Once again, I'm sorry for the delay. I had some family visiting for a long length of time, pushing my writing time to the back of the line. And then, this chapter decided to be difficult. So it's taken me longer to finish it than I would have anticipated. But anyway, here it is now. I hope you like it.


Napoleon swaggered down the long corridor of jail cells, following the guidance of the large warden in front of him. The agent tried not to make eye contact with any of the prisoners in the numerous cells due to the threatening glares it always seemed to result in. The more outgoing inmates moved to the front of their prisons and began to call towards Napoleon, hurling insults at his pricy suit and fine haircut. Finally, just as Napoleon was beginning to think their destination must be the very last enclosure, the warden stopped and nodded towards and barred wall of a very quiet cell.

Napoleon peered through the bars and saw his partner, sitting on a bench. His arms and legs were crossed and his blonde head leaned against the filthy prison wall at his back. With the bandages still in place, Napoleon couldn't tell if the Russian was even awake. Looking down at a small piece of paper the guard at the front office had given him, Napoleon called, "Paging inmate, 65 dash C dash 44019."

"Oh shut up, Napoleon," Illya moaned. "I'm really not in the mood."

Napoleon smiled slightly and then nodded to the warden to open the cell. "You know, I never thought I'd see this day," he teased. "Illya Kuryakin behind bars."

"Yes, well savor seeing it now, because you never shall again."

"I should hope not! Now that you've had a chance to sow your wild oats, I sincerely hope you never find the urge to return to your life of crime."

"I'm sorry, hadn't I told you to shut up? It's funny, I could have sworn I had," the Russian mused sardonically.

Napoleon let out a small laugh as he entered the jail cell. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I come bearing gifts." As he spoke, Napoleon tapped his partner's leg with the cane.

Illya's brow furrowed as he reached forward to feel the object. Once he grabbed hold of the handle, and felt how it dissolved familiarly into the palm of his hand, Illya inclined his head towards his friend. "Where did you find it?" he asked.

"After our conversation on the phone, and while Mr. Waverly was negotiating with the district chief of police, I visited the scene of the crime,"

"Napoleon," Illya warned steadily. He was really getting sick of this "criminal" talk.

Smirking, Napoleon continued, "I had a look around the salon. It turns out you entered through a back door that led out into an alleyway. I found your glasses, cane, and communicator spread out around there. I also found your wallet," as he said this, Napoleon tossed the sunglasses, communication device, and billfold onto his partner's lap, "but it was empty. Looks like you were mugged, tovarich."

Illya ran his thumb across the smooth leather of his wallet. "So that's what happened," he mused quietly. It also explained why his pistol had been left. More than likely, Illya had been mugged by a couple of kids. They probably took off when they saw the gun. But that didn't explain why his communicator had been removed from his pocket. Illya considered this for a while and then finally decided that, if he had been attacked, there was a chance the pen-like device could have flown from his pocket at any point during the struggle. Even though Illya was grateful to discover what happened to him, knowing that he was so effectively subdued by what was probably nothing more than some punk kids was an extremely sobering and degrading thought to the seasoned enforcement agent.

Grabbing the wallet, Illya fingered the contents.

"They took you to the proverbial cleaners, my friend," Napoleon noted.

"Yes, but they predictably left this," Illya said, holding up the small, yellow UNCLE identification card, "which would have proven my innocence to that glorified crossing guard," he said, with an obvious level of disdain.

Napoleon smirked. "Well, you're proven now. So let's get you out of here," as he spoke, Napoleon moved to grab his partner's elbow and help him from the bench.

"You read my mind," Illya mumbled.

Once the blond agent was steadily on his feet, the pair resumed their newly accustomed position of hand on shoulder as Napoleon guided his partner back down the hall of cells.


The drive home was quiet. Napoleon hazarded several glances at his friend who remained completely still. Once again, Napoleon wasn't sure if his partner had managed to fall asleep or if he was merely deep in thought. Napoleon noticed how Illya cradled his right arm against his chest. Based on the police officer's report, no gun shots were fired during the struggle, but that didn't mean Illya couldn't have been hurt in some other way.

"Maybe we should have medical check you out," Napoleon commented, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

Illya's head lifted, his shoulder's straightened, and he stopped cradling his arm as obviously. "No, that's not necessary," he answered promptly.

"Well, what's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing, I probably just slept at a strange angle," he lied. The truth was, the officer had used great force when knocking Illya's weapon out of his hand. With that struggle added to the preexisting pain from being robbed and beaten, Illya's body was sore all over. But he was not eager to discuss this with his partner.

"What time is it anyway?" Illya asked. Even though he did want to change the subject from yet another one of his recent short comings, he was genuinely curious about the time. There was no telling how long he had been lying in that alleyway before he awoke.

Napoleon looked once more at his partner's arm, and then decided to drop the subject…for now. "It's roughly thirteen hundred hours."

"1 pm? That means I must have been knocked-out for several hours before I ever made it into the hair salon." Illya shook his head, "It's as though my concept of time has flown completely out the window. Some things seem so short, like they never even happened, and other things are painfully drawn out."

Napoleon nodded as he drove. The past eight hours had been some of the most drawn out he had ever experienced. Knowing that Illya was missing, but having no way of contacting him or knowing if he was alright was one of the most terrifying and helpless feelings of Napoleon's life. If there was one thing he hated, it was being in the dark; especially when it involved someone about whom he cared a great deal.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Napoleon knew that UNCLE agents were expendable, and that danger and death were just hazards of the occupation. But those company policies and UNCLE requirements were painted in a completely different light when it came down to one's own partner. No agent considered his partner truly expendable. And knowing that Illya was blind and unable to sufficiently defend himself against THRUSH built an indignation inside Napoleon that fueled his drive to find Illya. Napoleon had been placed in command of the search parties, and having to maintain a level head in order to take authority was one of the few things that kept Napoleon sane for those eight hours. Yes, that frantic time certainly seemed incredibly drawn out.

Nodding his head, Napoleon agreed, "I know what you mean."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that," Illya answered quietly.

Napoleon hazarded another glance at his partner. "Well," he said sadly, "maybe you're right…but you could explain it to me."

Illya scoffed softly and turned his head towards the window.

"Who knows," Napoleon went on, "Maybe talking about this will make it easier on you."

"Nothing's going to make this easier, Napoleon. You couldn't possibly understand what this is like until you've experienced it…until you've lived it."

Napoleon sighed and gripped the steering wheel harder. His partner had always been stubborn and this was just another example of that. If only Illya could realize that there wasn't anything inherently wrong with accepting help when it was offered. A willingness to accept help did not equal weakness, and a stubbornness to deny it did not equal strength. Shaking his head, Napoleon let the silence fill the car. He had told Illya he was willing to listen, but that couldn't make his partner talk. Shrugging, Napoleon kept his eyes on the road. He didn't mind waiting. Even Illya couldn't be silent forever.

On Illya's part, even if he did want to explain to Napoleon what he was going through, how could he ever find the words? This was by far the most challenging thing Illya had ever faced because it attacked him at his very core. It wreaked havoc on the way he had lived every single day of all the thirty-two years of his life. How could he describe something like that to Napoleon? How could he ever make him understand?

How could Napoleon ever know that sickening feeling of disorientation, of having no way of knowing where you are or what is happening around you? How could Napoleon ever understand what it's like to live in a gaping hole, absent of all light, whose penetrating darkness is deafening merely by its monstrous mass. How could anyone know the debilitating fear that wondered whether that mass would ever go away; if light could ever strike through that darkness again? It was the same fear that reduced Illya to shivers at night. What if life continued this way?

"Napoleon," Illya quietly said after awhile. "…I don't think I can do this," he admitted solemnly.

"Do what?" Napoleon asked.

"This," Illya gave a vague gesture with his hand. "I don't think I can get used to this. I can't live this way. It's too…too…" Illya sighed in frustration. "Oh, forget it," he said.

Napoleon's brows lowered in concern. He didn't like what he was hearing, and the desperate, melancholy tone in Illya's voice caused a nervous twinge to pinch Napoleon's spine. Clearing his throat and trying to sound encouraging, Napoleon said, "Well, you're forgetting that all of this could only be temporary. In a few days, you'll see the doctor again, and this could all be over."

"And you're forgetting that there's a very big 'if' involved in that scenario," Illya pointed out glumly as something caused his heart muscles to tighten. "The doctor could remove the bandages, and nothing could have changed."

Napoleon winced, "Illya."

"Napoleon, don't try to cheer me up as you would some child!" the Russian warned firmly. "I know my condition as fully as you do. And you and I both know that there is a severe chance that I may never see again! Whether or not you want to believe them, those are the facts!"

"I know they are!" Napoleon yelled, swerving to stay on the road. Pinching his lips together and holding his breath, Napoleon struggled to keep his emotions stable. "I know they are," he repeated quietly after a while.

Illya paused, slightly startled by the response he got from his partner. He could hear the tremors shoot through Napoleon's voice. Was it possible that this whole ordeal was scaring Napoleon just as much as it was scaring Illya?

"I know those are the facts, Illya," Napoleon continued, once he was sure he could contain his own nerves. "But just maybe I haven't given up enough to surrender to them just yet. Maybe I still have faith in you."

Again, Illya turned his head towards the window.

"And frankly, I'm a little surprised to see you giving up so easily."

"Don't judge me, Napoleon," Illya growled, shaking his head. "This has been anything but easy."

"But you've faced tougher things than this. You've been one foot in the grave with a noose around your neck and still been able to pull through it. You've been shocked, stabbed, drowned…blown up, beat up, shot down and run over, and you've always made it out alive. You're the best agent I know!"

"Correction, I was the best agent you knew. You wouldn't have even recognized me today. I made a perfect fool of myself."

Napoleon shook his head, "Don't beat yourself up about that. You had every reason to believe you had been captured."

"Oh sure, and the smell of shampoo and women's perfume had no reason to tip me off."

"If I were in your shoes, I would have made the same assumptions. You couldn't have known."

"Exactly, I couldn't have known. None of my UNCLE training made any difference! I can't be blind and be and agent! It's impossible!"

"Okay, so what if that's true? What if you can't be with UNCLE? What then?"

Illya wasn't expecting that question. His mind stuttered to think of an answer. "I-I don't know," he answered quietly, "UNCLE's all I've really known. It's been my life for so long. I…I can't imagine a life without it. But somehow I…" Illya's expression darkened, "I hardly think it could be worth it."

Napoleon snapped his head towards his friend in alarm. "Now that's enough of that kind of talk!" Napoleon ordered. Was Illya really considering what he thought he was considering? Not on Napoleon's watch! "Don't give me any of that 'woe is me, I can't live my life as a blind man' garbage! If that's your mindset then you just need to get over that right now!"

Illya's jaw lowered in shock. Considering the degree of vulnerability he had just revealed, Illya's best predictions of his friend's personality would have expected comforting and encouraging words from Napoleon; not the blatant, unsympathetic remarks he actually received. "Excuse me?" he asked, offended.

"Don't try to tell me that blindness is too debilitating, too murdering for you. Millions of people live everyday with no more sight than you have right now, and they aren't beat by it. And you're telling me that those people, those civilians have a higher degree of stamina than you? A trained UNCLE agent, hand picked by Mr. Waverly, one of the best of the best who has more battle scars on him than a Sherman tank? Don't even try to feed me that crap, Illya, because I won't believe it. You're trying to tell me that if you can't have your sight, then your life's not worth living at all? That doesn't make a bit of sense, Illya! This…this is an inconvenience. Aside from the scrapes on your eyes and the dent in your ego, you're uninjured. This isn't the type of thing to take Illya Kuryakin to the ground."

"Shut up, Napoleon! You just shut up! What makes you think-"

"That I can say these things to you?" Napoleon finished. "I can say them because I've lived my life as your partner and dearest friend for years! I know you Illya, better than I know anyone else! And at this moment, I think it's even better than you know yourself! I know what you're capable of! I know you can do this! Now it's just a matter of if you will." Napoleon pulled against the curb and stopped the car, having reached Illya's apartment complex.

Illya was silent and didn't move an inch. He waited until he trusted himself not to explode the moment he opened his mouth. Once he was relatively controlled, he simply asked, "Have you taken me to my apartment?"

Napoleon's hands were still on the steering wheel. He stared straight at the bumper of the car parked in front of him. "Yes," he said coldly.

Illya opened the car door and climbed from the vehicle. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he heard the driver's door open and then close. Illya turned around, "What are you doing?"

"I'm staying here tonight," Napoleon answered, walking around the front of the car to join Illya on the sidewalk.

"You weren't invited," Illya informed sternly.

"I don't care," was the reply.

Illya sighed, "Why are you doing this, Napoleon?"

Napoleon came up close to Illya with a scowl on his face, saying with intensity, "Because for the first time in my life…I don't trust you."


Author's Note: Okay, this was one of those chapters that was extremely difficult to write. As a writer, I was trying to get into the shoes of each character, seeing both sides of the argument and being able to convince myself that one was right and the other was wrong, and visa versa. But this was also the type of chapter that underwent many rewrites. I spent a long time going over this one because I really wanted to get it right. Certain lines were taken out; others were added in at the last second. And now I'm just confused. I can't tell what fits anymore for this chapter. I've reworked it so many times, I'm not even sure if what I ended with was good. So I would really appreciate some feedback on this. What did you think? Were the boys believable? Could you get where they were coming from? I'd really like to know.