He had never known what it was that made him stay in the squad. He could never even begin to guess at the compulsion that was his life, and yet he stayed. Desired to stay and there were times he questioned his reason. Tonight would be one that would live in his mind for a very long time. The vision enough to invade his dreams, haunt his thoughts and perhaps even sour the explosive mix of justice and duty that so often appalled him. Cordite hung in the air, the acrid bitter tang that could never be forgotten, like the blood that had already began to sour and clot worked on his mind and burrowed down into his senses, till he could never forget. He had seen more than any man had a right to see in peace or in war. And yet he stayed, and watched with pained eyes as Bodie rocked silently on the bed. Anger having washed over him till he railed brokenly about his own shortcomings, his own inability to protect and serve. To be the face of good in the lawlessness of evil that had stalked them for so long.

And still Ray Doyle stayed. He reached forward and gently pulled the larger man into his arms, the fine trembling of his body dissolving as he felt the strong heart beat against his chest. Knew that the flesh he touched was warm and alive and only this sustained him.

Somewhere from his own torment Bodie saw and recognised the signs and almost belatedly returned the embrace gaining and giving strength with each gentle caress and exhaled breath.

“Thought I’d lost you.” Ray spoke softly into the head that rested against his chest. “Saw him with the gun and you standing there in your bare feet.”

“I froze Ray.” There was shame and self-loathing in the strong voice.

“We all do.”

“You never have.”

“Yes I have.”

“When?” Bodie leaned back and frowned.

“About twelve minutes ago when I saw Pakoslav line you up with his gun and you stared at the barrel like a scared rabbit.”

“You shot.”

“I could have got the shot off earlier, Christ Bodie, what if I hadn’t? What were you thinking?”

“That I couldn’t let him kill Illya.”

“And I am grateful for it.” Solo’s voice dropped from the doorway to Bodie’s hospital room. “Sorry to intrude.” He leaned heavily against the cane.

“S’okay. Is Illya alright?” Ray asked.

“Yes, the docs in with him now, no damage. Pakoslav on the other hand might be a bit uncomfortable for a while.”

“Pity, I thought I’d killed him.”

“No.” Solo answered with malice. “There are discharge papers to be signed for Bodie, and the car is waiting outside to take you back to the suite.”

“Being dismissed are we?” Bodie forced a smile as he stood up and collected his things.

“In a way. HQ is still in a lockdown, we haven’t fully traced the device that Pakoslav used on the command vehicle.” Solo explained.

“Might still be a bomb in the building?" Ray clarified as he picked up Bodie’s bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“We have security going over the tapes now, all non essential personal have been sent on to the secondary command centre, we’ll sweep the building but it could take some time. In the meantime you’d be better off at the safe house.”

“Not home?” Bodie frowned.

“No, Pakoslav knew the address, there’s a chance that the remote device could be used to trigger a bomb at that address as well, since his vendetta was against both Illya and myself.”

“Logical.” Ray nodded.

“So in the meantime you have the VIP guest suite.” Solo smiled as he stepped back from the door and pinned a visitors ID tag on Bodie.

“Lucky us, might I assume then that you’re staying here for a while?”

“Yes Bodie, I think Pakoslav and I should have a little chat. It seems his government is very keen to have him back.”

Ray blanched, “You can’t be serious, not after what he has done.”

“Diplobloodymatic immunity.” Bodie cursed.

“Yeah, lucky for us we don’t recognise diplomatic immunity in these cases.” Solo’s smile was feral as he limped down the corridor. “I’ll see you two later. Oh, by the way.”

Bodie turned a little too quickly and leaned on his partner for support. “Yeah?”

“Murphy was released from intensive care about an hour ago, he’s expected to be sent home in a couple of weeks. You can visit him tomorrow if you like.”

For the first time in days Bodie smiled, he’d always liked the Smurph. “And his wife and daughter?”

“Under the protective care of UNCLE they’ll be returning home in the morning now that we have Pakoslav under lock and key.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Pakoslav Krasinskii, aka Christian Langford, and code name the White Wolf laughed. The sound of his voice brittle as it broke against the cold stonewalls and fell in pieces about him with the last vestige of his resolve and sanity.

Sixteen years he had fought the unholy war, sixteen years he had been their pawn, their puppet and he laughed again at the inanity of the situation. He had underestimated his opponents, had believed righteously to the point of religious zeal that his point of view was correct, that the KGB would inevitably win. That what he was doing for humanity was far greater than what the world would remember him for. He laughed again the bullet still lodged in his shoulder sending waves of pain and acid fire through his body as he straightened against the wall.

Solo was good. Grudgingly he admitted it and felt with his demise the decadent and so called decent West was in good hands. Too good perhaps for their tastes and wondered briefly how history would view Napoleon Solo and his role in the U.N.C.L.E.

He stilled for a moment, the laughter soured in his throat when he remember the other one. Illya had once offered him the hand of friendship and he had caste it down with the distaste of a true aesthetic. How could this beautiful child possibly be his equal, seeing him only as a whore to the cause, he had pushed him away and yet from the smallest cut, he made the cruellest wound. With the soft smiles and arctic eyes that frosted the soul of a man before he sent him to hell. With hands as sensitive and long as they were large and deadly. With all that he was Pakoslav admired the child. His senior agent, his superior, his nemesis and in that the only man truly capable of destroying him.

Perhaps that was why he had always played chance with the sweet young blonds; perhaps he had tried to purge that image from his mind, from the very existence of humanity because…Pakoslav paused again…because Illya haunted him. Every waking moment, in dreams so sweet and erotic they had him begging and stilled his breath before he woke with the name clamped against lips that would not betray the name, and yet still he knew without contradiction this child had destroyed him.

And yet as Illya had lain in that bed, soft and vulnerable, as he held the life within his hands he had delayed in the fete-de-complie and Pakoslav knew he was doomed. He was tired, far too tired to live this life in the shadows anymore. Knew now instinctively that he was destined to become one with the shadows, a dark entity without cause, without entreaty or hope and he cringed as the bullet laced it's venom into his body again.

He looked about his small cell, hopes for escape voided by the possibility that Solo would give him the opportunity. He smiled again, he of course would, to put the bullet into his back, to give him the cowards death he so despised. But then even in his revenge he had no doubt that Solo would not be so easily foiled, that he would need to destroy him utterly before he died. To show him the hypocrisy of his ideals, to strip him bare of his belief and leave him bereft and begging for salvation before they delivered him into the hands of his enemies. And of them Pakoslav knew he had far too many.

Too many who would laugh at his demise, which would find sport with his distress and revenge would be complete as they watched him shatter. Sanity only a small thread now he knew without doubt that soon he would die and in doing so would accept in his heart that he was wrong. That his masters were wrong, and yet still for those such as he there would be no redemption, not here, not now, not in the afterlife, not ever. If a man was judged by his actions then he was judged by his distractions as well. And as cold as he was he could not help but pity the man he had become.

The lights shut off with an audible thud, the door remained closed, single cot with it spare blanket and thin mattress a haven from the cold that seeped into his bone to fight against the growing waves of nausea that threatened to engulf him. His vision dimmed and soon he would fall into that pit of unconsciousness were even the cruellest of men found a moment’s peace.

And he vowed, to himself and to whatever Gods he still held dear. He would never let them see him bleed. He would walk to his death with his honour and belief intact, that he would retract nothing that he had done, no matter how loud his conscience screamed at him for salvation. He knew, that for him there would be none.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

Solo watched through the small two-way mirror as Pakoslav laughed against the cold stonewall, saw the first cracks in his armour and smiled to himself. It would be a very long night but one that chilled the coldest place in a man's heart. That place that lusted for revenge would be assuaged and he understood the cruelty he himself was capable of. The difference of course was that Napoleon Solo’s decision to use it was a conscious one, and he justified the reasons as he recited to himself the names of the children who died horribly at this man’s hands.

He turned away, turning his back on the crumpled figure that sat alone in the dark, bleeding and in distress and closed the door. His heart would not so easily break as his only job now was to plan carefully the demise of the pathetic broken man who sat in the shadows. He felt no pity, no compassion and no desire to do anything other than hurt him. And this chilled Napoleon further as he pulled his cashmere coat about his broad shoulders and leaned against the cane making his way back to his office.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Waverly chewed the end of his pipe as he took the reports from all agents. Every senior agent in the field had been recalled to HQ and was being briefed. The KGB contact was being very helpful, the local police had managed to keep the barely averted disaster at bay and the bombs had been located. Eleven incendiary devices planted around greater London in public places. Pakoslav had done the IRA proud Waverly thought bitterly.

CI5 ran interference between the local constabulary and the bomb squad, MI5 pulled in several of their sleeper agents and suddenly London was very very quiet. Six am found George Cowley limping into Waverly’s office and sighed heavily as he sipped the hot tea Alexander handed him.

“All quiet?” George asked.

“For the moment, I believe Mr. Solo will come up with a way of disposing of our guest. In the meantime we have some issues to discuss with the Home Secretary. But I think we should be grateful for the lull.”

“Aye the lull before the storm. You do realise Alex that if this goes wrong there will be repercussions for years.”

“Luckily both you and I are somewhat immune to these particular sets of problems. Nevertheless, we now have documented proof that Pakoslav murdered his associate Igor Gregorian in cold blood and left his body at his warehouse.”

George smiled around his bone china cup. “And since it was a KGB disposal house this has nothing to do with us, both parties are prominent members of the Polit Bureau this is an internal situation.”

Alex nodded as he lit his pipe and blew wreaths of Isle of Dog No.22 into the air, much to Cowley’s chagrin. “Not to mention the repercussions the KGB is now facing due to pressure from the Home Secretary in light of the incendiary devices being planted by one of their own. Bloody big political minefield.”

“Aye so technically our hands are clean.” Cowley winced. “Why is it then that I still feel dirty Alex?”

“Because it is dirty. Because we cannot help but feel the effects because we know the difference.”

“Aye. Well I have pressing matters at HQ to take care of. Including a briefing with the PM this morning at ten.” Cowley got up to leave and turned. “Kuryakin?”

“Was transferred to a small private clinic last night, the doctors are weening him of the ventilator and he should be conscious this afternoon.”

“You’ll put him back in the field?”

“Yes.”

There was no delay in the response and Cowley took of his glasses and folded them neatly into his pocket. “You sound very sure.”

“You do not know him as we do George, he will come back to the field a lot sooner than the doctors would like, and I’ll be glad to have him back.”

“Aye?”

“Someone needs to keep a leash on our Mr. Solo.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Nice place.” Bodie said softly as the morning sun hit him full in the face.

“Its one of UNCLE’s VIP guest quarters.” Doyle answered from the doorway carrying water and tea.

“Never been a VIP.” Bodie mumbled as he pushed himself up in the bed wincing at the headache that inspired the room to spin.

“Of that I’m not surprised.” Doyle said smugly as he pushed a glass of water and two aspirin into his hands.

“So you and Napoleon stayed here for one night?” Bodie rubbed his forehead.

“Yep, comfy bed innit?”

Bodie stopped and peered intently into the mocking gaze of his partners eyes. “You and Napoleon stayed in this bed?”

Doyle grinned showing the chipped tooth as he turned his attention back to the cup of tea. “Yep.”

“Bastard, I’ll kill him.” Bodie mouthed around the aspirin.

“Nah, I think it’s only fair, you got to sleep with his partner, and he got to sleep with yours.” Doyle was laughing now as he fussed with the comforter.

“Maybe I’ll take him trawling for sharks first and then kill him.” Bodie winced as he laid back. “you’d better be joking.” He growled softly, all humour having fled from his voice.

“I said sleep, can’t help it if your mind goes in other circles can I? Besides, I think the painkillers coupled with the worry of seeing you under a pile of rubble on my part would have put a dampener on any nefarious schemes the great Solo may have had don’t you?”

“Still don’t have to like it do I?” Bodie scowled.

“No sunshine, and neither did I.” Doyle answered.

Bodie shuddered and sat up straight as he ran a hand that almost but not quiet convincingly was steady, through his short cropped dark hair.

“I deserved that.” He said slowly, his eyes never once leaving his partners intense gaze.

“Probably.” Doyle said slowly as he crawled up the bed to sit cross-legged by his partner. “But.” He breathed softly. “Can’t change the past Bodie, wouldn’t want you too.”

“Yeah well it’s not every day the past comes up and bites you on the arse. I’ve been a bit of a prick.” Bodie reached forward to cup the slightly stubbled jaw.

“Nah. Not really. I just didn’t expect you to still have such strong feelings for Illya.” Doyle rubbed his cheek against the warm palm and let go the breath that burned in his chest.

“Had Ray, not have. I got confused with want I wanted and what I felt cheated out of and it all got confused and you got hurt in the middle.”

Ray laughed softly, “I’m not a delicate flower Bodie, and I can take care of myself you stupid half Irish….” Warm lips closed over his before he got a chance to continue.

“Forgive me?”

“Why?” Ray asked as he tried to restore some brain cells to working order.

“Because I love you. I don’t tell you often enough but sunshine I really do.”

Ray leant forward and straddled the strong thighs as he plundered the sweet mouth. “I know, wouldn’t still be here would I if I didn’t believe you.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya fumed, nearly two weeks he’d been in hospital, with only fleeting glimpses of his partner and now this. He looked down at his watch and scowled. So much for wanting to take him home as soon as possible. Twenty minutes late. He crossed his legs and winced as the pain lanced through his barely healed body and scowled again as he read the watch.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you’re angry?” Solo asked as he knelt beside his partner.

“No and I am, where have you been?”

“Sorry love, busy orchestrating Pakoslav’s situation.”

Illya scowled again. “I want to see him.”

Solo stood up and paced, the walking stick a thing of the past, Illya noticed he still favoured the injured leg as he came to a halt by the small window.

“Why?”

“Since when do I need a reason Napoleon? It is my wish.” Illya’s voice was cold and Napoleon shuddered.

“You don’t know what he did to you when you were unable to defend yourself Illya, I don’t want you within spitting distance of him.”

“Napoleon.” The soft Russian accent sounded close as he felt the warmth of his partner’s body behind him. “I’m an adult who has had to defend himself against a great deal more than groping hands. I want to see Pakoslav.”

“Alright but not alone, I’ll come with you.” Napoleon turned and conceded with ill grace.

“Oh Pasha, your hatred of him cannot go as deep as mine, but don’t let it destroy us. I have to see him for myself.” Illya leaned forward and brushed his lips across Napoleons. He felt strong arms go around him as he moved into the embrace, being comforted by the silent strength and warmth and grateful that Napoleon did not examine his motives too closely. He wasn’t sure why he needed to see Pakoslav, perhaps some kind of inherent desire to see that his enemy was dead. That they were safe, perhaps to answer some other questions he was not sure he could ask himself. To exorcise that part of his soul that was still bound to its past, Illya knew beyond reasonable doubt that he needed to see this man for himself.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Napoleon Solo was an educated man, sincere, determined and often flippant. Yet as he eyed the documentation in his hands and approached the head of CI5 and his own boss Alexander Waverly there could be no doubt, that the man was a ruthless and cold agent. He wanted revenge, he wanted blood and was determined to get it and with it absolution of what he was about to do. Solo always eventually got what he wanted. The difficulty this time was convincing the dour Scot and his colleagues of his intentions.

His viscous side was often kept under check, there was little need of the full benefit of his temper - this time deliberately delivered cold and calculating, in the shadow worlds that he walked in.

“Are you sure of your details Mr. Solo?" Alexander asked as his eyes twinkled with murderous delight.

"Very sure Sir." Napoleon’s voice dropped skillfully into the silence as all eyes fixed on him. Bodie and Doyle remained motionless and Illya had taken to staring out the window at the passing scene below. His frame too thin from the recent turn of events was once again encased in black, his golden hair shining from the pale reflected sun. A minute tension rippled across his back. He had of course read the file, and was yet to see Pakoslav, but he knew it would not be enough.

Alexander passed the papers across to George Cowley who till now sat quiet and passive. His aged Scottish features blanched when he read the document pushed towards him.

"Och laddie, surely not even Pakoslav deserves a fate such as this."

"With all due respect sir, I would rather take care of our guest myself, I am sure I can be very inventive. However, Mr. Waverly prefers his agents to take the diplomatic approach. This I am doing. The consequences for his actions will be decided by his superiors."

“No,” Illya’s voice was soft across the room, he had not turned nor moved and yet he held the attention of all the occupants.

“No? Is there something I missed?” Sarcasm dripped from Napoleon’s words. He had expected Cowley to have problems with the situation not his partner.

“No Napoleon, you’ve missed nothing. You never do, but you do not know the Directorate as I do, this will not be enough to silence Pakoslav once and for all.”

“Indeed?” Alexander huffed as he relit his pipe and watched the interplay, rarely had he seen his two top agents go head to head and this was about as close as he had come.

“Sir. Napoleon wants him to die.”

“And there is a problem with this, partner?” Napoleon asked again, even quieter this time, his eyes narrowed and took on a dangerous glint. Bodie and Doyle exchanged concerned glances and visually tensed.

Illya finally turned from the window and smiled softly, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned back against the window jamb and looked up. “No. But you will not succeed with his death with this plan.”

“Aye?” Cowley took off his glasses and chewed thoughtfully on the end as he fixed the Russian with a cold stare.

“He has completed his task, he has been a loyal KGB officer, he will be taken back to Moscow and allowed to live probably in luxury for the remainder of his life, utilizing his skills and knowledge once again against us as his masters see fit. Unlike me the Polit Bureau will welcome him with open arms.”

“Why?” Doyle asked.

“Because my friend, he has not endangered the security of Russia.” Illya stepped away from the window and moved towards the center of the room. “Napoleon.” The simple word a command and Waverly smiled inwards, aware of the level of control the smaller man exerted on his often willful partner. “You do want him dead don’t you?”

Napoleon nodded his head.

“With a few minor adjustment I can guarantee that, I will need to place a call.” Illya continued softly.

“To?” Waverly asked.

“The KGB.”

“To do?” Bodie leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he studied the quiet man.

“Several months ago I was called in as liaison between the Russian fleet in the Black Sea and the Americans. Without going into detail certain things were discussed in front of me as a loyal KGB officer, my reputation having preceded me, this information I can make available to the relevant authorities in the United States under the code phrase that Pakoslav used. Our agents have broken the cipher. A simple call will alert the authorities of Pakoslav’s transgression, along with a large sum of money and he will die without ever reaching Russian soil again.”

“What details?” Cowley asked intrigued.

“The exact location of the Russian fleet and their movements for the next three months.”

“And just how would Pakoslav have had that information?” Waverly wondered.

“Igor Gregorian was at that meeting. Igor is now dead and unless I miss the mark I would assume his death has been attributed to Pakoslav tidying up loose ends. It would fit the profile and would make Pakoslav a danger to the Soviet State. He will die at the hands of his master.”

“Then I suggest Mr. Kuryakin, you place the call.” Waverly looked around the room. Napoleon had fallen silent and there were obviously questions he wanted to ask, but this room was neither the time nor place.

“Before I do, I will need a large sum of money deposited into Pakoslav’s account from a known CIA source, probably a Bahamas account, Napoleon do you still have a cousin in the agency?”

“You know I do.” Napoleon smiled for the first time.

“Then if you would be so good as to call him and let him know that the alpha code is available but that the dealer wants it brokered silently. He will understand the request and will then ask for a grid reference. I’ll need a map.”

“It would seem gentlemen you have your work cut out for you.” Waverly smiled as he dismissed the men.

“Indeed.” Napoleon intoned quietly watching the younger agent carefully.

“Your plan Napoleon will still require you and I to hand Pakoslav over at the border.” Illya spoke softly as Waverly’s eyes snapped up to stare at the younger man.

“No Mr. Kuryakin, you will not be attending the hand over, despite the fact that you are still on the disabled list,” Illya scowled, “I believe it would be dangerous for you to confront your ex-comrades. Therefore Mr. Bodie will be attending our Mr. Solo for the handover.”

“Who are we asking for?” Doyle asked as he opened the door.

“US pilot, shot down over one of the territories.” Napoleon answered as he waited for his partner.

As the door shut, Waverly drew deeply on his pipe and smiled.

“Before you ask George, we operate with impunity given our largest base is here in London. Nevertheless, Napoleon and Illya have managed to manipulate the situation admirably and will succeed without succor from either of us. Please don’t play the offended party; you are no more innocent of the cold war than we are.If our methods offend you, then I would be surprised." Despite the soft tone, the words were encased in steel.

"It will be wholesale slaughter."

"If we follow Solo’s plan the agents he wants to bring in from the cold have been under CIA control for some time. They will only die on paper as it were. UNCLE if not the US government has a responsibility to it’s people, expendable or not."

"Aye, I know full well of what we have had to do in MI5, and all the other campaigns we waged."

"Tell me this war is so different from what you fight now?" Alexander puffed contentedly again, yet any complacency was window dressing, his keen eyes watched and understood the anger within the man in his makeshift office.

“Before we understood the boundaries. The Ideologies perhaps were different but not so alien that we cannot understand. Now we fight in a war where there are no boundaries. The gangs control the streets, the likes of the Coogans and their breed, with money to buy mercenary armies that will wage war on children.”

“All the more reason predators like THRUSH and their ancillary agencies are stopped. It has to start somewhere. We have to fight the disease with what we have George. And our people are the best.”

“I just wish we could agree that our methods somehow set us apart from those we fight.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“I am sorry Napasha.” Illya’s voice was still quiet and he leant heavily on his partner for support. The aches in his body becoming more pronounced the longer he stood.

“You could have given me some warning.” Napoleon did not miss the heavy drag on his arm nor the pale features of his partner.

“I could not, we had no time, and I only read the documents of the affair on the way from the hospital.”

“What’s all this going to cost Illya?”

“Probably nothing. It may even stand me in their good books a little while longer, besides we risk an international situation if we kill Pakoslav directly. This way, the security of Russia is intact, her somewhat disavowed servant will be given a freer hand, and all in all UNCLE and the western world will go up inestimably in the eyes of their Soviet counterparts.”

“Diplomatically it makes a great deal of sense but that is not the concern, what will it cost you.”

Illya colored and looked down. “Had they had known I was the one who killed Igor than I would be forced back to Russia. However, I am not without friends or even influence still Napoleon.”

“On several continents.”

Illya smiled, “So it would seem.”

“How did you know about Gregorian?”

“That Cowley and Waverly would manipulate the situation? Leverage Napasha, they had no choice, besides which it was the only way UNCLE could have kept me.”

Napoleon halted abruptly in the corridor. “The KGB had already ordered your return?”

“Yes. Igor told me just before he died, I was to be given the department and that my acceptance of their offer would be the price of sanctioning Pakoslav.”

“And you were going to tell me when?” Napoleon turned the black clad body towards him, staring into the frail almost ethereal features.

“If I could not maneuver out of it Napoleon, only then.”

“But you would have told me.”

“Yes, I would have.”

“When I could do nothing about it.” The dawn of reason lit Napoleon’s eyes as he scowled.

“Yes.” Illya grew paler, almost gray as he clutched at the dark suited shoulders, stopping his downward slide to the floor.

Without consideration to appearances Napoleon scooped him into his arms and settled his head against his shoulder before he disappeared into the small agents lounge.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Cold. Very cold.” Doyle muttered as he followed Bodie to the lounge.

“Yes, I had no idea how cold he could be.”

“And now you do?” Ray quizzed.

“It’s as if he is a different person to the one I knew.”

“Enlightening. Wonder why I got chosen to baby-sit the Russian.” Doyle smiled.

“Because sunshine, I’ve done the handover before I know the protocol. They want to be very sure of keeping it anonymous.”

“Makes sense. Besides I never did like Germany.”

“No?”

“Nah, dated a German girl once.”

“Ray this is not something I need to hear.”

“Yeah it is, she had more muscles and balls than you do.” Ray smiled sweetly as he opened the door.

“Oh nice.” Bodie frowned as he turned into the small room, Napoleon was sitting in front of Illya holding a glass of water and a small bottle of pills up.

“Let me guess.” Ray smiled.

“Fainted.” Napoleon answered as he shook the bottle, Illya snatched it away and swallowed two of the small pills.

“I do not faint.”

“Okay then you collapsed. Either way, I think you should go home, we can do this tomorrow.”

“No. We cannot.” Illya looked up into concerned eyes and shook his head. “The information will only be of use for the next 48 hours, after that we will need to wait a week before we can manipulate the situation to our advantage.”

“So we wait a week.” Bodie poured a cup of black tea and stirred in some sugar as he handed it to Illya.

“Nyet. We cannot, the only man who will have the authority to terminate Pakoslav will be at the UN Summit meeting in the security detail for the Kremlin officials.”

“Okay I get the point, that meeting begins in five days. So we do this today. Can you at least do what you need to do from here?”

“Without moving around too much?” Ray added concerned with the sickening pallor of the younger man.

“You fuss.” Illya reproached.

“Because we care, and Napoleon is correct you do need to rest.” Ray soothed as he sat down next to Illya. “In the meantime I can do all the running you need, and Bodie and Napoleon can organize the rest of the deal.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Napoleon offered gently his hand strayed to the beloved face and caressed his fingers across the gently pouting mouth.

“I am not an invalid.”

“Yes Illya you are.” Bodie’s voice held an edge of authority that startled the young Russian and he looked down.

“And if I give in gracefully?” Illya answered softly to the amusement of three very different men who had come to think of him as theirs.

“Good, now that’s settled. Bodie I take it you’ve done a handover before?” Napoleon asked as he got up and moved away.

“And you said you needed a map?” Ray asked. “Of what in particular?”

“The Black Sea, a naval map, Jenny down in stores should have one available complete with navigation lines. I’ll need to give Napoleon a grid reference. And I need a phone.”

Ray smiled.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Illya?” Napoleon stopped and cast a worried eye over his partner.

“I am alright Napoleon.”

“Yes, so you keep telling me. You worry me little one.”

“I am not so little Napoleon.”

“Oh but to me you are, if Pakoslav so much as touches you I shall kill him, you know that don’t you?”

“I know. And I am tired, so maybe after we can go home da?”

“To the safe house?”

“Nyet, I think Bodie and Ray are expecting us home, besides Ray said he would cook tonight.”

“Ah, so now should I be jealous of him because he is good looking AND can cook?”

“Perhaps you are just concerned that he shall have to look after me whilst you and Bodie are away?”

Napoleon scowled fully aware that he was being baited. “Perhaps Bodie and I should have that conversation. Compare notes as it were.”

Illya stopped horrified. “You would not.”

“Oh wouldn’t I tovarisch, besides he is a good looking man.”

“Not your type though Napasha.” Illya purred softly as he leaned against his friend’s steady weight. The long dark corridors, lead interminably down to the detention cells and towards Pakoslav.

“No? Are you sure?”

“Yes Napasha I am sure, besides you would hate to have to upset me.”

“Ah a weakness. Agreed. I shall be on the other side of the door, and when you’re done, I shall take you home and love you so completely you won’t even be able to remember your name.”

Illya rested his hand on top of Napoleon’s, the Russian wedding band catching the light and the American smiled.

“I look forward to it.” Illya pulled himself upright, the black clothing a second skin, the long black leather coat was back he pulled on the leather gloves to hide the bruises on the back of his hands. To the untrained eye he was aloof, self contained and very intimidating. Napoleon only saw his partner and his lover and with a small nod patted Illya on the shoulder as he opened the door.

He had not known what to expect or the depths that Napoleon truly hated this man, what he saw was not so different to what he saw as a child. Apathy and despair, tangible in almost every pore of the sickly stooped body that huddled in the darkness on the farthest corner of the bed. The eyes alight with fever and pain burned into the gloom as Illya pulled a chair forward and sat down crossed his long lean legs as he stared at his ex-compatriot.

“Illya.” Pakoslav’s voice was unaccountably soft as he straightened up and pulled the thin blanket around his spare frame. The gauze still clearly visible on Pakoslav’s shoulder leaked with a dark red ooze and Illya knew that the bullet had not been removed.

“You know I had never thought to see you like this again Pakoslav.” Illya’s voice was soft as it reverted to the low guttural throb of his native tongue. As if weaving a spell he sat, motionless, clad in midnight and crowned with a shock of gleaming gold hair.

“So,” Pakoslav smiled as he tilted his head to one side, “you have come to gloat.”

“There is no mileage in gloating tovarisch. Unlike you I deliver my revenge as cold as the womb we were both carved from.”

“You are very good.”

“You doubted it? We after all were trained by the best you and I.”

“And we are not so different.”

“Oh but we are, I do what is required of me to do, I take no vicarious enjoyment in it and do not stoop to perversions.”

“But I made my point.”

“No you failed. Your point was never made, the media were never involved. Your masters are dissatisfied with your actions.”

“So you are to be the one then?” There was almost hope in his voice.

Illya’s smile was chilling. “Unfortunately for you no.” he dropped the words into the chasm of Pakoslav’s fear as the older agent stared up at him.

“Then I have been disavowed?”

“But of course, did you expect less?”

“No, not really. But still I will go home and eventually I shall redeem myself to our masters.”

Illya stood. “There was once a time I respected you, now you are nothing more than the child you once were, cowering in the corner of the stinking orphanage that we both knew too well. Now all I have for you is pity.”

A single tear tracked Pakoslav’s face, as Illya continued, brutally delivering the words as they flayed the man alive.

“I was prepared to at least give you a quick death.”

“You were prepared to kill me because of your own fractured ideals. Do you not think I knew what was in your eyes as I was beaten and used as a child, whilst you watched from the corner of that room?” Pakoslav shook his head, denying the facts as the tears flowed freely. “What I saw tovarisch, was lust. You wanted me and would never have me. You thought to kill me so that you would be free, so that you could find peace and exorcise your demons. What you didn’t know Pakoslav was that the demon you wanted to vanquish was yourself and all those who hurt you and turned you into the coward you are.”

“No more Illya.”

A long fingered gloved hand turned Pakoslav’s face forward as Illya stroked almost tenderly along the line of the jaw and smiled.

“No, no more. You will die soon Pakoslav, there is nothing that we want, you will not be remembered, your pain will go with you to the grave and I shall never think of you again. Your masters will never allow you to see our home and you will be denied even the honor of a burial. You are nothing Pakoslav Krasinskii, and ever shall be for eternity. That is my revenge.”

Illya stood and turned towards the door. It opened and closed and Illya did not look back as Pakoslav sobbed brokenly into the night.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Long day.” Napoleon’s voice was gentle as were the words, this was as much as they had said to each other since leaving Headquarters almost thirty minutes ago.

“I know you listened Napasha, is there something you want to ask or say?” Illya turned and looked into the chocolate eyes with an almost bored expression.

“I didn’t know he was in the orphanage with you.”

“Da. Two years older and a lot bigger than I was.”

“Was he cruel as a child?”

“You mean did he try to rape me? No, and he was actually good to me.”

Napoleon slammed on the brake and turned towards the small park a short distance from Bodie and Doyle’s.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Pasha I was small, very small, and they used to take the food from me, when we had food of course. Pakoslav always made sure I got my share and would cuddle with me in the night when it was cold and there was no money for the oil to warm the orphanage. We were children.”

Napoleon’s hands clenched on the steering wheel as he avoided the visions that assaulted his mind, knowing full well the horror of what his lover had endured.

“Its over now Pasha.” Illya laid his hand on the too tense shoulder as he turned the senior agent to look at him.

“Despite that,” Napoleon’s voice ground out slowly as his hands clenched almost convulsively on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white at the pressure. “I can’t let him live.” The words were soft with distress and barely suppressed anger.

Illya smiled as he opened the car door, “I never asked you too.”

The long shadows of the twilight followed Illya’s footsteps as he made his way to the small swing set and sat down, his feet scuffed the dirt as he looked up at the shadow that hovered over him.

“Whatever your decision is in this regard I will defer to it Napasha, besides I would not have agreed to orchestrate his death if I believed there was any other choice.”

“There are things that make me angry Illya, that you went through so much so young, that you are still confronted with things that make you remember the bad times. Would that there could be another way I would willingly take it.” He knelt down heedless of the damp ground and looked up into hooded blue eyes.

“Unfortunately I am capable of dealing with such emotions easily Napasha, it’s the others the more delicate feelings I have difficulty with.”

“One’s like love?” Napoleon dark eyes bore a wealth of pain that he refused to shield his lover from. The question was asked and answered, would he be enough to keep the darkness at bay. Would Illya choose to love him in the way he was loved? And would they be able to survive the decay of their futures in the shadows?

Illya drew a deep breath. “Yes. Love was never given freely or at all. Care perhaps was, and for that I was grateful, I was fed, clothed, educated, needed by my country and her arms Napoleon are very strong and very large. But still was I loved?” Illya thought for a moment and pushed back on powerful legs to set the swing into a gentle rhythm. “I was never unloved, I just find it hard to place love in my life.”

“Which makes it hard to place me?” Napoleon’s voice was carefully neutral as he waited for the coup-de-grace.

Illya stilled his movements and reached a hand forward to cup the proud chin. “Foolish questions Napasha, you are the only thing that I can place in my life, loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done, which perhaps scares me a little because it is so easy. You will always be more than I deserve. I don’t fully appreciate that I am worthy of your trust and love. I am too harsh and difficult and stubborn and recalcitrant and unwilling to be moved by those around me for you to accept me as I am. And truthfully I am too old to change now.”

“I have accepted you Illya for those very reasons. That we are equal, is never lost on me nor that you would allow me to get so close to you. Our lives will be difficult, there is still prejudice and it will mean that I will be even more paranoid about losing you.”

Illya’s laugh was rich and full. “You’ve been paranoid about loosing me for years Napasha, I doubt that will change. Besides it will make us more careful not less. As for prejudice, that is an issue which will be difficult for you ; I on the other hand have lived with it for years.” An elegant shrug of the black clad shoulder punctuated the conversation.

Napoleon smiled and stood as he offered his partner his hand, Illya winced as he stood up, the recent scarring still pulled at his body. It was then that Napoleon saw the dark circles that rimmed the blue gaze.

“As have I my friend.” He said softly as he pulled Illya towards him.

“Ah Napasha, we are in public.”

“And I don’t care.” Napoleon answered as he embraced his friend fully and let his hands wander down the compact frame and felt the faint shiver.

“Cold?”

“Not really. I’m just very tired.” Illya sagged a little and frowned as the world tilted dangerously.

“You need me to carry you?” Even the soft voice could not hide the American’s distress.

“You wish.” The caustic tone was lost in the breathless reply as Illya leaned heavier on the broad shoulder.

“Illya?” Napoleon wrapped his arm around the trim waist and without preamble moved back to the car.

“I’m just tired. And in truth Napoleon, I want nothing more than a hot shower, some good food and you to hold me.”

“I think love, that I can arrange that.”

“Good.” Illya was asleep before Napoleon finished buckling the seat belt across his frame, he stood for long moment, his hand reached out to brush back the bangs from the high forehead. He felt his heart lurch at the many memories that had carved this beautiful man before him and was humbled, that a soul so gentle could be so fierce and cold. He shuddered and vowed that he would make those moments of remembered pain vanish into a distant past, he would consign them to their own hell and in doing so would love in the place of pain. Illya may well find the sentiment offensive, but with time the moments would not be lost between them, no matter what forever, in her infinite wisdom, had planned.

~~~~oooOOOooo~~~~

“They’re late.” Bodie opened the oven door and poked forlornly at the roasting meat.

“Not by much, I said seven.”

“Seven was a long time ago.” Bodie pouted as his hand was smacked away from the stove.

“Seven was only four minutes ago, now close the oven door or you won’t get desert.”

“You baked?” Bodie’s smile was wide as he scoured the kitchen.

“Yes, I baked, now go and sit down.” Ray pushed him out of the kitchen and finished laying the table.

“But..” The protest was short lived as he trapped his lover with a deep kiss.

“Go, sit, down.” Ray growled as he swatted the retreating form.

“Hungry.” Bodie pouted.

“You’re always hungry and not always for food.” Ray laughed as he heard the car stop in the driveway. “Besides they’re here, promise to play nice.” Ray admonished as he went to open the door. The sight that greeted him did not inspire him to any great leaps of confidence. He watched as Solo carefully opened the passenger door and moved inside, he appeared a few seconds later with Illya in his arms. The blond head nestled securely against his shoulder as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Almost belatedly he looked up to stare into the concerned green eyes.

“Long day.” Solo answered the unspoken question softly.

“So I see, is he alright?” Ray took in the dark smudges under his eyes, the slightly shivering form and remembered vividly Illya’s earlier interlude with Ketamine. This time however, the healthy blond body looked small in comparison to his partner’s broad frame, the skin parchment like and the features thin from pain and exhaustion.

“If I ask Illya he will say he’s fine, just tired. If I ask the doctor he says to make sure he gets plenty of rest and eats and stays warm.”

“And if I ask you?” Bodie enquired with a scowl on his face.

“I’d say he will be, but at the moment despite the fact he is thin, he’s heavy.” Solo smiled as he walked inside and up the stairs to their room. Ray beat him inside and already had the covers pulled down and the bed was warm from the electric blanket they had installed. Napoleon carefully sat his partner down on the bed, pulling off socks and shoes, as Doyle crawled behind him and pulled the jacket and shoulder holster off with surprising efficiency.

Illya stirred a little and struggled as the gun came away, tired blue eyes looked up with a mixture of fear and urgency till Napoleon dropped a soft kiss on his forehead. “Safe.” He said softly and then more firmly as he grabbed at the thin wrists that still resisted, though the fight had long since left. “Safe.” Solo repeated as he pulled the head back to his shoulder and stroked down the long lines of Illya’s back, waiting till the form again grew heavy and lax before laying him back onto the bed and pulled the covers over him.

“Okay.” Bodie’s voice was concerned but he did not press the matter, waiting as Solo stroked the high forehead again and turned the small bedside light on and come out into the hall.

“Conditioning.” Napoleon spoke into the silence as the two men regarded him.

“UNCLE conditions its agents?” Bodies voice was a low gravel scraped across the anger of his disapproval.

“No, not consciously. Some of the things we have seen and done, when the only one you know is on your side is your partner.” Solo shrugged.

“Like a permanent operation Suzie.” Doyle pulled the door partially closed. “Dinner’s ready I’ll put Illya’s aside he can have it later.”

“Thank you.” The American accent was tired and with a longing look at the gently sleeping form of his lover he followed Ray to the kitchen.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Sleep soothed the ache as Illya cuddled down into the warmth of the bed. No stale smell of antiseptic, no lingering fear of death cloying the corridor outside his door. The siren song of Morpheus leading him interminably down dark alleys of his consciousness and he felt rather than heard the approach of the dream. It would not take him now, the fugue state broken by the sob that he recognized too late tore from his own throat as he sat panting in the bed. Wraithlike beams of moonlight spun passed his bed and he was grateful for the light that pierced the darkened corners as he wiped his hand across his face.

He looked down still fully dressed except for belt, shoes and jacket. His service revolver on the bed near his hand and the bedroom door stood slightly ajar. He stilled his breathing and looked around again, heightened senses told him that there were people downstairs talking. He heard three male voices and relaxed visibly when he heard his partner’s laugh. Illya turned in the bed and looked at the clock, still early nearing eight pm and his stomach rumbled as the scent of roasted meats and pastry filled his nose.

Fighting back the wave of dizziness he pulled on his holster and gun before padding downstairs. The conversation was in full swing as he neared the kitchen and he stopped for a moment, his hand resting on the wall as he attempted to keep his balance. A small smile of triumph crept onto his lips as he steadied himself and entered the room.

“I ah, thought I heard you get up.” Napoleon smiled as he raked his gaze over the slightly disheveled form.

Ray smiled and put a plate of food out on the table, carefully unwrapping the tin foil from the hot meal.

Illya stumbled briefly before finding the chair and gratefully sat down.

“You always wear your gun?” Bodie toyed with the cutlery on the table, shrewd blue eyes ever watchful.

“Da.” Illya mumbled as he tasted the hot beef and began to eat in earnest.

“More of the UNCLE conditioning?” Bodie asked again in that same quiet tone. Illya recognized it and decided to ignore the barb instead he continued eating. Napoleon frowned and Ray sat back in his chair, his green eyes flashing dangerously in the direction of his partner.

“You have the agencies confused Bodie, UNCLE does not condition.” Napoleon answered quietly.

“No I don’t think I do. The more I see of UNCLE the more similar the agencies become.” Bodie continued.

Illya had stopped eating and sat straight in the chair. Napoleon saw in his partner great restraint and Doyle sensed it as well as he intensified his gaze to a glower.

“I don’t think Bodie that you have seen enough of any agency to know the difference.” Illya’s voice was pitched low.

“Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.” Bodie challenged directly now and Illya smiled.

“I wonder if the agency arrangements concern you Bodie or more of what I have become. Have I shattered your illusions?” The blond was tired of the tacit attacks and despite the earlier contrition on both their parts it appeared that Bodie still had problems.

The big Brit colored slightly at the words but did not lower his gaze. Before he had a chance to react Illya pushed forward relentlessly.

“You seem to have built up a stereotype of what an agency does. Do not simply expect them to all maintain your low level of opinion. UNCLE is more than an agency, we work with all the agencies around the world, and we maintain the balance, the edge so that the paranoia is under a level of control. Imagine what would happen if we were to not exist, how things might be so very different now. You fail to realize that had I have stayed with the KGB there would be very little difference between who I am now and what I could have become.”

Ray leaned forward the anger in Bodies blue eyes evident as he accepted the oration that was delivered cold.

“Are you saying you could have become like Pakoslav?” Ray’s voice was soft with incredulity.

“Easily. Where I was sent to school, Pakoslav was sent to the Red Guard, they tutored him after a childhood I would not wish on anyone. The only difference between us was that I already spoke six languages by the time I was nine.”

“Are you saying that UNCLE saved you from it?” Bodies voice was ice cold.

“Yes Bodie, that is exactly what I am saying. I may not have used the same methods but the outcome would have been inevitable.”

“I doubt it, Illya.” Napoleon cut into the conversation.

“Don’t.” Illya admonished.

“You would never have been caught.” Napoleon clarified. “Besides Illya is right.” The American turned his attention toward Bodie. “All agencies work more or less the same way. The only saving grace UNCLE has is that it is relatively free of ideologies, being independent we are able to take a more reasonable view of the different cultural processes. That’s why we have offices all over the world with indigenous people as the primary agents.”

“A more homogenous approach.” Ray nodded his head. “That’s why Illya would have been so important to the KGB.”

“I don’t follow.” Bodie conceded.

“He can pass for most cultural type in the western world.”

Solo laughed, “And with the application of some latex nearly any culture including Asian.”

“But that still does not clarify why you are hostile now Bodie does it?” Illya asked softly.

“I am not hostile. As a mercenary in the bloody jungle there were times when I found peace. It seems that as an Agent you can’t.”

“And you resent the implication that I am cold and somewhat ruthless?” Illya wiped delicately at his mouth with a napkin.

“Perhaps I mourn the passing of what you were.”

“I was a KGB agent on active assignment, I am no different now, except perhaps a little older and wiser. Nothing else, apart from the fact that hope is no longer a transient digression from the fundamental doctrine of what I was taught, has altered.”

“You used to be able to relax.”

“I’m relaxed now.”

“With a gun on at the table.” Bodie pursued.

“Yes. Tell me that on your operation Suzie’s you did not do the same thing?” Illya pronounced each word with extreme care, baiting as he went.

It was Ray who broke the deadlock. “Yes, as a matter of fact we do.”

“Then how is it you reproach me? And what gives you the right? You know nothing of the number of times on assignments agents are killed because of a lapse in reason, when they feel safe and secure to wake to a bullet in the head. During sex, during dinner, even on the toilet; for us the threat is never eliminated. Being independent means also working outside of the accepted codes.”

“Codes?” Bodie frowned.

“Codes Bodie,” Napoleon took up the cause. “Operatives have a certain number of fail safe’s when you work for the agencies. Things such as when you quit the game you're safe. In UNCLE we know, no matter how friendly the natives are we are never safe. Never will be, that is why partners are so important, as you would have found out. Very few of our agents are married and those that do generally are within the UNCLE community. Even then we are not totally free of infiltration. That Illya could have become Pakoslav does not concern me, what would have, should UNCLE not exist, is that he would have been more deadly and more lethal than Pakoslav would ever have been. A war zone would have been calmer.” Napoleon took a sip of his wine and waited for the last part to be digested.

“I guess,” Ray ventured, “Despite my personal position, I didn’t fully realize how different our two agencies are.”

“We are very different.” Solo nodded. “Agencies have a lot of blow out, mainly because they are trained within the ideologies of the various cultures. Certain things in an agent’s existence in the CIA, MI5, and KGB, whatever the agency are immutable facts. Certainties that we build our existence on, when those things no longer apply your left with burned out agents, if they live, it’s generally not for long, alcoholism, suicide, and drugs are but a few of the vices that they succumb to. The inability to trust, to relearn trust is totally debilitating to the normal mind.”

“So how is that meant to save you?” Bodie asked somewhat calmer and more curious now.

“Illya is what saves me Bodie.” Solo answered directly. “Despite our cultural differences we work for UNCLE, we guard each others back, we are only fully safe in our own hearts and minds when the other is around. It is a degree of paranoia but nevertheless relevant.”

“Is this because you’re now in a relationship?” Ray asked.

Illya laughed, “No before he was difficult to live with, now he will be impossible.”

“Oh I don’t know love,” Solo drawled, “Least now you won’t have to worry about the pretty agents leading me astray.”

“Somehow I don’t think that will change.” Illya groused softly.

“Does it bother you?” Napoleon asked.

“No. UNCLE has used your considerable charm on the ladies to its advantage too many times for them not to do so in the future. Just so long as you don’t bring it home.” Illya shrugged.

“Count on it. Besides I only ever followed Angelique because I have a weakness for blonds.”

Ray laughed at Illya’s disgust, even Bodie managed to smirk at the filthy Slavic curse that dropped from the prim lips.

“Now now, Illya we are in company. Perhaps you’d care to explain the remark.”

“I said she has the moral turpitude of a black widow.” Illya maintained the frown.

“The past makes strange bedfellows of us all Bodie,” Solo said softly. “Today we will fight for the KGB and tomorrow it may well be for the CIA or MI5, we have no say in the matters at hand. We are only a regulatory body that gets involved when the balance is threatened. Pakoslav threatened innocents, that’s why UNCLE stepped in.”

“So had he have been a threat to another agency you would have left him to do his job, no matter how distasteful the outcome?” Bodie’s indignant tone was caustic.

“Don’t you understand that Pakoslav was left alone? His digressions have made him no longer a viable player, he is a wildcard even for the KGB. That is why the order was given to disavow him.” Illya was equally as cold.

“You get termination orders often then?” Ray was curious as he cleared the plate from the table and set Illya’s apple pie in front of him.

“More than we care for at times.” Napoleon answered.

“From which agency?” Bodie asked as he sat back.

Illya put the fork down and wiped his mouth again, this time the barb hit home and he was tired of the melee. Bodie had no right to expect different than what he was and it was beyond time that the matter be resolved. “Don’t be naive Bodie.” Illya’s cold blue eyes did not waver, and it was Solo who flinched, reading the warning signs of a growing Russian explosion.

“I’ve been many things but I have never been naive.” Bodie countered softly, a small smile of triumph as he realized that his taunting had finally paid off.

“Oh really?” The deadly quiet tone echoed in the now chilly atmosphere. “We get termination orders, assassinations Bodie, pure and simple, from agencies all over the world including against our own agents. We prefer to make relevant authorities deal with their own problems, but on occasion we have no choice. And I have never had a problem with killing a man, even in cold blood.” Illya saw the look of horror on Ray’s face and Bodie’s mocking smile fell from his handsome face.

Napoleon toyed with the spoon on the table, his urbane charm a stark antithesis of the previous statement. He waited, knowing full well that to interfere would be to brook the Russian’s displeasure, and he knew first hand the depth of ice Illya could be brought to when truly angry.

“No I don’t suppose you do.” Bodies voice was quietly distressed as he looked back at the smaller man across the table from him.

“I never have, and never will. My past is not in question, nor is my future. I am simply what I am Bodie, and you will have to justify it not I. If I have broken the illusions you have kept to keep you warm, then you will have to deal with it. From my perspective, you have never changed.”

“Meaning?” Ray asked quietly.

“Meaning Bodie is a hard man, yet morally he does not have what it takes to be truly ruthless, in your world Ray this is a good thing, in my world, I count on the fact Napoleon’s blood runs colder than mine when pressed. We are from different worlds. We should never have met, and had it not been for our relevant agencies trying for one-upmanship we never would have. I nursed what we had Bodie, it kept me warm and gave me home, would you shatter the truth of that now simply because you do not like what you see?” Illya challenged outright, his pale face implacable.

“Its not that.” Bodie defended.

“It is, you have been offended by what I am, and you cannot see that I am no different Bodie. I have no idea why this offends you but evidently it does.” Illya sipped at the tea and smiled up at Doyle who had put it on the table before him.

“Because I used to care.” Bodie’s voice was soft and Ray stepped back out of his line of vision to see the Russian’s visage turn to stone. A faint tensing in Napoleon’s shoulders showed the evidence of his distress but still he kept watch and allowed the matter to play itself out, confident in his partner’s ability to read the man before him.

“From where I sit Bodie you still do and you shouldn’t.”

Bodie’s head flew up. “Why?”

“Because it is no longer your right.” Illya was calm again, beating the man with his own demons and hopefully exorcising them in the process.

“Perhaps it never was.” Bodie challenged.

“Perhaps it wasn’t. I cannot change yesterday, anymore than I can bring the boys back Pakoslav killed for no reason other than they looked like me. Nor can I assuage the pain that Pakoslav feels for being vulnerable and caught in the pain of our internment as children, nor can I say for you what you do and do not need to remember or feel.”

“I didn’t know you and Pakoslav were together as children.” Ray asked suddenly feeling the tension lessen.

“Yes, in the orphanage.” Illya’s steady gaze did not leave Bodie’s stricken face.

“Touché.” Bodie breathed quietly.

“This is not a war Bodie, not here anyway unless there is something I have missed. If you have had difficulty accepting what I have done to survive I can understand that, there is no reason for you to understand, however I do believe that the fact I had survived would be enough for you.”

Bodie looked into sea green eyes as he turned his head. Ray’s face was unreadable, whether angry or perplexed he couldn’t tell. He shrugged.

“I see, well I lack the subtle charm of Napoleon, so what is it you want from me?” Illya's voice had dropped into the quiet deadly tone and the tension in Napoleon shoulders grew exponentially.

“We are assuming here that I want anything at all.” Bodie answered calmly yet the subtle shift in Ray’s frame was a sharp counterpoint to the growing hostility.

“Come now old friend.” Illya’s voice almost purred. “We both know each other better than that. You would not seek to bait me so frequently if you wanted nothing. I thought we had reached an accord and had clarified the matters that existed between us.”

“Or.” Napoleon’s voice cut into the melee, dark eyes clashed with arctic blue as he turned his gaze on Bodie. “Perhaps you never really knew Illya at all, and that is the problem.”

“Either way it is getting late and I am tired.” Illya shifted back in his seat before turning apologetic eyes on Doyle. “Do you want us to leave?”

Doyle smiled, jade green eyes sparkling with emotion as he turned into the gentle look on the Russians face. His welfare, he realized was well and truly being taken to heart and that gave him comfort, even where his lovers actions spoke otherwise. “No.” Doyle answered softly ignoring the big brooding man to his right. “No I don’t want you to leave.”

Bodie softened for a moment, the weight of the words hanging around him like a coat of lead. “No. You should stay, I was out of line.”

It was Napoleons hand that found it’s way to his shoulder, the tense muscles bunching under even the lightest touch. “Our world is hard to understand and at times we are even harder. What you had was important to both of you Bodie, Illya has acknowledged that, you were acting a part, but you were not truly the puppets of your governments you had thought yourselves to be. Something honest happened back then, don’t compromise today for a yesterday you could never have had.”

“Spoken from experience.” Bodie mumbled.

“Oh yes.” Napoleon smiled and squeezed the shoulder tighter. “Once I thought I could do it alone, that I knew all the answers. It was only when I came to realize that I needed a partner that I found what I was looking for.”

“And what were you looking for Napoleon?” Bodie was mesmerized by the soft voice and lilting concern that spoke to his heart as assuredly as it spoke to his mind.

“Peace.” The American answered softly and smiled again.

Illya cocked his head to one side as he closed his eyes for a moment, the good food, and he conceded willingly was very good food, and the conversation had taken what little reserves he had had left, and he began to drowse. Strong arms helped him to stand as he was shaken out of his reverie, he turned expecting to see Napoleon and looked instead into eyes of liquid green.

“I think its time to put all good Russian agents to bed.” Doyle said softly, “Bodie.” The tone clearly dismissive and held a promise of a talk later Bodie knew he wouldn’t like. “Do the dishes.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya groused softly as he leaned heavily in the strong embrace, he hated weakness in himself, he hated feeling as though he was not in control of his body. Perhaps the years in the orphanage enraged him, but it was this creeping paralysis of self that promoted the true fear. That despite his formidable will he was still small and human and in that vulnerable. Doyle understood this too, perhaps unconsciously as he gentled the Russian onto the bed and propped pillows up for him before drawing the covers high over the slender body.

His hand shot out from the bed and caught at Ray’s urging him to sit on the side of the bed and smile gently. His long fingers combed back the heavy golden strands from the troubled gaze.

“Sorry.” Doyle suddenly became aware of what he was doing and stopped.

“Bozhre Moi!” Illya scoffed. “Yes I may be smaller than most men my age, but why is it that every man I meet seems to have this…this….” He began to color in apoplectic rage and found that he only stuttered which seemed to endear him even further to the man who sat with him.

“Urge to touch you?” Doyle finished for him consciously withdrawing his hand.

“No. I am not fragile.”

Doyle smiled and resumed the gentle touch. “I know, but perhaps we see in you what we feel we all lost a long time ago, and therefore need to protect it and you.” His shrug was an elegant admission of something neither man was about to explore.

“Would that I was truly innocent as I once was, then I would agree, however I lost my innocence a long time ago. What you see is a contradiction.”

“No I don’t think so. I think what I see is the real man, it’s the others who have put you in a box and seem to think of you as something your not, or not entirely.”

Illya smiled, a sight all too rare and it lit the room, warmer than any sunshine. “And having said that, Bodie is jealous and confused, but not so confused that he would be foolish enough to risk loosing you. I don’t know him, he has in his mind a parody of what he thinks I should be and in that, fools himself.”

“Yeah.” Doyle echoed the smile and showed a chipped tooth, “but I think it’s my duty to make sure he suffers a little.”

“Sadistic Raymond.”

“Often. Besides the stupid half Irish bastard knows I’ll forgive him just about anything.”

“So you still love him.”

“Always have, always will. Bodie is the best years of my life, I wont throw that away.”

“I’m curious.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you still patting me?” Illya’s voice barely contained a chuckle.

“Oh, sorry.” The offending hand was withdrawn and Doyle to his charm blushed.

“No don’t be, but your not essentially gay are you?”

Doyle shook his head. “No sometimes I miss a woman’s touch.”

“But you wouldn’t leave Bodie for that?”

“No, I don’t think so, and I’ve had the opportunity.”

“Of that I don’t doubt, but still you have the position that you could be very angry with me for being here, why aren’t you?”

“Lots of questions Illya.” Doyle narrowed his green eyes and looked up through the long lashes, the cherubic features altering into a fallen angle.

“Yes, and I doubt that you mind.” Illya was equally direct and ignored the sultry expression on the mans face.

“Actually no I don’t mind.”

“And you still haven’t answered me.”

“Probably because I can see what Bodie sees, and I know that it’s not your intention to come between us. Bodie is doing that well enough on his own.” The bitter edge to the usually soft voice was evident as Illya winced.

“Don’t be so harsh Ray, he’s hurting.” Napoleon strolled casually into the room and took in the scene his face a mask that Illya knew concealed his own feelings.

“S’Alright.” Ray answered softly. “I know my partner but he’s on his own on this one.” Ray stood and smoothed back the sheets before heading downstairs.

“Tovarisch?” Solo’s voice was carefully neutral and instinctively Illya winced at the tone. He watched Napoleon neatly fold his clothes onto the nightstand, schooling his face into an equally neutral mask before the dark haired agent turned to look at him.

“Napoleon?” Illya’s tone was as cool as his demeanor as he folded his hands behind his head.

“Just wondering.” Napoleon came closer to the bed, almost stalking the quiet Russian who made no move to escape. There was an undercurrent to the American, a question that would not be asked, but one that Illya guessed at all too readily.

“About?” Illya began a slow taunt, his fingers tracing an intricate pattern across his bare chest.

“About the merits of leaving you alone with Doyle.” The tone was flat as he replaced Illyas fingers with his lips, marking his lover with a moist trail from one rosy nipple to the other.

“Afraid?” Illya managed finally as the gooseflesh rose on his body. He was pleased to note that his response was almost steady. Almost, but not quite.

“That you’d throw away an American for a Brit?” Napoleon finished the question as he peeled the linen down the golden form and stopped just as a thatch of golden curls came into view.

“Oh? That?” Illya was breathless as the tormenting lips moved further south and nuzzled in the heady scent of his growing arousal.

Abruptly Napoleon stopped, his body straddling that of the supine Russian, golden olive skin glowed in the gentle light from the single bedside lamp, as he rose up on powerful arms to look down into hooded blue eyes. “Yes Illya that.” There was fear in the eyes, a hint of challenge and love, oh how the love touched the solitary breast of the Russian and like a large cat he undulated his body upwards towards the man above him, stroking his body along the partly clothed length.

“Moya dushka, in all the years you have known me have I ever abandoned you?” Illya struck his lips against the rapidly beating pulse in Napoleon’s neck and suckled urgently sending a shudder through the man.

“No.” Solo’s voice was becoming strained as he tried to maintain his composure against the sensuous assault.

“Moya Leyeoubf have I ever given you cause to think I would treat love as a game?” This time the hard calloused fingers rubbed gently at the responding nipples of his lover. Those same hands roughened from years of holding a gun, or a knife now played with such tenderness upon his flesh that the American all but sobbed as he bowed his head against the slender shoulder of his mate.

“Never.” Solo finally answered the question.

“So with all this empirical data, you still believe otherwise.” Illya captured the strong chin in his hand and pulled Napoleon’s face up to meet his, eyes searching and gently questing for an answer.

“I know how people look at you Illya.” Napoleon crooned softly nudging the silken lips with his own. “I know the avarice that they display. To have you for a day even an hour would for some be a great triumph.”

“Ah yes, but the triumph is all yours millii moy, you get to keep me.”

“Always?” The thought both daunted the American and made his heart sing.

“Yes always, besides how they look at me is their problem. I do not return their interest and go out of my way to keep to myself. I always have. Love Napoleon is not for me at least, something to show the world, it is small and cherished and special and lives right here.” He pointed to his heart as he looked earnestly into the dark eyes. Solo shook his head and twined his fingers with the large hand of his lover. Such a strong hand, so large and so capable he considered it for a moment and then placed it against his own heart.

“Love, my dearest friend, lives right here, and it is only for you.”

Illya smiled and trapped the lips again as he shucked the rest of the sheeting down to the foot of the bed, revealing himself gloriously naked and erect. Napoleon admired the view, and understood in one moment, that there was no other that Illya would feel comfortable enough, who he would trust enough to expose himself so fully. Again Illya arched up, rubbing the hardness of his body against the straining cloth of Solo’s pants. “You made me a promise Pasha.”

Waves crashed against Napoleon’s senses sending tiny sparks of electricity through his blood like a fine wine, singing her sweet siren into his brain, pure intoxication of thought, of spirit and of combined need. Nothing else mattered but the gentle willing body of his lover, of proving his worth and in that his love.

“You promised to love me.” Illya’s voice was a low steady throb echoing into his body and sending his pulse racing faster, then his lips were at Napoleon’s ears and whispered hotly. “Take me Pasha, fill me and make love to me.” And Solo was lost as he buried himself in his task and the warm body of the man beneath him. His tongue seeking out the sweetness of Illya’s very soul, the body sliding against him in perfect harmony as the pants and groans came heavier and faster. He touched, he tasted and above all he worshipped the body of his partner and Illya gave in equal measure as he stripped Solo in easy fluid movements. Then he spread his own body wide for the taking. As if by magic Illya’s fingers coated the length of the American’s erection with a cool slick gel before transferring the rest to his own body, his eyes held that of the American in thrall as he prepared himself fully.

“One.” Came the throaty voice in Napoleon’s ear sending him headlong to the brink of madness, “Two,” again the whisper that sent him teetering on the edge of perditions flames that licked his body. Illya arched up again his teeth grazing the earlobe before him, “Three.” He whispered and removed his hand from his body as Solo impaled him with one long thrust and sent them both into the smoky depths of sanity; only to be borne and reunited on the other side, giving them wings to soar above their bodies and crying out as one were reborn as a single entity. The intensity washing over them as Napoleon licked the salt tears from his lovers face and pulled him into strong arms and rocked gently.

“I will never leave you for another Pasha, you should know that.” The voice was heavy with sleep as Illya burrowed closer under the covers.

“I know, and you should know that I am a jealous lover. Not the easiest man to live with.”

“Oh but I have lived with you for years. I doubt you’ll ever change.” The last words were heavy sighs.

“If Bodie and I didn’t factor into the equation and you were free and alone could you sleep with Ray?” Solo asked softly carding his hands through the luxurious golden hair.

“Possibly. He is a very attractive and gentle man.”

Napoleon frowned, “Then I shall have to make sure not to give you cause.”

Illya chuckled lightly, “Oh Pasha, if I were single then yes, I would probably sleep with Ray, but he is not and I am not and I would not trade you for another now that I have you. This is so much more than I ever dared hope for.” Illya kissed Solos shoulder as he smiled, sleep pulling at him.

“I tried for years to not fall in love, to have someone to share my life, but Illya you are more than I ever dreamed as well, partner, lover, friend, only you do I trust enough with my soul to tell you I love you Illya Nickotevch Kuryakin, and I suppose I always have. Sleep now beloved.”

It was one command Illya was powerless to ignore and Solo winced when he saw the healing scars on his lover’s body and pulled him closer. On the edge of sleep he winced again as he heard the strident tones from the kitchen and prayed that the God who looked over all agents would spread His arms wide enough to get Bodie and Doyle through the pain.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Mr. Solo, are you sure of the details?” Alexander Waverly asked as he scanned the documents.

“Yes sir, they have been confirmed. Cipher checks indicate the movement of information followed a practiced route and was received.”

“What are the details of the handover?” Waverly puffed as he stole a glance at the dapper gentleman who sat at ease in his office.

“Handover will occur at Glienicker Bridge, Berlin at four am tomorrow morning, the security liaison from the KGB is Colonel Gurov.” Solo smiled.

“It would appear that your hypothesis is correct.” Waverly looked to Illya who was relaxed and comfortable in his own chair.

“Gurov is the head of KGB security, my contact has confirmed that Pakoslav will be sanctioned on Russian soil. There will be no hint of a scandal against the West. Flight-Lieutenant Phillips will be traded across without incident.” Illya stole a glace at his partner and smiled softly. Waverly did not miss the exchange and was silently pleased to see the young man finally at peace.

“You seem very sure.” Bodie’s voice was unconvinced and Waverly took the opportunity to study the man who leaned imperiously against his bookcase. Dark brooding and strong, but underneath the eyes dark circles appeared and the first faint trace of something almost bitter in the smile as he spoke. Cynicism and lack of sleep, he would have preferred the matter be dealt with on UNCLE terms but Cowley had insisted that Bodie be in on the handover. Now Alexander conceded that perhaps it wasn’t the best situation.

“I am.” Illya answered without hesitation.

“Bodie and I will escort Pakoslav, we’ve booked private charter to Berlin and will arrive with only 20 minutes to spare before the exchange.” Solo folded the cover closed on the affair and waited.

“Be about your business gentlemen. Mr. Kuryakin.” Waverly puffed on his pipe and Solo raised his brow.

“Sir?”

“We have other business to discuss.”

“Yes sir.”

The door snicked closed as Waverly tamped down the lid to his humidor and produced another document folder from his top drawer.

“What do you know of Gurov?”

“Professionally, he has an excellent record, and has held his position for the past fifteen years.”

“And personally?” Waverly squinted from under formidable brows.

Illya leaned back. “Valentin is a well educated man with a love of languages and of his family. He is very loyal and will not jeopardize the mission in any way shape or form.”

“So you trust this man?” Alexander prodded.

Illya shook his head, “No sir. I trust him to do his job, a job he will have no choice in completing to the best of his considerable ability.”

“You speak from first hand experience with him Illya.” Waverly liked to shock his agents and Illya although immune to most provocation was nevertheless momentarily shocked by the use of his first name.

“Yes sir I do.”

“And you will divulge no more than that?” Waverly smiled.

“I doubt if it will be of use to us, however, Val mentored me to the KGB. Most of my assignments were overseen by him and I found him to be fair and paternal, not unlike yourself sir.”

Touché Waverly thought. “ Then we shall have no problems. As you are aware your position within UNCLE was made difficult during this situation and we have done our best to keep you with us.”

“I understand sir. I am aware that the KGB had recalled me over my involvement in the death of Igor Gregorian.” Illya felt the cold hand trace his spine but remained outwardly calm.

“That order has of course been withdrawn but your status with the KGB is a little unclear at this time.”

“Unclear sir?”

“You have maintained an exemplary record according to your KGB masters.” Illya winced at the words but remained calm.

“However, there is this situation which will cost us dearly should we allow the matter to go unresolved.”

“I am prepared sir, to take full responsibility for the death of Igor Gregorian, the man was a monster.” Illya’s voice was low, but the conviction in the arctic blue eyes was unshakable.

“So it would appear, his files are far too clean. There should have been some hint of scandal, if this man is as you say, so far they have painted him almost saintly.”

“More like satanic.” Illya muttered.

“Indeed. Nevertheless Illya, neither UNCLE nor I will let go of you so easily. We have reached an accord within the powers that be, for certain situations to be monitored during the next few months.”

“What situations sir?”

“Nothing that needs to concern you at this time. It would be advantageous if this matter did not repeat itself in the future, and since I am fully aware I cannot ask you to guarantee that then we must take other measures.”

“The death of Igor Gregorian was necessary sir, he prayed on the innocent and was still doing so.”

“You, of course can prove this?”

Illya stared straight ahead, “A little over a year ago, CI5 were called in to investigate impropriety on the part of a foreign diplomats. There were several men involved who abused young boys and girls for sexual pleasure. The British government announced its displeasure and all but Igor were sent home to their various countries in disgrace. He was actively pursuing his interests.”

“I have no cause to doubt you Illya and have no doubt would have done the same thing in your place. However, UNCLE cannot afford its relationship in the Soviet sector to be compromised again.”

“Are you seeking assurances sir, or asking for my resignation?”

“Neither, I think it is time you recognized the potential of your situation and were a little more careful in its regard. Agents of your caliber and that of your partner are a rarity even in this age. I don’t often compliment my agents, it is not necessary in the chain of command, however I would be disappointed if I had to give you back to the KGB without a fight.” Waverly pushed across a document folder, which Illya took and read with a detached air.

“I am fully aware of my position sir.” He answered at length, his face betraying no emotion.

“Good, you have your orders Mr. Kuryakin in the meantime I would ask you to consider in the long term renouncing your Soviet status in favor of an open passport.”

“Yes sir.” Illya’s face passed quickly from confusion to sadness and then to resignation. The complex display of emotions so brief the old man wondered if he truly had witnessed their passing. “If you require it of me sir, then of course.”

“It is not a requirement Illya, an open passport will allow you to operate directly under UNCLE jurisdiction without fear of reprimand or censure from the KGB. I understand the gravity of the situation of giving up ones homeland, however there are other matters to consider.”

“Other matters?”

“Napoleon.”

“Napoleon?” Waverly smiled at the certain breathless quality the name elicited and sat back to draw deeply on his pipe.

“I am not blind Mr. Kuryakin.”

Illya colored slightly and looked down. “I suggest sir, if we are to have this conversation that my partner be included.”

“No doubt, however, we are not having that conversation Mr. Kuryakin. I have made no secret of the fact that I have personally groomed Solo for my chair, which God willing will be a number of years away yet. However, he will need personal security, which you can provide for him. I have only ever seen him truly happy or relaxed in your company. It is to safe guard both your futures that brings this matter forward.”

“In light of this information sir, I think I have the right to know what the KGB are asking for from UNCLE.”

Waverly smiled, the young man certainly was worth the effort and his sharp mind unable to let go of the purpose of the conversation.

“What the KGB want from UNCLE Mr. Kuryakin will not impugn yourself, our agency or cause undue distress to the sundry agencies, nor will it tip the balance of power. In fact it will ensure that talks will eventually begin with the IMF. The country is in need of aid, I have agreed to act as their voice where possible to provide them with what they need.”

“Such as?” Illya narrowed his eyes.

“Food, medical aid, sanctuary if and when required for certain individuals. The exact guidelines are not fully established but we have made it clear we will not be pushed on other points.”

“I was not aware I was worth that much.” Illya kept his gaze level, yet the small hitch in his voice was not lost on the old man.

“Yes, well a great deal more I suspect to your partner.”

“And you will allow our friendship to go unchallenged?”

“Whilst it harms neither of you, whilst it does not compromise your futures in any way shape or form, then I am powerless to object.”

Illya nodded.

“You may go now Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Sir.” Illya stood and headed to the door.

“One last thing Mr. Kuryakin.”

Illya stopped and waited for the other shoe to drop. “Sir?”

“You were going to tell me weren’t you?”

Illya smiled and looked down. “Probably not sir.”

“I see.” Waverly smiled.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya closed the door and let go a sigh of relief. “And that was about?” Solo’s voice came from close to his shoulder and Illya jumped a little.

“Illya?” concerned brown eyes raked the smaller man.

“The KGB has withdrawn the recall.”

“Excellent!” Solo’s joy was short-lived when he saw the aristocratic features contort into a spasm of pain.

“Perhaps.” Illya shooed away the guiding hand and drew a deep breath. “Mr. Waverly knows about us.”

Solo stopped and held on to his partners arm to slow his headlong flight. “And is this a problem?”

“No.” Illya shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. “In fact the trade off for Russia was excellent, I’m a little shell shocked Napoleon. Mr. Waverly has asked me to consider accepting an open passport.”

“Ah. Your not ready to give up Soviet citizenship.”

“I don’t think I would ever be ready for that. The implication was that if I didn’t then the KGB would have the ability to run me whenever they felt necessary and in doing so would cause you a degree of political if not personal problems.”

“That’s a non issue Illya. If your safety is at hand then we must take all necessary steps in order to secure your future.”

“If the KGB decide to reactive me, then they will use my moral indiscretions with you as a lever against you and to ultimately destroy me.”

“This is something I have already considered Tovarisch. We may not have spoken about it, perhaps we should, later.”

“After Berlin?”

“Yes. But know this my love; I will not give you up, not now, not ever. And we will do what we have to do together.”

Illya nodded his face tired and pinched from the pain. “Have you had a chance to talk to Bodie?”

“Yes. Ray tore strips off him, but I think they’ll work it through, they love each other too much not to.”

“Another guilt I am the cause of.” Illya’s voice was full of remorse.

“Hey.” Solo’s voice was soft as he cupped the much-loved face in his warm palm. “Stop that. Not necessary.”

“Napoleon, we are in the corridor.” Illya admonished as he stepped away.

“And this concerns me?”

“Obviously not, but it concerns me.” The deep voice intoned softly, carried with the softly spoken words was the unmistakable menace and Solo shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Alright Illya, office, now.” The crisp command tone brooked no argument as Illya followed in Solo’s wake and waited till the door closed behind them before he sank into the padded leather chair. “You care to explain?” Solo shuffled some papers on his desk and tucked his passport neatly into his pocket.

“I don’t know if I can Napoleon. There is a lot to consider and mostly this is the reason I’ve avoided having a relationship before now. My actions could be potentially dangerous to your future. The only option I have is to renounce Soviet status.”

“So what’s the hook Illya?"

“Hook?”

“Yes, who or what do they have that you’re worried about.”

“I have no direct family Napoleon, there is nothing that they can do to me.”

“But still you are concerned.”

“Yes. If I take open citizenship then my records from the KGB will be given to UNCLE. At some point in time as head of UNCLE North America you will have to read the documents on your Section Two personal. What you will read will cause you great distress.”

“Ah dirty secrets from the KGB. I understand love, so we make a pact. If the time comes I’ll bring the files home and you and I can read them together.”

“You’d do that?”

“For you I’d do mostly anything. But I wont give you up, no matter what the provocation.”

Illya smiled softly. “When do you leave?”

“Three hours.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“No more than a night. I love you.” Solo crouched on the floor of the office and brought the recalcitrant features to meet his steady gaze, Illya leaned into the touch and onto the shoulder snuggling for strength and against the demons that taunted conscious thought.

“I love you too.”

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Time to wake up comrade.” The UNCLE security officer prodded the sleeping bundle on the bed and backed away, his partner at the door ready for any emergency.

“Why?” Krasanskii blinked in the blinding light.

“You’re going home. Get up, get dressed.”

Almost numbly Pakoslav straightened from the bed, the bullet still lodged in his shoulder lancing pain through him with the movement. His time had come and without preamble he did as he was commanded.

Surprisingly his captors showed him some humanity as they allowed him to shower. He watched as the blood flowed down his legs and mixed with the clean hot water as it gurgled down the drain, his life flowed away from him as assuredly as his blood now did.

He ached, his heart ached, his body throbbed and somewhere from the depths of his soul the last vestiges of sanity fled on wings born of horror and left him bereft.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Need to know.” Solo’s voice bordered on arrogance and the Englishman bristled.

“All you need to know mate is that I can do my job.”

“No, I need to know you can do your job and watch my back.” Solo countered with equal ill humor. “And,” he added in a voice as smooth and contemptuous as decade old whiskey, “I need to know now.”

“Look I realize you’d prefer your partner to back you up on this,” Bodie began and stopped abruptly as Solo held up his hand.

“I don’t care who my back up is so long as its backup. I would prefer Illya, I have you, and my question is still valid, are you up to the assignment?”

Bodie sagged into the lounge and stared out at the fading afternoon sun. “Yes, I’m up to the job.”

“Good. We leave in thirty minutes.”

“Where’s Illya?” Bodie was still staring outside.

“He’s been held up with the old man. I suspect Ray will bring him home.”

“Wrong.” Came the cheery reply from the doorway. “Hello Sunshine.” Doyle saw only his partner and headed towards him.

“Hey.” Bodie’s face lit up as he visibly relaxed. “Where’ve you been?”

“I,” answered Doyle with disdain as he plucked off his tie, “ have spent the better part of the day trudging around Whitehall with the old man.”

Bodie made a face.

“Well I guess that means that Illya will have to find his own way home. Do you have your passport?” Solo’s voice remained calm as he shrugged on his gray cashmere coat over the bulge of his UNCLE special.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you in the car, give me a minute.” Bodie stood and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the couch and waited till the front door closed behind Napoleon.

“Your off then?” Ray asked as he immersed himself in a stiff scotch.

“Apparently. We should be back within twenty four hours, longer than that send the cavalry, if you think I’m worth it.”

Doyle drained the glass and cast a withering eye over the larger man. “Berk.” There was no real sting in the tone as he pressed his body against his partner.

“Sunshine, I am sorry.” Bodie buried his head in the mop of auburn curls and held on tight.

“No need. Just a wake up call love. I’ll be here and we’ll sort it out when you get back. Not getting rid of me so easy.”

Bodie captured the full lips against his own, the taste of scotch and tea on his tongue as he delved into the moist depths.

“I love you Ray, don’t say it enough, maybe never meant it enough before now, but I do.” Bodie whispered into the warm neck.

“Go, the sooner it is done, the sooner we can go back to fighting the bad guys on our terms. Don’t know about you mate, but I’m glad we don’t have their lives.” He nodded towards the door.

“Yeah, me too. I’ll see you soon.”

“Count on it.” Ray shoved his hands in his pocket and as Bodie looked back he saw the street urchin in full saintly glory back lit by the last rays of the twilight sun. Ethereal against the half-light, sensual and erotic and his breath caught in his throat as his fallen angel smiled.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

BERLIN:

Solo shuddered into his great coat, the dark sky threatening to burst with an impending storm as he cast a dismal eye over the area. Krasanskii had been kept under sedation during the short flight and recovered barely enough to get into the back of the UNCLE support car and be taken directly to the holding cells.

Uncharacteristically Bodie remained quiet throughout the flight, his nerves tingling already with anticipation that something would go wrong. Solo smiled, such paranoia was disconcerting and he left the man to himself. Content to read the newspapers and watch the complex man. Three hours into the trip and Solo again tried the London office for news of his partner.

“Overseas relay.” He requested into the pen.

“Channel D open Mr. Solo, have you made contact yet?” Waverly was direct and intercepted all the calls, which in itself Solo found curious.

“Yes sir, the agency sent a coded message through UNCLE Berlin about an hour ago, everything is on schedule.”

“Very well Mr. Solo, carry on.”

“Yes sir.” With a frown Solo broke the connection and pulled on his coat. In all his years in the service many of his happiest days had been spent in Berlin. In the days when he was younger, carefree and ready to chase a bit of skirt for the thrill of the hunt. Now, now he looked around as he stepped out onto the busy city street and found that the charm and glamour of it had worn thin. He saw with jaded eyes the first stages of decay both moral and social. The brash American sector full of flashing lights and girly bars, the British sector fared little better and add into it the French quarter and Solo was left with feeling disassociated.

Life had changed dramatically and in introspect hadn’t changed at all. He huddled further down into the coat and thought back to the man he had left in England. Brave, independent, stoic, and capable, his equal in every sense of the word. And a colder more ruthless agent UNCLE and the KGB ever spawned, Solo had not met, nor on reflection did he want to. But still underneath that cold and brittle exterior, underneath the shell of the man who was a consummate professional lurked the heart and wonder of a child. When engrossed in his experiments in the labs he would smile and winter would dissolve. Solo ducked his head as he found himself smiling too and continued down the dirty street towards the San Francisco bar.

Dark clouds threatened any moment and the watery hue cast strange and wonderful shapes on the sidewalk. He remembered the bar as being a hive of activity, American service men crowded her ranks and with it he hoped the man he had come to meet would at least be sober and on time. The CIA he noted dealt contemptuously with all other agencies, UNCLE included, still this man had once been his friend and he trusted the instinct of friendship less and less in these strange and almost crazy days.

“Napoleon!” The shout went up across the din and in the smoky depths he found the face to be much older than his forty five years would account for and realized he had seen the loss of hope in the same eyes of his British companion not an hour before hand. He shuddered, covert ops were meant to be covert, he hardly anticipated his name shouted across a crowded bar to be the height of intelligence. Still for this to end he needed the CIA and that meant he needed Alex Powers.

Feigning a smile he shouldered his way through the steady swelling throng and leaned against the bar.

“Hey Buddy you want a drink?” Alex swayed uneasily towards him and Solo felt his body tremble from barely suppressed anger.

“No and I think you’ve had enough Alex. Long time, I see nothing has changed.”

“Oooh the high and mighty UNCLE boy telling us poor slobs what to do again. Still.” He paused close enough to smell the rancid air that this man exuded and smiled again.

“If the shoe fits Alex, besides I’m not here on pleasure.”

“So I see, you need something otherwise you’d never even bother to come down here and talk to me.”

“We can do this here if you want, or elsewhere.” Solo eyed the growing crowd with suspicion.

“Elsewhere.” Alex’s southern drawl was heavy with sarcasm as he followed Solo out into the fresh air and smiled. “So what do you want?”

“I know you know I sent the communication myself.”

“So another Ruskie goes home and we get to do the handover, why all the cloak and dagger? This is routine for us.”

“Yes well routine doesn’t mean professional. The man going across is Pakoslav Krasinskii.”

Powers shrugged his broad shoulders as he lit a cigarette. “Meant to mean something?”

Solo smiled. “The White Wolf.”

Powers burnt his finger on the match and dropped it mouthing obscenities to the ground. “Your kidding me right?”

“Never. And this is one handover your people don’t want to botch.”

“I’ve never lost anyone on a handover yet. Who are we getting?”

“American pilot, does it matter?”

“No I guess not. Gleinicker Bridge at four am, why so early.”

“We ah, don’t really want witnesses.”

“I get the point, pickup at the usual, I’ll send two agents to stake out the bridge to be certain.”

“Good.”

“Any other agency taking the credit for this?”

“CI5 is involved but the blame Alex will be all ours.”

“So where blondie?”

“My partner is in London.”

“I see.” Alex nodded, “heard a building fell on him, is he okay?”

“Good news travels fast. Yes he’s fine.”

“But of course.” Alex stopped on the street corner and flicked his butt into the gutter, complete contempt of the city written on his broad features. “No self respecting building could dent your partner.”

Solo walked away he’d be glad to go home.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

The single span cantilever bridge was everything that the spy novels sold in drug stores said. Old and almost deserted, its foreboding gray structure cloying the landscaped with industrialized madness. On one side the decadent west, pillar of hope and prosperity to a waiting world, on the other the ordered chaos of the USSR. Against the landscape Solo again wondered at the enigma of his partner, acutely aware of the hardships the Soviet State had offered in her blind idealism and found that both societies lacked the spark of humanity that was all but bereft in all conscious thoughts.

“Bleak.” Bodie muttered as they waited for the long black saloon car to pull up on the other side of the bridge. A shadowy figure emerged and did a cursory sweep of the area. Solo pushed the door open and his smile was cold and impersonal as he approached the middle of the bridge.

“Colonel Gurov.” He nodded, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

“Ah Napoleon Solo. A pleasure.” The Colonel smiled and extended his hand. Solo found that his first instinct was that had times been different they could have been friends and shook his hand.

“You’ve picked a fitting location for this Colonel.”

“Da we have used this location before very successfully, away from the prying eyes of those who would criticize what we would do.

” “Yes media attention is not necessary.”

“The public should not know what we have to do.”Gurov agreed. “Your pilot is more than ready to go home, you have our man?”

Solo nodded and Bodie opened the car door helping Krasinskii to his feet, flanked by two CIA agents. Hats pulled low over their faces they waited as Bodie walked the Russian to his comrades the action mirrored by the Russians.

The pilot was no more than a youth, dark hair and pale eyes shone with delight at the prospect of going home, but still the haunted expression lasted, knowing that at any moment freedom and home could be snatched away and he could find himself a guest again in enemy territory. Pakoslav on the other hand made no move, nor showed any real interest in the proceeding, his shoulder bound in a simple sling and his face dark with pain and beaded with sweat.

“Comrade.” Gurov smiled and hugged the man to him as they exchanged prisoners.

“Lieutenant.” Solo shook the young Americans hand when he passed him on the bridge as Bodie escorted him to the American agents waiting to debrief him.

“A great pity.” Gurov said as he watched his man amble slowly to the car and stop waiting for further attention. “He once had the makings of a great man Mr. Solo, and today we lose not one but two of our best.”

Solo frowned as he followed Gurov’s gaze back towards the car. A trim figure emerged, clad only in black, the shock of golden hair glowed softly in the moonlight as he reached a hand forward.

“Oh God. Illya.” Solo breathed quietly his breath misting in the cold air.

“Yes. A great pity.” Gurov shook his hand as walked slowly back.

Solo was riveted to the spot as he watched the macabre tale play out before almost disbelieving eyes.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

“Look at me Pakoslav.” Illya tilted the now kneeling man’s head up till their eyes met.

“I had thought,” Pakoslav cringed,” that you would not be my executioner.”

“You had thought wrong.” Illya raised the gun to the mans forehead and pulled the trigger. Pakoslav slumped to the ground as the faint echo of the silencer whistled through the air. Turning the gun around he handed it to Colonel Gurov and pushed his hands back into his pocket.

“A great pity Illya. Still we must do what we can to survive. No doubt sometime soon I shall see you in the west.

“Perhaps.” Illya allowed the embrace, biting back a curse as the Colonel found the bruised ribs and squeezed gently.

“God speed.” Gurov stepped over the corpse and ordered his two companions to put the body into the trunk.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya slowed his approach across the bridge when he saw his partners pinched features.

“Everything has a price Napoleon.” He said softly. “I have just paid mine for our future.” He continued across the old bridge as Bodie stared after the slim black clad figure that got into the car.

Solo stood on the bridge, the early morning air crisp around his shoulders as he watched the glow of lights on the horizon of Berlin. Life went on, nothing changed and everything died, but for the moment the only thought that pierced his reverie was that the price had been too high.

“Open Channel D, overseas relay.” Solo opened the pen communicator.

“Ah Mr. Solo, you have our man?” Waverly enquired.

“Yes sir.”

“And the outcome?”

“As we expected sir, Krasanskii was shot by a high ranking KGB officer.”

“And the officer Mr. Solo.”

“Illya is safe sir.” There was a pause on the end of the phone as the old man let go a grateful breath.

“And is no longer a KGB agent. He has been released from service into our hands.”

“Where we can make use of his considerable skills.” Solo answered sourly.

“Indeed Mr. Solo. Report to London HQ as soon as you get back. You and Mr. Kuryakin have some leave time and I have no pressing matters for you to deal with. I suggest you take some time.”

“Yes sir.” Solo recapped his pen and stood a moment longer, the stench of blood and cordite hung bitterly in the cold air, followed him as he headed back across the bridge and to the car.

For a moment he wondered what he felt, and found that it was nothing at all and he shivered.

Finis.