A week had gone by, and Illya lay on the medical couch in the U.N.C.L.E. infirmary again, sedated into a warm fuzziness again, holding onto Napoleon's hand as Peterson bent over him with the syringe in his hand. After three treatments he was almost, almost, getting used to this. And he could actually see Peterson; not clearly, not in any way he would previously have defined as seeing; but he could see the dark solidity of him, the pinkish hue of his face, the dark of his hair. He stared, fascinated, as the dark blur of his hand came down and there was that odd anaesthetised pressure of the needle going in. He tightened his grip on Napoleon's hand, and Peterson patted his shoulder before removing the device that held his eye open.

'That's the right done. Now the left. Are you ready?'

'I am ready,' Illya said, carefully keeping his head still as Peterson bent to fix his left eye open. There was that strange pressure again, and he kept his mouth closed against the nausea that threatened to rise.

'All done,' Peterson said blithely, putting the syringe down with a clatter on what was probably a metal tray. 'You know the drill by now, Mr Kuryakin. Stay here for half an hour, and then you're free to go. Come back day after tomorrow.'

'Thank you, Doctor,' Illya said with feeling.

Peterson patted his shoulder again. 'I really am very pleased with your progress, Mr Kuryakin. At this rate I think you should be back to normal within ten days.'

That simple pronouncement started to sink in as Peterson walked out of the room. Knowing he was alone now with Napoleon, something burst inside. Illya felt tears running onto his cheeks, tears he had not felt start in his numbed eyes. Dr Peterson had not given him such a definite prognosis before now, and those few words overwhelmed him, his emotions made soft and quick to come by the sedative in his system. He tried to speak but couldn't make the words come, but as he sat up against the dizzying sedative Napoleon took him into his arms and just held him as he breathed deep and hard. He could hear Napoleon's heart thudding against his ear, the whisper of his breath, the small murmured words of comfort, and he couldn't wait to see the face that went with those words, see the body beneath the fabric of his clothes. It all felt too much, too wonderful, but too, too long to wait.

'I think he's just a little overcome,' Napoleon said, and Illya jerked, realising someone else must have entered the room. As he started to draw back Napoleon held him close again. 'It was just a nurse, and she's left us alone. Believe me, the gossip that she's seen the Ice Prince crying will be far more titillating in the commissary than the gossip that she's seen you in my arms.'

'Oh, something to be grateful for,' Illya said, but he could hardly inject the intended acidity into his tone through the tear-invoked shaking of his voice.

'We have everything to be grateful for, Illya,' Napoleon whispered, and for once Illya didn't protest as he felt Napoleon's lips against the crown of his head. 'Come on, lie back down, and when you've served your half hour we can take a walk outside, get some fresh air. Good idea?'

'Good idea,' Illya said. He was overcome with an urge to walk further, to travel further, to be somewhere beautiful when his sight finally returned, somewhere with spring trees in blossom and a wide blue sky and delicate clouds scudding past the sun. 'A very good idea,' he said.

'I know. I'd like to go somewhere too,' Napoleon said, making Illya wonder how his partner managed to read his mind, 'but I don't think Waverly would approve a vacation right now – not after all this time out of the field.'

'How about the gym?' Illya asked suddenly. 'I feel like I haven't had a proper workout in weeks.'

'Because you haven't had a proper workout in weeks,' Napoleon agreed with a smile in his voice. 'I should have thought. You could at least use the exercise bikes.'

'No, I want a workout,' Illya said forcefully. 'With you, Napoleon. I want to fight.'

He could feel it welling inside him, the overwhelming need to work the adrenaline out of his muscles and joints. All his recent stint under Thrush care had allowed him was to build up the need without releasing it, and besides, over two weeks had passed since then. He wasn't used to going so long without some kind of release, and although sex worked well it didn't quite have the edge of physical violence.

After his half hour period lying down he took Napoleon's arm and walked down to the gym. Neither had thought to bring gym clothes, so instead they stripped down until they were shirtless and sparred in trousers and bare feet.

'God knows,' Napoleon said, 'what Mr Waverly would say if he knew I was risking the fine tailoring of my pants to – oof!'

And he slammed over backwards onto the mat. Illya stood over him, grinning, unable to see anything but the dark pink-grey blur of Napoleon against the yellow mat, but knowing that he probably had a slightly puzzled and exaggeratedly hurt expression on his face.

'Okay, if it's going to be like that, comrade,' Napoleon said, getting to his feet and squaring himself in front of his partner, ready to strike.

Illya flipped him again, and heard the rush of air leaving Napoleon's lungs as he hit the mat. Napoleon popped up again like a child's toy and grabbed Illya's arms instantly, twisting him in turn so that he slammed to the floor. Illya hit awkwardly and cried out, grabbing at his shoulder. Napoleon was instantly solicitous, kneeling down beside him and reaching out. Illya grabbed at the ill-defined shape and flipped him again so that they were both sprawled on the ground.

'I thought you were hurt!' Napoleon complained.

'I was,' Illya said ruefully, rubbing at his shoulder, 'but that doesn't mean I couldn't take advantage.'

'Are you really – ' Napoleon came towards him, then lifted up his hands, pink blurs that separated from the blur of his body, saying, 'Truce, truce. Are you really hurt?'

'Just jarred my shoulder,' Illya assured him, still rubbing at it. 'I can see enough to tell where you are but I can't make those snap judgements about how to fall.'

'You want to stop?' Napoleon asked.

Illya grinned dangerously. 'I've hardly worked up a sweat. I've fought with worse than a stiff shoulder before.'

'Well, as long as you don't turn it into more,' Napoleon warned him. 'If I was worried about what Waverly would say about me ruining my pants, what would he say about you acquiring a broken arm just before you're due to come back on duty?'

'Well, let's try to keep it without the flips for now,' Illya begrudgingly agreed, but then amended, 'Actually, I can flip you. You can see where to land.'

'Oh, wonderful,' Napoleon said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. But they both stood and Illya reached out towards his partner again, getting him into a deadly clinch. He could feel that Napoleon was holding himself back, and he growled, 'Fight me, dammit. Just don't flip me.'

'It's – hard,' Napoleon puffed, 'to fight you – without being allowed – to knock you – on your backside.'

His words were punctuated with his thrusts of effort. The sweat that was coming on both their torsos began to blend together, making them both slick, making Illya's hands slip where they gripped on Napoleon's arms. He was breathing hard too now, trying to get a hold on Napoleon that would allow him to bring him down safely. But Napoleon was larger and heavier than him, and was resisting with more force. He heard someone enter the room, and then another, and realised that they were gathering a crowd. No doubt it was somewhat entertaining to watch a blind agent wrestling with a fully sighted one. He felt Napoleon get distracted and took the opportunity to bring him down hard onto the mat and hold him there.

'Okay?' he asked, sotto voce, as Napoleon panted beneath him.

In answer Napoleon rolled him over and was suddenly on top of him, pinning him down. Oh, but this was dangerously close to what went on in their bedrooms now. He could feel Napoleon's heat over him, his breath coming warm and fast over his face. He wanted to lean his head up and kiss him, but instead he jerked suddenly, throwing Napoleon back off him and twisting his arm behind his back with a firmness that should stop just short of painful. If he had lain there any longer under Napoleon's weight he would have started to get hard, in front of all those watching eyes. He could hear them now taking quiet bets on who would win. That made him laugh internally, because there would be no winner. They weren't fighting for points, just to get out the excess energy of inactive days.

'Okay, I give,' Napoleon said suddenly, and he realised he was still holding his partner's arm twisted behind his back. 'Haven't you had enough yet?'

Illya grinned his sudden, fiery grin. 'Does that mean you give up?'

If Napoleon said yes then Jim Rawlins and Pete Wright would win their bets, while the others would be left disappointed.

'I give up,' Napoleon said, and Illya heard a quiet groan from the losers in the pack of watchers. He smiled in quiet triumph. He knew it wasn't really a win, not with Napoleon pulling his punches, but it was satisfying enough. As he walked out of the room with his hand on Napoleon's arm a couple of the bystanders patted him on the shoulder, and he grinned all the harder.

'Shower?' Napoleon asked him.

'Very necessary,' Illya agreed. He was still panting a little, and still dripping with sweat. He turned towards Napoleon, and almost bit his tongue.

'What is it?' his partner asked in concern.

Illya reached a finger out and accurately touched Napoleon's nose. 'This,' he said simply. The blur had cleared to the point where he could make out the dark splotches of Napoleon's eyes blending into the arch of his eyebrows. He could see the red smear of his lips, and above them he could just see a dark blotch that indicated his nostrils.

Napoleon's hands clamped onto his bare shoulders. 'Illya?'

'It's not perfect, not near perfect, but – Napoleon, I think physical exercise straight after a treatment increases its effect. Do you remember last time – '

'Oh, I remember that well, tovarisch,' Napoleon grinned – and Illya could see the grin in the way the red of his mouth changed shape.

He moved away from Illya and the Russian heard the sudden hiss of the water in the communal showers.

'Let's get clean and dry and then we can report in to the doctor. You must want to report this?'

'Oh, I do,' Illya grinned, swiftly stripping off his trousers and pants and handing them to Napoleon. He wished he could shower with Napoleon as they did at home, but since that often ended in mutual masturbation it wouldn't be a good idea here, where anyone could wander in and see what was going on. He stepped under the water, glad it was a little cooler than was comfortable, because the thought of standing here with an erection was mortifying.

((O))

Clean and dressed, the pair went directly back to the infirmary to speak to Dr Malhotra. He invited them into his office, which wasn't much different from the office Napoleon and Illya shared apart from in his choices of knick-knacks – a photograph of his family, some paper reproductions of great art works tacked to the wall, and a couple of framed certificates.

'I've noticed a distinct improvement twice after indulging in strenuous exercise not long after the injection,' Illya said seriously, after describing the improvement.

'Yeah, and we thought it would be a good idea to pass that on,' Napoleon chimed in.

'Mmm-hmm,' the doctor said, making a few notes on a piece of paper on his desk. 'Well, that certainly is fascinating. I can pass it on to Dr Peterson, certainly, although he'll probably want to check that exertion so soon after the injection doesn't cause any negative issues that outweigh the benefits. There could be a risk of causing a bleed in the eye with heightened blood pressure. Can you be more specific? Type of exercise, amount of exertion, duration?'

Napoleon glanced sideways at Illya, seeing his fair-skinned companion reddening slightly.

'Uh – well, we were sparring in the gym,' Napoleon said quickly. 'For – er – about half an hour. Quite intense levels. We were both out of breath, breathing heavily, heart racing.'

'Of course,' Malhotra said, looking between the two men. 'And this was both times?'

Napoleon's mouth opened, but as he said, 'Yes,' Illya said, 'No,' and then Napoleon didn't know what to say.

The doctor looked at Napoleon and then back at Illya, a slight smile starting on his face.

'You – were, or you weren't working out?' he asked, looking directly at Illya.

Illya flushed further and dipped his head. Napoleon had so rarely seen Illya blush at anything that he couldn't keep his eyes off him. It seemed that sex was his only weakness in that respect.

'I – er – '

'Yes, he was working out,' Napoleon said very quickly. 'Again, for about half an hour, intense, heart racing. Very much like today's workout.'

Dr Malhotra gave him a hard look, and then nodded. 'Very well,' he said, jotting down on the paper again. 'Well, I'd suggest checking with Dr Peterson at your next treatment, but it looks like a – ahem – a workout would be a good idea after that one. I assume you're eager to hurry things up?'

'Oh, I am,' Illya said earnestly. 'Very much so.'

The doctor got to his feet. 'Thank you, gentlemen. I'll be sure to pass that on right away.'

Napoleon tossed him a casual salute, and touched his hand to Illya's arm. 'Ready, comrade?'

Illya took his arm, and they walked towards the door.

'Gentlemen,' Dr Malhotra said softly, as Napoleon's hand touched the door handle. 'Take care with your working out, won't you? Some people have different opinions about more unusual gym routines. And if you should need any – ah – advice or treatment relating to more unorthodox workouts, please come to me before seeing anyone who might be – er – less understanding of these things.'

'Well, thank you, doctor, we'll be sure to do that,' Napoleon said very smoothly. He could practically feel Illya coming apart inside, and he hurried him out through the door. 'Illya,' he said in a soft, warning voice as they left the room. He had never seen his partner so rattled.

'Napoleon, he knows,' Illya hissed in an undertone.

Napoleon put his free hand over Illya's where it touched his arm. He looked around momentarily, then took him into the elevator and didn't press any of the floor buttons.

'You heard what he said,' he said reassuringly. 'He was discreet – very discreet – and understanding. He's not going to say anything to anyone. And if anyone did know, a doctor who's bound to hold medical confidences is the best person. Okay?'

Illya took in a deep breath, held it, then breathed out again. 'Okay,' he said slowly. 'I – am sorry, Napoleon. I – I'm afraid I lost it for a moment there.'

Napoleon smiled warmly at him, a smile he didn't think Illya could quite make out although his extremely blue eyes were directed straight at his face. He wanted to lean closer to that gaze, close enough so that his lips would butt up against Illya's generous ones, but he knew if he did that here his partner would really freak out.

'It's all right. Where you come from, you have good reason to be concerned. Your country really did a number on you, didn't they?'

Illya gave a snort. He looked wan and despairing. 'Napoleon, have you ever read descriptions of the gulags, or the fate of those in mental institutions who are not ill but simply non-conformist? I would rather be shot – which would be a distinct option.'

Napoleon patted his arm. 'I take your point. But you don't need to worry here, I promise you. If we're discreet, it will be all right.' He took hold of both of his partner's hands. 'Illya. I promise.'

He pressed the button for the exit level, and touched Illya's arm again in reassurance as the lift jerked into movement.

'Let's go for that walk in the fresh air and spring blossoms,' he said. 'And later – '

'And later, we will be alone, together, in private,' Illya nodded, a smile helping to ease the pale, peaked look of his face.

'We will,' Napoleon nodded. 'And we will do whatever it takes to put you at your ease. Whatever it takes, I promise.'