Illya woke up when he felt his partner start to toss and turn. Thanks to Mr. Waverly's cost - cutting, he and Napoleon were sharing a room and a bed in a nondescript hotel in Billings, Montana. They had just completed their mission successfully and would be heading home the next morning.

When he realized they were not under attack, he relaxed his grip on his Walther tucked under his pillow and watched for a few seconds to see if the American would settle down on his own. When he began to moan, Illya called his name.

Napoleon startled awake and looked around disoriented until he realized where he was. Flopping back onto the bed he groaned, "Sorry to wake you, Partner."

"A bad dream? Tell me about it."

Rubbing his hand across his face Napoleon replied, "I wish I could, Illya. I don't remember much of it, it's like a bunch of random images all jumbled together. A red rose; a book, a dictionary maybe; a car chase; fireworks; a woman…"

At the word 'woman,' Illya half – grinned, "I should have known." He was surprised when Napoleon shuddered. Concerned, Illya asked, "Are you sure you don't remember more?"

Napoleon shook his head and got up to use the bathroom. Illya could hear the water running in the sink for a few moments before he returned to the bed. He slid between the sheets onto his back and placed both hands behind his head. "It's gone except for those images and they're kind of fading, too." He raised his left arm to check his watch. 2:50. "Tovarisch," he sighed, "I'm alright; go back to sleep. Our flight leaves at nine; we have to get out of here no later than eight fifteen."

The Russian stretched until bones were cracking in his back. "You will sleep, too?" he asked with a yawn. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could make out his partner lying on his back with his eyes searching the ceiling.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so."

Illya was about to argue, but decided to drop it. They were scheduled to spend the next two weeks at Headquarters which meant reasonable work hours and Napoleon could sleep on the flight home. He will get the rest he needs. We all have been victimized by nightmares; at least we are not on a mission. Aloud he whispered, "Good night, Napoleon, if you wish to talk, wake me. Do not hesitate." He rolled so his back was to his partner and barely registered the "Thanks, Illya" Napoleon said before dropping off to sleep.

Napoleon grunted softly when he realized by the Russian's deepened breathing that he was already off in dreamland. He took his attention off his bedmate and returned his gaze to the ceiling. He knew that Illya would have stayed up the rest of the night if he asked him to and he was grateful, but he saw no reason for both of them to lose sleep, especially because of a dream he could only remember in bits and pieces. He went over what he could remember. Each piece by itself wasn't alarming; in fact, each image he could recall evoked feelings of intrigue, mystery and excitement. But, as a whole, it raised the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Those images together were disturbing and made me feel like I was in danger, but I don't know why. He looked over at his partner again and resisted the impulse to tousle his hair, knowing that waking the deadly Russian that way would surely result in serious bodily injury. He shook himself mentally and thought, Just a bad dream. A bad dream is all it is. I'm safe right here and now and that is worth everything. That made him feel better and he began to feel sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness and he let it pull him down, down, down into a dreamless slumber.

Seven AM found the men in the hotel's restaurant with eggs and bacon on the plates in front of them and coffee in their cups. Illya peppered his eggs and put a forkful in his mouth followed by a huge slurp of coffee. He swallowed and said, "You were asleep when I woke up to use the bathroom; I was glad to see it. Did you have any more nightmares?"

"No, not at all. Thanks for offering to stay up with me. I appreciate it."

Illya pulled out his wallet and laid some bills on the table. "You would do the same for me. We need to get a cab."

Napoleon put his money on top of Illya's. "I'll be glad to be back in New York. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that nothing comes up The Old Man wants us to handle."

As they walked to the taxi stand, Illya muttered, "Now you have probably jinxed us."