Trusting a New Partner

by m klindt

There's a mole at headquarters and Napoleon must decide if it's his new partner of three months or not. Part of my Lexi series, but only at the ends and supportive characters.

1. Chapter 1

Trusting a New Partner

By

M. Klindt

Chapter One

Napoleon Solo walked into the New York UNCLE headquarters whistling softly. It had be an exhausting weekend spent with his THRUSH pet, Angelique. Little bits of information were exchanged on both sides, but with nothing of importance for the other to use.

"Good afternoon, Napoleon," the alluring receptionist purred as she pinned his badge to his chest, giving him a whiff of her intoxicating perfume.

"Yes…my darling Clementine." Napoleon smiled, looking down at the pretty Asian pinning on his badge. Maybe he should ask her out to dinner tonight?

"Mr. Waverly wants to see you right away." The receptionist said, reluctantly pulling back from the dapper Section Two agent to sit back down at her desk.

"He usually does." Napoleon murmured softly to himself after he nodded goodbye to the lovely lady and passed through the pneumatic doors. Illya must already be here, he thought, because the old man usually doesn't summon him without his newly assigned junior partner of almost three months first.

The doors to Waverly's inner sanctum whooshed opened to reveal a single occupant. The older man's head was bent down over the papers that littered the circular table. The salt and pepper hair was looking more salt than pepper these days. Striding over to his usual chair, Solo paused long enough to read his mentor's aura, which was impenetrable for the moment. Unbuttoning his jacket, the younger man sat down while clearing his throat.

"Mr. Solo," a slightly disinterested voice traveled throughout the room. "Do you know why Mr. Kuryakin would request two days off, starting this morning, after you finished your routine "interrogation" with Ms. Du Chein? He said it was to spend some time in a research study group at a local university for a project he's working on for Section Eight."

Napoleon leaned back in his seat in utter shock. It took Napoleon over two minutes to react to what Waverly was saying. Thoughts of what would make Illya do that ran wildly through his head. "I don't know, sir…"

"Your last mission with Mr. Kuryakin, what went on?" Waverly demanded even though he had the report right in front of him and had already read it.

Napoleon was furiously trying to put into words what he and Illya tried to forget. It was a successful mission in rescuing a kidnapped infant daughter of a foreign dignitary, but there were problems. The psycho, who was working alone, had led them on quite a chase and had left mutilated baby dolls legs and arms with the clues for them to find the next drop point for the ransom. Illya had found the baby just in time; half buried and the mad man's gun aimed to kill. The Russian hesitated for only a split second before he shot the man dead. He then ran to the whaling child, pulled her out of the dirt, and tried to calm her as best he could.

Napoleon watched the tears roll down his partner's face while rocking the child. He was mumbling something that Solo couldn't understand all the while. After the paramedics came, they practically had to dart him to get the child away from Illya. Once the child was taken from him, the UNCLE agent stoically stood up and walked away. Napoleon attempted to talk with the blond man, but the Russian wouldn't have any of it. Illya shot down any attempt Napoleon tried as an opening to discuss what had happened. Soon, both of them want back to their comfortable silence and everything about the affair was dropped. Reports were written with just the facts and emotions were hidden away.

"We'd found the baby just in time." Napoleon nervously swallowed, trying not to inadvertently betray his new partner. "Mr. Kuryakin held the little girl until reinforcements came. The medical staff took her to the treatment center and then to her parents."

"Yes, yes, I know what the report says, but what really went on?" Waverly waved off the simple and empty report of the mission with a flick of his wrist, but his eyes were piercing right through the younger man. "And you will find out what's going on with him or I will have to ask for assistance from one of our newly acquired psychologist, a Mr. Samuel from Brooklyn."

"Yes, sir," the agent nodded as he stood up from the conference table, closed his jacket, and left his boss to his own thoughts. The doors slapped shut behind Solo before he stopped and lean against them. "Oh, Illya, what are you up to?"

Thoughts ebbed and flowed through Napoleon on how he and Illya were randomly assigned together by the current CEA, Jefferies. It had been a gamble for Napoleon from the very beginning. He was given a new partner that rest of senior agents thought was scraping the bottom of the barrel of the junior Section Two pool. This newly appointed Russian agent that was recetnly assigned to America and to top it off, Kuryakin was also a science geek to boot.

First appearances were deadly wrong in this case of the shy, skinny, toe-head blond. He was deadly accurate with anything he aimed at a target, a pyromaniac, and a very efficient polyglot. And that just scratched the surface of who this complex science nut was.

What surprised Napoleon the most was Illya's keen sense of judgment and very dark, dry humor. If you didn't know the Ukrainian in Russian clothing, you'd think he was rude, stand-offish, and cold as his penetrating, crystal blue eyes.

So far, Illya and he got along and formed a respectable partnership that saw them through many missions without too much damage. Although, Napoleon did still seek advice from his fellow senior Section Two friends from time to time, he was beginning to trust his new partner more and more.

With renewed purpose and ideas on how he was to find his wayward partner, Napoleon pushed off the door frame to head down to his close friend, Harvold Shaw's office to ask him if he noticed anything wrong with the young Russian since they were on that last mission. Old Harv had sparred with Napoleon's partner recently to maintain field work requirements for Section Two. It had been an impressive wrestling match between the bigger American and the slender Russian.

Solo could tell that Shaw was hell bent on beating the younger man and wasn't below cheating to prove who was a senior agent and who wasn't. If Napoleon had read Illya right, he'd given up a few key moves to let Shaw win and accepted defeat after a couple of jabs that weren't exactly fair or legal.

Afterwards, in the locker room, Napoleon caught the site of quite a few red marks on Illya's body starting to turn purple, more than what Shaw had inflicted. When he started to ask Illya about them, the blond told him in no certain terms that it wasn't a big deal and dropped the subject. Napoleon thought it was, because he and Shaw were friends, Illya knew that, and didn't want to cause waves.

For his part, Harvold seemed to frequently ask Napoleon how his Russian partner was doing, but never in a mean or demeaning way; Shaw seemed more interested in how Illya was fairing more than anything else. Harvold had his own new Section Two Junior partner to take care of, a Joe Phelps. Harv and Joe seem to hit it off really well and quickly became the go to agents for Waverly when the CEA and his partner weren't available. But lately, he and Illya were assigned to more complex missions that required special skills that his new partner brought to the table.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo sauntered into the Oasis Hotel and pressed the button to the elevator. His search for his partner started with the location he got from Illya's personal homing device he had told Napoleon he was working on. It led to a room on the third floor in this older, barely adequate establishment to spend the night by Napoleon's standards. This boring hotel was frequently used by visiting egg heads from different think tanks around the world to attend lectures and symposiums at many of the New York University departments. Napoleon knew that UNCLE has done surveillance duty on several occasions here and he was familiar with the hotel's basic layout.

The elevator doors slid open to the third floor to reveal a young, vivacious woman dressed in a nursing uniform waiting to get on. Her bright, white, form-fitting outfit left nothing to the imagination, but it was the makeup and white fishnet stocking that started Napoleon's heart racing. With the efficiency of his spy training, he started with her stiletto heels, up her lovely shaped legs, mini skirt with a slit on the side, reasonable sized breasts, beautiful face, auburn hair in a bun just under a starched-white nurse's cap and finally sparkling blue eyes.

Napoleon took a quick breath in as he forced himself forward out of the elevator and closer to this creature. She only smiled as she stood her ground and gazed up slightly at the dark-haired man in her path to the lift. It was then he noticed something in her lushes ruby red lips. The naughty nurse expertly rolled a candy sucker from one side of her mouth to the other.

At a temporary loss from words, Napoleon cleared his throat and demanded his libido to stand; not-so-firm as he gave the temptress one of his killer smiles, nodded his head, and stepped aside to give her passage to the elevator. Sadly, he had to remind himself that he was on a mission and shouldn't be distracted.

For the high paid hooker's part, she smirked, took a step closer, drew out a plastic wrapped sucker from a side pocket and seductively placed it into Napoleon's breast pocket. Her lingering touch was electric to Napoleon when she clicked her sucker against her teeth and then slurped softly as she continued to walk past him and into the elevator. She turned, pushed the down button and then leaned against the back wall with one hand holding a medical bag and the other twirling her sucker in her mouth.

"Thank you, Nurse." Napoleon bowed slightly as he patted his coat pocket with the sucker in it.

"You're welcome…Napoleon" The naughty nurse finally spoke as the door moved shut.

"What?" Startled by the prostitute using his name, Napoleon struggled to grab his pen communicator and "How did she know my name? Open Channel D, Phelps, I need back up!"

Joe Phelps had come along with Napoleon to help triangulate Illya's position. Harv had a meeting and thought that Solo could use some friendly help just in case. It was decide that Joe would wait in the car and Napoleon would go in first to see what was going on. So far, no one reported anything to the attendant at the desk when he checked with the man.

"Phelps here," the junior Section Two agent quickly responded. Napoleon could hear a car door close.

"A woman dressed as a nurse is in the first elevator past the desk. Stop her!" The CEA shout out to the young agent as he ran to the last room on the left at the end of the hall. "She knows my name and may have done something to Illya."

Solo stopped at door number 325 long enough to pocket his pen, pull out his gun, and the check the handle: It was unlocked. Napoleon pushed open the door, "Illya!"

The shouting of his name made Illya Kuryakin slowly turned his head up from the batch of papers resting on his lap. His chin had been tucked to his chest. Gone were his black suit coat and tie with his white shirt splayed open to show a sweaty sheer undershirt. The blond man hadn't moved anything else, but his head. His arms rested loosely at his sides, his gun within reach.

"Napoleon," Illya dully greeted his friend with glassy eyes. Napoleon could see his partner struggling to make sense to why he was there. "She…"

"I know," Napoleon hastily interrupted the junior agent. "Don't say any more for now."

Solo didn't want Illya to say anymore that might incriminate him later with Mr. Waverly. Napoleon still kept his gun raised as he checked the rest of the hotel room, but found nothing. Holstering his gun, Napoleon walked back to the couch to find Illya still quietly sitting, he had turned back to staring at the papers in his lap. Solo stood in front of the younger man, shoved the empty, over-turned vodka bottle and glasses away from the front part of the coffee table, and sat down while he looked over his drunken friend. Their relationship was new and rocking precariously on the edge of full trust.

"Napoleon," Illya said again with same confused and surprised expression he had when Solo had pushed through the door. "Yoooouu…here?"

"I know partner," Napoleon comforted the confused man as he looked into his diluted, stormy blue eyes. Gently placing his hands on each side of Illya's head, he tilted Illya's face slightly back and forth to get a better look. Illya's skin was cool and clammy with a sheen of perspiration starting to appear, but his lips were dry and his breath staggered. The scent of vodka permeated Solo's senses as the vapor of the alcohol circled around his partner. The belt around the Russian's waist was undone as well as his fly. "Illya, I need to get you ba-"

Before Napoleon could say more, the hotel door banged open with Joe Phelps rushing in with his gun drawn out in front of him. "Napoleon, Is it clear?"

"Yes," Solo calmly said as he gave the energetic young man the signal to stand down. Putting his gun away, Joe walked over to where the other agents were sitting and took a quick look around the room before finally setting his gaze on Agent Kuryakin.

"Man, is he drunk or what?" Joe whistled out in surprise. He would have never thought his fellow junior Section Two agent was this careless or wild. Kuryakin was always a bit standoffish and reserved, because of Harv and their partnership. "Look at this place. The bed's a wreck with makeup smeared all over the pillow…"

"Yes, I know," Napoleon rudely cut off the astonished man, trying to remind him of what he was supposed to be doing. "Did you stop the naughty nurse from the elevator?"

"Well, no." Phelps heavily sighed with an over-dramatic shrug. "I ran to the only elevators in the lobby and watched both doors come straight down from this floor. There were was no happy hooker or woman in either one on them. There was an elderly man with a dog, carrying a poop bag though."

Solo humped and dropped his hands to Illya's shoulders as he continued to securitize his dazed partner. "Well, let's go you back to HQ, partner of mine. I think we need to visit Medical and see what kinds of cocktails you've been mixing."

Napoleon lowered one of his hands to grab Kuryakin's gun, but was caught off guard at the speed Illya snatched his weapon out from underneath his hand to point it squarely at his partner's heart. After a few tense moments of looking down at Illya's gun being held with deadly accuracy at his chest despite the lack of any other expression from the young Russian.

"IK," Napoleon calmly lowered his other hand to signal Phelps not do anything rash after he drew out his gun and aimed it at Kuryakin. Then, he slowly turned up the palm of his hand. "I need to hold on to your special for now. I swear that I'll give it back, but right now, you are in no condition to do anything that requires a firearm."

"Napol…eon, I…I think that I am drunk." Illya stuttered out as he started to relinquish his gun to Solo with an uncoordinated turn of the barrel.

"No shit!" Joe heartily agreed until Illya twisted his gun back around to point it at Phelps. "Whoa there, Kuryakin! Don't do anything crazy."

"Joe," Napoleon said calmly more to Illya as he angrily eyed the other young agent. "That isn't helping. Illya, look at me, and concentrate. I need the gun and Mr. Waverly wants you to come in and report. Can you walk with me?"

The blond man garbled something out in a different language that Napoleon could barely understand, but when he got the gist of it, he quickly backed up.

"What did he say?" Phelps asked as he drew closer to the Russian's side.

"He said that he was going to throw up." Napoleon matter-of-factly said when Illya's head pitched forward and he began to retch. The CEA had to smile just a little when he watched his partner purposely aimed for Joe's shoes."

"Shit, Illya!" Phelps shouted, angry that he couldn't stop the man from puking all over his shoes.

"Better now, partner?"

"Da," grunted out while he wiped his bottom lip with the back of his hand.

"Good," Napoleon nodded and he took ahold of Illya's upper arm and roughly pulled his wobbly friend upon his feet. "Now let's get you out of here, to the car, and back to headquarters. Joe will take care of the bill and call clean up."

"Girl…friend," Illya slurred out as Napoleon ushered him out the door.

"You can tell me about her later when you're sober."

MFU/MFU

Illya Kuryakin walked into the main Medial detention cell from the bathroom wiping his face and mouth with a damp wash cloth as Solo walked in. Napoleon cringed at the site of his partner. Illya looked tired with black smudges under his eyes and pale skin that had a "green around the gills" hue to it. Then there was the nauseating smell that floated into the cell after the young agent just before the bathroom door banged shut.

Swallowing down the bile that was trying to rise up his own throat, Napoleon fished out his handkerchief out of his pocket to cover his mouth and nose from the vomit smell. He had seen Waverly and reported what had happened at the hotel while Illya got to go to a detention cell to dry out from his private party and to finish nursing one mother of a hangover. It was Solo's job to talk with his partner and get his testimony to what happened today.

"Napoleon," Illya soberly said as he tried to hide his misery. "Sorry about the smell, my stomach seems to want to revolt."

"Well," Napoleon gestured the wobbly man to sit down at the table with him. "You and your naughty girlfriend had quite a bit to drink. I counted at least two empty bottles of vodka turned over on the coffee table and don't get me started on the condition of the bed... the lady I met in the hallway...You're full of surprises, Illya. You've even impressed Phelps."

"Thank you, although I don't thinks it's takes too much to impress Joe." Illya said in a dull tone, but Napoleon could see his thoughts reeling. "I'm a bit hazy on the details in what you're talking about. I don't remember drinking, meeting a woman in the hallway, or having brought papers with me to the hotel."

"Of all that, you only remember having papers on your lap," Solo smirked. "Not the naughty nurse in fishnet stockings?"

"Napoleon," Illya pleaded. "Not while I'm already nauseous, please don't make me think about anything that has to do with Medical, especially being with a domineering and sadistic nurse."

"Have it your way, but I saw the bed." Napoleon shrugged, giving his partner vague clues to what was found in the hotel room. Both knew the room they sat in was being monitored.

"Aaaah," Illya softly sighed as he buries his face into his damp washcloth for a moment. "I assume that I'm here because of inconsistencies in what you found in the hotel room and my unique request for two days off."

"Yes, Mr. Waverly is concerned." Napoleon went into agent mode, "While you were escorted here to sleep off your stupor, the room was investigated, and the papers confiscated. Dr. Rathhaus took your blood when he checked you out."

"I do remember that," the blond man nodded. "And per protocol, he or one of his team members will draw blood again in a few minutes…eh, hold that thought..."

Solo gently shook his head in empathy as the slightly younger man jumped up and made a mad dash to back to the porcelain throne. The sound of dry heaves brought up the handkerchief back up to cover his nose.

After a few awkward moments, Illya emerged once again, but more physically drained. He ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair before he clutched his abdomen as it rumbled angrily. With nothing left to donate to the porcelain throne, Illya swallowed the threat of eruption down as he wearily sank down onto to cot at the side of the cell.

Before Napoleon could ask Illya more about what he remembered, there was a knock on the cell door. After a short pause, in walked a tall, sandy brown haired man carrying a med kit. Two sets of eyes watched the nervous man set his items out on the table and then turned to two agents.

"Hi, my name is George Thompson. I'm new here." the pleasant man extended his hand to Napoleon. "I'm here to take Mr. Kuryakin's blood. Whew, from the smell in here, you're really sick Dr. K. I could give you an antiemetic if you like."

"Dr. K?" Napoleon turned to his partner, who had one arm draped over his eyes and merely extended the other off the end on the cot for the blood test.

"Take what you will, George." Illya whispered as if talking normally would set off another mad trip to the bathroom. "And yes, George, I'll take anything to help me from throwing up my toenails. It's the only thing I have left."

"Sure thing," George nodded and then jumped at Napoleon's inquiring look after he didn't get an answer to his question to who this new employee was. "Oh, I was hired by Mr. Waverly right out of residency to work in Section Eight. I work on poisons and develop antidotes. Dr. Rathhaus is the man in charge of the whole section and I met Dr. K or I mean, Mr. Kuryakin, just two days ago working on a new universal antidote and its delivery system. It's quite fascinating and if THRUSH ever got its hands on it..."

"George," Illya groaned to curtail the young doctor's enthusiasm. "I'm dying over here. Napoleon doesn't care about scientific research unless there is a pair of female legs attached to it. Please, put me out of my misery."

"Right-to Dr. K." George remembered why he was here and started to stretch a rubber tourniquet around the slim agent's arm. "Golly, you sure are dehydrated."

"George!"

"I think that this is my cue to leave. I'll start gathering more information and come talk to you when you're feeling better, Illya." Napoleon stood up from the table and gathered his note pad. "How soon do you think that'll be, Dr. Thompson?"

"I'd say a couple of more hours; Dr. Rathhaus had given Dr. K here a reversal drug to help with the effects of the alcohol, but most of these side effects it will take time."

"Fine, I'll be back then." Napoleon patted his partner on the shoulder and quietly left the room as George moved in with a rather large needle with IV tubing attached. "Get better, friend."

MFU/MFU

The next time Napoleon saw his partner, he looked better, but unwell in another way. He had watched Illya in the two-way mirror before he met with him. The detained agent's hands trembled slightly as he nervously paced around the room and then sit down on the cot only to get up to travel around the room again. It could be from the medications to counter act the horrible hangover or something more sinister like guilt or fear of being caught as the mole.

"Hey Bert," Solo asked the man monitoring the room after he caught a glimpse of the man's name tag. "How long has he been acting like a caged animal?"

"About the last hour," the med tech noted from his pad and then looked up at Solo with a tad too much need for excitement. "I'd give him another hour or two at this rate for the mumbling to start and the tranquilizing dart to be brought out."

"Whoa there, Cowboy Bert," Napoleon squelched this eager beaver's need for excitement. "There'll be no need of that. Your job is just to observe. Any shooting, tranquilizing or anything else, will be done in the shooting range and not my partner's ass, okay?"

"Yes, sir." The deflated man sadly agreed with the CEA.

"Good man." The Section Two agent chuckled and roughly patted the man on his shoulder to remind him of his proper responsibilities and then shifted the packet of papers in his hands. "I'm going in. Watch my back, but don't go crazy, the ass you save could be your own or mine."

Bert laughs as the tension in his back loosens while he buzzes the CEA into the cell. "Sure thing and good luck, I have the dart gun ready just in case."

"Oh, Bert," Solo snorted and shook his head as he entered a more dangerous area, a small room with an altered Section Two agent that was his partner."

"Illya," Napoleon softly asked as he rounded the door and peered inside.

The younger agent stopped pacing for a long second and then continued on. A look of concern flitted across Napoleon's face, but disappeared as he threw his papers on the table as he sat down. He still needed to get Illya's side of this treasonous affair.

Kuryakin circled the detention cell one direction and then circled back in the other direction; all the while, wringing his trembling hands, only stopping to rub some perceived coldness from his arms. Illya ignored his partner and his offer to sit at the table with him for quite a while. If Napoleon would have to say one word that could describe Illya's action, the word "run" kept popping up and now that unspoken word was becoming so intoxicating in this quiet cell, that he thought the younger agent was losing his ability to properly reason over his strained emotions.

Napoleon eyed his partner discretely as he made his trek around the room. Illya was still had the white pallor of someone nursing a sour stomach and was now acting odd. Well, odder than usual for his Russian friend; less in control of his thoughts and actions then his normal professional persona.

Solo sighed, looked at his watch, and then sighed again. "This is getting nowhere. Illya, come sit down so we can talk."

The blond agent abruptly stopped when he heard his name being called. The voices in his head appeared to be lessening slightly when Illya had someone to fight them for his attention, but hesitated to move forward.

"Sit!" Napoleon hotly ordered and fiercely pointed to the chair next to his. "Sit down before I tie you to the chair."

"Da," Illya weakly said and awkwardly moved to sit on the edge of the seat, ready to jump at a moments noticed.

"Oh, don't tell me that you're still drunk after all these hours that you can only talk in Russian?" Napoleon grumbled, knowingly experience that something else maybe more going on than Illya being drunk. Even though Dr. Rathhaus said there wasn't anything in his system, something was definitely wrong.

"Don't be ridiculous Napoleon," Illya retorted back, closing he eyes as if he was trying to control their spinning to concentrate. "What's in the papers?"

"Hopefully, answers to questions that you need to help me with." Napoleon said and got down to business, still alert to his partner's continued uncontrollable trembling of his hands. "First, what did you do after you checked into work yesterday morning?"

"I went to my lab and checked my experiments I'm currently working on." Illya tried to settle himself down and focus on what he was doing before it all became a blur again. "Dr. Rathhaus called me over to his lab to ask me my opinion on a lab value and then asked if I had any down time after our last mission. I told him I might now that your tryst with that black widow was over."

"Now, we agreed that you were going to be civil and call Angelique by her proper name."

"No, you agreed for me and promised her that I would at least try to be pleasant to her face, which I have, when I'm trying not to let her poison you or try to physically harm you." Illya quipped, appearing to slightly come out of his stupor to banter with his partner.

"We'll discuss that later, what happened with Dr. Rathhaus? What did he want from you?" Napoleon asked as he hurriedly took notes, not telling Illya what the scientist had told him just yet.

"He told me of a symposium going on at New York University and that I should attend. He was going to go, but a family issue came up. He offered his seat to me and the use of his hotel room for free." The blond man shrugged his shoulders. "I read the pamphlet and found the hypothesis quite interesting and went to go ask Mr. Waverly for a couple of days off and he gave them to me."

"And once you got to the hotel?" Napoleon dug deeper. "Who was the girl? Quite a stunner she was in her nurse's getup. By the look of the room, you two had a very good time. "

"Girl," Illya' s mind whirled to who he was talking about, stalling long enough in his response to give Napoleon an impression that he had something go on, but wasn't able or willing to tell his partner about just yet.

"Yes, well more of a woman really, built, red hair, definitely a high level lady of the night." Napoleon licked his lips lightly as he envisioned the tart and drew a shapely outline of the woman in the air to help his partner remember. "Super tight nurse's outfit and what her mouth was doing to that sucker. It matched her ruby red lipstick. She even gave me one too."

Illya popped his head up from staring down at the table in confusion. Napoleon could sense that there was something conflicting within the blond man as he produced the hard candy lollipop in a specimen bag. Then Illya snorted as he shook his head and then ran his shaky hands through his wayward hair.

"I…don't remember a woman shaped like your usual conquests." Illya stammered, vainly trying to remember yesterday. A glint in his eye told Solo that there had been someone, but not the one he was talking about. At least his Russian cohort was capable of some humor.

"Well, the sheets said you were with someone." Napoleon countered. "The lab is checking on the sheets for samples and running tests."

"Which ones," the scientist in Kuryakin piped in.

"How in the hell do I know?" The CEA groused opening. "You know I don't get into that science mumbo jumbo; hair, semen, fluids. The usual stuff that seems to fascinates your over-sized head."

"I did have someone with me." Illya blurted out suddenly, looking his friend squarely in the eyes with complete seriousness that Napoleon knew to be the unmitigated truth. He'd been partnered with this freak of nature long enough to really know the younger man was being straight with him. "Someone I met up with after I registered at the college."

"Well, I can't blame you for having a scratch to itch, but to get that drunk," Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. It was frowned upon by the Command to get overly drunk, even on an agent's own time. They could be compromised at any given time.

"I honestly don't remember getting drunk enough to not remember drinking more than two shots of vodka with my "friend" and after she left…the rest is a blank until you showed up, seeing the papers in my lap, or to be this sick to my stomach."

"Could have your friend been a little birdy?" Napoleon hated to ask, but it was possible to be blind-sided by pretty girl. He's been fooled himself on different occasions.

"No." Illya said firmly as he continued his intense eye contact.

Napoleon blinked as he paused. So intense was Kuryakin's stare that he was stopped in his tracks. His response caught the older agent off guard and decided to tuck that reaction to his question away for another conversation that would be in private when Illya would be more willing to open up to him.

"Let's change the subject to something else. Like how did you get File Forty papers out of headquarters and sitting on your lap?" The CEA looked at this partner. "The paper had your handwriting all over it and the lab is running for prints."

"I don't know!" Illya stood up; knocking over the chair he was sitting on to pace to the other side of the detention cell.

"Whoa, Illya it's going to be alright." Napoleon slowly stood up and brought his empty hands up cautiously to show his partner that he was unarmed. "All I'm doing is asking questions to get to the bottom of this and get you out of here. I just need to know what happened yesterday…"

"I know you do, but I can't." Illya shot back. "Because, I can't remember, I wish I could tell you more. My friend left after a visit to the hotel room and that's all I know."

"What if I tell you that Dr. Rathhaus denies even talking to you yesterday morning and there wasn't a recorded conversation in his lab with you? That he didn't know about any symposium at New York University? No one, but your name was on the registration form for the conference and the hotel room. Harv Shaw talked with those working at the college and hotel and all of them remember you. A young blond foreigner and I've got copies of your signature on all the records."

Illya looked surprised at first from the information Napoleon was giving him and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Can I see those papers?"

Napoleon reluctantly gave his friend the papers. He knew that they were evidence against the Russian, but after being partnered with him for the last six months he took a chance. Illya's unsteady hand was out-stretched with a reserved look in his eye.

After a few brief moments of examining the classified papers, Illya gave out a quick snort and shake of his head, only to be rewarded with a flash of dizziness.

Napoleon silently watched his partner's mind reel with interest. He could tell that something interesting was in those papers for Illya's scientific mind, but it seemed a little dull or distracted. He was torn between with thinking this was plot to frame the junior agent or that Illya was truly a mole. All the evidence was pointing to the latter, but there was something in Waverly manner in wanting him personally to find his wayward Section Two agent.

"What did Rathhaus say about these papers?" Illya asked out of the blue, breaking Napoleon's his train of thought.

"Aww… he said these were notations to an experiment that he was working on." Solo started as he took back the papers. "He said that these were locked in his file cabinet. He wasn't even aware that they were missing until I showed the file to him. He said the papers were top secret and if THRUSH got a hold of them, it would be detrimental to UNCLE."

"Oh, it is," Illya agreed with his cohort with a tight little laugh. "It's a formula for our new knock out drug for our mercy bullets. George is working on the antidote for it as we speak."

"Illya, I think that you know too much for your own good." Napoleon sighed, but before he could go on, a knock on the door of the cell stopped their conversation.

The panel slid open to reveal the same person that came in the last time Solo and Kuryakin were interrupted in their conversation, Dr. George Thompson.

"Hey Dr. K," George said with a bright smile on his face while lifting his med kit. "You know what I'm here for."

Illya rolled his eyes skyward and started to roll his right sleeve up. Napoleon could feel Illya was just starting to feel more in control of his thoughts. "George, when are we done with all of this bloodletting? I'm starting to run out."

"Sorry, I just have this one more sample from you. Rathhaus wants to run one more test. Then, hopefully no more little pricks to bother you."

Napoleon turned in surprised at the humorous remark from the tall, gangly, young man and then smiled before turning back to put the papers back into the file cover. He decided that he'd gotten all he was going to get from Illya for right now. Besides, he hated to have his own blood drawn let alone having to watch Illya get poked. What did George say? Hopefully it was the last little prick Illya was to deal with for a while?

With that thought, Napoleon chuckled to himself as he stood up with his back to the blood draw after hearing his partner's soft hiss when the hypodermic needle hit its mark. "I'll let you go Illya, to get freshen up and we'll talk again. I have to report to Waverly."

"Will I be expected to be there?" Illya asked quietly as he trudged up to Napoleon with a bent arm, putting pressure on the puncture site, and then kneading his arm with a sudden ache as quick pain tracked up his arm.

"Not right away," Solo said sadly as he strode to the door and knocked. George had gathered his supplies and met him there to be let out as well. "I'll let you know."

The door swept open to let out Napoleon and the young doctor while the one left behind hands started to shake again.