"No!" Illya objected, "You must let me go to my lab. I can do this, I can find out what was done to me!"

"Illya, I'm sorry. It's out of my hands now," Max said." Waverly has signed the order to move you to our wing at Buffalo.

As life in an insane asylum stared him in the face, Illya realized he wasn't ready for it after all. "Max, do not do this to me please?" he pleaded." I will do what ever Dennison wants me to do, say what ever he wants me to say. Please do not condemn me to this. Please! I am not crazy!"

"Illya I know that." Max Schneider injected Illya again with a sedative for the nearly eight hour drive, then turned away shaking his head in sadness. He wasn't happy with it at all. "Illya, I promise you that I will keep the labs working on this. We'll find the answer and we'll get you out."

Kuryakin gave no answer as his head now lolled over; the drug already putting him into a stupor.

A few of the medical and lab staff watched silently as the gurney carrying the Russian rolled past them.

"Wow, one of U.N.C.L.E's best going out begging," said Terrry Tramell.

"Yeah, real shame," said Nurse Walsh.

"Which one are you?" Terry asked.

"I'll never tell," she smiled then called an orderly to clean the room that the former section II agent had vacated.

The ambulance arrived just after six in the evening, as Illya Kuryakin was carried via stretcher to his private room. U.N.C.L.E. maintained an entire secure wing at the New York facility, sending their less fortunate people there, there who could no longer cope with the pressures of life as an agent, those who were driven to near insanity by their run-ins with Thrush drugs or mad scientists.

They handed over Illya's files to the physician in charge, giving strict instructions that Kuryakin was not to have any physical human contact, ever. The orderly nodding his head in acknowledgement, as he helped to carefully tuck the seemingly helpless blond into his bed.

When they were alone, he reached into his pocket taking out a syringe and after carefully rolling up the Russian's sleeve; he injected the contents into Illya's arm as he had been. Then left him alone.

The next day Illya was acting listless as he was taken out to just get some fresh air; walking the grounds. But then as the days passed he felt himself becoming drained of all his enegy, letting the staff know of his weakness. He could no longer manaage his walks and was simply just put into wheel chair to sit in the sun by himself, with no one still bothering him.

As the next few days flowed one into another, he declined even that activity; choosing just to stay in his room. His only companions were books the few books that he chose from the library in the facility.

Even that quickly wore thin on him and he finally remained in bed all day and each night he was strapped in with restraints lest he accidentally touch himself during the night. That was when it was the worst; being alone at night and helpless.

Napoleon was his only visitor; his friend tried to bring him news of his family, but Illya would have none of it; ignoring his partner's pleas for him to speak to Elliott.

"Napoleon, I am tired of this masquerade, if someone were going to try something, they should have done it by now."

"Patience my man, patience."

"Is in short supply my friend." Illya sighed.

Max Schneider walked into the Russian's room with a smile on his face.

"Illya it's ready." he winked knowingly at Solo.

"This better work Max," Napoleon said.

"I'm just not sure how long it will take to kick in or how long it will last for that matter."

"Excuse me?"Illya said, "My calculations were precise.

"Look," said Max, "the lab developed this in a hurry, let's just hope your calculations were right."

The Russian looked somewhat indignant at the physician's remark.

"It will deaden my pain receptors, that I am certain of; I will no longer feel anything. But at least I will not be helpless in the event this mystery person makes a move against me."

"Illya remember, you won't feel anything for better or worse, your entire body will be numb," added Schneider," if you cut yourself, you won't sense it. You have to be careful."

"I assure you I am well aware of that and will take the utmost care."

Illya winced several times as Schneider proceeded to inject him. After this being done to him so many times over the past few weeks the shots were becoming more than annoying; he was beginning to dread them. If this didn't work; he would have a lfetime of such pokings to look forward to...that thought made him cringe.

"Tovarisch, we won't be far." Napoleon winked.

As soon as they left his room Illya very gingerly touched his right thumb and pinky sending a jolt of burning pain shooting up his arm. He stifled himself, not wanting to cry out.

"Chyort_shit" he muttered." this should work, his computations could not have been wrong."

A short while later the door to his room opened and an orderly walked into a pushing a wheel chair in front of him. Illya looked up, recogizing him instantly.

"You!" Illya said, lunging at him, but as he grabbed the man, the pain hit him like here were being burned at the stake, it was thought flames now engulfed his entire body, making him collapse to the floor.

He gasped for breath; cursing to himself that the injections hadn't worked, as the man covered his mouth with a cloth drenched in chloroform; knocking him out.

He dragged the unconscious Russian into the wheel chair, propping him up and covering him with a blanket, rolling him out of the room and quickly past the nurses's station.

"Excuse me," said the duty nurse, "where are you going with him?"

"Mr. Kuryakin has an appointment with the doctor,"

"Well no one told me?" she said.

'Sorry. I dunno, I'm new here. Was I supposed to tell you?" he smiled at her innocently.

'New huh? she smiled, "You're kind of cute. I get off at six, care to meet me for a drink?"

"How about tomorrow, I already have plans for tonight." He leaned over looking at her name badge. "Delia." he said winking at her. Then he began to move the wheelchair away.

"Say what's your name handsome?"

"It's Terry, see you later." Then he disappeared around the corner out of view, taking Illya to the elevator.

He pressed the button for the lower level, where the most dangerous patients were kept when problems arose. The special rooms as the staff referred to those accommodations were in the basement.

The attendant on duty looked suspiciously at Illya as he was still out cold in the wheelchair.

"What's his deal?"

"He's schizo, " said the orderly, " the doctors tranquilzed him then sent him down here for a padded room so he doesn't hurt himself, or anyone else for that matter."

"Poor bugger, he looks kinda small. Doesn't look like he could hurt a fly, then I suppose they all look like that when they're tranqulized," he laughed.

The attendant handed him a key. "Here, you can put him in room 13. He'll be the only tenant down here besides the guy in number 8. That poor bastard went off his rocker after he was exposed to some kind of Mind Control drug.

Kuryakin was wheeled to the door of the room, then unceremoniously pulled from the chair to the padded floor. Then his pajamas were removed, leaving him lying naked as his hands were bound behind his back.

Terry slapped Illya on the face until he woke with a start, finding himself in his state of undress.

"Tramell, it was you? Why?"

"I was tired of your rebuffs. You'd never gave me a moments notice or respect. But I knew there was still something between us?"

"What? I never did any such thing to you. We have hardly ever spoken?"

"I saw the look of disdain in your eyes. I felt the icy coldness of your looks and it made me feel so alone. And that's what you felt now all this time. Now you know how you made me feel! But soon now we can be together."

"Terry, you need help. This is not right what you are doing. Stop now before it goes any further."

Tramell knelt down, forcing is lips against the Russians'. Illya jerked his head away reflexively, then realized he felt no pain, there was nothing. His formula had finally kicked in.

Tramell pulled two syringes from his pocket, injecting one after the other into Illya's neck.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"You'll see soon enough. FIrst I gave you pain and now will come the pleasure."

Tramell reached out, running his hands along the Russian's body.

"Your poor skin, there's so many scars..."

Illya could only watch as Tramells hands drifted lower and lower.

"Do not touch me!" Illya moaned, his mind flashed back in panic, thinking of his abuse at the hands of Voelker and then Lazar' in the gulag. He could not believe it was going to happen to him again.

But then something else began to happen, Illya suddenly found himself becoming aroused. He was experiencing pleasure in his mind though his body felt numb. He concluded that it must be from the drugs that had Tramell injected in his neck.

He groaned fighting against the feeling of euphoria that was filling him, but couldn't resist it as the man began to kiss his throat.

"What have you done to me!" he growled as he gritted his teeth, then Illya gasped as Tramell began to fondle him, his body responding involuntarily with an erection.

"Nooo" he moaned hoarsely, not again." he pleaded at first, fighting against the pleasue and intense desire that now filled him.

Then Illya whispered almost seductively, "Not like this, untie my hands please? I will give you what you want Terry.

"Nice try, but no." Tramell's mouth was on him. "I said NO!" Illya now bellowed angrily at him."Not again!"

He kicked up with his leg, kneeing the man in the head. Then as it snapped back, the Russian kicked his legs up and around, getting him in a scissor lock, flipping him to the floor. Illya released the stunned Tramell as he he struggled to his feet, kicking him in the head again and again until he was unconscious. Then Illya dropped to his knees before he fell backwards to the floor.

Napoleon and Max Schneider burst into the room; Napoleon heading straight to his partner, grabbing hold of Illya cradling him in his arms as he untied his wrists.

"It's over tovarisch." he said stroking the mess of blond hair.

"Napoleon, let got of me. Please do not touch me."

He released him instantly, " pain?"

"No, but Tramell injected me with something else and I am afraid a rather embarrassing situation has arisen? "

Napoleon stole a quick glance. "Ugh gotcha. Max can you toss me a blanket please?"

Schneider returned a few moments later with a hosptal gown, helping Illya to dress, covering his lap with the blanket; then upon Schneider's insistance he got into the wheel chair.

"Wait a minute?" Max said as he looked down at Illya's right foot. He knelt, examining it more closely. It was swollen and some of his toes were discoloring.

"I think you've got some broken toes." he said touching them gently.

"feel that?"

"No, not a thing."

"I told you to be careful." Schneider said.

"Max, I was not exactly in a postion to stop and think about it...and where were you two by the way. He was able to get me out of my room and down here way too easily."

"Yeah, tell me about," Napoleon said, "sorry we were late."

"But you made it here in the nick of time, regardless. Thank you again moy bratuha_my brother."

"Blja budu_I swear to God, Illya you really attract these nuts like moths to a flame don't you?" Napoleon said.

"Blja budu? Very good usage my friend, your Russian is improving," he smiled at his partner.

"Really? Thanks, I appreciate that compliment."

"However your French is still awful." Illya grinned.

Napoleon crinkled his nose at him, "I should have seen that coming... you're not going to be like this on the ride back to headquarters are you?"

"I will try to behave, but I make no promises."

Security retrieved Terry Tramell, bringing him to the infirmary and surgery to be treated for a broken jaw. While Max Schneider made arrangements for his psychiatric examination, thought he suspected the man was definitely schizophrenic. He remained behind to supervise as well as to launch an investigation into the shoddy security procedures at the facilities. Some heads were going to roll, if he had his way.

"Open channel D, "Napoleon said as he sat behind the steering wheel, driving he and Illya back to New York city.

"Mr. Solo, I am pleased to hear that your plan worked, though how you knew it would still amazes me...but then that's why your are my CEA, I suppose. Your intuitiveness is one of your greatest strengths."

"Sir, we need to have Terry Tramells apartment searched, as well as his work station in the lab to see if we can find anything on what he used on Mr. Kuryakin. Max says that if we can find his notes; then they'll be able to come up with a counter agent."

"Security is already on it...once this debacle is all settled, I think we will need to review our screening process for vetting our office personell. We don't want a repeat of this situation do we?"

"Not at all sir."

"Excellent work Mr. Solo, well done."

"Thank you sir. Out."

Illya lay in the back seat of Napoleon's , keeping his foot elevated while applying an ice-pack. He wouldn't need surgery, but was given a pair of crutches. He would have to wear a black lace-up boot to support the foot while breaks healed. He slept most of the way as the effects of all the drugs that had been intruduced into his system were finally taking their toll on him.

Once they arrived had head quarters he managed to make it up to medical without incident, as the pain numbiing effects of his formula had disappated.

The search of Terry Tramells' apartment yeilded a treasure trove of information for Research and Development and within days his notes hand been disseminanted and deciphered.

They already knew most of the ingredients in the brilliant cocktail of drugs that made up his formula, but it was the unidentiflable ones they needed; that problem was solved with his notes. But even identifiying these substances the formula did not work on their lab animals. It was when they discovered the catalyst that they finally succeed in replicating his results and that was a reaction with human phereomones. That was the reason why Kuryakin reacted badly to human touch.

His formula was diabolically brilliant, but exactly how this all seemed to work at triggering his pain receptors remained a mystery to be solved but at least it allowed them to develop a counter agent to administer to Kuryakin and cure him of his infirmity.

The lab staff threw themselves into this one with great relish and enthusiasm as it was not just a challlenge; but it was also a quest to solve the puzzle since the substance had been used against one of their own, Illya was after all a fellow scientist and co-worker.

Illya had recalled that it was Tramell who had 'accidentally' come in contact with him several time at headquarters and it was thought that his touch was reacting with Illya's body chemistry; taking his formula within the Russian's body up a notch as after both incidents his condition worsened.

They had also discovered that Tramell, disguised as an orderly had been giving Illya additional injections while at the asylum, changing it subltley until he added his last injection to affect the pherephones related to the sex drive.

A few days later when the counter agent had been refined, Illya beagan a series of injections that little by little reversed the affect of Tramell assault against him, that along with some hypnotic suggestions had him responding well to the treatment. Though at this point the Russian was beginning to fell like a human pin-cushion, dreading each injection, even though he knew they were giving his life back to him.

It was upon Illya's request that nothing be said to Elliott, firstly if in the event his treatments failed but then if success was achieved; then he wanted to wait to be declared pain free and cured before he went to her, planning to pull her into his arms and declare his love for her was as real as it had ever been and to tell her he was sorry for what he had done to her.

Dr. Dennison walked into the Russians room; Illya giving him a very unwelcoming, icy look as he did. The doctor was sporting a rather colorful black eye."

"What do you want," Illya said coldly," come to do another anaysis to tell me I have unresolved issues?"

"No, I've come to tell you that I feel like I have eggs on my face. I could not have been any more wrong about you and I'd like to apologize to you for the misdiagnosis. I hope you can understand that I was working with facts at face value and since no correlation could be found between the substance that Tramell gave you and your condition; I could only draw the next logical conclustion that your conditon was psychological and result of your most recent traumas.

Illya uncrossed his arms, looking the doctor directly in the eye. I understand that you were only trying to do your job and appreciate the apology, perhaps in the future when dealing with other section II agents you will temper your judgements. We are not foolish people and are well aware of the pressures of our job...perhaps you should look at a different scientific approach. There have been quite a few advances in the area of psychoanalysis...Dr. Mansur's methods seem to be more effective in sorting through the mind of a field operative?"

"I stand corrected and chastised Mr. Kuryakin, you handled this discussion rather calmly, unlike your partner," Dennison pointed at his shiner. " Napoleon is quite protective of you."

"That is what friends do Dr. Dennison." Illya answered while trying to hide a smile.

"Well this incident has opened my eyes and I've decided to tender my resignation with U.N.C.L.E. perhaps a return to academia might be the better direction for me. Thank you for your understanding Mr. Kuryakin...you'll be happy to know that Dr. Mansur will be taking over the department now. Good bye. Oh by the way, Terry Tramell was diagnosed as a classic schizophrenic, but he had developed an apparenty obsession with you due the the chemicals and pheremones he was working with. The folks at the asylum actually have high hopes for his recovery. But needless to say, he won't be returning to U.N.C.L.E."

Dennison walked out of the room, giving Napoleon Solo a wide berth as the agent entered he room with out a word of aknowledgement.

"What did he want?"

"To apologize and to tell me he is resigning his position, I think that you may have had a little something to do with that? the Russian smiled.

"So you ready to go home?" Napoleon said, ignoring his partner's innuendo.

"Does the sun not rise and set?" Illya said.

"I'll take that as a yes. You know Illya you really should call Elliott to give her a heads up."

"No, I want to surprise her."

"Oh you'll surprise her alright, but your strategy to piss her off to drive her away may fave worked too well."

"That is alright Napoleon, we will straighten that out. You did not say anything to her did you?"

"You asked me not to didn't you?"

"Yes, but I also know that you have a way of working around things when giving your word."

" Moi? I didn't, scouts honor, " Napoleon said, holding up his fingers in a boy-scout on, get dressed. I'll drive you home alright? Then I need to go straighten out my own mess with Bella."

"What mess?"

"Bella broke off our engagement after she caught Angelique planting a good one on me."

"Angelique? What was she skulking around for?"

"She wasn't, I had arranged a meeting with her to discuss Thrush's possible involvement in your dilemma. I also told Angelique that she and I being together was probably not going to happen any more."

"Do not tell me, you told her you were getting married?"

Napoleon nodded seriously.

Illya grinned. " And how did your Thrush vixen take that news?"

"She laughed."

"So she does not really believe you then, and that being the case I am sure you will not see the last of her in your bed?"

"Not unless I can help it. I did however call in a little favor that she owed me?"

"What, the information that Thrush was not the cause of my problem?

"No something more specific than that. I had her take care of Karl Voelker."

Illya stiffened at the mention of that name."He is dead then?"

"Very."

Illya said nothing as he seem to momentarily lose himself in his thoughts, but what those were, the kept to himself. He said nothing further as he changed into his usual black suit and turtleneck. Then he limped down the hall with his partner to the elevator, wearing only the boot for his injured foot and foregoing the use of the crutches.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front the brownstone in Washington Square. Illya hesitated before he got out of the car, staring at his house for a moment. For some reason he had uncharacteriscally lost track of time and could not recall how long it had been since he was home.

Though the last day he was there, was etched in his memory. It was the morning that his rolling in pain on the living room floor had frightened his son so terribly. The look in Demya's eyes was something he would never forget.

"Do you want me to wait?" Napoleon asked, calling back his partner's attention.

"No, I will be fine. Thank you, for everything Napoleon."

Illya took a deep breath as he closed the car door, then limped up past the gate then up the stairs into the vestibule, glancing back as he watched the silver convertible pull away into traffic.

He entered the alarm code into the keypad, then there was nothing. He was puzzled as the alarm did not disengage.