Napoleon cracked open one bleary eye. Something had woken him and it wasn't the sun streaming through the window. He waited and snuggled down into the soft warm haven, his arm reaching around to cuddle the sleeping form of his partner.

Partner.

The word echoed in his mind and he sent exploratory fingers down his chest and encountered a soft cheek.

Hmmm, nice. He thought.

His fingers traveled onwards and spreading the long digits carded them through slippery strands of the finest silk.

Okay. I can definitely get used to this.

He opened his eyes again and craned his neck to find the warm solid weight pressed against the length of his body from shoulder to knees, was Illya. Curled around him like a bear cub and sleeping like a babe, the soft breath tickling Solo's neck. Illya murmured unintelligibly in his sleep and his full lips curved into dreamy smile. His right hand had curled into the fabric of Napoleon's silk pajamas and slipped inside to stroke at the hard-muscled chest.

It was the fire that light touch caused in him that had woken him. The sensual dance Illya's fingers played along his ribs and down into the short coarse hairs of his stomach.

The dreamy look on his partner's face did nothing to help Solo retain his calm as a jolt of arousal shot through his loins. He bit back a groan as the long, sensitive fingers brushed against his flat nipple. Beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip.

"Illyusha?" Solo called reluctantly.

Another murmur as the hand ceased its gentle caress and a frown marred the high forehead.

"Illyusha?"

The blond moved away and flung an arm haphazardly over his eyes. Solo propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at the waking form. He smiled and reached out to card his hand through his partner's hair. Illya, ran his hand over his face and opened sleepy eyes. Seeing the look of attentive love on Solo's face was almost too much for him to hope for. Illya quickly snapped his eyes shut again, settling once more into the comfortable caress.

"So, you are awake." Solo's voice was tinged with a playful note as he bent to kiss the long wheat-colored lashes.

"Do you intend to wake me up like this, every morning?" The Russian grumbled.

"If you will let me," Solo answered as his lips trailed down to the lightly-bristled jaw, alternating licks with tantalizing nips.

"You are not making this easy for me, Napoleon."

"I, ah, was hoping to make it hard." Solo winked suggestively and continued his gentle assault on the Russian.

"No." Illya shook his head resolutely and ducked from under his partner's advancing lips.

Solo sighed and moved back, resting his head in one hand. He laid the other against Illya's heaving chest.

"All right, tovarisch." The American drawled.

Illya, closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to master his body and reign in overwrought emotions.

"Thank you." He whispered, lowering his lashes over the startlingly blue eyes.

"Care to talk about it?" Solo asked, his hand still a solid weight on his partner's chest.

"I guess. I owe you that, at least," Illya sighed resolutely.

"No you don't. This is not about owing. This is not about business or our partnership, Illya. This is about how we each feel. Maybe, I was reading you wrong." Solo moved his hand away as he put some distance between them in the bed. His own heart aching now that he was wrong, that Illya would no longer trust him, that he had gambled and lost everything.

Illya's heart lurched, the unexpected longing and desire burned in his blood and screamed in protest as the hand was withdrawn. Solo's solid weight, his comforting presence shifted further away and he felt the loss keenly. Without thought of how his actions would appear to the American, Illya retreated. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and got up, pacing to the window.

"No, Napoleon. You were reading me right." Illya's head hung low as he studied the path outside the cheerful window. Sunlight caught him up in a golden glow and Napoleon smiled to himself as he watched. The athletic body moved sinuously under the cotton pajamas, the golden hair glinted in the first rays of the morning sunlight and Solo knew now that there had never, to his jaded heart, been a more beautiful and entrancing sight.

"Then why are you running away from me, tovarisch?"

"Napoleon, I don't dare hope." The hollow sadness that still clung to Illya from the night before, reflected in the flat, despairing voice.

"Trust me?" Napoleon pleaded from somewhere close beside him. Strong hands turned the Russian around.

Twice in as many days he had been so distracted by his own thoughts, too vague to his surroundings that he had allowed Solo to creep up on him almost silently. It startled the Russian that the American could so easily bypass his defences honed, over years to become habit.

"I, already do." Illya tilted his head defiantly as if he were about to face a firing squad. His eyes held firm and his hands clenched at his side, every instinct telling him to flee. The truth of his confession searing his solitary beliefs that he was above the need, that he would allow no one that close ever again to see the man behind the wall.

"I am sorry, tovarisch." Solo took the moment to look into the drawn features, the barely concealed fear, the slight tremor under his hands and the sheer will power it took for Illya to admit that he needed the American and stay his feet from running for the door. Dark circles telling of too little sleep and too much emotion shrouded the blue eyes and Solo mentally berated himself. Taking his partner by the hand he stepped fully into the shaft of warm sunlight that filtered through the lace curtains and into the room.

Illya shook his head, confused by the response and frowned.

"Please." Solo held up a cautionary hand to stop the Russian's words. "This is hard for you to believe, Illya. Coming out of the blue as it were." The American tore his eyes away from the pinched face and turned towards the sun. "But it is true. I have loved you a very long time now. And until this week, I thought you would take my head off at the shoulders for me even considering the possibility."

"I, ah, thought you said, you knew," Illya said, still confused.

"That you preferred men?" Solo shook his head, "I only rarely allowed it conscious thought. That you don't get involved, that you infrequently allow yourself to date. Despite, your popularity with the ladies, I never considered that it might be because you weren't interested."

"I wouldn't go that far," Illya teased as he turned towards the sun, allowing it melt some of the ice around his soul.

"Yes, well. I thought it was the same reason I don't get involved."

Illya actually managed to quirk his lips into a smile and laughed, light and quicksilver. The sound music to Solo's heart. "You never manage to keep them long enough to get involved."

"Such is the life of a spy, eh tovarisch? But even a ruthless, hard-hearted bastard like me, still cannot deny these deeper feelings."

"And do you truly have feelings for me, Napoleon?" Illya was still cautious despite the naked emotion in his companion's eyes.

Solo nodded slowly as he turned back from the window to drown in the deep azure again. "Yes. Illya, you are one of the most intensely private people I have ever met. The mere fact that we are standing in the guest bedroom of your ex-lover's house is mind-bending. That the man in question is in a similar line of business that we are in and now forced to work together, coupled with that fact that he still has feelings for you." Solo spread his hands wide and shook his head, "It's all too much like the plot line from a Lewis Carrol novel, but here we are. You accused me of being jealous last night."

Illya bobbed his head and focused his eyes on his partner. "And are you?"

Solo laughed, "You bet I am. Oh, Illya. Put an old fool out of his misery, please?"

The nervous tension between the two was palpable and Illya shook his head lightly, as if to clear his mind or his vision. Solo swallowed and closed his eyes. Mentally prepared for the rejection he felt he deserved.

His heart leapt, as soft cool lips brushed his hot dry mouth, tentatively. He felt strong, yet slender arms reach up to twine around his back just under his arms, just over his heart. The kiss deepened as he felt himself drawn into the warm moist recess, all the passion between, skimming over talented tongues. Solo moaned and reached his own arms around the smaller frame, long fingers cataloguing every knob of spine, every muscle that twitched to get closer.

Reeling, the American pushed back, gasping for air, hoping that the sanity he felt slipping continued unabated, because he now knew, he could never imagine a life without his sleek and golden lover. He turned the word over in his mind a couple of times, and felt his pulse quicken.

"No going back, Illyusha."

Illya rested his cheek against Solo's chest and the rest of his body fitted into the tall lean frame.

"Nyet, moya dushka." The lilting accent was thick now with emotion.

Solo leaned back against the wall, his legs threatening to buckle and his heart racing. The adrenaline his fear had dumped into his system began to recede making him feel lightheaded and euphoric. He wrapped his arms firmly against the slender body meshed against him and held him closer, hanging on for life, for love.

Long minutes content in each other's arms, as Solo looked out across the small patch of green lawn below. The blissful moment shattered into reality as the bedroom door unceremoniously flew open.

Bodie, stopped in his tracks to take in the sight before him, at the same instant Solo's lips sought the Russian's again. The CI5 agent's face twisted into something close to anger as he backed away startled. Doyle's feet pounded on the stairs as he pushed passed his lover and into the room. Illya, rested his head against the American's chest, halloed by the sun and locked in a protective embrace. All his training brought Solo on guard till he realized that they were safe, only then did he glare at the intruders.

"Sorry, we're on." Doyle spoke rapid fire pulling the leather jacket hastily over his shirt. "Another attack in the same area, neighbors took the boy to hospital this morning."

Illya sprinted to the door and across the hall to the bathroom. Solo nodded. "Two minutes." The Russian called over his shoulder.

Doyle smiled as he headed down the stairs, Bodie still stood open mouthed in the hallway. The American caught his gaze and held it, staring each other down as the two men silently warred with their own emotions. After a few intense seconds, Bodie nodded once and turned back down the stairs. Oblivious to the moment Illya shut the bedroom door with his foot and began to dress.

Caught watching the slender frame shed clothing, Solo colored slightly as Illya looked up and smiled. "Later." He said softly. The promise of the moments to come spurred the American into action. Within seconds the dirty clothes were dumped into a laundry bag, the bed was made and two men ran down the stairs. Guns tucked securely under their arms, Illya throwing a black leather jacket over his somber turtle neck and black pants. For a spy he certainly looked conspicuous, blond hair gleamed brighter against the dark attire, the strong and well-proportioned body moved with fluid grace towards the kitchen.

Solo shook his head for the thousandth time that morning and marveled that he would never, so long as there was breath in his body, ever get tired of watching his partner's effortless grace.

"Where?" Illya asked stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.

"Same area as the last one, three blocks away. Sketchy details so far, but the Bobby on point says he was picked up last night at a gay bar in the district."

"He's moved the schedule up." Illya frowned as Solo entered behind him.

Bodie nodded and managed a rueful smile as he watched Solo's arm rest easily on his partner's shoulder.

"So it would seem. Blows your theory out of the water." Bodie said around his cup of tea.

Illya looked perplexed, "So it would seem. Any messages on the wall?"

Bodie cleared his throat, "No, but the boy's alive, barely."

The Russian shuddered and tensed.

"What?" Solo asked.

"He'd never leave the victim alive, Napoleon."

"So? He got careless." Bodie offered. "It's about time he made a mistake."

Doyle watched the blond intently, "No." he said finally the unconscious fear registering on the ex-copper's instinct.

Illya, nodded once, "He's baiting us."

"You mean he wants to be caught?" Solo asked.

"No, he means he's baiting you." Bodie, caught on and watched Solo.

"Which means he been watching the crime scene. And knows that UNCLE is involved." Solo theorized.

"How far to the hospital?" Illya asked Doyle.

"Twenty minutes."

"I'll take the hospital." Illya volunteered much to Solo's dismay.

"Guess that leaves me the crime scene, any takers?" Solo looked at the other two men.

"I'll go with Illya." Doyle prompted and picked up another piece of toast, pausing long enough to dump his teacup and plate into the sink and set the dishes to soak.

With a quick caress, Solo ran his hand across Illya's back and smiled.

"Tovarish." Solo called after the retreating figure.

Illya turned and smiled that shy sweet smile that had so much hold over the American's heart that he shuddered.

"Keep your head down. I've got a feeling about this one."

"Da," Illya answered and the door closed.

"Do you want another cuppa before we go?" Bodie watched carefully the blue eyes cutting into the UNCLE agent.

"Only if you have coffee."

"Instant?"

"Good enough."

Solo went back inside to the kitchen and sat at the small table, picking at another piece of rapidly-cooling toast. "I'm sorry about busting in on you two earlier." Bodie kept his voice calm and neutral. "Should have knocked first."

"Yes, you should have." Solo kept his voice level and watched the CI5 agent intently.

"Only I didn't realize that you two were in a relationship."

"Neither did we," Solo answered cryptically.

Bodie smiled and sat down, "It took Doyle a while to get over the shock."

"Huh?" Solo was puzzled.

"I dated every woman I could find and then some," Bodie admitted around his second cup of tea for the morning. Solo ladled cream and sugar into the instant brew and sipped. "took Ray a long time to believe that I was in love with him."

"Oh, I see." Solo answered not really sure that he did, " Well in this case I think it has been a long time overdue. Illya really can be a brat at times, especially where feelings are concerned, he'll get used to it."

Bodie laughed, "Well, it's good to know he hasn't changed."

Solo found himself liking the man before him.

"He looks a bit tired though." Bodie said finally breaking the comfortable silence that they had fallen into.

"We've been home for less than a month in the last six, constant travelling is not as romantic as the novelists make it out to be."

"Yes, I know how that is." Bodie smiled, "I was a little worried it was the dreams again."

Solo nearly choked on the hot coffee, slowly regaining his composure he turned dark, questioning eyes on the man before him. "Dreams?"

"Memories actually, he used to say that they made him feel like a shadow in the darkness."

"He still has them," Solo frowned.

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"Before or after you told him you loved him." Bodie had leaned forward, the cup resting between large hands as the blue eyes regarded Solo clinically.

"Before."

"Ah well, that's all right then," Bodie smiled.

"How so?" Napoleon looked bewildered.

"At least, you know, you weren't the cause." Bodie drained his cup and the most unusual look of regret and pain flittered through his eyes and was then gone. Solo understood all too clearly and seized the moment.

"Like you used to be," The American hazarded.

Bodie, flinched as if slapped. "Yeah, I used to sometimes remind him of how helpless he was and then the dreams would come back."

"You loved him didn't you?" Solo asked his voice quietly awed by the intense feelings the other man had.

"With my soul," Bodie admitted painfully.

"Even now?"

There it was out in the open, the question the CI5 agent did not dare to ask himself, the one fear that could destroy his life with CI5, that could and would drive Ray from his side.

Bodie hung his head, shame and fear battling for dominance as he managed to nod convulsively once. "Yes, Napoleon, even now."

"I learned a long time ago," Solo answered philosophically, "that no matter how painful, you can never go back."

"Meaning?" Bodie's voice steeled as he asked without looking up.

"Would you give up Ray and what you have now, for a dream.?

Bodie scowled and sat back watching the American carefully. "No, I guess I wouldn't."

"Then you are in love with your partner?" Solo continued.

"Yes."

"And you love mine." The American was relentless as he pushed home the point, making sure that this lesson was learned.

"Yes." Bodie was despondent.

Solo laughed and for a moment it looked very much like the Englishman might take a swing at the American.

"Charming." Bodie answered bitterly.

"Think about it Bodie. You're in love with your partner. And you love Illya. But you won't give up Ray, no matter what the dream. It really is all right."

Bodie pursed his lips and finally smiled, "You mean its ok to love Illya, because I am in love with my partner and that it's a different kind of love to what Ray and I have."

"Precisely." Solo drained his cup and looked down at his watch. "We should get moving."

"Oh, shit!" Bodie exploded as he realized the time. "The Cow will kill me."

"The Cow?" Solo asked amused.

"Yeah, Mr. Cowley I told him I would meet him at the crime scene in half an hour."

"We still have time."

"Yeah?" Bodie drawled sarcastically as he bolted towards the door.

Solo was fast on his heels as he pulled the door of the little escort closed just as the tires screeched on the driveway.

"Thanks," Bodie finally offered at the seventh traffic light.

"You're welcome, besides I should hate to have to kill you." Solo was still in high spirits as they pulled up out front of the student digs, the yellow tape marking the area as a crime scene. He watched dispassionately as the forensic team handed Cowley the folders and left.

"Well, you could try," was all Bodie had time to say before Mr. Cowley opened the car door.

"Sorry sir, traffic."

"Aye." Cowley glared at his agent and then smiled at the American.

"Good morning, sir." Solo said carefully balancing the correct amount of respect with the happy disposition.

"No, but it's getting better. I take it Goldie Locks is at the hospital with your partner."

"Ah, yes sir," Solo answered.

Cowley put his glasses back into his pocket and started across the lawn, the shrapnel lodged in his leg causing him to limp. "It's time to take a look gentlemen."

Bodie paled as he followed his boss. Solo as well felt a dread reaching up into his stomach as he scanned the small crowd that always gathered at crime scenes. `

In the dim recess of his psyche he knew he was being watched. He spared it only a second's thought before Bodie caught him up by the sleeve and tugged him along in the old man's wake. But still he knew. It was as if, the hunter were suddenly the prey and Solo shuddered involuntarily.