Author's Note: This story takes place after the events in my tales, "The Moon and Memories," and "Lost Love," though this can be read as a stand-alone story. My original idea was to use "The Show Must Go On" as the prompt, but "Who Wants to Live Forever" insisted on insinuating itself into the story, so both songs are the inspiration.

Illya and Napoleon were sitting in their offices working their way through a pile of paperwork; the bulk of which was the CEA's, but as usual, he had managed to push off half of it to his partner outright and had sneakily increased Illya's workload to about two – thirds of the total amount.

"I do not understand, Napoleon. Everytime I have reduced my share, it magically grows again. What do you think accounts for that? Do you think the reports have learned how to reproduce? Or, as I suspect, is there a far more realistic reason I have not been able to make a dent?"

Napoleon smiled as he signed off on the last piece of paper in his In box. "Stop your complaining, Tovarisch. When I finally got Mr. Waverly to agree to make you Second in Command of Section II, I assured him that I would familiarize you with every aspect of the Chief Enforcement Agent position. It's not all glitz and glamour, you know. If I go to that Great Spy Zone in the Sky, the show must go on."

"I know," the Russian grumbled, "First of all, do not make jokes like that. Second of all, this paperwork…"

"Is making you hungry," interjected Napoleon, "Am I right?"

"Yes, but that is not what I was going to say. You are always deciding…everything. You are very annoying sometimes, Napoleon."

Napoleon had rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket. Tossing Illya's to him he replied, "C'mon, let your annoying senior agent by two years slash CEA slash partner treat you to lunch."

The two men entered the Commissary and got on line. Illya was still a bit miffed about getting stuck with the bulk of Napoleon's work and decided to take it out on his wallet. Two shrimp salad heroes, a large bowl of tomato soup, a tossed salad, a slice of chocolate cake and two large bottles of lemonade later, he stood behind his partner at the register.

"Good lord, man!" Napoleon exclaimed as he handed bills to the cashier who was trying not to laugh, "I got roast beef on a Kaiser, fries and a Coke! Are you really going to eat all that?"

"As you said yourself, Napoleon," Illya retorted as he led the way to a table, "paperwork makes me very hungry."

The two men ate in silence for awhile as Napoleon was also hungry. He polished off his French fries, swallowed more soda and then finished his sandwich. He watched as his deceptively skinny partner continued to plow through his meal with a singlemindedness that he was used to, but others sometimes found disturbing. "Remember when you told me about your lost love, Anya?"

The blond's eyes narrowed into slits. "Of course. Why do you bring it up now?"

"I'm curious."

"Why, Napoleon? Why can you not let things go?"

"I'm a spy; curiosity is in my DNA, just like it's in yours. Harry Beldon, fool that he was and traitor that he turned out to be, said you could use our resources to find her. I know you said you decided not to, but I find it hard to believe your curiosity never got the better of you."

Illya ate the last of his dessert quietly. He licked the icing off his fork and sighed. I might as well tell him, I will not have peace otherwise. "There were times when I did think I should attempt to find her; I started to several times, but something always stopped me."

"What was it?"

"Harry himself. Rule Number One of espionage: Trust no one. And I never trusted him. The less he knew of my past, the better."

"And what stops you now? Anya had to know her removal from your life wasn't your doing or plan. We're talking what? Seven, eight years ago? Maybe she's waiting for you somewhere."

As Illya stood with his tray he snorted, "For someone who is a spy, you are a hopeless romantic. Who waits forever for something that in all probability will not happen? We had our time, our one sweet moment, as it were. The decision to separate was made for us and we just had to accept it." He turned to take his tray over to the dirty area.

Napoleon followed with his. Nobody said I have to accept it.