Ease and blithe spirit guided his footsteps. He affected the air of casual arrogance that was only ever the domain of one who truly belonged. It was a skill Pakoslav had learned early. People, no matter how obtuse always managed to sense an intruder.

The gunmetal corridors of UNCLE combined endlessly with each other and shamelessly Pakoslav merged with the steady throb of people who went to and fro about their business. Picking up pieces of conversations as he went, gave him all the ammunition he needed to pass unnoticed.

Snippets revealed that London HQ currently had a new team in from Sweden and that they were all, according to the gossiping secretaries blond and gorgeous and very European. Pakoslav smiled to himself as he turned around and walked back to the earlier checkpoint.

"Excuse me," he said in a flawless Swedish accent.

The attractive older woman looked up, her dark eyes displaying an inner beauty that only maturity could create. "How can I help you?" her accent refined and educated and he smiled.

"I am supposed to be in medical and," he shrugged and looked sheepish, "am lost."

She laughed, "Even the best trained field agent has appalling sense of direction in these offices." She rummaged in her desk drawer and pulled out a small map of the building. "Orientation pack." She smiled and laid it on her desk, "We should give all the foreign teams a copy. We're on level seven, which is communications, you want to be on level two, that's 3 floors above the parking garage where you came in. Medical is down the west corridor and you take the first left and then right."

Pakoslav frowned and peered intently at the map. She smiled and folded it up and pushed it into his hands. "Here, I can get another one from stores later."

"Thank you I feel so, how you say, stupid."

"Never mind," she said gently, "You best hurry. Doctor Walters is only in till eleven thirty tonight."

He leaned forward and took her hand in his own rubbing his thumb across her palm before bringing it to his lips and kissing gently. "Thank you."

She blushed.

Using the map Pakoslav made his way to the commissary and sat down with a cup of coffee as he studied the lay out of the hospital floor. There was an emergency lift that went directly to the underground car park for trauma cases and that came directly to a triage section. In order for him to make his exit from the ward he suspected Illya was held in would require him to go through triage and emergency and down the lift to his car. Alternatively there were several other options that should the need arise he could employ.

Allowing himself a moment of triumph he sipped his coffee in the heart of enemy territory as he watched the smug and complacent smiles of the agents coming down from duty. Again wondering as to why they survived when their agency pandered unnecessarily to their personal needs. Surely they should know that all soldiers were designed with one thing in mind. To kill or be killed, they were bred to die. No other purpose and yet here they were convinced that in the flawed world of democracy and privilege that they made a difference. He found them to be contemptible and spared no further thought to their demise.

He did however spare a thought for his compatriot. In his youth before Western Idealism destroyed him, Illya had been brilliant. More cunning, devious than any ten agents, he was, Pakoslav reflected a true warrior, one who would appreciate the final act that his one time compatriot would offer him. The freedom to die as a man, not as a puppet. Chained to a culture that challenged the very foundation of everything Russian. Pakoslav found he could contribute no blame to Illya for his current predicament. Spoiled by the Western doctrine, Illya now would pay the price for his ideological treason. He would be the American's quaintly called it 'terminated with extreme prejudice'.

Yet still this time he found no joy in his task. Never truly accepting the offered hand of friendship, never fully trusting that this slight enigmatic man could do anything other than betray him, he regretted his decision. Russia was flawed but with strong men it would grow again to be a world power of repute and fear. People would know that the only honest doctrine was communism and would eventually fall to her siren call. These creatures that flitted through life without a place, without knowing where they belonged was terrifying in the extreme and for a brief moment Pakoslav ached for the arms of Mother Russia.

In that moment he allowed the remembered pain to bubble to the surface. All too soon the section head of their division was terminated and for years Pakoslav vowed to avenge his death. Shattered and resolute in the same instance when he discovered how and who had killed his only true friend and why.

The catamite that was used to bait the hook was Illya, the one who drove the blade deep into his heart as he lay prone was Illya, the one who refused the honour of taking the place that was his by right - was Illya. And now vengeance and a sad longing fused to make the final act all that harder.

Had he have been a weaker man he would have wept, instead he stood and checked at his watch, folding the map away into his jacket pocket. With a long last look he stared hard into the faces of those who swelled around him, and felt no regret, no remorse, only for the man who must now meet his fate.

Tonight Illya would die.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Stone cold visions of empty walls and lonely doors assailed Napoleon's mind, he ran. For how long he did not know, but the breath that eeked from his lungs told him his time was nearly up. The ticking grew louder and no matter how hard he ran the door at the end of the hallway eluded him. As he came closer the further it was away and he cried out, shaken and shaking as he found himself in the arms of a man.

One he did not know in the dim light.

"Napoleon." The soft English voice was urgent as he began to shake him gently, all the while cradling him to his chest and speaking softly.

The American stilled in the embrace and sighed heavily, wiping a shaking hand over his eyes as he took in a steadying breath. "Ray?"

Concerned green eyes looked down into pools of liquid chocolate. Something vulnerable opened up in the American and then as quickly as it was revealed snapped shut again, locking the memory of the dream out along with the soothing caress of the man who now held him.

"Yeah. You had a bad one. You okay now?" Ray continued to soothe the American with long leisurely caresses.

"I think so." Solo pushed himself gently from the embrace and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"You often have bad dreams or just when Illya's in hospital?"

"No." Solo shook his head as he finger combed his hair into place. "Not even then. Something is most definitely wrong."

"With the drugs that you took for the pain?"

"No, at UNCLE. I've missed something."

"Possible, but I should think that," Ray squinted at the alarm clock on the side of the bed and groaned inwardly, "two a.m is not the best time to discuss it."

Solo stood up from the bed awkwardly and reached for the cane he was loathed to use.

"Now where are you going?" Ray asked.

"To check in, something is wrong."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Security detail, level one, we have an agent down, repeat we have an agent down. Priority call to Mr. Wallace." Cameron spoke into the small communicator attached to his lapel as he stared down at the broken form of his friend.

"What have you got?" Wallace's voice was a soothing baritone over the tiny speakers.

"Porter has been killed sir, his badge is missing."

"Repeat please?"

"Level one security maintenance sir, I've found Porter he's dead."

"How?"

Cameron stooped down and visually examined the crumpled form. "From the angle of his body sir, I would say broken neck."

"Seal the area, I'll be there in a moment."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Pakoslav stalked the corridors of the intensive care unit, the sweet thrill of impending death coursed through him as he walked towards the nurse's station.

She looked up, dark hair severely pulled back against her skull as she pinned him with a glare.

"Can I help you?" her tone, was officious and she clearly had no time to waste on such late night visitors.

"Yes, I hope so. My apologies but I have only just returned. May I ask how Mr. Kuryakin is?"

Sister Catrall put the sheaf of papers down she had been studying and turned her formidable gaze again on the man before her. "And might one ask who you would be?"

He smiled, charming as he took a step closer to the station and shot her at point blank range. "Death." He said quietly as her body crumpled to the floor in a bloody heap. On checking the treatment charts he easily located Illya's private room at the end of the ward.

Another nurse sat reading a book, a red cardigan draped primly around her shoulders as she sat the late duty with her charge. Another bullet coughed through the silencer and this nurse too slumped forward. He sighed, once she had been pretty, now dark rivers of blood flowed freely down her face.

He turned and checked the ward again, noting that the only patient in the area under twenty four-hour care was Illya.

The pale blond body, lay passive against the white sheets. Dark patches of blood stained through the pristine bandages as his chest rose slowly with the help of the respirator.

Pakoslav cringed as he checked the revolver again. Desire and despair intermingled as he steeled his resolve and moved closer to the bed, slowly he pulled back the sheets to look finally on the form that lay below. Almost without conscious thought he reached out and touched the slender body. So warm and still so alive despite the appalling lists of injuries. None of which would do permanent damage. He shook his head as he traced a line from the jaw down to Illya's throat. The eyes twitched under closed lids.

Pakoslav withdrew his hand quickly, aware for the first time that Illya too was aware of what was happening. Uncertain now he leaned over him, and replaced fingers with lips. The breathing quickened as did the blips on the machine monitoring brain activity. He stood up and smiled.

"I had always thought you to be so powerful Illya Nikotevich. And now I see." His hand stroked down from chest to flank and the monitor answered with a blip. "Such intellect, a strong mind in such a small frame." His words flowing in his mother tongue as he dared even further, his hand reached below the hospital gown and touched. Illya's body shuddered as if a cold wind reached him from beyond and Pakoslav increased the movement of his hand on the helpless form.

"You do see what I will do for you Millii Moy don't you? I cannot allow you to live, as my nemesis, my beloved adversary. You would do the same in my position." He withdrew his hand and soothed it through the long tresses of white gold hair. "Hush now, you know too much about me. Were we on the same side." Pakoslav smiled as he touched warm lips to the cooling flesh of Illya's temple. "As we once had been, then maybe, we could compromise. But here, now we cannot."

Illya's heart rate climbed as Pakoslav laid a warm hand on his chest and impudently stroked the soft skin. "Shhh, I promise you no pain. Once we were comrades, I will not let them destroy what is left of you."

Pakoslav stood up and covered Illya tenderly with the sheet as he cocked the gun, his lips moved against the pale temple. "I had thought you would understand Illyusha and would not fight me. You know the truth."

He stood and took one long last look down and placed the black silencer against Illya temple.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Napoleon stalked into the controller's office and stared into the grim faces of the executive staff. Mr. Wallace, Chief of security was a man in his mid forties. With an exceptional record as an agent but after an unfortunate accident where his partner was killed he retired from the field, and became head of security London. Solo knew him well and understood the depth of emotion when THRUSH killed his partner slowly.

Alexander Waverly chewed on the end of his pipe and looked up, his brows knitting together to almost obscure the old man's eyes. Even behind the wall that Waverly erected Solo knew instinctively that Illya was in trouble.

"Ah there you are Mr. Solo. Come in, sit down."

Napoleon nodded. "I was told that HQ is in a lockdown situation due to a breach. Might I assume that we suspect this to be Pakoslav Krasinskii?" Solo voice was calm and velvet smooth, betraying no emotion.

"Quiet right Mr. Solo. It would appear that Mr. Kuryakins reticence in our identification the body found in the warehouse was correct. Claude Jenkins no doubt, but not as you suspected Karasinskii."

"And we would know where he is right now?"

Wallace stepped forward. "Security detail found one of our agents in a cupboard."

Solo frowned and fixed Wallace with the cold stare he usually applied to THRUSH agents. "Do you want to explain how this happened?"

Waverly interjected, " A full enquiry will be launched later Mr. Solo, right now we need to determine Krasinskii's goal within UNCLE HQ and formulate a plan of action."

"With all due respect sir, I should think his goal is to destroy Illya and possibly UNCLE. Knowing his predilection for destruction."

"A bomb." Cowley said simply as he entered the formal briefing.

"So it would seem." Alexander intoned as he chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pipe.

"And my partner?" Napoleon asked coolly as he surveyed the room.

"Krasinskii must be stopped at all costs, Mr. Solo." Waverly answered.

"Aye well I have an agent in your infirmary whose death is not covered by the official secrets act." Cowley waded into the fray.

"Unfortunately whilst he is in UNCLE HQ, he comes under my jurisdiction George."

Solo stood up and paced.

"Wallace, have you sent a security team to sweep the garage?" Solo asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

"We have found nothing untoward."

"Then check the vehicles that were used in the raid." Solo answered very slowly and with great care. Napoleon's rage grew into an almost perceptible yet silent presence in the room.

Wallace paled, the thought obviously not occurring to him. He was on the communicator to his men immediately.

"In the meantime, I am sure that Betty in security control would be able to determine which if any security camera's were activated by our man." Solo continued.

"Or deactivated." Doyle answered finally, cold fire lighting his green eyes.

"Aye." Cowley answered.

"It would seem to me," Solo clasped his hands behind his back, "that if Krasanskii had brought explosives of any nature into UNCLE even with a stolen ID he would have set off the sensors immediately. Therefore, a bomb, should there indeed be one, will most likely be on one of the parking levels or street level access for agents."

"That would hardly destroy UNCLE." Waverly spoke as he watched the sleek dark agent prowl the small confines and felt very sorry for the man he hunted.

"Ah, but it would sir. UNCLE thrives on anonymity, to detonate a large explosive device outside one of our cover entrances would oblige us to answer some difficult questions in the media. Either way it would seriously hamper our ability to operate in the covert situations."

"Besides which, a bomb outside may well be an afterthought to cause panic, an opportunist moment to be sure, his real intent is here within UNCLE." Waverly answered.

"Bearding the lion in his den?" Cowley theorised.

Betty entered with a small portfolio of photo's that tracked the progress of who they now knew to be Krasanskii and Solo swore softly.

"Open Channel I."

Wallace picked the communicator up, "Channel I open."

"Sir we have found a tracking device attached to the underside of the ops van."

"Yes and?"

"Nothing else, however Cummins thinks the transmitter is a strange device which could well be a trigger for a remote system. The boys from the lab are going over it now."

"Good, keep me informed." Wallace turned back to the room.

"Mr. Wallace, full security details to be dispatched to all cover entrances and to the parking garage. I want the destination for that tracking device pinpointed." Waverly glared at the chief of security. "Mr. Solo I suggest you and Mr. Doyle check on your respective partners post haste."

Solo nodded and moved as fast as his injured leg would allow.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

It was the smell that woke Bodie from his sleep. Something about the smell bothered him and he sighed as he rolled over. The warm body that usually lay wrapped around his own was gone and he sniffed again.

Antiseptic.

He moaned against the crashing pain in his skull.

Hospital.

He moved experimentally and found all limbs worked as they were supposed to. He smiled and drifted off again.

The smell was back.

Cordite.

Strong and tangy in the air.

No sound, silencer. Instantly he was awake and pulled on his jeans.

He heard sounds, a dull murmur of what seemed to be another language speaking softly from down the hall.

He checked his service revolver and soft footed crept down the hallway towards the sound. Eyes scanned the area found bloodstains on the pretty night nurse.

More blood pooled from under the door of the ICU and Bodie stopped horrified at what he saw.

A blonde man stood over the prone form of Illya. Pakoslav's hand dipped cruelly under the sheet to fondle at the lax and soft genitals as he continued to talk.

Russian. That was the language the man was talking to Illya in, Russian. As if sensing another presence he turned and scanned the hallway, shrugged slightly and went back to his leisurely exploration of lllya's body. Hands were replaced with soft lips as he stirred the long blond hair around Illya's ear.

The long silencer that capped the black gun fixed into place as the man leaned back and checked the clip and pressed it gently against Illya's temple.

A noise, Bodie needed a noise as he steadied himself and took careful aim.

Pakoslav turned this time and saw the man who had him in his sights and smiled. The handsome face turned into a richter grimace of cold hatred as he stared in contempt at the feeble man.

His finger twitched on the trigger and Bodie screamed as he fell to the floor.

Doyle sagged against the door his revolver in his hand as he took in the scene in an instance and on pure instinct shot.

The impact of Doyle's bullet spun Pakoslav around a look of amazement on his face as the bullet took him cleanly in his shoulder, the hand that held the gun opened and Pakoslav fell to the ground as darkness took him.

Doyle wrapped a comforting arm around Bodie's shoulder and hugged him firmly as he guided him to his feet and smiled.

"Sorry." Bodie mumbled as he buried his face in Doyle's mop of soft curls and held on until the tremble subsided.

"No need sunshine. Pure reflex." Doyle admitted as he helped Bodie back to his room.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Napoleon Solo stood in the doorway and watched the CI5 agents move to the solitude of Bodie’s room. His eyes took in the charnel scene before him, the stench of blood and gunpowder almost overwhelming as he walked directly to the door of ICU.

Illya laid quietly, his vital signs registered normal as he slept. It was a sleep Napoleon prayed would be over soon and an ache opened in his chest.

Rage replaced pain when he understood why the sheets were re-arranged as he covered his partner over again. He gently patted the cool sheets into place as he ran his hand across Illya highbrow and bent to lay a kiss on each eye before he stood up.

Pakoslav lay in a crumpled heap on the floor as Solo pulled a chair forward and stretched his injured leg.

"I know you're alive, and I know you can hear me Pakoslav." Solo said quietly as he watched the eyes flicker open.

"Not quiet what I had in mind for this evening." Pakoslav answered as he sat himself upright and held onto the bleeding shoulder.

"No, not quiet what I expected." Solo's smile was cold and feral.

"You may have won the day Mr. Solo but I assure you the KGB will spend a great deal of time and money to have me returned."

"I'm counting on it."

Pakoslav frowned, "I suppose that a doctor, given the location, would be out of the question."

Napoleon smiled.

"Ah so I am to bleed to death on the floor of an infirmary, I am sure there is an irony there somehow." Pakoslav chuckled and gasped for breath whilst Solo remained unmoved.

"In a very short time you will be attended to. And I have no intention of killing you or letting you die here." Somehow the reassurance sent cold shivers along Pakoslav's spine.

"Very wise, an international incident would be most difficult."

"You overestimate yourself or at least your self worth. I am curious however, as to why you choose to assassinate Illya."

"I knew he wasn't dead and thought he deserved better than this." Pakoslav looked around the room.

"Ah yes, the Communistic dread of Western decadence. That we value life?" Solo smiled. "You have every reason to feel secure Pakoslav, but tell me do you?"

Pakoslav drew back and frowned. "I don't understand."

"Oh but my dear adversary I am sure you do. You who were omnipotent in life, do you feel so secure now? Are you so absolutely certain your fellow country men will take you in with open arms?"

Pakoslav lifted his chin. "Yes."

"Good." Solo crooned, "It will be a pleasure to break you."

"You may try."

"No I will succeed, you see Illya taught me particularly well, and I can assure you, he has lost none of his skill."

Pakoslav trembled as he heard footsteps approach.

"If anything," Solo was at his most feral and cold, "UNCLE appreciates the abilities of such a talented man." Solo stood as he motioned the security team into the room. "Take him to security level three."

The security officer nodded and looked concerned when he saw the blood pooling between Pakoslav's fingers.

"Send him a medic," Solo said quietly, "But make sure he is not given any painkillers and leave the bullet in."