Napoleon picked up the folders from the back seat of the car as he looked across at his partner. Either he was totally smitten or he was seeing his partner for the first time today. A soft glow illuminated the pale golden skin, blue eyes the colour of cornflowers looked at him with love and compassion. Solo swallowed and pulled the Saville Row coat on as he got out of the car, adjusting the collar and cuffs.

"I see our CI5 boys are on time," Solo remarked as he noticed the white Capri parked several cars across.

"I should hope so." Illya turned away and walked ahead of his partner. A subtle sway of the hips and Solo was hard pressed to think of business. Once inside however, the cool professional demeanor was well and truly back in place.

"Good morning, sir." Illya shook the CI5 controller’s hand and waited for Solo to do the same before heading towards the briefing room.

"Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo. I take it we have a breakthrough in the case?" Cowley asked as he limped down the corridor in time with the UNCLE agents.

"Yes, so it would seem, sir." Illya took the folders from his partner and opened the door.

"Morning, Illya, Napoleon."

"Bodie, Ray," Illya answered automatically before pulling up a chair.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Solo began the briefing with typical aplomb as he watched the assembled faces. "I’ll get straight to the point. We believe we now know who the White Wolf is and what his agenda is."

Doyle sat upright and looked at Illya directly and then back to the CEA of UNCLE.

"Pakoslav Kransenski, KGB operative still on current assignment on what is code named a Christian assignment."

"Christian?" Bodie scowled as he closed the curtains and Solo readied a slide projector.

"One way in, one way out. It’s the code term for going into hostile territory with no or little chance of survival," Solo answered quietly.

"Hence the name Christian Langford," Doyle thought out loud.

"Precisely. Born in Moscow in July 1949, son of a loyal KGB Admiral." Solo flicked the first slide into position. A young boy in Russian military uniform appeared on the screen. From the grainy picture they saw the blond hair, and stubborn set jaw.

"Was sent to the Red Guard when he was nine and moved into the service from there. A short tenure at formal education was replaced by full military training until an unfortunate incident in the Ukraine, aged seventeen." Solo flicked another slide and showed a man with his arm loped around a woman also in uniform.

"The woman is Sylvia Branskii. She died under suspicious circumstances which preceded Pakoslav’s move into the KGB." Another picture of several men huddled around the president. "Pakoslav is in the top right hand corner." Ray squinted. "Yes, we had to look closely as well. Part of his training was in convert ops. Camouflage in plain sight." The dark hair and beard threw them off for a moment yet again something not quiet sane about the eyes held Doyle for long minutes, a ripple of apprehension running up his spine.

"From there we lost track of him for several years while we believe he worked in a mysterious counterintelligence section of the KGB."

"The second directorate?" Bodie asked.

"Yes, internal security and counter intelligence," Illya said still looking at the report in his hands, unobtrusively watching Bodie from the corner of his eye. The Brit scowled and crossed his arms across the ample expanse of chest.

"Precisely. Mr. Waverly contacted his opposite number in Moscow late last night, which is where we obtained this rather sketchy information. Nevertheless we at least now have a face."

"A face?" Bodie snorted. "Covert Ops, Camouflage in plain sight."

"Bodie," Cowley warned, his brogue and his temper evident as he cut the young man with a brutal glare.

"Sorry, sir."

"With all due respect, Mr. Cowley, Bodie has a point," Solo soothed. "We have no firm identification of the man. We do however have this." Solo slid another slide into the projector. A sunny day in Hyde Park, fairly recent from the camera quality, showed a group of students picketing, complete with banners denouncing police brutality, and at the back Pakoslav with his arm around the shoulders of a very pregnant woman.

The hair colour was different; the face younger and redolent of late night binges against the establishment, yet nevertheless, Bodie and Doyle swore softly.

"You recognize the woman?" Solo asked.

"Aye." It was Cowley who spoke. "Murphy’s wife."

"Unfortunately, yes. Pakoslav left the country through Scotland not long after. Local boys caught up with him at the railway station and found a young woman in labor and distressed."

"Helena." Cowley stood up and slapped the black and white photos in his hand; an angry flick of the wrist pulled his glasses from his nose as he paced. His limp put him in no good humor as he chewed the end of the prescription black spectacles.

Solo waited the length of a heartbeat before continuing. "The profile fits that Pakoslav has decided to take some personal time out and destroy the man raising his child. What we are not so sure of is if the woman is a co-conspirator."

"Don’t be bloody stupid," Doyle spat.

"Easy, Doyle, it’s a logical question. You say you have more information." Cowley resumed his seat as the briefing continued.

Illya stood and opened the curtains; his face turned for a minute to the warm sun as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Pakoslav disappeared from the mainstream department to be trained in a special unit. That unit was in charge of counterintelligence." Illya spoke softly and clearly. Bodie turned in his chair and frowned. Illya walked back the head of the room and continued, his eyes firmly fixed on the controller of CI5. "During the course of his training he became friendly with the controller of the section, Colonel Pavel Petrov."

"Petrov the butcher?" Bodie looked, if possible, even more disgusted.

"Well, I don’t know the story." Doyle lent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, signifying his intense concentration.

"Petrov was the most feared and sadistic KGB agent ever conceived. He not only enjoyed interrogation but for his own political purposes would dispose of, often messily, people who did not fit his agenda. He was not essentially the head of the department; he was the Utilizer and as such handed down the assignments and co-orchestrated the interrogations. Pakoslav was the second in command."

"And you were his superior," Doyle breathed quietly.

Bodie’s sharp blue eyes looked up, a wealth of hurt and anger directed at the blond Russian.

"Yes," Illya said. "The department had only four operatives at the time. Two women, Pakoslav and myself. It is our belief that Pakoslav has finally crossed the line."

"Slow up," Doyle said. "I still don’t understand."

"The KGB always like to make a political and if possible moral statement when disposing of an opposing force. THRUSH and U.N.C.L.E. are both very powerful organizations, a situation that the KGB felt destined to control. Therefore they dispatched an agent to each group with simple yet explicit orders. I was not aware of Pakoslav’s orders but believe that they would have been something similar to the brief I was given."

"Which was?" Cowley put his glasses back on.

"Destroy the credibility of the agency completely."

"Pakoslav has taken the training to extremes and has been in deep cover now for years." Solo stepped back into the breach.

Bodie glowered at Illya and never once took his eyes off the slender Russian.

"We suspect that his assignment has been called in to be completed. The new regime in the KGB has decided to reopen the section and have recalled Pakoslav to take up the leadership. Therefore he must within the next seventy two hours complete his mission."

"Why murder the boys?" Bodie asked through clenched teeth.

"What better way to illustrate the immorality of a country and a group? Kill young gay boys in a manner that the media will surely pick up on and leave names and messages scrawled on the walls, quoting chapter and verse of the THRUSH handbook. While hiding the real agenda of the termination orders given for ranking officials and dignitaries."

"Anarchy," Doyle said. "Media get a hold of the madman killing kids and uncover a ruthless organization that is anti-gay and the funding from corporate sponsors and organized crime disappears in a blaze of media attention."

"Yes, but Pakoslav is insane," Illya intoned.

"Really?" Bodie continued to glare murderously at the man.

"He takes personal revenge instead of carrying out his duty. He has taken Murphy to teach him a lesson he cannot possibly know, and he stalks Napoleon because he hurt him."

"And you, Illya. Why does he stalk you?" Ray asked.

"Because I killed Petrov."

"I still don’t get it," Bodie said sullenly.

"I do. Petrov and Pakoslav were lovers," Doyle answered.

"Okay, so now we know the rather sordid background. How does this help?" Bodie uncrossed his legs and stretched in his chair.

"In order for him to be able to operate, he must have support and dispensation from the KGB operative on the ground here in London," Cowley answered.

"Igor Gregorian." Solo finally sat down.

"Aye, laddie. But will he co-operate?"

"He’ll co-operate," Illya answered in a cold level tone.

"Why?" Bodie pushed.

"Because he is afraid of me." Illya smiled, low and feral.

"No, not good enough." Cowley was up pacing again, his leg seizing up as he thumped it back into submission.

"No, Mr. Cowley, it is enough. Igor has a very dirty past, a past which included abusing children while under the care of Mother Russia’s orphanages."

Solo blanched, as he looked wide-eyed at Illya. No one in the room missed the exchange and Illya hid behind his mask of indifference. "Igor Gregorian picked the wrong child, and this one has a long memory and a brutal reputation. He will co-operate or I shall show him how cold my revenge can be." Illya stood and gathered his papers before heading out of the room.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Solo caught up to his partner in the duty room with a half-cold cup of tea in front of him and several open folders. Fortunately he was alone and Solo leaned against the door as he closed it.

"Illya?" Surprisingly, the tone was gentle and kind and Illya shuddered.

"Da?"

"You got any more bombs you want to drop on me?" Solo walked over to the table and sat down opposite his partner.

"No, not especially. I’m sorry, Napoleon."

"No, don’t be. Actually I kind of figured as much. Are you all right?"

Bemused, Illya looked up as Solo reached out to cup the firm stubborn jaw in his hand.

"Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not being angry."

"Oh, Illya, I’m angry but not at you. After all this is done with and we are clear, somehow, someway I will find Igor Gregorian and kill him slowly."

"If I don’t first." Bodie’s voice cut loud and clear in the small room and Napoleon sat back.

"Right now he is the only live link we have to Pakoslav," Illya said despondently.

"Yes, I know." Napoleon answered as he stood up and dropped a kiss onto the top of his partner’s head. "I did say after, dushka."

"Mr. Cowley wants to see you in his office," Bodie said, as he looked Napoleon in the eye. "And Illya and I need to have a chat."

Solo bristled, his hand balling into a tight fist as he looked back to Illya. The Russian nodded slowly and with reluctance Solo left.

As the door swung shut, Bodie leaned against it and narrowed his eyes, looking at the hunched shoulders and bowed blond head.

"Think it’s about time, Sunshine," Bodie said softly.

"For?" Illya asked without looking up.

"For that talk we’ve put off for years."

Illya squared his shoulders and sat bolt upright in the straight-backed chair. "Not here, Bodie."

"But now," Bodie confirmed and was relieved when he saw the blond head bob in accord. "When CI5 acquired this property, Dr. Ross suggested we have a quiet room. Somewhere we could go and think. Cowley being Cowley decided that the best quiet room was a garden." There was a light chuckle in the Brit’s voice. "Complains about how he needed to allocate a gardener’s wage in the budget but I suspect the old man enjoys the garden as much as we do."

"A walk in the park?" Illya whispered softly.

"A walk in the garden at least and it’s bug free." Bodie pointedly looked up at the security camera in the far corner. Illya smiled and gathered his notes into the small black satchel he carried.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"Mr. Solo, take a seat." Cowley was cool as he rolled his shirtsleeves up and looked over the papers in his hands.

"Sir." Solo sat resting with easy arrogance in the chair opposite the old man’s desk.

"Did you have prior knowledge of the situation regarding Igor Gregorian and your partner?" Cowley took his glasses off and sat back chewing absently on the ends.

"No sir, but I must admit I suspected."

"Aye, I’ve no doubt ye would. And I’ve also no doubt that you’d like to see Mr. Gregorian dead."

Solo dropped the urbane mask and showed the hard set features of a cold and ruthless agent. "No doubt."

"I’ve, ah, taken the liberty of talking to Alexander about this situation."

Solo smiled inwardly. "And?" The question, like his arrogance, was impertinent and yet Cowley recognized the hard man in a dirty job. A man he held considerable respect for.

"Igor Gregorian will be sent back to Russia in shame as soon as your meeting has reached a satisfactory conclusion. We have orchestrated some rather interesting information to be made available to his masters."

"Not about Illya." Solo’s voice was like ice grating on steel.

"No. But he has been passing information along to MI5, some of which has manifested the death of several active Russian agents."

"Treason is a death sentence, sir." Solo smiled.

"Aye? Is it now? Well, how they deal with scum in their own embassy is of little interest to me, Mr. Solo."

Solo smiled. "I shall have to thank Mr. Waverly and yourself, it would seem."

"Och, no, laddie. I may be many things but I am not blind. I do believe Illya has had enough of remembered acquaintances from his past over the last few weeks. And at least this one I can do something about."

"No doubt it will save a diplomatic situation."

"No doubt. That will be all."

Solo stood and brushed his hands down his coat. The American nodded as he turned towards the door just in time to see Illya disappear along with Bodie.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Manicured lawns under a canopy of climbing roses greeted the two men. Towards the end of the small garden were several benches, and even more flower gardens and a large old tree. Illya closed his eyes and drank in the scents in the middle of the city. Even the sounds of traffic could not penetrate the tiny sanctuary with its sun-dappled charm and visibly Illya relaxed.

Bodie watched the transformation of the fine features. They had sharpened over the years but still he found himself catching his breath as the sun lit on the fair hair. Like spun gold threaded with white and Bodie caught himself staring. He walked ahead a little and made for the large tree and sat down on the soft mossy ground.

"I first met you under a tree at Cambridge, remember?" Bodie asked as he settled himself in the sun.

"Yes. And I wanted nothing to do with you." Illya continued to stand, the only concession he was willing to make was to slide off the dark jacket and sling it over his shoulder.

"So why did you?" Bodie leaned back on the grass stretching his legs and propping himself on his elbows.

"Same reason as you did, Bodie. I was under orders."

"From the KGB?"

"Just as you were from MI5."

"I didn’t know you knew." Bodie felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep to his cheeks.

"Oh, Bodie." Illya sank to his knees and looked at the man closely. "How could I not know? You were my assignment, and I knew back then that I was yours. MI5 needed an operative in London, and I was a good catch."

"Modest."

"No." Illya shook his head reprovingly. "No, I am not being modest. We were in a class of our own, you and I. The KGB wanted you in their stable. Your service history for your age was impressive and you were destined for greater things. They knew that."

"Sounds very similar to the party line I was thrown. You were already expert in many areas from the Red Guard, a dissertation in Quantum Physics at Cambridge at nineteen? You know they thought you would be a military scientist working on Russia’s nuclear capability?"

"Yes, I guess I failed them all. Bodie, what is there to discuss? Really?"

Bodie sat up and wiped the dirt from his hands before he spoke. "It wasn’t about an assignment for me, Illya."

"What wasn’t?" Illya evaded the pained look in his friend’s face and kept the cold exterior firmly in place.

"Oh, I see." Bodie’s eyes hardened as he reached his arms around his legs and stared away. "Well, I guess I have my answer, Illya. Thank you." His tone was curt and clipped and yet undeniably hurt.

"Bodie, don’t." Illya reached a hand out and rested it on the strong forearm. "It was hard for me to leave even though I knew, even though I was pushed. I nearly died when I left. Ironic, isn’t it?"

"Illya." Bodie softened and looked into the handsome features and saw clearly the distress.

"I survived orphanages, foster parents, the Red Guard, Cambridge and it was you who finally broke me. And the irony is that you didn’t even know what you had done."

A tear ran down Bodie’s face at the frank admission. "I would have died for you, Illya. I know now it could never have been but at the time I would have died willingly."

"The difference is that I did. I spent a long time in the Submarine Corp, doing my duty and paying for my indiscretion, and I no longer cared what they did to me. What little there was left of me, I left in Cambridge, so don’t tell me I don’t know how you feel," Illya rejoined angrily and stood up pacing the soft ground.

"They punished you for missing me."

Illya nodded and stopped pacing. "Petrov knew what I had done, knew about our relationship and needed to test my resolve. He knew about the raid before you arrived at the Gulag and they knew you would be in charge of the operation. The golden boy they couldn’t touch."

"So they flew you in to kill me."

Again Illya nodded. "I couldn’t do it, Bodie. I saw the pain in your face and yet I had to make you pull the trigger."

"Why?" Bodie shook his head. "I thought I had killed you, thought you died in that terrible place. I carried that for years."

"Because the truth is that if I had fired first, I would have killed you and then turned the gun on myself. It was the only way of knowing you got out alive."

"At the risk of you dying? Stupid, Illya, bloody stupid."

Illya sank to his knees next to the big Brit again and spoke softly. "Bodie, what was there for me in Russia? A job I hated, power I didn’t want. Everything I was supposed to need I didn’t and I was used. Over and over again. I don’t even remember the names of the assignments anymore. But you, you had the chance of a life I could only dream of in England. If I had died then, it would have been to me no great loss. But I couldn’t kill you. You were all I had." Illya stretched out a hand and ran his knuckles along the strong jaw.

"You loved me, didn’t you, Illya?"

"Yes. With all my heart and all my soul. The KGB could never touch you because I told them I failed, Bodie. I let you go."

Bodie reached forward and drew the smaller man against him murmuring into the soft blond hair. "You never let me go." With no reluctance, Illya returned the embrace before sitting back on his heels.

"It was a dream, Bodie. A lovely dream and nothing more. One we keep here." He pointed to his chest and stood up.

"You’re in love with Solo, aren’t you?"

Illya smiled, a real smile, soft and full and loving and gentle and all the things that Bodie remembered he could be, even down to the shy ducking of his head. "Yes. And you have Ray and in that we are both lucky."

Bodie nodded, a peace falling over him as he watched the slender Russian walk away. A peace he had thought denied for years.