Good Enough Is Good Enough

by paulaH and GJ

Illya/Napoleon. Part 5 of the Full Circle series. Illya and Napoleon try to get their relationship back on track. When they each seem to want something different, it makes things very difficult. Especially when Illya is teamed up with an extremely handsome Latin man. Napoleon is not happy and, when he takes over UNCLE New York for awhile, he decides to do something about it.

1. Chapter 1

It was not hard - to choose all the words that I should
put in your mouth
in my own play of shadows
Between lines, word for word, honey.

See who I am?
Out where nothing's forgiven
A small yet very loud part of me is still screaming after you...

Good enough was good enough for me
as it should always be
You broke my heart when it was weak
Guess you were not meant for me...

I had a dream you broke - with your twisted ways
Still leaving me? Please take your time, but go away
Don't flash that light anymore, honey...

The seasons change...
I was the summer to your heart
the winter lured you away more than once, now I know:
I am free

Good enough was good enough for me
as it should always be
You broke my heart and still I grieve
How can you be over me?

I always thought we'd made it, found a way to live together
You saved the best for last and now it's too late
I count the hours of the day that
seems to last forever

Words through the door
a glance from a broken window
I found your key from the floor
and my heart, suddenly, cut off clean

Good enough was good enough for me
as it should always be
You broke my heart and still I grieve,
How can you be over me?

Good enough was good enough for me
as it should always be
You spread a tale of lies about me
And I believed it, my heart's got a leak...

Good Enough is Good Enough by Sonata Arctica

Napoleon Solo pulled his collar up and adjusted the brim of his hat so the rain would run off over the shoulders of his trench coat. Even with the rain he felt happy. At peace. Fresh. Alive.

With brisk strides he crossed the sidewalk from the taxi to the door opened so regally by the doorman. He nodded with a pleasant smile as he passed the man. It felt good to be home.

After crossing the lobby Napoleon removed his coat while waiting for the elevator. He shook the water off and draped it over the crook of his arm. When the doors opened he stood to the side as two lovely ladies stepped out. Then he stepped in and rode up to his floor alone.

It seemed to take no time at all and Napoleon was stepping through his own door. The immaculate apartment filled him with warmth and comfort. He put his hat and coat away.

"Illya!" Napoleon called out. "Illya?"

The blond haired man entered the living room from the library where he loved spending his time. "You're home early today."

The warm tones with the mixed blend of accents charmed Napoleon, even on his worst days. As he kicked off his shoes he replied, "You're not disappointed I hope."

"No," Illya responded. "Not at all. I always miss you during the day when you're gone."

Napoleon walked up to him and wrapped his arms tenderly around the slender form. Illya had lost a few pounds from his ordeal with the psychiatric hospital but was gaining them back again. He was still in great muscular form though. "Well I'm home now." He ran his hand up Illya's back over the crisp white shirt. "And you feel great."

"I do," Illya confirmed happily. "I'm putting everything that happened with Kopf and Waverly behind me. I never want to set one foot through U.N.C.L.E.'s door again."

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that," Napoleon said and leaned down to kiss the side of Illya's face. Then he moved his head lower and kissed his way over to Illya's lips.

"Mmmm... Nobody kisses like you do," Illya moaned into Napoleon's mouth. "I love it."

Napoleon tugged at the shirt tucked into Illya's waistband till it came free and then unbuttoned it as they kissed. By the time he was done they were in the bedroom and his own shirt hung open, slipping from his shoulders.

The next thing Napoleon knew he was leaning over Illya's backside pumping his hips against the smooth, willing rear end. The soft moans and gasps escaping Illya's throat begged him for more.

Napoleon's heart beat faster. His mind sped up and each moment seemed to bloom in exquisite detail. The heat of Illya's skin against his sent tingles all through his body. A thin sheen of sweat coated Napoleon's face and chest. He could feel the flush building in his face.

"Oh god Illya. Oh my god," Napoleon groaned as he came and came and came.

Illya let out a strained moan of pleasure following Napoleon into orgasm.

Carefully, Napoleon shifted his balance onto one arm and lowered himself down next to Illya's heaving body. He reached for Illya to pull him closer. They were both damp and sticky from their exertions.

"I love you Napoleon," Illya cooed once he had enough air to speak. "I love you so much."

Napoleon felt the flutter of emotion through his chest at the words. Those were the only words he longed to hear from Illya. In all the years they'd been together all he ever wanted was to hear those simple words.

"Yes. I know," he whispered back.

Something felt wrong about that. Napoleon felt the awkwardness of his own response. It wasn't what he really wanted to say but that was all that would come out of his mouth.

Illya reached up and brushed the black strands of hair from Napoleon's eyes. "I love you," he whispered and kissed Napoleon's forehead and then the tip of his nose. "I love you," he whispered as his lips moved toward Napoleon's mouth.

In his gut Napoleon knew he should say something but it was like it was stuck and couldn't rise up and come out. "Illya..."

Their lips locked in an embrace. The kiss was long, deep, and sweet.

"Illya," he tried to say again.

"I love you Napoleon," his lover said so earnestly. Illya would never ask but the blue eyes pleaded to hear the same from him.

Napoleon startled as the door crashed open and three THRUSH operatives entered the room firing their weapons. He rolled over Illya, dragging them both to the floor with the bed between them and their assailants. With his mind in overdrive Napoleon couldn't make sense of it because he knew the three were dead. He was positive they were dead.

Another loud crash and Napoleon jerked to full alertness. He blinked several times and gasped for air. Looking around the empty room he knew he was alone. A flash of light from thunderstorm moving in illuminated the room casting shadows onto the wall of the raindrops clinging to the window.

With a shaky hand Napoleon wiped the sweat from his face. The pillows and sheets were damp from perspiration made worse by the humidity. He hoped the superintendent would have the air conditioning fixed by the end of the day.

Reluctantly Napoleon looked at the clock. He still had an hour before he needed to get up but even if he closed his eyes he knew he could not get back to sleep.

With aching solitude, Napoleon turned on the radio to listen to the news as he got up. Between the crackles of static from the lightning the announcer talked about the weather and the overnight crimes. They chatted about what was to come on the morning talk show and specials of their advertisers. It was all boring to him these days.

Feeling old, Napoleon rubbed his drenched face. Maybe a shower would help.

He wasn't looking forward to work today. Illya was supposed to return to light duty. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Napoleon couldn't understand why Illya would want to come back after all that happened. It was Waverly's fault that Illya had almost been lobotomized; turned into a permanent vegetable.

Napoleon wondered what thoughts flew through the Russian's head that very moment.

Soft even breathing filled Illya's bedroom in his small utilitarian apartment in Greenwich Village. It faltered then changed as the alarm clock on the side table jangled the demand to awaken. Illya groaned as he rolled over and turned it off. He rubbed his face then stared balefully at the clock. No matter how he willed it, though, the time didn't change.

With a sigh, he sat up on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. It still didn't feel right, although it was better than the baldness he'd sported just a few weeks before. He felt lucky the only remnant of Kopf's attempt at a frontal lobotomy was a bald head. Not even that anymore. His hair, which grew at alarming speed, was already almost two inches long. Not much shorter than when he first started working for the U.N.C.L.E.

Speaking of which, time to get ready to go in for work. He didn't usually feel reluctant to get back after an extended medical leave. Of course, usually he wasn't on the outs with his partner, best friend, and almost lover at the same time. He hadn't seen Napoleon for two weeks and, honestly, didn't want to see him today.

The problem started the day Illya had finally became mobile again after Kopf's abduction. He walked a bit wobbly the first time he actually walked into the dining room to demand some breakfast, but he managed it without falling over. A proud moment, pathetically enough.

Napoleon exited the kitchen, the breakfast he usually served Illya in bed each morning in hand. "Oh! You're up!" Napoleon said with a delighted smile.

Illya smiled in return. "It appears so. Is that for me?" he asked hopefully.

"It is. Sit down and I'll set it up for you."

Illya sat at the table more than willing to allow Napoleon to wait on him. Might as well take advantage of it. Wouldn't last for long. "Looks delicious."

"But of course!" Napoleon said in a bad French accent. He took a covered plate off the tray and set it in front of Illya. A glass of orange juice, cup of coffee, and some silverware rolled in a cloth napkin joined it. "Only the best for the guest in Chez Solo."

Illya chuckled as he lifted the lid to find a feast of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. He sniffed appreciatively. "Are you trying to turn me into a decadent American?"

Napoleon snorted. "With your bottomless stomach it would be like shooting ducks in a barrel."

Illya raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Instead he dug in.

Napoleon sat across from him and . . . stared. He looked like a man who had something to say but didn't know how.

Illya paused in his eating for only a second. No sense letting this good food get cold to try to get something out of his partner. Napoleon would say something when he was ready and not before.

When the other man cleared his throat, Illya stopped eating and placed his fork and knife down onto the plate. He pushed it away and gave his friend his attention. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. "What's wrong, Napoleon."

"You should quit."

Illya hesitated, not quite sure what Napoleon meant. Quit what? Eating? Sleeping? Walking around? "Care to elaborate?"

"UNCLE. You should quit UNCLE."

Illya fell back into his chair, mouth dropped open in shock. "Whatever for?"

Napoleon leaned forward as if to make up the difference in the space Illya just put between them. "For what happened with Kopf."

Illya's heart skipped a beat, the memories Kopf had brought up surging to the surface for a few seconds. He quickly wrapped them in a tight ball and shoved them back into the dungeons of his mind. "It's not like it hasn't happened before."

Napoleon shook his head sharply. "No. Not like this."

Illya watched him warily. Had Napoleon found out about his partner's true past? Illya kept all that from him not only because he hated to talk about it, but also because he didn't want his friend to think him a monster. He forced an amused look onto his face. "You're right. This was easier than most THRUSH torture."

Illya jumped in surprise when Napoleon slammed a fist onto the tabletop. "That's not the point! He knew where you were! He knew the whole time!"

"Who knew? What the hell are you going on about?"

"Waverly!" The chair fell over as Napoleon jumped out of it. He stalked to the bay window overlooking the city. "Waverly knew where you were." No shouting this time. Quieter. More dangerous.

Illya stared at his friend's back for a long minute. Could it be true? "Why would he do that?"

Napoleon turned, his demeanor back to the usual mild, friendly coworker. Illya was one of the few who knew just how much of a lie that was. Its return at this moment made him nervous. Napoleon leaned against the window and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "Who knows why that bastard does what he does? All I know is that it's his fault."

"Did he order Kopf to do that?" If he had . . . Illya didn't want to think about it. Purposely putting him in that situation was too close to what Sarkov did to him all those years ago.

But, no. It didn't add up. Why would Waverly keep him out of the clutches of UNCLE shrinks for so long just to hand him over to Kopf in the worst way ever. Would he? No. Illya didn't believe it. "If he did know, I'm sure he had a good reason," Illya told Napoleon, trying to convince himself as much as his partner.

Napoleon snorted in derision. "I'm sure he did. I doubt it took your best interests into account, however. You have to quit before his reasons kill you."

Illya's turn to snort. "Quit being melodramatic, Napoleon. I'm an agent of the U.N.C.L.E. That organization's best interests are my best interests."

Napoleon stared at him, then his expression screwed up with disgust. "When are you going to learn how to stop behaving like such a good little Soviet?"

Illya's expression hardened. "I am Soviet, Napoleon. I used to think that didn't matter to you. Congratulations. You fooled me." He threw his napkin onto the table. "I wouldn't want to contaminate your apartment with my stupid Soviet sensibilities. I'm going home."

Which was exactly what he did. Napoleon had tried to talk him out of it, but Illya didn't want to hear it. He might have stopped to listen if the stupid American apologized for the slur upon Illya's country of origin. There were many things wrong with his country, but it was not up to an arrogant American to point them out.

Illya stormed out without listening to another word. Napoleon had come over three times since then but was only interested in trying to convince him to quit. He didn't understand that even if Illya wanted to quit, he couldn't. Not that he wanted to.

He had no idea what to expect today. No idea what Napoleon would to try next. Whatever it was, Illya knew he just had to wait Napoleon out. Bide his time until his American friend dropped the subject and they could get back to their partnership and friendship. He hoped it would happen that way at any rate. He sighed as he started to get ready to go. "Damn you, Napoleon."

Dapperly dressed, as always the epitome of a true English gentleman, Alexander Waverly had his car stop outside the newsstand where the vendor brought over his morning paper. They exchanged pleasantries and Waverly paid him with a few coins for the paper and the usual tip for the curbside service. He felt a good day beginning.

During the commute to work, the driver expertly easing through the bustle of the morning traffic, Waverly perused the paper for the latest news. International stories followed by the city and then, after that, the society pages and finally sports. Usually by the time he reached the office the majority of the paper was done, his expert eye picking up on everything.

Waverly gave the illusion of being a bit absent minded at times, perhaps even oblivious, but inside he was shrewd and totally focused. His lighthearted manner belied how seriously his mind viewed just about everything.

The last few months had been very hard on him. He made grueling decisions that weren't easy. Along with the everyday stresses of dealing with THRUSH there was the ultimate problem of trying to figure out how to best handle the delicate situation with one of his top agents. A man who was one of the great experiments of UNCLE in their endeavor to be the first truly worldwide international organization for law and enforcement, Illya Kuryakin.

It was with some sense of pride that Waverly subtly boasted of welcoming an agent of the Soyuz Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik, the CCCP, or as more commonly known to the English speaking world, the USSR. When the dark secret of Illya Kuryakin's past was brought to his attention he feared that could be the end of the first steps UNCLE had taken in the direction of global law enforcement. To a lesser degree, but more important to him, Waverly worried about losing one of UNCLE's best assets. Keeping much of this private and out of UNCLE's records would be his next course of action.

"We're here Mr. Waverly," the driver said, breaking his employer's musings. "Shall I pick you up at the usual time?"

"Yes. I'll be lunching at the Russian Tea Room today," he replied. "There will be two of us. The reservation is for 11:45."

"I'll be here," the driver replied and pulled up to the doorway of the tailor shop. He hopped out and ran around to open the door for Waverly.

After stepping from the car Waverly positioned his hat on his graying head of hair and tucked the perfectly refolded paper under his arm. He gave a nod to his driver before heading down the steps to Del Floria's Tailor shop.

Twenty minutes later, Illya Kuryakin stepped into Del Floria's, dreading the first necessary evil of the day. At the sign-in desk he received the expected order to report to the medical facility. It wasn't something he wanted to do but there would be no getting around it. It was routine to have an agent undergo a physical on return to duty after any substantial injury. He sullenly marched his way through the halls hoping the examination would be short and simple.

The thought of the medical section made him even more nervous now, a side effect of his time with Kopf. He had to reason with his fight or flight instinct to overcome his reluctance. He imagined Antonio's warm strong voice telling him things would be all right. It saddened him that he no longer had the man's comforting words in person. It bothered him that was what it took to control himself on this.

In spite of missing the Italian man he'd grown so close to, Illya was glad to be back in New York. The little apartment that he'd turned into his home might have seemed spartan for an American's tastes but it suited him well and was much larger than he would have if he were still in the Soviet Union. Even the familiar corridors of the U.N.C.L.E. was like a home.

"Illya!" a familiar voice called out.

The Russian stopped and turned around. Mark Slate trotted over to him.

"Hey. I didn't know you were back today!" he said in a cheery tone.

"Apparently I am," Illya replied. "I was going mix crazy at home," he tried joking.

"Uh... That's stir crazy..." Mark replied, obviously trying not to grin and embarrass his friend. "I know the feeling though," he admitted. "First day?" he asked taking note of their location so close to the medical section.

"Yes. It's a little redundant but rules must be obeyed," Illya disparaged.

Mark nudged him in the ribs. "It will be a breeze. You'll be in the field before you know it."

Illya took in a deep breath and let it go slowly. "I hope so. I'm getting restless for real action." He paused in their walking and looked up at Mark. "Say. What happened to Burke? I didn't see his name on the sign-in board this morning."

Illya wasn't eager to see the man and his pandering to Napoleon for attention but that was what made the absence of his name more meaningful. He would have preferred to take the man out in a dark alley somewhere personally but if THRUSH got rid of him Illya would be just as happy.

"Didn't you hear?" Mark said. "He asked for a transfer to Europe. He's working in France now."

"Oh?" Illya replied with a neutral expression. "A shame. He was growing into a good agent." As much as he despised Burke, he and Saunders did get the job done when they had to. He couldn't say the news disappointed him, though.

"Something about the guy rubs me the wrong way," Mark stated. "Funny thing is I know how hard he tries. He has good intentions."

Illya shrugged. "Better to let sleeping dogs get run over."

Mark laughed. He wondered just how serious Illya was when he made such gaffs.

In his massive office, also used as a conference room, Waverly settled into his day. He eyed the stack of files and papers to his right waiting for his review. It never ended and never seemed to get any smaller. No sooner was one crisis averted then the next one bloomed in its place.

Waverly sat back with a sigh, looking over the never-ending work. He had no illusion that only he was the capable of handling the situations. For years he'd groomed Napoleon Solo to one day be THE candidate as his replacement. Soon would come a test for the man as Waverly planned for an upcoming family reunion.

Before he dropped the news on his protégé, there was something of high priority that had to be done before Alexander Waverly could dive into the day's numerous decisions. He picked up the phone and dialed the Medical Section to speak to Dr. Cruz.

The handsome young Latino doctor pulled a white lab coat on over his starched white shirt. He adjusted the collar as he draped a stethoscope around his neck. Then he tucked the end into the breast pocket, making sure it hung just so. He slipped a plastic pocket protector into the pocket on the other side along with a pen and pencil. An untidy doctor was a sloppy one and a sloppy doctor killed patients. Satisfied that he was ready, he headed out of the lounge to the reception desk to begin.

"Good morning Dr. Cruz," Nurse Leon said. "How are you today?"

"Good. Yourself?" he asked in return as he reached for the file on top of the pile.

"Great. My girlfriends and I went to see a picture last night. It wasn't spectacular but we had a nice time on the town," she replied cheerily.

He gave her a pleasant smile. "That's nice. What do I have first today?"

She glanced at her schedule. "RTD. Kuryakin."

"Okay. Set up in room 3. Standard screens," he ordered for the Return To Duty examinations.

"Mr. Kuryakin isn't here yet," Nurse Leon informed him.

Cruz checked his watch. "Give him another five and then the usual procedure."

Paula Leon smiled. "Yes Doctor. Call security and lock down the exits."

Doctor Cruz laughed. Calling security was something they'd done on more than one occasion. Locking down the exits was a bit of an exaggeration.

He was about to leave when the phone on the reception desk rang. Cruz decided to wait in case it was Kuryakin trying to get out of the appointment by calling in sick or something.

Paula took the call. "Medical Reception. Paula Leon speaking." She glanced up at Cruz indicating that this might involve him. "Yes Mr. Waverly. No I haven't seen him yet but his case was assigned to Dr. Cruz. Would you like to speak with him? He's right here."

Cruz leaned across the counter to take the receiver when she held it out to him.

"Dr. Cruz here. What can I do for you Mr. Waverly?"

Nurse Leon watched the doctor listening to the head of UNCLE New York.

Cruz finally took in a deep breath to speak again. "Yes. As long as he shows up that shouldn't be a problem." He listened a moment. "He's supposed to be here now but if I don't see him in five minutes I'll call security."

Paula covered her mouth and giggled a little.

"I'll tell him. Yes sir." he said and offered her the receiver to hang it up again. "He just wants me to be finished by 11:30. Kuryakin is supposed to meet with him on the dot." he explained. "So if he doesn't show up in the next..."

She pointed behind him down the hallway. "No need. Here he comes now."

They both raised eyebrows in astonishment. Neither of them expected Kuryakin to show up of his own volition.

With trepidation Napoleon Solo entered UNCLE looking forward to seeing Illya again. When he saw his partner's name on the sign-in board he felt a tingle inside at the thought of seeing the man. He didn't like being angry with Illya or having Illya angry with him. They had too much between them to let their minor differences tear them apart.

After rushing to the shared office where he hoped to see Illya he was disappointed to find it empty. He wondered if Illya moved to a different office space before remembering the mandatory medical. That was also a let down but reassuring at the same time. The delay gave him time to formulate what he would say when they finally saw each other again.

As Napoleon pondered his plan he decided that taking Illya to lunch might be a good way of opening things up between them again. With a smile, he started to call Illya's favorite area Italian restaurant, then frowned as he thought about the big oaf, Antonio, grunting and puffing as he fucked Illya in the ass. Then he remembered how much Illya seemed to be enjoying it. He dropped the phone back into the cradle as though it burned him.

Not Italian, then. Wouldn't want to remind Illya of Vicente. The local deli? No. Too crowded and no privacy to talk. There was an Indian place Illya liked. It was on the edge of the distance one could go for a lunch hour, but doable. It might be a good idea to get as far away from any other UNCLE personnel as possible, anyway. He called and asked them to reserve their usual table for one o'clock. Illya would definitely be out of Medical by then.

The tests took most of the morning. Illya sighed in relief when Dr. Cruz finally signed the paper certifying the Russian agent for the field once again. He was already tired and hungry and he hadn't even started his workday yet.

"I am signing this," said Cruz with a glance at his patient. "But only barely. Your weight is a little low."

"I tend to lose weight after an injury," Illya reminded him.

"I know. That's the only reason I'm signing this." He held the paper just out of Illya's reach. "I want your assurance you will work on gaining back those ten pounds."

The nurse stifled a giggle and Illya shot her an amused glance.

Cruz turned his dark gaze on her. "Did I say something funny, Miss Leon?"

She allowed the smile to bloom. "Have you seen Illya eat?" Her eyes widened as she realized she'd just said that in front of a dangerous Section 2 agent whose bad side she never wanted to get on. "Umm, no offense, Illya."

Illya's eyes twinkled as he sighed dramatically. "I'm afraid my appetite is rather legendary within these hallowed walls."

Cruz smiled and handed him the certification. "You can take this up to Waverly yourself. He wants you to be in his office by eleven-thirty. You've got fifteen minutes to get dressed and get up there."

Illya snatched the paper before Cruz changed his mind. "Thank you, Doctor." He turned a slight smile on Nurse Leon. "Nurse."

She blushed. "My pleasure." Her blush deepened at the realization of how that could be taken. "I have other patients to attend to if you're finished with me, Doctor." At his nod, she fled.

Cruz snickered. "I think she's smitten with you."

Illya shrugged. "I doubt it. At any rate, I now only have thirteen minutes to get dressed and make it to Mr. Waverly's office." He raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully at the door.

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'll leave you to it, then." Cruz scribbled in Illya's file as he hurried to his next patient.

Illya donned his clothes quickly and arrived at Mr. Waverly's office with two minutes to spare. "I understand he wishes to see me," he told Lisa Rogers, the secretary guarding Waverly's office door.

"Go on in. He's waiting for you."

Illya entered Waverly's domain and sat in his usual chair. He noted the absence of Napoleon. Probably not a mission, then. He often went on solo missions, but not usually the day he returned to active field duty. Waverly preferred a newly returned agent to work with a partner for their first mission. "You asked to see me, sir?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. uh, Kuryakin." Waverly set his pipe aside and stood. "No time to sit and chat. Our reservation is for 11:45." He set his hat upon his head and picked up his umbrella.

"Reservation?" Illya asked as he hopped up and hurried after his boss.

"Yes. At the Russian Tea Room. You do like that restaurant, I believe."

"Uh, yes, sir. I do." Illya accompanied Waverly down to the garage and into the waiting limo. "Are we meeting someone there?" he asked, thinking maybe the Old Man had a meeting with a Russian and needed a translator. Although Waverly spoke Russian almost as well as Illya himself, Illya knew the sly old fox liked to let people think otherwise. If people thought someone didn't speak the language, they would often talk about sensitive things in front of them. Why else would he take one of his agents to lunch?

"No, Mr. Kuryakin. It will just be the two of us. I want to discuss something with you." He turned his watery blue gaze onto his agent. "But not yet," he added to forestall more questions.

Illya nodded and settled back into the soft leather seat as he watched New York move by. They would be a bit late for their reservation but he had no doubt the restaurant would hold it for them. Alexander Waverly was known as an important man to the better restaurants in the city. They didn't know why, but they knew the type of company he kept and that was enough.

As expected, the hostess didn't even blink when they were twenty minutes late. She took them back and showed them into a small private room. She placed the menus onto the table and, in a thick accent, told them of the daily specials. After taking their drink orders, she left.

Illya glanced to his superior and suppressed a sigh when he saw Waverly looking over the menu. Obviously he wasn't ready to say what this was all about yet. Illya knew it was no use trying to push him into speaking up until he was ready, so he decided now was as good a time as any to start gaining that weight Cruz was so concerned about.

During the meal they chatted about his renewed field status, some of the missions going on at the moment, and present world events. Illya relaxed into the conversation even though he was dying of curiosity as to the purpose of this lunch. He began to wonder if there even was a point when it came time to order dessert and Waverly still hadn't brought up anything of real importance.

As they finished their entrees the waiter returned with a gold cart laden with desserts. "Would you gentlemen care for dessert?"

"Just tea for me, please," said Waverly. He gave his agent a critical once-over. "You should have some dessert, Mr. Kuryakin. You've lost weight again," he chided.

Illya cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I have." He glanced at the dessert cart, sweet tooth tingling with excitement. "I'll have the chocolate mousse."

"Good choice," the waiter said. He set it in front of Illya along with a dessert spoon. "Coffee or tea for you, as well?"

"Coffee please."

The waiter rattled off with the cart and returned two minutes later with two cups of the rich hot beverages.

After he left, Waverly settled back with his tea and took a sip. "I wish to speak with you about what happened with Dr. Kopf."

Illya choked on his coffee, spilling some of it onto the snowy white table cloth. "What did you want to know?" he asked, dabbing at the coffee, spreading the brown color more than cleaning it.

Waverly shook his head. "Your report was as complete and concise as usual," he said. "I have no questions. However, I . . . " He paused and cleared his throat.

Illya stared at him in alarm. Mr. Waverly looked nervous, something Illya had never seen happen. "Sir . . ." Illya began.

Waverly held up a hand to stop him. "Mr. Kuryakin, I suspected Dr. Kopf might try something."

Illya's eyes widened in surprise. Napoleon had said as much and Illya had defended their superior. It looked as though Napoleon may have been right.

"I didn't order him to abduct you. What I did was block him at every turn. I've known doctors like Kopf before. He truly cared about his patients and I knew he would do whatever he must to help a patient no matter what the consequences to himself. I knew if I didn't allow him to do his job within the confines of headquarters, he would find a way to do so outside of it."

"So you allowed him to abduct me?" Illya held his anger at bay. He respected and trusted Alexander Waverly in a way he never had another superior in his life. He couldn't believe the man did so for no good reason.

Waverly nodded. "Once I discovered where he'd taken you, I found someone on the inside to keep an eye on you and let me know what was going on."

Illya thought about the people he'd seen while in Kopf's clutches. He couldn't remember them well, but one stood out. She'd treated him with such kindness and concern. "There was a nurse." He shook his head. "I don't think I ever knew her name."

"You don't need to know her name now but, yes, that was her," Waverly agreed

"May I ask why?"

Waverly sipped his tea as he gathered his thoughts. Finally he nodded as if coming to a decision. "I read your diary."

Illya's heart dropped into his stomach. He only knew of one diary. But he had hidden that at Anya and Sergei's dacha. There was no way for Waverly to get it. He must mean something else. "What diary?"

"The diary you kept while under the thumb of Sarkov. It was found in a dacha that belongs to a family which I believe you know quite well. It has found its way into my hands."

The nausea that accompanied fear threatened to bring up the wonderful meal Illya had just eaten. He should have burned that damned thing! He knew it back then but just hadn't been able to do so. At the time he told himself it was so he could use it to show the world what Sarkov was really like. He knew that was stupid. The world didn't care. The Soviets certainly didn't care. He knew it now and he certainly knew it then. Why, then, had he not gotten rid of it?

Because that diary had kept him sane. Uncle Alexei had helped, of course, but Illya couldn't open up to him. Doing so would have been far too dangerous for both of them. He had to keep in mind that Uncle Alexei was also Major Andreov.

So he wrote his thoughts and feelings down in that damnable diary. He wrote it in third person in a childish attempt to distance himself from everything that happened. It must have worked at least somewhat because Illya believed himself to be mostly stable. About as stable as any Section 2 agent, at any rate. Still, he doubted Mr. Waverly would see it that way.

He looked down at his mousse, running the spoon through the creaminess but not eating any. "You're sending me back to the Soviet Union, then."

Napoleon sat at his desk despondently drumming his fingers and staring at the phone.

Should I call and cancel? Illya never misses lunch if he can help it. Where the hell is he?

The phone, surprisingly enough, didn't answer his silent questions. He stared some more. Finally, with time running out, Napoleon picked up the receiver and called the medical section.

"Solo. Section 1. Is Mr. Kuryakin about done with his physical?" he asked. His heart sank a bit as he heard the reply. "Oh? He left when?" He moistened his lips as he listened. "I see. Alright then." He paused a moment in thought. "No. No message. I'll hunt him down myself. Thanks Miss...? Miss Leon. Yes. Thank you."

Napoleon hung up and wondered where Illya could have gone. Perhaps the lab?

His next phone call brought the same disappointing results. It was soon obvious that Illya wasn't in the building. He resumed drumming his fingers on the desk and propped his chin on his free hand.

At a standstill, he stared out the open door into the hall. In his mind he imagined Illya walking through. Starched, pressed white shirt. Black tie, belt, and shoes. Grey slacks that fit so perfect that the well-defined gluteus maximus muscles drew his attention whenever Illya turned his back.

A sound broke Napoleon's day dreaming.

"I said ech hem," Sarah said.

Napoleon blinked a couple times and then focused on Sarah McCallum from the Secretarial pool. She was standing in the doorway and he hadn't seen her in his meanderings.

"Oh," he said, surprised. A charming smile automatically grew across his face. "Now how could I possibly have missed you standing there?"

She melted in that smile. Slinking up to the desk, she then perched herself on the edge and leaned seductively toward him, presenting her breasts prominently in his face.

"Well, you looked like you were thinking about something else," she cooed.

Napoleon leaned back, letting his eyes roam up and down her lithe body. "Business, but now that you are here that is impossible. What can I do for you?" he asked in a suggestive tone of double entendre.

"You still owe me a dinner," she reminded him. "You promised when I did all that filing for you last month. And that bit of research on the side you had me do."

He bit his lower lip. There were several outstanding dates he had to make good on. He still had time to make it to his lunch reservation too. "Now that you mention it," he said, "do you like Indian?"

"Mmmm. The spicier the better," she purred.

Napoleon stood up enthusiastically and pulled on his jacket. As he straightened his cuffs he said, "Lets go."

Alexander Waverly sat back and took a long sip of his Earl Grey tea. The blend of Indian and Ceylon teas with the acidic orange bite was one of his favorites.

Illya waited nervously for the word. Deportation. He didn't know what scared him more: waiting to hear that he was to go back to Russia or actually facing his superiors back in the motherland.

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly began calmly. "If my counterparts in UNCLE ever found out what I have come to learn, my answer would be entirely different. Sending you back to the Soviet Union would not be a choice but a singular option. I was quite perplexed by the content of the translation."

"Translation?" Illya repeated. "Perhaps there were some errors made," he suggested.

"No," Waverly replied confidently. "I had an acquaintance of mine do it. He is an expert in translating documents and such from the Eastern Slavic languages. Have no fear. He is totally trustworthy and the contents will remain confidential."

Illya nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. All he could do was wait for more information.

"As I said, I was quite perplexed at what to do after I read the diary. To be completely honest, I considered removing you from active field work. I even considered sending you for total psychiatric evaluation in the medical section."

The noise of blood rushing through his ears almost deafened him, but Illya forced himself to remain neutral on the outside and listen to more.

Waverly began packing a pipe. Anyone watching would think he was contented with his meal and enjoying a relaxed moment. "I knew that would result in the loss of one of my best agents even if the results came back with a perfect score, so to speak," He looked up at Illya, focusing eye to eye. "We both know that wouldn't happen, don't we Mr. Kuryakin."

Swallowing hard, Illya could only be honest at this point. Lying would not alter Waverly's decisions. The man was shrewd and calculating in spite of his projected appearance. Illya nodded in acceptance of the facts.

"I took into consideration your performance records from not only your time in New York but also your time in Europe. I needed more to understand how stable you actually are. But routing that through official channels was out of the question, as you must surely understand."

"Yes sir. I do," Illya replied, finally having found his voice again.

"I believe I made the right decisions with your best interests at heart," Waverly stated, leaving no room for contradictions. "I will admit, though, I did not realize the extent to which Dr. Kopf would go when this first began. In a way, you helped root out an unstable danger to the well being of other UNCLE agents who would have been put under his care in the future."

Waverly studied Illya's face, searching for recognition of his endeavors to keep UNCLE and all of its members safe.

Illya finally put down his spoon, leaving his dessert in a stirred slurry unrecognizable from the airy mousse he'd been served. "The diary?" he asked softly, knowing the damaging material it contained.

"Have no fear, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly assured him. "It is not within UNCLE's walls. It is safely tucked away and no one but you and I know its contents."

Illya ran all of the things that transpired through his mind. What Waverly had done, all the things he said, each decision he made, had all been for the best. The easiest thing to do would have been to send Illya back to Russia with the book. His Soviet superiors would see the things in the diary and probably lock him away forever, never to be seen or heard from again. Worse than that, they could send him to a prison camp in Siberia, where even escape meant certain death in the wilderness. Illya, strangely enough, felt Waverly was going out of his way to look after and keep him in New York and UNCLE.

"I... I am grateful Mr. Waverly. You are very generous." he said, still shocked and shaken.

"Nonsense, Mr. Kuryakin. I'm being very selfish on UNCLE's behalf. We need you. Your skills as an agent against THRUSH are invaluable." Waverly signaled the waitress. "Could we have the check, please?"

Illya felt that a major turn of luck in his life had just occurred.

Still unsettled after the luncheon revelations, Illya looked forward to seeing and talking to Napoleon.

He walked into their office only to find it empty, no jacket hanging over the back of the chair to keep it from wrinkling. Usually Napoleon only wore it to Waverly's office and since the head of UNCLE had been with him at lunch that wasn't a possibility. That meant that Napoleon was out of the building and Illya could only sit down and wait for him to return.

Illya grabbed the file from the top of Napoleon's in-basket. Might as well get some work done while waiting for his partner to return. He'd just started going over the report inside when his intercom buzzed.

He didn't take his eyes from the words he read as he toggled the device. "Yes?"

"Dr. Webber is here to see you," the department secretary announced.

Illya thought about telling Frank he was too busy but, really, he needed to break things off with the man. He had needed it at the time but even though he liked Frank, after Antonio, it just wasn't going to satisfy him anymore. He'd rather go without than go back to meaningless sex, at least on a regular basis.

That wasn't fair to Frank, either. The best thing for both of them would be to cut the man loose. Now was as good as any for the discussion. "Send him in, please," he finally said.

He set the folder aside just as the door slid open to admit Frank. He made sure he wore a pleasant expression on his face before looking up at his visitor. He indicated for Frank to sit. "Hi. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked his friend and sometimes sex partner.

Frank looked uncomfortable as he settled into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Um, well, actually, Illya . . . ." He fidgeted in his seat.

Illya frowned in concern. "Something wrong downstairs?" He wracked his brains to see if he had anything going in the lab that could be problematic. It was doubtful since he'd been off work and out of the building so much recently. He came up with zero.

"Oh, no, no!" Frank assured him, looking him in the eyes for the first time since entering the office. He dropped his gaze almost immediately. "Ummm. . . ." He shifted again. "I don't really know how to say this."

Illya raised an eyebrow. "I find that just saying it is the best way."

Frank regarded him and chewed on his bottom lip. He stilled suddenly, his expression suggesting he'd come to a decision. "You're right. It's better to just rip the bandaid off rather than take it off slowly." He straightened. "I've met someone."

Illya's spy senses went on automatic alert. Those words usually didn't bode well, at least in his experience. "Someone from THRUSH?"

Frank's eyes widened and he waved his hands. "No! That's not what I meant." His chuckle held a nervous edge. "I'm making a mess of this."

Illya sat back and relaxed in the hopes it would make his friend feel more at ease. "Frank, considering how much we've shared in the past, I would hope you'd be over any fear you might have had about me. Just tell me what's on your mind." He grinned. "I promise not to kill you or hurt you in any way."

Frank laughed, face tinged pink. "Okay, okay. I meant that I met a man."

"I take it this man is not someone dangerous."

Frank became dewy-eyed. "Only to my heart."

The light went on in Illya's mind. "Ahhh! You are in love with him, then."

The other man's head dropped and he looked at Illya from under the hair across his forehead. "I'm not sure but I think I am."

Illya sighed in relief. He wouldn't have to risk any problems that might have arisen from breaking things off with Frank. "Who's the lucky man? Do I know him?"

"What? Oh. No." He finally relaxed and smiled. "He's a chemical engineer. He works for a large firm here in Manhattan."

Illya nodded. "Have you had him vetted yet?" UNCLE required employees get any new friendships checked out to make sure they weren't THRUSH or some other nefarious person wanting to get an "in" with UNCLE. It didn't have to be done for someone just known in passing, but if the relationship advanced to anything beyond mere acquaintance, it was a necessary evil.

Frank grimaced. "I've filled out the paperwork but they're a little backed up in that department so they haven't done it yet. It's getting hard not to let our relationship go to the next level but I can't until they've done the background check."

"Would you like for me to do it?" Illya offered. "I probably won't be given any major field assignments for a few days so I should have the time."

"You'd do that for me?" Frank asked in surprise.

"Of course. I owe you at least that."

Confusion furrowed Frank's brow. "You don't owe me anything."

"You were there for me when I needed a friend. I appreciate that."

"You're okay with this, then?"

Illya smiled. "I'm not only okay with it, I'm happy for you. You know as well as I do I can't have any real commitments. I'm glad we were able to become friends. . . " His smile widened. ". . . especially with the benefits. But I never expected you to ignore any opportunities for love that might come your way."

Frank reached across the desk, grabbed Illya's hand, and squeezed it gently. "Thanks, Illya. You don't know how much that means to me. I was so afraid I'd lose you as a friend."

"Perish the thought," Illya replied. "I can always find sex partners. It's much harder to find a trusted friend." He slid a pad of paper and pen in front of Frank. "Now, give me your new love's particulars and I'll see to it he gets vetted quickly."

Frank wrote down the information and then practically floated out of the office.

Illya chuckled to himself as he watched him go. He was genuinely happy for the man. Frank deserved to have someone to love him.

Sarah hung onto Napoleon's arm through the gunmetal corridors of UNCLE, smiling cattily at every woman they passed.

Napoleon held back from rolling his eyes at her behavior but since they were going the same way, he allowed it. It wasn't going to hurt his reputation with the ladies. If anything, they would make themselves more available to him in the hopes of wiping the smirk off Sarah's face.

He had an ulterior motive, too, petty as it was. He hoped Illya would be in the office and see that Napoleon had moved on and that he would no longer be chasing after his illusive and uncooperative partner. If that made his former lover jealous, so much the better.

He wasn't ready for his own spike of jealousy when Frank exited the office Napoleon shared with Illya. A goofy smile was on the man's face. Napoleon longed to knock it off with his fist. He refrained—barely.

He gave Frank a cool nod as he passed. He stopped in front of the office door and waited for it to open before placing a gentle kiss on Sarah's lips. "Thank you for a lovely lunch, my dear," he cooed. "Perhaps we can take up where we left off at dinner tonight?"

She melted in his arms. "It's a date, Napoleon."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

Illya had a front row seat to the entire exchange. He slammed the green-eyed monster away before it had a chance to raise its ugly head. He had no right to feel that way. He chose to end things with Napoleon. What did he expect? For his friend to suddenly become a monk? Besides being unrealistic and unfair, it was laughable.

By the time Napoleon turned and entered the office, Illya had a tight rein on his emotions. "I see you had a good lunch," he said with a touch of amusement.

Napoleon's smile didn't hold the warmth towards him it used to. Illya felt a pang of loss but didn't let it show.

"I had planned to go with you but you never bothered to show up."

Illya grimaced in apology. "Mr. Waverly wanted me to accompany him to The Russian Tea Room for lunch."

Napoleon's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"To explain why he let Dr. Kopf take me," Illya said with a matter-of-factness he didn't feel. He pulled the file back in front of him and opened it.

"So he did allow that bastard to take you," Napoleon growled. "I told you."

Illya shrugged. "He had his reasons."

Napoleon moved to Illya's side and spun the chair around until they faced each other. "No excuse!" he said fiercely, voice trembling with an emotion Illya couldn't quite name. His expression softened and he reached out to cup Illya's face. "There's no excuse for what that bastard did to you and absolutely no good excuse for Waverly to let him do it."

The emotion Napoleon showed surprised Illya. Illya placed his hand over Napoleon's but didn't try to move it. "His reasons were valid. But thank you for your concern," he said softly.

Napoleon shook his head, frustration in his eyes. "You're impossible, Illya. And you're wrong. I'm going to prove it to you." He moved away and plopped into his chair. He turned away, pulled a folder in front of him, and went back to work.

Illya unobtrusively watched his partner for a few minutes. He missed Napoleon. Missed the camaraderie they once enjoyed. Even, if he as honest, sometimes missed the sex. He wondered if he should reconsider his decision to not continue the physical relationship he'd had with Napoleon. What he'd had with his partner was just a shadow of what he experienced with Antonio, but it was still better than his trysts with Frank.

The question he had to answer before he could even entertain such a notion was, could he accept Napoleon's philandering? He knew first-hand the likelihood his friend would be able to stay away from women. Last time he'd expected fidelity. This time he would know better. Illya thought that if he also played the field, he wouldn't feel used. Since Napoleon wouldn't consider being on the bottom, Illya knew he'd need to go find sex elsewhere for those times he felt the need to be the aggressor.

Maybe, just maybe, it would work.

Napoleon stared at the report without really seeing it. His mind buzzed with Illya's revelation about his lunch date with Waverly. He grit his teeth as he thought about Illya's easy acceptance of what their superior did. Napoleon knew a lot of that kind of attitude on Illya's part came from his upbringing and training prior to UNCLE but it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Somehow, some way, he had to figure out a way to convince Illya he needed to quit UNCLE before the old man got him killed.

After a long silence passed between them Illya decided he couldn't concentrate on the array of reports he needed to read to bring himself up to speed. He also knew that no one expected him to know everything the first day back. Glancing up at the monotonously ticking clock he realized how quickly the day was going by.

Looking over at Napoleon, Illya felt that annoying tickle in his gut that he'd felt in Italy. That strange gnawing sensation that urged him to get closer to someone. He never recognized it before his time with Antonio and yet there it was again as he watched Napoleon. Illya deliberately looked away and swallowed hard to try and force down the desire to speak to the man. It was no use. The feelings going through him wouldn't go away.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Soon it would be too late.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Illya pushed the unread paper away. No use.

"Ahem..." Illya cleared his throat, barely audible.

Napoleon looked up.

Illya said nothing. The air was thick with anticipation on his part.

Napoleon waited a moment and then asked, "Did you want something?"

The voice Napoleon used was warm and neutral. Illya thought perhaps even inviting conversation without confrontation.

"The day is almost done," he said and then regretted the awkward way of opening the dialogue.

Napoleon looked up at the clock and then his watch to confirm the hour. "Yes it is. Thank you." He paused, waiting for more from Illya, but that seemed to be it.

Finally Illya sat up straight. "That wasn't quite what I wanted to say."

Napoleon remained calm. "Oh?" He waited again.

"Well... I wondered... was wondering..." Illya hesitated.

If this was Illya wanting to apologize, Napoleon knew how hard that was for the man and for once didn't push things. Forcing the issue seemed to cause more friction between them than was desired lately.

"Wondering?" Napoleon asked to encourage Illya to keep talking.

Illya decided that he might as well say it and get it over with. "I was wondering if we could talk."

"Talk?" Napoleon replied. "We are."

"Well... yes. But not here. This is not something we should talk about here in UNCLE."

"What is it about?" Napoleon asked.

Illya paused and ran a hand over the side of his face, hoping he hadn't opened a can of worms for himself. "Us. You and me. This is not something we can discuss here."

Napoleon felt his heart skip a beat but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. "All right. Where and when do you have in mind?"

Illya hadn't thought that far ahead. He shook his head. "I don't know. Tonight? But it has to be private."

Napoleon half smiled but not enough to scare Illya off. "Okay," he said remaining calm. "Would you care for dinner? Maybe my place. Steaks? Roast Chicken?"

Illya nodded. "Fine. Whatever you want to eat is okay with me. Don't you have a date with ...?" He couldn't remember her name.

Napoleon waved a hand. "Later," he said. "I can always make it up to her."

Illya nodded, pleased and encouraged that Napoleon would cancel a date with a woman to be with him. "Okay. Six-thirty?"

"I'll see you then," Napoleon said with a smile.

Illya went home and showered. The day had been a whirlwind of revelations that didn't cease running through his head. He stood, a hand leaning against the shower stall, his head under the streaming water to clear his thoughts.

The diary. The most shocking thing to hear about. It went against all his training to keep it and then hide it instead of destroying the thing. Maybe it was an irrational thought to save it, hoping that all the horrors within its pages would be trapped there and forever gone from his mind. Not maybe. It was an irrational thought. That was something he couldn't afford to leave in anyone else's hands. Not even Waverly's.

Waverly's arguments and reasons for allowing Kopf to abduct Illya and try to analyze him made sense. If he was going to suffer a breakdown or go mad it would probably be best if he didn't do it at UNCLE. He hoped Waverly was satisfied that would not happen now. He knew the old man would not be so careless as to keep the diary at UNCLE. It must be at his private residence.

A thought popped into Illya's head. Waverly would be gone for almost a month on his trip. His house would be empty. The housekeeper would only be there periodically. A perfect time to check the safe for the document. Dare he? Careful thought would have to go into it.

Illya shook the water from his hair, still short and bookish, making him look much younger than his years. Waverly approved of the hairstyle but it felt so unnatural to him.

Napoleon crossed his mind again. Was this a good idea or not?

The smell of chicken filled the kitchen. It was a simple preparation of lemon and herbs so it wouldn't take long to cook. The potatoes were drained and staying warm in their pot for the quick transformation into a warm potato salad with an herb vinaigrette to complement the roast chicken. A fast toasting of garlic bread would round out a tasty and simple meal.

Napoleon wiped his fingers on the small towel tucked into his apron string and decided to set the table. He would keep things casual while reflecting the good manners he'd been brought up with. He set out a pitcher of ice water on the sideboard and mini salt and pepper shakers at each place setting.

This wasn't a romantic dinner like he would do for a date. In fact, he never brought his women home with him, preferring fancy restaurants and a romp in bed in a hotel or even their place.

Illya was a friend, a very good friend in the past, and Napoleon wanted to keep it that way. The music Napoleon chose for the mood was casual, light, and something that both of them liked. Just like the mango-peach sorbet with vanilla wafer cookies he had in mind for dessert.

It was all meant to be light and pleasant. If Illya wanted to talk about their relationship, then Napoleon was going to make sure it was easy for him.

Napoleon never gave Sarah a thought about the broken date. He was considerate enough to send her a message that something had come up and he would make it up to her. Mentally he added it to the half dozen pending promised dates in the queue. He couldn't help it. Illya would trump everyone else on his dance card and very often did.

After checking the clock, Napoleon took a last look around. Everything was in perfect order and it was time to take the chicken out and let it rest to absorb the juices. The slivered carrot and radish was waiting their turn to go into the warm potato salad and the baguette slices were ready to go under the broiler.

Timing was perfect as the doorman buzzed.

Napoleon went to the panel and pressed the intercom. "Yes?"

"Mr. Kuryakin has arrived, Mr. Solo. He's on his way up."

"Thank you. If anyone else stops by tonight give my apologies and send them on their way. We're going to be working, possibly late."

"Certainly. Have a good evening, sir," he said.

About a minute later the knock at the door announced Illya's arrival.

Illya waited for him on the other side of the door. The Russian tried to hide his nervousness but Napoleon knew him far too well to not notice. He didn't mention it as he let his friend into his home. "Come on in," Napoleon said with a friendly smile. He hoped his own apprehension wasn't showing but didn't count on it. Not with Illya. Still, they both kept up the pretense.

"Good evening, Napoleon." Illya entered the apartment and sniffed appreciatively. "Chicken?" he said as he hung his coat on the coat tree.

Napoleon chuckled. "With a nose like that are you sure you're not part bloodhound?"

Illya seemed to relax a little at their usual banter. "It's possible. The Soviets have always engaged in some of the oddest experiments. Not as odd as THRUSH, perhaps, but unusual nonetheless."

They sat on the couch where a highball glass of scotch and a larger glass of vodka waited for the two men to partake in their delights. Although the vodka had no ice, condensation on the glass suggested it was well chilled.

Illya picked it up and took a healthy swig. His eyes widened. "You brought out the good stuff for me?"

"Of course. Besides, no one else drinks that swill." Napoleon sipped from his own glass and savored the smoky flavor of old scotch before swallowing it. "If you drank scotch, maybe you'd be more likely to drink it in a more civilized manner than slugging it down like a longshoreman."

"I've played enough longshoremen I think I've earned the right to drink like one." He chugged down half the glass to prove his point.

Napoleon grinned and they settled back to drink in companionable silence. He enjoyed spending time with this man more than anyone else in the world. No one, no woman nor man, made him feel as comfortable and, well, normal as Illya did. The man was ruthless, vicious, irascible, and one of the rudest people Napoleon had ever met. He was also courageous, brave, and generous to a fault. Not to mention the man sported a formidable intellect that Napoleon counted on when in the field.

To top it off, the blond was extremely attractive. Napoleon knew from experience just how soft and touchable Illya's hair felt and just how expressive those blue eyes could be when Illya allowed it. Not to mention incredible in bed.

Napoleon often felt glad Illya was a man. If his Russian partner had been a woman, Napoleon had no doubt he would have fallen in love with him—er, her—long before now. They'd be married and living in the suburbs with two kids, a dog, a mortgage, and, for Napoleon, a thoroughly boring job.

A female friend in whom he'd confided when he and Illya had taken their friendship to a higher level by adding sex to the mix asked him what he thought the implications of that idea meant. Napoleon had laughed it off. The point was moot. Illya was a man. End of story.

Napoleon Solo was nothing if not sexually adventurous. Illya had not been his first man and Napoleon doubted his Russian friend would be his last. The fact that sex with Illya seemed to hover on the edge of something more had nothing to do with it.

He glanced at Illya guzzling his vodka. He'd never have to worry about Illya wanting to get married. Illya was a man and, as such, knew that sex was sex. They could fuck like rabbits, get the full enjoyment out of their trysts without emotions getting in the way. The fact that he cared and trusted his soon-to-be lover—he hoped—was just the icing on the proverbial cake. Nope. No marriage bells for them. He smirked and downed the rest of his drink.

Illya's lightly accented voice broke into his revery. "What's so funny?"

Before Napoleon could think of a plausible lie, the egg timer in the kitchen went off. Saved by the bell! "Dinner's ready."

Napoleon served the salads first while the chicken rested and absorbed all the savory juices. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured some into their glasses before setting it back into the nearby ice bucket.

They chatted over dinner, talking about work, current events, and other subjects of interest. As the meal progressed, both men lost their previous nervousness. Why had they been nervous in the first place? Partners for years, best friends almost as long. They'd seen each other at his best and worst. Held each others' bloody guts in his hands at one time or another. Rescued each other regularly. Even had mind-blowing sex on more than one occasion. What was left to be nervous about?

They were pretty much back to normal by the time they were back on the couch with after-dinner drinks in hand. Napoleon knew Illya wouldn't be drunk—neither was he for that matter—but the alcohol had helped relax them.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa even though there was plenty of room. Napoleon felt encouraged by the fact Illya hadn't moved to the chair or asked him to scoot over. "You said you wanted to talk?" he said. There would not be a better time than this to find out what was on his friend's mind.

Illya silently regarded his glass and chewed on his bottom lip. Napoleon waited patiently for him to speak up. Illya would talk when he was ready and not before. Trying to nudge him would make him clam up.

"I've been thinking," Illya finally said but then shut up again.

Napoleon let a full minute go by. "Is that the reason for all the green smoke coming out of your ears?" he quipped in an attempt to make things easier.

Illya smiled slightly. "That's what happens when someone has more than two brain cells to rub together. I realize you wouldn't know that from personal experience."

Napoleon laughed but didn't say anything further, waiting for his ploy to get Illya talking.

Illya sighed and seemed to come to a decision. Napoleon recognized the determined set of his friend's attractive features. Illya drained his glass and set it lightly on the coffee table before turning to Napoleon. "The reason I decided to stop, um, being with you. Um. Sexually."

"Yes?" Napoleon prompted, his heart thumping in his chest.

"It was a misunderstanding, mostly on my part."

Napoleon frowned. That wasn't what he'd expected. "What did you misunderstand?"

Illya's lips tightened and he sighed in frustration. "I had chosen to see no one else but you during that time and I expected you to do the same. When you didn't, well, I became angry."

"I, uh . . ." Napoleon waved his hands in confusion. "Why would you think that? You're a man and, although I really enjoyed having sex with you, I love being with women. I never said I wouldn't continue to date them."

Illya's expression went neutral which could be a bad sign. It could also be a good sign or no sign at all. He didn't always know with Illya.

"I realize that now," Illya said finally. "Thus, the misunderstanding."

Napoleon's cock was definitely showing signs of interest in the way the conversation seemed to be going. Still, he didn't want to assume anything. "So what are you saying?" He locked gazes with Illya, trying to read him, and held his breath in anticipation

Illya didn't shy away. "I'd like to try again, but I think we need to verbalize our expectations."

Napoleon released his breath and nodded. "That's fair."

"You already said you're unwilling to give up women."

"I don't think I can limit myself to one person, Illya, no matter how much you mean to me."

Illya searched his face then glanced away. "All right, then. We won't be exclusive to each other."

Napoleon smiled. This was going better than he'd hoped. "I'm glad you understand."

Illya's lips thinned but he nodded in agreement. "We'll both continue to see other people."

Napoleon couldn't help scowling. "You mean you'll continue to see Frank."

"Not necessarily. He's in a committed relationship now."

Good. It was only fair for Illya to be able to sleep with others, too. Besides, Illya didn't really go out of his way to have sex so it wouldn't be an issue. Napoleon smiled. "So I'll be able to do this again?" He leaned over to kiss Illya.

Illya licked his lips as though he still tasted the kiss. "Yes." He put a finger up when Napoleon started to go in for another kiss. "But I refuse to be your backup plan if some woman you've picked up won't go to bed with you. So no going out on a date and then coming back to the room or coming here expecting me to take care of the erection she gave you."

"You got it." Napoleon dove back in, more than ready to start up with Illya again.

Illya relaxed a little, inviting more of Napoleon's attentions.

As Napoleon leaned in for another tender kiss he was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He looked at it and gave a sigh as he paused. For a moment he considered letting it ring and then turned back to Illya. "I should get that," he said reluctantly. "But don't forget where we left off."

With a subtle smile Illya replied, "Certainly."

Taking a long breath, he reached for the receiver. He glanced back at Illya and then out the window as he answered. "Hello?" He covered the mouthpiece with his hand as he raised his chin. His voice was low and soft. "It's Aunt Amy."

Illya nodded. He knew her well enough. Napoleon had invited him to come to dinner at her place several times. She was a sweet woman in her early sixties, the older of Napoleon's mother's sisters. Illya's curiosity rose as the expression on Napoleon's face changed and the tone of his voice got more serious.

"When?" Napoleon asked. He took a long pause as he listened to the other end. He swallowed with effort as his jaw tightened. "No. I'm okay. Do you need a ... yes. That is what I was thinking. Try to get some sleep. I'll pick you up in the morning." He glanced back at Illya and shook his head. "No, Aunt Amy. It won't be a problem. Goodnight."

"What happened?" Illya asked, still curious.

Napoleon was quiet a few moments absorbing the information before he spoke. "You remember my cousin Karin?"

"Yes. I've met her a couple of times."

"Yes. She was at Aunt Amy's the last time you came to dinner," he said recalling the occasion that she'd been to New York. "Did I mention to you that she was ill?" he asked.

"I think so. You said she was taking treatments."

Napoleon lowered his eyes. "She passed away on Saturday. She put up a long hard fight but it finally beat her. I told Aunt Amy I would take her to the funeral. I'm sure I can get the time. Waverly isn't leaving for a while yet."

"Yes of course. I'm sorry, Napoleon. I know everyone in the family thought well of her," Illya responded with genuine sympathy.

Napoleon nodded. "Her letters meant a lot to us. Her enthusiasm was inspiring." He looked down at Illya. "I don't mean to be rude but do you think we could call it a night now? I want to make some calls and get ready to pick up Aunt Amy in the morning."

Illya embraced Napoleon in sympathy and then stood. "Certainly. I understand completely. Please call me if you need anything," he said. "Anything at all."

With a small smile, Napoleon let out a deep breath. "I know I can count on you, Illya." He walked him to the door, gathering his coat for him at the same time. "Thanks, Illya," he said. "For everything tonight."

He put a hand on Napoleon's shoulder as they reached the door. "Take care."

"I'll call when I can." As Illya left, Napoleon called out to him. "By the way. Welcome back to work in case I haven't mentioned that yet."

Illya waved as he boarded the elevator to go down.

"Nigel?" Alexander Waverly said, clarifying who he was speaking with on the telephone. It was very, very early in the morning in England as he connected with his nephew. "Nice to hear from you. Yes. I will be coming over. I've made arrangements for the time to attend the reunion."

Always the work-a-holic, Waverly thumbed through several files on is desk as he listened to his nephew describe the events coming up along with the extended family who were confirmed to be there. There were several Waverly hadn't heard of but that was the way it went with large reunions. He would be sure they were all family before he left though. His memory was like a tape recorder in spite of the appearance he gave others. No one in UNCLE ever underestimated him.

"Oh yes. I'm quite looking forward to seeing your mother and your twins. They look adorable from the photograph you sent. You will have to bring them over for a visit sometime."

He divided the cases into piles according to priority. There were those he would supervise himself. The ones he would shift onto Napoleon Solo's desk as he prepared to leave the agent in charge for a few weeks. And there were the ones he planned to use as he put Kuryakin back into the field. Lastly, there was a stack of high alert cases that he needed more research done on.

"I have my reservations already. I think the place will be full of nothing but family," he joked. "It will just about double the town population. Mrs. McHenry? My old teacher? Really? I didn't know she was still alive." He sat back to listen. "My word. 100 next month. I will make a note to stop in to see her. Perhaps applesauce rather than an apple for the teacher," he replied in jest.

He began to put a few files away in his briefcase and then opened his safe. He paused as he caught sight of the thick folder containing the Kuryakin diary and its damaging translation. He took it out and held it, thinking over its contents and what to do with it.

He felt it would be secure in his safe but then the house would be empty for a month while he was gone. That could be a problem if THRUSH managed to break in or some other incident, even as minor as a robbery, were to take place. The material in the folder was too damaging to be left behind unattended. The best place for it would be in a secure safety deposit box.

"I'm sorry, Nigel. What was that last part?" he asked, surprised with himself for being so distracted. "Yes. I think that will be fine. I will call you again next week if anything changes. Give my best to your mother," he said before hanging up.

Waverly reached into a lower desk drawer and pulled out a leather wrap with attached ties. He folded the diary and translation notes into it and securely knotted the straps. Then he returned the package to his safe for the night. Tomorrow he would go to the bank and place it with other personal papers and possessions in his safe deposit box.