"We will have the time later, Pasha."  Illya whispered, eyes glittering mischievously.  "We'll make time."

Napoleon let Illya pull him upright  and followed the lithe golden figure from the canopy bed.    The observers, Sergei, and the children were gone.  In their place were a pair of veiled women who wrapped the two men in thick robes and led them farther into the maze-like building.

"Where are we going?"  Napoleon found himself asking as he followed his partner.

Illya grinned wickedly over his shoulder,  "Only now you ask this?  We still have much to do.  We go to bathe and plot, my friend."

The American nodded as comprehension dawned.  He had heard about Russian baths... the men  bathed in the hot waters while making business deals, meeting with their subordinates, and arranging the future.  According to rumors, often the results of discussions at the banya meant more than a full day's work at a committee meeting.

At a set of heavy, iron-bracketed wooden doors, the women stopped, allowing Illya and Napoleon to enter alone.  The cool air that accompanied them, made the thick steam of the banya swirl and dance around them.  Only Illya's light grip on his arm gave the older agent any sense of place or reality.  He tensed even as he followed the other man's path.

"We are here, lyobov."  Illya whispered even as he came to a stop.  "For now, it is still only us.  Soon, the others will join us.  But for the moment..."  Gentle hands stripped the robe from Napoleon's shoulders and led him to the edge of a stone pool. Instinctively, he followed the voice and the hands down into the water. "Let me do this?"

He couldn't find any words to speak as Illya's long fingers scooped the warm water over him.   Like a benediction, the water ran down his head and back, spreading a warm, comforting feeling through Napoleon.  The fingers returned, this time with more than water and he could feel the soft slickness of soap as they massaged his back.  The wafting steam kept him from seeing the movements of his partner, but he knew with the prescience born of their nascent bond each move before it was made. Each time the water was scooped over him, it felt like a benediction. Each inch of skin cleansed felt completely renewed and invigorated.

Finally he stood, one hand reaching out to cup Illya's shoulder.  The other man froze, waiting patiently for Napoleon.  With a slight bend of his knees, Napoleon filled his palms with the warm water and raised it. He concentrated on picturing Illya... seeing him with his mind as he could not see him with his eyes.  It only took a moment and then he saw his partner, faintly against the mist.  He poured the water and the vision in his mind sharpened, brightened.

Napoleon reached out behind himself and the oil soap was there.  Still focusing on the image that his eyes could not see, he reached out and let his fingers sink into Illya's hair, washing away the exhaustion and tension he could feel there.  Then he rinsed away the residue of the soap, noting idly that in his mind, Illya's head was now clear enough to see the individual strands of the fine blond hair.  He dipped his hand into the oil again and brought it to Illya's shoulders.  The dim outlines of bruises washed away under his hands... as did the deeper pain-filled lines along the bones.  Napoleon closed his eyes, focusing on the sight of within him... locking it on the results of his efforts. He was not about to leave a single inch of his love unhealed, untouched, or unexplored.  He was not about to ignore the instinct that told him how important this was or how urgent that it be done correctly.

"Sergei?"  The soft voice made Illya open his eyes.  He was resting his head on Napoleon's shoulder, both of them resting in the second pool room of the banya.  "Will we wake them?"

"No.  I doubt either of them is sleeping."  The rough voice of his old friend preceded him through the curtained doorway.  Sergei smiled warmly down at them as he placed a tray beside the two men.  Behind him several men quietly entered.

"Dawn will soon be here, Peirun." One of the men announced.  "The army is mobilizing in its attempts to find your plane."

Another man spoke as he stepped into the deep pool.  "The U.N.C.L.E. offices are very busy... They think they have lost Mr. Solo, permanently.  His communicator was found in a dumpster in New York City and they are very worried."

Napoleon frowned at that information.  "But I broke with U.N.C.L.E..."

"We know better than that,"  the first man laughed.   He returned to his report.  "The GRU is most upset by the events that have occured.  They discovered that our people in the KGB deleted all of Katya's files. Unfortunately for them, they are about to find that their back-up are also gone."

"Good."  Illya's grin was quick and vicious.  "And the doctor?"

"I have him in a safe place."  Sergei answered.  "There will be no chance for anyone to bring misfortune through him."

Illya relaxed slightly.  Ever since the unexpected challenge, he had feared the worst ... the other side getting to their zealously hidden information.  Now all he had to do was answer the questions he could feel burgeoning up in Napoleon's mind.  And some of those answers were going to hurt almost as much as leaving Napoleon had hurt.