"I can't believe it, but it's all out in the open now."
"It could be gossip. God knows that's been going around for years."
"I've seen the photo and I gotta tell you, cold shower time, and you can tell they are loving..."
Napoleon caught that bit just as he was carrying his tray past the table, intent upon finding a spot in an isolated, or least less crowded, corner of the canteen.
The women looked up at him and one immediately started blushing. The other couldn't meet his eyes directly, but instantly dropped her gaze to the table top.
"Good morning, ladies." His mother had raised him to be polite, no matter what his partner said. He never took more of the covers than he deemed were his by rights, always offered Illya dessert and never left his socks hanging from odd places when he spent the night. Illya, on the other hand…
They both mumbled something unintelligible, so he smiled and moved off, only to catch another odd bit of conversation.
"Unbelievable and what a waste! Talk about playing with fire."
"Speaking of such, do you think he will? Fire them, I mean. It's a clear breach of office protocol."
"If it was one of us common folk, yes, but they are agents. They're special… Waverly would never fire them. They're golden." The Section Five man happened to look up then and cleared his throat. His companion sniggered a little.
"Paul." Napoleon nodded to him. He didn't know the other man, but the stranger gave him a once over that made him feel a bit like a side of beef. It was funny; if Illya did that, Napoleon felt flattered or excited, but not now. He almost dropped a hand to his pants to make sure his fly was zipped.
"Napoleon, how are… tricks?" The companion snickered again and Napoleon frowned. This was getting a bit much.
"Fine, thanks, and you?"
"Oh, things are coming to a head…" Both men began laughing now and Napoleon moved on.
He spotted Illya at a corner table, studying a thick volume of something, ugly black glasses perched on the end of his nose. In the military, they'd called them birth control glasses, but that was hardly a worry for either of them. Hemorrhoids maybe, but an unwanted pregnancy was not a problem they faced.
As usual, most of the people in the canteen cut a wide swath around Illya. He was respected and valued, but not well liked. There were a few people who weren't kept at arm's length, but for the most part, Illya kept his work and social life separated. If anyone could see him the way Napoleon did, they would be amazed at how warm and caring a man the Russian really was.
The thought warmed him from inside out and he started in Illya's direction.
"Big surprise there, like they could ever keep their hands off each other."
"Looking the way they do, who can blame them?"
"Sleeping together and everything, for God knows how long."
Napoleon moved in and out of the conversations, each time noticing how things got quiet at his approach and started up again as he moved away. It had to be his imagination that everyone seemed to be watching him today.
"Partner," he said by way of greeting and Illya looked up over the top of the tinted lenses to him and his lips curled into a smile, something that was particularly welcoming at the moment.
"Napoleon." He shifted his tray and its empty plate to one side to make room for Napoleon's.
"Have you noticed anything strange today?"
"Strange? In what way?"
"They…" Napoleon paused, glancing around at the nearby tables. "They all seem to be watching me today."
"Napoleon, really, does your ego know no bounds?" Illya closed the book and tugged off his glasses, tucking them away in his shirt pocket. "What are you talking about?"
"I think we've been ratted out." The voice was a near whisper now, but Napoleon dared not speak any louder. "I keep hearing things that indicate it."
"How? We couldn't be more careful, either here or away from the office."
"At first I thought it was just coincidence, but now that I think about it, people have been acting odd all day."
"How can you tell?" Illya drained the last of his coffee and started eyeing Napoleon's lunch tray. The dark-haired agent slid it a bit farther away, out of reach. "I was just looking," Illya protested. "I'm still healing from the last time you stabbed me with your fork."
"It was an accident… sort of." Napoleon grinned at the memory. It had become old hat and a running joke between them to have to protect his food around the ever-hungry Russian.
The loudspeaker crackled to life and the canteen grew quiet. "Will Agents Solo and Kuryakin report to Mr. Waverly's office?"
Now Napoleon knew he wasn't imagining the smirks, barely concealed looks of disgust and the open mouth stares of others as he rose and hurried from the room, Illya hot on his heels.
"Did you see that?" he asked the minute they were in the corridor and moving towards Waverly's office.
"Again, Napoleon, see what?"
"Everyone in there, the disdainful looks they were giving us?"
"They always look at me like that. After awhile you don't notice them."
That flat statement made Napoleon suddenly want to take Illya in his arms and reassure him he wasn't hated by everyone. Still, they had a hard and fast rule; when at work, it was strictly hands off. In fact, Napoleon rarely even touched him in public any longer, not wanting the well-meaning, friendly gestures to be misinterpreted. Besides, there were times when one touch from his partner was all it took to send him into a love-making frenzy and that just wouldn't do at work.
"I'm sorry."
"For what? It's human nature – who would we be without someone to hate?" Illya gave him a lop-sided slightly sad smile. "Even you… at first."
"But not now."
"Definitely not now."
As they approached Waverly's office the door slid open. They entered and took their customary places at the table. Waverly had his back to them and as he turned, it was obvious he was barely holding on to his temper.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Sir?"
"I trust you are both aware of the situation and what a compromising position it places the organization and even me in?"
"I've heard some of the discussion…?"
"And your course of action?" Napoleon looked over at Illya, who was still looking as lost as ever. "Speak up, man!"
"Whatever you feel is best."
"That's the issue here, Mr. Solo." Waverly broke off to puff furiously on his pipe. "Termination would be preferred!'
"From UNCLE or a bit more permanently?"
"You don't kill a man for falling in love, Mr. Solo. We are not barbarians."
"That's a relief," Illya muttered.
"It was entirely my fault, sir," Napoleon said, smiling. "I had the option and I succumbed."
"We all have weaknesses, Mr. Solo, but surely you understand why this has to be addressed and firmly…"
"Sir, I'm not sure I do." Illya looked from his partner to Waverly and back. "What are we talking about? Napoleon was going on about something at lunch, but I confess that I have been in the labs most of the morning and haven't been brought up to speed."
Napoleon reached out and touched Illya's hand. Almost immediately, Illya pulled it out of reach, frowning. He shook his head slightly.
"It wouldn't be fair to punish both for the crimes of just one."
"I'm afraid that I cannot draw the line here, Mr. Solo. This is not something that can happen without both parties accepting and sharing equal blame."
"Reassignment?" Napoleon offered.
"Would that be enough?" Waverly's patience was at an end. "We have to nip this in the bud. We don't stop this now, we face a world of compromise." He spun the table top so hard that loose papers went flying. Somehow, the photograph remained fixed and Napoleon hesitatingly looked at it, terrified of what sort of position he and Illya were in that it would bring all of UNCLE down upon him. Instead a woman and man beamed back at him, obviously just married, judging by the cake and the trappings. Wait a minute… that was…
"This is Dempsey and Coleman out of London."
"No, Mr. Solo that is Dempsey and Mrs. Dempsey out of London! They know that marrying when in the field is out of the question and to marry your own partner… Don't they understand what they are opening themselves up to? I refuse to allot half of our security section to provide them with round-the-clock protection just because they felt compelled to tie the proverbial knot."
Illya shook his head slowly. "I would deprogram and reassign them, possibly to another region. Bury them for awhile until they aren't of any use to THRUSH as leverage against each other."
"But they are… were our top agents in Europe. Stephen is beside himself. Called me for advice and wired that photo, thereby coming to the second part of this problem and one a bit closer to home This photo was marked 'highly confidential'."
"And it became office gossip in record time." Solo confirmed. "It was the only topic of conversation at lunch. You know what they say, sir, love will find a way."
Waverly harrumphed for a few moments and Napoleon slowly felt a knot untying itself in his stomach. It wasn't them, but it could have been.
"Now, what were you going on about, Mr. Solo? Something about you and Mr. Kuryakin?"
"Um… nothing, sir. More of a misunderstanding than anything else."
"Let's just keep it that way, shall we? What you agents do in your free time is entirely up to you, but…" A few more puffs. "… don't get married…"
"We both understand completely, sir."
"I still don't." Illya muttered, looking back down at the photo and the obvious happiness of the couple. "All of this because they married? Or all of this because of the security leak?"
"Either is enough, Mr. Kuryakin. When a person marries, he or she assumes a duty to the other." Waverly's eye caught and held him for a long moment. "As you two well know. And now if you will excuse me, I need to make an unfortunate call. Mr. Solo, I would appreciate if you would look into the confidentiality issue of this morning."
Napoleon rose to his feet, nodding. "I'll make it my top priority, sir." He paused, waiting for Illya to join him and then hurried out. For several minutes, they walked towards their office in companionable silence.
"I'm still in a quandary as to the problem," Illya said, watching an attractive woman pass and then letting his gaze follow her away. He didn't do that often, but when he did Napoleon knew it was always noted. "Surely they knew if they married, they'd be pulled from the field. It's not exactly a rule, but Section One has made it pretty clear as to the consequences and they must have been okay with it."
"What bothers me is that security leak. Loose lips and all." He paused at their shared office door. "Do what?"
"Sink ships. Haven't you ever heard that?"
"We had a variation of that, but it was much more suggestive." He glanced up at the camera for a moment. There was never any way to know when it was on. "Remind me to tell you at dinner with the proper visuals. " Illya settled behind his paper-strewn desk and sighed. "I know this was clear a few hours ago. You leave two sheets of paper in your 'in' box and they breed, I swear it." He pulled a stack of report folders closer, opened the top one and, settling his glasses in place, started to read.
It didn't surprised Napoleon that the book Illya had been reading in the canteen and left behind had found its way back to his desk. Agents were notorious about leaving things behind and secretaries often ended up gathering up the slack.
"Does it bother you?" he asked after a moment.
"Does what bother me, Napoleon?" Illya's eyes spared a moment from the report.
"The dichotomy that exists between us and the rest of the organization?"
"Us who? You and me or Section Two? As a whole?"
"Yes." Napoleon sat down at his own desk and eyed the stacks there warily, as if expecting them to attack. "Why is it that the rest of the world seems to have all the rights to do what they will while we have to follow a strict set of not-always-clear rules and regulations?"
"I suppose they consider that ample sacrifice for the huge salary and glorious working conditions that we are permitted." Illya was rooting through his desk for a mechanical pencil that still had lead in it. "We get to travel the world, see exotic locations…"
"… Face death without flinching, bleed at a moment's notice…"
"… Experience things that no one else does and all before the age of forty, when we become too broken and are surplused…"
"I think I need a drink…"
"Another option we can exercise. Other employees have to worry about schedules; we set our own. We come and go as necessary. We don't punch a time clock or worry about day-to-day trivial things. We are pretty much our own men… or women."
"Remind me of all these wonderful things the next time I'm trying to keep you from bleeding out."
"You are in a singularly strange mood today, Napoleon. What is wrong?"
"One compromising shot was all it took to bring down Europe's best team. What would happen with us?"
Again, Illya removed his glasses. He studied his partner closely and then slowly shook his head. "Since it is unlikely that anyone in our particular situation would marry, I suspect we are secure until time makes it a non-issue. Waverly has all but given us the green light, as long as we are discreet, which we are."
"But still…"
"Do you wish to end our… partnership?"
"What? Of course not."
"Then this discussion is immaterial and you are doing this as a dodge to get out of your share of the paperwork…"
"Of course not… well, perhaps just a little," he admitted with a smile. He paused at the look on Illya's face, a cocky smirk twisting his visage into something just short of beaming.
"This might actually work to our benefit…" Illya tapped his teeth with the earpiece of his glasses. "What if…? No, it probably wouldn't work…"
"What?"
"Although it could and it would have to be with Waverly's blessing, of course, but it might…." Illya stopped and shook his head, grinning sheepishly. "No, it's out of the question…"
"Illya, what?"
"It would be a perfect opportunity though… still…"
"ILLYA!"
The man sat back in his chair and looked over at Napoleon with a startled expression. "What?"
"Exactly! What are you going on about?"
"We have an internal security issue, a known leak, but no way to really trace it back to the actual source. What if we were to compromise ourselves and see where the path leads us?"
"You mean, set ourselves up and see how fast it gets onto the gossip treadmill?"
"We very carefully manipulate the times and circumstances and use it to eliminate the various candidates. We just have to get our hands on the duty roster. Not something out of the question for either of us to ask for." Illya replaced his glasses and started to read again. "In short, yes, although the fall out might be unpleasant. It could be quite the blow to your ego. Bring you out of the closet, as it were."
"What about you?"
Illya shrugged. "I have already sacrificed everything else to UNCLE."
"I'll go talk to Waverly then." He waited for Illya's nod before abandoning the office and its paperwork to his partner.
"And Mr. Kuryakin has agreed to this?"
"It was his idea."
"And you think this will lead us to our security leak?" Waverly still didn't look happy.
"If we are careful and a little lucky, I think it could work. It would have to be a gradual process, testing various areas and isolating staff. Start with the communication people first, targeting one then the next until we discover which one is the leak. If none of them is the problem, we'll move to the clerks."
"When this comes out…"
"We reveal that we were operating under your orders… It might be awkward, but that should provide enough of a reason to satisfy most people."
"And the ones who refuse to be satisfied?"
"Well, sir, my Aunt Amy has a catch phrase that sort of covers that."
"Which is?"
"To hell with them."
"I would very much like to meet your Aunt Amy one day, Mr. Solo. Carry on."
Illya had the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair while the other hand beating out a rhythm on the desktop with the pencil. He spared a quick glance up as Napoleon re-entered their office and sighed.
"Finally, Napoleon, in Naples, did we stay one night or two? I can't remember how you wanted it call it since it was technically…."
The question was thwarted as Napoleon dragged from the chair and kissed him. For a moment, they just stood there, sole inhabitants of each other's worlds.
"You were saying…?"
"I was saying something?" Illya smiled, a slightly goofy thing, his eyes half closed. "I gather Waverly liked my idea?"
Napoleon pressed in for another kiss, this one longer and lingering. "Crazy about it," he murmured as he pulled back for a breath.
"We don't know if the camera is on, do we?" Illya leaned his forehead against Napoleon's.
"Not the least bit interested." He nuzzled Illya's ear. "But if it is, I know who's monitoring it."
The next morning, Napoleon was drawing a cup of coffee from an urn and smiled as Natalie Small approached. She was a communications clerk and Napoleon had dated her a few times, but never seriously. She was fun and a good conversationalist, but they never really hit it off.
"Napoleon, could I talk with you for a sec?"
"Certainly." He pulled out a chair and offered it to her.
"No - over there." She pointed to a corner of the large room, well away from everyone else. He followed her lead.
They sat and he stirred his coffee carefully while she unconsciously shredded a napkin. After a long minute, he cleared his throat. "What's on your mind, Nat or do you just come here to abuse the napkins?"
She glanced down at the paper shreds and sighed. "Napoleon, yesterday, I was downstairs, doing some routine monitoring and I… um… saw something that I think you need to know about."
"Oh?" Napoleon tried to keep his tone neutral.
"You and Illya… you were… and you shouldn't… That's dangerous stuff to do here, Napoleon, and you know it. What would have happened if it had been someone else on watch? If Waverly found out?" She slid an envelope towards him. "This is the tape; there isn't another copy."
"This is a breach of protocol, you know."Napoleon tried his best to look both embarrassed and surprised. "You should have taken this straight to Waverly."
"I couldn't… Napoleon, I like you a lot and Illya, too. "
"It was just… an impulse. I couldn't…" He settled a hand on the envelope and dropped his eyes. If he didn't get an Academy Award for this, it would be a serious misjudgment.
"I don't want to know the details, Napoleon. The next time, I'll have to take it to Waverly. Just… be careful, okay?"
"Okay, thanks. Listen, could I buy you dinner? Make it up to you?"
"A threesome? Or wondering if all the time you're sitting with me, you're thinking about a certain Russian? I think not." She patted his hand and stood. "And for the record, he's a lucky man."
What were they doing? It took a bit to make sense of the images that moved on the screen. Cameras in agents' offices were visual only. It was bad enough that UNCLE had to spy on its own without eavesdropping as well.
Two people, in an embrace, certainly nothing new about… About that point, it became apparent that it was not just Napoleon with one of his paramours. The person in his arms was another man. That was just disgusting…. And yet there was no way to stop watching, even long after it was time for the camera to switch to a new feed.
Oh my God, that is just so… wrong." And images suddenly clawed their way free, images that half a lifetime had been spent in denial of, the other half in oblivion. And slowly a scream built until there was nothing left to do, but beat the console, the desk, the walls, beat anything except the monster that was responsible.
Illya stretched out on the bed, a notepad in front of him. "We are quickly running out of suspects, as it were, my friend. A little lower please… thank you."
Napoleon didn't pause in his slow rubbing of Illya's back, keeping the pressure neither too gentle nor too hard. "Least I can do after the blow job you just gave me. That was almost as inspired as that make-out session this morning."
"Not according to Miss Gloebin. She had other words to describe it… some of them were rather inspired… unless of course she doesn't know the meaning of uxorious."
"And you do?"
"I… will confess that I had to look it up. It means a senseless and overwhelming passion for one's wife."
"I… wait a second… I'm the wife?"
"If the shoe fits…" Illya looked back over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye.
Napoleon lowered himself down, nestling his again erect penis in the crack of Illya's ass. "Does that feel like a wife to you?"
"Don't know, I've never been married… per se." Illya arched back and up. "What do you think?"
"I'm not the wife." And Napoleon went on to prove his point.
Christ, they are at it again. Does Solo ever stop for air? Or the Russian for that matter?
As much as the scene hurt to watch, it hurt more not to. By watching someone else going through the moves, they became further removed, less real. Like it was some sort of movie.
But the wrong sort of movie – a movie in which people must be punished. No two people should have that luxury, that sort of joy, not when so many others of us have to crawl and scramble for a kind word. Never feeling a hand of kindness, just of pain and hurting. The monster was twisting again and demanded his due.
Natalie Small was obviously ill at ease, yet took a deep breath and started speaking, since she had been 'volunteered' to be the spokeswoman of the group.
"Mr. Bradshaw, there is something we need to discuss, in private, if we could?"
"Natalie, you know my door is always open, except when it's closed." He chuckled at his own joke. But the three young ladies before him remained quiet, their expressions grave. "Of course, come into my office. And close the door, if you would, please." He led them into his office and gestured for them to sit. He took his own chair behind the desk and steepled his fingers, waiting. "What's on your minds?"
Natalie took one more deep breath, steeling herself, and began. "There is something going on with a pair of Section Two agents, and we are not here to discuss what they are doing, it's their own business. What we are here to talk to you about is scheduling."
Jennifer Gloebin spoke up. "What Natalie is saying is that the biggest gossip in our department is going to get an eyeful tomorrow and we just wanted to let you know."
"And why was this not brought to my attention earlier? I've seen nothing come across my desk."
The three women exchanged uneasy looks. "We sort of gave the evidence to Napol..." Polly Fields clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Polly, for crying out loud!" Jennifer wrung her hands in exasperation. "Can't you ever just be quiet?"
The woman practically cringed at the outburst and Natalie took her hand. "It's okay, sweetie; remember we said no names?"
"I just sort of forgot."
"Well, try not to in the future. This is really important."
"So Napoleon is up to his tricks again, is he?"
"Yes, sir."
"And I'm guessing… his partner?" The flash of surprise on their faces told him he was right. Bradford leaned back in his chair and sighed. He'd been covering for someone on camera duty late last week and had seen a few things in Solo's office, indeed, a few more things than he was prepared to see, but what did he care? What the agents did was their business, as long as it didn't compromise UNCLE, it wasn't his concern. Though he had taken the tape out of that particular camera and sealed it in an 'eyes only' file for Mr. Waverly. He never heard anymore about it. Until today… "Ladies, I appreciate your discretion, as I am sure the agents and Mr. Waverly do as well. I will take it from here. Now, tell me the name of the employee that you have been keeping off the cameras and I will see that privacy is ensured."
He couldn't say he was surprised when Natalie told him the name. As soon as the young ladies left, he rang through to the secretary , who guarded Section One Number One's door like Cerberus, and requested a meeting with the man himself, as well as Agents Solo and Kuryakin.
"Mr. Bradford, since you have called this gathering, perhaps you should start." Mr. Waverly said, waving vaguely in his direction and then taking his pipe out to begin filling it.
"Yes, thank you. Ah, well then. It concerns a tape I sent you in a sealed file last week."
Waverly put the pipe and tobacco down; suddenly all his attention was riveted on Bradford and the man pulled at his collar, obviously uncomfortable, especially in the face of the utterly cool stares of two of the most dangerous men in the building, not to mention his employer.
"What about that tape?" Waverly asked in a very quiet voice.
"It's not the tape itself, you see, it's that three of my people came to me about an issue of concern to them. It seems that they have been doing their best to keep a certain member of my staff from camera duty in light of the, ah, content of that tape, or the creation of another on her shift. They wanted to be sure that any activities agents engaged in would stay private within their offices and not be grist for the considerable conversational mill that turns in this building." He let out a sigh. There, he'd said it and felt he'd protected everyone's honor as well.
"The name of this person, the one who has been kept off camera duty?" Waverly asked.
"Madelaine Allgood, surprisingly enough. She's very good at her job, but she doesn't always have the best judgment of when to keep her mouth shut," Bradford said, staring at the backs of his hands. He'd not been able to meet either Solo or Kuryakin's eyes without having the scene he'd witnessed earlier play back in his mind. It had been disquieting… even worse, he couldn't seem to get the images out of his head.
Waverly looked at the agents, who had taken small notebooks from their pockets and were conferring. Presently, Napoleon looked up at Waverly. "She should have seen us two weeks ago, sir."
Bradford looked in confusion from one man to the other. "What you do you mean, should have?"
"You say that three of your staff have purposefully kept this person from viewing these agents in their office?"
"Yes, they wanted to, ah, protect them. They've been covering all the camera duty for the past three weeks"
Illya groaned and tipped his head back. "All that effort wasted by three well-meaning, interfering…
"Illya… and I take exception to the wasted comment," Napoleon interrupted and turned a smile to Bradford. "Barry, we appreciate your concern. It's commendable, but misplaced."
"I'm lost."
"Remember about four weeks ago, the Section Two agents out of London?"
"Water cooler chatter."
"Someone in your department likes to talk, so we," Napoleon indicated Illya and himself. "set ourselves up for a little sting. We thought we'd cleared your department, but now this."
"Well, not exactly cleared, we were still waiting for…" Illya checked his notebook. "… Emil LeGlassus to return from vacation. He's due today."
"Not Emil. He couldn't be your leak." Bradford looked from one agent to the other. "So this has all been a set up?"
Illya flicked a blue-eyed look up at him and then back down. "That's the plan."
Bradford laughed and slapped the table. "I knew it. I knew you two couldn't be bent."
Napoleon's smile was tight as he exchanged a glance with his partner.
It wasn't any use. There was no way to escape the monster's touch now. Running, hiding, denying, none of those worked any longer. The pain, humiliation, the desperate need to escape, no longer just stuff to haunt nightmares. It hurt to make such a confession, even when knowing that the entire situation was beyond anyone's control. It was time to act, just like before. Punish the ones who turned their back on UNCLE, insulting the organization with their flagrant disregard for common decency.
Solo and Kuryakin, they were bringing shame to UNCLE, shame to themselves, shame to the world. Slowly a plan began to formulate, but who to tell first?
Napoleon was doing his usual two finger hunt and peck on the supply requisition form. He hated having to type the thing, but Illya hadn't reported in yet. He'd been on a stake out the night before and was on a later start than his partner. Napoleon had deposited a kiss to Illya's neck as he left the Russian's bedroom and heard some mumbled response. He glanced over at the clock and frowned. Illya was late and that wasn't like him.
The phone interrupted his thoughts and he hit a k instead of a j and swore to himself. He reached for the receiver as he was trying to decide whether it was worth correcting the word or just easier to x it out.
"Solo."
"Mr. Solo, this is Medical. Would you mind paying us a visit, please?" The voice was very formal and it took Napoleon a minute to place it.
"Who is this? Nellie?"
"Just come, Napoleon, now…"
It didn't take him but a moment to make up his mind and he headed out the door, not bothering to grab his jacket. As he paused at the elevator, he heard the voice behind him.
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" He glanced over at Waverly's secretary and smiled.
"I frequently am." He stepped into the elevator as the three people in it hurried out. The looks they gave him told Napoleon that their trap had been sprung. Excellent…
He punched the floor button and pursed his lips. With any luck, he didn't have a dead agent on his hands. He hated making that call… and the breath left him. He closed his eyes and concentrated, searching his consciousness… for what? He couldn't explain, didn't really care to, but there was no denying a bond existed between himself and his partner. He usually wasn't even aware of it, never really thought about it, until now, and he felt… nothing. He leaned over and punched the floor button again harder. A sudden vision of Illya, broken and dying flashed across his eyes. God help the perpetrators if that was indeed the case.
He stepped off into Medical and half ran up to the front desk. "Where is he?"
"Who, Mr. Solo?" The brown eyes that regarded him from behind the thick glasses were disinterested, almost bored, taunting him with her lack of concern.
"Where is Illya?"
"He's not here," the nurse murmured, checking her chart. "The morgue is another floor down."
The world came to a jarring stop and Napoleon suddenly realized, it wsa not the world, but the elevator. He was still in the elevator. He stepped out and looked around, almost afraid to approach the front desk.
A whisper of sound pulled his attention and he saw Nellie walking quickly up to him.
"Where's Illya?"
"In here, but I think you both have a bigger problem than that."
He let her take his arm and drag him to a nearby exam room. Illya was lying the table, holding an icepack to his face.
"Illya?" The ice pack dropped and Napoleon winced. "What the hell happened? You're starting to look like a raccoon." Nellie moved to the doctor and handed him a wad of gauze as a ruined shirt was being eased from Illya's torso.
"A couple of our agents happened…well, three, I think. I was walking into the building through the parking garage and they hit me with something." Both of Illya's eyes were already starting to blacken and the bridge of his nose was swollen and split. "I think it might have been a pistol, but it felt like a rail road tie." Illya shut his eyes as the doctor dabbed delicately at the cut on his side.
"And then?"
"They dragged me some place, a conference room or something. It was when they decided they were going to take turns raping me that I decided it was time to leave." He hissed at the sting "I am guessing they weren't any of our New York agents."
"Why's that?"
"First, most of the guys here have sparred with me at least a couple of times and know better than to leave me anything other than completely unconscious. Second, one of them had an odd smelling aftershave… French, I think. I remember thinking about my third level calculus professor. He wore something similar." Nellie held him in a firm grip as the doctor applied butterfly sutures to his side.
"Did they say anything?"
Illya flicked a fast look at Nellie and tried to smile without moving his face. "Not that I could repeat within hearing distance of a lady. Needless to say, they weren't happy with our indiscretion."
"That pretty much goes without saying. Could you identify them?"
"After a fashion." Illya held up a hand with skinned knuckles. "I left them a few keepsakes, but I'm going to wager they won't be coming to Medical to get patched up."
"Open your mouth please." The doctor flashed his penlight into it. "You're pretty sliced up in there. Anything loose?"
Illya closed his mouth and Napoleon could tell he was doing a careful exploration with his tongue. "Not this time."
"But our agents did this…" Nellie's voice sounded shaky. "Why would our agents do this to one of their own?"
"You don't need to know that, Nellie, my sweet. Suffice it to say, we are smoking a fox out of the hen house." Napoleon put on his best smile to reassure her. "It may not look like it, but we are in control."
"I'm going to numb your mouth to stitch you up, so if you have something to say, make it fast. And you should stay overnight for observation." The doctor interrupted. "Do you have any nausea?"
"You mean apart from being sickened at the thought of my fellow agents doing this?"
Napoleon patted his shoulder. "I think an overnight stay is a very good idea, Illya."
"What? I'm fine, Napoleon." Illya tried to get off the table, but Nellie's hand kept him pinned down. "Well, perhaps not fine, but in working condition."
"I'm not through with you yet, Mr. Kuryakin," the doctor said, glancing up from the tray of instruments.
Whatever comment Illya was going to make was stopped by Napoleon's head shake. "Let's think about this, partner. We might be able to use this to our advantage. About what time did you arrive?"
"Just a couple of minutes before ten. The reception desk would have the exact time stamp."
"And how did they know you'd come in through the parking garage?"
"Luck of the draw?" Illya reapplied the ice bag to his eyes and nose.
"Doubtful."
"Well, I got a call this morning that Del's would be out of commission for a few hours and that we should use an alternative."
"It didn't strike you as odd?"
"With the remodeling they are putting into Del's, not really."
"Who made the call?"
"Allgood, I think. It sounded like her." Illya's voice was slightly muffled. "But Emil was on last night."
"Maybe they are in it together."
"Doubtful, they are like oil and vinegar."
"And when mixed, they blend together for a little while before coming apart again." Napoleon sat down in a convenient chair. "What if I was to let it slip that you knew who attacked you and they had broken and revealed their source of information?"
"They didn't exactly hide their identities from me, but I don't think they really knew who I was."
"Why do you say that?"
"When you were a junior agent, would you have knowingly attacked a senior agent? On hearsay?"
"I wouldn't have attacked a fellow agent period. I think it is time to tighten the noose a bit further and I'm afraid you are the bait."
"It must be Wednesday then."
Napoleon patted Illya on the shoulder. "You just sit tight and let the doctor finish, but don't let your guard down too much. I'm going to go make a couple of calls and post someone outside, just in case. Get some rest."
Illya eyed the needle that the doctor was wielding and smiled weakly. "I hear it's good for your soul. Pity I don't have one."
Napoleon's first stop was Waverly's office. He ignored the open-mouth stares, the hostile glares, and incredulousness looks. He was a man on a mission. As he approached, the secretary spotted him and began to dial a number. By the time he arrived at her desk, the door had already slid open. He merely nodded and walked in.
Bradford, the head of Communications was already sitting there.
"Is Mr. Kuryakin all right?" Waverly asked as soon as Napoleon drew close enough.
"He will heal, but he's none too happy. We hadn't anticipated anyone actually physically assaulting one of us."
"When did the attack occur?"
"About ten this morning. Someone called Illya and told him that the agents' entrance was closed, to go through the garage and they were waiting."
"Any idea who?"
"Illya was pretty confident that he can ID them." Napoleon turned to the other man. "Barry, who was on last night?"
"That's why I'm here. Miss Allgood was on from eight p.m. to midnight and LeGlassus after that."
"Illya was on a stake out last night." Napoleon suddenly realized what was bothering him. "He wasn't even in the building yesterday… or last night… Barry, who would have called to tell him of the entrance closure? We didn't even see each other after we left here."
"No one," Bradford said, after a moment. "He would have just been redirected when he arrived."
"Illya said it sounded like our Miss Allgood, but he wasn't sure."
"With all due respect, Napoleon, what the hell is going on?" Bradford looked confused or nervous, Napoleon wasn't sure which.
"No idea at all, but I suddenly have a bad feeling about this. Sir, if you will excuse me? I need to make a call."
Illya's half grunt became a sigh as the doctor retracted his fingers. "There you go, all trussed up like a Christmas goose."
Illya tried to feel the stitches with his tongue, but it had a mind of its own at the moment.
"I gave you something to take the edge off. You should try and get some rest."
"I can't…"
"I'll stay with him. Doctor," Nellie said quietly. "At least until Napoleon sends someone down."
Illya watched Nellie move about the room for a few minutes until she had run out of things to do.
"Nellie?" He felt as if his mouth was full of marbles.
"Yes?" She came to stand by the bed, but kept a polite distance from him.
"How are you? I haven't seen you much lately down here."
"I… ah… went back to school. I'm trying for my Masters… maybe move up a couple of rungs and off the floor."
"It would be our loss; you're a good nurse." It was getting more of a struggle to keep his eyes open.
"I really love my job, but after what happened, I just needed the change, something to take my mind off… other things." She came a little closer and smiled sadly. "It's been hard… I really thought…"
"As did I. It's funny how things turn out."
She smiled a bit more and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a cloth. "You're dribbling, Mr. Kuryakin."
"Sorry." He blew out a puff of air. "Another reason I hate painkillers."
"They make you drool?"
"Sleepy."
"Then sleep. I'll keep watch."
"You'll find a good man some day."
"I already have a good man." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
"There's something you need to know… Napoleon and I…"
"Shhh, I've known for awhile; we all have."
"I mean, we didn't… it just hap…" In the middle of the sentence, Illya suddenly ran out of speed and he slumped back against the pillows.
She settled down into a nearby chair and took his hand. "That's the best kind, the one that just happens," she whispered.
Nellie glanced over at the partially-closed door. There was an odd noise; it reminded her of the rustling a mouse made in the woodwork. But this was not some old rundown farm house, this was steel and metal and tile. She looked over at Illya and carefully slid her hand out of his lax grasp. She paused,just to make sure he was still sleeping and then stood, brushing the wrinkles from her uniform. Since he was sleeping so well, she might be able to check on her other charges…
The thought was interrupted as the door slammed into her, forcing her against the wall and effectively knocking the breath from her. Nellie gasped and tried to push back, but she had no strength to use.
The fist caught her square in the mouth and she went down with just a squeak of protest. Her eyes teared and she flopped sideways, too stunned to move. She would later reflect back upon her actions as probably the only thing that had saved her life. Her attacker left her for unconscious and turned away, intent upon the sleeping agent, even as Nellie's hand was headed for the emergency call button on the wall.
There was a searing break from being peacefully asleep to suddenly being frantic for air. Illya thrashed, trying to get free from the crushing downward pressure, the pain in his head making his fight twice as hard as he fought for both consciousness and oxygen.
Then as abruptly as it started, the pressure was gone and Illya ripped the pillow from his face, panting, drawing in deep gulps of air.
There were a half dozen people in the room, all of them yelling and shouting at the same time. His head pounded with the noise and the confusion and then Napoleon was there, trying to talk to him, but Illya couldn't make out his voice over the others.
The attending doctor was at his side, pressing him back down, then there was a mask over his face and breathing became a little easier. He watched the hullabaloo for a few seconds, then the lure of the soft darkness that kept nudging his consciousness became far too attractive and he nestled down into its loving arms, content for once to let Napoleon handle the clean up. After all, it was Wednesday… not his day to be in charge.
Illya arched back against the pillows, his fingers fisting in the sheets, his breath coming in quick pants.
"Shit," he whined and Napoleon laughed.
"You are such a wimp." He tossed the bandage he'd pulled from Illya's chest into the trash can.
"So says the man with no hair on his chest." Illya grunted as he glanced down at the bright red bare spot. "I hate adhesive tape."
"I offered to try soaking it off." Napoleon moved the lamp slightly. "I'll pull your stitches now. Hold still."
"What are they going to do with Barry?"
"Psych still has him. Guess those memories had been so repressed he wasn't even aware of the incident."
"How could you not remember something as traumatic as being raped as a child?"
"The mind is full of nooks and crannies to stick things in that are too difficult to deal with. It's the only way some people can survive." Napoleon carefully clipped a knot. "Slow or all at once?"
"Just do it! The sooner those come out, the sooner I can shower properly. I've had my share of sponge baths."
"And here I thought I'd perfected my technique."
"It wasn't your technique that was bothering me…" Illya hissed as Napoleon worked the thread out. "Ouch… sadist."
"Whiner…" Napoleon dumped everything into the trash. "You should be brave, like poor Nellie. You two could be twins."
"How is she feeling?"
"Better. According to what I hear, she should be back to normal soon." Napoleon lay down on the bed and stretched.
"And what about us?"
"Waverly made a general announcement and everyone seems to have pretty much accepted it. There have been a few remarks, but nothing we can't handle."
Illya was quiet for a long moment. "It's going to be difficult."
"What?"
"Going back to looking and not touching." Illya sighed as he reached for the light. "It was nice to not have to worry."
"Maybe someday the world will come around to our way of thinking and see that keeping two people who love each other apart is a greater crime than whether or not they fit the accepted mold." Napoleon plumped up his pillow and then burrowed down into it. He reached for Illya's hand, entwined their fingers. "We just have to be patient."
"I can live with that, just as long as I don't have to live without this." He squeezed Napoleon's hand and side by side the two drifted off to sleep.