It was inevitable that they would run into AJ Sanders again. Napoleon had expected it to happen one day, though that day would be too soon whenever it was.
It happened to be six weeks after becoming the Shield to Illya's Sentinel.
His former superior looked like he had just bitten into a lemon when he caught sight of Solo walking into the CIA offices like he belonged here, like he was in charge. Light gray suit, latest off the racks of an exclusive Italian store, a charcoal tie, and polished black shoes made him appear suave and like he owned the place. The smile on his face was knowing, challenging, downright insubordinate.
Looks followed him. He knew every single agent by name, their background, their best and worst abilities. It was a knack to memorize files. It was also something that had helped him survive in the past.
Napoleon didn't look at any of them directly, but he was aware of their eyes on him. Some whispered to each other, nodding at the unlikely pair of U.N.C.L.E. agents in their midst. He could very well imagine what they were talking about.
Illya Kuryakin was hard to miss. That he was a Sentinel was probably known to many. And rumors that Solo had connected to him were most likely flying wildly.
Illya was half a step behind him, face closed off. Though Napoleon teased him about apparently owning only one set of wardrobe – black turtleneck, brown leather jacket, dark pants – it was what Kuryakin had donned again.
No matter what he wore, he looked imposing. Today more than on any other day, except maybe a mission where he tried to intimidate. Or chasing after innocent CIA agents who were just trying to do their jobs.
Napoleon could tell how tense the former KGB operative was without actually looking. The anchor line was alive with tremors. Illya was in the lion's den, so to speak. Even though they were U.N.C.L.E. agents, not an enemy organization or agency, and their credentials opened doors.
But still, this was a place he had been happy to turn his back on. Ten years of service, being the most efficient agent in their history, but there had been no closer relationships. No friendships. No personal ties.
Officially he was still one of theirs, just on loan, but Napoleon liked to push that away, put it into a drawer and forget about the possibility that he might one day end up in Sander's hands once more.
Through the anchor he felt nothing but smooth control and absolute focus.
"Solo," Sanders greeted him and he managed to make it sound like the most despicable thing had crawled into his mouth and died there, leaving a bad aftertaste.
"Sanders," Napoleon replied cheerfully.
"I should have known they'd send you. And… him." He eyed Illya with even greater distaste. "I finally get to meet the man you claimed was inhuman as he chased you down?"
Illya's expression didn't so much as twitch. His eyes simply bore into Napoleon's former boss.
"I can see where you think he might be anything but human," Sanders went on, lips twisting into a provocative smile. "Alpha Sentinel, I heard."
The bond fluctuated. Napoleon listened up, though on the outside he remained completely at ease, like nothing could touch him.
"I'm so happy to see you, too, Sanders."
"You always were a smart mouth, Solo. No idea what that Brit sees in you. You're an international disaster waiting to happen. I thought he only wanted to borrow you for that one heist, but it seems you made an impression." Sanders almost sneered. "Well, for now you are his disaster."
"I'll give Commander Waverly your regards."
"You still owe me time, Solo. I'll collect that when U.N.C.L.E. is through with you. That will be soon enough. You're still mine. Whatever lies you fed them, Solo. You're not a Guide."
"I never said I was," he said pleasantly.
Sanders' smile was cold. "Once a con, always a con."
Something pinged off Napoleon's shields and he gave Illya a hard poke along the anchor line, heeding off a potential inter-agency disaster in the making.
His Sentinel wasn't a possessive bastard, but Sanders was bad enough when he wasn't trying to provoke a reaction. Right now he was clearly gunning for one and wasn't easing up. Napoleon could see it in the glint of his eyes.
He put on an impassive face.
Time to get out of here.
"I'd love to stay and chat, go over my resume for U.N.C.L.E., have tea and cookies, but we're here on business."
Sanders looked at him for a long minute, then gestured at him to follow him to the office.
"You still owe me four years, Solo," he said as he went to his desk and unlocked a drawer.
"Talk to U.N.C.L.E. if the ransom payments were not enough," Napoleon told him lightly, trademark smile in place.
Sanders snorted. "They won't keep you. You'll belly up some day and then you'll be back here, Solo. You're useful to them now, but Waverly doesn't know you as I do. Your service record is nothing but smoke and mirrors."
This time the pinging was harder, almost like an assault on the anchor. He felt the light presence in the back of his mind strengthen, like a rubber band stretching to its limit and about to snap. It was pulling at him, trying to get loose, and he knew what it meant. Peril was using him to keep his balance and if Napoleon let go, the Sentinel would do something very stupid.
Napoleon was very tempted to grab a physical hold of Illya, but he didn't. That was quite unprofessional to start with. He didn't have to look to know that Illya was staring icy daggers at Sanders, killing him in very creative ways in his mind.
Sanders tossed a small object at him and Napoleon caught it deftly. He had no idea what it was, but a CIA operative had retrieved it from the smoldering wreckage of a once expensive car, a Ferrari to be precise. It was connected to a case they had been working on and Waverly had asked his team to pick it up on their way home.
"I'll see you again, Solo. Behind bars when Waverly is done with you. Or in a pine box." The smile was rather ugly.
Napoleon felt the intent to maim. Not his own. This was a lot more primal and it was lashing toward the older man, wanting a taste of his blood. He knew if he stepped back and let it happen, it would. With all the nasty complications and paperwork that would follow.
Napoleon hated paperwork.
He beamed at his old boss.
"Wonderful seeing you again, too, Sanders. Say hello to the team for me." Solo gave him a sloppy salute.
Illya followed him out the office like a hired bodyguard. He was radiating imminent death to all who so much as looked at them.
"Calm down, Peril," Napoleon said under his breath. "Or you're going to break something."
Illya's expression grew even colder, eyes shooting daggers. Some of the men and women in the corridors shot him nervous looks. One agent actually made an aborted move for his weapon.
Oh, this was so not good.
"Like your face," Napoleon added softly, under his breath, lips still displaying that infuriating smile. "This looks painful."
It was a rather insincere smile, a simple cover, but the moment he dropped it, he knew things would go really sideways. His Sentinel was on high alert, ready to snap a neck at the drop of a pin. Illya was too close, heading for that red haze of rage, and all because Sanders was a prick.
"Not worth it," Napoleon muttered. "You hear me?"
He pushed the same over the bond, saw Illya's eyes flicker a little, a misgiving frown furrowing between his brows.
Napoleon caught sight of a Sentinel-Guide pair he had only ever IDed in passing – Howard Lowes, two senses, sight and sound, which was a rather common combination, with a low-level empath Guide, Frank Tacoma; the Sentinel a former cop, the Guide a former medical student - and the Guide looked pale as a sheet. Lowes was tensing up, lips thinning, and his fingers crept toward his weapon.
Yep. Going up in flames in three… two… one…
They finally passed the front doors and stepped out onto the streets. Solo released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.
Illya was thrumming with energy, but there was no twitch that warned of an imminent explosion that would leave people bleeding and furniture in pieces. He simply resembled a granite block of hostility, of Death out for anyone who came too close, who said the wrong word.
They had to get some more distance between the Washington CIA headquarters and themselves. Diffusing the bomb that was his Sentinel didn't need watchers.
And Napoleon was under no illusion that they would be watched every step of the way.
"Now that that is behind us… how about coffee?" he asked brightly, using the often before proven method of distraction out maybe jar the other man out of his murderous thoughts.
"We have a delivery to make."
Ouch. That sounded painful. Like chewing broken glass.
"Caffeine helps me concentrate."
Illya just maneuvered him toward the car waiting where they had left it at the curb. He didn't touch Napoleon, his very loud psychic presence already enough to make the other man move.
"Spoilsport."
Napoleon got behind the wheel, but he didn't start the engine. He turned and looked at Illya.
"Peril?"
The blank face should be frightening. The burning eyes should be terrifying. Actually, he should give this man a wide berth, but Napoleon wouldn't. Ever.
"Forget Sanders, okay? He's an asshole."
"I know your file," the blond stated coldly. "I know you were a criminal, blackmailed into the service of the CIA. I know how much you stole and how little was ever recovered. You hoarded it somewhere, made money out of your exploits. And I know your service record from the Army, and from the CIA. You are an excellent agent."
"That's classified," Solo remarked lightly.
"His words dishonor you."
"Like I said, he's a dick. He just lost his prized possession. Me."
"You are not a possession!"
He tilted his head.
"He had no right to treat you like he did."
"Are we talking about today or… before? Because let me tell you, he was actually having a good day. You got it right the first time, y'know. Small man, holding my very long leash?"
Illya glowered.
"But he lost that leash." Napoleon leaned forward. "Don't tell me your boss is all hearts and puppies, Peril, because I met the man."
The glower deepened. Illya's clenched his hands into fists. Napoleon still didn't touch, just kept a very close eye on the anchor. The eddies coming from there were still within normal range, just a few spikes out of the norm and peaking.
"Peril, his words are nothing but hot air. He's just pissed off that he can't use me any longer. He lost his best man." Napoleon raised his eyebrows.
"U.N.C.L.E.'s gain. And mine."
The possessive note shouldn't be so sexy, but it was. Damn!
Napoleon forcefully turned away and inhaled deeply. "Now I need a coffee! Don't argue!"
Illya twitched what went as a smile for him, the anchor line relaxing minutely. It was still not back to normal and Napoleon would need to do something later, but right now he wanted a coffee.
"Delivery first," the Sentinel stated.
"You are relentless," he sighed. "Okay, delivery first. Then coffee."
UNCLE*
The car pulled away from the curb and flowed into the traffic.
The moment they were moving, Napoleon reached over and touched his Sentinel, feeling the bond smooth a little more. He squeezed the wrist.
"Okay?" he murmured, eyes still on the road.
Illya exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
Getting the hang of this not-Guide thing, Napoleon thought. Illya might not need touch to focus or pull him out of a fugue state, but touch worked nevertheless.
Like now.
Sure, the situation was already diffusing, but the physical sensation helped to put a lid on things.
For now.
UNCLE*
They dropped off the package at an U.N.C.L.E. lab not far away. It was a simple hand-off and they were in and out within an hour.
They also made sure that they weren't followed as they headed toward their coffee break.
Of course, they were.
"CIA," Illya remarked with a disdainful voice.
"Rookies," was Napoleon's agreement with a slow sigh and a shake of his head as he stirred his cup.
He flashed the two men a bright smile. One looked a little flustered, then folded up the newspaper he had pretended to read, and left. The other slipped into the crowds outside.
"I'm better," Napoleon only said.
"Marginally."
"You wound me, Peril. Undercover is my speciality. Anyway, you stand out like a sore thumb when shadowing someone. I saw you at Checkpoint Charlie."
Illya smirked. "I wanted you to see me."
"That's what they always say after discovery."
The blond raised an eyebrow and Napoleon shot him a challenging look. The fond expression in those ice blue eyes threw him a little, like always, and he firmly concentrated on the traffic around them as they exited the café..
"You are observant," Illya finally said.
"That sounds almost like a compliment."
"It is. You see everything in a place."
"Part of my job. Right now I see a clear coast, an expensive hotel room I want to use, and twelve hours until check-out."
Illya held back a knowing smile. His eyes swept the area, senses opening up and apparently finding nothing to alarm him.
Napoleon just smoothed his coat, walking purposefully down the sidewalk.
His Sentinel was at his side, still too tense for Napoleon's liking, still not happy with what had happened at the CIA. Not that Napoleon could fault him. If their roles had been reversed, if they had had to meet with someone from the KGB – which was Not. Happening. Ever – Napoleon would be entertaining murderous thoughts, too.
Illya had been provoked, riled up, and he needed an outlet. Decompress.
Napoleon didn't need to look at his companion to know that that was the truth. He decided to make it fun for both of them.
Sex was always the best way to calm down, work off excess energy. It was a proven method for him and it had come as no great surprise that it helped Illya, too.
Well, not only sex. Just… being there. He had been a bit thrown by how natural it was to share space, a bed or a couch, or just a room. It calmed him, made him drop his shields, let his guard down, and the same went for Illya. The simple sensation of the Sentinel in the room with him, all that power coiled so tightly around the other man, was something Napoleon had come to enjoy.
No, it didn't always need sex, but he had no plans to just cuddle this time.
He really did plan to take advantage of their hotel room.
After sweeping it for bugs.
UNCLE*
He was proven right, of course.
More than once.
Lying on the luxurious bed with the insane thread-count sheets, out of breath and musing about Sentinel stamina, Napoleon could only hum in pleasure when those broad hands swept over his sides. He groaned softly when Illya licked over his flagging erection.
"Insatiable," he whispered, fingers threading into the blond hair that was already standing up in all directions.
"You drive me crazy, Cowboy," was the rumbled reply, the words vibrating around his cock.
Damn.
Damn, the man was a menace!
Napoleon twitched faintly, drawing a sharp breath when explorative fingers slipped deeper; inside.
"Not sure there is anything left, Peril," he breathed.
"Hm."
Oh damn.
UNCLE*
They checked out the next morning, each from his assigned room – each on a different floor - though Illya had spent the night wrapped around Napoleon like an octopus. That there were guns and knives close by was normal. Illya never went to bed without at least two weapons close at hand, underneath his pillow or otherwise hidden.
Suitcases wheeled out by the bellboy, whom Napoleon tipped quite nicely, both took a cab to the airport. Their car was already back at the rental car agency.
They were followed again, but Napoleon couldn't care less. Let Sanders keep tabs on them, see that they were leaving. He had packed up the assorted listening and tracking devices unearthed from both the hotel rooms and their clothes. All in one neat little parcel, addressed to Sanders.
He would have loved to dump them in his lap, ground into a million little pieces, but that would have been petty.
Then again, Napoleon could do petty.
Very well, too.
UNCLE*
Napoleon enjoyed the first class lounge of the waiting area as Illya read through several newspapers, the languages ranging from English to German to Italian. There was no Russian one, though.
UNCLE*
Their flight was on time.
Next stop: Los Angeles.
tbc...