Forward by the author.

This is a continuing story. As I warned in Part II, Part III gets an X-rating. I have tried, though, to keep it as potentially inoffensive as possible. Not that I mind reading explicit sexual scenes, but writing them – well, I find it difficult, especially when the participants include our beloved Mr. Kuryakin.

The CD that Illya Nickovetch sent Napoleon is “2 Be a Master” ; music from the Pokemon series on telly. If you haven’t listened to it, I wish you would. Not all the tracks fit this story, but several fit so well it’s beyond belief.

I hope you enjoy the continuing saga of our intrepid U.N.C.L.E. agents and the Lovely Nikita.

Once again; I do not own, sigh, these characters. And what’s more, I play fast and loose with locations and facts when it suits me.

Raisa

THE EVOLUTION AFFAIR

EPISODE III, PART III

COMING TOGETHER

Her firm resolve lasted until she reached the locked doors of the suite. With no clue how to gain access other than with the permission of the occupant, she stopped, suddenly, trembling.

What on earth had she been thinking? You can’t just barge in there and pin him to the bed, Nikita. Remember whom you’re dealing with. Remember your promise to him. I promised him I wouldn’t push. Urged on by that expert in manipulation, Alexander Waverly, she’d hardly had presence of mind to resist her natural desire to consummate fully what Illya had started in Wales. Now wait a minute. Maybe Waverly hadn’t meant bust down the door and… No probably not. He’d said restore balance. Not rape and pillage. Knock softly and be nice about it.

She got no response. She tried the handle, and the door swung open soundlessly to reveal an empty sitting room. Feeling somewhat like she was on a stakeout, she actually took cover behind a massive desk before she realized how stupid this was. If he was here, he could feel her presence. Yes and she would have felt his. She reached out. Nothing, he wasn’t anywhere in the suite. So disappointed tears started, she sat at the elegant little table and gave way to her emotions. (Nikita? I’m downstairs with Master Khee) His internal voice was calm and soothing. (Stay where you are and I’ll be there soonest) Unable, for the moment to reply, she sat still, not daring to hope for fifteen minutes or more.

He came through the wall on the right, startling her into a crouch behind the chair where she’d sat.

“Easy, Nikita, we’re still friends, right?” Teasing.

“Are we?” No, wrong way to start, damn it.

“After all we’ve been through, we’d better be.” He peered down at her, quizzically. Then reached to offer her a hand up. She noted it was the left, and no sling in sight.

“Umm, all better now? So soon?” The shoulder had been badly damaged, that she was sure of. Things like than don’t heal in less than a month, that much she knew.

“Completely. Now come to me, Lovely. Be not afraid. I am whole and at least half-sane. And you?”

She took the offered hand, put her weight on it, and pulled herself up. Contact again started the ache in her. She thrust it down as far as it would go.

“Working out, Illya? I’d have thought you’d still be on full convalescent status.” She took in the loose black pants and sleeveless shirt that seemed to be his normal exercise attire.

“Master Khee is skilled in healing, Nikita. See?” He rotated his shoulder and flexed both knees in a full squat. “All better.”

“What you should say is that Master Khee is a miracle worker! How can those deep cuts have healed so fast? How can he mend a torn ligament in just a few days? Honestly Illya, are you ever going to answer half my questions?” All this came out in an excited rush.

“You’re right. I don’t know, and no, I’m not.” This was becoming a normal routine.

“Then are you ready to, ah, rejoin the world? You’re getting thin, I think. Look at you. What’s happened, anyway, in the past days, Illya? Why haven’t you even deigned to see me for the last..”

He stopped her next rush of questions by coming close and taking her arms in his two hands. “Save the barrage. I need..”

He put both hands on the back of her head, burying them in her hair and met her lips so tenderly and teasingly that she almost screamed. Unable to be satisfied with the soft kisses he was planting so maddeningly about her mouth and down her throat, she grabbed his head and brought his mouth against hers hard. His response was total surrender. At last, her mind shouted. God, yes, here’s the mouth I ache for, the way I want it. Hard, hot, and insistent, Illya kissed her with full abandon. His hands went where he’d ached to put them. He pulled her close, feeling the exquisite body tremble and push at him. Her skin was velvet to his touch. Inarticulate with desire, he pulled the shirt she was wearing up over her head and threw it in the corner. The simple silk undershirt she wore followed suit. His head bent to taste the gentle swell of her breasts.

“God, I’m going to pass out,” she breathed. And she did. Things went black and her knees buckled.

He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

This is going to take longer than I thought.

He got a cool, wet cloth to lave her face with. She remained out cold as he applied it to her sweaty brow. How tempting…time for a cold shower for me, he thought with chagrin.

She awoke while he showered. Damn it all to hell! How am I going to make love to him if I can’t make it past the first really intimate caress? How, How HOW? She got up woozily and wandered into the bathroom.

“Illya? I’m sorry,” raising her voice to be heard over the rush of water. She opened the curtain to peer at him. He hated anything but hot water, so the intended cold shower had been an idle threat.

“Mmmm, you’re gorgeous, Illya.” As she’d suspected, he was well built all the way around. Sometimes you just know from the way a man behaves, she mused. It’s the way he moves and the way he looks at you. Not that it would have made much difference to her one way or another. Still….

She began removing the rest of her clothes, intent on joining him.

He tried to find the will to ask her to wait. He lost that battle. Suddenly she was under the showerhead with the water sleeking her down, looking like some lovesick sailor’s dream of a mermaid. Then finally, finally, he felt her naked body next to his. Found her mouth devouring his; found his hands slipping up between those nicely muscled thighs.

She took several deep breaths against the dizziness as she reached down to feel his instant erection. “Oh, yes, come into me now, don’t wait, please, Illya.”

Before she passed out she got to feel the length of him possess her. It was good that he was strong, for he held her against the warm tiles as his need overtook him and he finally found release with the woman he was coming to love.

With infinite care he disengaged, and carried his unconscious partner back to bed.

*******************************************

“Nikita, please wake up.” Illya gently stroked her face. Feeling a little bit guilty, he needed her to forgive him for not forcing himself to stop. Never again, he vowed. Either we learn to handle this or I go unsatisfied too.

“Wha.. Oh! Again? What am I going to do with me?” She took his hand in hers and pulled him down next to her. “You did, uh, manage though, didn’t you?”

He would be forever grateful for the way she put it. Still, apologies were in order.

“Nikita, I am sorry. I took full advantage of you. It won’t happen again.”

“Nonsense, Illya! It’s not as if you were taking me against my will, you know.”

“Did you ever see a movie called “Date with An Angel?” She shook her head. “It’s a pretty little thing about an angel who falls to earth and falls in love with a mere human. Every time he tries to kiss her he goes to sleep. Most apropos. He never behaved in the same reprehensible manner in which I did. Oh, for all of five seconds.” Illya began to laugh. “I..I..I’m s-s-sorry Nikita.”

“Stop it.” She began to laugh too. “It’s not f-f-f-funny, damn it.”

The tension they both were under made the giggles turn into a small laughing fit.

“OK,” he finally said, wiping his eyes. “Every time I’m near you I leak from somewhere.” And they were off again.

“Seriously, Illya, what can we do about this problem?”

“Well, stop exciting me beyond my control limits. Or, we can take things very, very slowly, until we reach the point where you don’t doze off on me.”

“Oh come on Illya….Well, we could take turns,” she suggested with a wide smile.

“You know, that might just work. No harm in trying.”

Training was in session.

*******************************************

Two days and a lot of food later they emerged. Talking about the attitude they might find amongst those unavoidably “in the know”, they’d decided to remain circumspect in public, but never deny each other. They also felt like one inseparable being, and neither was willing to let the other out of sight for long.

First stop was the gymnasium. Illya felt that it might help some if he engaged in heavy physical activity for three or four hours per day. Nikita was of the same mind. It was strange how everyone currently occupying the gym left pretty quickly as soon as the two began their workout routine. So lost in themselves, they barely noted the way they affected others. Far from damping the radiated desire, which poured from him, bounced and echoed off her and unconsciously affected others; their physical closeness and at least partial satiety increased the level of effect. He didn’t care at this point anyway.

The second day they were so engaged, Michael walked into the gymnasium. Unnoticed by either of the two, Michael observed. Unavoidably, Michael felt the full effect of the desire that burned unabated between them. He was less than pleased. If Nikita hadn’t been so involved she would have sensed the danger. Michael displeased is a dangerous man. Illya would have felt the danger if the anger had been aimed at Nikita. But it wasn’t.

Michael turned and left, striding stiffly down the corridor to the elevator. There was little doubt in his mind what he must do. Nikita’s head had been turned temporarily by an easy target. The very man they’d been sent to assassinate. He knew her well. He knew how volatile her desire for sexual fulfillment was. He would get her back. He’d reclaimed her from Jergen. He’d reclaim her once again from this man Kuryakin. He would bide his time and wait for a plausible opportunity.

This is not to suggest that Michael is an enemy. His reactions are totally forgivable. He loves her very much. He has always loved her. Michael had been in the world of Section One far longer than Nikita. He’s quelled most of what was human by necessity, for far too long to simply recover his balance, as she’d appeared to have. She had been and was still the bright light at the end of the long dark corridor in his soul. They had shared much, in his estimation. She’d pursued him with a vengeance for four years. He was quite sure she wasn’t done with him yet; merely enjoying a relative freedom he hadn’t the heart to indulge in.

Kept in the dark about why his promised control over Section One had not yet been fully realized, in fact, kept unoccupied except for his daily trips to the gymnasium, Michael burned with impatience. Impatient, woefully underused and now angry, Michael was indeed a dangerous man.

Finishing with her fourth set of fifty crunches, Nikita suddenly shivered with an intruding presentiment. Her mind sensitized through contact with Illya’s, she was picking up more and more from those around her daily. She couldn’t place this source, though.

Looking over to where Illya was performing his shuri-te katas she sighed and forgot the tickle of danger, losing herself in watching him. Finishing with the pinan or “peaceful mind”, he was moving toward the breaking boards, preparing, she could see, to break a seemingly impossible combination of materials held by clamps at various heights. WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, pause, WHAM. The last too fast to follow by eye, each of the boards and bricks surrendered to his strikes. A single crack of a clap made her start up in alarm. Illya, who’d known the Master was present from the start of the series of his katas turned in the Master’s direction and bowed deeply.

“Does he always watch you?” she whispered once the dais was empty.

“Usually.” Eyes closed and breathing deeply, he visibly “came back” from wherever he went when doing the moves that are kata. “Are you finished Nikita?”

“Done right in, Illya. Care to accompany me to the commissary for sustenance?”

“Mr. Kuryakin, a word with you please.” A soft voice floated down.

Nikita had not formally been introduced to Master Khee yet. She felt now was probably not the time, so she stayed below while Kuryakin ascended the steps to the dais.

He bowed low and stood formally in front of the Master who had brought him so far, and healed his hurts so effortlessly.

“There is one present in this building who wishes you harm, Si-hing. Your wu has suffered so severely that you do not feel this threat. Beware of this danger. Open your eyes to what you do now.”

“Pardon your student Sifu,” Illya said, bowing very low. “I need clarification.”

“The one called Michael, newcomer, observed you today with anger and malice. You see the manner in which he moves. He is somewhat below your rank but nonetheless dangerous for all that. Watch your back Si-hing.” Illya was dismissed.

Rejoining Nikita on the floor, Illya made no mention of the knowledge. They went to the showers in the lower level, dressed and went in search of fuel.

To Nikita’s delight Walter was in the commissary, having a huge lunch. She’d never observed Illya and Walter together, so their easy manner was a pleasant surprise. After jumping up to give her a bear hug and two loud kisses, Walter left her side to get up close and personal with Illya. She watched with interest as Illya allowed the contact. Unusual for him. Normally he avoided all but the most necessary touches.

“Sit down, sit down,” Walter bubbled. “Haven’t seen you two in a long time! Heard some great rumors though.”

“I’ll bet you have Walter. Anything new on the anti-coagulants we were working on a while ago?” Illya smiled at Walter unreservedly. Another point in his favor, Nikita thought, as if he needed any more.

“Between me and Birkoff, we’ve almost got the solution to perform as you requested. Should be ready to roll within a week. Care to take a look after lunch?”

With a private apology sent to Nikita, Illya responded in the affirmative. It was, after all, his baby. Time to get back to work.

Finishing their lunch, the three walked down to the main Laboratory, now almost exclusively given over to work involving the tiny mainframe and peripherals to be employed here and at Section One.

Birkoff gave Nikita a hug on sight too. Made no move though to touch Illya though, merely greeted him with outward enthusiasm and a look of hero-worship in his young eyes.

“I can’t wait to get this baby on-line! Nikita have you seen any of this new design of Illya’s? Jesus, we can get anything on anybody, anytime, anywhere. It’s awesome!”

Nikita stared as Illya sat in the seat just vacated by Birkoff, and immediately began prompting and getting responses from a type of monitor she’d never seen. After about 15 minutes of query and response, he glanced at Walter and Birkoff with a sharp look.

“You two have done one hell of a job with this. Here, see the projected response time using the cloned cells combined with the carb-enabler? Fantastic.”

Birkoff looked mildly pained. “I couldn’t get that particular scan to function no matter what I tried. Show me how you..”

“Sugar, those two’ll be at it for hours. Let’s go to my area and pow-wow.”

With some regret, she followed Walter to the next space in the huge Lab. She ooohed and aaaahhed at the gadgets he displayed proudly. Finally, when he was done showing off for her, he got down to business.

“Nikita, it’s more than obvious to anyone with senses functioning that you and Illya are pretty, ah, friendly. In fact..”

“Walter, what’s your point?” Eager to have it out, she pushed him.

“Have you thought about how this’ll affect your past Amour, Michael? Have you even seen him lately? Are you and Michael a thing of the past? Have you told him that?”

“Whoa, ten things at a time please, nosey. You obviously have a good reason for all this Walter. Why don’t you just lay it on me.”

“He’s like a thundercloud looking for a place to strike right now, Nikita. He needs help, and won’t accept any from anybody. Not even me or Seymour. I know there’s this big thing coming up for him, but for right now, he’s idle. It don’t set well with him, know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” I don’t want to deal with this now, she thought. Everybody wants me to talk to Michael. I don’t want to.

“He needs you, Nikita.” Walter began.

She almost uttered the hated words “not now” and closed her mouth quickly.

“Walter, you have no idea what I’ve been through these past months. Michael can’t take center stage now. If he’s willing to be friends with me, still, he’ll have to wait until I’m ready. He needs me, you say. I need Illya, Walter. More than anyone, and anything on earth, I need him. Our relationship is far more important than you know.”

“Give me credit, Sugar. I know a lot more about the two of you than most. I certainly wasn’t suggesting you give up one for the other, merely share yourself a little more. You were always willing to do that in the past.”

“What do you think of Illya, Walter?”

“He’s quite above my likes and dislikes. Oh, no, I like him a lot. Don’t get me wrong. He’s got an IQ far above anyone I’ve ever heard about.”

This was a surprise to Nikita, who hadn’t considered this at all.

“What do you mean, anyone?”

“Confidentially, and I mean very much confidentially, his tests are off the known scales, Sugar. A few weeks ago, he cleared me for some pretty hot information. I bet you’re cleared for it too, aren’t you?”

In the distant past, she thought she remembered Illya mentioning this, yes. She’d just never had the opportunity or the need to take advantage. Aloud she cautioned, “Let’s just stop right here, Walter, until I get a chance to find out what level I’m accessed to, before we discuss Mr. Kuryakin and privileged information.” She paused. “Anything else on that wicked mind of yours?”

His eyes twinkled merrily. “Yeah, just to let you know, being around the two of you is like standing next to the biggest blast furnace imaginable. Makes me feel positively young again.”

She kissed his cheek, patted it and went to see if she could find out what her current clearance status was. All eyes, male and female, watched her exit.

Her search led her ultimately to Alexander Waverly’s office. The grand old man of U.N.C.L.E. cleared his mind of the other issues he was supervising at Sir John’s request to hear her questions.

“I’m sorry my Dear. You are cleared to receive up through Code Five materiel. That’s about as high as we go in this organization. This disk gives you the proper clearances. Safeguard it carefully.” He handed her a small ID disk in a carrier attached to a cloth loop to put over her head. “There are only six of these extent. You may only use the console here in this office to access the information. I assure you, your presence here is not unwelcome at any time.”

“Sir, thank you. If I may then?”

“By all means.”

My God, she thought, three hours later, having scanned one-quarter of the information, this is more than I care to know.

“Any questions Miss Dane? Or would you prefer to table them for later?”

“I need to digest this, Sir. Please excuse me.”

********************************************

“Don’t move.” Breathless, he pleaded with her.

“Oh God, I have to.”

“NO!” Anger was used to distract her.

She managed to hold on, and looked up into his eyes. He seized control, as he’d said he would. Lost in his eyes, she remained fully conscious as he tried one more cautious move. One more move, and they both reached their peak together. He held on long enough to throw the energy about the room. Small pieces of furniture flew against the walls. The heavy bed and its occupants experienced a minor earthquake, and all the alarms in the compound activated.

“We did it,” he whispered into her ear. Then sank down into the softness of oblivion.

************************************

In the adjoining suites the four sensitive human beings heard more than the alarms screaming. They heard what sounded most like a thunderclap, and saw a brilliant flash of blue. Of the four only Alexander Waverly knew exactly what had just occurred. The impenetrable shield had been penetrated by a force born not of anger, but love.

****************************************

LATER THAT SAME DAY

Following the furious activity accompanying the tripping of the Command’s premier alarm system, April and Mark decided to stroll to the commissary for some tea. Noting that his friend seemed unduly jumpy, even after Alexander’s reassurance that no danger was indeed present, he did his best to put her at ease.

“April, Luv, you’re shaking like a leaf. What’s the problem? Can’t shake the sound and vision?” He referred to the thunder-blue, as he thought of it.

“Mark, let’s just drink in companionable silence, shall we?”

“I would if I couldn’t feel the agitation rolling out of you in huge waves, Dear. You know somebody will explain this to us poor little souls sooner or later. Probably the Old Fox himself.” They were alone in the commissary, and so able to talk freely.

“Napoleon didn’t seem the least bit upset. Let’s take our clue from that, Luv.”

“Mark, nothing upsets the unflappable Mr. Solo. Not since, oh I guess that horrible night in the IC ward anyway. No explanation of that adventure has slipped out in any way, shape or form yet. I’m tired of being left out in the cold like this. If we aren’t going to integrate fully, I’d just as soon go back to Toronto.”

Mark Slate knew when not to push his lovely companion, but he ignored his own advice at the moment.

“Dear, our infamous blonde duo has been extremely busy for the past two weeks. I’m quite sure we will be included in the “circle” as soon as their attention can be diverted from the divine to the mundane.”

April trembled at this obvious reference to the state of the union. Having been bombarded for the past two weeks with feelings and longings she couldn’t put into perspective, she was at her rope’s end.

“Come on Lovely, let’s blow this joint. Time to reach peace in sweet slumber.” Mark took her arm and pulled her along with him back towards their separate suites, thinking rather wistfully, that he could help her if she’d only allow it.

He walked her to her door, and asked himself in. This has gone on too long, he thought, time to let the cat out, even if she scratches.

Mark had noticed radical changes in April’s attitude toward Illya in the last two years. Always before they had been teasing each other constantly. April always the flirt, and Illya always the stoic ignorer of her obvious charms. Off and on, it had seemed to Mark, in the early years of April and Illya’s “courtship” as it were, that the relationship must have taken the next step. Whenever asked, April would laugh and deny even the remote possibility of a serious relationship with the dour Russian.

Then, two years ago he’d seen her glow, glower, simper and steam, in the rare times he’d observed the two of them together. And in the last year, he’d never seen them together. During this time, April spoke of Illya not at all. Mark had been prudent. He’d never come right out and asked if they had had a serious affair. Her feelings in this respect were a completely closed book. This was all the more reason for his suspicion that they had finally gotten together. Now, he felt he’d the right to ask. He’d not misread the emotions displayed in the last few weeks.

“April, Luv. This may have been a taboo subject for you for a while. But with the situation as it is, I feel I have to know. What did happen between you and Illya a year ago?”

“Mark, this is not up for discussion. Let it be. Let me be.”

“Not this time April, dear. Time to fess up. Tell your old friend. I know you’ve been unhappy lately. Has it to do with Illya?”

“You won’t drop it, will you. Never mind how I feel. Just push on. Well, I thought I knew you better than that Mr. Slate.”

“We’ve been too close for too long, Luv. And enough brooding is enough. Get it off your chest. I’ll never breathe a word to anyone. I just want some straight talk. OK? Please? There’s too much going on for secrets to fester between us. Between the four of us really.” He didn’t dare say five, not tonight.

“Why Mark? Why now?”

“Because, my Love, there is a new femme fatal making a serious play for our Illya. Because, My Love, your reaction to this fact is plain for all to see. I hope that if you talk to me about it, that may let the poison out of your system.”

“That obvious, is it?”

“’fraid so.” Mark tried to turn her toward him. She pulled away violently and went to stand by the “window” of her room.

“OK, but hold any comments. And I do mean ANY comments now and forever.”

“I’ll try, April.”

She took a deep breath and began.

“Yes. We did. He was so down at the time. I got too close to his situation. I can’t exactly go into the details, because I gave my word. He was so sure we could make each other happy physically and remain friends, that he convinced me against my better judgement. It was awesome. It was wonderful. He was all I could think of most of the time for better than a year, Mark. He swallowed me. I got scared and ran.”

“Is that all, April?”

“That’s all I can give you Mark.”

“May I ask one question, Luv?”

Silence.

“Do you still love him?”

“Yes, I love him. I guess I always did and always will. Now go away.”

“Thank you, April, for telling me. I’ll try not to bring this up unless you want to. Now, can I offer you a drink, or should I still get myself gone.”

“Go, please.”

April stood stiffly as Mark let himself out. Once the door closed behind her oldest and closest friend, she curled up on the bed and let the tears flow.

And that’s how Illya found her. Red eyed, make-up askew, and exhausted, she nevertheless opened the door, after making a brief attempt to repair the damage. She never would have opened that door if she’d known who waited outside. She might have known if she’d bothered to think who could shield so well they couldn’t be read.

“April, I…..” he began. Then stopped when he caught sight of her face. With no hesitation whatsoever, he went over to her and took her in his arms. “What is it April?”

She struggled against him briefly, but he held her fast. Knowing her as he did, he took care to hold her so that any move to throw him away from her wouldn’t work. She fought briefly, then gave in and just sobbed, her arms folded against him, and her face buried in his chest, she got the hurt and anger out. The horrible part was, she wasn’t sure who she was angry with. She was afraid it was herself . Finally, when the great wracking shudders subsided, he let her go, and sat her on the bed. Sitting next to her, still holding her lightly, he began to talk softly.

“I know it’s been difficult April. I’ve had many nights when I cried and ranted and raved and cursed myself. I don’t think we did ourselves any favor by remaining apart so completely these past months. You haven’t healed and neither have I. But it is time we began the process. I do so want to go back to the way it was. I need your friendship. I hope you still want mine. Will you try?”

“How, do you (hitch of breath) know this is about (hitch of breath) you, you conceited (hitch, hitch) Russian?”

“Give me a little credit, Love. Even with your shields fully engaged, I still get the strong emotions. Even from afar. We have something very special. I would not lose that. But I will never, ever again, push you into anything you don’t want. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I did push.”

“It’s not your fault Illya. If I hadn’t wanted to, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“Yes, it is. I had what I needed – your friendship. I should have left it alone. You would never have pressured me in the same manner.”

“Nonsense, Illya. I flirted with you unmercifully all the time.” April managed a small smile.

“My dear Girl, you did that with everyone. You still do.”

He got the rise he wanted out of her.

“Illya Nickovetch! In the first place, I am not a girl by any stretch of the imagination! Secondly, I haven’t seriously flirted with anyone since…well….since.”

“April Marie! In the first place, you will always be a girl to me. And secondly, yes you do flirt. And get results, by the way. You are a beautiful girl-woman. One minute, you’re Section One, Number Three; the next, you’re April Dancer, devil-may-care breaker of hearts! It’s charming. It’s you, and always will be.”

Again looking straight into her eyes, to make sure she knew he was one hundred per cent serious, he went on; relishing the chance to look at her and talk to her again.

“You are looking at your number one fan, April. I admire your talents; your intelligence and your stubborn Yankee will.”

Unable to look away from that blue-eyed stare, April surrendered completely.

“OK, Illyusha, you’re right, we’ve got to repair the damage somehow.”

Then recalling her visitor a little earlier, she knew what had to come next.

“Mark knows.” She said this in a whisper. She feared his reaction. He took the smallest betrayal so seriously. However, she found it impossible to keep this from him. His reaction, therefore, surprised her.

“Of course Mark knows. How could he not?”

“I mean I told him, Illya; tonight, not even an hour ago.”

“It’s all right, April. It’s time. There will be little about one another that’s hidden now. I am not the least bit angry. Relax.”

“I think I’ve been making a fool of myself with Nikita, haven’t I?” She looked into his eyes, begging for the truth.

“Do you realize, April, that there is no such thing as making a “fool of one’s self” among people who love each other. Never mind worrying about Nikita for the time being. She likes you. Napoleon, Mark and I have noticed how you felt, yes. I’ve longed to talk with you about it. You have three men surrounding you who would die for you; who would protect you from anything if you’d only let them.” Illya had to pause to master his emotions. Instinctively, April placed her hand on his shoulder to lend support.

The miracle happened. Both of them felt the warmth flow from hand to shoulder. This was the way it had been. This was the way he’d been so afraid it could never be again. The love could exist now without the tension. They would be friends now, not lovers, not angry anymore.

“We’re back,” they said simultaneously, sharing brilliant smiles.

“I love you, April,” Illya said simply.

“I love you, too,” she replied, and felt a great all-consuming joy.

“Now get out of here, and let me get some sleep.”

He got halfway down the corridor, before she called him back.

“What was it that you came for, originally, Illya? At two in the morning, and with the day we’ve had, there must have been something.”

He gave her another 100% smile. “I came because you needed me.”

******************************************************

Illya returned to the suite, undressed yet again, and lay down carefully, trying not to awaken Nikita. He needed to think for awhile. If she awoke, thinking would narrow down so quickly to deciding where to put his mouth next, it wasn’t funny. She made a small sound, curled up next to him, and remained asleep.

Illya looked around at the once elegant, tidy suite. Nearly everything would have to be replaced, he thought, caught between embarrassment at the thought of admitting as much to Waverly, and amusement as he glanced around at the smashed furniture, broken glass on the floor from the picture frames on each wall, and, last but not least, the jagged crack running exactly down the middle of the headboard on the bed. Looks lived in now, he said to himself, and began to shake with suppressed mirth. Which woke the lovely lady by his side, which ended rational thought for the duration of the morning.

*********************************************

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly greeted his fifteenth visitor of the day in evident good humor. “Quite a stir this morning.”

The direct reference and the bright twinkle in his Chief’s eyes astounded Mr. Kuryakin. He sat without returning a comment, though once again he had the infuriating sense of being the insect pinned. Face pulled down into his famous scowl, he swallowed his anger.

“Sir, I feel the time has come for me to test our theory. And in light of this, is there anything I could conceivably do in the way of work on a current case while I’m out there?”

“Interesting proposition, young man. Not quite what I expected. I’d thought you would simply emerge, ah, show yourself, and return.”

“Alexander, if I may be so bold, our current status on successful missions is woefully low. I feel this may be due to the quality of current training of our operatives. So, if there is anything, ah, not connected with the EWI that could use my attention, I’d like to do something useful.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, you are not the “expendable” asset you were years ago. As I am sure you recall, I paired you with Mr. Solo from the beginning because I thought he could best insure your safety, as you gained experience in the field. It turned out that you also served him in the same manner. Now, however, we have an entirely new set of priorities, which, truth to be told, require you fully functioning. I do not feel there is anything “out there” that I’d consider worth your attention.”

“Excuse me, Sir. But the world has gone to hell in a basket, unless things have changed drastically in the past six months. You have reinstated me for full operational status. I don’t think much of anything could go wrong that I couldn’t personally handle, uh, much better than most of your current operatives.”

“My dear man,” Waverly raised his voice and both eyebrows, “do you know that there are currently three organizations that have your death or capture high on their list of priorities? That blasted Section One, for starters. Then there’s always THRUSH, and lastly the EWI.”

“Section One, Sir? I thought we had them under our thumb?”

“On paper, we do indeed. However, I highly suspect the head of that organization still wants your head on a platter, no matter what directives have passed down from Oversight. And bare in mind, not all factions of the THRUSH organization are under EWI control. Your name is on top of their hit list, if you must know. No, it will be enough of a challenge to survive strolling out the door of this headquarters, let alone engaging further trouble.”

“And yet, Sir, I went out against that fortress in Nepal. I’m telling you Alexander, I cannot sit here idle much longer. I must emerge from this cocoon sometime. We have agreed that it is to be soon. Surely there is something very close to home that could use my attention. It would also provide an excellent field test of the new operating system and peripherals that have been designed by our new asset Walter. Give me a chance to do this Alexander.”

Waverly knew he was going to lose this battle, eventually. One could not keep a personality such as this under control for long. The only way to control Illya was to let out the leash enough to satisfy him. The dangers he’d outlined were staggering. But so were this man’s abilities. So, something close to home would be found to bank the fire of impatience being displayed. God knew there was an urgent need for this level of expertise in the field.

“Very well, Mr. Kuryakin. Read this profile of the current THRUSH activity in the neighborhood and select one area for consideration.” Waverly turned the monitor to allow Kuryakin to view. “Coordination with Sir John will be absolutely necessary on most of these. And for heaven’s sake, don’t mention the sorry state of readiness in the Command that you expressed to me!”

Illya merely looked at the monitor. There were several cases that showed promise. The one that caught his attention the most was one involving THRUSH’s attempts to employ biological agents against this Headquarters. He addressed this one.

“Yes, that is rather worrisome,” Waverly admitted with a frown. “Seems they’ve gotten a good look at our present biological defense system somehow, and are busy trying to thwart it. The Satrap involved in most of the actions is the one located here in Manhattan.”

“Very well, Sir. With Sir John’s permission (or possibly without it, he thought) I’ll draw up a reasonable assault plan on that Satrap.”

“We have a task force on that one,” Waverly said dryly.

“I realize that, Sir, but they aren’t familiar with the new equipment I shall employ, are they?”

Waverly sighed. It sounded like the intrepid Mr. Kuryakin was again implying a one-man show. This he could not condone. And he stated as much.

“Nevertheless, Sir, as with Nepal, who else could get in, destroy, and get out with as much chance of success as myself?”

“What about Miss Dane, Mr. Kuryakin? She would most likely be a valuable asset to you on this action.” Privately Waverly wondered just why he was so anxious to risk life and limb just now, and hoped the thought of Nikita might curb this lust for action.

“I hope she will run the tactical coordination for me Sir. She should be very comfortable with the new visuals we’ve worked up. They are, after all, practically carbon copies of those used by Section One.” Illya’s eyes lit up thinking about this. Running wide open mentally, in the center of action again, with Nikita as his extra eyes and ears; the concept pleased him immensely. “I do have your permission to go Sir?”

“Try not to step on too many toes, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly said to his retreating back.

It had been a rough time, convincing Nikita not to go directly with him. The power struggle between the two of them was dicey and set Illya’s every nerve on edge. Still, in the end, he had prevailed. She would stay in the Command in Security and Communications and run tactical for him. She would see what he saw, assist in reading the infra-red probes of the surrounding areas he’d enter on his way into the Satrap, and advise on a fall back, if needed.

Illya discussed the case with Napoleon, Mark and April for four grueling hours that evening. The three had been just as dismayed as Waverly at his intent, but just as powerless to stop the process.

Sir John had been most surprised, and a little leery of sending this man out alone against a fortress that he’d planned on storming with a full assault force in the following week. Illya had ruthlessly pushed him into accepting the new proposal. Kuryakin felt somewhat guilty at the dazed look in Sir John’s eyes, as the bewildered man fell prey to the physical push of power Illya employed. Still, Illya mused, it was good practice, pushing one so strong-minded into accepting without protest what should never have been allowed. Damn it all, he had to know what he was capable of! Not everyone could be pushed in this manner. Curiously, the more intelligent the target, the easier it was to force obedience. Rather like hypnosis. Illya had almost forgotten that he’d learned this years ago. He found it distasteful in practice, but often necessary.

By far the stickiest problem was what to do with the viable biological agent once he acquired it. These required careful handling. He informed himself on the latest methods of containment and transport. The next step was to use the Command’s new computer to invade the operating system in the Satrap to learn which bio-agent was intended for Command headquarters, and when. His breath caught in his throat as he broke into the system and learned the attack was scheduled for two days hence. No wonder then, that his attention had been caught. This threatened his friends, himself, and probably most importantly, his Nikita. His actions thus vindicated, he proceeded with haste to arm and protect as best he could.

Nikita moved as if in a daze. Tomorrow morning, he’d go out those doors and maybe never return. It was incredible how much she cared. She’d watched Michael go out time after time like this. This was nothing new. Bullshit, Nikita, she thought, you’ve never felt this much love for anyone. She’d promised Illya. No outward emotions. Shake the frightening premonitions. Focus on the mission. Jesus, she’d heard that one often enough in the past five years! Focus on success. There, that was better. She would focus on the thought of his returning. Until, that is, he walked out the door.

Basically, he’d told his various astonished audiences, he would walk into THRUSH’s stronghold in broad daylight. Pushing any thought of resistance out of the minds he encountered there. The alarm systems would be disabled by the CPU in U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. He’d reach the resting-place of the deadly shifting-antigen virus. The Satrap’s computer system had pinpointed it nicely. Seven levels beneath the earth in a cryo-safe, the computer reported. The bug was housed in the container the Hierarchy intended to transport it in already. One problem solved.

As long as no EWI adept was housed in the place, everything should go smoothly.

The aim here was not to destroy the Satrap, but to take preemptive action against a suspected threat. This kind of action had long been Illya Nickovetch’s dream, Waverly’s too. If it happened often enough, thwarting THRUSH’s attacks would lead to a total shake-up of the entire organization.

That evening, in preparation for tomorrow’s action, Illya retired to the gymnasium, for mind-calming exercises. Deep in concentration, he moved gracefully and slowly through his calming katas. The gym was deserted at this hour. Not even Master Khee observed. The world grew dim and silent in the practicing master’s eyes and mind. Consciousness drew in upon itself, until he filled the universe. Calm. Peace.

Danger. Danger? Here? Turning slowly toward the entrance to the huge gymnasium, his mind’s eye saw a dark figure surrounded by black shot with red

and yellow. With a huge effort, Illya threw off the impeding inner vision and looked again with normal sight. It was fortunate that he did, rather than react to the threat his inner senses reported. He would have killed the menace as offhandedly as one swats a fly.

Michael, dressed similarly to Illya, and presumably come to take advantage of the lull in attendance, stood stock still at the door. In a quiet voice, with a small smile, Michael, quite correctly, requested entrance.

“By all means. I was just finishing.” Illya said amicably enough.

“Don’t stop on my account, Mr. Kuryakin.” Michael strode onto the floor. “When you are finished, I would like to talk.”

“We can talk now.” Illya’s concentration was broken. No way to recapture the internal peace he sought. Here was a confrontation he didn’t need right now. Aside from being able to see Michael’s aura (still alarming dark and still with the threatening reds and yellows), Michael was one of those rare closed books. No sense of a shield, but unreadable, nonetheless. Only one other person, in Illya’s experience, exhibited these same characteristics, but he was a friend, not a potential foe, as he felt this man was.

Illya stood relaxed, taking deep, slow breaths, facing the stone wall that was Michael.

“I would like to be of assistance.” Michael’s calm voice betrayed none of the antagonism he felt, nor would it ever. Having learned much about the Command and Kuryakin himself through perusal of open information files, Michael could learn nothing further without direct contact. Tired of inaction, armed with enough information to play the game, he would now move into the second phase of integration and absorption.

In particular, Michael wished to know how Kuryakin had managed to deflect the shot he’d managed to get off that long ago sunny January day. Aware of the man’s alleged psychic abilities from the Section’s dossier, he nevertheless could not factor in the manner in which he, Michael, could have been thwarted in the routine assassination of an assigned target.

“In what particular way are you interested in assisting Michael?”

“I need to be brought up to speed on the new system technologies recently brought on-line. I understand I will be a primary user of these.”

“You will indeed. Alexander Waverly has spoken with you, I am sure. Outlined the overall plan, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I have a mission coming up in just a few hours. We will field test the equipment tomorrow morning. It is most appropriate that you’ve come forward with your request just now. Allow me to show you the new operation control center.”

Side by side, the two men strolled to the elevator to take them to the third floor.

The center Michael walked into felt so much like the ops center in Section that he nearly sighed in contentment.

Nikita and Birkoff stood in front of a bank of monitors and keyboards, absorbed in familiarization with various readouts. Birkoff was first to notice Michael’s presence.

“Oh, hi Michael. Going to run this sim now, Nikita. Stand by for input.”

Nikita whirled about. There they were together, standing looking at her calmly. Michael, as deadpan as always, dressed in exercise clothing, standing right next to Illya, dressed similarly. Illya’s gaze as gentle as Michael’s was empty. But his mind was hidden for once, as if to tell her this must be played straight. Not even a glimmer of the unending excitement pulled her toward him. Strange. All right guys. I can play this game too.

“Michael, glad you could join us. You’re just in time for full system integration.”

Michael moved to her side soundlessly. She looked sideways at the familiar profile, so serious, so intent. This wasn’t going to be easy. Squash it girl. Show him what he needs to know.

For two hours, Nikita took Michael through the hows, whats, and whys of the new operating system. He grasped quickly what he needed.

Noting the information streaming in from various identified and a few unidentified sources, he turned to Kuryakin, who had been quietly watching the two work together.

“This is Section data,” Michael said, letting none of the wonder reflect in his voice.

“Yes. We have their operational systems integrated with this one. In fact, we control the inputs, monitor the outputs, and can, if needed, shut down anything within the complex.” This was to be Michael’s portion of continuing operations. Illya was pleased to see him finally active and alive. After all, Michael was an extremely valuable operative, one the Command hoped to have do the brunt of the work as oversight for the anti-terrorist efforts of Section One. Somehow, though, Illya suspected Michael would not settle for mere oversight. He’d be in the field soon. Need to speak with Waverly about that, Illya thought. When I return from tomorrow morning’s festivities, then.

Illya was called away by Walter, who was eager to show him the completed peripheral equipment Illya would be wearing tomorrow. With one final look at the two people standing together at the console, he left.

Left alone with Michael, except for Birkoff, whom neither one took notice of in situations like this, Nikita struggled for the professional calm which had been her demeanor throughout at Section One. She finished showing Michael the various functions she was familiar with. Then he spoke up.

“It’s late Nikita. Care for coffee and a bite to eat?” Michael softly touched her elbow.

“I can’t Michael. I still have lots to do here. Thanks though.” She smiled at him, hoping he’d know to drop it there. Seeing Michael in this environment, after the last two rather crushing meetings prior to this one, reminded her just how much she owed this man. He’d saved her life so many times. He’d given her love in a dark world. Oh please, Michael, don’t be sweet and reasonable.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps another time then.” And he touched her arm in a wordless farewell.

Illya returned before he made it to the door.

“Michael, care to have dinner? Andre has something special prepared. And Nikita, we are done, as far as tomorrow morning’s op goes. Let’s call it a day.”

“Thank you but no, Mr. Kuryakin.”

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

“Next time perhaps.” Michael allowed a small smile to play about his lips.

“Join us here then tomorrow morning, nine a.m. for the field run. Should be interesting.”

“Thank you, again, Mr. Kuryakin. I’m sure it will be.”

“Mr. Birkoff, go get some rest please. The system will live without you for a few hours. I need you ready to go in the morning.”

Birkoff left reluctantly. He’d heard every word, caught every nuance between Michael and Nikita. He knew the pattern. He went to talk to Walter.

“Why are you doing this?” Nikita came up close and looked into Illya’s blue eyes with unstated questions radiating out of her own.

Illya understood the questions very well, but needed to hear her words.

“Tell me what you think I am doing, Nikita.”

“You’re being difficult, for starters. Bringing Michael here, now. Building a wall so I can’t feel you. Asking him to dine with you, or with us, whichever the case might have been. Why? I need to be clear headed tomorrow.”

“And Michael’s presence clouds your head, Nikita?”

Damn, he’s pushing me now! Stop it my Love. Be yourself. Be with me.

Hearing such a plea, he had no choice. The wall disappeared. His warmth again surrounded her. She sighed with relief, and kissed him. Thank you

Following a truly sumptuous meal, the two made their way to the shambles of a suite they still hadn’t made any effort to repair.

“Nikita I..”

She stopped him with an intimate caress, bringing an answering fire he’d rather have left banked for tonight.

“Not now, Illya.” She grinned mischievously and pulled him willingly to bed.

******************

“Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” Softly he ran his hand down the silky thigh nestled against his.

“That you’ll be here with me tomorrow night. That you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I’ll be careful.” He buried his nose in the sweaty fragrance of the nape of her neck, kissing the exquisitely sensitive place.

“That’s not good enough,” moaning with pleasure, she arched her neck forward, inviting more of the same, pushing her self back against him. He responded with more kisses, not so tender now. Hungry. They were getting to the point where both could remain conscious throughout lovemaking, and he could not get enough of the fullness of the experience. She fed and returned and amplified his pleasure to so great a degree that the more he experienced her body and mind, the more he would come to demand. It was a delicate time, and he hoped he could maintain the gentleness he’d so far managed to show her.

Nikita’s thoughts ran much in the same direction. When she touched him, she felt both her pleasure and his. It was dizzying, it was unparalleled. She knew this could never be experienced with another. This made her somewhat desperate to hold on to him as long as she could. The thought of losing him almost paralyzed her. Therefore, she buried herself in the sensuality rather than give into her fears.

*********************************************

At three a.m. Illya was awakened by the phone next to the bed.

There was a problem with the new operating system. The night technicians found it unsolvable, would he please come take a look.

He slipped into some comfortable clothes and headed out the door before Nikita came fully awake.

“Morning Sasha, what seems to be…uh. Never mind, I can see.” The monitors flashed brightly, faded, and slowly recovered. In fact all outputs faded in and out. The system had never done this before.

Illya sat at the main console, put his eye to the retina scan on the left and entered his private code to gain access to the CPU.

With tremendous relief, he watched the power stabilize. Nevertheless, they’d have to go to his backup system. He turned to look at his night staff.

“Everyone out please for a few minutes. Sasha call Walter and get him here soonest.” No one had to ask whom he meant.

Fifteen minutes later, a sleepy Walter stood at Illya’s side, still pawing at his eyes, which watered incessantly.

“Trouble Illya? Yeah. No need to answer that one. What can I do for ya?” Walter wondered why on earth Illya Kuryakin had called on him and not Birkoff, or one of the other superbrains that had been working with Kuryakin in the past on this thing. But thought better than to ask. He knew an answer was forthcoming. He just hoped it wouldn’t be something he couldn’t handle.

“Please just observe for a minute, Friend.” Illya didn’t look up from the keyboard he was using to reroute necessary programs. Finally he sat forward, put his eye once more to the retina scan, laid his left hand on a yet another scanner, and fitted an odd looking device against his voice box.

“Great day for up.” Illya said clearly into the voice recognition scanner. The system peripherals blinked, went out, then returned functioning smoothly. Illya turned to Walter. “Walter, you are my secondary system backup. Please have a seat, put your left eye to this scan and say the words, ‘Up ear number one, up ear number two.’”

Simple enough, thought Walter, and did as instructed. He wondered about the word usage ‘You are my backup’. He’d felt a small jolt once he’d put his eye to the small lens and said the words, but nothing too unpleasant. The hand device had pricked his palm too. He looked at it wonderingly. A small drop of blood oozed out.

“OK, Oh Mighty One, what just happened?” Feeling understandably nervous, Walter tried to jolly his way out of it.

“Walter, I have to be successful this morning. The primary operation system developed some kind of unknown disease, as it were. I’ve just activated the secondary system, and you are its backup. If I should fail to return, your voice, retinal pattern and DNA will be the only way to restart this system.”

“Can’t this op wait 24 hours? If we’re having glitches, well, seems to me we should put the action off till things are fixed.”

“I would if I could. But THRUSH plans to try to infiltrate the filter system with a nasty bug tomorrow. I can’t take the risk of being wrong about the filtering system. Too much at stake. Please forgive the early morning wake up, Walter. You will only be required to stand in for me for the next 24 to 48 hours, if I should fail to return.”

“Why me? I mean I’m flattered and all, but wouldn’t Birkoff or Nikita or one of the Big Four be a better choice than me?”

“Not at all. I trust you Walter. I’m not wrong in choosing you.”

Walter recalled the night in his room and nodded his head resignedly. By God, once this man had your word, that was it. Jesus. So different from Section policy. Deep down, Walter knew he’d never betray this trust.

“Now, please get a few hours rest. We still go at 9 a.m.”

*********************************************

“Kier, is Alexis awake?”

“She is, Sir. Do you wish to speak with her?”

God.

“Yes, Ki, in a moment. Is all going well there?” “There” was perhaps the most closely guarded secret on the planet.

“As well as you can expect. She misses you, of course. But she’s well and we keep her mind on her studies. When..”

“Stop, Ki. Call her.”

He spoke at length with his beloved daughter.

“Walter, standby in the arsenal.” Kuryakin’s voice floated through the air in Walter’s spaces.

“Sure thing, Illya. Ready whenever you are.”

“Birkoff, get set to run tactical support.”

Walter and Birkoff looked at each other. Nikita was supposed to handle this aspect.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Seymour. You ask him, will ya, where she is.”

“Oh no Walter, not me. You know him better than I do.”

Shit, thought Walter.

Napoleon Solo sauntered into the techhie’s inner sanctum. The time set to begin the test of his friend and that friend’s abilities was close at hand. Instead of heading to the Command and Control Room with the other three, he’d changed directions. He needed to see Illya face to face. The bright spot that was his friend had darkened. If this had to be postponed, then so be it. Napoleon would use any weapon in his own personal arsenal to prevent Illya from going out alone, if he thought Kuryakin wasn’t truly ready.

At first glance, Napoleon knew something fundamental had changed. Illya’s face was a cold mask. It had been years since he’d gotten nothing like this.

Napoleon glanced about the Communication center, noting Nikita’s absence.

“Say Illya, where is Nikita?”

“We’re going to proceed..”

“Here! Sorry Illya, I got hung up for a little back there.” Immaculate in black, hair loose and soft, she calmly took her position at her console and began punching up the proper commands to activate the equipment Illya was to carry, and to run a thorough scan on all frequencies and light levels of the intended target.

Michael followed one minute later, nodded to all present and went to join Nikita.

Ignoring Napoleon, Illya let his wall stand, and walked to her side to peer down at the various monitors now coming to life.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked her quietly.

“All systems go.” She sent a wave of love. It bounced off Illya’s wall and affected everyone else in the room. At this, Walter and Birkoff relaxed, believing things to be quite settled. Nikita, Illya and Napoleon knew better. Michael, feeling none of this, said nothing at all.

“Looks complicated,” Napoleon said, staring at the readouts and laying a hand on Illya’s shoulder; reaching out to his friend once more. “You’ll have to bring me up to speed when you return Illya.” Nothing, a blank wall, no emotions, no kind words, nothing.

“Just watch, Napoleon. All you really need to get the hang of is interpretation. Perhaps Nikita can explain what she’s doing as things develop.” Illya remained adamantly closed to the two people trying desperately to reach him. No time for sentiments now. The threat must be dealt with now. Time enough later to smooth things out.

Dressed in a black, beautifully cut suit, hair cut close to his scalp and combed forward, lean, fit and ready despite the three or so hours of rest in the last 24, Nikita looked at him and thought, ‘The predator’s back.’ She knew he hadn’t returned to their suite since the 3 a.m. wake up call. She felt and understood the wall he’d erected between himself and emotions. She watched him walk out the traditional operative’s egress on the ground floor level.

Section One’s stakeout operative reported immediately to his group leader that Kuryakin was in sight.

THRUSH’s never ending surveillance team reported the same information.

In a distant land, Enfield’s black eyes opened wide, as his mind reported Kuryakin was in the clear.

Nikita promptly informed Illya of the first two communiqués. Illya caught the third on his own.

“Jesus,” Birkoff breathed as the screens reporting biorhythms went wild.

Wide open, Illya taunted Enfield like a child dares another on the playground.

The dare was acted upon. Illya felt like shouting with joy. The threat was manageable. If only because Enfield’s (and EWI’s) challenge was to take him alive. What matter, his mind gloated, this means I am FREE. Very well. Attend to the other two physical threats then.

He turned his attention to both groups of people intent on truly annihilating him and pushed them off their tracks with no little effort. Confusion reigned within the two headquarters as all input ceased; human and machine. No one had drawn weapons yet, so Illya felt no need. He casually strolled down the crowded sidewalk toward his waiting vehicle. He drove the relatively short distance to the main THRUSH Satrapy without incident. He walked through the entrance as planned, thrusting away the curious one by one with a flick of effort. His cover story was simple. His face would remain unidentified by most of the people he saw.

Nikita watched incredulously as the scene changed from auto to building to elevator. Deactivating the alarms in the cryo-safe on the third floor, she spoke quietly into Illya’s ear the entire time, giving reassurance and guidance. He’d reached his goal without so much as a glitch. Now the truly touchy part of the plan had to go as smoothly. It just had to. To walk out carrying the frozen antigen in its shielded container. So small an item to hold so much terror. Damn the world that had to invent such things, as if there wasn’t enough pain and suffering already.

Michael watched the process with naked disbelief written on his face. No one in the room took note of this, however, being glued to various screens displaying the agent’s progress. What kind of man is this? Michael had gone to Waverly requesting to run a backup team for Mr. Kuryakin and got kind words and a firm no. Michael looked at the face of Kuryakin’s friend, Napoleon Solo, who was watching the screen displays intently. Aware and alert for dangers from unlikely sources, Napoleon went unaware of the scrutiny.

Nikita and Solo simultaneously started forward in their seats. Michael, trying hard to determine what cause for alarm there might be, searched the readings racing across the displays. An anomaly, a blur, neither hot nor cold approached the cryo-safe room down the narrow corridor.

“What is that?” Michael asked quietly pointing unnecessarily. He reached forward to activate yet another filtered scan of the anomaly.

Illya had secured the canister in his brief case and was about to walk out of the controlled area. When he heard three voices demanding his attention, he paused, choosing.

“Napoleon, what is it?”

Napoleon, startled that Illya hadn’t noted the threat, described what he saw (and what he felt, privately) to his friend.

Most of the operatives and security personnel in the huge complex that was THRUSH Headquarters, New York took no notice of the slender blonde man walking in their midst. Some didn’t even see him. Some saw, were momentarily alarmed, but quickly forgot why. Illya had to concentrate on his primary objective so hard, he could spare no attention to remain aware of any actions Enfield and company might be setting up for his amusement. It would have been useless to try, anyway, he told himself in a quiet second. He could no more read that mind than Enfield could read or control his.

But there was one individual in the satrapy who was unshakably aware of Kuryakin’s presence; one who matched him in physical skills, and had the full attention of Paul Enfield as a shield. He appeared on no roster of personnel. He barely registered on the satrapy’s various scans. He was called Wu Fan. Not by many, though. Most did not wish to know this man at all, let alone address him. He was EWI’s animal. Born, bred, trained by cruelty, and fully capable of taking down any opponent; he was under full protection by EWI. He was a machine. It was he who blocked Kuryakin’s way out.

Kuryakin stopped dead in his tracks. Here was a legend and a nightmare he hadn’t counted on meeting this trip. Illya had heard rumor of this personage. No image of this man existed anywhere on earth. He was a dark blotch on the face of the world. Enfield’s weapon, Illya thought, forcing down the fear that rose naturally in the presence of such an evil entity. Calm yourself, Si-hing, he heard Master Khee’s voice in his head. Prepare for battle.

Illya had only a second to put down the case containing the deadly virus before the blurred image struck with a fury and speed that was phenomenal. His legs deadened by the partially deflected blow to the groin, Illya fell heavily. A quick arrow of a plea. (NAPOLEON) He felt his strength return somewhat and his vision cleared enough to see his opponent. Roll away. Get up! Strike now or forever hold your peace, he thought nonsensically. With a speed that matched Wu Fan’s he struck back as the deadly opponent hit him yet again, this time in the chest. It seemed his heart was in the cold, bronzed fist. Shake fear, and STRIKE! Illya’s two hands came crashing down on both sides of the unprotected neck. Any one of the blows so far would have ended any other fight.

The Chinese had time to land one further blow before losing consciousness, kicking out and up with his foot, he aimed for head and connected.

Illya, whose consciousness had narrowed to a fine point, felt his opponent’s weakness and landed a solid hand thrust to the groin just as Wu Fan’s blow sent him flying against the wall. The move ended the fight as Kuryakin, flying backward, gripped fiercely, tearing the now dropped testicles from their moorings. The struggle had lasted all of five seconds.

Illya rolled onto his back, desperately commanding his heart to beat, his lungs to draw air, and his flaming midsection to stop screaming at him. He’d managed, in that second before the first blow to bring his own testicles up into his body, and partially block the blow; foiling what should have been the only necessary move for his opponent to totally disable, if not kill him, but any hit from such an opponent was extraordinarily painful.

All around him, he was dimly aware that the satrap was becoming aware of an intruder. He turned his head slightly, to look at the man beside him. A pool of blood spreading from his soaked trousers told Kuryakin his grip and subsequent tear of tissues had been devastating. The man was still breathing! Christ! Time to gather yourself and get out, he thought.

Somehow he did it. With Napoleon and Nikita’s help, he did it. Unaware of how he got there, he found himself on the sidewalk in the sun, clutching the deadly canister still concealed by the large attaché case. Job’s not done until you get this to a safe depository, he thought, looking dumbly down at the case in his left hand. Find your car, get in, drive to Headquarters. Then you can pass out. Putting himself on auto-pilot, he managed to locate his innocent looking armored car, fumbled for the keys, and drove the short distance back to U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters. Piece of cake, he thought, as he walked into admissions ten minutes later. Then his world narrowed yet again, and though he remained upright, he saw and felt nothing.

Nikita managed to hold on until he walked back through the steel-reinforced doors of the agent’s entrance before giving in to the fear. Shaking from head to foot, she managed a strangled,

“’scuse me.” And walked on wobbly legs toward Admissions.

Napoleon, sat down in the chair before the dizzying array of keyboards, monitors and various flashing indicators, and took several deep breaths before finding the strength to summon Master Khee to attend to his friend. He’d caught enough of the short furious battle to know he’d just witnessed what few ever had, a fight between two ninjitsu adepts. Any of the blows could be life threatening – right then, in a matter of hours; even days later. He recalled Mark Slate’s account of the scene in the Command and Control room. He imagined Mark had seen the cold killing face of the ninja.

Michael stood still. The display of power had been more than a bit daunting, especially to one not equipped to fully understand it. Michael had understood the physical struggle though, no doubt about that. For the few seconds the fight lasted, it told Michael volumes about the man he was so interested in.

April Dancer and Mark Slate beat Nikita to Admissions to take physical control of the automaton that stood in front of a alarmed receptionist, seemingly waiting for her to pin his white badge on his lapel and allow him entrance to the first floor of the complex. The badges were obsolete now, of course. Everyone allowed normal access carried, implanted in their head, an ID chip. It was just one precaution against unwanted entry. There were various retina, voice and brain pattern scans to identify authorized personnel.

April and Mark approached Illya cautiously. April touched the mind of her friend ever so gently, identifying herself. Until she got a response, neither one would dare lay a hand on Illya. Any highly trained agent, in such a state, is dangerous, and both knew it from personal experience. Mark had once disabled and nearly killed the hapless security guard, who had tried to assist him inside the complex while Mark had been similarly hurt, stunned and on automatic.

With a low voice, radiating love and concern, April continued to talk to Illya until he looked up at her. Wordlessly he looked from one to the other, and finally handed the case over to Mark, and sent April a small assurance. Then allowed himself to be half carried into the hall behind the second set of doors.

Nikita came skidding to a stop three feet away, having caught April’s warning glance. She fell into step behind the three of them.

Napoleon Solo and Master Khee met the four in MedLab.

Master Khee spoke softly in Chinese to Illya. Illya nodded. The sharp eyes glanced around at the other four people in the room. Illya requested that they converse in English, since he knew two of the four did not speak sufficient Mandarin.

“Excuse me, please. Hold him steady. Mr. Solo, Mr. Slate do the holding.”

Illya steadied himself for the pain to come as the Master ran his hands up and down limbs and torso. Looking straight into Illya’s eyes, the Master put one hand on the chest, and on the back and prodded and pushed. A cry of pain as the bones, muscles and connective tissue returned to their rightful places. But when the blackness passed from his eyes, only the groin and head hurt.

“He has a concussion. Please order a full MRI.” The job done, Master Khee turned to go.

Nikita bowed low as he passed. He stopped, regarded her deeply and asked in English if she would care to take instruction when she felt ready.

She answered “Master, once Mr. Kuryakin is up and about again, I request an audience and evaluation.” Bowing again, she awaited her answer.

“Come to me when you can, then, young lady, and we shall see.”

Pleased, he returned to his sanctuary.

*******************************************

Too worn out to argue, Illya lay on the stretcher. Carried to MedLab like a sacrificial offering, he thought with impatience. Susan met the group at the door. Quickly taking pulse and temperature, she asked her assistant to ready the MRI chamber.

No one made a move to leave as they awaited word from the Doctor. About an hour later she came out to announce “The concussion is mild. He’ll be fine.” She looked at Napoleon. “He should be confined to bedrest for the next three weeks, Mr. Solo. However, we both know how that goes. Is Master Khee aware of the injuries?”

Napoleon filled her in concerning the source of the injuries, and the Master’s evaluation. Susan smiled. “I wonder if I might ask you to inquire of Master Khee whether he has the time to monitor our lame one?”

“I suppose he’s in there demanding to be let lose already,” Napoleon said with a warm smile to the doctor.

“Yes and I still have several willing patients to attend to. So please Napoleon?”

“I’ll relieve you of your onerous responsibility if you’ll agree to dinner out this evening.” Susan fit Napoleon’s somewhat changed tastes in women to a tee. Tired of voluptuous females, all too ready for a night between the sheets at the first opportunity; bored finally with meaningless conversations, Napoleon was ready to reenter the ring with the serious minded, prim, petit doctor who took little from anyone.

Susan’s smile lit up her entire face.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

********************************************

Mark shook his head, as he, April and Napoleon marched down the hall.

“Congratulations, Mate. You’ve done it again. I’ve been trying to talk that particular female into dinner and whatever follows such for years now. Some things never change.”

Something in Mark’s speech brought Napoleon up short. He searched his mind for the connection. Ah yes, something about changes, evolution - the CD Illya had had sent to Napoleon’s Paris Headquarters while resting up in the Crimea. Having held onto the CD, carried it with him, as a matter of fact, because it was rare that Illya sent him anything; he brought up the subject with his two companions.

“Either one of you ever heard of Pokemon?”

Two blank stares.

“OK just checking.”

Following a short audience with the revered Master Khee, Napoleon went to his suite, located the CD and spent the next 45 minutes listening to the music his friend wanted him to hear. Illya often expressed his emotional self in music. Napoleon mentally kicked himself several times as he listened to the sentiments expressed by the various tracks. The second time he listened, it moved him to tears.

***************************************

“Sugar, how’s our man?” Walter finally tracked her down. She sat in the gymnasium on one of the lifting benches, silent and still.

She’d accompanied Illya to the doors leading to Master Khee’s sanctuary, only to be denied access. After an hour the Master himself had emerged to speak with her. He begged her patience, but Mr. Kuryakin would require isolation for the first forty-eight hours. After that, she would be free to visit. She’d found the courage to ask the Master if Illya was going to be all right. He’d smiled kindly and briefly explained about the nature of some injuries incurred in such a battle as had been fought between Kuryakin and Wu Fan.

“Patience, young one. He is in good care.”

“Master I did not mean to imply..”

“Go and distract yourself Miss Dane. I see how things are between the two of you. I shall send reports prior to your visits.” She bowed low to him, missing the warm smile he bestowed on her bent head. When she straightened up, he’d disappeared.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry Walter. Yes he’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Good. That’s fine Sugar.” Walter patted her shoulder. She turned to him, as she’d done so often in the past and hugged him fiercely. His arms around her, Walter hugged back, feeling the finely made body tremble slightly. “I wish I could think it was me set you atremble, Beauty, but this old man knows better.”

She held back her tears. Put him at arm’s length.

“This old man, huh. Seems to me I’ve heard some pretty delicious rumors about you and certain female elements in the Command, Old Man.” Her eyes lit up when his did.

“Gotta stay sane somehow, Nikita. There’s no dearth of attractive females here, that’s for sure. Smart, intelligent, liberated females, just getting’ in line for a night out with yours truly.”

“Doin’ all right for yourself, then, no doubt.”

“Yeah, but I need to speak with your Mr. Kuryakin. Think you could arrange an audience?”

“No. Not unless it’s a true emergency. Not for the next 48 hours anyway. What’s up?”

“His ears only, Sweetheart. Sorry, but you know His rules. I suppose I can carry the burden for another 48 Nikita. Hey want to come view something extraordinary? Our friend Michael is playing a certain sequence captured earlier today, over and over. Seems fascinated with it”

“Let me guess, Walter. The fight between Illya and that monster? By the way, is it dead?” She refused to accord human status to what she’d seen on her monitors. She shuddered.

“Yep. That’s the one. And as far as we can determine, its dead, yes ma’am. One hell of a short…Oh, I’m sorry Nikita. I guess maybe that’s not exactly what you’d find entertaining viewing.”

“’s all right Walter. But I’d rather wait for Illya to be there before I review any of that horrid, what, few seconds? But it is interesting that Michael’s so intrigued.”

“Only natural, Sugar. Remember, Michael reigned supreme on the mat in Section One. It’s natural that he’d want to view the ‘competition’.”

“Right.” Disturbed at Walter’s suggesting Michael wanting to compete with Illya, she wished the conversation at an end.

They spoke of unrelated matters for a few minutes, then he persuaded her to leave the gym in his good company, and return to work on familiarization with the new system.

********************************************

Napoleon jumped up off the couch where he’d been lying, one hand thrown across his eyes since finishing the second rendition of the CD his friend had sent him months ago. Damn fool, he berated himself. This had been a personal message for his ears only. Illya had not shared talk of the adorable little pocket monsters with either Mark or April. It had been he whom Illya had contacted from the void, he whom Illya had trusted to take his daughter away; and his name Illya had shouted in grave peril today. Somehow in the last nine years things had appeared to change in the relationship between the two of them. The six-month interrogation, without rescue, had torn the deep friendship nearly to smithereens. God knows the circumstances had seemed insurmountable at the time. Both he and Waverly had been temporarily out of commission for four months. They’d assumed Illya dead. Napoleon knew he hadn’t grown with his partner in power of mind. But shit, he should have felt something! He’d told himself that by the time he himself had come out of the coma induced by a massive head injury, Illya had been too far-gone to send even a mental whisper. Even April had heard not a crumb. But SHIT he was Illya’s closest friend. They’d shared everything for years and years. They’d operated on a level unknown by most humans. WHY HADN’T HE KNOWN? This was an old torture. He’d never rid himself of the mental and almost physical pain of his failure. When Illya had been finally taken out of enemy hands, almost by accident, the shock of his being alive had nearly driven Napoleon out of the mind he’d managed to hold on to following the ‘death’ of his partner.

He’d never forget the first sight of his friend. Unrecognizable. So far gone, he hardly knew himself. It had been pure hell. Countless operations, experimental procedures, psychological reconditioning finally failing to pull Illya out of the terror he seemed unable to shake, the decision to implant specific blocks had been the only solution to total rehabilitation. Napoleon’s mind reeled with the reliving of that three-year span in hell. He’d given up his career, so he’d thought, to be there for Illya the entire time.

The end result of all the care and nurturing and love lavished on the broken body and spirit paid off though. Illya came back from the brink. The experimental drugs and procedures had restored his body to a state younger than when he’d descended into the hell of THRUSH’s possession. The end result of the original plan – total annihilation of THRUSH Europe had been accomplished. Illya’s implanted knowledge had been dragged out of him as planned, setting in motion the biggest shake up in the history of organized crime. The world had rested a lot easier in the early nineties because of it.

Then the marriage and subsequent birth of his daughter, followed by the immediate death of his wife had taken the wind out of Illya’s still partially shredded sails. He’d left without a word. Traveled the world with his tiny daughter and healed himself by sheer will. Throughout those years, Illya had contacted him about once every six months. Short communiqués designed to find out if Napoleon still lived and thrived. Finally, when the decision to return to the Command, forced Illya to spend more time in the company of his friend and former partner, Illya had been distant but friendly enough; the inscrutable one once more.

The main thrust of the music on the CD seemed, to Napoleon at least, to point out that everything changes. His tired mind missed the other messages entirely.

The unhappy musings of Napoleon Solo were interrupted by his intercom.

“Mr. Solo?” The soft sibilant voice of Khee Mon Chai asked him to come at once to the living quarters of her father.

*****************************************

Off balance, and therefore uneasy, Napoleon entered the normally closed doors of Master Khee’s sanctuary not five minutes later. Met by the rather plain daughter, and put somewhat at ease, he lounged on the mats, waiting.

For the hundredth time he marveled at how the UNCLE New York complex had grown over the years. This living space was a prime example. Cut into the bedrock, he supposed beneath Manhattan, it must have cost no small fortune to construct this man’s personal Shangri-La. Napoleon noted especially that the huge rectangular room seemed to be lit with sunlight. But of course, this was not possible. How then….

Master Khee made some small sound announcing his presence to the still unaware Solo, who turned quickly, chagrined that he could be caught off guard.

“Mr. Solo. Thank you for coming so quickly.” His whisper soft tones caressed the ear.

“Not at all Master,” Napoleon bowed belatedly, noting the small incline the Master awarded him out of the edge of his vision. “How may I be of assistance?”

The Master gave his small suggestion of a smile.

“Mr. Kuryakin is resisting my best efforts, Mr. Solo, to put him into the rest state he needs. He appears to require your presence.” A lift of both eyebrows told Napoleon just how annoying and unexpected this was.

Imagine that, Napoleon thought to himself, Illya Kuryakin being recalcitrant! Ha! But he kept his tone respectful, despite his inner mirth.

“Master, I apologize for my friend. I will see what is the matter then?”

“Follow me, Mr. Solo. Please be aware that your friend will be semi-coherent. This is due to medicines I have forced him to ingest. Do not worry about this.”

“Just how much danger is there of further complications Master Khee?”

“Enough to be very cautious. Enough to justify my actions, Mr. Solo. You no doubt viewed the confrontation. You are aware of the time factors. We can only wait and see. Please go in.”

The door swung open at the Master’s touch. Napoleon entered alone.

Illya lay like a corpse. Unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of breath. If not for that small movement, Napoleon would have thought him dead. He studied the familiar outline of the blonde head against the whiteness of the pillow and sighed deeply.

The blue eyes flew open. Illya struggled to move, to reach out to Napoleon. His limbs felt made of concrete. Fighting Master Khee’s spells was damned difficult.

Napoleon, noting the struggle, gave in to the natural pull this man exerted on him and made it easy by moving to what once had been a very familiar spot at Illya’s bedside. He took the long pale hand trembling on the mat into his own brown one, and reached forward to brush the soft hair of his friend with the other.

Once this simple contact was made, the trembling body on the bed stilled and Napoleon himself felt his inner turmoil ease.

Illya Nickovetch gave up the struggle against Master Khee’s infusions and words, and he sank into unconsciousness without a word.

Napoleon stood bemused, looking into the beloved face, now totally relaxed, sighed once more and looked about for a chair in which to sit.

*************************************************

“Anyone seen the illustrious Mr. Solo?” Susan asked that evening of the assemblage in the new Operations Control Room.

Alexander Waverly, April Dancer, Mark Slate, Nikita, and Walter looked up at the good doctor. Michael sitting quietly at the main console, took no notice of anything, seemingly.

“In his quarters, I believe, Susan,” April offered.

“Thank you, but no. He’s not there. Well, OK, if he shows up, tell him he’s late.” Susan left in some embarrassment.

Mark knew the source of the blush on her features. Stood up by the great Napoleon Solo. Yes indeedy. How rare. But then his partner was down.

April knew precisely where Napoleon was without bothering to think. With Illya, of course. Long time partners and good friends; when one was down the other was always present, whenever possible. But she spared the room a comment on this for Nikita’s sake.

Mark, never one to spare anyone anything, as long as it was true said, rather cryptically,

“Whither thou goest.”

Which garnered him a swift kick in the shins from his own long time partner.

“OUCH Luv! All I meant..”

Slate close your mouth you callous Brit! Now let it go!

Nikita looked from one to the other, not wishing to probe but unable to help herself. Without looking April’s way she dragged the information out of that formidable countenance. Examined the answer she got; thought about it briefly; decided all was right with the world, and her smile brightened the room.

April, outraged that this beginner could and would invade her privacy in this manner, strode angrily to Nikita, and in no uncertain terms asked her to accompany her outside the room.

Diminutive at five-four and no more than minimum weight for her slight frame, nevertheless, April Dancer exuded danger as she ushered the taller women into a private conference room just down the hall. The dark brown eyes snapped with anger, and the beautiful mouth drew into a thin line. Shutting the door she turned on Nikita with all the savageness of a cornered she-wolf.

The effect left Nikita breathless.

“How dare you?” April began, her voice low and dangerous.

“I’m sorry Miss Dancer. Please..”

“Shut up young woman! That was unforgivable, Nikita! Absolutely not done! Do you understand me?”

A nod.

“Hasn’t Illya had a talk with you regarding protocol?”

Another nod.

Despite her great anger, April felt herself softening towards this beautiful young woman, sitting with bowed head. She loves him. She couldn’t help it. Forgive her this once. “Well?”

Thoughts of what to say flew through Nikita’s head. This was important. This was the first time the two of them had ever spoken alone. Nikita felt somewhat confused. There had to be a power structure in place here between the five of them. Surely Illya was the Alpha Male. Which, by right, she thought, makes me the Alpha Female. But then the female before her had – what Nikita, had what? – given up the position voluntarily? No not quite. There was more to it than that. Nikita’s analogy of a wolf pack almost tickled her enough to elicit a giggle, which might just have been fatal under the circumstances. Well, OK, but I’m not going to roll over for you Miss Dancer, her traitor mind whispered, and the ill-timed giggle escaped.

Anger escalating, April turned on her heel to leave. Better to leave than force a showdown. Especially when April wasn’t sure just how powerful this young upstart really was.

“April, wait! Please I’m sorry. For God’s sake don’t walk away!” Echoing Illya to a tee, she reached out for the angry woman who had stopped in the doorway.

April turned, anger replaced by wonder at the sincerity and the love which broke down her mind’s barrier with ease. Lord, they’re two of a kind, aren’t they? No wonder then.

Nikita stood up and closed the distance between them, thankful that she wasn’t wearing heels, and therefore wouldn’t tower over the smaller woman. She laid a tentative hand upon the slight shoulder.

“Forgive me, April. Yes, Illya did have that talk with me. I’m just worried. Where He’s concerned, I have little restraint.”

April found her voice.

“Alright, Nikita, apology accepted. But in the future ask and receive in the usual human way please?”

Nikita looked into April’s eyes, wishing once again that she could seem a little less imposing than her five-nine height allowed. “I think we should work together on the mental level more often, April. But I’ll await your invitation.”

April walked over to the conference table and sank down into one of the leather chairs with a sigh. She motioned for Nikita to place herself in the closest seat.

“Do you understand why Illya asked for Napoleon, instead of you?” April cut to the chase.

“Fully.”

April looked into those incredible eyes. How on earth did anybody refuse this girl anything, she thought bemusedly. With eyes like that looking at you, even Alexander Waverly must be hard pressed to be firm. April quickly reviewed all the actions in the past weeks and realized that, like Illya himself, Alexander had allowed Nikita any and all actions without reprisal. Oh well, cave in old girl, you could get to like her a lot.

Nikita explained briefly about the information she’d read in the Section One dossiers concerning Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin. Then with mischief shining in her eyes she asked the question April Dancer was waiting to hear.

“Have they been more than just partners and friends?”

April’s eyes crinkled delightfully.

“I tell you what, young lady, you wait until those two are in the same room with you and voice that question, if you think you’re up to it. Now, let’s not give those males any more to gossip about. Let’s waltz back in there cool as cucumbers.”

“Thank you Miss Dancer. And you’re perfectly right. Let’s go.”

“Ah, Nikita, are you going to ask? And if you do, will the answer make any difference?”

“No April. I doubt I could find the strength to ask. Would you mind if we talked over dinner some night soon? There are many things, ah, other things, I need to know about the four of you.”

“I’d be delighted Nikita.”

*********************************************

Napoleon yawned and stretched. Alternately pacing around the chamber and then returning to the bedside of his unconscious partner, he sighed repeatedly in frustration. This was taking much to long. In his experience, Illya slept off effects of much worse than this in less than eight hours. It had been twice that, and still the man remained motionless on the soft mat. Master Khee had been in only once to check on his patient. The Master had said little except to grunt. Napoleon hoped he’d interpreted it correctly as a hopeful grunt at least. Food had been provided by the daughter about every six hours.

The only movement Illya exhibited was the rise and fall of breath, and rapid eye movements signaling dreams off and on during the past eight hours.

Finally collapsing on a futon on the other side of the room from his sleeping friend, Napoleon found sleep, albeit uneasy.

You have several trials coming, young one. Pain will become your constant companion. You must be strong and never surrender. This is the legacy you are charged with. Stand firm against the great enemy who comes to destroy you and through you the way of life enjoyed by humankind.

Your brief hiatus has now come to an end. Find what strength you can in others, use it. Call on me in your darkest hour. I will stand beside you.

Illya struggled to speak; to ask questions of the dark eyed one. He was denied the ability to ask even the simplest. The dream ended abruptly, only to be replaced with horrible visions out of his past.

A soft moan escaped the parched throat. The paralysis of Master Khee’s potions and spell broken, Illya Nickovetch awoke.

“Right here Illya,” Napoleon rasped sleepily, coming out of a deep dream of his own to stumble over to Illya’s side at the first sound.

“Thirsty,” Illya whispered.

“Hold on, got to check with the Master.” Napoleon gave Illya’s forearm a quick squeeze, then left to find the “doctor” in charge.

Khee wasn’t pleased. Never before had anyone broken out of the induced trance before it was time. The body needed to surrender completely. Damn him for his strength, it is working against him. Ah well.

Entering the chamber, Master Khee allowed water to pass the parched lips, holding the bruised body up in a semi-sitting position. Then performed a thorough examination.

Napoleon gasped as the covers and wraps were removed, showing the extent of the bruises covering the chest. From collarbone to below the waist, the ugly purple/red bruise seemed to be advancing even as he watched the Master pass his hands across the outraged flesh.

Illya, noticing Napoleon’s horrified stare through slitted eyes, said shakily,

“Beautiful isn’t it? One hit in the chest, and I shall be technicolor for some time to come.”

“Quiet!” Master Khee commanded. He put his ear to the chest, listening carefully to the rhythm of the beating heart. After a full five minutes, he straightened up, frowning.

“It will be necessary to reinstate the rest cycle, Mr. Kuryakin. Your danger is not over yet. Absolute rest is required.”

“Sifu, may I confer with Mr. Solo prior to submitting?”

“Ten minutes, Si-hing. Following that another 24 hours will be spent as before.” The Master stalked out.

“How’s the rest of you Illya? I know there was more than one hit.” Napoleon looked into the ice-blue eyes begging the truth.

“I blocked the other killing blow, Napoleon. Although I suspect I am technicolor there too, I will not be singing soprano in the future.” Illya smiled at his friend. “Never mind that, Napoleon. I called you here to do more than hold my hand while I slept. Sit down and give me your full attention, will you?”

“Of course Illya. I am at your complete disposal.” Napoleon sat back and tried to relax. Somehow he knew this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. It must have shown in his face, for Illya grimaced.

“Come on Napoleon, stop expecting the worst. All I wish to speak of is the future. Ah, the immediate future anyway. I realize the three of you have put up with a lot from me in the past.”

Napoleon snorted.

“You’ve abandoned your posts for an unspecified period of time. I realize..”

“Illya, this isn’t necessary. Let’s get it out. You have a job for us to do. Let’s get to it.”

Illya looked down, somewhat uneasy. Napoleon had been the leader of the pack, so to speak, for all the years they’d worked together. The passing of the baton wasn’t easy for either of them to take.

“If it were up to me, Napoleon, I would have let you lead this particular, ah, expedition.”

“Uh huh. But it’s not me, Illya, it’s you who must lead here. Get on with it.”

Illya took a deep breath, winced with pain from his chest. The acknowledged discomfort broke the strained mood.

“What’s troubling you, Napasha? I know part of it, but you must let me in on the rest, before we can proceed,” Illya said softly.

“It’s this!” Napoleon gestured at Illya, the bed, and the injuries. He sent his friend the message internally.

“Ah.”

“Why is it that you seem to take the brunt of the insults, always Illyusha?”

“I, ah, have it from a high authority, that that’s the way it will go, Napasha. Never mind. I seem to survive quite well. What I have to ask you to do is be strong for me. As far as it is possible to know one’s future, I have been warned as I slept, to expect more of the same.”

“Is that the same “authority” we spoke of a few weeks ago? Why can’t he or it help out a bit more.”

“Some things must remain vague so that the people who have to endure them can find the courage to go on. Speaking of courage, Napoleon, can you find the courage to coexist with me for a short span?”

Napoleon looked stunned by the highly unsuspected request.

Illya smiled once again, a small, sad smile that touched the heart.

“All of us. The five of us. Together, in my home. Can you yield to me?”

“Yield?”

“I’m not saying this right. Too much confusion. Let’s see. Can you bend to my will without breaking? You are strong, Napoleon, but can you bend?”

“Over backward, My Friend, over backward.”

************************************************

“Nikita?” Michael’s soft voice called her to the present. She’d been musing over what she’d been reading in the files in Waverly’s office. Sitting before the main control panel in the new Operations Center, trying to focus on the ongoing missions, she’d drifted off once more to a hillside in Wales.

“What Michael? I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

Where’s the message from Master Khee? Her mind wandered yet again.

“..have dinner with me.” Michael was saying.

“Sure. I’m starving.” She vaguely felt the hunger now. It had been at least 18 hours since her last meal.

“I mean, outside of this complex, Nikita, not in the commissary. I have reservations at a place not far from here for tonight.”

It was the longest sentence Michael had put together in some time, and it caught her attention.

“I’m sorry Michael, I can’t leave, I need to be here.”

“Not 24 hours every day surely.” Michael smiled at her gently.

“I..”

“Please.” The soft entreaty was so seductive, so very rare.

********************************************

The restaurant was lovely, the food exquisite. Nikita relaxed with Michael after the first hour or so. The wine warming her inside and his focused attention warming her from without, she dropped the aloof attitude she’d shown him since they’d both landed outside Section One. It can’t hurt to be friends with him, she thought, dizzy with relief that this seemed to be just dinner out, not the grilling questions and gentle demands she’d expected.

Following dinner, he took her onto the dance floor, holding her close.

“Nikita, we need to talk.”

Oh no, don’t ruin it, Michael. She wished for the hundredth time that she could speak to his mind.

“You are really taken with this man Kuryakin aren’t you?” Michael’s lips grazed her ear, so sensual, so familiar.

“Michael, don’t.” She pulled away slightly, putting enough distance between them to look into his hazel eyes.

“I have to Nikita. I have been watching you. I have been observing him too. As well as the other three that seem to make up some kind of group.”

“I know, Michael. Don’t..”

“I have also put two and two together, Nikita. I come up with at least five.”

“Five what?”

“Lovers, Nikita. You are but one of them.”

She pulled away once more. He held her fast.

“Michael, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Now let go of this and let’s finish this evening without discussing it any further.”

“I can’t see you hurt like this, Nikita. Don’t you see what’s happening? It is plain to me. Kuryakin has had each of those people one way or another. You are just the most recent addition.”

She could either react violently, or take his suggestion calmly. She chose the latter.

“And what of it?”

“Get out of it, Nikita. You don’t belong there.”

Oh, I do, Michael. You have no idea. His speculations rang true, though, there was no denying them. Truth or not, it didn’t seem to matter to her. Nothing mattered but to be part of the group. His words, far from driving her away from the rarefied circle she felt she belonged to, served to solidify her feelings towards Illya, Napoleon, April and Mark.

“I’d like to go back now, Michael.”

“Please, Nikita. Think about what I’ve said. They are using you.”

Indeed.

*********************************************

When Michael and Nikita returned to the New York Headquarters, she proceeded directly to the new Ops Center. Michael, after one more warning, went to his quarters. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was out in the open now. She’d been waiting for the shoe to drop. Using me, she thought. I suppose “they” are. Doesn’t everyone use everyone else in some manner or another? Still, she felt free to choose her own path. She was sure Illya had meant it when he’d indicated to her that she could walk out anytime. That was before they’d made love. Wonder how that line would go now? Her lips curled up in a delicious smile.

The message from Master Khee was waiting for her on her console. The forty-eight hours were up. Illya was recovering well. Would she wish to visit? Heart leaping in anticipation, she raced to the elevator.

***********************************

It was Napoleon Solo who greeted her. Seeing the look on her face as she walked into the room, he was suddenly very envious. Lord, he thought to himself, Illya may choose rarely, but by God when he does, they responded so beautifully. He walked up to her and again, as he had when they first met, raised her hand to his lips. To his delight she responded internally.

Napoleon, you rouge! Let a poor girl breathe!

I’m rarely fatal, my dear Nikita he shot back, eyes gleaming, teeth flashing.

“Somehow I doubt that sir. Now where is the infamous Mr. Kuryakin?”

Seeing her eyes light up just saying his name did wonders for Napoleon. So damn good to see the love shining through, he thought, this time without a twinge of jealousy. Illya deserves this.

“We have to talk first, Nikita.” He didn’t drop his smile, but his eyes lost some of their gleam.

“I got the message that Illya was recovering well,” she began, loosing her own smile.

“And so he is, dear. But I need to caution you not to expect too much so soon. Sit down Nikita.”

She sat, and he took a seat within touching distance.

“Illya was hit in the chest. It’ll be a while before he’s up to his usual tricks. Wait,” Napoleon held up his hand for silence. “Now, Master Khee says he will release his patient tomorrow morning. There are some conditions, though. And Illya Nickovetch will not like them. In fact we’ll have a major fight on our hands. I need your help.”

“What conditions?” Suddenly wary, she braced herself for bad news.

“He’ll have to go in a wheel chair for about two weeks, Nikita. He’ll need constant watching.”

“I can do that,” she said seriously.

“Nooo, you alone, cannot do that,” Napoleon corrected gently. “In fact I suspect it will take the four of us together. This isn’t like a bullet wound or a knife wound. Let me tell you, keeping Illya under wraps the way he needs to be won’t be easy at all. He doesn’t take coddling very well.” Napoleon stopped and laughed to himself recalling all the times different doctors had left stringent instructions with the difficult patient. Illya either walked right out of the hospital environment, or threw such a fuss that he was thrown out.

“What we’re going to do Nikita, is take him home and sit on him, all four of us, like a precious egg that must hatch well. We’ll leave most of the coddling to you, as the, ah, member of this team most likely to succeed. And April, Mark and I will supply the discipline.”

“You mean, we’re all going to go to his own home and live there? Is that what I hear Mr. Solo? And treat him like he could break any second?” Despite her desire to be part of this team, her nature rebelled at this.

“Come now, Nikita,” Napoleon said, noting the rising color in her lovely face. “This is what we’re here for, the three Section I heavies. We’re not here to stand idly by. You recall the whole point? That the five of us become a working team. What better adverse situation could arise than this in order to bring us together? And as I’ve said, my dear, no matter how much Illya loves you, he won’t be easy to handle in this situation.”

Nikita’s protest died on her lips at Napoleon’s words about love. She studied the handsome face before her, trying with all her might not to probe his mind to find out what Illya had said, if anything, about love.

Astute Mr. Solo didn’t need to read her mind to catch his gaff. Illya had said nothing. He didn’t need to. Napoleon knew his partner well. He just wished he hadn’t been the first to raise the subject.

“Come on then, let’s go see the technicolor man. One further word of caution. Don’t make much of a to-do about his condition. It’s going to be all right.” He stood and took her hand, pulling her up, leading her to the chamber.

Sitting propped up by huge pillows, sleeping despite his resolve to greet Nikita and give her reassurance, Illya indeed was sporting many colors that a healthy human does not carry. Face paper white where it wasn’t bruised; the purple and red and now yellowing-at-the-edges patch that spread from his throat down across his entire chest, Illya was a painful sight to see.

Looking at him, she was struck by a certainty. He is being used. By something, or someone, for some awesome reason. He is being beaten and battered and molded into shape for some titanic battle. And again, the fierce protective force rose up in her heart. I will help him meet whatever challenges he must, and make him live through it.

And then what, Nikita? Live happily ever after? YES! On the hill, in the hill, in the temple, in the garden. Beyond that blasted hell of vacuous space in some child’s idea of heaven? Yes.

Stunned by her own furious thoughts, she stood stock-still in the middle of the room, afraid to touch him. Napoleon’s right, she thought finally. I’ll need the help of those three excellent people just to begin to control him. Michael’s words floated through her brain. All of them lovers. She saw the truth of it. Not physically, no. Well, maybe no. But where it really counts, in the hearts and minds, yes.

“I’m taking you home.” Softly, almost to herself, she said the words.

*********************************************

Having slept in the clothes in which she’d gone out to dinner with Michael, she was a curious sight when Illya Nickovetch awoke the following morning. Curled up on the futon in the form fitting black sheath dress, her hair in severe disarray from tossing and turning, she looked like some little girl’s discarded doll, left out on the couch for the night.

He contented himself with looking at the shapely bare feet, the long legs, the finely muscled bare arms. (And looking chilly, he thought with a little anger. Where’s help when you need it?) The angelic face pouting in sleep had come to mean so much to him he wondered how he’d lived without her. A soft snore stole out of the perfection on the mat and his heart constricted with love. My God, I love her. The knowledge hit him hard.

She’s cold.

(Napoleon! Bring a blanket. Quietly.) The command hit Napoleon broadside. This was a mental tone he’d never heard. Not even when Illya had been demanding that he hurry up and reach the corporeal body that awaited its “soul”. This was the voice of absolute authority. His body reacted before his mind and he was half way to the door with a coverlet in his arms before he realized it. Napoleon shook himself like a dog throwing off water, then continued into the sleeping chamber like a servant obeying a lord.

(she’s cold please cover her up) This was a more reasonable tone, more like the man he was familiar with. Napoleon covered the girl up carefully, tucking the blanket about her feet. She did not awaken. He turned to face Illya, bowed and awaited further communication, which, he gathered after a full minute, was not forthcoming. Illya was looking with rapt attention at Nikita.

All right, your highness. Anything else I can do?

Impervious to the bantering tone from Napoleon, Illya took the question as his due.

(leave please, she needs to sleep)

***********************************************

This is going to be tougher than I thought, Napoleon mused. He left Master Khee’s sanctuary shortly thereafter to have some words with the rest of the intended retinue.

He found April and Mark in Slate’s room, enjoying coffee and the Sunday paper. The appearance of their former Chief Enforcement Officer, friend and superior, brought them both to their feet with almost comic haste.

Napoleon had just time to wonder what the hell was going on before they rounded on him together.

“How is the Russian wolf?” This from Slate, who referred to Illya often as this or that animal.

April asked her question mentally, stunning poor Napoleon once again with the power she possessed.

“Take it easy April Dancer. Are you trying to fry my brain?” Napoleon asked only partly in jest.

“Mmmm, sorry Love.”

“Don’t you know?” He looked at her quizzically, well aware of the bond that existed between the two, and surprised she needed to be told.

“Just lately, no.” April looked down at the floor.

Their attitudes were so uncharacteristic that Napoleon forgot to answer either one. For these two to have jumped to attention upon his entering the room was strange enough. They had been famous for their flippant attitude toward all types of authority from day one of their partnership. The only person Napoleon was aware of that could reign in either Dancer or Slate had been Alexander Waverly. Then the humbled tone of April’s and the way she looked down at the floor. What’s the matter here? More changes?

“He’ll be alright. And we have an assignment. The five of us are going to retire to Illya’s reputedly palatial home for an unspecified time, there to play doctors and disciplinarians while his nibs recovers.” Napoleon watched the two closely. They nodded as if what he’d told them was something they’d expected. “Has Waverly spoken with you?”

“No. The old dear has been rather occupied running operations. Sir John has stepped aside more and more, allowing this,” said April in flat tones.

“Excuse me, you two. Don’t you think this is a particularly bad idea, going into the home of the one we must learn to control? Why don’t we pick the location? Say a neutral ground. A fortified prison perhaps?” Slate was perfectly serious for once.

Napoleon fixed Mark with his steady gaze.

“This is a fortified prison, isn’t it Mark. Don’t doubt for one minute that Illya could walk out of this place with ease. Even now. But I have a secret weapon.” Napoleon held up a vial of ugly green fluid. “This, friends and colleagues, is a brew concocted by Master Khee, that will keep the wolf from breaking down the door. The house is well protected. The generators are in place. We leave within two hours.”

Illya was aware of most of the plan. The only facet that remained a secret was the pacifying drug, which would be administered by the Master without his consent. The Master waited until the young lady awoke to enter the room, carrying a pot of green tea and two cups.

“Good morning Mr. Kuryakin, Miss Dane. Mr. Kuryakin, you will be released today. Your friends will take care of you. You must allow time for the heart muscle to stabilize. I want you to drink much green tea, rest completely whenever possible for the next two weeks. Do not disobey me.” Nikita watched in awe as the Master advanced on Illya, power radiating from him visibly. Illya took the cup meekly and drank. The Master watched the fluid disappear.

“Now, Miss Dane, what you must do in reinforce the orders just given. The drug Mr. Kuryakin just ingested will render him malleable.”

Illya looked up alarmed. Whatever it was he’d just taken in would be powerful enough to do as the Master said. Fully aware that this man could do whatever he said he could, Illya resigned himself to a situation which otherwise he would have found intolerable.

What Master Khee didn’t share with the four was that the drug would only work on his master student for the first three doses. After that, they were on their own.

*********************************************

The entire complex seemed to breath a sigh of relief, as the five powerful people entered the two limousines awaiting them and sped away in the full light of day.

Once they left the underground garage, the four felt the incredible pressure of a mind bent on destruction. Napoleon Solo gasped then quickly reached for the mind of his friend reclining in the seat opposite him. Said mind took no notice of the call for help.

This is the pressure Illya spoke of, Napoleon reminded himself. Learn to deal with it. His vision dimming, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, Napoleon erected a weak barrier.

I’m dying here, Napoleon thought frantically. In the broad light of day, with no enemy in sight. HELP ME Three minds joined his, binding together to give their focus the strength he needed to withstand the physic blast. Illya shifted in his slumber, muttering in that odd guttural language Napoleon couldn’t quite place.

A tingling sensation, extremely pleasant, replaced the pain and panic in Napoleon’s mind and body. The shield, built by the four of them, with Napoleon as its focus, slammed up, shutting out the malicious force trying to kill with thought.

Is this what you feel Illya? This incredible power? Day in and day out? Lord, how do you stay sane?

Napoleon looked upon the now calm countenance of his friend with a new respect. Trying to accustom himself to the power which still poured into his mind, trying also to ignore the pleasure akin to orgasm that being the focus afforded him, Napoleon dazedly withstood the journey to the well protected haven of Kuryakin’s home.

Paul Enfield had acted in precisely the manner Kuryakin and Waverly predicted he would. He attacked Solo first, forcing the other three to react, as Illya had known they could. It could have been any one of the four. The reaction probably would have been the same. But Enfield assumed Solo to be the actual leader of this particular group, which would please Illya to no end once he learned of the sequence of events.

Illya had given in totally to his orders for once. Released from the pressure of leadership by the powerful sedative given by Khee, his mind floated free, easy in the knowledge that if it came down to it, he would retake the focus to prevent the four precious people from death.

Nikita, Mark and April, riding in the second car sat rigid, heads thrown back, eyes closed. At Napoleon’s first desperate call for help, Nikita had instinctively known what to do. Illya had done the same for her during their flight out of Nepal, and subsequent hops during which the power of Enfield had beaten upon her aching brain unmercifully.

She opened up, grabbed first Mark, then the formidable April, and forced them to her will without much effort. The result of the union of minds reminded her most of listening to a beautiful symphony. Chills raced up and down the length of her body. An all-enveloping excitement filled her with incredible energy. This could be addictive, she managed to send to her two riding companions, and threw their combined support to the man riding in the limo ahead of them.

Earlier, in the few spare minutes between her awakening and Master Khee’s entrance, Illya had managed to outline, amid soft kisses and even softer caresses, a brief rundown of upcoming festivities, as he envisioned them.

This was forbidden, but he found himself unable to allow her to go into this battle unprepared. There was something else he needed to tell her before they reached his home, but his fogged head refused to supply the subject. The issue of Walter and the operating system didn’t even register.

************************************

NEW YORK SUBURBS

Napoleon, April and Mark had never seen the house they pulled up in front of. They’d passed through the gate, now heavily fortified by human guards, and up the drive, which had been updated to include state of the art sensors buried beneath the surface. As soon as the gate closed behind the second vehicle, the pressure behind Solo’s eyes vanished. He breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Looking around at the front of the house, Napoleon decided Illya employed several domestics. The grounds and the structure itself were immaculately kept. His attention was diverted though to getting Illya out of the vehicle and into the collapsible wheelchair stowed in the trunk. It took both he and Mark to lift the bruised body into the chair. Still, with all the infinite care they took, Napoleon could feel the tremble that signaled pain in the stoic Russian. Though the jaw remained relaxed, the lips tightened. Through the years, this particular combination let Solo know that Illya was in agony. We should have brought Susan with us, Napoleon thought. Susan! Damn, he’d totally forgotten their dinner date! Two nights ago that would have been. Another deep sigh.

Napoleon’s specially designed communications unit vibrated in his coat pocket. The parade halted just outside the front entrance.

“Solo here.”

“Yes, Mr. Solo,” Waverly’s voice came clearly through the tiny device. “I am sending Dr. Beauchamp to the residence. Please inform security that she will arrive within half an hour.”

“Thank you, Sir. I was just thinking we’d missed something in the plan.”

“How was the journey, Mr. Solo? Anything untoward?”

Napoleon swore he could hear a chuckle in that voice.

“Sir, ah, we were contacted, and attacked viciously.”

“Everyone alright, Mr. Solo?”

Napoleon hesitated, wondering if he should include his ringing head and shaky knees, but decided against it.

“Everyone’s fine, Sir.”

“Very good. Make contact at least once every twelve hours. Waverly out.”

Nikita looked away from the bowed blonde head long enough to drink in the sight of the house. This was one place she was happy to return to. The first place she’d been in the last five years that felt completely right. Well, excluding the Welsh hillside abode. She wished though that the homecoming could have been under different circumstances. In particular, she wished she and Illya could have returned alone, as planned, to continue the “training” sessions.

Ah well, at least she’d have him to herself in the master suite. Come hell or high water, she would have him alone there. And in a matter of minutes too, she thought with excitement building. Oh granted, training wouldn’t begin for a few days, but when it did… Well, she was damned if she’d care what Napoleon, Mark or April felt, saw or heard. And furthermore, she’d make sure Illya hadn’t time or will to care either.

The five people reached the beautiful sunny kitchen, immaculate and shining. Illya’s head came up, and a little awareness returned to the dulled eyes. He managed a soft

“Welcome.”

“Thank you, Illya. Let’s get you to your room shall we. Ah…” said Napoleon.

“Up those stairs and to the left at the end of the hall.” Nikita said pointing to the wide staircase leading up from the formal sitting room.

The other three looked at one another, then at Nikita.

“I’ve been a guest here for some time.”

Oh.

“Well, old man, allez oop!” Mark moved to one side of the chair. “Come on Napoleon, let’s get our invalid settled.”

“Can walk.” Illya muttered, rising slightly.

“Uh uh, Illya. Doctor’s orders, Master’s orders. Three days off your feet entirely. Easy for two more weeks after that. You promised.”

“I did no such thing.” Illya’s voice was stronger. The thought of being carried up his own stairs by these two men suddenly unbearable.

Nikita squatted down to look into his angry eyes. Please Illya, don’t make me lose face here. Do as they suggest. I will make it up to you. Please!

Between her heartfelt plea and those eyes, Illya gave in, silently nodding assent. Allowed himself and the damned chair to be manhandled up the staircase and into his own suite.

April remained behind, searching for the teapot she was sure she’d find, and brewing the tea laced with the drug provided by Khee.

At the door to the master suite, Nikita stopped, heart beating fast. Laid out in plain sight were all her belongings from her apartment in Toronto. Her clothes, her sunglasses collection, her artwork, all here. The real stunner was lying on the polished dresser on the left side of the room. A set of papers. Identity papers. Birth certificate, driver’s license, passport; she touched each document, quickly flipping through the passport. As Napoleon and Mark laid Illya into bed, she stood, head bowed, tears running down her cheeks, looking at a miracle.

At first glance and touch, she could tell the various documents were authentic. This meant she existed once again. This meant Illya had accomplished all this sometime between his coming home with Alexis that first time and three days ago, before going out against THRUSH, EWI and Section One. This also meant that he’d cleared her name of the crime she’d not committed that landed her in Section in the first place.

“Nikita? What’s the matter?” It was Mark, coming to stand behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. The touch started her sobbing. Racking, tearing sobs wrenched out of her. She turned and allowed Slate to take her in his arms, cradling her head firmly against his shoulder. Napoleon looked around from the bedside in alarm at the sight and sound of the proud, beautiful woman going to pieces in his friend’s embrace.

“Kita?” Illya called hoarsely from the bed.

That broke her. Tearing herself out of Mark’s embrace, she ran to Illya’s side, and took his hand in hers, burying her face in the comforter.

“I wish I could have told you before we got here Nikita. So much going on.” Close to tears himself, he closed his eyes.

Soft hands cradled his face, careful not to touch the bruised areas. He opened his eyes to gaze into luminous, huge blue eyes, shining with love and happiness and residual tears.

“Thank you, Love,” was all she could manage.

April came into the room carrying a cooling cup of tea laced liberally with the potion “What’s going on? I heard.. Nikita are you alright Luv?”

“Never better, April. Just had a lovely surprise. Here I’ll take that.” She reached for the cup. “Would you please excuse us. I’ll see to it that he drinks this. Please?”

“Mark, April, I do believe this particular room is now off limits to the likes of us.” Napoleon smiled and ran them out the door, closing it softly behind him.

“Nikita I..”

A deep kiss stilled whatever statement he wished to make. Despite the drugs and the pain, the heat of desire sprang up, coiling in his stomach and groin. Nikita moaned into his open mouth, escalating his excitement. To his delight he felt his erection stiffen, without much discomfort. It won’t be long, he thought, head spinning, before I have her here in my own house, in my bed. The thought was so satisfying that he smiled against her lips.

“Ummmm, share that thought, Illya.” Nikita pulled back to look in his eyes, very pleased to see the flat look replaced with a small sparkle.

“Just a little something coming up.”

“Oh, uh huh. But listen Indiana, there will be no play until those colors settle down a bit more.” Her tone was firm. Her eyes lost their far away look. She reached for the tea laced with potion and presented it to him solemnly.

Illya grimaced, the sparkle dying.

“Alright, for you Nikita. But will you show our guests to their respective quarters for me please? None of them have ever been here before. There are three suites available, one of which is Kier’s. Alexis’s rooms are sacrosanct of course. Kier will not mind too much, I hope. I wish I could think clearly.”

“Will you allow me to make these decisions Mr. Kuryakin? May I act as your official hostess?” Waiting for his answer was agonizing. A lot rode on it.

He made her squirm for an extra minute, appraising her coolly. Finally taking pity on her, he acquiesced with a smile and a nod.

“My home is yours lovely Nikita. Make them jump through small hoops just as I would. But do make them comfortable.”

“As you wish, Sir. Now drink up,” she commanded softly.

“Run along young Nikita, I have some private business to attend to before I submit to this insidious drug. And, ah, you may, if you wish and will, stay with me.”

“I do indeed wish to stay with you. But I will remain here until you finish your business and drink that down.”

He tried to look hurt, but was too amused to pull it off.

“You do not trust me?”

“Not at all Indiana, not under these particular circumstances.”

“You’ve been talking with Napoleon, haven’t you?”

“Guilty. Please don’t take offense, he’s so worried about you. They all are.”

“No, no offense. In fact I throw this court open to any and all questions and answers, Nikita. You have been reading the level Five files I know. We five have come to a point where no secrets should be kept. This includes you, young lady. We all need to understand one another very well. That’s really the whole point of this particular exercise."

“Again, as you wish, Sir. I feel somewhat at a disadvantage in this arena though. You four have known each other for so long.”

“Tell me, Nikita, don’t you feel as if you truly belong?”

She thought of the preceding conversations with the other three, and then of her most recent words with Michael.

“I hope I do.”

“Trust me in this Nikita, you do. These three, with the exception of Alexander Waverly, are the finest people I know. I have trusted them with my life countless times. We’ve all been through a lot together. You and I have just begun, but think, Nikita. We have gone to the void together, we have seen each other outside of the normal paradigm. I trust you with my life and my soul, if you will. Yes, you belong.”

Breathing deeply, trying not to give in to the emotions these words engendered, Nikita had to look away from the handsome face, the blue eyes so earnest.

“Go and do what you must do. Then bottoms up. And oh god Illya thank you. Thank you so very much for everything.” The words came out tripping over each other. Her heart filled with pain, love and joy, she gently pushed away his intended embrace, instead directing him toward the master bathroom.

Business finished, he returned to bed walking as steadily as possible. Taking the cup in his hands, he said, “Be nice to me while I’m under the influence. Bear in mind, I will probably remember everything once this wears off, but I won’t be acting normally, I’m sure. Master Khee wasn’t kind enough to fill me in on the contents or the full effects.”

Draining the cup, he set it down on the bedside table, laid back and closed his eyes. She kissed each eyelid tenderly, letting the full lashes tickle her lips. He smiled, almost asleep already, and said softly, “Trust Napoleon above all.”

*************************************

By the time Nikita got back downstairs, Dr. Beauchamp had arrived, and the four of them were sitting around the table in the sunny kitchen having coffee. April, as usual, making herself at home in strange surroundings, had found everything with little trouble.

“Good afternoon and welcome.” Nikita felt compelled to establish her dominance without delay. “When you are all ready I will give you a tour of the house and show you the suites available. Groupings are optional.”

“You can bunk with me old girl,” Slate said to April without pause.

“That’s not funny, Mark,” she shot back with more vehemence than intended.

“Wasn’t meant to be, Luv,” Mark said, looking earnest and not at all uncomfortable.

“Susan, top or bottom?” Napoleon wasted no time jumping into the game.

“Lord, Mr. Solo, first you stand me up, and now you proposition me in public. You presume much.” Flushed, but smiling at the handsome Mr. Solo, Susan clearly left her answer open to interpretation.

Well, first hoop presented, first lines drawn, was Nikita’s thought.

Standing up, Napoleon said, “Let’s tour this hovel and be done with it.” Offering his arm to the petit doctor, deep brown eyes glinting with amusement, he looked at Nikita with admiration for having done exactly what Illya would have done in her place. Namely, cut right to the chase. He knew well that once Illya recovered enough to participate in, ah, intimate play, the four of them would eventually give in and choose partners. He more than half-suspected Waverly had anticipated this eventuality as well. After all, the Command had several doctors in constant attendance. Little escaped the old man.

Six people, three males, three females, difficult times ahead, many trials behind them; they would need all the life reaffirming support they could get. He hoped April would understand as well as he himself did. She was the only one who would need to be persuaded in this instance. After all, she was still in love with Illya. Well, aren’t we all, he thought, and smiled with pleasure as he pictured the Russian’s reaction to that particular situation, once it was put into words. Or, is our sly Russian fox counting on that?

He cast an eye towards Mark, speculating once again, as he had countless times in the past, on just how deep it went in that case. Illya and Mark had been close friends for 20 years. Their particular joy had been to get together whenever possible to play guitar and sing renditions of Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Rush and the like. Napoleon had gotten his love of current music from these informal but excellent semi-private sessions of the two master players; Illya on lead and Mark playing a nasty bass. Their voices harmonizing effortlessly as fingers flew.

Ah, those were the days, Napoleon thought wistfully, before the left hand of the lead guitarist was so badly damaged it could no longer flit with ease up and down the frets. But now? Napoleon knew of the surgeries that had taken the elegant hands of his friend from bone and sinew to the beauty that they once again displayed. Is the strength back? Have to get those two in the same room with the right instruments, he thought with another smile.

When they played together, whoever was listening was transported to new heights of enjoyment and pleasure in the music and the artistry displayed. It was magic, he thought and smiled once more.

“Napoleon? Are you coming?” Susan had stopped on the stairway, watching the emotions play on the handsome, expressive face, as Napoleon still stood as if transfixed, at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hmmm? Sorry Susan, wool gathering.”

“That wasn’t wool you were gathering, Mr. Solo. You should see the expression on your face. You look ten years old. What’s the line of thought?”

“Just anticipating future pleasures,” Napoleon waggled his eyebrows up and down comically.

“You haven’t even taken me to dinner yet Napoleon!” Susan’s pretty mouth pulled into a moue of disappointment.

Napoleon, thinking of the ride between Headquarters and here, shuddered at the thought of going out to dinner.

“Ah, Susan, I have a story to tell you, and a suggestion once you hear it.”

*************************************

As it turned out, they all took separate sleeping quarters. April settled into the suite formerly occupied by Nikita. Mark took Kier’s suite. Susan took the third available bedroom, and Napoleon chose the downstairs office. But Nikita’s words echoed in each head – groupings optional. Indeed.

**************************************

Guests settled, Nikita entered “their” room once more. She gloated over the word and the concept. Ours. We. Us. Together. She pondered Napoleon’s words about love. Did Illya love her? Lord only knew what his definition of love might be. She suspected it was much more profound than the average accepted word. She looked at the now peaceful face against the dark green silk pillowcase. Well, my definition is simple. It is how I feel right now. She could almost hear the gentle reproach of the man – love takes time – time involves changes. You cannot love me yet. God give us time, she finished her silent poem.

The next two days passed in a confused, happy daze for all. The intense, controlled Mr. Kuryakin rendered pliable and open, was a new experience. He virtually radiated contentment, and indeed was malleable, just as Master Khee had promised. He even submitted to being wheeled about in the chair most of the time.

Napoleon, most of all, was taken aback by the changes in his friend. Illya seemed perfectly content to be waited upon hand and foot, a situation that had brought about a good third of their arguments in the previous years. Usually refusing all help, Illya had gone his painful way in the world no matter what. Waiting for the explosion, which never came, Napoleon grew almost restive. One hell of a powerful drug, he concluded at the end of the first full day. I miss Illya.

Even without 20 years of experience with the Russian, Nikita felt much the same as Napoleon. April found it restful. Being constantly pushed and pulled by the powerful mind and emotions of her friend and former lover, was exhausting. Mark withdrew slowly into a state of morose discontent, almost seeming to try to make up for his friend’s usual cantankerous ways.

When awake, Illya seemed most to want the six of them in the same room, preferably watching his favorite movies. The other mode was to induce conversations centering about anything other than himself. Granted, all had a fairly good time. However, they all missed their friend and colleague’s usual challenging personality.

SECTION ONE

“Well?” Operations stood in his control room, facing the beautiful, cold woman who served as his master strategist.

“Solo, Kuryakin, Dancer, Slate and Nikita have all gone into the residence of Mr. Kuryakin,” Madeline began calmly. “Birkoff and Walter apparently remain in U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Michael has not been in touch since the last transmission two weeks ago. But I believe he is still in residence in the New York headquarters as well. I also believe the fact that Michael is intermittently in touch with us is known by the Command.”

“Recommendations?”

“Since they can monitor all communications between this Operations Center and all outside points, our coordination will have to take place the old fashioned way. You could employ some of our most unsavory assets, Paul, to effect assassination of any of them outside of the Headquarters, but the inside is quite impregnable. We don’t dare use Michael as the vehicle. He’s too valuable where he is. Eventually they will employ him in the field. Then we can contact him without interception.”

“I want all three of them dead,” Operations said quietly. “Find a way.”

“I’m running probability numbers on three possible approaches.”

“Fine. What about the daughter and the bodyguard?”

“They haven’t surfaced yet. They will though. And when they do, we will pick them up.”

Personally, Operations doubted it. Their resources were spread too thin. Oversight had been redirecting many of his pet projects, and using up more of his operatives than had ever been employed before. Results had been spectacular, but the loss of control was devastating to one so used to total autonomy.

NEW YORK SUBURBS – THIRD DAY

Able to sleep in unfamiliar quarters, but still keeping surgeon’s hours, Susan awoke at 2am. Coming downstairs quietly, in hope of finding the makings of the strong brew she preferred, she caught the sent of cigarette smoke and the sweet smell of a scented candle. Seeing the blonde head of the one sitting at the kitchen table bent over a laptop, her breath caught in her throat. For the first time in many years, uncertainty blossomed in the decisive doctor. This is his home, she thought. I should go back upstairs and leave him in peace.

Then the absolute absurdity of the situation hit her in full. Here they were, the five powerful people she’d observed for the past 11 years, in one place. Here, presumably to form some kind of unknowable bond. And she was superfluous. No, her mind discarded that thought angrily. I’m here to look after the health of this man, in particular, and the rest in general. (As well as to be Napoleon’s teddy bear, came the unwanted voice in her head.)

“Susan? Are you alright?” Illya’s soft voice called.

She came the rest of the way into the kitchen.

“Fine, Illya. Are you feeling well enough to be up?” She peered into the shadowed eyes as best she could, ready to back off at the first sign of antagonism and run for help.

“I can’t sleep anymore. Want some coffee?”

“It’s my major vice, Illya. Mind if I make a killer brew?”

“Make yourself at home, Susan.”

He returned his attention to the glowing screen. The soft light of the candle, and the hood light over the stove, the only illumination in the otherwise dark house, she fumbled about, trying valiantly not to require his attention.

“Here, let me assist.” He got up slowly, turned on another small light and got her the necessary equipment and ingredients.

Surreptitiously she studied his movements. Slow, but graceful. Her knowledge of being attracted to the man was magnified to a great degree seeing him in his own home, and she shook her head, trying to distract herself from his close proximity as he moved about.

“Are you uncomfortable, Susan?” He spoke quietly, too close for comfort. She was immensely relieved when he sat down once again.

“Yes. I mean no, not really, Illya. Are you? I mean, with the crowd here? Um, me in particular, I guess.” She stopped in confusion, realizing she was close to babbling. She hadn’t noticed herself babbling since she’d turned fifteen and began her studies in preparation to become the skilled and respected doctor and surgeon that she was.

“Yes and no.” he chuckled softly. Chills raced up and down her spine at the sound.

“Would you rather I left you alone?”

“Not at all Susan. I need to talk to you. Now would be nice, alone over coffee.”

“May I ask you some of the questions you hate so much?” Susan’s sense of responsibility was trying to reestablish itself. He made her feel so strange. She was extremely reluctant to disturb him in any way. She wanted to retreat, she wanted to stay. This was so damned different that seeing him in the infirmary.

“Ask the questions.” Sounding resigned.

“You’re supposed to be in a stupor, Illya. You’re supposed to have complete bed rest. I don’t suppose that’s the way its going to go, is it?” This came out far too wistfully.

“I don’t suppose, no.” He looked up and smiled at her.

She finally got a good look at his face. The eyes were ringed with the dark smudges that signal deep fatigue. The face was pulled so taught the bone structure showed through clearly. Concern overwhelmed her, her indecision melted. She pulled up the closest chair and took reached out to touch the hand resting on the table. Ice cold.

“What is it Illya? Is there anything at all I can do for you?”

Unexpectedly he grasped her hand firmly, turning it over, studying the fine bone structure, the alabaster skin. Making her gasp, he brought it to his lips for the briefest of kisses, before surrendering it.

“Now, you are uncomfortable.” His voice a silken caress.

“No, just confused.”

“I need your advice, Doctor.”

With sudden clarity, she knew. The dreams again. Nightmares, night terrors; like the ones he’d suffered through nine and a half years ago. Of course, with everything else going on, she’d forgotten that the protective blocks had been torn apart just a short while ago. She voiced her thoughts.

“Yes.” His hands went to his temples. “Better than ever. The drug prescribed by Master Khee cannot stop them. I must confess, Susan, I’m feeling a bit desperate. I need to examine my options. I think I’ve lost control.”

She wondered what loss of control he was referring to. If he had been out of control in the past few weeks, it certainly hadn’t been apparent to her, nor mentioned by Waverly.

“I’m sorry, Illya. You seem to be functioning well, ah, as well as any brutally injured person can. Your options?”

“Can we reinstate the blocks?”

“Too dangerous, Illya, you know that. Please open up a little and describe what is going on that you feel is costing you this pain.”

He shut down the laptop, lit a fresh cigarette, and sat awhile.

“The terror and the nightmares come and go. I’m responding to the loss of my parents as if this happened yesterday, and on the emotional level of the child I was when I lost them.”

She looked nonplussed.

“Sorry. This is news to you. There was an earlier crude memory block instated by the KGB after the murder of both parents.” He stopped suddenly, surprised that he’d been about to divulge the intense guilt and overwhelming grief he felt over the death of his maman and papa. Lord, he thought, let’s not loose it all right here, right now. Ask your next question.

“What about chemical regression?”

Trying to hide the alarm the suggestion raised in her, she answered calmly,

“Yes, it’s possible. The experiences could be dealt with more fully. Perhaps we could try this. But we cannot go into it until you have recovered, and are no longer in pain. Regression while in physical pain is most unwise.”

“Then it cannot be done.” His voice sank even further.

“Why, Illya? You’ll recover, you always do.” She tried a small smile and took his hand once again.

“Did you ever wonder why my biorhythms run so high all the time?”

Silence. Realization again dawning.

“You’re always in pain, aren’t you?” A whisper.

“My hands hurt, my head aches. Yes always.”

“I should have realized.” Despite herself her eyes began to tear. Somehow, this admission was too much to bear. He’d never admitted any such thing to her in all the long months and years of what she now suspected had to be pure agony.

“I control it to a point. One can get used to almost anything.”

She turned the left hand over examining the long scar that despite the best efforts of regeneration refused to disappear. Beneath the scar, she knew, lay a cavity that also refused to heal. Such strong beautiful hands.

Looking up, she caught the soft expression on his face. Lord, when he needed something, he could put pressure on like no one she’d ever met.

Illya knew what he was doing, too. He’d employed this same pressure on Madeline. No one, with the possible exception of Enfield and company, could refuse to acknowledge the pull he could exert face to face. He used it in extreme situations.

And, this was extreme. The night terrors were crowding in, robbing him of any possible peaceful sleep. If it wasn’t his father’s death throes he felt, it was his mother’s. When they were done with him, the scene moved to the THRUSH cell he’d occupied. And finally, inexorably, to his latest encounter with the KGB, where, truth be told, the worst of the damage had occurred. Something must be done. He needed the help of the one doctor he felt he could trust fully.

Aching and fatigued almost beyond his endurance, he made his first big mistake in many years. He “pushed” Susan Beauchamp.

***************************************

Everyone in the household awoke and started up in their respective beds. Nikita dressed in two seconds and was flying downstairs to “land” in the kitchen in five.

Susan had jumped out of her chair, sending it crashing to the floor. She’d turned on all the lights in the room, trying to shake off the spell he was weaving, and was currently berating him loudly, and in no uncertain terms.

“God damn you, Illya. To think I’d disregard my oath of service. Don’t you dare push me again! If I do this for you, it will be when I feel it’s safe and NOT BEFORE!” Her voice rising to almost stentorian levels, she suddenly ran out of steam.

More relieved and amused than hurt or surprised, Illya gave a mental ‘Ooops” and sat quietly before the wrath of the petit doctor. Alexander was again one step ahead. No, Susan was not sent merely to be a companion to Napoleon, she was Waverly’s stopgap. A control. Most unexpected. And mildly irritating. But mostly amusing.

Like a lovely lioness, Nikita rounded on Susan.

“How dare you?” This to Susan, low, menacing, feral. Her body language said it all. Back off or die.

With admirable control, Nikita reigned in her feelings in an instant, realizing this was the wrong course to take. And swallowing her next words, which would have been a rebuke to Illya for “misbehaving,” she backed off herself.

(Thank you Love) Came her reward, the words caressing her psyche.

Illya then dropped his cloak and reached out to Susan.

(I am sorry dear Susan please forgive me)

Susan’s mouth worked soundlessly. Her knees buckled. Napoleon, just arriving, and standing directly behind the good doctor, caught her before she hit the floor.

“Well, good morning, all. Having fun Illya?”

Arms full of doctor, Napoleon asked Nikita to bring a cold, wet cloth.

Mark joined the party, just prior to Susan recovering. He took in the postures. Illya sitting looking both amused and blushing a bit. The blush serving to heighten his pallor. Nikita, gloriously half naked, a wild thing poised to strike. Napoleon, with Susan filling his lap, trying to look angry but not succeeding very well. Susan, her eyes fluttering open, a soft protest forming on the lips. Mark Slate sighed deeply. He’s back.

“You two always have the most fun. Can I play too?” Slipping into a Cockney accent rather than his normally cultured British, Mark sounded so sincere that Nikita laughed.

“What, left out again are we? Well, well, Napoleon, Illya, Nikita, isn’t it a bit early for fun and games?” April, fully dressed and looking most refreshed, was a welcome distraction to all involved in the somewhat alarming scene.

Losing not a beat, she moved to Illya to lay a hand upon his shoulder, squeezing hard.

Stop please. You may fool the rest, but I know exactly what you’re up to. Surprised are you? Thought she’d be a pushover? What ungodly proposal so upset our resident sawbones?

April’s total awareness of the situation truly surprised him. Nonplussed for the moment himself, Illya made no reply.

Nikita sat quietly by Illya, trying to reign in her urges to inquire about how he felt. It had been a long evening, this third night in his house. They had made love early, very carefully. Very, very carefully; which made it all the more exciting. She’d demonstrated the tremendous strength and stamina her legs were capable of. He had been amazed, extremely pleased and extraordinarily excited to watch her poise over him, careful not to touch except to engulf him in her hot self. Because of her exertion and careful concentration, the act had been completed with both of them aware and satisfied. Still a very rare occurrence.

Well pleased with herself, she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms within ten minutes, only to be awakened by moans and stifled words. Turning on the bedside light she watched as he struggled with whatever demons played with his slumbering mind, until she could stand it no longer and shook him awake. This sequence occurred twice more. Then he’d vacated the bed, determined to let her have the sleep she needed.

As expected this union of the two powerful psychics had not gone unremarked by the other occupants of the house. Therefore all were tired, mildly to severely out of sorts and not at all ready to face a totally aware Illya Kuryakin about to begin his gentle reign of terror a full two weeks ahead of time.

It was his intention to create tense situations for the other five to cope with. It had been a long time since the four U.N.C.L.E. enforcement agents had faced stress together. Short of taking them on assignment, the creation of tense personal situations was the only way he could accomplish his goal. The goal was to continuously push them into coping with him, into trying to control him. Bonding together, so that he could count on the other four minds, with himself as the focus, to form a fearsome weapon to direct at EWI.

The sudden onset of the powerful nightmares was unexpected, and most annoying. Time was running out.

He came back from his musings to find April’s hand still on his shoulder, and Nikita’s hand on his thigh. Susan had recovered enough to jump out of Napoleon’s lap and also come close enough to touch him. Mark and Napoleon were sharing a look (and perhaps some thoughts, he hoped). He covered both hands with his own sending separate loving reassurances, begging their patience.

He was moderately sure he could carry both Nikita and April with him whenever he needed them. Napoleon and Mark, he wasn’t so certain of. Male pride and all, he thought with chagrin, in the way again. Oh well, lets up the ante, and discuss the regression openly. There would be enough sturm and drang in this to satisfy all objectives, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Susan, lets talk about the regression, shall we. After all, ideally, all present would be involved. Would you please explain the process?”

“What Illya proposes,” Susan said to the group, “is a very invasive process called chemically induced regression. I have performed this twice, once successfully, once tragically. Using a complicated morass of hypnotics, stimulants and depressants, the subject is brought to a state that makes them live again through any and all traumatic experiences. It is a tool used by interrogators if enough time is available, to totally break down the resistance of their target to suggestion. If we employ this method, I will require all of you to interact with our man here very carefully. Our goal will be to draw out the poison and then comfort the victim. Illya, I really must get Alexander Waverly’s OK on this before I can proceed.”

“Alright, understood Susan. And again, I am sorry I pushed you. You did hear the former apology, yes?” Illya looked closely at the set face, which suddenly bent so close to his.

Her eyes huge, Susan regarded him with mixed awe and fear, begging, it seemed, to repeat the experience. He complied with a gentle message. Her face broke into the most beatific smile any of them had ever seen grace her countenance.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

On impulse, he pulled her toward him and kissed her softly.

“I trust you, Frau Doctor.”

Later that day, Susan contacted Alexander, requesting a private conference with him in Headquarters as soon as convenient.

HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK

Transported back in relative safety, not being particularly sensitive to intrusion, Susan now sat before Waverly, as she had just prior to leaving the Headquarters four days ago.

“Do you feel we should go ahead with this method, Doctor? Is the need so great?” Waverly knew the answer before she spoke.

“Sir, I’m afraid this or something like it is necessary. Otherwise I would not even suggest such a brutal process. He is falling apart. I watched this process three years ago. It is the same. In just twenty-four hours, his condition has become dangerous. We either go ahead, or lose him, permanently perhaps.” She rose and paced in agitation. “He finally admitted to me last night that he is never free of pain in his hands. Also that he suffers a constant headache. Have we anything in our drug arsenal that I could use to relieve this? As you may remember, Sir, going into the regressed state while in physical pain can utterly confuse the unprepared mind in its younger state.”

Waverly pondered the question for a few moments. A thought occurred.

“Section One seems to have developed many powerful compounds not currently employed here. I shall inquire. After all,” he added ruefully, “it was one of their damnable drugs that began this unfortunate chain of events.”

Turning to his console, he contacted Creighton, who grudging admitted ignorance, but assured his powerful colleague he would find out within the hour and make the drug available, if it existed.

Meanwhile, Waverly contacted Mr. Solo and asked to speak with Miss Dane on the subject.

“Sir, there is something available. My partner Mr. Samuelle used an extremely efficient pain blocker on several occasions that I am personally aware of. The use of this drug in no way hampered his ability to think or react at top speed.”

“How are you holding up my dear?”

The obviously sincere concern in the tough old man’s voice touched Nikita deeply. And she reassured him with returning tenderness, that she was doing well.

“Fine. You realize that if you go through this process with Illya Nickovetch, it will be extremely stressful. You have read the files.”

“We can handle this, Sir.”

Indeed.

Returning to the house that evening, armed with all necessary drugs and implements – armed also with enough information to help guide the regression – Susan arrived in time for dinner.

******************************************

Illya had catnapped throughout the day. Somehow the daylight hours are always less conducive to terror.

He fell asleep in his chair at the kitchen table, head cradled on a hastily produced pillow.

He fell asleep on the couch, his head resting in Nikita’s lap, her hand stroking the soft blonde hair, her head resting back against the cushioned back of the long couch, a look of ultimate peace on both their faces. During this last gentle scene, it seemed that none of the other three could bear to be other than in the presence of these two.

Sitting in silence, pretending to read a popular novel he’d not had time to get to yet, Napoleon looked at the two on the couch from the corner of his eye. Napoleon felt the tears behind his eyes. He shook his head minutely, trying not to let the emotion overwhelm him. We’re supposed to supply the discipline? Ha. We’re here to fall in love all over again, and in a spectacular way, with each other. Coexist, he remembered Illya using the word. We’re going to do much more than coexist, my dear friend. He gave up the pretense of reading and stared openly at Illya and Nikita.

Nikita felt the warm regard and peered at Napoleon from beneath concealing lashes. What would happen, she wondered, if I spoke to him now? If I acknowledged the love I feel pouring out of him?

She risked at look around at April, sitting curled in a deep leather chair, also pretending to read. She saw a brief flash of deep blue, this time surrounding the lovely, dark haired woman, so powerful, yet so refined. That’s her aura, Nikita thought dizzily, and it’s beautiful.

They are all beautiful. Mark, Napoleon, April, and you my Love. She was sub-vocalizing, and indeed, Illya heard, and smiled in his sleep.

Mark, as usual, was much more circumspect outwardly, and closed to her inner sight as well. Always one to hide his thoughts and emotions beneath a teasing and callous façade, Nikita suspected his feelings went as deep as the other two.

Illya sighed, stirred and woke up, ending the tender scene. He’d missed none of the sea of emotion filling this room, even in deepest slumber. The only presence missing to make this perfect was his Alexis. The pain of separation hit him anew. This was one thing he could not afford to dwell on. He pushed the thought away as best he could. She is safe. She cannot be here. You must hide this from them at all costs. We cannot afford to let one more negative threaten this burgeoning relationship.

“Feel better Illya?” Nikita’s soft accents caressed him.

(could be better you could be naked we could be alone) he sent on a very tight band.

She felt the blush creep up her neck as she thought the scenario through.

“Tisk, tisk, friends, lovers and fellow talents,” Napoleon said with a grin, “there shall be no secrets between us, remember?”

In concert, Illya and Nikita sent the same general message. Illya’s a trifle stronger in content. Napoleon laughed.

“I don’t suppose you three are discussing what’s for supper?” Mark spoke up.

Still with his head in Nikita’s lap, Illya quipped-

“More or less.”

Which almost sent Napoleon into shock. This was a stock Kuryakin answer, but never had he applied it so well.

April sniffed primly. “Come on Mark, let’s decide and make the call. Any preferences, Group?”

“Italian!” Chorused Mark and Napoleon.

“Chinese.” Said Nikita, more to be different than out of preference.

“Greek!” sang Illya. Which sent Napoleon into laughter once again, earning him yet another rebuke from the blonde duo on the couch.

“Let’s go wash up for dinner then, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Looking into the expressive, huge, deep blue eyes, Illya read her entire intent, and rose with something akin to his usual energy.

***************************************

Following her up the stairs, he watched as she exaggerated her normally sexy walk to an almost obscene sway of delectably rounded buttocks, encased this evening in silk lounge wear. Her scent, as she’d cradled his head in her lap, had been enough to drive a man crazy.

As soon as the door to the master suite closed, he pulled her back against him. The silk clad object of his desire pressed against his groin.

“Bozhe moy, kak ya tebya hochu!” He breathed into her ear, lapsing into his native tongue in the extremity of his desire. (My God, how I want you!)

“Illya,” she breathed, too overwhelmed to make conversation, especially in Russian.

His mouth began a hungry trip down one side of her neck, not gentle this time. Mouth fastening upon the erotic zone of the nape of her neck, so often overlooked by lovers, he let his tongue trace delicious patterns. A soft moan was torn out of her. This session, she knew, would continue to the ultimate climax whether or not she remained conscious. And she was damned determined to let him know she didn’t care.

“Shower.”

“Shto?” (What?)

“Like the first time. Don’t stop, no matter what.”

He spun her around. His eyes shone deep blue, darkened, lustful.

“Oh no, milaya, (sweet girl) you will stay with me this time.”

“Is that an order?”

“Da.”

He continued talking in a low husky voice as he peeled her silks off the silk of her skin.

“You are strong. Are you going to let me get the best of you? Come with me. Pun intended, beautiful one.” Illya traced her lips with a fingertip. They parted. “I want..”

“Oh yes,” she said breathlessly. He didn’t often allow this. And he tasted so wonderful. What was his excuse? Oh, yes, watching her mouth make it’s trips up and down his shaft made him come too quickly. Then they had to wait. So much for dinner. She’d have dessert first.

A fine tremor began as soon as she’d slipped his jeans over the slim hips, marveling anew at the long lean muscles of his legs. So much power there. On her knees, looking up at him with those incredible eyes, preparing to apply tongue and lips to his straining erection, she was almost too much to be born.

“Close your eyes,” she breathed. “Stay with me Illya.”

This was difficult. Every time she hit the right spots, she felt what he did. Each touch was felt by both. Who reached orgasm first was really a moot point. When one did, so went the other. He surprised both of them by pulling away just short of release, breathing heavily, shaking from head to foot.

“Lozhis!”

“What?”

“Lie down.” He all but growled the words out.

“Illya, please!”

“Nyet! Lozhis!”

Shaking herself, with desire and sudden fear, she lay on the bed. The look in her eyes forced him to calm down and regain a little control. Fear was not the response he was looking for. What he wanted was resolve – for her to fight back.

Then stop growling at her in Russian, he told himself.

“Stay with me, Nikita,” he managed in a softer tone. He bent to take her mouth with his. Then he began the delicious trip down her body, licking and kissing all the way. She twisted and pushed, trying to get him to hurry up and reach the ultimate goal. He grinned up at her from the golden hair adorning her mound.

“Control, Nikita. We must both learn some.” And he began nipping at the soft places of her inner thighs, avoiding the hot, wet center.

“God!” she managed. So close to climax she was almost out of control, she reached down to grab that silky blonde head.

Making her almost cry with frustration, he moved back up to lie next to her. The silken hot shaft pressing against the outside of her thigh jumped and pulsed.

“Deep breaths, stretch. Yes, that’s right.” She stretched like a cat, letting some of the tension drain out. This was a trick he’d shown her. Stretch, shudder, let the tension out a bit – hold on, stay with me.

This is extraordinary, he thought, we’ve created so much sexual tension, and have managed to sustain it. This was power. He knew it – she knew it. This was one of their goals. They had discussed this one night, after lovemaking, drowsing in each other’s arms. This was the power they could bend to their will, with practice, and use against the enemy.

“Now,” he whispered into her ear, “comes the second assault.” One finger went directly to the steamy center of her sex, caressing gently. Dipping in, and trailing out and up.

“No fair,” she gasped. “’s my turn.”

Much as he’d have loved to surrender to her desire, he knew that tonight she was the stronger one. One touch of that mouth – and it would be all over. He’d be in her in a heartbeat. Somewhere or another. Besides, he loved to watch her when she was fully aroused. My God she was beautiful!

“I’m going to get you for this.” Said through clenched teeth, as once again she stretched and shivered.

Illya had had about all he could take. He didn’t mind so much denying himself, but her? Time to end this torture. Time to test my strength.

“Third assault.”

“uhnnn”

Funny, but foreplay was their real weak point. Once he settled again between her thighs and applied a very talented and informed tongue to her, both could usually settle down a bit and enjoy the ride a lot longer. Not this time though. She came, shouting his name, as soon as he touched his tongue to her directly. He fought himself into submission as the waves of pleasure shook her. Her thighs closing about his head, he drank her in, kept her orgasm going as long as humanly possible.

*********************************************

Downstairs, all thoughts of dinner had long fled from the minds of the other three.

April, most vulnerable, finally left the room, walking on shaky knees to the sanctuary of her suite, cursing softly as she went.

Napoleon and Mark stared after her, then at one another.

“Don’t know how much of this I can stand.” Mark said quietly to Napoleon through clenched teeth.

“I think he’s getting back at us for all those years we flaunted our conquests and teased him.” Napoleon said. “Why don’t you knock on the fair lady’s door and offer assistance, Mark? It’s in the script.”

“What?” Mark’s fogged brain didn’t quite catch the full innuendo.

“I said,” Napoleon’s voice dropped an octave, “get in there and do what you’re supposed to do, and make it good, you Limey! Now march!”

Mark sprang up to a position of attention and saluted with exaggeration. “Sah!”

Left alone in the cozy living room, Napoleon sat and endured.

*********************************************

Upstairs, round three was getting underway. A very determined Nikita would make the bad Russian pay – in spades. No gentle assault this. She took him into her mouth, exposing the uncircumcised tip with her hot hands, and let her tongue dance about. Unable to look away this time, Illya watched with fascination and ragged control as she lovingly teased and sucked. The second time she stopped the play just short of his coming in her mouth, she looked up and smiled.

“Kakoy ty vkusniy!” (You are so delicious!) The newly learned Russian phrase rolled off her tongue. She’d been saving this up.

It worked. Hearing his mother tongue used under these circumstances, blew all thought of control and waiting out of Illya’s mind. Bruises and gentleness forgotten, he rolled her over onto her stomach and pulled her up, entering her from behind in one swift motion. She gasped and moaned, not with pain, she was too ready for that, but with the pleasure of finally goading him into being rough with her. Usually he teased and played with entry. This time the thick hot shaft buried itself deep, and the thrusting rhythm was faster and harder. Just short of physically painful. She knew he could hurt her, but trusted him and loved him enough not to care.

Normally a quiet lover, this time he voiced his excitement and need. The unfamiliar Russian words she didn’t understand. The moans torn out of his throat, she did. Spiraling up into her own climax yet again, she went over the edge just as he did, muffling his shout against her neck.

He collapsed on top of her, heedless, for once, of making her uncomfortable. This she adored too. Far from uncomfortable, she found his heavy weight pinning her to the bed to be unutterably sweet.

Some minutes later, he came back to reality and began to lift himself off and away.

“No,” she protested sleepily, and reached around to pull him back inside her.

“You’re crushed, My Love.”

Her mind reeled at the tender address.

“Please, stay in me.”

He rolled them both so that he remained in her, but got his weight off. They remained like this, curled spoon fashion, until his breathing told her he’d dozed off. The hand fondling her hip relaxed. She took it up and brought it to her lips, gently biting the palm to get his attention.

“Shower.” She prompted.

“Hungry.” He countered.

“Shower first. We can’t go downstairs to eat reeking of sex, Illya. It’s simply not done.”

“And naked ladies do not sit at table.” He murmured, recalling her other rule of etiquette.

********************************************

Dinner had arrived. Napoleon forced himself to rise on stiff legs and go to the door to take possession of the various bags handed him by the outside security force. He plopped the bags on the table, not hungry, and not willing to knock on either door to announce dinner’s arrival. He sat in the kitchen watching the evening steal the colors from the garden.

Susan’s arrival, however, was a different story. She pulled up fifteen minutes after the delivery, letting herself in.

“Napoleon Solo? All alone! What a treat.” Only half teasing, she walked over to him to kiss his cheek.

Napoleon, always one to adhere to the old adage of all’s fair in love, war and sex, took the opportunity to “push” Susan in the direction he most desired. He pulled the doctor into his lap and lavished a deep kiss on her lips. No stranger to seduction, he knew just how to forestall her half hearted attempts to free herself. This was a much gentler push than his friend had used last night, and worked like a charm. It had almost invariably worked for the famous lover. She sighed, gave in, and allowed him to lead her upstairs to her own suite.

Dinner congealed into an unappetizing mess on the table.

In the adjacent master suite, Illya, showering, gasped and then sighed with relief as he felt the last barrier fall. Now, he exalted, now we may proceed to the next level of challenges. Silently he blessed Susan for removing one source of discontent he found most difficult to bear.

Therefore, with much lighter hearts, and satisfied libidos all around, the six found themselves sitting together over a micro-waved dinner about an hour and a half later.

**************************************

Stethoscope in hand, Susan directed Illya Nickovetch to submit to a thorough examination late that evening.

“Any noticeable arrhythmia?”

“No.”

“Pain in the chest or left arm?”

“No.”

“Shortness of breath?”

Thirty questions later, she had him strip and examined the nearly vanished bruises. Finished, and pleased with the results, she sat back in the chair beside his bed, regarding him with amusement and wonder.

“I pronounce you fit to move about, Mr. Kuryakin.”

Which he found comical, given the evening’s earlier festivities.

“I also have something new for you to try. This is a truly amazing local pain killer.” She held up a loaded syringe. “I personally tested it on some willing subjects at Headquarters earlier today. Injected at the site of injury, it diminishes pain while leaving the site otherwise totally functional. We may have to experiment with placement of injection, but are you willing to try?”

“The Command has no such drug in its arsenal, Susan. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”

I’ll bet you have, she thought.

“This comes from the Section One store, Illya. It has been used for three years without ill effects. Now, yes or no?”

“Yes.” He surrendered his aching hands to her.

She turned them palm up and used all her skill to inject the short needle into the most likely source of the pain.

Not even two seconds later, both of them were caught in a furious wave of joy and elation, as the pain which he’d lived with for over nine years, disappeared completely. His aura expanded to fill the room. He threw his head back in ecstasy, as the headache disappeared without a trace as well. They remained caught together in this manner for a good five minutes. Finally, he reigned himself in, holding the joy close to his breast, precious gift that it was.

“I think it worked,” she breathed once she found she could move and talk again.

“Oh, yes. Hands and head both, dear Doctor. I always suspected the one caused the other.” His broad smile lit the room.

“Well, that’s good, because I can’t imagine penetrating that hard head of yours with anything less than a pick axe.” She smiled back, trying to regain her objectivity.

“Now about the regression.”

“Can we wait for a few days? There’s something I need to find out first.” He looked down at the miracle of his hands, his once more to command.

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion. Unless your condition begins to deteriorate, that is.”

He jumped up and headed to the solarium without a word.

********************************************

Opening the double doors, then locking them firmly behind him, he faced the piano for the first time since that long ago night when the mere sight of it had sent him into paroxysms of grief.

He flexed his hands, stretching them as he’d been taught many years before, and sat down on the long ebony bench. Placing his fingers, he opened his mind, remembering everything, the music, the exercises, the feel of ivory beneath his fingertips. His mother’s face.

“For you, maman.” And began the first limbering exercise.

Hands do not forget. Even after thirty years. Hands do not forget.

**********************************************

Nikita spent the night in the huge bed alone, painfully aware of where her lover was, but unable to go to him. She remained awake all night waiting for some sign that he needed her.

Napoleon, on the ground floor, aware of what was taking place, stubbornly refused to honor Illya’s mental request for solitude. He used his ever-present bag of tricks to force open the doors to the solarium.

Aware of his friend’s presence, and powerless, for once, to protest, Illya acknowledged with an internal message.

(I am not ready to be heard, but if you’re so damned determined, then suffer with me.)

“Haven’t I always?” Napoleon asked aloud, softly.

A soft snort was his only reply.

Illya chose a book of Chopin. Opened it, and began a halting rendition of the beautiful Nocturne in E flat Major. After the first few bars, his hands seemed to take on a life of their own, and the lovely strains flowed out onto the night air.

Napoleon sighed in complete contentment. The phrasing was unusual, haunting, emotional. This, Napoleon mused, is what I’ve been waiting for all these years. This is why I’ve put up with the temper, the surliness, the enigmatic mood swings. No stranger to classical music, he knew how he’d always imagined the music would go with the right interpretation. There you are, open to me at last, My Friend. It was all worth it.

After a few more soft Nocturnes, the sounds of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” graced the ears, sounding for all the world like a thunderstorm building from afar, then crashing overhead, bringing tears to Napoleon’s eyes. He fell asleep as the storm faded away into gentle rain once more.

Exhausted, hands aching from simple exertion, an ache he knew well from decades ago, Illya stopped, turned around and looked at his dear friend, sleeping, tear tracks still visible down his cheeks. It was the best accolade he could imagine.

******************************************

Nikita was withdrawn at the breakfast table the next morning. April noted the downcast eyes, and unhappy mouth.

“Nikita, what’s bothering you, Luv?” April’s voice this morning held a new timber, softened, seductive. They were alone at the table; Mark, Napoleon and Susan having already breakfasted were now taking advantage of the well-appointed gym.

“Oh, nothing I can’t handle, thanks April.” Her eyes belied the statement.

“I’m sure you are correct. But I would like to help if at all possible. Is it Illya’s isolation policy by chance?”

Nikita looked up sharply. She studied the lovely face before her for a few seconds. April looked wonderful, soft mouthed and bright eyed. She thought about what had probably happened last evening between this strong woman and the dashing Brit, Slate. OK, she thought to herself, maybe under these circumstances my opening up to April is less apt to cause unease.

“As usual, Miss Dancer, you’ve got it. It hurts that he didn’t choose to share this experience with me.”

“Also that he chose instead to share it with Napoleon? Or am I way off?” April moved to sit beside the now obviously upset girl. She put out her hand, hoping furiously that it would be clasped.

It was. And to April’s delight, the feel of the hand placed in hers was much the same as when she touched Illya. An easy warmth enveloped both women. Rarely indulging in casual contact, April was all the more pleased.

“This is temporary, you know. Soon he’ll throw those doors open and leave them that way. And then we’ll probably have to put up with days of suffering through fits and jubilation and sulks as he perfects his technique.” April rambled on a bit, seeing Nikita wasn’t quite ready to open up yet. And avoiding the main issue. She could see the immediate future as if so gifted (which she was not). She’d seen Illya Nickovetch attack new endeavors with the tenacity of a pit bull so many times. There would indeed be fits and sulks. And they would all put up with the difficulties with as much good humor as they could muster, because almost invariably the end results were worth it.

Nikita shook herself slightly, uncomfortable with what she wanted to propose next. Susan had shared the information that the regression process would be put off for a time. (She had not shared the fact of the successful treatment of the hands.)

“I think,” Nikita started, then paused as if trying the thought on for size. “I think that I need to get away for a little while.”

Clamping down hard on her first response to this unexpected turn, April threw up her shield to avoid alerting the others, Illya in particular. To her credit, even the sensitive young woman holding April’s hand, felt none of the dismay.

“That bad, is it?” April asked quietly.

“Hmmm? Oh! No, I don’t mean it that way! Yes it hurts that Napoleon was first to hear Illya’s music, but I can feel the rightness of it, too. What I need is a little perspective. I need to think all this through. And that’s all, April. Just a little time.”

“Define ‘a little time’.”

“A day perhaps, no more, maybe less. I really don’t know.”

“Sweetheart, don’t you think it’s a trifle dangerous for you to leave by yourself, particularly right now?”

“I’m not sure. I certainly want to discuss this with Illya first.”

Thank God, April thought. She didn’t care to even begin to think what would happen if the girl left without a word.

“Good.” Be careful Dancer. Don’t offer any further information. Let her ask the questions.

“Do you think Illya will be hurt by this?” The beautiful face betrayed the indecision and worry she felt.

“I think he’ll understand. He might even applaud the move, if he feels you can handle the threat.” April didn’t need to expand on what threat.

“Yes, but will he be hurt?” Again the difficult question.

“Nikita, I can’t answer that one. Only he can.” But I know, yes I do. Hurt? Oh yes. “I understand too, for what its worth. (A small squeeze of April’s hand let her know that it was worth a lot.) This has been an intense few months, hasn’t it?”

Nikita gave a half-hearted laugh.

“The last five years have been intense, April. Working for Section One was like walking an emotional and physical tightrope, and the only surcrease would have been death.”

“Tell me, Nikita. Maybe it’s time to talk about it.”

“I talked about it with Kier, ah Mr. Rasheed Kier, you know, Illya’s bodyguard, Alexis’ safekeeper, at length. It’s about all I did for two months straight.”

“I didn’t realize. Of course! Then Kier brought you here, to get you out of the Command, didn't’he? Forgive me, I’d forgotten. Still, five years is a long time. And if I understand things correctly, a damned long time to have a death sentence hanging over one’s head."

“Maybe we could talk about it, yes, April. But not right now. I owe you, and the others a great deal, and I wish I could see fit to show it better.”

“Nonsense, Dear, we owe you a tremendous debt.”

“What?”

“You are responsible for Illya’s being alive. I know most of the details of the extraction from Section One. If you hadn’t..”

“I had no choice!” Nikita’s voice rose in volume, surprising both. “It’s as if He wove a spell… I…I don’t know how to put it plainly.”

April put her other hand over Nikita’s in a gesture of love and understanding.

“Hush, I fear we are about to be joined by the sorcerer himself.” April surrendered the warm hand as Nikita spun in her chair to face the entranceway.

Illya had sensed the agitation in Nikita. It penetrated even the fierce desire to overcome the burning anger of time wasted. Involuntarily she had summoned him. He entered the room with forced calm. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to hold her. He wanted an immediate explanation.

“Good Morning April, you look particularly lovely this morning.” The blue eyes danced with knowledge and love. And then -

“Good Morning, Sweet One, you look worried. Should I go away and leave you in the excellent hands of our glowing Miss Dancer?” Illya bowed to Nikita, a slight frown creasing the high forehead.

“Sit down, Illya. And wipe that smirk off your face.” April began.

“I do not smirk. I smile enigmatically.”

“You smirk, Sir. And I take offense.” April smiled up at him.

Too tired and worried to keep up the banter, Illya went to stand behind Nikita’s chair.

Three internal voices began simultaneously.

(I am sorry Nikita)

Would you like me to leave the two of you alone? This was April to Nikita.

Are you alright Illya? The tension in Nikita was palpable. The hand that had fallen lightly on her shoulder suddenly withdrew.

“Is there a problem?” Illya asked calmly. Aware that a three-way conversation would take considerable practice, he knew better than to try yet.

Do you want me to go? April asked again, looking into her big blue eyes.

Wishing she could have April’s physical-moral support, but needing to speak privately with Illya even more, Nikita sent a reluctant affirmative.

“Not at all,” said April brightly. Be easy Illya. All’s well. She could feel his mounting anxiety, and wished with all her heart that the following confrontation (?) would not take place. “I think I’ll go change and join the rest in physical exertions. By the way, Illya, I don’t think any one of us thought to tell you how lovely this home of yours is. Quite a departure from the digs you used to occupy!”

He managed a smile, thinking of the small bachelor apartment he’d maintained for most of the first five years of his career with U.N.C.L.E.

“Isn’t it just. Yes, run along and play, Miss Dancer. Be aware that when there is time, I have the proper fencing equipment on hand, and intend a rematch.” It had been humiliating. She had defeated him three out of four times on the average when they had first met and began phase one of the competition that was to continue for years. “Although,” he chuckled, “the available costume will swim on your petit frame.”

“I shall have my own equipment and foil sent, thank you very much. Now have some breakfast, and play nice yourself!” Pausing to give Nikita a hug, she left.

Her mind feverishly considering how to start, Nikita tried to forestall the inevitable questions. Needing touch-taste reassurance, she stood and, quite unnecessarily, asked to be held.

He buried his face in her abundant hair, inhaling deeply, then met the full lips with his own. She responded passionately.

“Wait! Wait, Nikita,” Illya began, pulling back and trying to get her to look at him. Well, she’s not angry with me, a small voice in the back of his head exalted. But, I’m not going to be bowled over until I get the problem stated.

“I missed you!” Standing in his arms, tingling all over, she almost decided to forget the whole mess.

“And I, you. I am sorry to have left you in the dark, as it were, but this is so extraordinary! My God, I can… Wait, no. Speak to me first, Lovely, of what is bothering you. Then I’ll explain.”

She tried demurring, she tried cajoling. She even tried again to distract him with her need of him. Nothing worked.

“You know,” she said finally, “you are an impossible man!”

“So, I hear.” How many times had he heard that particular phrase? “Now tell Mr. Impossible what is on your mind.”

“All I want….(Good Lord, why is this simple thing so hard to say?) is to leave for a little while. Maybe do some shopping, some thinking; gain a little…”

“Breathing room?” He asked. The sinking feeling stole into his stomach. He tried to fight it. This childish fear of abandonment was something he’d dealt with before; a major character flaw he had hoped would disappear with age.

“Something like that, yes.” She stopped. Confused by the war of emotions inside, she shook her head and continued. “I know the regression is delayed. Susan shared that will all of us last night. I want most to clear my head a bit, before I see you go through that.”

“You understand what it entails?”

“More than you know.”

“Maybe not. Listen, Nikita. Let me get this out now. I have read Section One’s file on you; it is most extensive. I did this months ago. You have read the Level Five file on me. Waverly told me. I find it curious that neither one of us brought it up, but not alarming. Yes, it is going to be rough, in spots. Yes, you are certainly entitled to leave anytime you so desire. Yes, you are strong enough to do so on your own. You are, I am, April might be; I’m not quite sure yet. Napoleon and Mark have some evolving to do before they can stand alone.

If I read your file right, you did not actually go through chemical regression at the hands of Red Cell, you pretended you had, to explain the six months of relative freedom afforded you by Michael.” He stopped, as the color drained out of her face.

That last bit of information threw her completely. Shock weakened her knees, and she fell into the chair that, fortunately, was in the right place.

“They knew?” was about all she could get out at the moment. The circumstances of the ‘escape’ from Section One almost two years ago went flying through her mind.

Operations, finally losing all patience with her inability to shed her human reluctance to kill in cold blood, had put her in Abeyance status, a death sentence. Michael had found out. He’d arranged her ‘death’ and left her a small chance to find her own way out of the deadly assignment. For six months she’d hidden from the eyes and ears of Section One. Only to be discovered by the terrorist super-group Red Cell.

Red Cell had had her only for a scant week, when Michael effected her rescue. She and Michael had been extremely careful to build a strong case for her having been held the full six months of her absence. They’d believed themselves successful when no order for immediate cancellation was issued.

Illya watched her face for the entire 30 seconds it took for the past to re-enact.

“Operations and Madeline? Yes, they knew. The final report did not specify when they found out. Nikita, you should read your own file, and soon. It is classified as Level Five also, and therefore available only at Waverly’s discretion.”

“Why didn’t they cancel me?” The words floated hollow, frightening. She sounded as if she regretted the fact that they had not. His heart ached to see the residual fear and defeat of those damnable years fill her eyes.

With horrible clarity, he realized what he’d just done. Putting it simply, he’d struck out at her. Blindly rushing on, letting his subconscious do the dirty deed, he had upset her equilibrium, hoping, perhaps, to stop her from leaving. Self-loathing hit, burning his insides with cold fire. NOT NOW! He shoved the ugly emotion aside, to be dealt with later, and hastily compartmented those feelings. Help her. Repair the damage. Hold her. (Keep her from leaving)

“Nikita, I am so sorry.” He stopped, pushing the tears into the compartment along with the fire and the pain. He pulled her up, then down into his lap, cradling her. She remained still and tense. “That was unforgivable of me. You are done with that horror and I had no right to bring any of it up.”

“Am I?” Still hollow.

“You recall a dream you had just after I came home that first time? Well, actually, you weren’t aware I was there yet, you were sleeping. Do you remember?” It was too early to bring this up, but it just might bring her back quickly from that cold lonely place.

“Dream?” Still hollow, forlorn, not with him at all.

“The primordial forest, the fire, the dark eyed one?” He made a complicated pattern in the air with the hand not stroking her head. The tense body relaxed a little.

“Do you remember the feeling; looking into his eyes? How calm, how peaceful, and yet exciting.” His hand made yet another pattern. She stirred. She became electrified, excitement thrilled into every nerve fiber.

Flying out of his lap, she pulled him up this time, eyes fairly dancing with joy.

“It WAS you! I knew it! I knew it!”

“Shh, Shh. No, it was not me. Well, I was there too, in a way.”

“The blue eyes! I knew they were yours. But somehow I forgot. What was that? Wait! I think I know. I thought I knew as it was happening and I wanted to wake up and find you, but I couldn’t!”

“Shhh, Nikita, you’ll have the others here in a minute, and I want you all to myself just now.” His pain was nullified by her joy. His 100% smile broke through the cloud cover. “You are under the dark-eyed one’s protection, Moy Dushka, as well as my own. You and Alexis are the only two, that I’m aware of, that are.”

“Aren’t You?” Eyes wide with excitement.

“Ah, it is complicated. Suffice to say, Young One, that you may indeed go into the wide world with more confidence than most humans.”

She continued to stare wide-eyed at him. All trace of the misery swallowed by the revelation.

“Now, Nikita, just one thing before you go. One condition. That you call on me if you need me. Promise me.”

“But I don’t want to go.”

“Yes you do. It will do you good to get away. You are not a prisoner here.”

“But..”

“Go. Get ready and go.”

She started out the door in a daze.

“Nikita!”

She turned around, hoping for a reprieve.

He took her in his arms for one last kiss. He debated taking the knowledge he’d just imparted back, decided it was unfair, and bade her go get ready.

She must never know what it cost to let her go like that. Never.

END PART THREE

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