out, and certainly never since they had become lovers.

"Fine." Doyle answered tight-lipped as he backed away.

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry sunshine. Please?" He reached a hand towards Doyle's ramrod-straight back and caressed the broad shoulder, reaching forward to fill his arms now with the angered man.

"Bodie, we have to have these men in our home for God knows how long. We have to work with them, eat with them and mostly we have to survive this. But I can't do that when you're acting this way. If there is a problem with the little blond Russian tell me."

Bodie sighed, stirring the hairs on Doyle's neck. "I can't. Please Ray."

Ray turned slightly into the big man's embrace, not losing contact, and stared into pain-filled blue eyes. "Ok, bad mission or bad affair?"

Bodie dropped his head, "Would you believe neither?"

"Then you weren't lovers?"

Bodie swallowed helplessly as he looked up into pits of sea green, "No, we were lovers."

"You loved him and he left you?" Doyle's patience was wearing thin. Getting information out of the reclusive man was like drawing teeth, yet still he continued. He pulled Bodie down to sit on the end of the bed with him.

Bodie looked down at their joined hands and shuddered, "Something like that. You're not going to let this go are you, Ray?"

Doyle shook his head solemnly and waited.

Long moments ticked by.

"It shocked me to see him still alive." Bodie was breathless and looking back into a painful memory which clouded his eyes. "He was a brilliant student of Physics in Cambridge. I was staying with my aunt just after I got back from Africa."

"And?"

Bodie's head snapped up, "You want all the sordid details then?"

Doyle nodded and kept his hands closed around his partner's, his lover's, and that alone gave Bodie the solid anchor he needed to fill in the details.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

CAMBRIDGE: 1970

As far as university cites went Cambridge had always conveyed a slightly garrulous air, not quiet as stuffy as Oxford. Still the dedicated students flocked to her higher walls of learning and spoke in revered, hushed tones. Those students who were likely to have friends assembled on the parklike grounds sharing everything from lunch to hugs.

Illya Kuraykin was an enigma. Set apart from the others, the prodigal child of Soviet Russia, with his cherubic face and dour disposition did not make friends. It wasn't a matter of not trying; he simply did not feel he could endanger the lives of innocents with his KGB masters watching so closely. Even if the friendships would melt a little of the forlorn ice that encircled his heart.

He sat under one of the large, old trees, the spring sun warm yet still weak enough to be nothing more than pleasant. His books lay on his lap and for once he allowed himself a moment's warmth to daydream. Even though he would be surely admonished for his lack of concentration later in the day by his Soviet masters, he still reflected somberly that this was probably one of the last few times in his life he could enjoy such freedom.

Freedom.

A word born on the loneliness of hope, and the hopeless adage of the truly lonely. What freedom could there be for him? What duty laid in wait in the next few weeks sent shivers down his back.

Oh yes, he would graduate Cambridge most likely in the top two per cent of the grade and maybe if his masters were satisfied they would allow him one brief trip back to the Sorbonne in France where he could at least feel as though he were part of the human race. But knowing as he did what was expected of him, he doubted that very much.

He already had is orders, "Within forty eight hours of your graduation, Comrade Kuraykin, you will return to Kiev. There you will be trained and you will serve a probationary period on one of our submarines. You will do your family proud." Even the carefully-veiled threat hinted at further pain and now he looked up into the spring sky, hope fading from him as surely as desire fled from those to be around him.

He dozed and felt unaccountably cold as a large shadow passed over him. He shuddered and sat up, picking leaves out of his golden hair.

The shadow moved and he looked up into a handsome face, bright blue eyes and dark hair with a sensual mouth. Illya moaned softly to himself and gathered the scattered books.

"You want something?" he finally asked.

The big man nodded, "Why do you always sit alone?" he asked softly, taking up the hard ground next to the slight blond.

"What does it matter?" he asked testily.

"Because you shouldn't be lonely."

"Really?" Illya asked dismissively collecting the remainder of his possessions and stowing them in a cheap and ugly backpack. "Who says I am."

Bodie looked down and then up again into the blue eyes, "Because I've seen that look on your face before my friend."

"I am not your friend." Illya stood hoisting the large bag onto his back.

"Have it your way. We go for drinks at six down at the "Sculls Bar." You're welcome to join us."

Illya stopped and turned back his face confused, "Why?"

Bodie shrugged, "Why not? Name's Bodie by the way."

"You're not a student here are you, Mr. Bodie?"

"No, I'm just staying a while with family."

"Oh." His voice very soft as he looked back into that face, so warm, so open and so young. It was a face that, for the rest of his waking life, would come back to haunt him and yet knowing this he turned back. "Illya, Illya Kuraykin," he said finally and walked away.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Doyle squeezed the hand before him, "So what happened, Bodie?"

"We ah fell in love, well I did at least," there was a bitter tone to the carefully controlled voice, "and after a few glorious weeks I joined the SAS."

"And he went back to Russia."

Bodie nodded.

"He was a fool." Doyle said unkindly under his breath. Bodie squeezed the joined hands.

"No, he didn't have a choice. The KGB watched him every move he would make and then every move of mine. He was afraid for his family back in Russia, what the State would do to them if he defected and we said goodbye just after he graduated."

"Oh," Doyle answered secretly pleased at the proud and defensive tone his partner took. "So all that being equal, why the animosity now? I would have thought you would be pleased to see him."

Bodie looked sharply up into implacable eyes and smiled softly, "No," he said, caressing the much-loved face before him. "The year before I joined CI5 my regiment was given a top secret mission to Russia. One of the more heavily-guarded gulags was holding Professor Constantine."

"The Professor Constantine, Nobel Prize winner?"

Bodie nodded, "We were sent in to liberate the man. The Soviet government had officially denied his existence within their ranks. Anyway, we arrived, all was well we even got the Professor out, and then I returned, sending Peters and Andrews with our pigeon."

"Illya was there?"

"He looked up at me with those big blue eyes and smiled so softly I did’nt see him pull the gun. When I did, he hesitated just that moment too long and I shot him, shoulder wound I guess but he went down."

"He betrayed you?"

Bodie nodded, large obscene tears on his cheeks, "He fired after me a couple of times, and missed."

"His aim must have improved," Doyle said thoughtfully.

"Huh?"

"I said his aim must have improved. His file showed him to be the UNCLE target champion for the past several years."

"He always did have a good steady arm," Bodie said in reverie.

Doyle smiled, reason lighting the green eyes, "So this man with a steady arm, who is very smart..."

"Topped his grade at Cambridge and his record is still not beaten," Bodie added softly, waiting to see where his lover would go with this.

"...Fell in a gulag, with a bullet in his shoulder and fired at your back missing?" he asked incredulously.

Bodie sagged and muffled a sob, "Yeah , that's about it sunshine."

"He let you go, Bodie. And unless I am seriously mistaken it cost him more than it cost you."

Bodie's head snapped up.

"What? You're kidding me right?"

Ray smiled and curled his fingers in the larger man's hand, "No I'm not. I think maybe you got it wrong."

"He betrayed me, Ray, pulled a gun and shot at me." Bodie’s voice rose several octaves in the room, his disbelief evident and accompanied with a hurt and shocked tone.

Doyle sighed and sat back, "Think about it love, what else could he do?"

"Anything but what he did."

"You're not thinking rationally, love," Ray soothed. "Russia is not the most forgiving of countries. He had family, yes?"

Bodie nodded.

"And WE know what they do to families. We have seen it ourselves, haven't we?"

Bodie nodded again, accepting the logic for the moment.

"Ok, he hesitated."

Bodie looked up sharply and launched off the bed. "Ray, you weren't there. He was not a trained killer."

"But he is now," Ray said softly, "And he probably was by the time you met up with him again."

"No." There was more force in the voice than Bodie intended and he hunched in anger at the thought.

"What was he then?"

"You saw him Ray. He was beautiful, gentle and so sad."

"You still love him, don't you Bodie?" Ray asked incredibly managing to keep the hurt tone from his own voice.

Bodie slumped by the window. "Yes." The voice very soft, very small and Doyle felt his world dissolve around him. He sat in silence, not daring to speak. And then Bodie turned and was on his knees by his side. "But I am not in love with him, Ray." He reached forward, tentative fingers caressing the broken cheekbone.

Doyle closed his eyes at the caress, his soft mouth parting. "Bodie."

"I have all I want right here, Ray." He leaned forward and captured his lover's lips in a soft kiss, pulling him close and carding his hand through his wild curls. "I won't jeopardize this for the world. Never," he promised as he held the smaller man tightly. "It's just that it still hurts a little."

"Only a little?" Ray caressed the strong back with open palms and felt very much as peace.

"Yeah." Bodie answered softly. "Only a little."

Doyle pushed back and landed a soft kiss on Bodie's nose, looking pointedly at the bed. "You...ah... think they are...um?"

Bodie laughed, " I hadn't thought of that."

"And if they're not, how do you think the American will react to us?" Doyle asked, his voice growing faint.

"Well if they're not lovers and Solo is straight, I am sure he accepts Illya for what he is and therefore will accept us."

Doyle bit his lip and wondered distractedly, not entirely certain of Bodie's analogy.