Solo collected all the relevant files and checked in with Ed Harris, London's CEA and then with Mr. Waverly, he was a little surprised when Waverly told him in no uncertain terms Mr. Kuryakin's request for a hotel room was rejected. Mr. Cowley had arranged accommodation and did he realize how expensive it was to continuously pay for hotels, especially when it wasn't necessary. Solo apologized throughout the dressing down and returned his communicator to his coat pocket.

He caught up easily with his partner and pulled him into the temporary office they had been assigned.

"Okay, Illya, spill it."

Illya shook the hand from his arm with growing irritation. "What?" he snapped.

Solo kicked the door closed with his foot and planted his partner firmly down in one of the office chairs. "I just spent the last fifteen minutes getting chewed out by the old man because you requested hotel accommodation."

"I take it he refused," Illya said with obviously bad humor.

"Refused? Oh yes, he refused all right. Illya, this is not like you. We've slept in tents in jungles and shared single beds in India, in summer, and you have never once complained to Waverly. What's going on?"

Illya steeled himself and looked into his partner's eyes. He couldn't tell him, couldn't loose this man's trust and friendship. "Napoleon, I..." he stammered.

Napoleon was getting afraid. Illya never stammered unless he was seriously upset, and never went to Waverly without his knowledge. Solo looked down at his watch and pushed a chair to the door. He sat down in it, effectively blocking Illya's only escape route and folded his arms across his chest.

"Illya, whatever it is, you can tell me." Solo said in his most pleasant voice and Illya slumped dejectedly in the chair.

"Bodie and I met when I was finishing my degree at Cambridge and we became friends. He was just back from Africa and staying with family."

Solo nodded. "Go on. I'm listening."

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

CAMBRIDGE: 1970

"Sculls Bar" was a typical hangout for the university crowd. Its long wooden bar was overhung with rowing oars, and the small area was packed on the Friday night. Couples squeezed into booth tables and a pall of stale cigarette smoke hung almost oppressively over the patrons. Yet in the midst of this tiny cramped and loud room no one seemed to mind. All eyes and ears were open to the joyous cacophony of friendship.

Illya felt very much out of place as he entered and looked about for the man who had invited him here. His clothes were shabby even by university standards and he felt the disapproving eyes on him as he entered slowly. He listened for the voice and found it in the middle of a group of pretty girls. Illya's confidence abandoned him at that point and he backed towards the door, seeking the cool fresh air.

He managed to get half way up the street before a large hand enclosed on his arm and terror lit the large blue eyes. He whirled to face Bodie.

"Leaving so soon?" The English man asked.

Illya nodded and moved away. Bodie caught him up again easily.

"Why?" Bodie pursued.

"I don't belong there, Bodie, we both know that." Again he turned his feet resolutely down the street and stopped just outside the glow of a street light.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Illya opened his eyes and looked across at his partner, "It was foolish to start a friendship so late in my education. I was due to graduate in a few weeks."

"Nevertheless you were friends?" Solo asked, obviously confused.

"I thought so. Even though I passed with distinction I went home under suspicion. I was given my orders and shortly after I was liberated from the submarine corps, I was assigned guard duty at one of the Gulags. It was a couple of years after I left England and several months before Mr. Waverly orchestrated my involvement with U.N.C.L.E."

"And?"

"The prison was attacked late one night. A political prisoner who was the bone of contention between Russia and the United Nations was under our care at the time. Bodie led the SAS assault force. I pulled my gun and hesitated. I guess I just couldn't pull the trigger. Bodie had no such qualms and he shot me."

"Did he know it was you?"

Illya smiled a little sadly. "Yes, Napoleon, he knew it was me."

"He betrayed you?"

Illya shook his head slightly. "I am not sure Bodie will see it quite like that."

"He thinks you betrayed him?" Solo was beginning to understand.

Illya nodded sadly.

"Did you?" Solo finally asked.

Illya shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps I think I betrayed myself. Things were not good between me and my Soviet masters then, my friend. Being wounded in the line of duty redeemed me to them somewhat. I was later decorated by the Chairman and became a valuable trade off to U.N.C.L.E. several months later."

"Russia got U.N.C.L.E. resources and we got a free hand to operate in the Soviet block countries," Solo countered only now realizing how important Illya had been to the quelling of dissention between his county and the agency. Nonetheless Solo was a shrewd and sophisticated man and was not appalled by the manipulation of his friend. Instead he sensed something else. "Is that all of it, Illya?" His eyes narrowed.

Illya blushed and looked down at his hands, remaining calm.

"Illya?" Solo pushed.

Illya looked up despair and fear evident in his normally steady gaze. "All that I am prepared to admit to, Napoleon. Please don't push me."

Solo had expected anger, hostility or icy calm. What he got shook him deeper than any of those things could. His lethal partner was afraid and Solo shuddered involuntarily.

"No, tovarisch, I don't think so. Whatever this is, it's haunting you and you want to tell me, don't you?" Solo's voice crooned as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

He was startled when he saw the ghost of a tear in Illya's eyes, one he knew in his own heart would never be spilt. The hunched shoulders and quickened breath made him even more nervous and Solo knew instinctively that Illya was hiding a painful truth, possibly the one that had stood between them all these years.

Then softly, so very softly, he heard the words Illya had feared speaking. "Bodie and I were lovers." The blond head stayed bowed and the hands clenched convulsively.

Solo took a deep breath, aware of what that admission cost his friend and smiled slowly, "Well, at least he had good taste." The smile spread to warm dark chocolate eyes and Napoleon sat back.

Illya looked sharply up, a tiny crease puckering his high brow as he stared. "I thought you would hate me." Even now the words were soft between them, Illya's heart close to breaking when he realized that his partner would not hold this against him as he had so feared.

Solo chuckled. "Oh Illya, I already suspected. Besides, you're my partner and my best friend. How could I hate you for anything?"

"You already suspected?" The words dawned on him, born of a ruthless need to finally be freed from this burden.

Solo nodded. "In Peru, our guide was rather taken with you, remember."

"We were on assignment, Napoleon. I would never..."

"Hey, I'm not condemning you and yes, I know. It was when Stefan actually confronted me over the cold front he was experiencing."

Illya frowned again, unaware of the conversation that had gone on between the two. "He asked you about me?"

Solo did laugh this time. "Well, yes and no, he actually apologized to me."

Illya shook his head. "Forgive me for being so dense, Napoleon, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Solo reached forward and put his hand reassuringly on Illya's arm, forcing the bottomless pools of blue up to meet his gaze. For one flash he almost drew back. The desire that coursed through him at that moment to take Illya's soft pink lips with his own was almost his undoing.

Instead Solo spoke, somewhat haltingly. "He thought we were lovers. Since he knew you were gay, he assumed I was as well and was a little more than concerned when he saw me tip Rodan over the edge of that cliff for hurting you."

Illya sat up in the chair, the relief that had flooded him gone at the simple words. "I am sorry, Napoleon! I never, I mean I would never..." he stammered.

Solo squeezed the arm gently. "It's all right, Illyusha, I didn't mind then and I don't mind now. I just wish you had told me sooner."

"How could I? Up until a few months ago, the KGB still kept me under surveillance. One whiff of moral turpitude and I was afraid of U.N.C.L.E. sending me back home in disgrace."

"Waverly would always find a way to keep you, and if he didn't I would. Besides I wasn't aware you were still monitored after what? Nearly five years in the west?"

"I am still a Soviet citizen and despite your kind words the political forum is as heated today as it was when I left. They still have the opportunity to place pressure even on Mr. Waverly, if he sent me back..." the Russians voice trailed off, only his eyes showing the true horror of his fear, and then the wall closed again, keeping the demons in and everyone else out.

Solo sighed and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Please, Illya, I know the stories all too well."

"Please understand something, Napoleon, in all my adult life I have had only a handful of sexual encounters and only one male willingly. I will do nothing to embarrass you I swear."

Solo head shot up, his eyes dark and stormy as he surveyed the cool blond who sat before him. "Bodie was your only lover ever?" he asked somewhat incredulously.

"Yes."

"And the rest were women?"

Illya nodded. "A few well-placed ladies."

"Enough to stop the gossip," Solo countered. "Are you going to be able to stay at the apartment with him?"

Illya shrugged and ran a tired hand over his eyes, the stubbled chin making him look dirty rather than macho. "I don't know. Unless I miss my guess, he and Doyle are in a relationship and they probably live together, so it should be bearable."

"And if it's not?"

"I have some money, Napoleon. I'll rent a place of my own while we are here."

Solo nodded as Illya stood. "Do you still love him?"

The blond stopped dead in his tracks, the jacket only half way on, and frowned, "No, I was never in love with Bodie. I knew it wouldn't last."

Solo laid a warm gentle hand on his friend's shoulder and opened the door. "If it gets to be too much, we'll share a place okay? After all, how could I stay where you're not welcome?"

Solo watched the younger man lead the way down the gun metal corridors and shuddered involuntarily, wishing against all reason that he could undo the pain inflicted on the soul of his friend. To be so afraid to be human, to deny all human contact lest it been seen as a failing and used against him. Solo finally felt he was beginning to understand his partner, the cool aloofness, the pain he sometimes read in those expressive eyes, and the lonely heart which with its silence all but brought the American to his knees in the midst of London's U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

And again those impulses to reach out and gather him into the safe warm haven of his arms. Solo smiled softly. How long had he been thinking about it? Since Peru? Nearly three years ago? He chuckled, the dawn of reason lighting his eyes and sending amber waves crashing through the brown.