PROLOG

THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. Your Partner is dead, killed by UNCLE’S incompetence. THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. Illya Kuryakin is dead. He is dead, dead, dead...

How long had he been here? How many days with the voices all around him repeating the same words inside his head? He knew it had been at least three days since he’d slept. Every time he tried to curl up into a ball and rest, the metal plate underneath him would light up and electricity would shoot into him. Not enough to cause him damage but certainly enough to keep him awake.

Dazed, Napoleon scanned the small, eighteen by eighteen room. Featureless, it offered no avenue of escape. He wasn’t even sure how, what little food they brought him, even got in. Camouflaged entrance, perhaps. He remained in position, knees bent, his head resting against the cold wall, and tried to block out the voices that echoed around him.

  Were they trying to drive him mad? Or where they just tormenting him before they decided to kill him?  

He had been captured while in the middle of dining with a beautiful female companion. When he awoke from his drug-induced sleep, he was here. It was not THRUSH’s usual style. Their agents often took great pleasure in presenting themselves and gloating over how they were going to kill their captives.

No one however had approached him. They never even asked him any questions! He had only been kept in here with these infernal non-stop voices repeating over and over again the same sentences.

How much longer is this going to continue? He didn’t know how much longer he could.

  THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. Illya is dead; he was expendable. He is dead. He is dead

No, no he would not believe that. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Illya was his Partner, his friend. He couldn’t be dead. It was a lie. Napoleon refused to believe it. He would fight them! He would fight. Hang in there, he thought to himself. Illya is alive and he will come to save you. He then passed out and the electricity that shot into his body could not rouse him.

In the days that followed, Napoleon suffered a brutal and cruel mixture of beatings, sleep-deprivation and torture. In the early days, when his mind was clearer, he recognized it for what it was; a wearing down of his resistance, the attempted breaking of his spirit.

Occasionally, they would leave him unmolested for the day, without the anticipated abuse. And those days were almost as bad as the others; the waiting, the expectation. They played along his fractured nerves like a saw against a piano wire. No one day’s torment was the same as the next. The only consistent thing was the insistent chanting, sometimes toneless, sometimes crooning:

Illya is dead, killed by UNCLE’S incompetence. Your partner is dead. THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. If you had been with THRUSH your partner would still be alive. It’s UNCLE’S fault... UNCLE’s fault. Their rules, their laws. They abandoned him to his doom. They could have saved him but they didn’t. They let him die. THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. Power is THRUSH. THRUSH is power.

Illya is dead. He has to be. Otherwise he would have come for me by now. He's dead. Oh, my God, Illya. And I never got to tell you...NO!

Napoleon felt the tears stinging his eyes as the truth of the voices finally broke through his resistance. He wept uncontrollably, unable to face the reality. His dearest friend was dead. He was dead. Killed by THRUSH, yes, but also by UNCLE’S disregard for its agents' lives. They left him to die. They let him die!

Oh please, he thought, let them kill me now, so wherever Illya is in death, I can be with him. Please, let me die.

***

He found the base far to easily. He’d been searching, unsuccessfully, for almost two months. Then, out of the blue, the information just dropped into his lap.

It could be a trap, of course. It could all be a simple hoax, to lure him in too. But Illya had to take the risk to try and find his partner. If he was alive and being held prisoner, then it was his obligation and responsibility, as friend and colleague, to save him.

He would go on his own, no backup; then, if this were a trap, he’d only be risking his own life. He was here against Waverly’s orders and if he was caught, no UNCLE team would be coming to his rescue.

There weren’t many guards on the outer posts. A few tranquillizer darts from his gun easily took them out of the picture and into a deep sleep.

Moving forward, Illya reached the main wall of the building that seemed to be THRUSH’S center of operations. Pausing to check for any more guards, Illya unhitched the nearby window and snuck inside.

Each hallway seemed to have a dozen men lurking about. The only way to avoid getting caught by the guards was to look like one. Knocking out a young officer and stuffing him in a closet, Illya dressed in his clothes and made his way back into the corridors.

The THRUSH guards didn’t even look at him. If THRUSH ran true to form, their prisoners would be kept in the lower level of the building. He hurried down the metal staircase and into a lift, impatiently hitting the button for the bottom floor as soon as he was inside the car. When it reached the bottom, he glanced into the corridor and saw it was empty. Gun in hand, he stalked carefully down to the end of the hall.

Turning the corner, Illya spotted a guard standing in front of a terminal wall with a control panel to his upper left. This was it. It had to be.

Taking a breath, he casually walked over to the guard, trying to look as if he belonged there.

The guard looked up and frowned. "Hey who are you and what are you doing here?"

Illya shrugged. "I am here to relieve you."  

"Huh?" The guard replied in confusion. "I just got here."

Illya nodded. "Look, I just follow orders." When the guard turned away, muttering about checking this with his superior officer,

Illya decked him with the butt end of his gun. The guard went down in a heap.

Seeing the terminal panel. Illya saw a red button under a hidden casing and hit it. At once the doorway snapped open and revealed a small room with a near naked, dark haired, battered man on the floor. Illya gasped in horror as he recognized Solo.

The Voices had stopped outside of the room, but inside Napoleon’s mind they rattled in rhetoric repetition.

THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH, Illya is dead, and it's   UNCLE’S fault. They killed him. They left him to die. If you had   joined THRUSH, Illya would still be alive. Still be alive..

 Gentle hands wrapped around his filthy, beaten, bloodied body and tried to sit him up. Napoleon didn’t look up - he was too weak and he no longer cared to live anymore. Illya was dead.

"Let me die, please kill me, let me be with Illya please! ..."

"Napoleon!" Illya reached for his friend's chin and pulled it up to face his blue eyes.

"Napoleon it's me. I’m here now, going to get you out of here."

He gazed up at the blue eyes and blond hair, hearing the Russian accent and saw a face that shouldn’t be there.

"No, oh God no. Illya, you're dead! You're dead and it’s all my...it’s all...Illya!" He wept bitterly in Illya’s arms. Illya shook his head.

"No, no Napoleon, I am not dead. I am alive. Look at me! I am NOT dead!"

Looking back up, the brown eyes locked onto the man holding him.

He blinked and felt his heart doing somersaults.

"Illya is dead."

"I am alive Napoleon .....Test me."

He paused, trying to think, his mind in a whirlwind, No - a Cyclone! He tried to concentrate and nodded softly. "...By the Light of the Silvery Moon..."

Illya grinned. "I will come in June, with the Stars in the Sky to share the Moon, whispering you are forever mine."

He blinked again as the tears fell down his eyes. "ILLYA!" He grabbed onto his partner. Holding him tightly in his arms. Refusing to let go. It’s true. Illya was alive. He was alive!

Illya felt his breath cut off at the tight grip of Solo’s arms. He had only to gently pull them away. Napoleon released him. His strength had left him.

"Ah Napoleon I can’t ... Come on. We’ve got to get you out of here."

Picking Napoleon up and having him lean against his shoulders, Illya dragged him out of the room and taking the soldier’s clothes outside the door, he put them on Napoleon and made their way down the hall and up the staircase. Reaching the elevators, Illya pushed Napoleon away to hit the up button. Looking over at Napoleon, Illya could see that his partner had suffered the brutality of THRUSH’S hand once again. He had lost weight in his confined prison, and had been tortured and beaten relentlessly.

Barely able to hold back his rage at THRUSH, he turned his thoughts to the here and now. He had to get Napoleon out.

  THRUSH is power; power is THRUSH. Illya is alive but for how long? How long before UNCLE causes him to die for a cause that is useless? They will leave him to die. They have done it before. He would be dead if you hadn’t gone against orders and gone back to him. Illya is alive. The only way to keep him alive is to have the   power. Power is THRUSH; THRUSH is power.....    

The voices in his mind receded, and yet they could still be heard in whispers.

"Come on Napoleon let’s get the hell out of here." Grabbing Napoleon’s arm and wrapping it around his shoulder, with his gun ready in his other hand, he came out of the lift ready to fight. He would not let them get captured again. He would rather shoot Napoleon before allowing those bastards to touch his friend again.

As they made their escape in a jeep Illya had left hidden outside the THRUSH complex, he couldn’t help but think it was rather odd that there were no guards. The security guards he had knocked out still lay where they were. No one had discovered them? Where were the rest of the guards? Having breakfast in the cafeteria? Why had no security cameras caught their escape out of the base? Shaking his head, Illya glanced over at Napoleon to see he was slumped against the doorway, gazing out at the side of the jeep and staring off into oblivion.

"Napoleon?" He smiled and nudged his partner gently. Napoleon looked up and turned to face Illya blankly. "Sorry I took so long, but I was right in the middle of this good book by a great Russian playwright and just had to finish it."

Napoleon didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He only reached out and touched Illya’s arm and hand, as if making sure he wasn’t staring at a mirage. "They never even asked me any questions." He replied in a daze.

Illya sadly looked away.

"It’s going to be alright my friend. We will be home tomorrow. Then you can start dating again. Your paramours will be happy to see your return. They have missed you since you have been gone."

He tried to keep the conversation light. Trying to bring the old smile of Solo’s back onto his face. Napoleon continued to look at Illya.

"You’re alive?" He asked suddenly and very quietly.

"Yes, Napoleon, I am alive and so are you. We both are."

He swallowed and asked softly. "Did Waverly order you to come rescue me, or is this against his orders?"

Illya shook his head and watched where he was driving. The airport was only a few miles away and the private plane was ready for take off as soon as they arrived.

"You know UNCLE’S policy about lost agents on the field, but he has a subtle way of wishing me luck in finding you. He will be pleased to have you back."

Napoleon looked away. "Will he now?" He asked in a low and bitter voice. Of course he will. After all, Napoleon thought, he’ll have his two expendable agents back to throw at the lions and see if they can pull another rabbit out of a hat. The day they die it won’t be THRUSH’S fault. It will be UNCLE’S.

"Napoleon, are you alright?"

He finally turned to Illya and smiled. The smile that Illya had hoped would come was not what he had expected. It looked like a hellish insane grin, and the blond haired man had to fight back the fear that jolted him when Napoleon replied back with relish.

"Oh, I’m fine, my dear Russian comrade. In fact ‘m feeling much better then I have ever been in my life!" ........

One month later

Napoleon was discharged by UNCLE’S personal psychiatrist, who informed Mr. Waverly that he was cured, and ready to go back to duty. After passing a battery of tests of his skill and proficiency, Napoleon Solo, Chief Enforcement Agent for the UNCLE, returned to duty. Solo was glad to be back in UNCLE HQ. But, as he arrived for his first day, he was bombarded by a dozen women who wanted to go out with him and help him recover from his terrible ordeal at the hands of THRUSH.

He found the only person he wanted to see, and asked that person to come over to his apartment for a game of chess. Illya was quite surprised; he had thought his first day back Solo would return to his old James Bond self. Somehow, Illya knew that Solo had been rattled by THRUSH, and without hesitation he agreed to the ah - date.

They played three games of chess, which Illya won hands down, while munching on Chinese chicken fingers. Staying for a while longer, Illya joined Napoleon for a few beers and past story-telling of their adventures. Then, with the night almost gone, he bid Napoleon goodnight. Surprised by the tight hug Napoleon gave him before his departure, Illya blew it off as Napoleon’s gesture of gratitude for coming back for him. With a smile and a wave, Illya left.

He was sad to see the Russian leave. He watched the fading form in the street by the window. Turning away he headed to bed.

While he slept the voices returned in full force. THRUSH is power; Power is THRUSH. .... Illya will die unless you   have power. Only power can save him. Power is THRUSH! ***

PART ONE

It had been a rough year, thought Napoleon, since his capture by THRUSH. He arrived at UNCLE Headquarters just after sharing breakfast with a beautiful brunette. He closed the door to his convertible car and stared at the dry cleaner’s shop that hid an international organization called U.N.C.L.E. Short for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. An organization bent on trying to stop the corruption of this world and which usually ran headlong into its nemesis, THRUSH, an evil organization, hell-bent on taking over the world.

He fixed his tie; a small bit of sadness overcame him. So much had changed these past few months since Mr. Waverly’s death.

He had died in a plane crash. At first, their nemesis had been the number one suspect, until Napoleon found the real culprit, an ambitious and young UNCLE agent who wanted to make his way up the totem pole fast. Napoleon easily disposed of him.

Then, of course, there were the women in UNCLE that lately had been vanishing.

Well, not exactly vanishing; retiring or resigning from UNCLE and going off to either become wives or mothers or into another career.

The Agency was almost 100 percent male. April Dancer, one of Uncle’s finest, had just last month given her notice. Of course she hadn’t been the same since her partner, Mark’s, death. He had died in a car wreck and, the kicker was, by a drunk driver. Not a THRUSH agent, but a drunk!

Waverly’s chair needed to be filled and Napoleon had reluctantly stepped in. He was not pleased with the desk job, and found it boring and totally exhausting. He missed being in the field. No, that wasn’t true. He missed working with Illya.

He sadly started to walk inside and saw the young man at the counter in the tailor's shop hard at work. Del, the owner of the building, was away on a much-needed fishing trip.

Napoleon arranged for his getting away from it all. When the accident happened, UNCLE will be sure to compensate the elderly man with an extensive amount of cash that he will be able to retire comfortably on.

Accident. Just say it Napoleon. The time was near.

Napoleon smiled at the worker, who was actually an UNCLE agent. A young, wet-behind-the- ears agent, who thought he knew everything. He would soon learn otherwise. He thought again of his blond Russian comrade. Illya. After his promotion he had taken his place as Chief Enforcement Agent, section 2, number one. Illya found himself dealing more with paperwork than danger.

Solo grinned. He had planned it that way of course; had seen to it that Illya remained low key and out of harm's way. It had led to many arguments over the last two months.

The Russian was not pleased to be placed on the back burner. Napoleon would be damned before he would allow Illya to get killed in the line of duty. They were so different, so very opposite and yet, they went together like.... Peanut butter and Jam.

They were of course UNCLE’S finest and their names had become quite legendary to a great many people.

Illya was in his mid thirties, though he looked more like eighteen. He was a very private person, and he never discussed his past. He was a great chess player, had quite an intellect (as well as a doctorate in Quantum Physics), knew several languages and was

physically fit. He was also the most beautiful man Solo had ever seen. His killer ice blue eyes, and golden yellow hair often sent a woman’s heart thumping. His form was simple and average and yet held a lure that was unquenchable. Napoleon sighed sadly and realized he was also madly in love with him.

Napoleon entered the fitting room, hit the right handle and entered headquarters. A male secretary greeted him at the door and began placing his badge on him. Barely giving him a glance, Solo snatched it from the man's hand and placed the badge on himself. He headed straight for the archives computer room. Illya would be there.

Solo, had a reputation for not only being UNCLE’S finest, but also the most womanizing man on the face of the planet. He made James Bond look like a inexperienced boy in his teens. Napoleon had always enjoyed playing the field. He had enjoyed many a nights of passion with a great deal of women and he made no complaints. But, always, there seemed to be something lacking, something missing in his life. A void that never seemed to be filled. Until he was partnered with one Illya Kuryakin. He hurried down the hallways, holding firmly onto his brief case. If this didn’t work he would have no choice but to go to plan B. Please Illya, follow through with Plan A.

He didn’t know exactly when it happened. When he fell in love with Illya. At first their relationship had started out as partners, co-workers. Later it became more like friends. And later still, Napoleon felt he had found the brother that had always been missing in his life. Then a year ago, shortly after his capture and rescue by THRUSH, he had started having these dreams.

He would waken from his bed, hot, sweaty and very aroused. He could remember it vividly to every detail of how he would find Illya tied up in a room, and was about to rescue him before another THRUSH attack, when he had just simply stripped and made love to Illya, right there on the altar.

At first he thought it was just his hatred at being tied down to a desk, or how rattled he had become when he had been lead to believe that Illya had been killed by THRUSH. Then he realized the truth of it.

He loved Illya. He had always loved Illya. He wanted him and only him. It really started to cause him a great deal of problems when it came to his normal sex routine, and he found his performance not standing up to par and the women getting annoyed with him. He found their company becoming increasingly, .... dismal.

He swallowed, and by-passed several male UNCLE agents and ignored their looks. They had noticed his unattached involvement with the others in UNCLE, and they had also heard the rumors that Napoleon was no longer the stud king. He ignored them all.

He knew what he wanted and what he had to do to restore the balance.

He paused in step, listening for the voices, but they had stopped talking. Now all he heard was his own voice. He picked up his pace as he headed to the Archives Computer room. He wanted to have time to explain to Illya, to try to make him understand why he was going to do all this. But, if he did, Illya would try to stop him.

He couldn’t allow that.

It had happened shortly after his rescue and Waverly’s death. He had grown tired of the games THRUSH and Uncle played off each other, and he was sick of playing possum all the time, and was just as tired of seeing Illya getting used and abused.

He remembered that awful day, when he and Illya had been caught by some other group that was trying to take out THRUSH and UNCLE. They called themselves the Elite and had nearly killed about a dozen THRUSH and UNCLE leaders before Illya and Napoleon had caught up to them, or rather they had been caught.

He remembered how Illya had been tied to a tree where Napoleon could only watch, restrained a few feet away, as they focused their attention on his partner. They apparently hated Russians and though Illya had only just become an American citizen, disowning his former Mother Russia, they didn’t seem to care. They had beaten, hit, and whipped Illya repeatedly and then, when Illya was nothing but a bloody pulp, they continued their onslaught with slurs and curses.

It was fortunate that a female THRUSH agent had come in at that point and freed Napoleon from his entrapment. A truce was made, and Napoleon took great pleasure killing each one of them. Illya never saw a thing; he had collapsed minutes before. Napoleon made their deaths very long and very painful.

The THRUSH woman and he parted without a word, and Napoleon rushed Illya to the nearest hospital. It was days before he came around and a week before he recovered enough to be able to actually look anyone in the eyes. Napoleon had promised himself, from that day forward, Illya would not step once out of UNCLE headquarters without at least some one, namely himself, escorting him home. Napoleon also vowed never to let him back out in the field again.

It was then about a month ago that he had met up with the THRUSH woman again. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, Asian, with long black hair and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She also had a great curvy body. He had found her in his apartment, unarmed and naked, in his bed. He had been quite moved by the gesture but he didn’t take her. He only handed her clothes back and told her to leave.

She was confused and then smiled. "So, it is true, you are in love with him. Does he know? Does he reciprocate your affection?"

He didn’t know how he came to tell her his feelings. Perhaps it was the wine, but he’d had only one glass. Perhaps it was his sadness over the death of his former boss, or perhaps he finally needed some one to talk to, even if it was a THRUSH agent. He told her almost everything about his relationship with Illya and how he now desired so much more. He waited, expecting her to laugh, or at least glare at him with hatred and disgust. Instead, she kissed him on the cheek and shook her head. "Believe it or not, Napoleon, I understand more then you know." She then left.

She returned the next night and the night after that and so forth. In no time theybecame ...confidants. They would talk mutually over the bad things about each other’s side, and they even agreed on certain issues.

Friday nights, they did not get together.

Friday nights were special. They were spent with Illya, playing chess in his apartment. He would not tear up those precious moments.

Napoleon later learned that Kia, as she was called, was bisexual. She was not disgusted, but proud of what she was, and what others were, no matter their sexual preference. He soon learned to like her company and found her to be quite a good chess player, like Illya.

He often told her about him and she told Solo that, from what he had said about the Russian, she had grown to like him very much too. He thought at first she was pulling one over on him, but he soon realized that Kia never said anything unless it was the truth and how she really felt. He learned later that her parents had been killed by a THRUSH agent wanting also to join the ranks in promotion. It took her twelve years before she was able to get into a position to destroy him.

Then, two weeks ago, Kia asked him to join her. To join THRUSH. At first he was shocked and angered by the proposal. But Kia was very persuasive.

"Both our agencies are in need of changing. Napoleon. UNCLE is unrealistic and so set in its ways. The world is not black and white.... There are just not evil and good people; there are many other colors. THRUSH also has its priorities that need to be fixed. You could change that. We could change them. We both are in high positions and we can create a new government, one with control but also with mercy. Besides, if I hadn’t shown up when I did, when the ELITE captured you and Kuryakin, they would have killed him. Therefore it was I, THRUSH, that saved him from being killed." She had repeated that same phrase several times, and, for a moment, Napoleon heard the voices again.

THRUSH is power; Power is THRUSH. Only Power, only THRUSH can keep Illya Kuryakin alive!

It took eight hours and early dawn to make him come around to her thinking. But he also had his foot set on certain issues. No innocents were to be killed and, if at all possible, no female UNCLE agents were to be harmed. Though most were gone, there were still a few who lingered about, loyal to the end. Heather and Lisa filled his mind. Kia agreed.

He also wanted Illya. No harm was to come to him. Illya belonged to him, and no-one was to overstep these bounds. Kia agreed.

In return, she also would give Napoleon ten million dollars and a rank befitting his honor. He was now the second in command of THRUSH central. It was only then he realized that Kia was THRUSH. Mother Kia Lynn Kung. All would be below Napoleon, and all Kia asked from him was his loyalty and agreement to help her to send UNCLE to its knees. In return, she would also start a THRUSH reform. No more killing of UNCLE agents. They would be kept for interrogation, and then either set free or kept in prison until such time as they were proven to be no longer a danger. There would be other changes, but first there was the here and now. Today, UNCLE would face a full-scale war. Napoleon took a deep breath, then entered the room.

He was right. Illya was here. He was seated at a table, his head deep in books and paper work. He looked very cute with his glasses on, dressed in his usual black outfit that showed off his body to perfection. I love you Illya, he thought, please don’t make me hurt you. He then started towards him.

PART TWO

"Good morning Illya." Illya didn’t even glance up from his paper work.

He only grunted.  "I see you have finally arrived. You know Mr. Waverly would have had your head for being so late?"

"Good thing then he is no longer in control."

Illya finally did look up, to see him dressed in a dark three-piece suit. His hair was neatly combed back. He looked tired, and Illya knew his comrade had something on his mind, despite the jolly remarks he was making. "Are you all right?"

Damn, Illya ,you’re so good. He smiled. "Fine, just bored as usual. I have about two meetings and a dozen reports to fill out for Lisa, and thought I would take a moment to see you."

Illya looked back at his paperwork. "You’ve seen me, so go and take care of business."

Napoleon didn’t leave. He instead went to the desk and put the brief case on top of it and on Illya’s folders. He glared up in surprise as Napoleon opened it and took out two airline tickets.

"Illya, how about, instead, we play hooky and you and I go off to the Caribbean and spend three nights on a sunny beach, eyeing all the beautiful women they have to offer."

It will also give me a chance to see you in shorts and bare chested, he thought, just barely keeping his tongue from licking his lips.

Illya looked at him in horror and disbelief. "Napoleon, are you out of your mind? We are up to our elbows in paperwork and there are at least several critical investigations involving THRUSH on your desk that need to be assigned to some agents and checked into, as well as my work, which needs to be completed. You know very well we can’t just leave for some sunny vacation! What are you thinking?"

So much for plan A. He barely kept his sigh from him as he thought of plan B.

"You’re right, Comrade, I am sorry. It’s just that I-"

Illya finally smiled. He was beautiful, thought Napoleon. He shifted uncomfortably, as something very private hardened below his waist.

"Just think, if you can get through today, we will have a game of chess tonight at my place. I’ll call out for pizza." Thankfully, Illya didn’t notice.

Napoleon finally had to force on a smile. No Illya, no pizza tonight. "Sure."

He then turned and left.

Illya watched him close the briefcase and leave. Something was  wrong with his friend. He could tell. He knew Napoleon too well. But what was it?

It had been happening slowly in these past few months. He seemed tired, and weighed down in thought. Dark thoughts. At first Illya thought it was due to what happened to him during his capture and torture in the hands of THRUSH. Or perhaps the readjustment after Waverly’s death was the problem. Then Illya thought maybe it was because of that Elite Affair. He took a deep breath and remembered that horrible nightmare. Oh how shamed he was. He was sure Napoleon would never want to see him again after what they . . . But Napoleon had only stuck closer to him.

More than that, he had become like a shadow. Taking him home almost every night like he needed an armed escort. At first he was annoyed, later angry and then, he accepted it. Just as he accepted the fact that Napoleon was going to see to it that he never went out into the field again. He knew Napoleon cared for him deeply and he returned that affection with trust and a deep bond of friendship and respect. Though Napoleon was annoying at times, Illya enjoyed his company and even his childish thoughts.

When he had been attacked by those men, Napoleon, believing he was unconscious, killed the men one by one. But he had been awake throughout the whole thing, watching the brutality and pure rage in Napoleon’s eyes. It was only then did he realize how much Napoleon cared for him.

The time he spent in the hospital was even further proof. Solo held his hand for hours as the doctors checked him over, and refused to leave him even for a moment. If UNCLE wanted any work done, they had to come to the hospital to do it. It took a long time for Illya to meet his friend's gaze, and when he did, he realized then that his friend, Napoleon, was in love with him.

It had scared him. He had never experienced love like that before. Well, once, but that was a long time ago. He had been very young. Sadly, Illya then clicked in all those months before when Napoleon had spent more time with his partner off the field and seemed to want to always touch him. Just brief touches and touches that at the time didn’t mean anything. His hand, his arms, the hugs; he realized then that he also loved Napoleon but he wasn’t sure what type of love he held for him. He was his dearest friend, and partner and....brother. He desired nothing more then the hope that they would grow old together and wind up on a porch - elderly men rocking in their chairs and thinking about the good old days. But Napoleon was in love with him. It was something that Illya had thought nothing else about since that day.

He had watched Napoleon like a hawk and saw him changing before his eyes. He didn’t associate with the other UNCLE agents. He did not even pretend to try to get along with them. He barely spoke to the other UNCLE HQs around the world. He seemed hell bent on cutting everyone out of his life. Except Illya.

It scared him. Illya was seeing a darker side of Napoleon - he was different now. Once he had been witty, sarcastic and bright -full of light. It was the thing that attracted him to Solo. Now he didn’t know what to make of the change in his partner.

Napoleon, what is the matter with you? Why won’t you talk to me?

You used to tell me everything. Could this all involve the time when Napoleon had been captured by THRUSH for two months? But the Psychiatrist had given Napoleon a clean bill of health. What ever it is, my dear American friend, I know we can talk it out. Please, what ever it is, let me be able to save you in time.

Illya sat back down and returned to his work. His thoughts, however, never strayed from one Napoleon Solo.

***

He arrived at Waverly’s office. He paused - my office. He slumped in the chair at the desk and stared out at nothing. After a moment he leaned back in the chair and rubbed his forehead and face. He looked at the briefcase then at his watch. Less then an hour to go before all hell would break loose.

He sighed and his thoughts grew nervous. What if something went wrong? What if Illya got in the way and got hurt? He tried to calm down and, getting up, he moved to the coffee table and poured himself a cup. He then turned when the door to his quarters opened. It was Lisa holding a file.  

"Mr. Solo, here’s that file on the Regal Larson case. All it needs is your signature." He smiled and took up a pen. She laid it out for him and he signed it with his full signature. He then looked up and smiled at her.

"Lisa, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You have been working very hard and deserve a good rest?"

She looked at him, confused.

"Mr. Solo, you know I can’t, Heather is home with the flu and Jane and Janice are on vacation and Peg and Sarah are on special leave.....If I left, you will have no-one to finish out the reports!"

He smiled and nodded. "Of course. What am I thinking?"

She then closed the file and started out of the room. She paused and then turned back to her boss. "Mr. Solo, maybe, well, lately you haven’t been looking too well yourself. Maybe you should consider a vacation."

He smiled. "I might just do that Lisa. Thanks."

She contentedly left, glad to be of some help. He saw her leave and knew he didn’t have much time. He got up and moved to his coffee pot. Taking out a vial, he opened it and dropped a small dosage of liquid into it. He glanced at the time. Forty minutes. He moved to the intercom switch and hit a button.

"Lisa."

"Yes Mr. Solo?" Chirped her voice.

"Have Mr. Kuryakin paged and have him come to my office in exactly thirty minutes...."

"Right away Mr. Solo."

"And Lisa."  

"Yes. Mr. Solo?"

"Please call me by my first name. We have known each other too long to stand on ceremony." A dramatic pause hit, and then. "Yes, Napoleon." He clicked off the button and then thought of Lisa. He had to make sure she didn’t get hurt. He waited ten minutes and then called her on the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. Solo. Napoleon?"

"Lisa, can you do me a big favor? I forgot to eat lunch and I am starving. Could you go out and get me a sandwich at Burley’s Grill? It's just around the corner."

She paused then nodded. "But what about the phones Sir?"

"I’ll take care of them. Please, I am starving."

She smiled at her desk. "Your usual?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "I’ll go now."

He smiled. You bet you will.

Lisa headed out of headquarters. Reaching the sidewalk, she started down the long street of New York City. She would be safe from harm.

Napoleon relaxed a moment then grew tense again when he thought of one particular Russian.

.....

The Black Van pulled up along side of another black van. Hidden off to the side of Eighth Street, the men armed themselves and checked their masks. The beautiful Asian woman glanced at her watch. Five minutes to go.

Illya arrived with five minutes to spare. "Napoleon, you wanted to see me?"

Napoleon glanced up and smiled. Getting to his feet, he grabbed a nearby cup and poured the jar of hot coffee into it. He then handed it to Illya, who stared at him in confusion.

"Have a seat Illya."

He obeyed, but didn’t drink the cup. He held it in his hands, still looking puzzled.

Napoleon eyed the cup and then Illya, almost praying for him to drink it.

"What is it, Napoleon?"

"I just wanted to see you."

He put the cup down. DAMN!

"Napoleon, you just saw me a little over an hour ago! What is the matter with you today? For the past few weeks, you have been keeping yourself private. You barely talk to any of the other agents. You have let go some of our best female operatives and....Napoleon, what is the matter? Is something wrong?"

He smiled and glanced at his watch. "Nothing, nothing Illya, and everything."

Illya shook his head. "I am confused."

Napoleon suddenly wanted desperately to run his fingers through that soft fine blond hair of his. He wanted to feel the softness of it.

“Illya, don’t you ever just get tired of it all, get tired of being used and thrown about like you were garbage?"

Illya still looked lost.

"Don’t you ever get tired of being an UNCLE Agent?"

Illya thought about it. "No, never. I am proud of the work I do. The difference that we make everyday more then makes up for the trouble and pain that happens. After all, we are all that stand in the way of THRUSH taking over the world."

Napoleon shrugged. "Would that be so bad?"

Illya’s eyebrows narrowed. "Napoleon, what kind of talk is that? Of course it would be bad. It would be a nightmare! THRUSH is evil. They are tyrannical, omnipotent men with delusions of godhood; insane madmen out for personal gain against the misfortunes of the innocent, who wind up getting hurt and killed because of them. They need to be stopped and wiped off the face of the planet. No matter what the cost!"

Napoleon almost laughed at the old oath speech that was every UNCLE agent’s commandment.

"Even if, some day, you get killed in the battle." He thought of that day and barely held back the tears.

"Every one dies sometime, Napoleon, and someday it will be my turn."

Over my dead body, thought Napoleon.

"I don’t want to see you die Illya. Ever."

THRUSH is power, and power is the only thing that can keep Illya alive.

He leaned closer to Illya and, in return, Illya stared at him. "Is that why you keep me in headquarters and make certain I don’t go out into the field anymore?"

He didn’t answer, and Illya knew what that meant. "I don’t need protecting, Napoleon."

"I can’t bear to see you get hurt anymore ,Illya."

"That is part of the job. We knew the dangers and the risks."  

"But it has changed."

"How? How has it changed?"

"Waverly is dead."

Illya sighed and lowered his eyes. "Yes, I know. I miss him too."

"He was like an iron fist, and the main figure behind UNCLE. Now that he is gone Illya, I don’t know if I really want to be a part of this anymore."

Illya looked up at him in surprise. "You are planning on leaving, resigning?" His heart sank low at the thought of losing Napoleon’s companionship from his everyday life.

He smiled. "Not exactly."

He glanced at the time. Illya glanced at his watch. "Why do you keep looking at your watch Napoleon?"

Napoleon reached for his side pocket and leaned back against his chair. One minute to go.

"Napoleon?" He pulled out the gun and pointed it at Illya. His friend’s eyes grew big and in shock. He didn’t move. "Napoleon, what are you-"

He didn’t get to finish. Napoleon fired the gun. The dart hit him squarely in the chest.

THRUSH IS POWER! ... "NOW!" screamed Kia. Like an army battalion, over thirty men bolted from the vans. They ran into Del Floria’s shop. The first intruder shot the UNCLE Agent with a sleep dart. He fell over the clothes rack and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

They placed the grenade in the doorway of the cloakroom and ran to the back just in time as the bomb exploded. The Alert alarms blared and all over UNCLE HQ. Men were running down the corridors.

The masked men took out air masks and secured them over their faces, then headed inside, firing into the smoke filled room.

... Illya was stumbling. He tried to get up and get out of the office.

He removed the dart and threw it on the floor. He reached for his holstered gun but Napoleon grabbed it and emptied the bullets onto the ground and threw the revolver onto the desk.

Illya’s mind was in a whirl. Another double of Solo? Why hadn’t he seen through the disguise? Because it couldn’t be. This was the real Solo. Illya knew, somehow, and the dismay around him was all too realistic.

"No, Nyet." Illya heard the alarms going off. Napoleon locked the doors as Illya made for them. They wouldn’t open and Illya turned and leaned against them heavily, his face filled with horror.

Napoleon remained at the desk and turned to the intercom switch. Pulling out a secret panel, he hit the first segment of switches. "You will be asleep in less then thirty seconds, my friend."

Out in the hallway the UNCLE Agents were racing down the hall with their guns raised, when the gas from the vents erupted across their path. They were engulfed by the smoke, and, coughing and choking, they collapsed to the ground and then lay still, unconscious.

"Napoleon?" Illya called again.

He had turned on the camera screens, and both Illya and Napoleon watched the UNCLE agents all over HQ collapsing on the ground. The THRUSH agents were seen coming in and clearing up the last of the chaos. Any agents still standing were shot down with the sleep darts.

"No, No." Illya crawled to the desk and tried to reach for the phone. Napoleon grabbed the line and ripped the cord out of the wall. Illya stared up at him, stumbling back. Napoleon reached for him.

"Illya....please, try to understand." Only Power can save Illya.

He tried to touch him. Illya repelled his hands and stumbled back to the door, falling against it, trying to keep his eyes open. But he was losing the battle.

"You betrayed UNCLE, you betrayed Waverly...me? How, how could you?" He stared up at him in pain. His eyes were welled up in tears. Napoleon felt his own rushing to his eyes. He knew it was going to be hard, but not like this. "I - I trusted....you."

"It will be alright Illya. I promise. I won’t let them hurt you."

Illya felt Napoleon’s arms surround him tenderly but firmly, and pull him up against his body, embracing him in a hug. He wanted to fight but his strength was gone and his knees buckled, and he was forced to lean against Napoleon further. His Friend, his Enemy, the man he loved?

He stared on at Napoleon in a daze, while Napoleon held him tenderly and used his free hand to stroke Illya’s fine golden hair, and realized then just how wonderful and soft it was.

Weakened by the drug, Illya’s head fell against Napoleon’s shoulder. His gasping breath was felt against his neck as Napoleon sought to comfort his friend as best he could.

Napoleon’s lips brushed softly along Illya’s forehead. He then whispered the words he had longed to tell his Russian comrade for so long.

"Illya, I love you." But Illya had already slipped into darkness.

He picked Illya’s body up into his arms and stared on at the crumpled, unconscious form. He looked so helpless. His neck was bent back and his arms were hanging in the air, his legs, secured over his arms, dangled unmoving. His eyelids closed tightly. "Sleep, my Russian comrade. Sleep ,my beautiful Prince."

He saw the tear slip from the closed eyelids. He bent down and kissed the cheek and the tear tenderly. It’s salty taste was bitter in his mouth.

The Battle was over. The gas quickly evaporated and the THRUSH agents removed their masks. The Asian girl left them to tidy up and headed for Napoleon’s office.

He unlocked the doors and heard her come in but didn’t look up. She saw Napoleon had Illya lying on the desk, and was tying his arms and legs and had secured a gag around his mouth and blindfold around his eyes. She also could see the distress on his face. She moved up to him and placed her arms around his waist.

She then gazed down at the blond. "Don’t worry. Thanks to you, he will live to be very old."

"He will hate me now!" he replied, angrily.

"For a while yes, but in time, he will learn to accept it."

"No, he will never forgive me." That much was certain.

She smiled sadly and shrugged. "But he will live, and you will keep him safe, alive and unharmed. Your lover for always...."

He finally faced her. She lightly touched Illya’s cheek and smiled at him. "He is so beautiful. And so are you." She then kissed him on the lips. Napoleon allowed it, then turned and saw the men come in to the room. They moved to grab Illya and Napoleon held them away.

"No, I will carry him. You don’t touch him!"

The men looked to their mistress, who nodded. They backed off. Napoleon picked Illya up in his arms and, with his head held high, proudly walked out of UNCLE HQ for the last time. She followed with her men in tow. The battle was over and THRUSH had won.

PART THREE

THRUSH is power; THRUSH is power THRUSH IS POWER!

“NOOOOO!”

"Napoleon, wake up!"

Napoleon Solo’s eyes flung open, his face pale and sweat pouring down his forehead. His clothes were plastered to his body and, forgetting where he was, he sprang up in bed screaming. "Illya!"

Two hands grabbed him, holding him firmly in place. The Russian was horrified to see his partner trembling in front of him with tears running down his cheeks.

"Napoleon, it’s me, Illya. You’re safe in your penthouse. Everything is fine."

Gasping for air, Napoleon Solo’s senses began to focus on the face before him. Two blue sparkling eyes. Glancing around the room, Napoleon could see he was lying in his own bed and in his bedroom. It was just a dream. A dream? But it felt so real. His hand reached out tenderly, brushing back a blond lock of hair on the Russian’s face .Then the sudden nausea hit him. Pulling away, he jumped to his feet and ran into the bathroom.

Illya remained where he was, wincing at the sounds of retching coming from the toilet. It had been another nightmare. He shook his head. A nightmare that Napoleon refused to discuss. A nightmare plaguing Solo for over a month, since his incarceration at the hands of THRUSH.

Solo, within a matter of weeks, was given a clean bill of health by UNCLE’S therapists and medical personnel, and though Napoleon was supposedly ready to be returned to active duty, he had refused to return to Headquarters.

Illya waited three days for Napoleon to come to him, and when his beloved partner hadn’t, Illya had gone to the penthouse. What he found filled him with terror. Napoleon had hidden himself, as much as he could, in the deepest and darkest part of his penthouse, and with a gun in his hand.

A gun pointed at Illya when he came through the door.

Napoleon had been pale and shaking. He looked like a wild man with his eyes staring, bloodshot at the figure before him. It took cunning to get the loaded gun from Napoleon’s hands.

It took half a day to convince Napoleon to get away from the corner of the room. After seeing to his partner's care with a bath and some hot food, Illya had thought of calling UNCLE and sending a medical team, but, as Illya reached for his communicator, Napoleon had grabbed it from his hand and begged his partner not to. Illya reluctantly agreed. Asking his partner what had happened had proven futile.

Napoleon refused to say anything more then he was having trouble sleeping and that some noise had startled him. When Napoleon refused to return to work the following Monday,

Illya returned to the penthouse to see Napoleon back in the corner again. Not sure what else to do, Illya moved into the penthouse, hoping that, in time, his American partner would fill him in on what was going on his mind.

The night he moved in, Illya awoke from the guest bedroom to hear blood-curdling screams; the following night he awoke to maniacal laughter that made his blood run cold. Knowing that he had promised not to send Napoleon to Medical, Illya secretly kept Waverly informed of what was going on.

Although the head of UNCLE was not happy about this new development, he had decided to allow Illya time to work on his partner. Both were hoping that a friendly, trusted face would be more help then a prodding and analytical medical doctor.

That was two weeks ago, and, in that duration, Illya was no closer to learning what was haunting his partner’s dreams. Illya knew it had to do with THRUSH and that it had to have something to do with Napoleon being captured and tortured by them, but there was something else.

Something that was being kept from him; if only Napoleon would talk to him, tell him what was in the dreams maybe he could help.

"Bozhe moi! Napoleon why won’t you talk to me?"

Hearing his partner’s footsteps, Illya pulled back the blankets and allowed Napoleon to climb back into bed. His face was almost as white as the sheets and, though he had cleaned himself up,

Napoleon still looked worn out. He had lost a lot of weight. He was not eating, hardly sleeping and often found pacing the penthouse, refusing to leave it. As if he was afraid of the outside world. No, afraid to return to UNCLE HQ not the world. But why? What is going on in your head?

Illya sighed, and covered him up with the sheets and blankets. Napoleon refused to raise his eyes to him.

"Napoleon, please..."

"NO!" He shook his head. He fell back against the pillows and abruptly turned away, closing his red-rimmed eyes. "I don’t want to talk about it."

Shaking his head, Illya had just about come to the end of his rope.

"Maybe you don’t...but you need to talk to someone, Napoleon. For weeks you haven’t gotten more than two hours sleep in twenty four. You have refused to leave your apartment even to go so far four. You have refused to leave your apartment even to go so far as to take a walk in the park. You won’t see anyone, except me, and even when you see me, you shut me out by telling me over and over again how you don’t want to talk. Napoleon, I am your partner and friend. Please let me help you - I know something happened to you while you were in THRUSH’S hands-" Napoleon’s body shook at the mention of the word THRUSH.

Power is THRUSH; THRUSH is Power, and only THRUSH can save Illya.

"Polya, please.... Let me help you!"

Illya tried to reach out to him, but Napoleon only buried himself in the blankets.

"I’m cold and tired. Please leave me alone now. I’m fine. Sorry I woke you."

Illya could see he was far from being fine, but seeing he was dismissed, Illya got up and left the room. Out in the kitchen, he made himself a cup of coffee, mindful that the clock over the stove read three am. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Illya vaguely wondered how much more time Waverly would permit this to continue before sending in a team to haul Napoleon Solo into HQ and have him placed in isolation. Find some Doctor who would try to crack open Solo’s head and find out what was going on.

Sipping his coffee, Illya sadly wondered if he could allow Napoleon to be taken away like that. To be put in some padded room and never again see the real world, to lose having the American at his side, fighting to save the world. Biting back the bitter taste in his mouth, Illya threw the rest of the coffee into the sink and went to the living room. There he sat on the couch, trying to think of someway to help Napoleon. His partner and friend was barely holding onto the thread of sanity and it was only a matter of time before Napoleon would lose that hold and fall deep into the recesses of madness. If he did, Illya would lose his partner and friend forever. And that was just not acceptable.

He would not lose his best friend - but the question was, had Illya already lost him?

The sun rose with the start of a new day. Waverly contacted him at 6 am sharp with the news that he had been dreading to hear.

"You have until Friday, Mr. Kuryakin. Then I will have no choice but to have him brought in, by force if necessary. Do you understand?"

Illya knew Waverly was doing this not only for security precautions, but also in a final, desperate effort to save Napoleon, his heir to Section One. But to Illya there was more at risk then just losing Waverly’s successor. Illya was concerned for Napoleon’s very life.

"I understand Sir." Illya closed the communicator and, looking up, saw Napoleon Solo’s dark silhouette standing in the bedroom door staring down at him.

The countdown had started - he had four days left. Four days before he would lose his partner forever.

PART FOUR

Tuesday, 8:00 am.

Napoleon played with the food on his plate, pushing it around but none of it went to his mouth. Illya stared at him a moment and then returned to eating his eggs and toast.

"I am afraid to say I have never been a good cook, but it is edible. You could try a few bites Napoleon."

Napoleon didn’t respond. He only kept his eyes on the plate.

Silence resumed.

12:00 pm

Illya called in for pizza, and though Illya managed to eat 4 pieces, Napoleon barely managed to take a bite of his first slice before putting it down and leaving the table to wander the living room.

Illya watched him as he flicked the channels sightlessly on the TV before shutting it off, and began to pace the window. For a moment, Illya thought he saw Napoleon pause and glance up slightly at the ceiling as if, almost as if, listening to something. Then Napoleon resumed pacing.

4:00 pm.

Illya tried to get Napoleon to play a game of chess; Napoleon lost his temper and threw the chessboard onto the floor in the living room. Annoyed, and barely holding back his own temper, Illya despairingly watched as Napoleon returned to the corner of the room and, facing the wall, refused to come away from it.

6:30 PM

Napoleon stared at the spaghetti as if it was poison. He picked up a forkful then threw it down got up and left the kitchen. Illya didn’t bother to look up.

8:00 PM

Napoleon was already dressed and in bed. Illya watched him as he tossed and turned. Unable to leave, Illya pulled up a chair and sat with his friend, hoping that his presence would somehow ward off the evil spirits that haunted Napoleon’s dreams.

Wednesday, 12:00 PM

Illya awoke when the screaming began. Racing to the bed, Illya saw Napoleon was already awake and, to his surprise, the screaming had stopped and Napoleon was now laughing and crying uncontrollably. More scared then in his entire life, Illya tried to embrace Napoleon in his arms. But Napoleon only pushed him away and, hiding his face ,continued to cry and laugh at the same time.

THRUSH IS POWER; POWER IS THRUSH!

3:30 AM

Napoleon walked quietly into the living room. Illya slowly put the book he was reading down and watched as Napoleon walked over to the closet and, opening it, he began to rummage through it. Illya knew what he was looking for and quickly hid his face back in his book.

After searching for twenty minutes, Napoleon Solo finally turned and walked up to Illya who was still seated in the sofa pretending to read.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"You know what! My gun! Where is my gun!"

"Put away for safekeeping. Why don’t you have a seat and I will make us some breakfast - "

Illya didn’t get time to finish before Napoleon abruptly flared into violent action. He smacked the book out of Illya’s hands and went for Illya’s throat. The hands tightened around the neck and, though Illya knew the danger, he remained still, staring up at his friend.

"Release me." Illya said softly.

"I want my gun!"

"You don’t need it." Illya shot back, defiantly.

For a moment, the brown eyes coldly stared at the blue eyes, as if contemplating whether or not to choke the life out of the blond Russian. Then, as if seeing where his hands were, he pulled away.

Shaking slightly, Napoleon got down onto his knees and with fear stirring in his eyes started to beg. "Illya, please, if you care for me, please, please kill me. Kill me before it’s too late. Before I hurt...before I...go insane? Please help me?"

Illya’s eyes widened in shock and, slowly going to the floor, Illya embraced his partner and slowly started to rock Napoleon in his arms, and, holding him as tightly as he could, he tried once more.

"Napoleon, I could never kill you. Never! My dear tovarisch, tell me what it is that is haunting you in your dreams, making you so frightened? Tell me what it is that you think you are going to do before it’s too late...too late for what? Napoleon I want to help you. Please talk to me.Time is running out!" For a moment, the two held onto one another as if each was their own personal lifeline. Then Napoleon, as he had come, pulled away. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and, walking back into his bedroom, closed the door between them.

11:30 AM

Napoleon finally came out of his bedroom, still dressed in his silk maroon pajamas and cotton robe. He didn’t look up and simply paced each room.

Illya tried to entice him with some meat sandwiches, but

Napoleon wouldn’t even sit in the kitchen.

4:00 PM

Napoleon was back in bed. Illya glanced inside and saw Napoleon staring off into the wall looking at nothing and seeing nothing. But his head once again was slanted to the side, as if, once again, listening to something that only he could hear.

Thursday 1:00 AM

Napoleon rose and headed into the kitchen. He pulled the drawer out slowly and reached for a large sharp knife. Pulling it up, he stared at the shiny blade and contemplated its sharpness for a moment. Then, moving quietly out of the kitchen, he went towards the guestroom.

He opened the door and stared into the darkness. Bright moonlight filtered into the room and shined down on a sleeping, blond-haired man. Holding the knife tightly in his hand, Napoleon quietly made his way to the bed.

The chest slowly rose up, and then back down. The Russian was in a deep sleep. Keeping watch over his American partner had finally caught up with him. It had left him open.

The hand reached down and the fingers gently brushed back a lock of golden hair in the sleeping eyes. It was so soft and so beautiful.

THRUSH IS POWER; ONLY THRUSH CAN SAVE HIM!

The dark figure turned and walked out of the room. Heading into the living room, Napoleon, a devout Catholic, walked to the window where a statue of the Virgin Mary had been placed on a small shelf. It was given to him after his Aunt Amy had died. Although he no longer went to church or practiced his religion, he still found himself, at times, turning to the Madonna and saying a prayer or two. Never for himself of course, but more to fallen friends or a particular Russian who just couldn’t seem to keep out of trouble.

Raising the knife slowly, Napoleon spoke to the statue.

"Forgive me."

Just as he prepared to plunge the knife into his chest, a small figure came up behind him. It grabbed him by the arms and quickly pinned him to the floor, causing the knife to drop to the ground a few feet away. For a moment, the two bodies fought for control but it was the blond haired figure that got the upper hand as he managed to subdue the arms behind Napoleon’s back.

"Forgive you?" Illya gasped, out of breath. "What is the matter with you? How could suicide possibly be an answer and how could I or she ever forgive you for that one final selfish act?"

Spinning Napoleon onto his back and releasing his hands, Illya reached for the knife and at once handed it out to him.

"I have had it! You want to kill yourself. Go ahead. Do it! Go on! Maybe when you see God, He can help you, because I can’t."

Rising to his feet, Napoleon stared at the knife that dangled before him.

"I have tried, but you aren’t even willing to meet me halfway. So go ahead, maybe this is the best solution. Do it!"

Napoleon took the knife and for a moment he stared at the blade. Then he dropped it onto the floor and, falling to his knees, he curled up into a ball and like a lost soul, he began to rock himself, whimpering and crying all at the same time.

Illya picked up the knife and, throwing it aside, he bent down and pulled Napoleon into his arms once more. They stayed that way for a long time, even after the sun came up.

"Tell me? Please Napoleon..."

....

Thursday, 8:30 AM

"Tell me the dream?"

Taking a deep breath, the man kept himself curled up on the bed. The blond still had his arms wrapped around his waist; Illya’s head lay gently on his shoulders. The comforting consolation gave the man hope.

"I dreamed that Waverly and Mark were dead and I was head of

UNCLE. That I betrayed...that I betrayed him and you and UNCLE...to THRUSH."

"Waverly and Mark are not dead, and you have betrayed no one Napoleon."

"It feels - felt so real. So real."

"Yes, dreams can sometimes be very real."

Napoleon took in another breath and nodded, letting out the air. He shuddered slightly. Illya held him tighter.

"And what else Napoleon? Tell me...tell me!"

"..I I can’t..."

"Yes you can...There is nothing to fear."

"I can’t bear to lose you. Please don’t make me say anymore. I-I-I can’t."

"You can. You will not lose me, no matter what you say. Tell me what else is in your dream?"

For a long moment there was silence. Then Napoleon spoke, but it was so soft that it took all Illya’s concentration to hear the words.

"I betrayed you, and delivered you to THRUSH so that you wouldn’t die..."

Illya smiled gently. "You would never hand me over to them."

"Yes, Yes Illya, I think, if I thought you were going to die, I think that I would."

Illya’s eyes narrowed and, gently, he touched Napoleon’s back and rubbed it.

"Why?"

"Because...I I...can’t...Illya , please!"

Illya waited, and then, after a moment, his eyes widened. The information dawning on him, as if someone had just opened the gates. Illya could hardly believe it, and he was about to laugh when he caught himself. And then, stroking Napoleon’s back, he nodded.

"Because you love me?"

Napoleon turned away, hiding his face.

Illya reached out and grabbed the face in between his hands and gently pulled it back to his.

"Because you love me? Is that it, Napasha. You are in love with me?"

Unable to speak, as dread overwhelmed him, Illya bent down and gently placed his lips on Napoleon's mouth.

For a moment, time stood still. Sure that this was a dream, when Illya finally broke the kiss, Napoleon fingered the Russian’s pale peach lips and then touched the blond hair as if in need. It was then, seeing that it was real and not a dream, he found his voice.

"You don’t hate me?"

Illya smiled and shook his head.

"You...you love me too?" The hope flared quickly, but in a matter of moments, the hope was falling back into despair and becoming doubtful.

Illya only pulled him closer, their bodies begin to feel each other's warmth.

"It seems like I have loved you forever. I could never have hoped that you would feel the same. You silly American, I love you with all my heart and soul. All this fear was for nothing."

Napoleon blinked, his eyes questioning and unbelieving.

"You love me?"

"Yes Napoleon, I love you."

"You really, really love me?" Illya was smiling now, almost laughing.

"Yes Napasha, I really, really love you."

"You’re not just say-"

Their lips melded together, once more cutting Napoleon’s voice off at the source.

When they broke, Illya could feel the trembling once more in Napoleon’s body, but this time it was not from fear, but need. Illya glanced down and could see the erection straining against the cloth, and quickly began to unravel the robe, pulling it off and away, and then slowly rubbing his hands on the dark chest. Illya made quick work of the pajamas, revealing the hot warm flesh below him. Seeing the naked body before him, with Napoleon’s erection hard and throbbing with desire, Illya quickly stripped off his own clothes.

Minutes later the two naked bodies entwined. Hands and fingers seeking and exploring new territory for the first time, counting every scar, every curve.

It did not take long for the two men to suddenly lose themselves in the moment. Needing a dramatic and quick completion, their bodies pressed together. Feeling their cocks throbbing against skin, they began to thrust.

The pace soon picked up, the bed creaking slightly at the weight and movement. The thrusting became more urgent. As lips and tongues dueled in warm mouths, their climaxes came abruptly, and both were flying and then falling into an abyss of passionate and long awaited desire.

Thursday, 3:00 PM

They made love twice more, and then, for the first time in weeks, Napoleon awoke with a fierce hunger. Illya called for Chinese take out. As soon as it arrived, Illya was delighted to see Napoleon wolf the food down as if there was no tomorrow.

An hour later, after the empty cartons had been thrown out, they returned to the bedroom and, holding each other tightly, fell into a deep blissful sleep.

Friday, 12:30 AM

THRUSH IS POWER; POWER IS THRUSH!

"No! No, Not again! STOP!"

Napoleon awoke with Illya right behind him, holding his partner, and now lover, in his arms.

"Napoleon, Napoleon what is it? What's the matter? Another dream?"

Napoleon, still dazed, shook uncontrollably and felt the tears once again spring into his eyes.

"Illya I’m losing my mind, I can’t...I can’t get rid of them!"

"Rid of what, my love? What?"

"The voices? Oh Sweet Jesus save me the voices. It keeps playing in my head and I can’t make it stop! Make it stop!"

Holding his head in his hands, Napoleon started to rock violently.

"Voices?" Illya asked, still holding tightly onto his lover.

"What voices? Napasha, what voices?"

"The voices, the ones that were played when I was held by

THRUSH, the voices! They won’t stop, Illya."

"What does it say? What are they saying?"

"THRUSH is power...Power is THRUSH, only THRUSH can save Illya.... Oh Illya! Make it stop!"

Illya’s eyes widened in realization and, quickly getting to his feet, he went for his communicator.

"Open channel D, emergency. Send an ambulance immediately to Napoleon Solo’s apartment, code 6, repeat Code 6!"

Fear-filled eyes looked up at his Russian friend.

Illya closed the channel and, bending down, reached for Napoleon, pulling him back into his arms. There he held him until the emergency team arrived.

Friday 8:00 PM

Napoleon was taken out of surgery and placed in a private, isolated room. Illya was waiting with Waverly when the brain surgeon came out to meet them.

"I am surprised that our men never saw it. One small, highly technical computer chip placed neatly under the skin in the lower left skull, below the ear and synchronized with his brain. I am having my men analyze the chip, but it looks like it was a sophisticated voice recorder."

"Yes, to play over and over again in Napoleon’s mind." Illya spoke softly, with a dangerous tone mixed in for good measure. "THRUSH must have implanted it in him, early on in his incarceration. By the time that I got him out, the surgery had healed enough to hide the implant. Clever. Who was behind it? But what was THRUSH’S main motive? To have Napoleon commit suicide, or light a fuse in him? To destroy and betray UNCLE in a last ditch effort to save his sanity? What ever they tried to do, it failed. At least it explains why we escaped THRUSH so easily. Will he be all right now?"

Waverly nodded. "Yes. Doctor Shellmen?"

"Well, with the computer chip removed, the voices will be gone now, and most likely those dreams you mentioned were probably induced by the voices. He’s in pretty bad shape. Exhausted, stressed and underweight. It will take some time but..." Seeing their questioning eyes, he smiled. "Yes, Mr. Waverly, I think that Mr. Solo will be back in top shape in no time. With, of course, the right TLC."

The doctor stared at Illya, and, to Illya’s surprise, Waverly looked at him with equal amusement. Unable to help it, Illya blushed. They knew?

PART FIVE

Two weeks later

Conway Lake, NH

Illya put another log on the fire and then, turning, he moved back to the couch and embraced his partner and lover.

The sunlight had finally put the color back into the American’s face, and with some good home cooking from April, much needed sleep and a pep talk from Mark, Napoleon was more than half way back to his old self.

Holding Illya close in his arms, Napoleon listened to the crackling fireplace and the distant loons that sang quietly outside in the nearby lake cabin.

Smiling, Napoleon pulled the Russian closer and began to work on some other things that were important, like tasting and kissing the white nape of Illya’s neck.

The kissing progressed to a full-blown assault on Illya’s body and, to neither's surprise, the Russian surrendered. With Napoleon moving on top of the Russian, he pulled out the lubricant from the tube he had hidden on the table by the couch. Spreading it on his cock and making sure to coat Illya well, he threw the empty tube aside.

Positioning himself, he waited for the confirmation and permission from the blue eyes. Illya’s hands gently pulled the man closer and, lifting up his legs, he wrapped them tightly around his waist. He pushed in slowly, the sphincter at first refusing to open. He was patient and pushed gently but firmly. It opened and his cock vanished into the deep warm interior of Illya’s anus. Clutching his lover like a lifeline, he waited until Illya was comfortable with the feel of him and then, with another nod from Illya, Napoleon slowly began to thrust in and out of his lover.

Illya arched up and moaned. His own cock hardening and needing release. His hand reached for it, only to find Napoleon’s hands pushing them away.

Looking up, Illya saw him smiling down at him. With each thrust, Illya could feel the long hard meat pushing out and in, hitting his prostate every other stroke, creating a splendor of electricity inside his body.

"I love you Illyusha."

"I love you, my Napasha, forever and always."

Pushing in deeper, Napoleon grasped the cock of his lover in his hand and, timing it with is own thrusts, began to squeeze and stroke it.

Illya cried out in ecstasy, his limits breached. Napoleon milked him for all he had, the white hot cum splattering on his chest and body. Seeing Illya’s face set him off and he climaxed, sending his hot seed pulsing into the Russian’s body.

It took a long time for them to catch their breath. It took even longer for them to move. When they did, they still held one another, slowly and gently touching their bodies in a comforting, loving and consoling manner.

A shower followed, and, tumbling into the large king sized bed, Napoleon relished the returned loving when Illya took his turn and entered Napoleon’s body. Illya thrust hard and still Napoleon felt it wasn’t enough.

"Harder Illya, oh, please my love, harder! Please Illyusha!"

Illya , without words, pulled out and then slammed his cock back into his body. Impaling him over and over again. Pulling out only to slam again into the hot, tight ass.

Napoleon held onto the posts, his legs bracing himself on the bed, as Illya continued the firm and sought after fucking. The doggy position was one of Napoleon’s favorite positions.

He loved the feel of the blond man dominating him, making him not only realize he was still alive, but truly loved by the only person he cared about in this world. The only person that mattered.

Illya was whispering Russian in to his ear, and though he understood only a few words, Napoleon knew the words were affectionate and coming from Illya's very soul. Pushing back, Napoleon wanted more, needed more. Needed to feel the love the Russian held for him. Needed it as if it was creating a balance to his world. And it did as each thrust of Illya’s cock found and hit his lover's prostate.

The momentum increased and Napoleon felt the sweat all over his body mingling with the Russian's. "More, more please Illuysha."

Illya quickened his thrusts and, growling deep in his throat, he grabbed Napoleon’s hips and, pinning him down in the bed, fucked him with all the strength he had in his body.

That is what sent Illya over the edge, and like a tidal wave, he climaxed. Napoleon hung on for the ride, wishing it wouldn’t end, wanting it to continue. But his own orgasm came and his cock exploded with a hot burning sensation that enveloped them both.

Still trembling from the love-making, Napoleon found his lover's arms wrapped around his body, holding him and kissing him on his back and neck. Illya’s cock was still buried deep in his ass.

"Oh, Illya. Illya. Please, please again....do it to me again."

Catching his breath, Illya smiled. Chuckling softly and rising, he slowly began his loving assault once more.

Hours later.......

Napoleon, still out of breath, laid his head on Illya’s chest, smiling sadly.

"They were so close Illya. They almost broke me! I almost did it. I almost gave in. They would have won."

Shaking slightly, Napoleon stopped when he felt his lover gently kiss his forehead.

"Never, beloved. I wouldn’t have let them take you away from me, and you would never have betrayed UNCLE."

Napoleon wasn’t so sure. He closed his eyes.

"Napasha...you would NOT have done it!"

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the fearful blue eyes. He nodded.

"At last...we have each other?"

"Forever.”" Replied Illya. Taking his lover's hand into his own, Illya squeezed it reassuringly.

"Yes, forever."

Bending down, Illya sealed it with a kiss.

Long after Illya fell asleep, Napoleon still remained awake, holding and stroking his partner. Almost my enemy, always my friend, forever my lover.

He paused, and listened. Waiting to hear the voices. But all he heard was the comforting sound of his lover's breathing and the loons outside the window. Smiling, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.

The nightmare was over and the real dream had begun.

THE END!    

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