"Waken."

Napoleon Solo heard the soft, feminine voice as if from a distance, his eyelids heavy, his limbs even more so -not paralyzed...just so very leaden. It was then that he realized that he was not laying between the soft sheets and firm mattress of a bed. The solid form beneath his back was cold, flat, and hard, unadorned by sheets or blanket. His eyes flew open with horrified realization -he knew where he was. "No..." Through the haze that obscured his vision, Solo recognized the place where he had recently been poked, prodded and examined...as well as the strange beings who had performed that particular violation. "Not again..." he whispered.

Scholar allowed herself a faint smile. "Intelligent...and yet not intelligent. Surely you could not believe that we could retrieve you when we wished -if we wished?" No answer. "And you couldn't believe that we would not have what you humans call a 'back-up plan'? While I would have preferred that nature be allowed to take its course, I have been informed that we lack the luxury of taking the time required for you and your mate to come to your senses and co-operate with us. Therefore...we have intervened."

Napoleon felt dread close like a fist around his heart. Despite the drugged-like lethargy that slowed his body, he was able to turn his head to one side and then the other -just beyond reach, his friend, partner and lover -Illya- lay on similar metal palate, unclothed as was he, and unconscious. "What...what have you done! If you've hurt him-"

"Hurt him?" Scholar seemed to consider the accusation. "Hardly -it would be contrary to the purpose of this experiment to damage our subjects." Scholar cocked her head to one side, studying the dark-haired human whose instinctively protective reaction was no more than she had expected. "We have merely done what you refused to do. You have been harvested and your genetic material and his have merged as was planned. We have now only to wait to determine whether full gestation of the pre-embryonic lifeform within your mate will prove as much a success."

The dread became cold fear. Napoleon pushed himself to a shaky sitting position, limbs still weak. "You can't! Illya is still a man -your experiment could kill him!"

Scholar merely shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Wait-" Napoleon woke up with a start, heart pounding, sheets snarled around his legs. A nightmare... The laugh that escaped his mouth sounded like a strangled sob. Just a damned confused, horrible nightmare. He glanced around sharply, further confirmed the evidence of his senses before allowing himself a ragged sigh of relief -no lab, no alien ship...just the same room in which he and Illya had touched, kissed, and made love in, in all ways but one.

Solo considered the condoms in his wallet -they would take that route someday, no doubt, but not yet. He knew that despite his apparent acceptance of the situation that Illya was far more shaken by the changes to his body than he let on. The thought of what their former captors had expected of them -of Illya- to satisfy their alien curiosity hung over them both like a dark cloud. *They* were still out there -whoever or whatever they were- and until that chapter in this insane affair was closed, neither he nor Illya would feel safe to explore this unforeseen aspect of their new, growing relationship.

A frown creased Napoleon's brow as he reached over to stroke his partner's gold satin hair and found that side of the bed unoccupied, the sheets cool to the touch. Illya had been out of the bed for several minutes at least, but where..? The senior UNCLE agent noticed a faint light spilling into the bedroom from the hallway and rose to follow it.

Dismay at his nightmare-rattled nerves forced a sigh from between Napoleon's lips as he realized that the light was coming from the partially open bathroom -as if *he* hadn't ever had to get up in the middle of the night to heed Nature's call- but the wry grin that followed quickly faded from Solo's visage as he recognized a sour odor...and the sounds of repeated, violent retching. "Illya..?"

Even as Napoleon swung the door fully open, Illya looked up from his crumpled position on the cold tiles before the toilet bowl, his eyes reddened and bleary with anguish, his normally translucent skin now waxen and damp with cold sweat. "Polya...I do not...feel well..."

********************

It had been mere minutes before an UNCLE ambulance had responded to Napoleon 's anxious call and not many minutes after that, that Napoleon had found himself relegated to the waiting room of UNCLE's medical wing after Illya had been whisked away for examination.

Now, Napoleon paced, aware of the re-emergence of a forgotten longing for the cigarettes he had not smoked in years, as his mind cast about for something to do while he waited and worried. What if his unspoken fear had come true? What if the tampering to Illya's body had caused some kind of damage or illness that Medical had not recognized...something that was only now making itself known? What if-

"Mr. Solo?"

"Doctor..?" Napoleon blinked, woken from his troubled musings, as UNCLE's chief medical officer approached him. "How is Ill- Mr. Kuryakin?"

"A little green around the gills right now, but in no danger. He'll be all right."

"Then what-"

"Mr. Solo, I must apologize," the C.M.O. interrupted. "Earlier, when I suggested that Mr. Kuryakin undergo artificial insemination, I had no idea that you and he had already decided-"

"Doctor-"

"You have no idea what this will mean to the field of genetics' research."

"Doctor-"

"Of course, all precautions will be taken into consideration to protect-"

"DOCTOR!" Solo's voice had risen loud enough that several medical technicians at the other end of a connecting corridor turned their way in bewilderment. "Doctor," Napoleon said in a softer, though no less insistent, voice, "*what* is wrong with my partner?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong," the C.M.O. replied lightly. "He's just pregnant."