"Illya, why don't we go out for dinner tonight?"
"Napoleon, why is it that whenever it's your turn to cook, we end up either eating out, or ordering take out?"
"You've drunk my coffee, right?"
"Please don't remind me," Illya's hand automatically went to his stomach. "I still get nauseous with the memory."
"Well, if you thought that was bad, my cooking is even worse."
The look on Illya's face was one of doubt. "That's not possible."
"Trust me on this one."
"Perhaps I should enroll you in some cooking classes," Illya suggested thoughtfully.
"Illya my friend, you seem to forget that I have the negatives of you and Natasha." Of course both men knew it was a bluff, but they both enjoyed a little bit of silliness every now and then to balance out their dangerous lives. "It wouldn't do much for your painstakingly constructed ice man image, if pictures of you playing with a fluffy little kitten were to mysteriously turn up on the notice board in the cafeteria."
"You wouldn't."
The older man waggled his eyebrows. "Care to place a wager on that."
"Well, just let me remind YOU, my friend, I've yet to unpack all of my things, and my old apartment is still available."
"You're bluffing." Of course he was, and Napoleon knew it, but just the thought of losing Illya after having only truly discovered him, sent a small chill down the older man's spine.
"Try me."
"Ahh, no thanks. You'd probably do it just to prove me wrong, wouldn't you?"
Illya displayed one of his rare wide smiles. "You're learning, Napoleon. At this rate, I should have you fully trained by Christmas."
Napoleon's hand strayed to his lover's face, brushing the silken hair he loved so much from his forehead. "Remind me again why I love you."
"You're a masochist."
"Ah! I knew there was a reason." Giving his partner an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, the older man moved towards the opening elevator doors and down the corridor that led to Waverly's office, with Illya by his side. *Right where you belong my sexy little Russian.* It was a good thing Illya couldn't literally read Napoleon's mind. The last time Napoleon had used the word 'little' in reference to Illya, the older man had been sore for days. Smiling at the memory, he decided that calling his lover 'little' every now and then could be rather pleasant.
"What do you suppose the old man wants to see us about?" Illya asked, breaking Napoleon out of his R-rated thoughts. "Our previous assignment is all wrapped up. There's nothing left to discuss about it." A particularly nasty thought occurred to him, almost making him stop dead in his tracks. "Surely he wouldn't have changed his mind about allowing us to remain partners?" To any other observer, Illya's face would have appeared calm and disinterested, but Napoleon could clearly see the worry that was hiding behind cool blue eyes.
"Probably a new assignment," Napoleon guessed, trying to not only reassure his lover, but himself as well.
It had been their major concern when they had decided to come out of the closet to their chief less than two weeks ago; being separated, and assigned new partners. Thankfully though, their partnership was one of the most successful ones in U.N.C.L.E. history, and so long as their work remained satisfactory, they would be allowed to remain working together.
"Do you think so? We only just arrived back into the country this morning. Waverly normally gives us a day or two to come down from an assignment, and catch up on paper work before sending us out again."
"Well, I talked to Mark early this morning at the airport while you were collecting the language, and he mentioned that a particularly nasty flu virus has been making the rounds through UNCLE headquarters. Apparently several of our Section Two agents are sick at the moment."
"I hope you and Mark were on a secured line during this discussion. We wouldn't want Thrush hearing about this."
The look on Napoleon's face said it all; What do I look like, a rookie?
"Well, you did leave Shark's two wave radio on," Illya teased.
"Me?! If I remember correctly, you were there too."
"Yes, Napoleon, but you ARE the senior agent, by two years." Illya smiled sweetly.
An almost sensual smile appeared on the older man's face. "And as senior agent, and your superior, I believe you're long overdue for some disciplinary action. Your lack of respect for your superiors is horrendous."
"And what exactly did you have in mind?"
Leaning closer to his partner just as they reached Waverly's office door, Napoleon softly whispered, "I'll tell you later tonight. When we're in bed."
As the office door automatically opened, Waverly looked up to see his two top agents. "Ah, gentleman, take a seat." As the two men entered, and sat down at the revolving tabletop, Waverly's eyes lingered on Illya's face, taking in his red complexion. "Next time Mr. Kuryakin, I suggest you use a sun screen."
"Sir?"
Happy to enlighten his partner, Napoleon pulled out the small pocket mirror he carried and handed it to the younger man. Knowing his lover's red complexion had nothing to do with the sun, his smile widened as Illya's blush reddened even further when he looked into the mirror. Napoleon had always enjoyed making his partner blush, making him look like an innocent little schoolboy, and this particular blush rated an eight point one on the Illya scale.
The look Illya gave Napoleon as he handed the mirror back spoke volumes. Napoleon could almost hear the unspoken warning *Just wait till I get you alone.*
Clearing his throat, Waverly placed a folder on the table, and spun the desktop so that the folder stopped in front of his head enforcement agent.
Opening the folder, Napoleon took in the picture of a middle aged woman with red, greying hair, and steely blue-grey eyes.
"Doctor Paula Marsen, scientist. We intercepted some information late last night that seems to indicate that Thrush wants her dead."
"Marsen?" Illya questioned. "I thought she worked for Thrush?"
"So she did, up until recently. It appears that Thrush didn't approve of her latest experiments."
"Which were?"
"That much we don't know. But if it has Thrush worried, it may be in our best interests if we could find out."
"And do we know where she is?" Napoleon asked, as he flicked through the folder looking for any clues.
"There have been several reported sightings of Thrush agents operating on the west side of town, most likely searching for Doctor Marsen. I suggest you both start there. I want to know what she is working on, and if it's something we should cultivate, or stop."
"Yes, Sir." Taking the folder in hand, Napoleon stood up, noting that Illya was also standing and heading towards the door.
***
"Is there anything useful in the file?" Illya asked as they headed towards their shared office.
"No, not really. The information on the Doctor seems rather sketchy. It doesn't even mention what her field of expertise is. How about you? You seemed to recognize the name, and you knew she worked for Thrush."
"I heard her name mentioned several months ago, while I was a guest at Thrush central. She apparently has a well known reputation for hating men."
That piece of news didn't sit well with Napoleon. How was he supposed to use his charms on a 'man hater'? "Really? Is she gay?"
"Why must hating men automatically make her gay?" Illya shook his head in disgust. "Really, you Americans have this annoying habit of pigeonholing people. Having everything and everyone safely labeled."
"This coming from a man who makes sweeping generalizations about Americans?"
"For that you have only yourselves to blame."
The superiority in the Soviet's voice grated on the American's nerves. "Oh really? And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"Have you watched any of the television shows that are on these days? It's one stereotypical American character after another."
"Since when do you watch television?" In the short time Illya had been living in Napoleon's apartment, he couldn't remember his lover ever having watched more than the evening news on the TV.
Before Illya was able to continue the debate, Napoleon's communicator started to beep. Taking the fake cigarette holder from his inside jacket pocket, Napoleon tipped out the communicator from its case, and switched on the send button. "Solo here."
Waverly's voice came drifting out from the small device. "Mr. Solo, we've just intercepted some more news concerning Marsen. It appears that a Thrush agent has found her hideout, down by the docks, and is waiting for backup. I want you and Mr. Kuryakin to get there before his people do."
*This should be fun,* Napoleon thought, *two men against a squad of Thrush agents.* "Yes sir, we'll leave immediately." Turning off his communicator, and placing it back in its case, Napoleon turned to his partner and smiled. "You know, I still think Waverly is secretly working for Thrush."
Illya returned the smile. "I'm beginning to agree with you, my friend."
***
Reaching their destination, it didn't take long for them to locate the Thrush agent who had been hiding behind a pile of wooden crates, totally absorbed in watching the commotion that was coming from one of the warehouses.
Quietly shooting the enemy agent with a sleeping dart, Napoleon and Illya also took refuge behind the crates.
"It looks like the doctor is closing up shop. She must be expecting company," Napoleon surmised, as he watched several pieces of equipment being loaded into a truck.
"Have you noticed, Napoleon, that there are no men?"
"Yep. I make out about ten women. Do you think they'd appreciate a little extra muscle?"
"What do you have in mind?"
Suddenly from behind came the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. "All right gentlemen, kindly place your weapons on the ground, and your hands on your heads."
Slowly turning around, the two agents found themselves the captives of two rather muscular women, holding guns pointed directly at their heads. Napoleon sighed. "Make that twelve women."
Complying with the woman's orders, both men slowly stood up from their crouched positions.
Napoleon cringed. *Waverly's gonna have a field day when he hears about this.*
Within minutes they found themselves tied up and shoved unceremoniously into the back of a truck. One of the women who had captured them was going through their collected possessions, taking particular note of their I.D.s.
"Looks like we have a couple of UNCLE agents on our hands." Taking out the U.N.C.L.E. gun from the waistband of her jeans, she pointed the weapon directly at Illya.
Raising his chin, Illya stared unblinkingly at the woman, refusing to allow any fear to show on his face.
*Please let that be my gun,* Napoleon silently prayed. While Napoleon's gun had been loaded with sleep darts, Illya's had been loaded with the real thing.
Calmly the woman pulled the trigger. Napoleon's heart stopped for an instant, before his brain was able to categorize the sound the gun made as the comforting noise of a tranquilizer dart. He was still trying to steady his wildly beating heart when the gun was turned on him, and the trigger once again pulled.
***
Consciousness came back slowly, and with it the realization that his wrists and ankles were chained, and he was lying on a cold metal slab. His clothes, including his underwear, were gone; he was completely naked, with the exception of a bandage over his abdomen.
His head pounding, and his stomach sore, Napoleon slowly turned his head to take stock of the room he was in. Two doors, and no windows. The only piece of furniture in the small room was a large cabinet up against one of the walls. There was another metal slab with chains attached to it, next to his own, but his partner was nowhere to be seen. *Illya, where are you? What are they doing to you?*
It seemed to Napoleon like hours before the door to his cell opened, and two women, one he recognized as Doctor Paula Marsen, entered the room, wheeling in with them a gurney containing his unconscious partner.
"I see you're finally back amongst the living, Mr. Solo."
"Doctor Marsen, I presume." Calmly looking at the older woman, Napoleon kept the worry for his partner from his voice. He firmly believed in the old adage, 'Never let them see you sweat'. "I take it that your departure from Thrush has nothing to do with you wanting to turn over a new leaf and work for the good guys?"
The very idea brought a grim laugh to the doctor's lips. "A very amusing notion, Mr. Solo. However, I have no intentions of lowering myself by working for any organization run by men."
With very little effort the two women transferred the slim Russian onto the empty metal slab. Like Napoleon, Illya was also naked, and taped to his stomach was a white bandage, which, unlike Napoleon's, was stained with several red splotches.
"You worked for Thrush for ten years," he countered.
Marsen turned her full attention to Solo while her underling began closing the chains around Illya's arms and legs.
"And ten very long years they were." Coming to stand beside Solo, Marsen gave his naked body careful scrutiny. The disgust she felt was barely contained. "Katherine, please see to it that our two lab rats get some warm blankets. If our experiment is to work, we really do need to ensure that they remain as healthy as possible."
"Yes, Doctor." Closing the last iron cuff to Illya's left leg, Katherine slowly raked her eyes over Illya's body before leaving the room.
"It's nice to know you care," Napoleon grinned, trying to ignore the knot of jealousy he felt. No one had the right to look at Illya like that. No one.
"Enjoy it while you can, because once I'm through with the pair of you, I'll no longer need you alive."
As Marsen turned to leave the room, Napoleon made another attempt to gain more information from her. "I'm curious. If you hated your superiors so much, why did you stay with Thrush for ten years?"
"Because I needed their equipment, and their money." Her laughter was dripping with contempt. "They were fools! Only when it was too late, and my experiments a success, did they realize what my true intentions were."
*Talk about delusions of grandeur.* "I don't suppose you'd care to share those intentions with me?"
"And spoil the surprise? Where's the fun in that? No, you'll have plenty of time to worry about what exactly has been done to you and your partner. I'm sure in the long run you'll find it quite fascinating."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Cheer up, Solo. Up until now I've only tested my drugs on animals. You and your friend will go down in history as being the first humans to undergo the procedure."
The idea of being human guinea pigs wasn't a pleasant one, but he'd be damned if he'd let this mad scientist see any fear. "I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist, but my partner on the other hand is a little on the shy side. I doubt he'd enjoy the notoriety."
"Your partner needn't worry about that. Neither of you will be around long enough to enjoy your new-found celebrity." Heading towards the door, Marsen was met by her aide, Katherine, carrying two warm blankets.
The older woman paused briefly to dispense her orders before leaving the room. "You know the procedure, Katherine. I want the drug administered every five hours, starting from now."
"Lisa and I will take care of it."
"Good. I want to know the minute they show signs of responding to the drug."
As her boss left the room, Katherine walked over to Napoleon and half-heartedly threw a blanket over his body.
"Thanks," he murmured, as he shook the blanket clear of his face.
Without a word, she then walked over to where the Illya lay, still unconscious. Again she stared intently at his body. Now that the Doctor had left the room, she had the freedom to reach out and stroke the blond hair, and run her fingers down his lean chest, savoring his soft skin before finally covering him with the blanket.
Napoleon watched the scene, biting his lip to keep from telling the dark-haired woman exactly where she could go. He hated his lover's space being violated by the witch, knowing Illya would hate the unwelcomed contact. But if this Katherine had a weak spot for the blond, it could come in handy somewhere down the line.
Once they were alone, Napoleon found himself staring at his partner, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Illya?"
Nothing.
Louder this time, "Illya, wake up!"
At the sound of his name, Illya stirred slightly, but then settled down into a deeper sleep.
"Oh no you don't, Kuryakin, we're in this mess together. Now WAKE UP!" he yelled.
Slowly opening his eyes, Illya squinted in the bright light. "N-Napoleon?" He began to lift his hand to his head, but was stopped short by the chains.
Relief flooded through Napoleon's body. "How do you feel?"
"Awful. I think my head is going to explode," he murmured.
"How about your stomach?"
"I couldn't eat a thing right now."
"You must really be ill," he grinned, "but that's not what I meant. Does your stomach hurt?"
"How did you know?"
"It seems while we were unconscious that the good doctor performed some minor surgery on us."
"Surgery?" His voice sounded faint, and a little shaky. It was obvious that the younger man was still feeling dazed from the knockout pellet, plus whatever else he might have been given. "Why?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. It seems we're to be used as two rather large lab rats."
"For what?"
"I don't know that either. I don't suppose you'd have any ideas as to why Marsen would be poking around inside our stomachs?"
His voice growing stronger. "I'm a scientist, Napoleon, not a medical doctor."
It was nice to hear the sarcasm in the Soviet's voice. Now he KNEW Illya was okay.
***
As ordered, five hours later Katherine and one of the heavily muscled women who had captured the two agents at the warehouse, entered the room, bringing with them a tray containing a small vial of yellowish liquid and two needles.
Katherine walked over to Napoleon, and started to undo his chains, while the other woman walked over to Illya and pointed a gun to his left temple.
"The bathroom is through that door. You have five minute, and if you make any threatening gestures, your partner's brain will be seeing the light of day. Understood?" Katherine asked as she undid the last metal cuff from Napoleon's arm.
"Clearly." *Damn!* There was no way he could hope to subdue both women before the gun to his lover's head could be fired.
Napoleon pulled the blanket closely around his waist and walked to the door Katherine had indicated. He reemerged four minutes later, feeling much better now that his aching bladder had been relieved. While he was in the small room, he'd also taken a quick look underneath the white bandage. It looked as though a small incision had been made, and then closed up with only a few stitches. For whatever the reason, Napoleon couldn't tell.
Making his way back into the room where his partner was being held at gun point, Napoleon was pleased to see that the two metal slabs he and Illya and been lying on had been replaced by two small, but infinitely more comfortable looking beds. Illya had also been unchained, but still had a gun aimed at his head.
Walking over to one of the beds, Napoleon calmly sat down and passively watched as his feet were chained to the solid iron base of the bed. His hands however remained free, and only when he noticed a tray containing some type of sandwiches and water, did he understand why.
Placing the tray of food on Napoleon's lap, Katherine pulled a gun from the back of her blouse, and pointed the gun at Napoleon. "Now it's your turn, Mr. Kuryakin. You have five minutes."
Illya gave a small nod to his partner before heading to the bathroom. His thoughts much the same as Napoleon's, he quickly relieved himself, washed his hands, and then pulled at a corner of the dressing covering his abdomen. He found much the same thing as his partner had, a small incision, just above his belly button, closed up with stitches.
Exiting the small bathroom, he reappeared just in time to watch as a needle was slipped into his partner's arm.
As the plunger was depressed, Illya closely watched for any negative effects the drug might have on Napoleon. Aside from a slight wince as the needle slipped into his vein and was then removed, Napoleon seemed to be fine.
He knew the chances of getting a straight answer was slim, but he asked anyway. "What's in the needle?"
"Nothing you need to be concerned with," the larger of the two women replied as she stepped over to him. "Back on the bed."
"If you're injecting that stuff into us, I think we have a right to be concerned about it," Illya insisted.
"Your only concern right now is doing what you're told." Pushing the gun muzzle into his back, the women repeated her command, "Now GET on the bed."
With a heavy sigh, he moved over to the vacant bed and sat down. Katherine was quickly at his side, chaining his legs to the bed. Before giving him his food however, she swabbed the inside of his right arm with alcohol. Looking over to his partner, noting that he still showed no adverse side effects to the drug, he forced himself to relax, and watch as the drug was administered. Aside from the pinch of the needle he felt no other pain caused by the dug.
Placing a tray of food in the blond's lap, Katherine stepped back. "As long as the two of you behave yourselves, your arms will remain free. But cause any problems, and you'll find yourselves chained hands and feet back up to the metal tables." As she and her companion headed towards the exit, she turned back around to face the two men. "And just in case you feel like trying to escape, there are cameras hidden in all four walls. Your every movement is being watched." Before closing the door behind her, she reached out and turned off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness.
"Do you suppose she realized that I hadn't started eating my dinner yet?" Illya asked half-heartedly once the two women had left. More seriously now, "Did you make any surprising discoveries while you were in the bathroom?"
"Small incision just above the belly button. Three stitches".
"Three?"
"Yep. You?"
"Six stitches."
While he couldn't make out the look on the Russian's face, he could clearly hear the irritation in his voice. He smiled. "Always have to outdo me, don't you?"
***
Five hours later the two men were awakened, and the whole procedure was repeated all over again. As the two women left the room, the light was once again turned out. Obviously it was still night time, although how the two were expected to get a full night's sleep when they were being used as pin cushions every five hours was anyone's guess.
Once again on the verge of sleep, Illya shook himself awake and turned his head towards his partner. Something didn't feel right. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he realized that Napoleon was clutching his stomach tightly.
"Napoleon, are you all right?"
In response to his question, he heard a low moan emanate from his partner's throat. Sitting straight up, Illya tried to leap out of bed before realizing that his feet were still securely fastened to the bed frame. Before he could call out for help, the door was slammed open and the room flooded with light. An older woman, Doctor Paula Marsen, Illya noted, raced into the room, followed closely by two other women."
"Damn it," she cursed as she quickly took stock of the agent's condition. "His body is rejecting the implant. I want him in the operating room, and prepped for surgery immediately." Racing out the door to prepare for the operation, Marsen left behind the two women.
"What's happening to him?" Illya demanded to know, as Napoleon's bed was being wheeled out of the room. "What have you done to him?"
Both women ignored his demands, and soon Illya found himself alone, not knowing whether or not his partner, best friend and lover was going to live or die. Giving no thought to his own condition, Illya offered up a silent prayer for his lover's safety.
***
Illya was still awake, when two hours later the door was opened, and Napoleon was wheeled back into the room. He looked pale and haggard, with an I.V. attached to his arm, but to Illya it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
"Is he going to be all right?" Illya asked the dark-haired woman who had wheeled in his unconscious partner.
Wheeling the bed into place, Katherine turned her attention to Illya. Seeing the look of concern and fear for his friend etched into his face, she found herself having to curb the desire to run her fingers through his hair and reassure him. Steeling herself, she replied, "The question you should be asking is 'Am I okay?' Understand this, Solo's body rejected the implant. Doctor Marsen will want to run a few tests to try and ascertain why it didn't work, but after that he'll no longer be useful. Your only hope of living a while longer is if your body doesn't also reject the implant. So long as you're still useful, Solo will be kept alive in order to keep you in line. So if I were you, I'd comply with everything you're asked to do, and pray that your body is more accepting than your friend's."
"Implant?" His eyes widened. "What exactly did Marsen do to us?" He reverently hoped that the panic welling up inside him wasn't on display on his face or in his voice.
"Sorry, but I can't tell you."
As she reached the door she turned, he voice oddly gentle. "Your partner lost a lot of blood, but he'll be fine."
***
As far as they could tell, they'd been held prisoners now for eight days, and with each passing day their hopes of being rescue became slimmer and slimmer. Their only chance now was that someone would slip up and make a mistake.
By now both Napoleon and Illya had had their bandages and stitches removed. Napoleon had been given a t-shirt and pants to wear, but Illya was still naked, giving Marsen easy access to his body as she performed her daily tests. Illya hated the unwelcome hands handling his body, but the threat of Napoleon's death kept him in line.
Whatever had happened to Napoleon over a week ago when his body rejected the 'implant' seemed to have left him with no side effects. Unfortunately it was now his turn to watch as his lover became more and more ill each day. The blond had little or no energy, and seemed to spend more hours sleeping than he did awake. Illya was still being injected with the yellow liquid ever five hours, and every day trying to keep food down was a battle royal. Of course whenever he did throw up, they simply brought in more food for him to eat, stating that he needed to keep up his strength for what lay ahead. If he tried to refuse the food, a gun would be quickly pointed at Napoleon's head.
Watching his partner during another session of testings performed by Marsen, Napoleon took in the dark circles under his eyes, and his almost greyish complexion. *What the hell was that bitch doing to him?!* He'd asked that question several times over the last week, but each time he'd simply been ignored.
Once they were alone again, or as alone as they could be considering the cameras in the walls, Napoleon asked the same question he asked after each session, "Illya, how are you holding out?"
His answer was dripping with the usual sarcasm. "Just dandy, Napoleon." As his stomach turned once again, Illya's face momentarily took on a look of complete helplessness. "Napoleon, I don't know how much longer I can take this."
"Don't worry, tovarish, I'll get us out of here."
Pounding his fist into the side of the bed, Illya yelled, "You've been saying that for the past week, and so far you've done nothing to get us out of here!" Seeing the pain and guilt on his lover's face, Illya instantly regretted his words. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to calm himself down. "I'm sorry. I know you're doing everything you can. I just seem to be rather short tempered lately."
Trying to lighten the mood, "Really? Personally I hadn't noticed any difference at all in your behavior."
His partner gave a small chuckle. "Very funny."
Unexpectedly the door to their room opened and a woman with long dark hair, and a cap pulled down low over her head -- probably Katherine -- entered the room. It was unusual for their jailers to make any visits in between the five-hour intervals.
Solo's eyes widened as Katherine, no - NOT Katherine, walked towards his bed. April. April Dancer! Heeding April's silent warnings to remain quiet, he quickly closed his fingers over the note she slipped into his hand. Giving him a small smile, she then walked over to Illya. Seeing the astonished look on the Russian's face, she gave him a quick wink before leaving the room.
Trying to open the note without drawing attention to himself, Napoleon quietly read the five words scrawled on the page: Help is on the way.
He smiled widely at his partner. "Illya, I have a feeling that everything is going to be okay."
***
Walking down the hall, April quietly ducked into a small cleaning closet, and took out her communicator.
"Open Channel D."
"April, did you find them?"
"Yes, Mark, they're in a room in the east wing of the building. They're both chained up, and with cameras trained on them I wasn't able to get them loose."
"Do they require medical assistance?"
"They seem fine, although Illya was looking rather worn around the edges."
"Okay. Our backup just arrived, so we'll be ready to storm the building in five minutes. When you hear the explosions, go free Napoleon and Illya, and then get the hell out of there."
"Be careful, Mark."
"You too. Over and out."
April patiently waited in the closet until she heard the first of the explosions. Pulling her cap down even lower over her face, she made her way out into the hall, passing several women who paid her little attention, and headed back to the cell containing her two friends.
As she entered the room, she was stopped dead in her tracks. A woman, the real Katherine, was standing over Illya's bed, pointing a gun to his stomach. "Put the gun down," April commanded.
Looking up at the agent, Katherine smiled. "I don't know who you are, but I believe you're at a slight disadvantage here. You put YOUR gun down, or your friend here will have a new belly button."
"April, put the gun down," Napoleon directed. He had no intentions of jeopardizing his lover's safety.
Illya was irate. "Napoleon, don't be a fool!"
April looked from one agent to the other before making up her mind. Illya, who had the gun pointed at him, appeared calm and quite prepared to accept his fate. Napoleon on the other hand looked frantic. Instantly she knew that if Illya died, they wouldn't just be losing one good agent. They'd be losing two. Slowly she lowered her gun to the floor, and placed her hands on her head.
Taking in a deep breath, Katherine relaxed as she found herself once again in control. "That's much better. Move over to Solo's bed where I can keep an eye on you."
As April complied, Napoleon asked, "So what do we do now?"
"That all depends on your friends, Mr. Solo. If they fail in their attempt to siege the building you'll be allowed to live."
"And if they succeed?" He knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
In response to Napoleon's question, she cocked the gun she had aimed at Illya, and stared coldly into Napoleon's eyes.
With her free hand, Katherine unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt, and brought it up to her mouth. "This is Katherine here, I have the subject secured. Repeat, I have the subject secured."
After a few moments, Marsen's disembodied voice came over the communicator. "Good. We have only a few minutes before we're completely overrun by UNCLE agents. I want you to terminate the experiment, and then make your way to the designated rendezvous point."
"Yes, Doctor."
Clipping the walkie-talkie back to her belt, Katherine slowly looked into wide, pure blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Illya." *Why the hell was this so hard?! It's not like I haven't killed before. You're weak,* she upbraided herself. *Why did you have to look into his eyes? This wasn't just some experiment, this is a human being. An innocent! It doesn't matter. You have your orders. Pull the damn trigger!*
Taking advantage of the enemy's hesitation, Illya made a grab for the gun, and at the same time April lunged for the woman. Grabbing her right arm, she spun her around and gave her a hard punch to the jaw, dropping her to the floor.
"Nice right," Illya complimented.
"Thanks. You weren't so bad yourself."
"Self-preservation," he grinned. "It's a wonderful motivator."
"I hate to break up this little mutual admiration society." Napoleon always hated being left out of the action. "But do you think you can cut us loose, April? Katherine there should have the keys. "
April gave the groggy woman lying on the floor a small push with her foot. "You heard the man, unlock their chains."
Starting with Illya first, she unlocked his leg shackles, and then moved over to Napoleon. Tucking his blanket more securely around his waist, Illya lowered his legs over the side of the bed, but made no attempts to stand. The excitement of the past few minutes had done nothing for his already upset stomach.
As soon as Napoleon was free, Katherine found herself facing down one very angry enforcement agent. Pushing her up against the wall, Napoleon shoved his face into hers, "I want to know exactly what type of experiments Marsen has been running on my partner."
Fearing her boss more than any man, she whispered, "Doctor Marsen will kill me if I betray her."
"That won't be a problem," came a new voice from the doorway. "Marsen's dead."
April turned towards the familiar voice, "Mark, nice of you to join the party."
"Sorry I'm a little late, but Marsen set fire to all her research notes before she was killed. We weren't able to save much."
Napoleon turned his attentions back to Marsen's second in charge, "Looks like you don't have Marsen to worry about any more, so all you have to worry about now. . . is me." The look in his eyes promising her a rather painful death if his partner was in any way in danger.
No longer able to look into those dark eyes, she lowered her head and whispered, "You were both impregnated."
Illya looked up sharply, "Impregnated? Impregnated with what?"
Once again looking into those blue eyes, she sighed, "With a child." The room turned deathly quiet. Looking at Napoleon she continued, "You miscarried, less than twenty-four hours after impregnation. Ill. . . Mr. Kuryakin on the other hand, well, his body seems to be accepting the embryo."
Five pairs of eyes suddenly became focused on Illya's stomach as if expecting some small beast to suddenly claw its way out of his abdomen. Completely stunned, Napoleon released his grip on Katherine's arms and stepped back. April and Mark were rooted to their places, April unsuccessfully trying to imagine Illya nine months pregnant, and Mark thanking God that he wasn't in Illya's shoes.
Even since before UNCLE, Illya had known fear, pain, torture, hunger and despair, always bearing it with silence and fortitude. Rarely letting his mask of indifference slip in front of anyone aside from Napoleon. It was a matter of pride. But with the mere notion that somehow he'd been impregnated, that cold mask of indifference quickly gave way to panic and disbelief
His hand automatically clenched the blanket even closer to his stomach. "No." *This isn't happening!* "Oh, no. It's not possible. I'm a man. I CAN'T have a baby! It's - it's physically impossible!"
"That's what Doctor Marsen was trying to change," Katherine explained. "She wanted a future where the women were dominant, and the men were. . ."
"Barefoot and pregnant?" Napoleon finished for her, finding his voice at last.
"Something like that."
"Why?" Illya demanded to know.
"She thought the world would be better off if it were run by women. She blamed a lot of world problems on men, from wars to unemployment."
"And you believed her?" Napoleon asked.
"I. . ." Katherine swallowed hard, fighting to keep control of her emotions. "I was more interested in her experiments with fertility. Doctor Marsen was decades ahead in her field of research. If Mr. Kuryakin is able to carry this baby to full term, thousands of women who are unable to conceive could undergo the same procedure."
"Women such as yourself?" Illya asked.
When she finally answered the question, her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
No longer interested in the 'why', Napoleon changed the subject to the 'how'. "Where did Marsen get the. . ." blushing slightly, Napoleon paused for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate description, ". . . material from?"
"Material?"
Illya rolled his eyes. He was in no mood to beat around the bush. "What Napoleon is unsuccessfully trying to ask is, where did Marsen get the eggs and sperm from?"
"The eggs were taken from several of the women under Marsen's command."
"And the sperm?" Illya asked without any hint of embarrassment.
When Katherine didn't respond straight away, Napoleon again stepped forward, and took hold of her upper arm. "My partner asked you a question."
Looking at some seeming fascinating spot on the floor, Katherine murmured, "You were both harvested when you were first brought here."
All eyes suddenly become focused on Illya once again, as hysterical laughter emerged from deep within the blond's throat. Trying not to hyperventilate, Illya managed, "Are you telling me that I'm pregnant with Napoleon's child?"
"No," she answered slowly. "Your own."
Illya snapped. "This is too much!" His complexion suddenly turning green, he quickly lunged off the bed and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Exchanging worried glances with April and Mark, Napoleon moved to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob. Before he could open it however, sounds of violently ill retching became evident to everyone in the room.
Not wanting to invade his lover's space, Napoleon opened the door a crack, "Illya?"
"Idi k chortu!"
"What did he say?" Mark asked, as Napoleon gently closed the door.
*Go to hell.* "He ah. . . wants to be left alone for a while." Not an exact translation, but close enough. "Look, why don't you two take Katherine here, and make sure the compound is secure."
Wanting to help their friends, but knowing their presence to be unwanted, Mark cuffed the dark-haired woman, and led her out of the room, followed closely by his partner.
A thought suddenly occurring to Napoleon, he stopped them. "One last thing. . ."
"Don't worry," April reassured the senior agent, "we won't breath a word of this to anyone."
"Thanks." Watching the trio leave, Napoleon quietly sat down on one of the beds, and patiently waited for his upset lover to pull himself together.
***
"It's incredible," Doctor Scott Hurts (a rather unfortunate name for a doctor) exclaimed, and not for the first time that day.
*If he says that one more time,* Illya fumed, *I'm going to kill him!*
Successfully reading the look on his lover's face, Napoleon subtly moved the tray, containing scalpels and other assorted sharp instruments, out of reach of the younger man's beautiful, but deadly hands.
Having given both Illya and Napoleon thorough examinations, Doctor Hurts, Head of the U.N.C.L.E. Medical Division in the New York headquarters, was now sitting at his desk comparing Illya's test results with what little of Doctor Marsen's notes had been saved the previous day.
"Absolutely incredibly," the fifty-year-old man repeated.
"That's it," Illya muttered under his breath, getting up from his chair and taking a step towards the unsuspecting doctor.
Before he could take another step however, Napoleon was at his side, placing a restraining arm on his shoulder.
"Scott, how about letting us in on what you've got there?" Napoleon asked
Scott looked up as if suddenly realizing that he wasn't alone in the room. "I'm sorry Napoleon. It's just that this is all so. . ."
"Don't say it," Illya warned.
"Sorry." Taking a close look at the Russian, Scott realized just how on-edge the agent was. "Both of you take a seat, and I'll fill you in on what we've been able to piece together."
"First off, Scott, what was the drug that they were injecting Illya with? It seemed to be fairly important, and it's been over fifteen hours since his last injection." Napoleon had been worrying about that yellow drug, or lack of it, for the last several hours.
"We've been running test on the samples that were brought back, and ninety percent of it seems to be comprised of hormones. The type a woman's body releases during pregnancy."
"And the other ten percent?" Illya asked.
"We haven't been able to pinpoint it yet, but going by what little information we've learned from Katherine Wallace, it seems to be some sort of growth accelerator."
"Growth accelerator?" *How much more complicated could things get?* "To accelerate what?" Napoleon asked.
"The growth of the fetus."
"And just how. . . pregnant am I?" *And why the hell couldn't this have happened to Napoleon and not me!*
"Ten weeks."
"Ten?! Over a period of eight days, I'm ten weeks pregnant?"
"Basically, yes. The hormones you're going to have to keep taking for the remainder of the pregnancy, but I'm fairly confident that we'll be able to increase the strength so that you'll only need to be injected once or twice a day. The staff in the lab are working on the hormones at the moment. Minus the accelerant, of course."
"Why?" Illya asked. "No offence to you or Mother Nature, but the faster I can have this over and done with, the better."
"Illya, we're dealing in unknowns here, and I don't want to add another wild card to the deck. Not enough of Marsen's research notes were recovered dealing with this accelerant, and Katherine wasn't of much help. I'd rather not use a drug that I'm unfamiliar with. I have no idea how it will affect you or the fetus as it develops."
Trying to sound like nothing more than a worried partner and friend, Napoleon asked, "Is Illya in any danger at all?" He glanced at his partner, taking in his tired and drawn features. "I mean, ever since this all started, he's been exhausted and nauseous." *Not to mention more irritable than normal.* Of course, Napoleon wasn't silly enough to mention that last part out loud.
The doctor smiled at Napoleon's concern. Illya merely rolled his eyes. He certainly wasn't about to let it show, but Napoleon's obvious concern for him gave him a warm comforting feeling inside. *How long has it been since anyone truly cared whether I lived or died?*
"Don't worry, Napoleon, morning sickness and fatigue are natural for the. . ." Scott looked to Illya, paused, then smiled, ". . .mother during the first trimester."
Napoleon still wasn't satisfied, "But it wasn't just morning sickness. Illya had trouble keeping any food down."
*He's behaving just like an expectant father,* Scott mused. "Some women. . . sorry, Illya, experience more nausea than others. But in this case, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the accelerant was compounding the problem." Hurts turned his attention to Illya. "Give it a couple of days, and then if you're still having problems with morning sickness, let me know and I'll give you some anti-nausea tablets. Most women find that for mild nausea, eating some plain crackers when they wake up in the morning helps to settle their stomach."
Scott leaned back in his chair, and surveyed the two young men before him. Illya had his cold Russian front firmly in place. It was a sure sign that he was concerned. Napoleon, on the other hand was clearly worried, probably thinking of every possible complication that could go wrong for his friend.
"The bottom line is, I can't give you both any absolutes. There have been rare occasions where the death of the mother has occurred during pregnancy or labor, but Illya, you're healthy and have no medical conditions that I'm worried about, aside from the fact that you're male, and the fetus is attached to your abdominal wall. But so long as we keep a close eye on both you and the embryo during the pregnancy, we should be able to head off any problems that may occur. We just have to ensure that the fetus is gaining an adequate blood supply through which it absorbs oxygen and nutrients, and that it's not adversely affecting any of your internal organs." Scott paused for a moment. As much as he abhorred the idea, it was his duty to point out all possible solutions to his patient. "Of course, Illya, if you have a problem with this entire situation, there is one other option."
"Abortion," Illya confirmed smoothly. It was obvious to Napoleon that this was something Illya had already thought about.
"Yes."
"What would that involve?"
"Illya?" Napoleon was stunned. So long as Illya was in no real danger, he couldn't believe that his partner, and lover was seriously contemplating terminating the pregnancy, terminating his own child.
"This is my body, and my decision," Illya reminded him coldly.
Taking off his reading glasses, Hurts turned his full attention to the blond Soviet. "If you were a woman, and being less than 12 weeks into the pregnancy, I'd use suction curettage; meaning that the fetus would be removed with a vacuum aspirator, followed by scraping the uterus, or in your case the abdominal wall." Wanting to make this option as ugly as possible, Scott continued, "If you decide to terminate the pregnancy AFTER the first 12 weeks, then I'd have to use D and E: dilation and evacuation; dismember the fetus and then remove it." As Scott had hoped, both agents before him turned a little pale at the idea.
"Dismember?" Illya asked uncomfortably.
"By now, that little baby inside of you has developed all of its organs. It has a head, mouth, arms and legs, all of which it can move."
The room became deathly quiet for several minutes as Napoleon and Scott waited for Illya to make a decision. Illya's face had gone completely blank, not allowing Napoleon to read what was going on in that sometimes-dispassionate scientific brain of his. It made him more than a little nervous.
He was mentally preparing himself to talk Illya out of having an abortion, when the younger man finally spoke, his voice sounding tired and resigned. "I've killed a lot of people over the years, both men and women," he began, "but I've never killed an innocent, and I'm not about to start now."
Both Napoleon and the doctor let out breath of relief.
Before either could get a word out however, a lab assistant from Section Five knocked on the door, and without waiting for conformation that he wasn't interrupting anything, entered the room. "Dr. Hurts, I have the hormone concoction that you ordered." As he handed over the bottle containing the hormones, plus a file report to the doctor, the man looked over to Napoleon and Illya. "So, I hear the two of you had to be rescued yet again," he grinned.
Napoleon grimaced. "Not all of us were born to sit on our butts behind a Bunsen burner, Petersen."
"Not everyone has the brains to work in a lab sitting on their butts behind a Bunsen burner," Petersen retorted. "Illya, if you ever get tired of getting your butt kicked out in the field, I have a nice comfy stool in the lab with your name on it."
"I just may take you up on that offer," he sighed. Considering his 'condition,' Illya was sure he'd be pulled from field work immediately.
Suddenly nervous, Illya waited until Petersen had left the room before asking, "Just how many people know about my situation?"
"Don't worry, Illya. Only myself and Mr. Waverly know the full circumstances."
"Don't forget April and Mark," Napoleon added.
This was obviously news to Scott.
"They were present when we found out that I'd been impregnated," Illya informed him. "How long before I. . ." *this is utterly ridiculous,* "start to. . ."
"Show?" Hurts finished for him.
"Yes," he answered, desperately trying not to blush.
"Well, since this is your first. . ."
"And only. . ."
". . .child, I'd say about another two or three weeks. And of course you can only go so far with wearing baggy pants and jackets."
"And what do we do when baggy clothes no longer hide the pregnancy?" Napoleon asked. "We can't just keep Illya locked up for five months."
"Well, I'm assuming that you'll want to keep this whole thing as private as possible," Hurts murmured as he scanned the report he'd been handed.
"Definitely," Illya confirmed. How many times had he heard top secret projects and assignments being talked about in elevators, hallways, and in the cafeteria? He had no intentions of becoming the poster boy for every tabloid rag in the country.
"Well, Illya, unless you plan to don a wig, a dress and a bra, you may have to keep hidden away until the baby's delivered."
The image of Illya dressed as a woman brought a huge beaming smile to Napoleon's lips, and a scowl to Illya's. "That's not funny," the blond responded dryly.
Placing the file on the table, Hurts got up from his desk, and walked over to a wall cabinet, pulling out antiseptic, cotton wool, and a needle. "Illya, roll up your sleeve." Illya complied as the doctor filled the needle with the hormonal drug then walked over to him. "Just until I'm sure that this hormone mixture the lab boys put together is sufficient, I want you to stay in the infirmary."
"Is that really necessary?" Illya asked with disdain. "I've just spent the last eight days chained to a bed."
"Afraid so," Scott confirmed as he swabbed Illya's forearm with the antiseptic, before slipping the needle into his vein. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm not into bondage."
"I'm so relieved," Illya deadpanned.
"Going by the lab reports, you should only require two injections a day. Once I'm sure that you and the baby are responding well to the injections, I'll release you from the infirmary. You know how to use a needle, so you'll be able to give yourself the injections." Suddenly a wicked glint brightened the older man's eyes, and he added, "Unless of course you and Napoleon have decided to shack up together, in which case, Napoleon can administer the hormones."
"What?!"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh please, don't insult my intelligence." The doctor smiled. God, he'd been wanting to do this all day. "Firstly, from the first day the two of you were partnered together, the sexual tension between the two of you has been thick enough to cut with a carving knife. Secondly, if you'll remember, the physical examinations I gave you both last night were very thorough, and rather revealing. It's quite obvious that the two of you have recently become involved in certain sexual activities."
Knowing it was hopeless, Illya still tried to foreign innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Do you want me to go into specifics?" Scott threatened.
"No," Napoleon quickly interrupted, "that's not necessary."
"Does Alexander know?"
"Yes. We thought it would be best if there weren't any secrets," Napoleon answered.
"I'm glad you did. It proves that the two of you are serious about your relationship. And may I say, it's about time." Looking over to Illya, Scott tried not to laugh. The poor Soviet agent looked horrified.
"Illya, don't worry, you'll only make yourself sick," Hurts tried to pacify him. "I'm sure no one else picked up on your feelings for each other."
"How did you know?" Illya asked.
"You forget, I've seen the two of you look after one another when you've been hurt. It was obvious that the two of you cared a great deal about each other."
"Is that all?" Illya asked. If there was anything else that gave the two of them away, Illya wanted to know about it.
"Have I ever told you about my lover?"
"What's that got to do with. . ."
"We've been together for fifteen years now. His name is Bruce."
"Bruce?" Both agents were stunned. "You're gay?" Napoleon asked incredulously.
"As gay as Rock Hudson," he confirmed.
"Rock Hudson's gay?" Illya's eyes were as large as saucers.
"Oh please," Scott sighed. "Napoleon, go take your partner down to the cafeteria and get him something to eat. In the meantime, I'll have a private room in the infirmary all set up." Hurts then stood up from his desk, picking up several file folders. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of explaining to do to Alexander."
Illya's cheeks blushed a bright red, *Thank God, I won't be there for THAT!*
***
Napoleon sat across from his partner, watching as he wolfed down yet another ham sandwich, his nausea of the past eight days gone for the moment.
When Napoleon's wife died after less than a year's marriage, Napoleon was certain that he'd never know that type of unconditional love ever again. Of course, he hadn't counted on being partnered with an irresistibly stubborn, prickly, sarcastic, shy, passionate, loyal to a fault, gorgeous Russian spy. When he realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his blue-eyed dream lover, he'd firmly placed any thoughts of children carrying on the Solo name from his mind. After all, what did babies do anyway? Eat, sleep, cry, and make dirty diapers. Napoleon Solo. . . super spy, sophisticated man of the world. Diaper changer? *I've rather be chained up in a Thrush prison cell.*
"Ah. . . Illya?"
"What?"
"Have you ever changed a diaper?"
"What's a diaper?"
*Oh shit!*
***
Story Notes:
Well, this is my first (completed) story attempt, so please be gentle with me. :-) Any suggestions on how I can improve myself as a storyteller would be gratefully appreciated.
Before you move along to the story, I'd like to thank a few people; C.C. for her knowledge, and Sarah L. for her beta reading (not an easy or enjoyable task, believe me!). But mostly, I'd like to thank Kate D. Not only did Kate beta my story, but she encouraged me every step of the way, offering advice, suggests, and sharing her knowledge and experience (the woman's a saint!). If not for Kate's support, I'd have never had the courage to attempt this. Thanks, Kate!
I guess I have to do the copyright thing now? Okay, IK, NS, Dancer, Slate & Waverly aren't mine, I didn't create 'em. And I'm definitely not making any money from them (in fact, they're sending me happily broke! )
Now, on with the torture. . . I mean story.
Shannon (AKA Illya's Girl. I wish!)