In the beginning, there was darkness and the darkness was a comfort...

...no...

...that wasn't quite it...

...What was he thinking?..

Leaden eyelids struggled against their own weight as a muddles brain searched for an answer to a question so old that it was almost cliché -where was he? Closed lids opened to sslits as Napoleon Solo  cautiously stole a glance at his surroundings. Hmmn... He was alive, obviously, but -as he tried to rise and found himselff unable- bound. From what he could see, his arms and legs strained uselessly against the restraints of some kind of medical bed...the sort he recognized as belonging to a hospital's psychiatric ward. Why wasn't he surprised?

But how did he..? Ah yes. Memory came back in a flood. They had been captured -he and Illya- that he remembered all too well...captured, cuffed, and then he had felt the cold sting of a hypodermic needle...and then, nothing. Until now. A significant amount of time must have passed -the tattered clothes he had worn, had been replaced with the sterile white pajama-like garb common to hospitals. The fact that he was no longer rank, told him that he had been bathed and his distorted reflection in the barred window to the side of his bed, indicated that he had been shaved and his formerly disheveled overgrown locks cut back to the military trim with which he was familiar.

But none of that was important right now.

The important question to him was: where was Illya?

"It's about time you awoke."   What?   "Come, come now, Napoleon -I *know* your mind too well to be fooled by you playing possum."   A low laugh.   "You *are* my son after all...how did you *think* that I ultimately figured out where to find you. I taught you everything you know."

Napoleon followed the voice to its source. "Bastard..."

A slight frown creased Julian Solo's brow as he approached and stood at the foot of the bed. "Such impertinence from a child of mine, but then ...you *have* been in bad company for some time - I dare say that it's left you confused. I apologize for that."

"Where's Illya?"

"'Illya'?" The name was spoken in mockery. "That is only what he *calls* himself, you know. Did he tell you that he killed the man he stole that name from-"

"WHERE *IS* HE, YOU GODDAMNED SON OF A BITCH!"

The only reaction from the man that Napoleon knew all over again as his father was the slight raising of a greying eyebrow and the tightening of his lips. "Safe...and waiting until we finish our conversation."

"Conversation?" Solo spat. "What would I have to say to the man who has only lied to me for my entire life? What would I have to say to *you*!"

"A great deal in time -when you return to your senses. For now, it would suffice for you to convince Kuryakin to reveal what he knows about the structure of the Resistance...and their plans."

A low laugh escaped Napoleon's mouth. Illya was alive -and he hadn't talked...but then again, of *course* he wouldn't. Not the loyal rebel he had come to love. Not-  "Oh, *now* I see, Father. *Now* I see why you've been hunting me -hold me hostage...threaten *my* life -and you figure Illya will break? Don't waste your time- we're not *that* close."

"As I said, son -I *know* you. You have never been able to lie to me and I know that you and Kuryakin are lovers. In any case...'forceful persuasion' would only be applied if you refuse to simply `talk' to him and convince him to reveal everything he knows -as you were assigned to." An apparently mollifying smile turned Julian Solo's lips. "You *are* still THRUSH, my son -confused by your travails right now- but THRUSH nonetheless and you have always served the greater good."

Silence.

"I know how difficult it is to serve a higher cause when you have come to care for the enemy, but it must be done. This I learned long ago."

More silence.

"Your mother..." Don Julian Solo noted the suspicion-laden narrowing of his son's eyes. "I loved your mother almost more than life itself, but Intelligence learned that she had been giving comfort to the enemy -teaching the children of the lowlifes to read and write- and I was given a choice of whether to follow the dictates of my heart or to serve the greater good that is THRUSH. You were at training school at the time, I believe." Don Julian smiled grimly. "She didn't know that I knew her secret. That night, after making love...I broke her neck. It was the right thing to do. You, son, will do the right thing
as well."

Solo's heartbeat became thunder in his chest; anger, outrage, and grief at war within him at the resurgence of memories of the tender and loving woman who, also, had called him `son' and the knowledge revealed by the monster who called him `son' now. "You...MURDERING MONSTER! If you believe that I would help you -if you even *think* I would serve the purposes of a regime that would employ a *beast* like you, you must be insane!"

The elder Solo shook his head in exaggerated dismay. "So like your mother..." he murmured before pressing a button on a nearby wall-mounted intercom. "Send in the inquisition team...and...bring in Kuryakin -I want him to see this." Don Julian sighed with satisfaction. "You see, my son, with your co-operation or without it, *you* WILL get Kuryakin to talk -after all, I'm sure that even the famous `Ice Prince' couldn't stand to see his lover tortured to death. You made sure of that."

Napoleon Solo swallowed in dread -the glacial warrior he had first met would *never* have capitulated -for *anyone*...but the warm, passionate being he had coaxed from beneath the layers of steel and ice, the Illya Kuyakin who had taken that dangerous chance to emerge from hiding to find him only to be caught because of that act...

What *had* he done?