Chapter 4

He didn't know what woke him up, but as the world started to come into focus for Napoleon Solo, he felt a warm body next to him. Slowly, opening his eyes to see the early light of dawn hit his apartment windows and throws a soft yellow glow into the living room. He was lying on his couch in the clothes he wore yesterday and the lamp on the side table still on. Then he looked down to whom he was sharing his couch.

Caitlin was curled up on her side, using his right bicep for a pillow while her arms were fused together from the elbows to her hands and resting in front of her as if she was praying. Napoleon looked down at her and smiled. She looked like an angel with her reddish-blond hair pulled away from her face, black smudged mascara around her eyes, half of her makeup rubbed off onto his white shirt while the opposite side of her face was in almost in perfect condition.

She stirred slightly while he watched her breathe for a few minutes before a small smile tugged at her soft lips. She knew that he was watching her and snuggled closer into his side.

Napoleon remembered they'd come back to his apartment and sat on the couch to discuss what Illya had found at her house and to brain storm again about her uncle's outburst. Most of what Caitlin told him was the same about being away on several business trips and out of the picture. The rest of the time was spent talking about their childhoods, dreams, and demanding jobs.

"You must have been tired last night." Caitlin's hypnotic voice drifted teasingly through his thoughts.

"Why do you say that?" Napoleon asked with interest. He shifted his body slightly to get a better look at her. Seeing that her eyes were still closed, he couldn't help himself and began to trace his finger around her hairline, ear, and jaw.

"Because, you fell asleep in mid-sentence while trying to tell me about your childhood home and how your parents died," Caitlin yawned and stretched.

"Well, I think that you were just as tired as I was. I vaguely remember someone telling me to scoot over to share my couch with. I know you that would've been more comfortable on the bed instead." Napoleon smirked to challenge her. Theirs was a mutual attraction that neither one of them had to explain, because it came from deep inside.

Napoleon was surprised how much better he slept last night just by having Caitlin here and they weren't even inmate yet. He didn't feel that way with his other dates. With them, he slept lighter and more than ready for them to leave in the morning. Rarely did he have the same girl over two nights in a row. He hoped that she would break that routine.

"Napoleon, what are you thinking?" Caitlin inquired, savoring his light touch.

"Oh, that you are quickly becoming more important to me than I have ever felt with anyone before," he grimaced when those frightening words tumbled out before he could stop them. She was here to ask for UNCLE's help, not to fall in love with. What could he offer her except worry, pain and possible death? How could he do that to her?

"Me too, Napoleon," Caitlin said smiling with her eyes still closed and then turned to meet his eyes with hers as she slowly opened them. Seemingly willing to accept anything to be right where she was. "Me too."

Napoleon leaned forward and they tenderly kissed for the first time. He drew her up onto a full body hug that lasted several minutes. His heart raced and he could feel hers beating in unison, but they would have to wait for more.

"As much as I would like to stay like this with you all day, I think we need to get up, get dressed, and go to your office."

"Yes, we need to take care of Uncle Danny first."

Caitlin sat up on the edge of the couch with her back to him with a sigh. She ran her hands through her hair and rubbed one of her eyes. Feeling the sticky thick crustiness of forgotten makeup around her eyes, she rumbled with frustration when she eyed half her face on Napoleon's shirt sleeve on his stretched out arm and then suddenly gave him a punch in the shoulder as she hopped off the couch to face him.

"Hey! What was that for?" Napoleon asked more in surprise than it actually hurting as he sat up.

"For sitting there and not telling me how bad I look with smeared makeup!" She put her hands on her hips and glared.

"I hadn't noticed," he said softly and then smiled devilishly. "Much. I'll be the gentleman though and let you use the bathroom first to clean up and get rid of those raccoon eyes you've seem to have developed."

"And what a gentleman you are, Mr. Solo." Caitlin bent down to ruffle his hair as she started to walk to the back of the apartment, assuming that's where the bedrooms and bathroom were. "You're a quart low and you had better have clean towels."

Napoleon chuckled, leaping off the couch and headed for the kitchen to make some coffee.

Napoleon and Caitlin had cleaned up and had a simple breakfast of coffee and bagels before heading to Caitlin's office so she could change her clothes and check on her lawyer, Craig Green's progress to get her and Napoleon to see Uncle Danny while he checked out her office for listening devices and call Illya.

After finding only two such devices, Napoleon looked them over. He had to agree with Illya in the fact they weren't the usual bugs for THRUSH to use and the person who made them was an expert; possibly military. Napoleon glanced towards Caitlin's personal office bathroom with increased concern as he deactivated them, grabbed his silver pen communicator, and opened a channel to Illya.

"Open channel D, Illya old chum."

Silence

"Open channel, UNCLE headquarters," Napoleon looked at his watch to see it was ten o'clock. Illya should've easily been at work or connected to, he thought with growing irritation.

"Communications," A familiar female voice rang through.

"Ginger, how are you?"

"Fine, Napoleon, when are we going out again?"

"Ah, that will have to be on hold for now." He stammered, remembering their last date and how much he enjoyed their time together. Right now, all he could do was to blush, because he didn't know if there would be a second. "Has Mr. Kuryakin checked in or at headquarters? He's not answering his communicator. Also, could you do me another favor and look up what we have on a Mr. Jordan Graff, a lawyer from California working for Hillgate."

"No, that sly fox isn't here. I'll try to hail him for you and let you know if he reports in. He hasn't called in that I can tell, but he isn't listed as being active in a mission since last night after six either. I'll report back on the bio of Mr. Graff in half an hour."

"Thanks, Sweetheart. Solo out." Napoleon smiled. He knew that Ginger was one of those ladies at UNCLE headquarters who was secretly trying to get Illya interested in them. She went as far as seduce him to get to the stubborn blond. That had been fine with Napoleon; she's a gorgeous woman and a great kisser.

"Sweetheart?" Caitlin had walked in at the end of his conversation with Ginger with one raised eyebrow and an inquiring look on her face that made him smile even bigger.

"Ah, it's the operator at UNCLE. She's sort of sweet on me. It's her way to get to Illya. I've dated her once, because Illya had no interest." He shrugged, thinking that Lexi must've been in town at that time and he knew that Illya tried to keep his sexual "diversions" out and away from work.

"Why do I think that you've had a lot of dates with many beautiful women and not because of Illya? And, don't bring your partner into this. I know you can defend your honor just fine Napoleon Solo." Both her eyebrows rose up her forehead waiting for an explanation and crossing her arms over her chest.

"I refuse to answer this form of questioning in regards that it could incriminate me." Solo took her hands in his. "I won't hold your past indiscretions against you, if you don't hold mine against me. I'd love to hear the stories honest, but not to hurt you, to protect each other from the past. I could tell a few stories myself, just not right now."

"Deal, because I have to admit that I have quite a list of previous suitors myself. I've played it safe if you're wondering as I hope you have?"

"I'll show you my medical records if you show me yours, but it will have to wait." They agreed with a handshake and then Napoleon became serious. "Illya hasn't checked in at work and I can't get a hold of him on the communicator. I've got to check out one place before we can go to see your Uncle Danny. I want you to stay here..."

"Oh, no you don't! I'm going with you," Caitlin said firmly and took the deactivated listening device he offered her, inspected it, not realizing its importance, and then set down on her desk. "I'll stay back and do exactly what you tell me too. It'll save time. I've had a message from Craig that we can visit this afternoon at one. Let me help, please? If this is about me and my company, I couldn't have that on my conscious if Uncle Danny or Illya got hurt.

"I can't put you in danger. This is part of Illya and I's job. He's no shrinking flower. I don't know if I could handle seeing you hurt either," Napoleon said softly and half turned away from her with his nervous hands balled up in his pockets, trying to shake his lowered head to rid it of the image that flashed in his mind.

"Napoleon," Caitlin said just as low and sternly while she turned him back to her and put his tense, square jaw in her smooth, determined hands. "All things in life have risks. I would rather go with you to see what risks I'm taking from now on before we lose too much later. I need to know what I face, what you face, because of your work, and what the future will holds for us to be together. I'm not going to be ignorant with who you are. That's where the risk is."

"Why do I feel that I can't deny you anything?" He sighed, searching each other's eyes. "When this is done and you are truly safe, we'll have to have a difficult talk about what it means to be with an UNCLE agent. It won't be easy. There are…requirements that you'd have to be willing to do."

"I would have to think about it?" Caitlin mimicked him with a roll up her eyes slightly to the left and puckered her lips for a quick second. "Okay, I thought about it. I'm willing to see what the job entails, but you too, will have requirements to meet to be in my life as well. Mine might be harder on you than yours on me."

"I agree." Napoleon laughed as they quickly hugged. "Now, I…we need to go to an apartment that is owned by a friend of Illya's. I think that's where he was last night instead of his own place, but we'll have to check his place if I'm wrong."

"Let me grab my purse and I'm ready to go." Caitlin hurried to her desk and grabbed the handle of a small leather purse and slung it on her shoulder.

"I'll call Mr. Waverly from the apartment. Let's get a cab."

They opened the door to Caitlin's office and hustled down to the street to hail a taxi.

The rush of a swift, pounding headache and the gurgling of his last meal woke up Illya in a panic. He struggled to quickly stand up and run to the bathroom, but suddenly realized that he couldn't move his upper body.

With no other choice, he swallowed down the burning bile and pickle juice that tickled the back of his throat with a grimace of pain and disgust peppering his face as he cautiously opened his eyes.

Illya was laying flat on his stomach on a metal spring cot with his head buried in a plain rock, hard pillow wet with his own drool. Moving his head side-to-side, while trying to move his crossed arms from in front of him, but they were numb from immobility.

His legs were mercifully free. One thing to his advantage Illya thought; turning his body to one side, gracefully pulled his knees to his chest, and rocked up to a sitting position.

His head swam while he leaned back against the cold, white-washed cement wall and momentarily waited for his stomach to catch up.

"Definitely, not the usual THRUSH drugs," Illya murmured to himself, finally being able to focus his eyes enough to somewhat look around. His body accepted the usual blinding headache, but this new knock-out gas had a nausea factor that had hit him hard. "Wonderful, a new drug to get to know and love."

Gazing around the small cell, Illya saw the basics; plain room, single cot, heavy locked door with a single, square, wired- glass window and food slot. What he did have that wasn't usually in the cell with him was a chair, a metal cot with springs, a mirror, a sink, and toilet. The ceiling held only a single florescent light that was out of reach even with the chair, and there was no camera or exposed wiring.

Sighing in resignation, he finally looked down to see why he couldn't move his arms and wasn't surprised to see that he was in a straight jacket. Shifting his position had awakened his arm and shoulder muscles to make them sing to him with the quivering and aching pain of pins and needles running up and down them.

Waiting to let his arms to relax, Illya noticed that he was stripped down to his undershirt and in pajama bottoms. Why do they always have to take my pants? He thought as he looked at the stretch-knit slippers with rubber bottoms on his feet. He swallowed another rise of food and bile that threatened to erupt from the pit of his stomach.

Illya tried to think of something else that could distract him from the nausea. That was when he noticed what looked like an identification band on his left ankle. Drawing his knee up again, he used the thin, thread-bare blanket to help turn the thin, plastic strip so he could try to read it. The band was embossed with Hillgate Hospital and Sanitarium on it with John Doe #105 written on the cardboard insert.

The third volcanic eruption couldn't be stopped. Illya quickly jumped to his feet, took a single shaky step and fell to his knees right in front of steel toilet. Once done emptying his aching stomach, he fell into a sitting position, leaned against the wall panting and felt the sweat trickle down his forehead in short-lived relief.

Clank!

The noise of the door lock startled the UNCLE agent. Illya blinked away the tears in his eyes, cleared his throat, and prepared himself to who might come through. The door swung open to let in the bright light from the hallway. Shadows of three figures crowded the door and then walked into the small room.

The first one in was an older nurse with a powerful figure poured into a corset that puckered her uniform around the buttons. She had her stark white hair pulled into a tight bun under her overly starched nurse's hat. Her beady eyes were piercing through her black horn-rimmed glass that she had worn since the fifties Illya guessed. Her lips formed a straight line in a perpetual "no funny business" that no one ever thought to cross without potentially losing their life.

The two others were guerilla sized orderlies that stood just at the edge of the door and ready for action. Illya looked up at the group with blank blue eyes while he sized up who he was up against. He didn't know who this nurse was and flicked his eyes toward her name tag that only read Mother G.

"Mr. Kuryakin." Mother G. addressed him with stern pleasantness. "How are we doing right now?"

Kuryakin barely acknowledged Mother G's question and looked her straight in the eye.

"I know how you're feeling," Mother G said without breaking eye contact as she leaned over Kuryakin menacingly, twirling a hypo in her fingers. "You're nauseous, have a blinding headache, and weak, but I can take that all away for you with just this one little injection."

Kuryakin blinked and swallowed another rise of bile. He shifted his eyes from Mother G to the door, but didn't say a word.

"No my dear, you won't be able to leave here without my help. The drug we've given you last for another full four hours. You can either sit or lay here suffering or you can tell me what I want to know and this all can go away. You listen to me, Mr. Kuryakin. Be a good boy and I promise to take care of you like your sweet mother does."

"Mother G," Kuryakin rasped between pants, trying to wet his dry lips. "Are you related to Mother Fear? She was also concerned in how my mother was."

"And how is your mother? I wouldn't doubt that she is very worried about you. I could be a mother to you too if you just help me dear boy." Her smile sent shivers down his spine. "All you have to do is tell me what I want to know."

"What am I suppose to know?" Kuryakin asked in a soft, hoarse voice.

"Why where your little girlfriend is, Miss Christina Roth, young man."

"My girlfriend?"

That was about all Kuryakin could say at that moment. He could no longer stop the tide of hot liquid churning in his stomach from reaching the top of his throat and tried to jumped to his knees to reach the toilet. He wouldn't have made it if Mother G hadn't grabbed the back of the straight jacket and roughly pulled him up with surprising strength.

After nothing more would come out from Illya's retching, she pushed him back down to the floor with a thud.

"Now, where is Christina Roth?"

"I…don't…know…" Kuryakin panted out and began to shiver, so weak that he was about to faint, His current perception of this room and business at hand of answering questions for Mother G were dimming quickly.

"Oh, yes you do know, you naughty boy!" Mother G started to raise her voice and placed her hands on her hips to tower over him. "Tell me now! Where is she now? Is she going under another name?"

Her shrill voice made Kuryakin's head even pound harder and felt like it was going to split in two. All he had the strength to do was to pass out with his mind whirling with thoughts of Lexi and how she looked in that black dress as one of her alters, Christina Roth.

"Damn! I must have given him too much. Now I'll have to let Dr. Heaford have his chance like I agreed to. You two!" Mother G straightened up and turned to the orderlies and shouted in frustration with clinched teeth and fists; wanting to hit or kick the prone blond man. "Get him on that bed. If you hear him wake up again, call my son. If he can't get him to talk, then it's my other son's turn. Have Trixie give him this hypo. I don't want to have him making a mess in Dr. Heaford's office when he calls for him"

"Yes, Mother G."

Mother G left the room in a snit. The orderlies had no problem picking Kuryakin up and tossing him back on to the cot, as if not weighing more than a child's ragdoll. They shut and lock the door behind them and sighed in boredom. They were hoping for a little more action from the slight man than they got at the moment.