"Illya Kuryakin, you have been found guilty of the cold blooded murder of your partner Napoleon Solo, as such you will be taken to the U.N.C.L.E. Medical Department and be executed immediately!"

There was a loud gasp from the other Enforcement agents in the room. Illya stood at the table where he had sat through the one-day trial, alone. His face was stone; there was no reaction at all. "Sir," he said, "I would like two minutes to speak with Miss Dancer before execution is carried out." There was no emotion in his voice.

"Granted."

April stood and walked over to Illya, tears in her eyes. "Illya…"

"April," he interrupted, "We have no time, I did not kill Napoleon."

"I know that. There must be something we can do." Her voice shook with emotion.

"April, there is nothing to be done when an agent is convicted of murder, you know that." Illya reached out to touch her cheek; "I have just one request, find Napoleon’s killer. I would have done it, but the frame is too tight. I want your word that you will not rest until his real killer is found."

April reached up to touch his hand, "You have my word Illya." She leaned forward and kissed him.

He gently wiped the tears from her cheek, "Thank you."

The guard walked over, nodding at Illya. He lowered his hand back to his side and walked towards the door looking neither left or right. Walking proudly his head held high, the only pain in his soul the fact that he would die without avenging his partner’s death. He thought back to the events of the previous day.

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

The three light taps at his door weren’t unexpected. After finishing up the reports on the Miller case both agents had been exhausted and just wanted to drag their weary bodies home for some much needed sleep. It had been a long hard month capturing Claude Miller, the down side was he had been taken alive so now they faced more months of work before he would be convicted and put away.

Illya walked slowly over to answer the door; he’d only been able to sleep for two hours. His body had gone too long on short nights, it would take a while to readjust. He looked through the peephole in the door, as he suspected it was Napoleon, grinning from ear to ear, looking impossibly well rested.

He opened the door, knowing what was about to come. "Good morning Napoleon. Didn’t I just see you a few hours ago?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings Tovarisch, but it’s night already. " Napoleon’s smile was bright and cheerful, his voice matched. "Come on, we’re going out for the evening."

"Napoleon," Illya looked at him yawning, "Didn’t we decide that it was time we went home and got some sleep?"

"You mean you haven’t slept at all yet?" Napoleon’s tone changed to one of teasing. "What are you, getting old?" He walked over to the bedroom; "You have to slept. Now no excuses, a group of us are getting together down at the waterfront to celebrate the end of the Miller case. We can’t celebrate without you, we wouldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t found his hideout."

Illya knew he was beaten before he began, "Alright, I’ll meet you, I need time to shower and change. Regular spot?"

"Where else. Now if I leave, I want your word you won’t stand us up, okay?" Napoleon walked back over, placing his hand on his partner’s shoulder. "I’m serious, we wouldn’t have caught Miller without you, you have to be there."

"Napoleon, I promise, I’ll be there in about an hour," Illya reached and opened the door, "Now you go, or I’ll never get started." He literally shoved his partner out the door.

"See you soon Tovarisch," was the last thing he heard as the door closed.

Illya came back to the present, who knew that was the last time he would talk to Napoleon. Illya was walking down the corridor towards the Medical section, two armed guards in front and behind him. Each door they passed was open with agents and secretary’s standing inside staring, waiting.

Illya’s thoughts though were not on where he was going. If only, if only he hadn’t made Napoleon leave, if only he had gone with him. He shook his head, if only’s would just bring emotions to the surface and right now he couldn’t afford those emotions. If he thought about it too hard the tears he had not cried last night would be let loose and people would think they were for him. The tear’s he did not cry were not for him they were for his friend and partner.

It was almost better that his life was coming to an end. Without Napoleon’s friendship and laughter he already felt dead inside, he hadn’t felt this alone in years.

The door to the Medical section was open; the room was empty except for one hooded man, waiting for Illya. No one knew who this man was, no one wanted to know.

The guards stopped at the door, closing it as Illya walked into the room alone. He walked over to the metal bed, not even looking at the strange hooded man, hiking himself up on the bed and laying down, feeling his arms and legs being strapped down, he closed his eyes and his thoughts once again returned to the night before.

Two minutes after Napoleon left there was another three light taps on the door. Illya, not even thinking about it threw open the door. "Did you forget something….?"

He didn’t have time to see the face of the man at the door, but the gun in his hand was easy to recognize. One shot was fired and Illya’s world went black.

He had no idea how long he’d been out, but when he tried to open his eyes, his head pounded. Rolling over to his stomach he reached out and felt some cloth. It was a pair of pants, they were his pants. Looking down Illya discovered he was lying on the floor of his apartment in his underwear.

Sitting up as quickly as he could he scanned the floor, his pants, shirt, gun, all were lying on the floor around him. He checked himself out, no wounds; none of this made any sense. Looking at his watch he discovered he’d been unconscious for over an hour. He rose quickly, pulling his clothes back on. Leaving the gun lying where it was, he reached in his pocket and had just pulled out his communicator when a heavy knock came at the door.

Looking through the peephole again he was not surprised to see four of the agents who worked on the Miller case with him. He opened the door quickly, "I know I’m late, but the strangest thing just happen…." He stopped short, there were four guns pointing at him. "What in the hell is going on?"

Agent John Murphy looked at Illya, "Illya Kuryakin, you are under arrest."

Illya, still not believing they were serious, "okay you guys, I take it Napoleon put you up to this, where is he?" He looked both ways down the hall of his apartment building. "Look, I know I’m late, but let me see Napoleon, I can explain."

Murphy’s voice was somber, "As you already know, Napoleon Solo is dead. I hereby arrest you for the cold-blooded murder of your partner. Will you come quietly or do we have to cuff you?"

"Look you guys, this isn’t funny," Illya was getting angry now. "Where’s Napoleon?" He turned to walk back into his apartment and was grabbed from behind by two of the agents; his hands were quickly cuffed behind his back.

Murphy walked into his apartment, and seeing the gun on the floor reached down with a handkerchief to pick it up, putting it in a plastic bag. "Why’d you do it Illya, I never thought you would go rogue, but to kill your own partner?"

Illya suddenly realized these guys were serious. "Where is Napoleon?" Illya’s voice had turned fearful.

Murphy turned to look at him with rage filled eyes, "Napoleon Solo is somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, where you put him about forty-five minutes ago, when you calmly put two bullets in him. We all saw you do it."

Illya felt as though he’d been punched, Napoleon couldn’t be dead, it just wasn’t possible. "Look guys, I’ve been right here for the past hour. I was shot with some type of tranquilizer dart and just woke up."

"Then would you like to explain how the four of us plus fifty or more other people on the pier could have seen you, wearing those clothes," he held up the gun, "and using this gun, to murder your partner?" He opened the bag the gun was in, "And would you also like to explain why your gun has been recently fired? Take him in guys."

With that, Illya had been dragged to a car and driven to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. The shock over the death of his partner, mixing with the horror that he was being accused of the crime. He knew U.N.C.L.E.’s standing rule regarding internal assassinations, a trial would be held immediately and if he were convicted he would be dead within twenty-four hours.

Upon their arrival at headquarters, Illya was taken to Mr. Waverly’s office. His attempts to explain what happened had fallen on deaf ears. All four agents were stating the same story. Napoleon had received a call to meet Illya outside. He walked out the front door to the end of the pier and was shot twice, falling off the pier into the ocean. All four agents saw Illya’s hair, clothes and gun. "But you didn’t see my face?" Illya asked again for the fourth time to the fourth man.

Mr. Waverly had been extremely fair, he had Illya’s blood tested, his gun tested and they were searching for Napoleon. The blood came back clear of all drugs, the gun had been fired twice and there was no sign of Napoleon. "Mr. Kuryakin, I have no choice in this matter, as you well know. You will be tried tomorrow morning for the murder of your partner."

Illya had been taken from Mr. Waverly’s office and locked in a holding cell. Sitting down on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest it finally hit him, "Napoleon!" he said with a moan, barely holding the tears in, "Why?"

His trial had been very fair, and very short. The same agents testified under oath. Although no reason could be given for Illya’s supposed treachery, their testimony had been enough.

Illya came back to the present, what was left of it. The man in the hood was over at the counter filling a syringe; he slowly limped back towards the bed where Illya was fastened down. The door opened and Mr. Waverly walked into the room, along with two other men Illya had seen in the past but barely knew. One was the judge at his trial a retired agent, John Collier.

"Illya Kuryakin, having been found guilty of assassinating your partner, you are now to be put to death, do you have any last words?" Collier’s words cut through him.

Illya met Mr. Waverly’s sad eyes, "I did not kill my partner, my only request is that someone continue to look for the real killer." He saw Mr. Waverly nod at him, his mission accomplished; Illya Kuryakin lay back on the bed to accept his fate.

He closed his eyes but heard the limping approach of the hooded executioner. He barely felt the needle going into his arm and his world went black.

After one minute the executioner reached for Illya’s throat to check for a pulse, there was none. He nodded quietly to the three men standing in the doorway and reached down to pull a sheet up over the body of Illya Kuryakin. The three men turned and walked out the door, Mr. Waverly, the last one out stopped for a moment to look at the body lying on the bed, then turned and left the room. It was a long slow walk back to his office and he had to pass the same rooms Illya had just gone by, the secretaries were crying softly as he walked past, he pretended not to see.

The still hooded executioner rolled the bed out the main door of Medical. There was no other way out of the building for him than past reception. He was ignored as he rolled the body out the door towards the waiting hearse, all the looks and tears were for the body lying on the bed. His limp was more pronounced than when he had been in the Medical section and if anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen drops of blood landing on the sheet he was bending over.

The hearse was parked in front of the building; the executioner gingerly opened the back door of the vehicle and slid the bed into the dark interior. He limped as swiftly as he could around to the driver’s side and climbing in, pulled away from the curb. He drove only a couple of miles from headquarters before parking the hearse behind a deserted warehouse and climbed slowly into the back.

Pulling the sheet from the still body, he leaned over and inserted a syringe into the still, white arm. As soon as he finished he unfastened the bindings holding the arms and legs to the bed. It took thirty seconds before the so-called corpse began to groan and the blue eyes opened to look at the hooded figure before him.

"What happened?" Illya said with a low moan, "My head is killing me." Realizing he was supposed to be dead he looked again at the hooded figure. "Who are you?"

The man’s hand reached for the hood and slowly pulled it off. "Hi partner," Napoleon Solo said as he passed out into his friend’s arms.

Illya caught the unconscious form, holding him close for a moment before he could move. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t dead but the thought that Napoleon was here and alive was enough to get him going again. He rolled quickly off the bed, holding his partner until he was out of the way then tenderly laying him down, moving the bloody sheet out of the way.

Seeing the blood on the sheet made him lift Napoleon’s shirt up. A blood-covered piece of cloth was stuck to his chest; it was still oozing bright red, which explained where the blood on the sheet had come from.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Napoleon had snuck him out of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters without revealing himself for a reason. He would have no way of knowing what that reason was until Napoleon was conscious. The problem was where to go. They couldn’t go to Napoleon’s or Illya’s, both apartments would be sealed up for disposition. There was only one place left, Napoleon’s boat, no one would be going there for a while, and Napoleon always kept medical equipment aboard.

Making his friend as comfortable as he could, Illya climbed into the front of the hearse and headed for the dock. It would be dark soon and it would be the perfect opportunity to sneak aboard.

Illya waited until dark to attempt to board the boat. Napoleon had not regained consciousness so he had to lift him out of the back, placing his arm around his shoulder’s trying to make it look like a friend helping an intoxicated person home. It was dark enough that hopefully no one could see he was literally carrying his friend.

Once they boarded the boat, Illya lifted his partner into his arms and gently carried him down below. Laying him carefully on the bed he went for the medical kit, towels and a bowl of water. He also found a pair of Napoleon’s old sweats and a couple of blankets.

Using the scissors in the medical kit he cut the bloody shirt from his friends’ body, grimacing as he saw all the blood. The bandage was stuck tight to the wound and knowing there was no way to avoid it, he tore it quickly from Napoleon’s body. Using one of the towels he put pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding.

Remembering the limp his partner had while in Medical, he began examining his friend's legs, discovering another hole in the pants just over Napoleon’s right hip. Cutting the hole open he discovered another bloody bullet hole.

"My God, Napoleon, how did you get to me?" Illya couldn’t believe his partner had been able to move with these wounds. Knowing he was the only medical help his friend was going to get, Illya pulled out the equipment necessary to remove the bullets from his partner’s body, praying he would stay unconscious until the work was done.

Two hours later, Illya had just finished cleaning up the room and himself when he heard a low moan coming from his partner.

"Napoleon," he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Napoleon, can you hear me?"

The hazel eyes opened for a second, closed, than opened again to look into his friends blue ones, "Hi." The voice was so soft it was difficult to hear. "For a dead man you look awfully good."

"I could say the same thing about you, you know. Do you remember what happened?" He reached over to gently lift his partner’s head and gave him a small sip of water.

"You mean at the pier?"

Illya nodded, lowering Napoleon’s head back to the pillow, but reaching down to take his friend’s hand.

"One of the guys took a call, said it was you, asking me to meet you out on the pier, that you had something important to tell me. When I got to the edge of the pier, a man dressed in your clothes and wearing a blonde wig walked over towards me. I saw it wasn’t you as soon as he got close but by then it was too late, he pulled out your gun and shot me twice. I never even got my gun out." Napoleon stopped, seemingly exhausted.

Illya wanted to give him a break; "He got me a few minutes after you left. He pumped a knockout shot into me, stole my clothes and gun, then came back and left all the evidence with me. I had no idea what was happening until Murphy and the others showed up to arrest me."

Napoleon had his second wind and wanted to finish the story, "I figured I was better off in the ocean than getting shot again so I pretended to fall backwards and dove in the water. I wasn’t hurting to bad yet so I swam to shore, got a cab and headed for your place. I figured you might need help since he had your clothes. By the time I got there, the guys were dragging you out in cuffs. I knew what that meant, they thought you shot me and you were headed for headquarters." He took a deep breath; a low moan escaping as the movement caused a pain to tear through his body.

"I knew what they would do to you, but I wasn’t sure who to trust, figuring we were set up with that phone call. So, I decided to get you out and go from there." Napoleon lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes for a minute. "I know the guy who handles the executions, I called him and told him we had a very special execution and that they’d brought someone in from out of town to handle it. He was nice enough to lend me the hearse. You know the rest."

"Napoleon, who was it who told you about the phone call?" Illya’s tone had turned deadly.

"Murphy! Why, do you think he helped set us up?" Napoleon sounded shocked, he had known Murphy for ten years.

"I don’t know, but I intend to find out." You could see the anger drain out of his friend, "How are you?"

"I’m okay," came the reply from Napoleon, just a little too quickly. " Did you get both of the bullets out?"

"Napoleon, I’m not an amateur," Illya gave a small laugh, "I’ve had a lot of experience digging bullet’s out of you, remember?" His expression changed to one of concern, "I don’t know how you ever got to me, let alone stayed on your feet long enough to get me out of there."

"I didn’t have much choice now did I? You’d never have forgiven me if I’d been late for your execution." Napoleon laughed this time with less pain. "So, who do we trust and why are we on someone’s hit list?"

It him them both at the same time "Miller." They said it in unison. With them both out of the way U.N.C.L.E. would have no choice but to release Miller.

"We have to get in touch with Mr. Waverly and make sure he’s not released," Illya said quietly. "Do you have your communicator, they confiscated mine?"

Napoleon looked at him. "Mine is at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. So, who do we call."

It took Illya only a second, "April!"

April Dancer had loved working for U.N.C.L.E, until today. After the execution, Mr. Waverly had insisted that all agents not currently working on a case take the rest of the day off. She had tried to argue, but remembering her promise to Illya decided to go home and get organized for the investigation. Heading home she realized the world seemed emptier tonight, she wondered if it would ever feel normal again.

She was sitting in her living room listening to a jazz album Illya had given to her when the phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring. "Hello."

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard," a familiar voice came over the phone.

But it was impossible, he was dead she thought, "The dish ran away with the spoon," she replied out of habit.

"Booth," came the reply, "585952, 32427819." And the phone disconnected.

April Dancer you’re losing it, she said to herself, Napoleon Solo was dead. That couldn’t have been his voice. But telling herself this and believing it were two different things. She grabbed her purse and ran from her room, heading for the closest telephone booth. Feeling full of more energy than she’d felt all day

Almost throwing the money into the phone, she dialed, 555-2289, it was picked up on the first ring, "Yes?"

"Napoleon, is that you?" she replied breathlessly.

"No names, do you know where my pride and joy is?" came the response. "Get here as quick as you can, but watch out for tails. Oh yes, if you can lay your hand on some antibiotic it might be helpful."

April hung up the telephone, oh heavens, Napoleon was alive, hurt, but alive. She had to get to Illy….

April stopped dead, Oh God, how was she ever going to tell Napoleon that Illya had been executed for his murder? She turned and walked slowly back to her apartment, pulling her penicillin prescription and anything else she thought might be helpful. Just in case she grabbed some tranquilizers, even if he didn’t need them she might. As an afterthought she threw her communicator pen into her purse also, pulling a scarf over her hair she headed out the door.

Taking a round-about path, April walked three blocks before hailing a taxi. Not spotting anyone following her, she changed cabs three times before being let off a block from the boat’s slip. Walking the rest of the distance, trying to figure out a way to tell Napoleon what had happened.

She walked down the steps of the boat, into the cabin, walking in to find Napoleon stretched out on the bed asleep. "Napoleon," she reached over to give him a gentle shake, "Napoleon are you okay? Napoleon."

His eyes opened to look at her, "Napoleon, I have something I have to tell you."

"He already knows," came a fine Russian voice from beside her.

April jumped three feet, dropping her purse. "Illya?" her voice was literally dumbstruck. "But they said.."

A familiar voice came from the bed; "Reports of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated. Hi April, how’s things?"

April Dancer sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. She was beginning to believe in miracles. "How?"

Illya walked over, touching her on the cheek in the same manner he had at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. "Let me get Napoleon settled and I’ll explain. Did you bring antibiotic?"

She walked over to reach in her purse and handed him the bottle of pills. Watching as Illya got a glass of water than walked over to his partner, sat down beside him and very gently placed an arm around him to lift him to a sitting position.

"Here Napoleon, take these." He gave him two of the pills and held the glass while his partner swallowed, wincing at the movement. Illya carefully settled his partner back onto the bed. Reaching up to close his eyes with a gentle touch. "Sleep now."

He stood up, nodding to April to go up on deck.

She sat on the deck, "Is he okay?"

"He will be when he rests." Illya’s face had a tender look on it for a moment, then it turned back to his normal reserve.

April turned to look at him; "I take it he got you out of headquarters. How was he able to do it?"

"April, by rights, he should be dead, the bullets I took out of him and the blood loss." Illya shook his head; "He took the place of the executioner. He saw me being dragged out of my apartment and realized what was going on." Illya’s voice turned serious, "April, we need your help. We need you to get to Mr. Waverly and let him know what’s happened."

"Illya, you know I’ll help any way possible, but if you come in without Napoleon…"

"I know, if they find me now, they will kill me on sight. We’ve got that covered, if you can let Mr. Waverly know what’s going on." He began explaining their plan.

It was a new morning at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, but the mood around the office had not changed. It was as though the life had gone out of the entire place. People were performing their duties, but there were no smiles, no laughter.

The three women on duty in the reception area were all grim faced, until the door from Del Floria’s was flung open and a dark haired body stumbled in and collapsed on the floor.

"Mr. Solo," one of the women managed to scream.

It was Napoleon Solo, his clothes bloody and torn, his wounds once again seeping blood.

One of the women rushed over to him, sitting with him, holding his head in her lap, while another called for medical help and Mr. Waverly. She leaned down to hear what he was mumbling.

"Must warn Illya, must warn Illya," he continued to mumble the same phrase over and over. "Illya…."

Her eyes moistened as she held Solo’s head. "Oh My God."

Mr. Waverly arrived at the same time as the medical team, staying out of the way while they loaded Napoleon onto a stretcher, carrying him swiftly to Medical. The Doctors were waiting for him, pulling the bloody clothes from his body to examine the two bloody bullet wounds. "He’s removed the bullets somehow," Doctor Morgan exclaimed, "But it looks like an infection is setting in." He worked quickly to set up an IV of fluids and antibiotic.

Napoleon continued to mumble, "Illya, must warn Illya. ILLYA!!"

Mr. Waverly continued to watch, "Will he be okay Doctor? He appears to be delirious."

Doctor Morgan didn’t even look up from his work, "Give me a couple of minutes and he should be a little more coherent, sir." He continued to work, cleaning up the wounds and bandaging Napoleon’s chest and hip. "He did a good job on these wounds, they would have killed him by now if he hadn’t gotten the bullets out. Napoleon," he gently patted Solo’s face, "Napoleon."

Solo stopped mumbling his eyes focussed on the Doctor, "Doctor Morgan." He looked around the room, "Mr. Waverly, oh thank God, I made it. Mr. Waverly, you need to warn Illya, someone’s trying to kill us."

The Doctor’s face froze, staring at Solo; it took him a second to see the silent faces.

Napoleon looked at Doctor Morgan, "Doctor, where is my partner." He turned to Waverly, "Sir, has something happened to Illya?"

Morgan turned to Napoleon, "Napoleon, it’s very important that you rest for a while. You need rest and we need to get some blood back in you. Bring me a sedative," He said turning to one of the nurses who was staring at Napoleon in shock.

"Doctor Morgan, if you don’t tell me where my partner is, I’m going to get out of this bed and find him myself." Napoleon’s voice had turned lethal. "Mr. Waverly, where is Illya?"

Waverly nodded to the doctor. "Napoleon," Morgan began quietly, "We thought you were dead. Did you see who shot you?"

"Of course Doctor, it was someone wearing Illya’s clothes and using his gun." Solo paused, "Did they hurt him?"

"Napoleon," the doctor continued, "all the witnesses who saw the shooting identified Mr. Kuryakin as the shooter, he was tried and convicted yesterday of your murder."

Solo turned to Mr. Waverly, "Convicted, yesterday?" The words were said very slowly.

Waverly walked over and put his hand on Solo’s shoulder, "Mr. Solo, Illya Kuryakin was executed last evening, per U.N.C.L.E.’s standing order for internal assassinations. We had no idea…."

"You had no idea," Napoleon was now yelling at the top of his lungs, "You had no idea if I was dead or alive and you executed my partner."

The door to medical was flung open and six different agent’s came running in guns drawn, stopping dead upon seeing Solo.

"You self righteous bastard’s judged and executed my partner without a body?" Napoleon sat up on the bed, brushing off the Doctor’s hands trying to hold him down. He reached down and deftly pulled the IV’s from his arm. Turning to Mr. Waverly, "and you allowed it to happen." He slid off the bed, almost collapsing, then regaining his balance continued towards Waverly, his look lethal.

Doctor Morgan tried to intercept him, "Napoleon, you need more medical attention."

Solo turned his deadly look on the doctor; "I wouldn’t accept medical help from you people if you were the last doctors on earth. You tell me you didn’t murder my best friend and I’ll stay here." Napoleon grabbed his torn clothes, putting them slowly back on and turned again to Waverly. "Well sir?"

For the first time anyone present could remember Waverly’s face was crestfallen, "Mr. Solo, we had no idea you were alive. All the reports said you were gunned down by Mr. Kuryakin. You know the rules."

"Mr. Waverly, you can take your rules and shove them, I quit." Napoleon turned towards the door looking at the men in his way as though he would like to personally destroy each one of them. "I cannot believe that not one of you stopped this from happening." Solo began limping towards the door. The other agents moved aside, unable to meet his eyes.

"Napoleon," Doctor Morgan tried one more time, "Please, without medical attention you could die."

Napoleon didn’t even pause, just limping out the door, turning and yelling as he reached the reception corridor, "Why should it matter to anyone in this building if any agent dies, it seems we’re all expendable, especially to our own people." He continued towards the reception door, pausing as he neared the receptionists to throw his gun and ID on the counter. His shoulders seemed to quake for a second with a sob being held back then he turned and limped out the door.

There was a cab sitting in front of Del Floria’s as Napoleon exited the building, limping heavily. He climbed in and collapsed into the seat. "Let’s get out of here."

Illya turned to look him over carefully from the driver’s seat, "I take it all went as planned? Are you alright?"

Napoleon looked at his partner, "You know partner, that felt really good. I’ve been wanting to blast someone since I found out what they were doing to you. Maybe neither one of us should go back."

Illya threw him a shocked look; "You don’t really mean that do you?"

"No," came the reply, "but it does feel good to say. Okay, home James and don’t spare the horses." Solo relaxed back into the seat. "You think I’ll get a visitor soon?"

"I think knowing I’m dead and you’re the only witness against Claude Miller left alive, we should see someone very soon. I’m amazed no one’s following us now." He’d been keeping a good watch in the mirrors and had yet to spot a tail. "April and Mark are already set up in your apartment per Mr. Waverly instructions. We’ll park in the back, that way I can personally escort you up to the apartment."

"Thanks partner," Napoleon met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Napoleon, I’m the one who should be saying thank you," Illya’s voice softened, "I’d be dead now if not for you. Now, how are you doing? Did they get you re-bandaged before you threw your temper tantrum or do I have more doctoring to do?"

"Do I look like an idiot, I let the doctor finish before I started the show. They even gave me some kind of painkiller. I’m feeling pretty good right now."

"I take it Mr. Waverly managed to play his part also," Illya questioned his friend.

"You would have been proud, six agents, including Murphy arrived." Napoleon was laughing, "On a scale of one to ten I bet I caused a guilt level of at least eleven." He was suddenly serious, "Illya, doesn’t it bother you that if I had really been dead, they would have killed you?"

Illya pulled the taxi up behind Napoleon’s apartment building and parked. He got out quickly and opened the door to help his friend out, "Napoleon, I honestly didn’t care. The only thing that bothered me was that I couldn’t catch your killer."

Napoleon stopped and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, "How could you not care, they were going to kill you?"

"You want me to be honest?" Illya was looking at his friend, his face expressing the most emotion Napoleon had ever seen. His friend nodded, "I was already dead inside, I had lost the companionship of the only person who made my life bearable. It didn’t matter to me if I died on a mission or that day." He hung his head as though expecting his partner to be angry at the emotions he was expressing.

Instead he was surprised to be enfolded in a hug from his friend. He let him go after a minute, "Thank you my friend," Napoleon said quietly, "I always knew I needed your friendship to survive, but I never thought you might like having me around."

Illya turned to him with a smile on his face, "Napoleon, where else am I going to find someone I can so easily beat at chess." His face suddenly turned serious, "Let’s get inside, I don’t like the exposure out here." He took his partner’s arm and helped him up the steps and into the elevator.

They made it into Napoleon’s apartment without incident, Illya keeping his gun ready while carefully assisting his exhausted partner. He lowered Napoleon gently to the sofa, helping him to settle in and cover up.

It had been a quiet evening. Since they had all expected something to happen right away, neither Mark or April had come prepared to spend the night. It was decided they would take an hour to go home and get a change of clothes, while picking up some dinner.

Napoleon has been resting on the sofa for most of the afternoon and evening, finally beginning to feel human again. He opened his eyes to see Illya sitting at the dining room table fighting to keep his eyes open. "Illya," he called to his friend, "Give it up and go get some rest. Mark and April will be back in a half hour."

Illya started to argue. " I don’t want to leave you alone."

Solo would have none of it, "Consider this an order, go to bed, I’ll wake you if I need anything." His look became softer, "Illya, I’m fine, please get some rest before you collapse."

Kuryakin walked slowly into the bedroom, leaving the door open. Solo, right behind him, closed it firmly.

Napoleon had just settled back on to the sofa after turning on some low music, when there were three gentle taps on the door. He raised himself slowly off the sofa; pleased to discover the pain was almost non-existent. He was still weak, but knew it would take time to get his strength back.

Looking through the peephole, Solo was surprised to see John Collier. He opened the door just a crack, "John, I don’t really feel up to company right now."

Collier looked at him, a pained expression on his face, "Napoleon, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you. I’m having major trouble with my part in all of this. Could I please come in and talk, just for a couple of minutes?"

The man seemed so distressed, Solo couldn’t say no to him and unlocking the door, opened it. "Come on in John," he said as he walked back to the sofa and sat back down. "If you want something to drink, just help yourself."

Collier walked in, closing the door behind himself, the tone of his voice had changed, "As I said Napoleon, I only need a few minutes."

Solo looked up on hearing the change in tone. Collier had a deadly looking gun pointed at him, "So, it was you!"

Collier turned angry eyes on him, "Yes, it was me, I didn’t think I missed you."

Napoleon grimaced as he sat up, "You didn’t miss John, you just weren’t quite good enough. Why John?"

Collier moved a few steps closer, "Money, what else."

"Just money, for just money you would turn traitor and kill two men?" Solo’s face had turned to stone; he was trying to raise his voice enough so his partner would hear.

Collier had gotten even closer, his gun within two feet of Napoleon’s head; "Claude Miller needed someone to take you and Illya out. Without you two, he’s free as a bird. I got tired of retirement and tired of never having enough money. He took care of both. Now stand up Mister Solo, I saw your bodyguards leave, they’ll be back shortly I’m sure, so we need to get out of here."

Napoleon tried to jump him, but his reflexes were off. Collier hit him once in the chest, causing a painful moan. He slid his arm around Napoleon’s throat and began squeezing. Napoleon’s world started to go black.

"Let him go," came a deadly Russian voice from the bedroom. Illya walked out, with his special pointed at Collier’s head. "Let him go, or I swear I’ll blow your head off."

"Why Mr. Kuryakin, what a surprise. I thought U.N.C.L.E. took care of you for me. I guess I’ll just have to earn the money myself." Collier continued to squeeze his arm around Napoleon’s throat. "Now, either lower your gun or I snap his head off!"

Illya could see Napoleon was unable to help. One more minute and he would probably suffocate. He took three more steps into the room then slowly lowered his gun to his side. "You’re killing him." He said, seeing his friend’s eyes rolling back in his head.

"That is the plan Mr. Kuryakin," Collier said, "Now drop that gun and kick it over here."

Illya obeyed, tossing the gun to the floor and kicking it, but away from Collier.

Collier swung his gun around and pointed it at Illya, pulling the trigger, just as Napoleon brought his arm up and deflected it. He only got one shot off before Illya hit him with a full body tackle.

Solo sank back onto the sofa, gasping for breath, holding his chest and watching, unable to get back up.

Kuryakin wasn’t wasting any time with Collier and wasn’t holding anything back. This was the man who almost cost him his life and tried to kill his partner. He rained blows on Collier, knowing the man was no match for him.

Collier fell back to the floor gasping, "I give," he said, as he stealthily reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, thrusting it into Illya's side.

Illya feeling the sharp pain as the knife slid in and out, saw red. Without even thinking about it he grabbed Collier’s head and twisted until he heard a snap. Collier fell to the floor in a heap.

Illya crawled quickly over to the sofa, holding a hand to his side. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

Solo finally managed to catch his breath. "I’m fine." He said reaching to help his partner onto the sofa, "But I think it’s my turn to play doctor." He pulled Illya’s shirt off and used it to put pressure on the bleeding knife wound.

They both turned as the door was thrown open. Illya ready to dive for his gun, as Mark and April walked in carrying dinner. They both stopped, shocked seeing Collier on the floor and Napoleon and Illya both gasping on the sofa.

"Illya?" April said, "Napoleon?"

"We’re alright April," Illya managed to get out. I think it’s over."

The mood at the reception desk at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters was still low the following morning when Napoleon Solo jauntily sauntered through the door. "Good morning ladies," he said brightly as they pinned his badge on him. "I think you’re also holding my gun and ID here."

The receptionist, whose jaw had dropped on his arrival quickly reached in a drawer and handed them to him.

He stopped with a wry grin on his face, "I do believe I’ve forgotten something." He looked around, "Oh yes," he turned and walked back to the door, opening it again. Reaching through the door, Napoleon slipped his arm around his partner’s shoulders and pulled him through the door. "I’ll need another badge please ladies."

He literally heard three jaws drop.

The receptionist who pinned the badge on Illya reached up to lightly touch his face as she finished. She looked at the other two and nodded.

Solo and Kuryakin didn’t stay around for the tears. Napoleon, keeping his arm solidly around his partner’s shoulders continued walking down the hallway toward Mr. Waverly’s office. They talked quietly to each other, publicly ignoring but both privately enjoying the shocked looks they received as they passed the doors.

By the time they reached Waverly’s door, half of the U.N.C.L.E. personnel were standing in the hallway, staring.

Mr. Waverly stood in his doorway, a broad grin on his face, "Good morning gentlemen, it’s nice to see you both."

It seemed to Napoleon he held Illya’s hand just a second or two longer as he shook hands with both of them. Napoleon looked at his partner and nodded slightly in his direction.

"Good morning Mr. Waverly," there seemed to be a large collective breath released from the people in the hallway as they heard the Russian’s voice, "It’s good to be back!"

The three of them walked into Mr. Waverly’s office. Closing the door behind them.

The End
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