Authors' note: This is a sequel to "Don't Pay The Ferryman" and the second story in our Full Circle series.
Pairing: Illya/Napoleon
Norman Felton owns the rights to Man From U.N.C.L.E., lucky man. We do not. However, we do enjoy playing with his spawn.
While Illya wrestled with his inner self, Napoleon finished his call and hung up the phone. He glanced back toward the apartment before carrying on his way. The lights were out, a good sign in his mind. It meant Illya had probably eaten and gone to bed. Napoleon was worried about him but thought a good night's sleep in his own place would put the Russian back into the right frame of mind.
Napoleon smiled and turned back toward Sarah's. Soon he'd be in bed in the right frame of mind too.
Now back working at U.N.C.L.E. Illya was grouchy. He spent the last week locked in a battle between his scientist's mind and his reptilian brain. The scientist in him insisted he could do without giving into his baser urges more often than not. His reptilian brain raged at the confines of its cage, attempting to tear a hole large enough to get out and vent itself in mindless sex on a daily basis.
At the moment, the reptile seemed to be winning.
Illya's emotional control was tenuous at best these days. Not that he was verging on tears. No, he wasn't in danger of picking flowers or giving tearful emotional displays. He was in danger of killing someone in a setting other than self-defense or a THRUSH stronghold.
The person at the top of his endangered species list was none other than his own partner. No. That was wrong. Former partner. Apparently Waverly no longer trusted his Russian agent to cover his protégé's back. Probably because of the way Napoleon now acted differently towards said Russian agent. Patronized him in a way he never had before.
Illya had seen Napoleon act the same way with his many women, however. Thus the reason why he wanted to kill the man. Napoleon no longer saw him as a competent field agent. No, all Napoleon saw was a man who let him bugger him. Never mind the fact that Illya had had no say in the matter. It was practically rape, although he didn't blame Napoleon, either, because he also hadn't had the ability to refuse. They'd done what they had to in order to survive, just as they had so many times before. This should be no different. Unfortunately, it was.
Illya knew he had to do something about it, but was unsure what. He preferred to avoid a confrontation. That could result in a loss of the partnership and he didn't want that. At least not yet. If it came down to dissolving their friendship in order to maintain his reputation as a field agent, he would do so. Until then, he would just have to enforce a more strictly professional demeanor with his friend.
No. Not friend. Partner. Or rather, co-worker. As much as it disturbed him to take Napoleon out of the friendship category, he knew it was imperative he do so. At least for the time being. Hopefully later they could bring it back to that point, but not until Illya felt he was on equal footing with the CEA once more.
Decision made, he felt a little better. Not sexually, though. His control over his sexual urges seemed weaker now instead of stronger. He might have to give in and find a woman to share a bed with sooner than he'd planned. Oh well. He'd managed a week. Perhaps he would just have to wean himself just as he would from any other undesirable habit. He would find a woman tonight and then he would make himself wait two weeks for his next encounter. The idea didn't sit well with him, but he shied away from exploring the reasons why. The plan would just have to do.
As for the partnership, he would work ever more diligently to prove himself to Waverly once more. That part was easier. He'd had to prove his worth time and time again his entire life. It actually made him feel better because it put him in more familiar territory. One way or another, he would regain the trust, the respect, the FAITH, the two men no longer had in him. He would prevail or die trying.
"So the suspect fled the scene before you arrived?" Napoleon asked his temporary partner Burke. He couldn't bring himself to think of the man as anything more than just a blip in his present history. Eventually, hopefully soon, Illya would once more be his partner. Until then Napoleon knew he had to give Burke the chance to show what he could do.
The younger man nodded. "Something must have tipped him off about U.N.C.L.E. The warehouse was empty except for a few crates and some packing straw. If I had to guess I'd say the impressions were from small missiles. Maybe rocket launchers."
Napoleon's brow went up as his eyes widened. That could be bad news for New York if it was true. "Maybe I should get Illya to take a look. He would be able to tell for sure."
Burke shook his head. "I can take care of that for you. He's rather busy on the chemical compound used in that bomb in Boston last month. You know what the guy's like when he's working." Not to mention that I wouldn't want you to request him as your partner again.
Napoleon eyed the stack of files on his desk and nodded. He'd probably see Illya at lunch anyway. "Alright. I want to know his conclusions as soon as he has them."
"Sure Mr. Solo." Burke let out a mental sigh of relief. "I'll get on that right away."
"After that I want you to go back there and find out who rented the warehouse and how they paid. Anything that will give us a trail to follow to the source."
Napoleon sat down and opened the first file on the new THRUSH activities. He kept thinking back to how Illya would have sat on the edge of his desk and needled him over the paperwork. How the man would have folded his arms and looked down on him like he disapproved of the way he did his job as if it wasn't up to standards. He could just imagine the grating comments said half in jest and half in total seriousness. Napoleon could sense the respect and genuine liking Illya had for him where others saw only a disagreeable little runt. He only let Illya get away with such things because he knew the real Illya. The one no one else seemed able to find.
Sitting at the desk with the folder open to the first page Napoleon realized he'd tuned out work and was thinking about Illya. Again. He was actually worried about him. Word was spreading in the halls and gossip channels of U.N.C.L.E. that the Russian wasn't his old self. Those that disliked the man to begin with were growing more dissatisfied at his presence in New York. At this rate soon the complaints would become official and then Waverly would order Medical Section intervention with perhaps a psych session and he knew that would really appeal to Illya.
He would only admit this to himself, but he also worried about whether or not Illya could pass such a session. Illya was a solid agent, one of the best, but Napoleon had glimpsed things that suggested his best friend wasn't as stable as he appeared. Nothing he could point a finger at, just hints of things over the years that led him to believe Illya might not be able to pass a deep psyche evaluation. Napoleon had wondered on more than one occasion how Illya had passed the entrance evaluation in the first place.
Napoleon thought things over for almost an hour without really seeing the report in front of him. He finally closed the file and decided he'd have to talk to Illya before half of the Sciences Section walked out in protest.
Burke strolled into the Science division of U.N.C.L.E. and looked around for Kuryakin. He didn't really want to talk to the grouchy little guy but he always kept his word. Especially when given to Napoleon Solo. Burke was determined the Solo/Burke team would be even greater than the legendary Solo/Kuryakin duo.
"No! That's not the way I want the slides prepared," Kuryakin snapped at the technician. "How long have you been out of grade school anyway?" he said with even more venom in his tone than normal for the caustic man.
Burke put on one of his insufferable smiles and walked over to Kuryakin. "Excuse me. Are you busy?" he asked pleasantly.
"Does it look like I'm flying a kite? Of course I'm busy," the Russian replied with a frown on his face.
Burke nodded and gave him a shrug. "Don't worry about it then. I'll ask someone else instead," he said happy to have gotten the response he did. Now he could talk to Simpson and there would be no need for Solo to work with Kuryakin on this. His duty fulfilled, Burke went into the other room to where the other scientist was running a mass spectrometer.
As Burke explained his request to the scientist he couldn't have been more pleased with the way things were working out. Every time Napoleon asked him to talk to Kuryakin he would do just that but it seemed Kuryakin had no time for him. He would return to Solo and say 'Illya sent him to so and so' or 'Illya told him to have so and so take care of it'. Inform Solo that Kuryakin had no time for his requests and didn't want to look at it. Soon Napoleon won't even remember Kuryakin's first name, much less the fact they used to be partners. Yes, this was working fine. Just fine.
Napoleon had no luck concentrating on his work. Thoughts of Illya continued to weigh on his mind. He assumed the first time he sent Burke to inquire something of Kuryakin that the Russian would come back and talk to him in person. When he heard he'd passed if off to another and wasn't interested Napoleon chalked up to settling back in at U.N.C.L.E. At the end of each day he planned on speaking to Illya but then he'd get caught up talking to Waverly or Burke and never get around to it. He always planned on doing it tomorrow but that turned into tomorrow again and then tomorrow again.
Over a week went by and each day Napoleon somehow missed catching up with Illya. Rumors of his friend's more than usual ill temper were starting to spread through the building and now Napoleon felt he couldn't ignore it any longer. It was time to confront the man and see if he could find out his problem and help him solve it. The last thing Napoleon wanted to see was Illya leaving U.N.C.L.E. Or someone from U.N.C.L.E. strangling him out of frustration and irritation.
Part of the agreement between U.N.C.L.E. and the Soviet Union included a guarantee that Illya Kuryakin would have the opportunity to keep up his science degrees and research. To this end, U.N.C.L.E. provided the Russian agent with a small lab and one research assistant. Illya suspected Mr. Waverly would have made sure he had the lab even without the agreement. The weirdness of so many of their, his, assignments often affronted Illya's logic circuits and working on something in his lab generally soothed him. Waverly seemed to know that and usually gave him a lab project to do between assignments.
Wasn't working this time, though. He simply couldn't concentrate. "Stupid!" he muttered, berating himself. Couldn't think straight because of sexual frustration. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" he snarled again, trying once again to solder tiny part A onto tinier part B.
"Who's stupid?" said a mild voice in his ear.
Illya whirled in his seat, hot iron still in his hand. "What are you doing here?" And how did you get this close without me hearing you? He was worse off than he thought. That clinched it. He would definitely find a sex partner tonight.
Napoleon ran an index finger along Illya's lab table and looked at the grime on his finger in distaste before rubbing it away with his thumb. "I was hungry and I wanted some company for dinner." He brushed his hand on a towel lying on the table and smiled at his friend.
"So I repeat," Illya said with a scowl. "What are you doing here?" Napoleon's smile drooped ever so slightly and Illya grimaced. He'd managed to hurt Napoleon without even trying. "I mean," he added in a softer voice. "You aren't usually hurting for willing dinner companions."
Napoleon's expression turned serious as he caught and held the Russian's gaze. "We never see each other anymore. I miss you."
Illya blinked at the outpouring of emotion. At least what would pass as such for them. "I..." He didn't know what to say. Napoleon's declaration warmed him on one hand, terrified him on another. He so needed a sexual encounter, he was afraid he might do something truly stupid like try to seduce his handsome friend if they were alone together. "I...I don't think that's a good idea," he finally stammered.
Napoleon frowned. "Why not?"
Illya shook his head and cleared his throat. "I just... I have plans for tonight," he blurted.
"Oh. Well, uh, do you think you could change those plans? I have an ulterior motive for my invitation."
"What is that?" Illya asked warily.
Napoleon cleared his throat. "Ah, it's just that, ah, we need to talk."
Illya shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "About what?"
Napoleon's smile was more predatory than friendly. "Why don't I tell you tonight? Say sex..." His eyes widened in horror. "Six! I mean. Six. At my place."
Illya's heart skipped a beat...a second...a third. He thought it may have stopped altogether. The hell of it was that the blood his heart no longer pumped all pooled in his cock. Gravity. Of course. It certainly couldn't be because Napoleon's Freudian slip TURNED Illya ON. Definitely, most positively, absolutely, NO.
Anger at himself for such a reaction coursed through him. He turned it outward to vent on his hapless friend, not to mention to get the object of his obvious desire out of his lab. "Get out."
"Illya, I didn't mean that. I really meant to say six."
Illya's eyes narrowed. "You must have been thinking about it for it to have slipped out like that!" he snarled.
Napoleon saw his way out of his disastrous faux pas. He made himself laugh in amusement. "Since when do I not think of sex?" He knew that would make Illya pause. The Russian thought nothing but sex went through Napoleon's brain at any given time of the day. That wasn't true, of course. Napoleon thought often of sex, but he had plenty of time between sexual musings to think of more important things. Like finding out what was eating at his friend.
Illya snorted. "I sometimes feel you think of nothing else. Ever."
Napoleon grinned. "See? What did I tell you? It was just a slip of the tongue. Jennifer from the steno pool was in the elevator with me on my way here and I was thinking about my chances with her."
Illya relaxed fractionally. "Oh. Of course."
Napoleon practically sagged with relief. "So can I count on seeing you at my apartment at six?"
Illya sighed. He never had been good at turning down one of Napoleon's invitations. Now when he needed to be able to do so the most, he still couldn't. "Very well, Napoleon. I will be at your place at six. Now please leave so I may have my work done by then."
Napoleon bounced on his toes and shot the cuffs of his fine linen shirt. "Good. I look forward to it. See you then."
Illya eyed the door with unsettled anxiety as Napoleon left. This had to be a bad idea on so many levels and yet he couldn't help feeling relief at the thought of some company outside his miserable inner tempest. At least with dinner and some conversation it would give him something else to think about for one night anyway.
Illya tried to forget about his frustrations and bad temper as he entered the elevator up to Napoleon's apartment in the posh building. The man had expensive tastes and enjoyed himself for sure. Illya thought all the decoration of that lifestyle was wasted. Unnecessary tinsel. He ignored it as he concentrated on the evening ahead. One thing he did like. Napoleon ate well. Personally, he was happy with take out but Napoleon always went over the top with food. Although he'd never tell him, Napoleon was a good cook.
Napoleon answered the door wearing a smoking jacket over his casual shirt and slacks. "Come in Illya," he beckoned. "Dinner is almost ready. Can I get you a cocktail while we're waiting?"
"Vodka," Illya snapped a little harsher than he intended.
"Vodka. Yes. I thought as much," he replied with a suave smile. "I have a bottle on ice in the freezer. Why don't you take off your jacket while I get it?"
Illya tossed his coat over the back of a chair and walked over to the stereo to see what was new in Napoleon's record cabinet. There was just about everything, a very eclectic collection. Illya frowned at the rock and roll, thinking it wasn't like Napoleon's personality.
Illya almost jumped as his former partner thrust a glass in front of him while looking over his shoulder.
"Leona likes that," Napoleon explained, his hot breath brushing the lobe of Illya's ear.
Was that intentional? Illya thought but wouldn't ask aloud. He clutched the glass and turned around. "Is that what you use to loosen her cups?" he asked.
"If you mean loosen her up?" Napoleon replied. "I guess you could say that. Why don't you relax and take a seat on the couch until dinner?" Then he turned around and picked up Illya's coat to hang in the closet.
"So, what is for dinner?" Illya asked typically thinking of his stomach.
"Boeuf Bourguignon," Napoleon replied.
Illya raised an eyebrow. "You order in?"
"No. I came home early today," he explained. "You probably don't cook much at your place. I thought a nice meal. Maybe some music. We can talk."
"Talk about what?" Illya grumbled although he did like the smell coming from the kitchen.
"Things," Napoleon said with a shrug. He sat down across from Illya and poured a glass of white wine for himself.
"What things?" Illya said playing dumb.
"Things. Like why you've been avoiding me at U.N.C.L.E.?"
Illya looked up in surprise. "I have not been avoiding you."
Napoleon sat upright and set his wine down. He finally had Illya talking in more than three word sentences. "Yes you have. Every time I ask you for something you just pawn it off on someone else. I send word to meet me at lunch and you're busy. I call and you can't return messages. What's the matter Illya? People have been complaining about your attitude being even pricklier than normal."
"Bah," he said frowning and turned his head away. "That pest Burke is nothing but an idiot."
"Burke? What's he got to do with anything?" Napoleon asked.
"He's the only one that comes down," Illya replied. "I never see you there." He sounded petulant even to his own ears.
It was Napoleon's turn to be surprised. "Every time I try you're busy and can't-or won't-see me."
Illya carefully set his glass down on the coffee table unwilling to let Napoleon know just how much the accusation bothered him. "I am never too busy to see you," he said quietly. "If I knew you were there, I would have taken a break to talk to you."
Napoleon's heart jumped at this. Could Illya want a repeat of what happened in Arabia as much as he did? If so, this might be a very good night.
"Who has told you I will not see you?" Illya's voice dropped low into the danger zone.
Napoleon swallowed hard, unsure if he should tell him. He knew that tone. It spelled trouble for whoever caused it. In this case, Burke. He cleared his throat. "Ah, no one in particular." It was a small lie so he didn't feel too guilty for it. He would feel far guiltier about Burke's death and Illya brought up on charges for killing him. No, he wanted to deal with Burke himself.
The Russian's eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. Finally he looked away and picked up his glass once more. "They were wrong." He took a long swallow from the full tumbler. "I think you are the one trying to avoid me." He kept the hurt out of his voice.
"How can you say that?" Napoleon said angrily. "I have tried to keep things on just a business level because you seem not to want anything personal right now, but even in that you keep fielding my inquiries to someone else." Now it was his tone that held an edge of danger.
Illya lifted his chin, his eyes dark with a brewing storm. "No, Napoleon, you do not make inquiries of me. You always send your partner down to the labs whenever the two of you need something. It is always he who calls, not you. So please spare me your indignation. I would talk to you gladly. I would give you any information you want personally. But I refuse to deal with that idiot Burke. Your partner can get his information from someone else."
He set his drink down again and stood. "I'm afraid I'm not hungry. I think I shall just go home and go to bed. I have a lot of lab work to do tomorrow and I'm sure you and your partner will have an important mission to attend to," he said, rubbing in the fact Napoleon was still in the field while he was not.
"No! Don't go!" Napoleon jumped to his feet and grabbed Illya's arm.
Illya glanced coldly at the restraining hand.
Napoleon released the arm and stepped into Illya's personal space. "Please. You're right. I have been sending Burke to ask for things, but that is only because I thought you didn't want to see me."
Illya locked his gaze onto his friend's hoping to read the truth in the dark eyes. He saw much reflected in them. Friendship and something more. If Illya didn't know better, he'd think he saw longing. He knew better. Still, Napoleon did seem rather distraught over the idea Illya might not want to have anything to do with him. Although Illya had not actively avoided Napoleon, he hadn't gone out of his way to stay in contact with him, either.
He sighed and turned to face his former partner. "Perhaps I am avoiding you a little. Not because I'm upset at you or don't want to see you again. It's just very hard for me to watch you go out on missions with only Burke to watch your back. It makes me nervous. I . . . I thought it would be better to limit how much time I spent with you. I thought it might be better for both of us. After all, we're no longer partners and so we no longer have reason to be unduly concerned about each other."
Napoleon stared at him open-mouthed. "Why in the hell do you think that? Just because we're not technically partners at the moment doesn't mean I can just turn off any feelings I may have for you. Are you saying you can?"
Illya looked away. Normally, he would say yes, he could definitely turn off his feelings like that. Normally that would be the truth. His relationship with Napoleon was not normal, however, and although he tried hard to turn off his affections, he found he was unable to do so.
Napoleon knew Illya's ability to divorce himself from emotion. He just never thought it applied to him. His friend's guilty avoidance of his gaze jarred him into the painful realization he meant no more to the cold-hearted man than anyone else. He stepped back, unwilling to force himself on someone. He had no need to do so. A snap of his fingers and women would flock to him, some practically begging for him to pay them attention and take them to bed. "Go then," he snapped. "I'm not so desperate I have to force you to spend time with me."
Illya's heart sunk. He hadn't meant to make Napoleon think he didn't want anything to do with him. "I apologize," he said sincerely, reaching out.
Napoleon evaded the hand deftly. "I believe you know the way out." He spun on his heel and stalked to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He was angrier than he'd ever been with his friend, but he couldn't bear watching him walk out the door and ending their friendship forever.
A tentative knock sounded on the door. "Napoleon?"
"If you want some stew it's probably ready. Take it and enjoy yourself," he said through the door. His voice was tight with pain.
Illya's confusion at his own actions prevented him from making any quick decisions. He hesitated and then leaned his head against the door. It probably wasn't locked but he didn't want to be rude and open it uninvited. "Napoleon. I'm sorry. I...You're right. I ... I haven't been myself lately. Please. You're the only one I can talk to about this." Illya suddenly realized that was actually true. Napoleon was the only one he felt close enough to discuss personal things with. Right now he really needed to talk to someone.
A moment of silence went by and Illya was about to turn and leave when the door clicked open. Illya backed away as Napoleon emerged.
After lowering his head and taking a long breath, Napoleon gave Illya a conciliatory grin. "I guess we're both behaving a little unreasonably. Maybe we should sit down and talk a while."
With that small gesture Illya felt some relief. He could still talk to someone he trusted. Why shouldn't he trust him? After all, Napoleon risked his career to come find him.
"Have a seat," Napoleon said. "I'll pour us another drink. Dinner will keep."
Illya went back to the sofa and sat down. Napoleon joined him bringing the bottle of vodka and some wine for himself.
"Thanks. I guess I have been a little edgy lately," Illya accepted.
Napoleon nodded. "And I guess I've been a little neglectful about going to see you. There's no reason we should be walking on eggshells around each other, Illya. We've worked together too long for that."
Illya nodded. "Yes. I wish I was back in the field with you again."
"We could talk to Waverly."
A scowl crossed Illya's face after downing the vodka. "I'm sure he'll put me back in the field in his own good time. I like working in the lab but personally I like the adventure of fieldwork better."
"It would probably be sooner than later if you showed some sign of an attitude change at work then," Napoleon said not really accusing him of anything. "Everyone has noticed your ... grouchiness."
"I... I know. I don't know what's wrong with me," Illya said frowning. "I can't help being so edgy all the time."
"I think I know what the problem is," Napoleon said tentatively. He wasn't sure how Illya would react to the upcoming idea.
"Oh? What is my problem?" Illya replied skeptically.
Napoleon sat back against the cushion in a relaxed non-threatening pose. "Have you been out since we got back from Saudi Arabia?"
Illya shrugged. "Of course I've been out," he replied. "I've been to the store and the Chinese laundry." He knew that wasn't what Napoleon was referring to but it was still too personal for Illya to reply otherwise.
The evasive answer prompted Napoleon to sit closer and place a hand on Illya's thigh. It wasn't an invasive gesture but one of personal contact between friends. "I wasn't talking about that," he said.
Illya felt a jolt of electricity run through him at the touch. His cock twitched in his underwear but luckily made no outward sign to the man he was with. "Wha...what do you mean?" he asked wanting to clear his throat and his mind that seemed to fog at the contact.
Napoleon studied Illya's face for a moment. He could see little signs of attraction. Nervous hesitation. Slight sweating and flushing of the face. The eyes that wouldn't meet his for fear of revealing desire. Was that what he was seeing in Illya? Or was he fooling himself? He needed to take this slow just in case he read the signals wrong. "Illya, when was the last time you came?"
"C-came?" Illya's voice hitched as Napoleon's fingers gently scratched the inside of his thigh.
Napoleon smiled. Oh yes, Illya was definitely attracted. He slid his hand a little higher on the tightly corded leg. Illya's muscles were like iron! His trousers tightened as his cock responded to a sudden image of those iron legs wrapped around his waist and pulling him inside Illya's tight, hot passage. He turned a moan into a slight cough. "When was the last time you had sex?" he murmured.
If Napoleon's hand went much higher Illya knew he would feel the erection and know his ex-partner was a perverted deviate. Illya slipped out from under the hand he knew was meant to be comforting and soothing but caused a reaction neither comforting nor soothing. "Why do you ask?" he said, strolling to the window as though his unease came just from his usual distaste for talking about anything so personal and not because he wanted to roll over and tell Napoleon to fuck him.
Napoleon stayed on the couch biding his time. Illya was as skittish as a wild cat and his claws could be just as sharp. "I just thought maybe that was the reason you've been acting out of sorts. It's been documented that men who don't orgasm regularly tend to be more aggressive." That should appeal to his little scientist's soul.
Illya turned from the window, arms crossed, a tight smile on his face. "Which may be one reason I'm such an effective agent. Perhaps you should try having a little less sex. You might be better at your job."
Insulted, Napoleon sniffed, "I'm fine at my job, thank you. I don't need to be as bloodthirsty as you to be a good agent." His eyes narrowed when he noticed Illya's smile take on a slyness he didn't like. Napoleon quirked his mouth in irritation. "Quit trying to change the subject."
Illya raised an eyebrow and his smile definitely turned into a smirk. "It worked well enough."
"Until I noticed it. That means your little ploy was unsuccessful."
Illya shrugged. "I'll try harder next time." He sniffed the air. "That stew smells good and I'm hungry. Let's eat."
"Ah-ah!" Napoleon was off the couch in a flash and gripping Illya's arm. "You still haven't succeeded in changing the subject. Answer my question."
Illya regarded him coolly. "What question was that?"
Napoleon wondered if it was worth all this work to get Illya into the sack. Maybe not but damned if he was going to let the little bastard win this round. "When. Was. The. Last. Time. You. Had. Sex?" He enunciated every word so his meaning couldn't possibly be misconstrued.
Illya sighed in defeat. "A couple of days ago," he snapped.
Napoleon stared at him in stunned surprise. He swore Illya would say not since Arabia. That was his usual pattern. But a couple of days ago? Could it be sexual frustration was not the Russian's problem? "But you . . . well, ah, you're acting a lot like you do when it's time for a little female companionship."
"That's just the problem!" Illya spat out in self-disgust. "It's not FEMALE companionship I'm craving!" He rushed past Napoleon desperate to get out of the apartment, unwilling to see his friend's regard and affection turn to loathing.
Napoleon turned around to see Illya disappearing out the door of his apartment. What was that? Could it be that Illya?... No. Yes? "Wait!" he called out. The next moment he was on his feet running after the Russian. "Illya!"
Fight or flight. That's all Illya knew in a situation like this and he was running scared. Across the hall he slapped the elevator button but it was on another floor and would take time to arrive. He quickly looked around, saw the stairs, and took off toward them. Illya was three strides ahead of Napoleon when he hit the door and ran through.
"Illya! Stop!" Napoleon called again and then slammed into the closing door with his shoulder.
Illya was descending the stairs two at a time in a blind single-minded panic.
Napoleon launched himself onto the rail and slid down barely controlling his speed. At the first platform he grabbed the rail and swung his body around to intercept the fleeing target. With one arm he ensnared Illya, practically crushing him against the wall.
"No! Let me go! Let me go!" Illya protested.
"Illya. Listen to me," Napoleon said to him holding on with all his might. He could tell the man wasn't hearing him. "Illya!" A last resort. A desperate attempt for contact. The only way to get through to him, Napoleon planted a hard kiss on Illya's lips.
Illya gradually stopped struggling. When Napoleon finally pulled away ever so slightly, Illya was wracked with silent sobs that Napoleon knew could never be allowed expression. Pain he couldn't put a name to. Although Illya's distress remained completely internal, Solo seemed to know and just held him tighter as if to keep Illya from falling apart.
"You must hate me," Illya finally said as his throat relaxed enough to allow him to speak, an almost impossible task for a man who kept his feelings locked up as tight as the gold at Fort Knox.
Napoleon relaxed a little as Illya's tension seemed to disappear and the man went rubbery in his arms. "Come on," he said as he looked around for others in the stairwell. "Let's go back to my apartment and talk. We need to talk about this."
Illya felt like a mute puppet at the moment. Even absorbed in his own tormented thoughts, he still knew Napoleon was the only person he could feel safe with. Someone who could understand him even if it was only to a certain point. Illya treasured it and at the same time believed it to be the biggest mistake he ever made in his life. He followed Napoleon back to the apartment without sense or reason. He was an empty shell, a sensation with which he was familiar but tried to avoid at all costs.
Napoleon checked the hall before they left the stairwell and then he urged Illya toward the apartment. Once inside he closed and locked the door behind them. Leaning back against the door with his head lowered he carefully considered what to say for fear of upsetting Illya further. He looked up and watched Illya head over to a corner of the room like a cornered animal.
He needed to be careful. Non-threatening. Calm and cool and collected. He took a step forward and stopped, letting his voice reach out to Illya. "We've been partners for years Illya. Trusted each other with our lives. Take it easy. I'm not the enemy," he said in softer tones.
After a moment of contemplation Illya nodded and thought about what he could say. How do you put into words the very thing that would label you a traitor to your homeland? A freak. An outcast of American society and all the things Illya had been trained to despise.
"If this is about Saudi Arabia then we need to talk about this. Before it affects your status at U.N.C.L.E." Napoleon was truly frightened about Illya's behavior. He didn't want to lose him.
Illya didn't move. He was more withdrawn than Napoleon had ever seen him before.
"Sit down. I'll get us another drink and we can talk. You don't have anything to fear from me Illya." Napoleon went into the kitchen and turned down the stew to keep it from burning but still stay warm. Then he pulled the vodka from the freezer and poured a stiff one for Illya to knock back.