Dark tendrils of fear ignited in Solo’s stomach as he watched his partner moved onto another gurney. The blond head was elevated as the medics began to remove the torn clothing with scissors and hands, gloved fingers pushed into delicate tissue as Illya was turned and the medic shook his head. Blankets were laid across the prone man and tucked securely around him. The endless moments of suspense when he could see the thin chest rise and fall with breath and the relief when he knew beyond doubt that his partner was alive were gone. He saw the fixed stares of the medics; the urgent demands as he pushed his pained body forward. The steady throb in his leg marked a dread counterpoint to his fear.

Illya lay on his back, shirt ripped away as the medics prodded the bruised flesh, the ribs clearly broken and the dark stain of blood on Illya’s lips marred the ethereal beauty with the terrible reality.

It was the stillness with which his partner lay that bothered him, not the sight of blood, nor the purpling skin. Blue eyes closed as if in sleep and Napoleon fought back the sob that threatened.

With aching slowness Napoleon made his way over to the back of the ambulance. His mind registering the fatality of movement and the abortive attempts the medics made in his direction and yet with a hand that barely shook he knocked them aside, snarling in his wake to limp to the side of his partner.

“Mr. Solo!” Waverly’s voice sounded urgently in his ear, and although he turned he did not slow his process.

His heart constricted as he looked upon the pale crumpled form, too often injured and always prepared to go back into the fray when it was demanded of him. Usually well before he had had a chance to heal completely. This time at least, Napoleon decided, they would have some time to themselves. A chance to put the hurt behind, to seal the moments of madness away into that tiny locked box of secrets no man could know fully and stay sane.

He wanted them to be back to normal, where they felt at ease, that home was home and that to look over their shoulders was only to see if the other followed, but not this paranoia that plagued their days. Not this horror that stalked them beyond reason, they needed to be people again. They needed to learn the value of self. And just once to tell righteous indignation to go take a long slow walk somewhere and leave them in peace.

The medic searched for a vein in Illya’s arm, cursing as the pulse under his fingers slowed. He cursed more as he was pulled away from the wounded agent by the dark haired fury of his partner.

“You’re hurting him.” Solo snarled, all pretence of genteel discretion gone from his voice.

“Aye.” Came the thick Scottish brogue of the medic, “And I’ll hurt him some more if you want him to live.”

Solo stopped and looked between the medic and his partner, his hand reaching instinctively forward to push back the tumble of golden hair that was blood streaked to rest against a bruised cheek.

“Alright.” Solo answered, his eyes never once leaving the medics face. “But I go with him.”

“I never doubted it Mr. Solo.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Cowley took in the scene of the agents at the ambulance and shook his head sadly before coming to stoop by his own men. Bodie lay on the ground, sprawled inelegantly across the bitumen road as Doyle hovered close by.

“Head wound?” the old man asked as he pulled Doyle to one side and allowed the emergency team to tend to the fallen man.

“Yes, not serious though, they want to take him to hospital. More likely shock and concussion.”

“You will have to go in the ambulance with him Doyle, they are taking him to UNCLE infirmary in London. We can’t risk a general hospital.”

“Too many innocents, sir.” Doyle answered.

“Aye and I cannot afford the security detail.”

Cowley limped forward and stood by Alexander Waverly, as Bodie was stretchered into the back of the ambulance.

“How’s Illya?”

Waverly shook his head slightly and reached into his jacket pocket for his pipe. “Critical. We don’t have the reports yet. And Mr. Bodie?”

“Concussion, shock. Lucky he fell on his head.”

“Your Mr. Doyle looks rather stressed.”

Cowley smiled, “Aye well they have been partnered for a long time.”

“Too long?”

“I think it would be potentially fatal if I were to separate them.”

Waverly lit his pipe and thought for a moment, “Surely they could operate on an individual basis.”

Cowley chuckled, “Aye well I was actually concerned for my own welfare.”

“Oh I see, rather like our Mr. Solo and Kuryakin.”

“Yes.” Cowley nodded as fell into step beside Alexander. “I had noticed.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Pakoslav Krasinski wound down the window of the Ford Escort and frowned. The small device in his hand registering the conversation in minute detail and still he frowned.

Solo was down and injured, too worried about his partner to be seriously taken as a threat at the moment. The CI5 agents never could match him, and Doyle on his own was laudable, and yet still he frowned.

He watched astonished with the speed of the recovery team and the tender ministrations to the agents. In the field his own people would be met with a swift bullet and a letter of condolences from some nameless secretary. But here, it was as if they cared.

Perplexed he listened till the ambulance drew away. He knew his place, expendable, expedient and trained to do what many men were incapable of doing. He enjoyed his work, knew he was good to beat the best but not like this, not like some cur in the night. Kuryakin deserved better than that, a quick death; an honorable end to his one time comrade, but never this.

To be locked in a sterile room and pandered too, to become a man he wasn’t and never could be again terrified the Russian and he knew too well Illya’s own fear in that regard. Well at least he thought he knew. They had both been trained by the best and the White Wolf and the Ice Prince were by nature cold.

They were the men who had no place in the sun, the darkness called them with her siren song of despair and they knew better than to ignore her summons. UNCLE had destroyed a brilliant career of a man who was once mentor and adversary. If nothing else Pakoslav decided he would give his beloved enemy the honor of dying as a man.

He wound the window up and flicked a switch on the console, the tracking device placed under the op’s van earlier leading him directly to UNCLE London, and with it all the security information to allow him safe progress into her hallowed halls.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Three hours in surgery and Solo looked down at his watch again, his position had not changed, and he sat quietly in a chair outside the operating theatre deep inside UNCLE London.

The only concession he had made to his own pain was the fresh bandage and soft chair that he now sat in. A mug of coffee sat untouched on the small table by his left hand as he concentrated on his revenge.

Doyle saw the dark circles under the American’s eyes, understood too well the pain he was going through and offered quiet support as he sat in the lounge opposite. Bodie did indeed have a concussion and after seeing him off to sleep, Ray grabbed a quick shower. He had had to borrow clothes and after eating took up the long vigil with the American. And realized that he had begun to pray to the god who looked after all enforcement agents, that the strong man who had captured the hearts of two equally strong and worthy men in his short life, would survive this latest pain.

Another hour passed before the doctor emerged in his blue hospital scrubs. Solo was instantly on his feet, as he stood impassive.

“Please, Mr. Solo, sit down.” The doctor pulled a chair forward to sit near the American, Doyle moved closer, making sure he was in Solo’s line of sight should he need support.

Reluctantly Napoleon sat down, the fear a body blow as he suspected the worse.

“Your partner is alive.” The surgeon was used to dealing with stressed enforcement agents as he gave the most important information almost immediately and certainly without prompting.

“Thank you.” Solo breathed his stomach unfurling as the painful knot eased.

“I’m Doctor Lewis. Mr. Kuryakin has sustained serious injuries. The fractured ribs tore lung tissue and caused bilateral hemothoraxes, there are other internal injuries. His kidneys are badly contused and there is blood in his urine. His condition is being closely monitored, and you should be able to see him shortly. He will still be under the anesthetic. He also has a fractured collarbone and wrist on the left side where he landed, and a concussion.”

Solo paled at the list of injuries and instinctively Doyle moved forward his hand a comforting and warm weight on Napoleon’s shoulder.

“Will he be able to return to work?” Solo asked quietly, the pain in his leg increasing by degrees.

“Oh yes, provided of course there are no secondary injuries. He will need to give the ribs a chance to heal properly. We are using some new techniques that will speed the process but still it will be three weeks before he can go back to work and another nine before we certify him for field ops.”

“How long will he have to stay in hospital?” Doyle asked his hand never leaving Solo’s shoulder.

“It’s too soon to make a prognosis, but all being well I would cautiously suggest a week. He cannot fly of course till the lung tissue has healed.”

Doyle reached across and shook the doctor’s hand as he stood up.

“Mr. Solo, the nurse will come out and get you shortly. Ordinarily I would not even consider letting you in, but you need to rest as well and I doubt I could get you to leave here until you had seen your partner for yourself.”

Solo realized rather belatedly his manners and stood awkwardly to shake the doctor’s hand and sat down quickly.

“After you’ve seen Illya, will you let me take you home?” Doyle asked softly as he crouched by Napoleon’s chair.

“Since it’s the best offer I’ve had all day, I am loath to decline it.”

Ray smiled, “Was that a yes?”

Solo shook his head, “There is an apartment not far from here which is a safe house, I think,” Solo straightened his tie and pushed his hair back into place, “that given the circumstances we should stay there.”

“Good idea. I’ll go back to CI5 and grab a couple of changes of clothes, you have things there already?” Ray looked down pointedly at the ruined suit.

“ I can requisition some clothes from the stores.”

“Bodie’s stuff will fit you I’ll bring a change back with me.”

“How is Bodie?”

Ray smiled, “Got a huge lump on his skull and some shock, he’ll be back pestering us in the morning.”

“I’m glad.”

“You and me both, mate.” Ray stood up and eased the cricks out of his long legs.

“You two been partnered how long now?”

“Years.”

“Yeah us too, it doesn’t get easier does it?”

“No, but then that’s what we get paid for. I think that’s your nurse.” Ray smiled as he turned to look at the pretty brunette as she smiled shyly at both men.

“Mr. Solo?”her broad Midlands accent, made her, if possible seem sweeter.

“Why hello there.” Solo answered as he approached the young girl, his smile charming and sincere.

Ray shook his head. “Meet you back here in an hour.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Solo donned the white robe and mask with slow painful movements as he was escorted into the ICU. Illya lay almost bloodless against white linen sheets. Large swatches of bandage covered his torso, his arm and shoulder bound tightly and blood seeped through from the surgical sutures. An armory of equipment surrounded him making surreal beeping noises into the quiet room. Illya’s breath came via the respirator and his eyes flickered back and forth in REM sleep, the rest of his body was as quiet and cold as the grave. Reaching forward, Napoleon touched the cold flesh and recoiled unable to believe the small and fragile form was in fact his partner.

The nurse hovered at the edge of vision, and sensing rather than knowing she approached and touched him on the shoulder.

“Sir. I can only give you a few moments. Mr. Kuryakin needs his rest.”

“Why is he so still?” Napoleon asked, knowing full well the answer but somehow he needed the reassurance of the young woman so he too could find some rest.

“The doctors have him in a drug induced coma; there are so many wires and tubes sir, that if he struggles against it, he will cause himself more injury. So he is asleep.”

“Can he hear me?”

The nurse smiled and pointed up to the monitors, two machines echoed the life processes of his partner.

“That one is for the heart, and the other is for brain activity. He won’t regain voluntary muscle control for a couple of days yet, but if you speak to him and watch the monitor you’ll know if he can hear you.”

Napoleon moved forward again, lowering himself into the single chair the nurse pushed at him before retreating.

“Oh tovarisch, why must it be you who always gets hurt?” Napoleon wrapped Illya’s hand inside his own and mindful of the IV feeds, brought it to his lips and kissed.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

It was amazing, Doyle reflected, how much work you could achieve in an hour. Since leaving UNCLE H.Q, he had reported back to Cowley, grabbed a bag of clothes, including a change for his partner and was back in time to see Solo emerge from beyond the swing doors. His handsome features etched in lines of fatigue and worry, his body slumped from pain and anguish and yet still he stayed upright, his anger and thirst for revenge a palpable in the small waiting room.

“Is there food at this safe house?” Doyle asked as he followed the American.

Solo stopped and looked around, shaking himself. “Ah, do you imagine Illya could survive without a well stocked pantry?”

“Probably not.” Doyle answered catching the first faint glimmer of amusement in Solo’s warm chocolate eyes.

“It’s just as well then that they didn’t end up together.”

“London would suffer a famine.”

Solo chuckled, “And I wouldn’t have had a pig headed pain in the arse partner.”

“Whom you happen to love.” Doyle whispered quietly.

Wearily Solo nodded, “With all my heart.”

“Guess that makes it safe for me to stay with you alone tonight then.” Doyle countered trying to keep the levity into the voice until at least he got the American into a warm bed with painkillers.

“Hardly.” Solo breathed as he straightened a little and smiled.

“I heard the rumors, surely you must be kidding.”

“Napoleon Solo does not joke about such things, and the rumors were true.”

Doyle opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay try this then, I thought you preferred blondes.”

“Blue eyed Russian ones.” Solo answered and clutched the wall, the world swayed slightly. He was grateful when Doyle put his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close lending strength as he got to his car.

“And you?” Solo asked as he battled with the seat belt.

“Me?” Doyle tried to refocus his mind on the previous conversation as he tooled the escort out of the car park passed the security detail and through the sensors.

“Yes. Since we have been discussing my sexual proclivities, I thought it only fair to discuss yours.”

Doyle blushed.

“Ah.” Solo smiled as he stretched out his injured leg. “I thought so.”

“Thought what?”

“Sleeping with men is not a normal occupation for you is it Ray?”

“No.” Doyle’s jaw clenched as he followed the directions he was given by the dispatcher.

“Bodie a first or an only?”

“Only. Never wanted another man.”

“Nice to know.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Solo laughed. “There was a time that I would sleep with just about anyone. Male or female didn’t bother me.”

“So what happened?”

“After I left the army… ”

“Army? You were in the army?” Doyle nearly collided with the side-wall of the underground carpark they had driven onto.

“I think I already had that conversation with your partner. Yes, I was in the army, the CIA recruited me shortly after I got home and then I was approached by UNCLE.”

“CIA?”

“Didn’t care for their tactics.”

“So how did that make you change your mind?”

“UNCLE is a good organization, the very best, and whilst they don’t suffer the lingering homophobia that most of the US forces do, I considered it prudent to curb some of my more base desires.”

“Makes sense.”

“We park over there.” Napoleon pointed to an empty parking space behind a wire cage.

“Penthouse?”

“Of course. As I said, until recently I was UNCLE’s golden child.”

“From what I’ve seen and heard you still are. The young recruits in the commissary when I was waiting for you mentioned the great Solo and Kuryakin. Seems you two have quite a reputation.”

“One must have a hobby.” Solo laughed.

“Indeed.” Doyle swung the overnight bags over his shoulders and locked the car, coming around to offer Solo a hand to stand as the color drained from his face. “They give you painkillers for that?” Ray looked down at the steadily seeping bandage around the American’s leg.

“Don’t take painkillers.”

“Well, tonight you do.”

“You don’t have to stay Ray. I will be alright.”

“Lovely, got meself assigned to you by the Cow, so you’ll have to put up with me.”

“Wonderful, just don’t coddle me and we’ll get on fine.”

“I can see you and Bodie have a lot in common.”

“What you drive him nuts as well when he’s sick?”

Ray laughed as he stepped out into the hallway, the plush carpet and muted tones very elegant as Solo pushed the fob and keys into his hand. “Constantly.”

Solo stopped and looked at the Englishman, “Oh, by the way, do you snore?”

“Not that I know of why?” Ray pushed the door open with his foot and caught the evil glint in Solo’s eyes.

“Only one bed.”

Doyle dropped the bags in the foyer and sighed. “Great.”

Ray took in the surroundings and wondered again if he was with the right agency. The large living areas with its marble fronted fireplace, the huge kitchen and down the hall towards the bedroom with its soft carpet and muted colors.

“Got any vacancies at UNCLE?”

Solo limped towards a lounge chair and pulled of his tie and shoes.

“Unfortunately, always. We can’t keep the enforcement teams up to capacity.”

“That dangerous?”

“Mostly. Lot of people burn out as well, lots of injuries. When was the last time you buried a friend in the squad?”

Doyle found his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on. “Nearly six months ago, good friend. Left a wife and kids and a Labrador.”

“And his name was?”

“Cookie.”

“See last month we buried four of our own from the agency, one from New York and I can barely remember his name.”

Doyle frowned. “Maybe I’ll recant the thought.”

“Good choice, what you do is dangerous. In fact as far as local enforcement goes with a limited budget I’ve not had the pleasure of working with better. But, there is no upside to working with UNCLE.”

“None at all?”

“Well,” Solo smiled, “There are some perks. And I enjoy what I do, it’s just not a job I’d suggest to anyone else.”

“So how do you recruit?”

“I don’t, the Command does. What Illya and I have is unusual, not because we are both men, but because we confronted ourselves and decided it was worth the effort. Several of the other teams have an inter-dependency that your psychiatrist would have a field day with.”

“We get that in CI5 as well, its called team work.”

“No I don’t think you understand. We go beyond a team requirement. I’ve seen agents test each others food in the commissary to keep each other safe, when there was no danger.”

“Against poisoning? In the real world we call that paranoia.”

“In our world we declare that paranoia is a perfectly acceptable form of defense.”

“Touché. You hungry?”

“Not especially.”

“Good, cause there’s not much here. Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll get dinner underway.”

Solo levered himself up from the chair and swayed dangerously.

“You need some help?” Doyle asked as he approached Solo.

“No, I’m fine.”

Doyle looked down at the wreck of Napoleon’s clothing and winced when he saw that the wound was still bleeding.

“No you’re not, but you will be. Fortunately for you I topped the class in first aid.”

“Lucky me.” Solo growled as his leg finally gave way and he sat back down heavily.

Ray pulled the footstool over to the large chair and disappeared down the hall only to re-emerge a few moments later with a dish of warm water and a towel. In the background Napoleon could hear the bath tub filling and the faint scent of wintergreen wafted through the apartment.

After laying the towel on the stool he carefully lifted Solo’s leg onto the cloth cut the torn suit pants. Solo winced as the expensive fabric was ripped.

Long cool fingers eased the cloth away from the laceration and gently inspected the area.

The tanned skin had turned a sickly green around the laceration; the black thread of the sutures tore at the proud skin.

“You’re not going to bath with that.” Ray shook his head.

“Have a heart Ray, I’m filthy.” Napoleon leaned his head back, pain and fatigue lining his handsome features as he looked down into concerned jade eyes.

“I guess we can manage it. But it would mean that you’d have to accept my help.”

“Ah, can’t wait to get your hands on my body.”

Ray shook his head. “Incorrigible.” Ray stood and walked back down the hall, shutting off the tap and came back with a first aid kit and a plastic bag.

“If we wrap the plastic over the wound and then put a bag over your leg we should be able to get you into the bathtub. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“There is of course a condition.”

Solo frowned, “Isn’t there always?”

“First the antibiotics and then painkillers before you go to bed, agreed?”

“Agreed.” Solo answered somewhat reluctantly.

“Good.”

A few moments later Solo decided that this bath would probably live in his memory as the best bath of all times. Every part of his body ached and despite his reluctance to give himself over to a strange man’s care, the reassuring and steady grip of Ray Doyle was much needed, and much appreciated. He left his leg hooked onto the side of the tub as the warm water soaked into the tired muscles.

And as the door snicked closed and he began to wash in earnest, all the pain and grief over the last few hours came bubbling to the surface. He buried his face in his hands as the tears washed down and tore a single strangled sob from him. He ran his hands along the side of the tub and closed his eyes, remembering Illya’s splashing him the last time they took a bath together and the soft gentle love making that followed before Illya seduced him with an intensity he had doubted he could survive.

The shock of the pale skin, battered and bruised, lying naked under the sheet in the hospital ward made his stomach knot and his hands clench in fists of rage. Without doubt he knew that he would hunt Pakoslav Krasinskii down and kill him that in his world there would be no mercy.

Always able to keep his feral and sadistic streak under control he had no such qualms in unleashing it now. A plan to undo the man was brewing and he smiled coldly into the vision of the death that he would deliver to his enemy.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Ray stopped in the hallway and heard the single muffled cry that tore at his heart. It was always difficult, sometimes nigh impossible to understand what they went through, the feelings of isolation, the despair and the fear all roiled into one.

But above all it was the loneliness and ache that was inspired when the only man who knew you well enough to see you cry, and not consider you weak, was himself in peril. Soft footed, Doyle went back to the kitchen to allow Solo the time to mourn for what he had nearly lost.

Whether out of respect, or common knowledge or understanding Ray could not quite deduce- all he knew was that he needed to be with the dark haired American agent. Needed to stay with him tonight and care for him. Partly he reasoned it was because of his need to not remember Bodie’s slumped form on the ground at the back of the ambulance. He did not want to see the blood that streaked the high forehead or the shell- shocked glare of the glazed blue eyes.

Tonight he needed someone to look after, and whether by fate or misfortune Solo was in need.

Ray stopped and scoured the cupboards again as he looked for things to go into the omelet and when he thought he had spent enough time staying away, he returned to the bathroom door and hesitantly knocked.

“Yeah?”

“You alright in there?”

“Fine, thank you. Could do with a hand to get up though.” If possible the American voice flushed with embarrassment and Ray smiled as he opened the door.

Even wet, and barely able to stand Napoleon Solo was still a picture of sartorial elegance, his dark eyes sparkled as he tried to maneuver into a more comfortable position. The smooth and well-defined tanned chest that gave way to slim hips and long well muscled legs made Ray blush in turn. Hooking a towel from the rack Ray came close to the American and wrapped the cloth around him as Solo leaned on his shoulders, their faces only inches apart.

A long silence engulfed the tiny room as finally Solo leaned back and smiled, taking the offered arms to get out of the slippery tub.

“Something smells good.” Solo noticed the discomfit and changed the subject as he wrapped a long green satin robe about his body and with help stepped into pajama pants.

“It’s a frittata. Not a lot left in the cupboard.”

“Is it nearly ready?”

“Yeah. A couple of minutes.” Ray opened the door and went back to wrap a secure arm around Solo’s waist as he helped him back into his chair. “I’ll need to redress the wound before we go any further. You up to that?”

Solo eased his leg back onto the footstool and watched as the plastic was stripped away along with the very attractive plastic bag. The wound had stopped weeping and Ray applied an antiseptic cream to it and wrapped it securely.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome. I’ll get dinner.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Pakoslav drove his late model car down passed the security sensors of UNCLE London, down through the guards on duty and into the carpark assigned for medical personnel.

With little effort he wound himself from out behind the wheel, locked the car with casual arrogance of those that truly belonged and strode forward to the small underground elevator.

Once inside he purloined a security badge from a hapless agent, who now slept the long sleep in the bottom of a cleaning closet.

He stopped and looked for a floor plan. Unable to find one he shook his head and ducked into an empty office as he loaded his gun and checked the hypodermic in his pocket.

No need for gloves only directions as he strode out again looking for the infirmary and Illya Kuryakin.