Music blared through the open window. On a sofa the big Swede Olaf sat with his feet propped on the corner of the coffee table and an ashtray on the arm of the couch holding the off-cast ashes from his last joint.
Olaf finished his reading, a chapter of his book "Only Victims - A Study Of Show Business Blacklisting", required reading for one of his classes. It wasn't the kind of book he liked but he was keen about keeping his grades up.
Across from him at their small dining room table David busily scribbled notes for his next chemistry class. He was a natural with a lot of potential in the field. The chip he carried around on his shoulder never got in the way of his brilliance although some teachers in the past warned him about his attitude.
"David. Chill out, man," Olaf called out. "I got some stuff coming over. We're going to party tonight."
"I'll be done in a minute. Just don't bug me," David said and scrawled in his notebook. The scratching of the pencil against the grain of the paper was harsh and gave away the intensity with which it was being used.
"What are you worried about? You always get top marks. You can pass with your writing arm tied behind your back."
David ignored Olaf as he finished making his notes. He wanted to be done by the time Johnny arrived. The guy always had so many good ideas.
Both Olaf and David turned their heads and looked up when the doorknob turned. The guys in the apartment had an open door policy. Almost no one knocked. Almost no one was turned away. Especially someone that might be bearing possible gifts of booze or smoke.
Illya walked in and stopped, momentarily surprised by the attention he was getting. "Sorry. Was I supposed to be here earlier for something?" he asked.
David went back to silently scratching out his notes. He wasn't the friendliest of people and didn't care to introduce himself to the new roommate.
Olaf stood and walked over to Illya's small form. He put an arm over the little guy's shoulder and dragged him further into the room by sheer mass of his bulk. "No problem, man. David is a little intense when he's studying. Don't mind him. You'll like him when you get to know him. Takes about six months though," he said and laughed at his own joke.
Illya glanced over at David who responded with a scowl through gritted teeth. He quietly said to the behemoth of a Swede, "I'll keep my distance until then."
Olaf shook him enough to make Illya held tighter to his books so they didn't fall to the floor. "He'll loosen up shortly. I have a guy coming over with some really good stuff. Party time tonight."
Illya wormed his way free of Olaf's overly friendly contact. He was with David on the keeping distance idea. "I think I'll stay in my room and study if you don't mind. I have a couple papers to catch up on."
"You have plenty of time. You need to meet people, make new friends here," the big Swede insisted. "I'll call you when Johnny gets here. You'll see what I mean."
Olaf watched Illya go down the hall to his room until the door in the living room opened again and a couple guys with a girl walked in. They brought two six packs, one of them already missing a bottle.
Over the next hour the apartment got more crowded and louder and louder. Illya wrote one of his papers in spite of the distractions. He hated parties and crowds but he remembered he had a job to do. With a grimace he forced himself to leave the room and join the party.
"Dima! You decided to party with us after all!" Olaf greeted. Four empty beer bottles littered the floor around his chair and the big man's eyes glittered with the beginnings of intoxication. "See, guys!" he said, gesturing to Illya as he glanced around the other revelers. "I told you he struck me as a wise man."
Several of the partiers cheered and clapped as one of the young men present pushed an opened bottle of beer into Illya's hand. "Better drink fast," he said with a grin. "You're way behind the rest of us already."
A girl sitting on the couch next to him giggled and eyed Illya appreciatively. "There's room to sit down here if you want," she invited, squishing everyone else on the couch over to make room for the newcomer.
Illya plastered a smile on his face and squeezed in next to her. He took a large gulp of the beer, trying not to grimace at the taste. As a general rule he didn't care for American beer, much preferring English ales or German lagers. The things he did for the well-being of the world.
A number of new faces appeared and one of them caught Illya's eye. Johnny Austin. The dark haired, dark eyed young student came in with another girl to add to the seven other people already there.
"Hey. The star of the party is here," Olaf announced. "Did you bring us a present?"
Johnny smiled and acted nonchalant. "Olaf, man. You wound me by even asking," he said, feigning offence. Then he smiled and pulled out a clear cellophane bag with some dried greenish brown plant. He passed it over. "Share the wealth man."
Within the next ten minutes three fat joints were rolled and lit. Illya watched as Johnny gravitated from the main group to David, who was helping himself to a beer in the kitchen. He followed and attempted to slip by the two of them to get a glass of water, intending to eavesdrop, but Johnny invited him over by offering the joint he was smoking.
Illya raised a hand to reject the offer but before he could utter "no thank you," he heard a familiar voice at the door.
"Say. I'm looking for Dima. Anyone seen him?" Javier said.
The blond agent stuck his head out from the kitchen doorway. "Hello. I'm over here."
"Friend of yours, Dima?" Olaf asked over the rumble of the music while inviting the Hispanic to come in.
Illya walked over to them. "I met him in the cafe today. I told him there was another apartment open in the building and he wanted to come have a look."
"Close enough," Olaf said and thrust a beer into Javier's hand.
Javier smiled. "Thanks, man. Nice digs you got here."
"Yah... it's a cool building. Most everyone knows everyone here. You attending the school this year?" Olaf asked.
"Graduated last year with a BA in Communications. I'm taking a year off to find myself before I get serious about a job," Javier explained. "Lucked out and got work at the diner. That will keep me in beer and burgers for awhile."
The three men laughed at the joke. Olaf offered the joint he'd just taken a drag from. Javier hadn't used any for a long while but took a hit off the joint and passed it on to Illya. On assignment they sometimes had to use recreational drugs in order to blend in. Compared to most, marijuana was pretty harmless. Besides, the cocktails THRUSH usually injected them with was so much worse than weed.
"Let me introduce you to a few of my new friends," Illya said. He puffed on the weed and passed it back to the Swede. "This is Olaf. He lives here with David," who he pointed to in the kitchen. Then he started introducing a few of the people he'd met as they came in.
Napoleon Solo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. It seemed like every traffic light was out to get him as he drove toward the college. As Waverly would do on occasion, Napoleon thought checking in on his agents was within his duty.
The mission wasn't deemed urgent. Illya was out in the field and, although he had back-up, Napoleon didn't like the idea that it was someone he didn't know well. Javier had a clean file. It didn't give Napoleon a sense of comfort though. Especially since things weren't going the way he'd planned. Of course, when plans involved Illya, they usually didn't.
A buzzing called Napoleon's attention to his communicator. He sighed at the long red light and picked up the pen-like radio device. "Solo here."
"Napoleon. You have a call coming in from a Nurse Nancy. She would like you to call her back. She insisted she must speak to you," Jordan in the communications office said. "Will you reply or would you like us to take a message from her?"
Nurse Nancy? He thought back to the hospital rescue and remembered her vividly. She was very pretty and he enjoyed their dinner together after he'd recovered Illya from Kopf's clutches.
"No. I have her number. I'll call her myself," he said. "Solo out." He turned the communicator back into a pen and tapped it on his lip. He should call her before going to see Illya. He'd make a date with her then casually mention it to Illya. Let Illya be on that end of things for a change. He nodded, liking the idea even better the more he thought of it.
He glanced around the street for a nearby pay phone. His luck held as he spied one on the corner by the next light. As luck would also have it-and it usually did-a parking spot opened up just a few feet away from the phone. The light finally turned green and, with a smile, he drove to the spot and slid in easily.
After checking his rearview for oncoming traffic, Napoleon got out and sauntered to the phone booth. He surveyed his surroundings as he stepped into the glass booth to make sure no enemies lurked about. He hated these phone booths. They made him feel like a sitting duck for anyone with a gun and a grudge. Sometimes it was a necessary evil, though. Like now.
He pulled a little black book from his inside jacket pocket and looked up Nancy's number before dropping a dime into the phone and dialing. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. He frowned at the phone. If she just called him she should be home.
"Hello?" came Nancy's bell-like voice from the other end. She sounded slightly out of breath as though she'd been in a hurry.
"Hello, Nancy," Napoleon purred, his own voice dropping into the seductive register. Something as natural as breathing for him whenever he spoke with a woman.
"Napoleon!" Nancy gushed, recognizing him instantly. "I'm so glad you called."
Napoleon smiled to himself. He knew he was memorable. Every woman he'd ever dallied with thought so. Now if only Illya would realize it. "I understand you needed to talk to me? Something about an urgent matter?"
"Yes! I'm taking a college class and I saw Illya in one of them today," she started in a worried tone.
Napoleon grimaced. It was obvious she was concerned about Illya. Did something happen already? He knew sending Illya out so quickly was a bad idea. Now he wanted to get together with her for an added reason. He needed evidence to convince Waverly to pull Illya before it was too late. "Ah," he interrupted before she could say anything more. "This isn't a secured line. Why don't we get together for dinner tonight and discuss it?"
"Oh, um, okay. I guess we can do that."
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty."
"All right. See you then."
Napoleon told her goodbye and hung up. He had no clue what she might want with Illya but at least it gave him an excuse to get a date with her. It would drive Illya crazy.
Johnny took a hit off the doobie while he watched the new guy wander away to greet his friend, thus leaving them alone in the dining area. "So, David," he said, his voice strangled by the smoke he held in his lungs. He finally released his breath, the sweet scented pot smoke puffing out. "Have you thought anymore about going to work with my Dad once you've graduated?"
"Yeah, about that." David accepted the joint from the other boy and tapped the ashes into an empty soda can on the table. "I'm gonna have to pass. I think I can make more money in the private sector." The end of the joint glowed red as he took a long drag off it.
"Shit!" Johnny mused. He wondered not for the first time if his Dad had ESP or something. Maybe he'd been in one of those experiments it was rumored the Soviets were conducting on psychic ability. He had to have known David would turn down the offer. Otherwise he wouldn't have wasted the special pot on this.
Johnny wasn't concerned about smoking the laced weed himself. He knew of its slight hypnotic effects so it didn't really work on him. For someone unaware of the extra punch contained in the marijuana, though, it was pretty effective.
He waited until the joint was gone before he said anything again. The effects should be kicking in about now. "David, you should re-think your decision not to join my Dad's company," he said, his tone low and soothing. He wasn't a psychology major for nothing. "You'll be happier with his organization and you know you'll make more money. The private sector only pays a little better but it's a lot more unstable."
"I don't know," David said dubiously.
Johnny felt he was pretty good at talking people into things when he really wanted to but David was just as good at resisting manipulation. Of course, the problem might be that Johnny didn't really want to talk David into this. He wasn't at all sure it was the best thing for the other boy. If he didn't succeed, though, he was completely sure it wouldn't be the best thing for himself. His father could be harsh in his punishments. Johnny would do anything to avoid them. "Seriously. My father has been with his organization for twenty years. In that time he's been promoted several times and now holds a high office. He makes more money now than someone who holds a similar office in the private sector."
"Maybe," David said slowly, eyes glazed a little from the drug-laced pot. "But I want good money now."
His words seemed to indicate more resistance, but his tone of voice and the slightly blank look on his face let Johnny know the hypnotic was working. It wouldn't take much now to push him over the edge. "You gotta look at the long term aspects of it. Making a little more now but after five years in the same old job you'll be so bored you'll probably be looking for another one. Then you'd be starting over with a different company but probably the same job. Bored again.
"On the other hand, my father's organization is really big. There's so many chances for not only advancement, but for variety. They really reward extremely smart guys like you with other stuff, too. Trips, cars, boats...if you do well for the organization they give huge rewards."
"Yeeeaaahhhh," David mused, eyes glazed and a little unfocused. "You're right. I never really thought about that." A beautific smile crossed his face. "I'm in!"
Johnny sighed in relief. He hated lying to the guy, but he would do almost anything to finally win his father's approval. It seemed like no matter what he did, Dad would give him that look that screamed "DISAPPOINTMENT!"
He simply couldn't fail this time. He'd managed to get Matt convinced. By bringing David on board, maybe his father would finally realize his son was worthy of his love.
Illya took a hit of any joint that was passed to him, paying more attention to what appeared to be a serious conversation between David and Johnny. He could read lips somewhat, but neither boy was in a good position for him to catch too much of it. David said something about the private sector.
Illya frowned. Could this Johnny kid be a THRUSH recruiter or was it just a conversation about the future between two college buddies? Johnny didn't look like the typical THRUSH. His eyes had a sadness in them, but no flinty or maniacal gleam so common in almost every THRUSH he'd ever met, especially the recruiters.
Yet another joint was thrust in front of his face, drawing his attention away from the scene at the dining table. His eyes crossed slightly as he looked at it.
"Hey!" said the girl next to him. "What ya starin' at?"
Illya pulled his gaze to her overly made-up face and forced a smile. "Nothing. Just . . . how you say . . . space in."
She giggled. "You mean spacing out." She pushed the lit joint into his fingers. "Smoke up."
Illya took the illegal cigarette and took yet another shallow toke. He'd been so intent on trying to decipher David and Johnny's conversation, he hadn't realized just how high he was getting. A lot if the buzzing in his head was anything to go by. And he was really, really hungry.
He couldn't go out to get something because he needed to stay and keep an eye on David and Johnny. Maybe there was something edible in the kitchen. That would get him closer to the two boys' conversation, too. As an added bonus it would get him away from the annoying girl sitting next to him giving him googly eyes, as Napoleon would call it.
"Someone should go get us some pizza!" one of the partiers piped up.
"Yeah!" everyone agreed.
"Who's gonna go get it?"
"It's traditional for the newest member or members of our little group to go," said Johnny, a glint in his eye as he regarded Illya. "That means Dima and Javier should do it."
"Sure. We can go," Javier said. "Come on, Dima. We'll take my car."
The look in Johnny's eyes set off a small alarm in the back of Illya's head. Nothing major, but something wasn't quite right. Still, he was really hungry and it was his and Javier's responsibility to get the pizza. Illya stood and followed Javier out of the apartment.
Napoleon read the number on the side of the building. Finally. He thought he'd never find Illya's new apartment. As he pulled into a parking spot he saw two men walking towards the parking lot. Napoleon would know his partner's walk anywhere. He scowled as he recognized the dark Latino man walking next to said partner.
Jealousy reared its ugly head when he saw Illya give Javier a wide smile. Illya parceled out his smiles judiciously. Even then it was usually a fleeting thing, gone almost as soon as it appeared. The real smile, the uninhibited one that so seldom saw the light of day . . . Napoleon claimed it. It was HIS, by god. Illya sleeping with Javier was bad enough. Giving that smile to the Latino hustler hit Napoleon almost like a betrayal.
The jealousy twisted, mutating into anger. What the hell did Illya think he was doing? He had a mission to do and screwing around with that Puerto Rican bastard wasn't a part of it. Since he was taking Waverly's role at the moment, he had every right to give both men a severe dressing down. Perhaps even put a reprimand into their files.
He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Napoleon seldom pulled rank on his partner. Well right now they weren't working as partners and Napoleon had no problem reminding the Russian agent exactly who had the power in this relationship.
Illya saw Napoleon the moment the sedan pulled into the parking space. What was he doing here? Had something happened to Mr. Waverly? Doubtful. If that was the case, Napoleon would have used the communicator rather than drive all the way out here. Perhaps Napoleon drove out because he missed his partner? As much as he liked Javier, what Illya really wanted was an exclusive relationship with Napoleon. He'd only gone out with the Latino because Napoleon wanted to play the field. Could Illya's recent dalliances with Javier have made Napoleon rethink the idea of sharing? A frisson of hope made Illya's heart stutter.
"Hello Illya. Mr. Ponce," Napoleon greeted in a deceptively mild tone. He flashed a hard smile that was all teeth.
It reminded Illya of the time he'd seen shark's teeth up close and personal. Napoleon slid his hands into his pants pockets. Illya recognized the signs and his hope died. Stupid of him to think Napoleon would want to try a faithful relationship, anyway. The man couldn't commit to anything with the exception of the U.N.C.L.E. This was no casual visit. There would be no declarations of love and devotion. His partner was checking up on him.
Anger flushed through his veins, replacing his blood with an ice so cold it burned. "Why are you here?"
"I think the question is, 'what are YOU doing?'" Napoleon's narrowed gaze shifted pointedly from Illya to Javier and back to Illya. "You're on a mission."
"I do remember that," Illya snapped a little too loudly. He glanced around, glad no one else was nearby. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "It seems you may have forgotten, however. You're going to blow my cover."
Napoleon's shark-like smile didn't change. "Where are you two off to? A motel?" he sneered.
"We don't need a motel," Javier couldn't seem to help interjecting. "Illya's got roommates, but my apartment is only one building away and I live alone."
Napoleon turned his glare on the Latino. Javier wisely stepped back a bit, signaling he was going to stay out of the discussion now. Napoleon returned his angry attention back to his erstwhile subordinate. "You know better than to distract yourself with sex while on a mission."
Illya barked out a brittle laugh. "That's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, is it not?"
Napoleon's smile finally faltered. "I don't know what you mean."
"Marcy, Irene, Darla, Joanne, Phillipa, Clementine, . . Need I go on?"
"You can add Nancy to that list," Napoleon said smugly.
Illya's eyes narrowed. "Nancy?"
Napoleon grinned, pleased to have irritated Illya. His turn. "As in Nurse Nancy from the sanitarium." His grin faded slightly and he felt a little guilty when Illya's breath hitched and a fear flashed through Illya's eyes before they reverted to the blank stare he used when something really bothered him.
"I should have known," Illya muttered. "She's pretty and you could never keep it in your pants around a pretty woman."
The American's jaw ground in suppressed rage. "Jealous?" Good!
Illya glanced at Javier-who looked to be trying hard not to listen in on the conversation. A tough thing for an agent. He moved closer to Napoleon and pitched his voice low so Javier couldn't hear. "Not at all. There's no point in getting jealous at this point, Napoleon. You've been that way since the day we met and I've finally had to accept it whether I like it or not. I just wish you could refrain from dating people who are so intimately involved in my life. I don't like the idea that I might be the subject of conversation."
Napoleon flushed slightly. "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself if you think the only thing Nancy and I have to talk about on a date is you." The problem was they would be talking about Illya.
"You never seem to have much to talk about on dates from what you've described to me in the past," Illya snarled back.
"Fine," Napoleon finally ground out, covering his guilt with anger. "You just go ahead to Ponce's empty apartment and fuck your brains out. But if you make one slip-up." He stabbed a finger in the air. "Just one, and I'll pull your ass out of the field so fast it will make your head spin."
He flung open his car door, got in, and slammed the door behind him. The car was backing up the moment the engine turned over. The spinning tires spit up gravel as Napoleon screeched out of the parking lot.
Illya had had no intention of having sex with Javier during the course of the mission. Now that Napoleon planted the idea, though, Illya found it difficult to not think about it. Apparently the idea took hold with Javier, as well, if the heated gaze he ran over Illya's body was any indication.
"My place?" Javier asked, his accent edged with need and desire.
Illya wondered why he'd thought this was a bad idea in the first place. As he'd pointed out, Napoleon did this sort of thing during missions all the time. "Your place."
The plane settled on the tarmac and moments later the door opened, letting in the fresh American air. Ivan Dobrolubov walked out onto the step and inhaled his first breath from his new homeland. It was a momentous occasion but he couldn't pause to savor the feeling as others behind him were anxious to deplane.
Ivan was a man of average height and build with dark hair who would not stand out in a crowd. His 32 years had seen many changes in his homeland where he grew up the son of a peasant woodcutter. Work was scarce and with younger siblings, four brothers and three sisters, needing to be fed, he took a job as a guard at a gulag to help his family make ends meet. Even with the lack of proper schooling he was smart and taught himself much, reading all the books he could lay his hands on. He was also cunning and used that to make contacts and take advantage of those when opportunity struck.
Like when Andreov asked him to train Illya Nicovich in marksmanship. A good move for him both personally and career-wise. Illya was easily the brightest boy he'd ever met. Also one of the most tenacious. An excellent student and, eventually, a good friend. Ivan still felt the hole left over from Illya's absence even after so many years. He had worried about what had happened to his young friend when he'd disappeared. Worried enough to ask; a dangerous proposition in the USSR. As it usually happened in the Soviet Union, no answers were forthcoming. So he'd pushed it to the back of his mind and only let it see the light of day when he felt particularly Russian.
He sighed and pushed aside his maudlin thoughts. He had his own boy to think about now with another child on the way. He'd taken the offered chance to move with his family to the United States and he planned to make the most of it.
After a long walk through customs and then immigrations where his papers were scrutinized, Ivan looked forward to building this new life with his wife, Irina, and their children. Irina and their son was already here, having left when the opportunity first presented itself. Ivan now followed after tying up some lose ends. When last he saw her she was barely showing with their second child. That was four long months ago and he couldn't wait to see his family.
Nancy spotted Napoleon pull up in his sedan while she watched for him through the curtains in the living room of her small studio apartment. She quickly ran a brush through her shoulder length hair and slipped a head band in to keep it out of her eyes. Then she straightened her blouse and skirt, making sure the light pink fabric was evenly tucked into the waist-hugging A-line skirt that draped over her shapely hips. She hoped it would be appropriate for wherever Napoleon Solo planned to take her tonight.
The knock at her door caused her to catch her breath momentarily. Her voice wavered slightly as she called out. "Wh... ech hem... Who is it?" She hoped she didn't sound too anxious.
"Tis I, Napoleon, your date for this evening, Miss Nancy," he said in a warm, casual tone. One that oozed of charm and romance.
She had to remind herself of why she called him in the first place as her insides began to quiver. "I'll be right there," she called and glanced one last time into the mirror before reaching for her purse.
Napoleon heard a click behind him and saw an older lady poke her head out the door across the hall to look at him. He gave her a polite nod and gentle smile to let her know he was no threat as he waited for Nancy to come to the door.
A moment later Nancy opened her door and waved at the woman. "Hello, Mrs. Myers. How are you tonight?" she politely asked the nosy old lady.
"I'm good, Nancy. Are you going out tonight? You have school tomorrow," she reminded her as if she was her mother or someone else who had a right to say so.
"Thank you, Mrs. Myers. I shouldn't be late." Nancy rolled her eyes at Napoleon as she turned away from her neighbor. She lowered her voice as she slipped her arm through his. "She's just a lonely old widow with nothing better to do than snoop in everyone else's business."
"I see," he said. He looked back over his shoulder at the grey haired lady and waved goodbye as they left.
Nancy thought about what she would say to Napoleon when they had the chance to talk. On the walk down to the car she couldn't help but go over in her mind the things she saw when Illya was in the mental hospital. She shivered thinking of the times he lost his temper to the point of having to be sedated. The injuries he inflicted with his bare hands on the orderlies. The pitiful way he left Dr. Kopf whimpering in pain with all the broken bones. The last she heard of the poor doctor he was still in Bellevue. The bones had been put back together but he walked with a limp and the fingers on one hand would never be straight again. He was locked away, undergoing treatment for his obsessions and they were still trying to diagnose him as he kept insisting he was there to treat the other patients in the mental ward.
"Nancy?" Napoleon asked as she stood there staring blankly at the car across the street from his. "Nancy!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said and gave him an embarrassed smile. "Just lost in thought," she added as she got into the car through the door he held for her.
"Let's hope I can be a better host for you tonight so you aren't bored then," he charmingly responded before closing the door. He trotted around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. "I hope you like French food. I have a lovely little restaurant in mind."
"Anything is fine," she said. "I enjoy all kinds of food. Am I dressed all right?"
"You look lovely." Napoleon smiled as he looked her over. "That shade compliments you well."
She blushed and was glad for the dim light to hide it.
The sex was good and very satisfactory. Illya and Javier lay naked next to each other in the bed, not touching or cuddling, each in his own little world of afterglow. Illya stared up at the ceiling, glancing around at the patches of peeling paint, and recalled why they were in such cheap lodgings.
"Javier?" he said.
"Yes?" the Hispanic man responded lazily.
"Do you do this often?"
"What do you mean? Have sex with acquaintances?"
Illya closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess. "No. I mean go out of your way to have sex on an assignment."
Javier propped himself up on his elbows and interlaced his fingers. "Now that you mention it, I was kind of thinking about that myself."
"No offense intended," Illya said, turning his head to face Javier, "but I didn't intend on having sex with you again."
Javier smiled. "None taken. The date the other night was meant to be casual. I don't sleep around a lot on missions. We were both on our own time then. Besides I do have other ... acquaintances in New York." He knew Illya understood the meaning.
With a nod, Illya slid his feet off the side of the bed and sat up, pulling the sheet from his lap. He reached for his clothes. "I have to get back. I'm supposed to be watching the students."
"Sure man. I dig it." Javier joked in the tone of a hipster.
Illya paused to look at him strangely. "For a moment I thought you were one of them."
Javier threw the pillow at Illya's bare behind as the agent carried his clothes to the bathroom to clean up and dress. "Get out of here," he laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The appetizing food had arrived and Nancy's eye sparkled in the candlelight as she admired her plate. "This looks wonderful."
Napoleon was pleased. He knew good food was as romantically intoxicating as wine. "I am happy to hear that. I've only been here a few times." He cut into his duck, which was still nicely pink and tender under the crisp skin. "So now if you'd care to discuss your problem I'd like to hear it since we are face to face and away from prying ears."
She was so worried earlier she'd skipped lunch and was very hungry. After a couple of mouthfuls the gnawing feeling in her stomach dissipated and she relaxed. "Yes. You know I ran into Illya today."
He nodded as he scooped up some of the herbed potatoes with his fork. "Yes. What about it?"
"Why is he in school? I met him in a European Studies course I'm taking on Russian History." She took a deep breath to calm herself as the shocking encounter re-alarmed her. "He... well... "
"Yes?" he asked as he paused to study her, searching for clues to what happened.
"Well, the way he acted frightened me." She let her shoulders slump, wondering if she'd been wrong to feel scared like that. "He told me he was on a mission but wouldn't let me talk and then he forced me to sit next to him." She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment. "He was almost talking like a crazy man," but she regretted saying it as soon as it was out of her mouth. "I mean... well, is he really on a mission? Is there some danger at the college I should know about?"
Illya was talking like a crazy man? Napoleon knew his partner wasn't fit for assignment yet. He also knew he should be the one in the field watching Illya's back. No one knew him like he did and could see if the agent was on the verge of a breakdown.
Quickly, Napoleon covered his worried expression with a smile. "No. There is nothing for you to worry about and I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone else about it." He reached across the table and took her hand. Giving it a warm, reassuring squeeze his eyes twinkled at hers. "He is on assignment but it is nothing for you to be alarmed about. Honestly," he swore to her, giving her hand a positive shake, "It's just research. It is undercover though, so please play along with his assumed name and personality. There is nothing bad going on. I promise you."
"Really?" she asked innocently. "Under... undercover research?"
"Yes. Truly. You could do me a great favor though."
"Favor?" she replied. "What kind of favor?"
"I know that you understand what Illya went through recently. I want to make sure he is okay. You know the kind of thing I mean." He took a deep breath. "No lingering problems from what happened. If anyone can spot it early I'm sure you can. Would you do me that one little favor?"
Her warm brown eyes looked into his and the expression on his face made her melt the way all his women did when he gave them that look. "Just keep an eye on him?"
"Yes. That's all. Just let me know if you think he is having any problems so I can make sure he gets any and all the help he needs. Do you think you can do that for me?" He turned on all his charm and sex appeal at that moment. "Please?"
Bashfully she glanced down, averting her view from his eyes. The eyes that practically soaked up the soul and turned any woman to jelly. "I... I suppose I could."
She trusted Napoleon. After all it was he who came to Illya's rescue in the hospital. It was he who took care of him in the aftermath of the incident. It was he who was asking her to make sure the man was all right now. She knew he cared about his friend.
Nancy looked up again and smiled at Napoleon with the confidence he instilled within her. "You can count on me."
"Good girl," he said and let go of her hand. "Dessert?" he asked as they finished up their entrees.
Illya returned to his shared apartment to find the party still in full swing. Someone else brought pizza, he deduced from the empty boxes lying open on the table. The smell of marijuana still hung in the air along with the stale beer from the accumulating empties. It was nothing like his disciplined days in university under the watchful eyes of the KGB.
David's bedroom door was closed. Illya overheard the boy talking about an early class in the morning so it was likely that he was already in bed. Suddenly tired, Illya felt it was a good idea for him as well. Before he got sidetracked by the guys who were playing a game of checkers with shot glasses filled with spirits, he slipped down the hallway toward his bedroom.
On his way Illya paused and furrowed his brows as he bent down to pick up a black piece of cloth. As he rose with the object in his hand, held by a thin strap, it un-bunched to reveal a lacy brassiere. From under his bedroom door another piece of fabric poked out. When he opened it he could tell it was a tee-shirt. A creaking noise from the bed made him look over.
"What the hell are you doing, man?" a strange male voice asked.
Illya stared at the naked man on his back on his bed. Above him was a very naked girl, upright with her legs spread sitting on him. Covering her head was a small paper sack with two eye holes cut in it and a clown face drawn on the front.
Using his thick Russian accent again, Illya replied, "Pardon me. This is my room. That is my bed."
The girl remained silent but stared at Illya from behind the mask.
"Get lost, man. Can't you see I'm busy?" the boy said. "If you want to go to sleep go use the extra bunk in Olaf's room."
Illya stepped back and closed the door as the shoe tossed at him bounced off the nearby wall.
A thick arm heavily landing on his shoulder startled Illya but he caught his natural reaction to break it before doing anything rash.
"Don't worry about them," Olaf said in his loud, inebriated tone. "You can crash in the spare bed in my room."
"You are too kind," Illya replied, giving him a weak smile as he back-tracked to the other bedroom. What he saw there surprised him even more.
Napoleon left Nancy's place in the wee hours of the morning, a satisfied smile on his face. All in all, a very successful evening for him. He had a pleasant evening with a decent conversationalist. Not as good as Illya, perhaps, but then, who was? Speaking of Illya, he also now had eyes in the college to help him keep track of his partner's behavior. As an added bonus, he could let Illya know he wasn't the only one stepping out of their relationship to get sex elsewhere.
If what they had going right now could be called a relationship. Napoleon didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. Unfortunately, if he wanted to have ANY kind of sexual relationship with his partner and best friend, he had to accept that Illya wanted to be with other people.
He grit his teeth. It wouldn't bother him so much if Illya fucked women. He could understand that even if he didn't like it. But for Illya to be with another man . . . Napoleon found himself thinking of the best way to off Javier without anyone realizing who did it. Not that he would do it, but thinking about it helped to keep the mind-bending jealous rage he felt at bay.
Bunk beds? Really? If he were back in the Soviet Navy he could understand. Space was at a premium on a submarine or a ship. He could even see it in a Soviet home. Twenty people might live in a small apartment. There, again, space was limited. But American homes, even apartments such as this one, were spacious beyond the average Soviet's experience. Why would they need bunk beds? Especially bunk beds that looked like that one did.
Standing in the room against one wall was a beat up tattered sofa, worse for wear than the second hand couch in his own apartment. Built around the ends of the sofa was a wooden frame of random off cuts with a plywood platform. Wedged between the uprights was a second sofa that was practically a twin for the eyesore below it.
It looked none too steady. The idea of sleeping in the top of the thing didn't exactly thrill him. Unfortunately, someone Illya didn't know—one of the guests, he assumed -lay sprawled on the bottom bed. The boy was fully clothed, thank any god that might really exist. Legs dangled over the side of the bed, a can of beer held loosely in slack hands, propped on his chest. The can rose and fell with every loud inhale and exhale, continually threatening to fall and spill all over the sleeper, the bed, and the floor.
Illya sighed. The things he did in the name of saving the world. With a shake of his head he climbed onto the top of the rickety bunk and tried to settle down to sleep.
Normally the snoring of the other man wouldn't disturb him, but that along with the thoughts running through his head kept him awake. The sex with Javier the first time was satisfying on a very superficial level, but it in no way gave him what he really wanted. He preferred being with Napoleon. His partner didn't quite give him what he wanted, either, but it was close. He scowled, thinking that at the moment, he was sure Napoleon was giving it to that nurse.
Sometimes he wondered what he even saw in Napoleon. He was very American in thought and deed. A narcissistic playboy who threw a tantrum if the world refused to revolve around him. He was also a brilliant strategist, fair-minded, and as loyal as they came, at least when it involved friendship. Napoleon came through every time when Illya needed him. Illya trusted no one else to have his back as he did Napoleon.
When it came to love, though, Napoleon was terrified of commitment. Truth be told, Illya understood that. He, too, felt afraid of the idea of a committed love relationship. But he was willing to push through his fear in order to find out if he could find something to fill one of the many holes in his soul. Napoleon could not. Or, more likely, would not.
He turned in the cramped bed, berating himself for even thinking about it. He had no right to be upset. After all, he, too, was with someone else tonight. Someone he'd planned to never be with again. Not that he didn't like Javier. He enjoyed the man's company and respected him as an agent. But he had no emotional attachment to the Latino and wanted to keep it that way.
He seldom took on a steady lover. Too messy. Could give his enemies something to hold against him. That was something he did not need. He already had something floating around out there being held over his head.
He shifted again at the reminder of his diary. Why had he ever kept that damned thing! Even back then he knew it was a very bad idea. So why hadn't he just burned the stupid thing?
He'd certainly had the chance. Somehow Uncle Alexei had convinced Sarkov to let the soon-to-be the U.N.C.L.E.'s first Soviet agent take a small holiday before he shipped out to the West. Five days with the Andreov family at their dacha twenty miles outside of Moscow.
The five days he spent with Anna and Sergei filled him with a happiness he hadn't felt since he was a young child. He didn't journalize the visit with his adopted family. He refused to sully the joy of the reunion with the realities of his life with the KGB. Instead he would bury the past twelve years there in the home of the three people in this world that loved him. Seemed appropriate, somehow. Maybe the purity of the hearts of Anna and Sergei would cleanse the vileness that lurked between the diary's pages.
When they used to bring him there during the year he lived with them, he discovered a little hidey-hole of sorts in the bedroom they let him use. He noticed the loose floorboard every time his nine-year-old self would huddle in the closet whenever his nightmares became too much for him to bear. During one of his bouts of hiding he worked the floorboard open. The small space beneath hid a treasure trove of tiny toys and scrawled pictures. He'd left the little pile there and added to it over the course of that year.
Anna gave him his old room and he retired to it the first night after an evening of eating and getting to know his adopted family once again. Once alone, he popped open the floorboard in the closet. The little pile of treasure lay inside, undiscovered and undisturbed.
As Illya went through the items, he marveled at the difference between what his young self and what the previous child thought of as treasure. The first child left small, handmade toys and badly drawn pictures. His stash consisted of some gunpowder, a bullet, a book of poems, and the mummified remnants of an apple. And, perhaps most importantly, a chocolate bar; a reminder to always keep a tight hold on his sanity. He slipped his diary in with the other treasures nestled against the apple. Seemed appropriate for one rot to take its place beside another rot.
He had considered burning the small book but he just couldn't. A part of him—probably the gypsy part—believed what peace of mind he did have would be destroyed if the diary ever came to harm. Stupid, he knew. Superstitious. Something his scientist's soul objected to. Yet some of the things he had seen and experienced during his childhood visits to his grandfather and grandmother's gypsy clan led him to believe not everything could be explained with science. Most, but not all. His gypsy family had taught him an open mind was necessary for a balanced life.
So the diary remained intact and so, hopefully, would his life. He had replaced the board, securing it so it would not be noticed by anyone else, ever.
Illya flipped onto his back as the memories replaced his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. He had to get that damned book back. Waverly left tomorrow . . . today, he amended. Maybe he could find a way to get over to the Old Man's house and find it. He probably had it in a safe. He knew the security setup there so he should be able to get past it. No matter what, he had to risk it. He couldn't allow the stupidity of a young man ruin what was left of the life he'd built here. He spent the rest of the sleepless night trying to work out the best way to get to it.