By M. Willow

Plot Summary:  Carolyn is back with a vengeance.  Can Napoleon uncover her secret before it destroys Illya or will he be dragged into her web of deceit?

This story is rated R for adult themes.

“I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of Carolyn.”

            Napoleon Solo in “Insatiable”

It was the kind of headache that took your breath away—blinding and totally unmanageable.  Illya slammed his bedside clock to the floor, the sound sending waves of pain through his head.  He opened tired eyes to see the sun slanting across the room, and the clock laying face down on the floor.  Still it rang, steadily, insistently. Illya crinkled a sleepy eye trying to figure out why.  And then it hit him—it wasn’t the clock.  It was the door.  Someone had the gall and determination to ring his doorbell on an early Saturday morning and it was not yet ten o’clock.

Illya reached for his robe, putting it on in a huff, mumbling that he should have listened to Napoleon and moved into his apartment building instead of the Greenwich Village one he found so enticing.  If he had done that, the UNCLE doorman would have seen that his early morning visitor was not admitted to disturb his sleep.  So now he was the doorman and whoever wanted to get in wasn’t about to leave because he was tired and had just returned from a two week mission where he had almost been killed?

He opened the door and his mouth nearly dropped.  She was gorgeous, blonde hair, brown eyes with little sparkles of gold in them. Fire engine red dress, with a plunging neckline, and the perfume, my god, he was in seventh heaven just looking at her.  Damn, he thought.  She’s the last person I need to see this morning.  But when he spoke it was with the quiet reserve he’d become noted for.

“Carolyn, what brought you here?”

She sauntered in, filling his senses with her perfume, unmindful of the fact that he hadn’t invited her in.

“Charming little apartment you have, Illya.” She turned to him meeting his eyes.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

Illya padded across the floor to stand in front of her.  They’d had a remarkable relationship that had started with the woman being a victim of Thrush.  She was an experiment, one that changed women into green-eyed creatures, capable of driving men wild with passion. He’d been one of those men, selected because the contact lens she wore only worked on men with light colored eyes.  Illya had spent weeks under her control—hours of making love till he had nothing left to give, and still she wanted more, and so did he.  It had taken an embarrassing confession on his part and a team of UNCLE scientist to free him from her charms.

In the end, they had discovered that the secret was in the green contact lens she wore, a sort of transmission that affected a brain region that controlled sexual desire.  Carolyn was revealed as a pawn of Thrush, as were the rest of the women.  They were all desperate women who thought beauty had passed them by. But Illya saw her inner beauty and the relationship had continued even after she returned home to finish her degree.  And then he met Lisa.

Lisa—the woman of his dreams.  The woman he loved above all others.  He’d broken his relationship with Carolyn because of her.  And she had been angry, vowing revenge, slapping him, making him feel like a first class scoundrel.  In the end, he’d simply realized that their relationship was about sex and he needed so much more.  He needed Lisa.  But Lisa had died, leaving him a broken man who survived because Napoleon wouldn’t give him any other option.

It all came back to him as he watched Carolyn Rice standing in the room.  She was gorgeous, a far cry from the mousy woman he’d come to like.  Gone was the brown hair, and frumpy clothes that hid her intelligence and wit.  In its place was a cool, confident woman who knew what affect she was having on him.

“Why are you here, Carolyn?”

She pranced around the apartment, her hands seductively gliding over the furniture, before coming to stand in front of him.  “I came to ask your forgiveness.  I was a fool to treat you the way I did when you only offered me honesty.”

Illya said nothing, utterly speechless.  She went on.  “It took me a year to realize I had been unreasonable.  I finally had to really look at myself.  I was putting all this pressure on you to make me feel good about myself.  I had no right.”

“You had every right to expect more of me,” Illya said quietly, still feeling the guilt of having broken their relationship.

“No, no, I didn’t.  What we had was never a real relationship and we both know it.  It was just that I wanted more, but you were honest with me.  You were a gentleman in every way.”

Illya thought back to their relationship.  He’d always been a man who wanted a committed relationship, one day even hoping for marriage and a family when his life with UNCLE came to an end.  But with Carolyn it was just about the sex.  Even now he found himself wanting her, but he was a man in control and he wouldn’t allow his baser instincts to take over.

“Let’s just leave it at that.  I take what I did to you seriously.  I know we never had a complete relationship, but I was hardly a gentleman.”

“Oh, but you were,” Carolyn said, moving closer and cupping his chin.

Illya felt her smoothness, smelled her sweet perfume.  He wanted her so badly.  Wanted her with a need he’d never experienced with any other woman.  She moved even closer and he didn’t stop her.  He remembered her taste, her feel, the hours they spent in bed when nothing else mattered.  She was the last woman he’d been with, his relationship with Lisa having been chaste.  Now the months of going without because duty mattered more—now his body betrayed him and the kiss began.

Solo paced back and forward in his office.  Waverly had called twice, demanding that he and Illya report to his office.  It was Saturday, their day off, but the Old Man had requested a conference to tie up a case.  Only problem was he couldn’t find Illya.  He had tried for two hours, first using the communicator, and then the telephone.  Still no Illya.  And soon he would have to confess the whole thing to Waverly who wouldn’t be happy to discover that one of his top agents was out of touch.

Napoleon wondered if Illya had simply overslept.  He’d been tired the last time he’d seen him.  But no, if Illya was in range of his communicator or telephone he would hear it.  So that left Solo scratching his head, and considering his next move

He flipped open his communicator to make one final attempt.

“Open channel S” he said, glad they had a private line to communicate on.  He waited and finally a voice came over the line.  Solo looked at his communicator because it didn’t really sound like his partner.

“What do you want?” The voice rasped.

“Illya?  Illya, is that you?”

“Napoleon, please tell me you didn’t call just to find out who I am.”

Solo noticed the Russian seemed out of breath.  Solo’s heart beat fast, imagining all sorts of things.  Was the Russian being held hostage?  Was the Russian sick?  Did he have a gun pointed to his head even now?

 “Are you alright?”

 “I’m fine, Napoleon.  Now what do you want?”

Now Solo was losing his temper.  Illya did indeed sound fine and certainly he would have given a coded message if he was not, which meant Illya was at home, breathless for what ever reason, and just simply hadn’t answer his page.

“I’ve called you three times.  Why didn’t you answer?”

“I was busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“None of your business.  Now, why did you find the need to call me three times on my day off?”

“Because Waverly needs us.  Nothing serious, but he needs to tie up a few details from a case?”

Solo waited for a response, but heard nothing.  Instead he thought he heard a moan and concern for his partner soared again.

“Illya, Illya are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Click

And Solo sat there looking dumbfounded.  “What the hell just happened?”

Illya listened as the Old Man droned on endlessly about their last case.  He kept his eyes trained on Waverly because he couldn’t bear to steal one more glance at his partner who was literally staring at him.  Illya wondered if Solo could somehow know what had happened at his apartment this morning.  He certainly couldn’t figure it out.

It had started with a kiss and ended up in bed.  The sex had been phenomenal making him fight to control his physical reactions even now.  He found it hard to listen to Waverly as he droned on about a mission they had completed.  Every now and then he heard snatches of conversation—something about a Mr. West and traveling somewhere.  On and on he went about things he didn’t care about.  All he could think of was Carolyn—Carolyn’s blonde hair fanned out on the pillow.  Carolyn screaming his name as passion consumed her.  Carolyn touching his body, her lips moving down, down….

“Mr. Kuryakin.  Mr. Kuryakin, I asked you a question.”

Illya started, looking at Waverly who seemed angry about something.  Illya lowered his eyes apologetically.

“I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t hear your last question.”

“Indeed.  I think young man you didn’t hear far more than my last question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What?” Waverly said, his voice sharp.  “I brought you here because we need to clear up this affair, not to sit here daydreaming.”

Illya felt anger suddenly rise and spoke without thinking.  “I fail to see why it couldn’t wait, sir.  It is the weekend.”

For a moment silence followed.  Solo sat stunned, his eyes wide in surprise.  Waverly seemed at a loss for words.  And Illya couldn’t believe he said it.

Finally the Old Man spoke, “I do believe I am still in charge, as such, I shall be the one to determine if something is needed or not.  Or if something can wait, for that matter.  See that you understand that, Mr. Kuryakin…in future.”

“Yes, sir.” Illya said, ready to back down, although he could still feel the anger boiling inside of him.  He wanted to get out of there so he could be with Carolyn.  The young woman was waiting for him, probably nude in his bed right now.  The last place he wanted to be was at headquarters listening to some tired old man, with nothing else to do but drag him in for a meeting.  The man must think he owned him when he clearly did not.

Waverly continued and Illya continued to drift into the world where Carolyn waited in bed for him.

“What was that about?” Napoleon asked, eyeing the Russian as they quickly walked down the hall.  HQ was nearly empty on Saturdays, allowing him the freedom to speak without prying ears.  There was something wrong with his partner.  Illya seemed restless at the meeting, even hostile toward Waverly.  And that had continued even after Waverly confronted the Russian.  Even now, Illya walked quickly, as if he had someplace special to go.  Yet Napoleon knew he was probably heading home to spend time reading technical journals.

“What’s the hurry, Illya?”

Illya halted his steps, meeting his eyes with a stony glance.  “Why does it matter to you?  Why is it any of your business?”

Solo placed a hand on the Russian’s arm.  Illya promptly pulled away.  “I’m just concerned, Tovarish.  You seem upset about something.”

“I’m only upset that I was dragged out of bed on my day off after I spent an entire two weeks dodging bullets and fighting battles.  I want to go home and for once have some time to myself.”

Illya was nearly shouting, the veins on his forehead prominent.  “I don’t want to have to answer questions about my personal life and I don’t care that you’re the CEA and feel I owe you my whole life story because of it.”

“Illya, you know it’s not about that.  I’m worr…”

“Stay away from me, Napoleon.  Stay the hell away.”

Napoleon stood in stunned silence as Illya stalked down the hall. 

The next week went by in a blaze of fury as Illya argued with just about everyone he met.  Solo had to break up more than one fight and it was getting worse.  Solo was worried about his partner more than he’d ever been.  Illya was late on most mornings and angry every day.  He walked on egg shells just to avoid his wrath.  But today he was going to get to the bottom of it even if he had to make it an order.  As Solo saw it, it was just a matter of time before Waverly was going to demand answers.  He’d rather confront the Russian before it came to that.

He waited in their shared office for the ‘Russian Lion’ as he’d come to be known in recent weeks.  Soon he realized Illya wasn’t coming and tried to raise him on the communicator.

No answer.

Solo grabbed his coat and headed to Illya’s apartment.

Carolyn stood before him, her blonde hair cascading down her back.  She wore a tiny gold necklace and nothing else.  Illya claimed her mouth, their tongues dancing as one, his hands exploring her body, finding that secret place and listening to the sweet sound of her moaning in pleasure. 

They slid to the floor, never breaking the embrace.  Now they both moaned in pleasure as his lips traveled down her body, stopping when they met their goal.  Now she screamed in earnest and Illya was sure everyone could hear.  Somehow that didn’t matter.  All he could think about was her.  All he wanted was her, and as he entered her he knew that he would never be the same. He was spoiled for all women, for nothing could match the exquisite woman in his arms.

He heard a knock at his door, heard his partner call his name, but the lovers continued their dance until both screamed in ecstasy.  And then they started again.

Solo heard the unmistakable sound of lovemaking and backed away from the door.  At least part of his answer to Illya’s behavior had been supplied—a woman.  Cherchez la femme, a famous man once said.  But Illya wasn’t given to flights into promiscuity.  At least not the kind that would affect his work. 

Secretly Solo had always admired his partner’s professionalism.  He was totally the opposite.  He’d almost lost his life because of his overwhelming need to sleep with nearly every woman he met.  He simply found women completely irresistible, so he indulged and indulged often. 

Not so his partner.  Illya had to be in a committed relationship to even consider sleeping with a woman.  And this was certainly not a committed relationship.  If it had been Solo would know.  Illya would let slip that he was seeing someone. And that it was serious.  Yet, the man hadn’t said anything about this one. 

Solo turned and headed from the building.  So how could he describe his partner’s behavior?  Was it guilt at having indulged his sexual appetite?  Was he involved with a married woman or someone else equally inappropriate?  Either way Illya wasn’t acting normally.

Napoleon opened the door to his car, sliding in.  Now he was just staring at the building, wondering what to do next.  Illya definitely had a woman in there with him and from the sound of it they were having the best sex ever.  Why the secret? 

He put the key in the ignition, started the car, and then turned it off.  He had to see who was in there with his partner.

“Mmm, that was delicious,” Carolyn said, pulling herself from the floor.

“We really need to use the bed more often, Carolyn.  I have wood floors and I’m tired of pulling splinters out of my body.”

Carolyn smiled seductively.  “Next time let me kiss the pain away.”

“Next time, maybe I will.” He said slowly, a smile gracing his chiseled features.

Carolyn stood and stretched her body.  Illya watched her feeling his arousal return in full force.  She was really a beautiful woman.  She’d confessed to having plastic surgery shortly after he had broken their relationship.  “I needed to feel good about myself,” she had explained.  So she had herself fashioned into the woman she wanted to be.

Now, Illya admired her body—long legs, slim, high waist, long neck with the blond hair falling in waves.  And her breast—splendid.  Everything about her was perfect. 

He stood, crossing the room and crushing her body to him.  He felt his body respond with a need and desire that could never be quenched.  He had to have her.  He lifted her in his arms. 

“I think a little adventure is called for,” he said.  “How about the shower?”

She giggled, deep and throaty as he carried her from the room.

Solo had nearly dozed off when the couple finally emerged.  Illya had his arms around a blonde woman as he walked her to her car.  He was far enough away not to be noticed, but he crouched down a little anyhow.  The last thing he needed was for Illya to see him.

He didn’t recognize the woman, but she was certainly a beauty.  He watched as the couple kissed passionately which was surprising since Illya valued his privacy and they were kissing in broad daylight on a crowded street.

After the couple had practically made love in full view of everyone, the woman got in her car and took off.  Illya stood there for a second watching the car as it disappeared from view, then returned to his apartment. 

Now Solo hurried to catch up with the car, mindful to stay back just enough to avoid detection.  He didn’t want to be seen following his best friend’s girl. If that’s what she was.  From the looks of it, Solo also considered the possibilities that she was a call girl.  Illya wasn’t one to go for that sort of thing, but maybe his need for companionship overwhelmed his need for propriety.  And maybe that’s why he was so ashamed.  And maybe that’s why he was fighting everyone in sight.  But Napoleon didn’t think so.  No, there was something going on and it had to do with the woman he was following. 

Soon he caught up with the car and followed at a discrete distance. Within a few miles the woman turned left and pulled up in front of an old three story brownstone.  He pulled to the side and waited to see her get out.  This time he was closer and could have a better look at her.

The woman got out of the car and he didn’t recognize her.  She was attractive, he thought, and not at all Illya’s type.  His partner tended to go for a more sedate beauty.  This woman was more like Angelique—beautiful, obvious.  Well a man had a right to change types.

The woman walked purposely toward the brownstone and Solo decided to get out, knowing that if he didn’t recognize her, she wouldn’t recognize him.  He followed not knowing what his next move should be.

The blonde started up the stairs.  Now he was so close he could smell her perfume.  And there was something familiar about her.  He didn’t know if it was just the walk, or something else, but the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a set of keys.  She stood regarding the door for a second, then turned and faced him head on.

“Good morning, Mr. Solo.”  Her smile was pure evil.

Solo looked around Carolyn’s apartment.  The young woman had invited him in after her startling revelation at the door.  She handed him a drink, which Solo placed on the table.  He didn’t trust her.  He knew that Illya had maintained a relationship with her after she left New York, but the woman he remembered and the woman who stood in front of him now was completely different.  This woman was all about glamour and style.  Even her apartment reflected her style.  It was richly appointed in cream tones, the occasional slash of pink used as an accent.  The sofa itself was rounded, the soft texture asserting warmth and hospitality, but he felt nothing but trepidation. Perhaps it was because he’d never completely trusted her.  They’d met because of her involvement with Thrush.  That she was an innocent, a helpless victim of Thrush had never sat well with him.

“So what brought you here, Mr. Solo?” she purred.  Carolyn took a sip of the amber liquid, letting the glass linger on her lips, then swallowed seductively.  Was she flirting, he wondered?

He backed away feeling completely uncomfortable.

“I was concerned about Illya.  He was late and…”

“He was otherwise engaged,” she said slowly.  Her smile was predatory.

“But then you know that.”  She touched his arm.  “Did you listen outside the door?  Did you hear him as he took me?  Did you wish it was you?”

Solo jerked his arm from her grasp, his anger flaring.  “Of course not.  I was merely concerned.”

“So you followed me instead of asking him why he was late.”  Now she was slowly walking around him, her hands gliding over his body.  He needed to get out of there.  He didn’t like where this was going.  The last time she had seduced Illya, and the Russian had been completely helpless.  Solo had been impervious to her charms because his eyes were brown and the contact lens were only effective against blue or green eyes.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  He was having a definite reaction to her seduction.

She stood in front of him and he forced his mind to think of how much he valued Illya’s friendship.  The Russian was like the brother he’d always wanted.  The partnership meant the world to him.  But the woman was moving closer, her lips inviting.

He grabbed her wrist roughly.  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, lady, but don’t try it on me.”  His voice was ice.  He watched the fear play across her face. Now she looked like a cornered animal instead of a seductress.

“Let me go, “she shouted.  Only then did he realize he had her hand in a death grip.  He let her go and she backed away, massaging her wrist.  He could see his handprints outlined against her milky white skin.

“I don’t see why you had to come in here acting like this.  I invited a friend of my fiancé into my apartment for a drink and this is how I’m treated.”

Solo couldn’t believe what he just heard.  Fiancé?  Yet, he knew if the Russian was getting married, he would tell him.  He would tell him because they were that close.

“Yes, Mr. Solo.  Fiancé.  He asked me to marry him two days ago and I accepted.  Now if you don’t mind, get out.”

“No, it’s not that simple.  I don’t believe you for a second.  Now I want to know what you’re doing to him.”

“Giving him a life,” she shouted.  “Giving him something you and your precious UNCLE can’t.”

She stood defiantly in front of him.  “I’m going to take him away from you and your kind.  I’m going to see that he never has anything to do with you ever again.”

Napoleon felt cold anger slice through him.  She’d done something to Illya.  The Russian wasn’t himself and it had been her fault.

“I’ll stop you,” he said tightly.  “I’ll stop you and your gang of Thrush thugs.”

And that’s when he saw the change in her.  She simply crumbled to the floor, the tears falling instantly.  She welled like an animal in pain and Solo wondered if he was wrong about the girl.  She seemed so vulnerable.

He crouched down.  “Carolyn…Carolyn….I…maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

She looked up.  “You did.  I love him, Napoleon.  I really do.  We love each other.  Can you deny him that?”  She bowed her head and continued to cry.  Solo felt like a first class heel.  Illya deserved the right to have a relationship with whomever he wished.  He didn’t need him butting in, checking every woman he met.  What was he thinking?

“I’m sorry Carolyn.  It’s just…it’s just that I worry about my partner.  And the way you met…”

She looked into his eyes, the tears flowing freely.  “Can I ever live it down?  Get past what I was when we met.  Can I?”

Solo reached over and wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb.  “Yes.”

And then a wave of dizziness swept through him.  He felt like a door had been opened then suddenly shut.  His vision narrowed to a pin point of light, and then blazed nearly blinding him.  His breath caught in his throat and he released it slowly.  He figured he had been drugged.  He just couldn’t figure out how.  Then she was there, all lips, eyes, and long legs.  He felt himself being pushed back to the floor and he was powerless to stop her.  He felt her reach for his buckle, then the sound of the zipper.  He tried to move, to push her off as she straddled his body.  She couldn’t rape him, his mind screamed, but soon he felt his body respond and then the softness as she impaled herself on him.  And then he was moving with wild abandonment, enjoying the sensation, feeling the power of unrestrained lust.  He rolled her beneath him and plundered her mouth with his tongue, their merger becoming more intense, taking his breath away.  He heard her cry out, calling his name over and over, sending waves of passion through him.  The world could have come to an end and he wouldn’t stop.  Nothing mattered but the woman beneath him.

Illya paced around the office like a caged animal, the rage nearly suffocating him.  He’d rushed in to work, only to find Solo gone. 

“Probably off with some woman,” he said to the empty room, angry that he’d been forced to leave Carolyn for a meeting with his CEA only to find him not there.

He picked up a book and threw it across the room.  “How dare he make me come in for no reason.  How dare he.”

He tried to reign in his anger, but lately it was becoming difficult.  For some reason he wanted to strike out at someone all the time.  The only time he felt good about himself was when he was with Carolyn.  It was the reason he’d asked her to marry him.  He needed to feel good.  To feel the vibrancy for life he once felt.  In her presence he was completely at peace.  She was everything to him.  How could he have ever loved another woman when she was the perfect woman?  How could he have been so blind?

He reached for his communicator.  “Open channel S.”

Solo left the apartment, oblivious to everything around him.  He’d just betrayed his best friend and the thought was like a crushing blow.  He’d made love to his partner’s fiancé and enjoyed every second of it. 

He climbed into his car and slumped over the steering wheel, his whole body shaking.  A wave of nausea made him open the door and spit up his meager breakfast.  Afterwards, he closed the door and just sat there, his mind in turmoil.

“My God, what have I done? What have I done?”

After they had made love the second time, Solo had picked up his clothes and dressed silently.  She said nothing as he left the apartment.  He’d never felt so low.  Their lovemaking was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.  She was a drug and he wanted more.  More than wanted—he needed more.  He looked up to her apartment and saw her standing there, her nude body outlined against the curtain.  He imagined himself taking her over and over till they both screamed in pleasure. 

He started the car, trying to put those thoughts to the back of his mind, vowing never to return, but he knew it was a lie.  He was on fire and the only thing that could stop the pain was Carolyn. He had slept with his best friend’s fiancée. He’d probably ended one of the best friendships he’d ever had, but there was no going back.

Solo drove through the streets, running red lights, avoiding collisions, and fighting tears. He would have to confess everything to his partner. And Illya would hate him till the day he died.

Chapter Two

Illya came into the office not surprised to find his partner absent.  Solo had been avoiding him for the past two weeks, ever since that morning he’d come to his apartment and Illya had been so engaged with Carolyn that he didn’t answer the door.  He knew his partner heard them.  In fact the whole neighborhood probably heard them.  The people in his building had been treated to daily doses of his passion. He’d noticed more than one neighbor stare at him as he left his apartment.  And one neighbor had gone so far as to tell him how thin the walls were.  But the affair had continued; only now he went to Carolyn’s apartment.

Now he was angry that his partner couldn’t understand how he felt.  He loved Carolyn, but Napoleon was too busy pointing out his perceived lack of professionalism, as if he had a right to talk.

Solo was seeing someone.  Illya could always tell when the CEA became involved.  With Napoleon there were stages of involvement.  From casual where he slept with a woman one time, to out and out love—Clara and maybe April came to mind, although he still claimed the latter was strictly platonic.

Right now Illya believed his partner was seriously involved.  And he wasn’t talking which meant the lady was probably unavailable.  That was the strange part about it. Napoleon would never consider being with someone who wasn’t completely free.

Another thing that puzzled Illya was that his partner seemed angry at the world.  The CEA had started drinking and was treating his staff like they were dirt beneath his feet.  Everyone was avoiding him, except Illya.  He could care less how his selfish partner acted.  If Solo tried his demigod act on him, he would put him in his place fast.

Illya felt the rage building again and stood up.  He needed Carolyn and he needed her now.  She had made herself available to him during the day, but at night she told him to stay away.  He had never questioned it.  It was three o’clock now, so he figured he could get there in less than a half hour.  They would make love and he would come back to work and the rage would go away again.  She always had that affect on him—making him feel better by a simple kiss.

Illya grabbed his coat and headed out of the office.

****

Solo glared at the old man.  “What do you want?” he said tightly. 

It was seven o’clock in the evening and he was one hour late to see Carolyn and it had all been because the selfish old man wanted to see him about a case.  He needed Carolyn.  Only she could make him feel better.

He thought back over the past two weeks—the hours of making love with Carolyn, sneaking around behind Illya’s back, pretending that he was okay. Watching his friendship with Illya deteriorate to the point that he despised the man.  Illya had deserved it for not telling him about Carolyn, he reasoned.  He still hadn’t mentioned his engagement even though Carolyn was wearing his ring.  Napoleon had even searched Illya’s desk and discovered that a church had been booked for the upcoming nuptials. And that bothered Napoleon most of all.  He couldn’t let Illya have her.  He needed her to erase the pain that drinking could not.  He needed her to quiet the rage inside of him--the rage he felt when he couldn’t have her. 

“Mr. Solo, I do not like your tone of voice.…”

“I want to get out of here.  I’ve got something to do.” Solo ran his hand through his hair.  Only then did he realize they were shaking.  He looked at Waverly quickly, noting the man didn’t seem to notice this latest change in him. One of many, he thought.  Let’s see—he was drinking too much, arguing too much.  He’d picked a fight in a bar just because he didn’t like the color of a man’s shoes.  He’d nearly killed him before someone pulled him off.  But that had been in the beginning, before he found out making love to Carolyn could erase the rage.  Now he sought her out like a drug addict needing a fix.  He no longer cared how it would affect Illya.  She was his every evening and he had her as many times as was physically possible.  In all that time she’d never mentioned his blond friend which meant she couldn’t be that serious about Illya.

Soon, he vowed he would get rid of his partner entirely.  Then she would be his completely and he would be able to be with her whenever he wanted.

He stared at Waverly.  He needed to get rid of him, too.  He was interfering too much lately.  Always wanting to send him away for this or that mission when he had to know how important it was for him to stay in town.  But, no the old man didn’t care.  He was old, long past his need for a woman, Solo reasoned.  He probably went home thinking of missions and nothing else. 

He slammed his hand down on the table and watched with satisfaction as the Old Man jumped.

“What has gotten into you, Mr. Solo?”

“I’m sick,” he said, realizing that confronting Waverly would only leave him locked up in the infirmary.  His hands were still shaking.  And his body was starting to ache, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.  Of course he knew it was because he hadn’t had Carolyn since the previous evening. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Waverly.  I’m not myself.”  Another truth.

“Then see that you go home, young man.  We will continue this meeting at another time.”

Solo rose from his chair and headed out of the room.  He would have to take care of Waverly and that bastard Illya.  Once he got rid of them, he could have Carolyn anytime he wanted.  Yes, that’s what he needed to do.

April Dancer took a sip of coffee and listen as Waverly spoke.  She’d been called in from London, having been transferred four months ago.  The Old Man had said it was an emergency and ordered her not to tell Napoleon or Illya of her intended visit.  She’d agreed with trepidation.  She was unaccustomed to hiding things from Napoleon and knew he would know of her arrival anyhow.  Over the past year, he had developed an almost psychic awareness of her. 

“Miss Dancer, I’m glad you were able to arrive here this quickly.  I trust you didn’t contact Mr. Kuryakin or Mr. Solo?”

“No, sir, I didn’t understand, but I followed your orders.”

“Good.”  Waverly looked uncomfortable.  He picked up his pipe and lit it, drawing the heavy smoke into his lungs, then letting it out slowly.

“I normally don’t interfere in my agents’ personal affairs, however in this case I feel I must.”

April nodded her head, her heart racing.  Something was wrong, horribly wrong for Waverly to call her in under a cloak of secrecy.  And then there was her own unease.  Since landing at the airport, she could feel the panic taking hold—a darkness closing over her.

“Is there something wrong with Napoleon?  Illya?” she blurted out.  She expected to see disapproval in Waverly’s eyes. The Old Man felt that the three agents were entirely too close and that it had affected their job performance.  It was the reason she’d been sent to London.  But instead of seeing disapproval in his eyes, she saw concern.

“Yes, I’m afraid.  So I find myself needing a second opinion to…to…my agent’s mental state.  I need someone who is familiar with their idiosyncrasies.  Someone who can tell me what is happening to them of late.”

April listened as Waverly weaved a tale that simply couldn’t be true.  Solo and Kuryakin were portrayed as two angry men, filling the halls of UNCLE with terror.  They were at each others throat whenever they could be found together, which was seldom over the past month.  Each man seemed to be suffering a nervous breakdown and Waverly was completely at a loss as to why.

“I find it hard to believe, sir.  The last time I spoke to either of them was four months ago when I left for London.”

Waverly had ordered Solo not to contact her in London.  It had been a part of his punishment for nearly blowing a case.  April felt the punishment didn’t fit the crime, but they had to follow his order, so she had no contact with her best friend, nor Illya for that matter. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing.  Perhaps they’re tired.”

“I thought so as well.  I ordered a few days off for both of them.  It didn’t work.  If anything they are deteriorating faster.”

“Have they been evaluated by a psychiatrist, sir?”

“No.  Understand, Miss Dancer, that a psychiatric evaluation would spell the end of their career.  I would prefer not to consider this option until all possibilities have been exhausted.”

“Thank you, sir”

April swallowed past the lump in her throat.  She needed to see Napoleon, to know that he was alright.  He’d suffered greatly to keep her secret.  Perhaps what he was going through now had something to do with that.  He’d been punished in front of his men because of Waverly’s belief that the last mission hadn’t been carried out efficiently.  Waverly had punished Solo by relieving him of his authority over April and it had flown through UNCLE circles on the wings of gossip.  He had a dark mark on an otherwise stellar record and it had all been her fault.

“I’ll investigate, sir.  Do you have any preferences?”

“No.  I’ll leave that to you.  See to the case as you see fit.”

April stood.  “I’ll see him now.”

Solo glared at the Russian.  He had no business being there.  He could still smell Carolyn on him.

“So what brings you here, partner?” he said tightly.

“I work here in case you don’t know.”

The Russian calmly took a technical journal out and proceeded to read it.  He seemed calm and Solo knew why—he’d just come from Carolyn’s.  He had no right.

He stood up and made his way across the floor.  He picked the Russian up bodily, holding the slender framed man by his collar.  Illya cut him across the neck with the palm of his hand and Napoleon staggered backwards hitting the floor hard.  

Within moments, the Russian was coming around the desk and the fight ensued, each man getting the better of the other at some point.

“You bastard,” Solo shouted.  “You don’t deserve a woman like Carolyn.  You don’t know what to do with a woman like that.”

Illya staggered to his feet.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Now for the moment of truth.  It was time his partner knew that Carolyn was his. 

“What do you think she does in the evening?” he said coming to his feet.  He could see the stunned look on the blonde’s face.  He took comfort in knowing he was about to hurt him even more.

“She’s good in bed, isn’t she?  Does she…”

And the Russian was charging at him, fist flying.  Solo tried to block the punch he knew was coming, but it was too late and he slammed against the wall, pain shooting through his body.  Now the Russian punched him repeatedly in the stomach, over and over and for some reason, Solo didn’t want to fight back.  So he stood there and let him hit him till Illya fell away completely exhausted.  And then he walked out of the room, tears in his eyes.

Solo slid down the wall, staring at the door his partner had just walked through.  He felt very little pain and knew Illya had been holding back.  Solo had intentionally hurt him, saying things that were completely out of character, shocking even himself by the words.  He’d never spoken to Illya that way, nor had he ever spoken of a woman in those terms.  He had the utmost respect for the women he was with, always treating them like ladies.  Yet he had spoken the venomous words to hurt Illya and it had all been because of the rage.  He should have gone to see Carolyn yesterday, he thought, instead of drowning himself in drink.  But yesterday he was fighting his need—out of guilt at what he was doing to his partner and out of a sense of hatred for himself for having fallen so low.  Now, the man he called brother had been hurt. 

Solo lifted himself from the floor and staggered over to his desk.  The room was in disarray—tables and chairs upturned, cups and papers scattered over the floor.

“What have I done?” he cried out.  “What have I done?”

Chapter three

Solo screamed out as they came as one.  He rolled over to the side, completely satisfied.

“Mmm, that was so good,” Carolyn said, clutching the blanket to her naked body.

“I know.”

Solo clutched his still sore side, recalling his earlier fight with Illya.  He hadn’t seen the Russian since he had stormed out of their office.  He wondered if he was okay. Earlier he considered searching for the Russian, but his need for Carolyn had won out, so he came to her instead.

He dressed quickly, scarcely acknowledging her presence.  He felt disjointed, his normal elation after their lovemaking tempered by the depression that suddenly fell over him.  But the rage was gone—the anger that he could barely keep in check.  Tomorrow he would be back and they would make love again, but for now he needed to be out of there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured and watched her smile.  Then he was gone and headed someplace to have a drink.  He needed to get drunk.  He was dead inside and knew it.  He’d done the worse thing he’d ever done and he needed to erase if from his mind if only for one night.

Solo drove like the hounds of hell were at his feet.  He stopped at his favorite bar and ordered the first of many drinks.

April scanned the darkness of the bar, finding her best friend perched on a stool.  She’d looked everywhere for him, starting with the office and his apartment and then finally realizing he was probably off drinking after she couldn’t reach him anywhere else.  From the looks of things he was feeling no pain, but April could feel deeper.  From the corner of the room she sought the soul connection and found nothing but darkness.  Soon he turned and sought her out, his eyes coming to rest on her before turning away.

She walked across the room and stood next to him.

“How many have you had?”

He smiled ironically.  “Don’t know.  Lost count after the fourth drink.”

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

He laughed.  :”What are you offering, April?”

She spun him around on the stool until he was facing her.

“Friendship.  A sympathetic ear.  Whatever you need.”

“I need for you to stay the hell away from me.  That’s what I need.”

“No,” April said, feeling his pain as if it were hers.  “Now you can go the easy way or the hard way.  The choice is yours?”

He looked at her, his hazel eyes hard.  She shuddered.  Something was wrong, decidedly wrong.  April was capable of seeing auras—that halo of light that surrounded people.  Right now Napoleon’s aura was dark, inky dark.  She had to focus her mind to even look at him and what she saw frightened her.  Still, he was her best friend.

“Leave with me now,” she implored.  Solo watched her for a moment, then stood unsteadily and threw some coins on the counter.  He then made his way across the room, April following.

Solo woke to the smell of bacon and eggs.  He looked around.  Somehow he was in April’s apartment which meant last night had not been a dream.  She was back.  He smiled and then the rage started to build.  Why was she here?  Had that meddlesome Waverly finally relented and sent for her?  She had no business being there.  She’d chosen to serve the old man instead of fighting to stay with him.  She needed to be punished for what she had done.  All of them needed to be punished.  He’d already seen to the Russian.  Now he would see to her.

He reached into his bedside table and retrieved his gun, caressing the cold steel, picturing how it would feel to kill her with it.  He stood and made his way out of his room.  He was wearing only shorts and even that angered him.  What right did she have to take his clothes away?  He made his way to the kitchen and observed her silently at the door. She was still cooking and the air was heavy with the scent of oil, mingling with the bacon and eggs and now the coffee.  But he didn’t want it.  He wanted to hurt her more.  Once she was out of the way, he could get back to Carolyn. 

April looked up at him, her eyebrows raised.  He saw a flicker of fear cross her face and then it was gone.  Then he was moving like a panther hunting his prey.

 “You, bitch,” he said as he walked toward her

Illya grabbed a bottle and hit it against the table, creating a sharp knife.  It was time to eliminate the Old Man.  Waverly was the reason Solo had been allowed to take his fiancée.  Waverly kept him too busy, always sending him on missions, always having meetings that no one cared about.  He was no better than the KGB.  He was an evil man, a viper that needed to die. 

He headed for Waverly’s office, butting people out of the way when they approached. Some looked at the half bottle he carried, but they knew better than to say anything to him.  If they did, he would take care of them first and then the old man.  Then he would find that bastard, Napoleon.  He’d show him who the better man was.  The thought of his lying ex-friend with his fiancée filled him with anger.

He reached the conference room, hurrying past Waverly’s secretary who stood stunned when he entered.  He saw her press the security button and knew he had seconds to act.  He would have to kill the old man quickly if he hoped to be successful and then somehow he would have to escape.  Then he and Carolyn would run away together. He would come back later to get rid of that interfering Napoleon.

He crashed through the door and his eyes widened in surprise.

April felt the darkness as Solo crossed the room.  In his hand was a gun and he was aiming it at her.  She willed her body to remain calm.

“I made us some breakfast.”

“I don’t want anything you have to give me, “he sneered.  “You’re no better than that other bastard.  You’ve got to pay for your sins.”

Solo jutted around the kitchen table and scampered across the floor.

“Napoleon, listen to me,” April said, backing away.  “You’re sick.  I don’t know what’s happening to you, but you need help.”

“There’s noting wrong with me that killing you won’t solve.”

April couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  For a second she wondered if he was a double.  It wouldn’t be the first time Thrush had tried that little scenario.  But no, if he were a double she would be the first to know it. 

“Napoleon, you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, but I do.” He smiled, his dark eyes narrowed. 

April staggered backwards, her back to the sink.  She was about to be killed by the only man that mattered in her life.  Their life together flashed through her mind as darkness waited—the times when he held her as she cried, the day he proposed to her when he thought she was pregnant by another man, their time at the Victorian house, and their profound love for each other. And then inexplicably the hands dropped and Solo crumpled to the floor, curling into a ball.

“Get out of here, April,” he said weakly.  “Get out of here before I can’t stop myself.”

But she didn’t move.   Instead she kneeled on the floor, pulling him into her arms as the tears flowed and his mournful cries filled the room.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she mouthed against his ear.  Soon the cries ceased and Solo fell into unconsciousness.

April opened her communicator.  “Open Channel D.”

Doctor Timmons sat in the conference room giving his report to Waverly and April.  She was still numb with shock.  She rubbed her head against what promised to be a fantastic headache. 

“Miss Dancer, are you okay?” Waverly asked.

“Yes…it’s just…it was just such a shock, sir.”

“Indeed.  I daresay that we are lucky that Mr. Solo did not pull the trigger.”

“He could never do that,” she said quickly, but in her mind, she still recalled the haunted look on his face, the rage so strong that she could feel it.  And then the moment that he lay on the floor, sobbing in her arms, a broken man.  Someone had done this to him intentionally.  And she didn’t believe it was Thrush.  It simply wasn’t their style.  This was done out of hatred, a need for revenge.  She felt it with the fiber of her being.  Now she waited for the report.

“What have you discovered, doctor?” Waverly said, turning his attention to the distinguished man who sat at the conference table.

“An unknown substance in their blood.  Our analysis indicates it is a drug with psychotic effects.  This is a drug that could cause hallucinations as well as extreme anger, rage so to speak.  The symptoms Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin are experiencing are a result of withdrawal of the drug.  The total effects of the drug are still unknown due to its experimental nature.”

 “How do you think they were exposed to the drug?” Waverly asked.

“Unknown.  It could have been introduced in a variety of ways.  We will have them when they regain consciousness.”

“And the side effects, doctor?” April asked.

The doctor looked thoughtful.  “From what I can see it will be difficult.  The drug is highly addictive, requiring an individual to use it daily.  I expect the next few days will be difficult and there is nothing we can do to ease the pain.”

April swallowed hard before asking her next question. 

“Why is Mr. Solo still unconscious?”

“I cannot precisely ascertain his present condition.  I can only offer my opinion from a non-medical viewpoint.”

“And that is,” April probed.

“Mr. Solo intentionally shutdown to protect you.”

“He would never have hurt me,” April said defensively.

“Yes, but considering the state he was in because of the drug he might have.  You see, Miss Dancer, the drug caused hallucinations and paranoia symptoms.  He may not have been aware of who you were.  He may also have perceived you as the enemy, someone who sought to hurt him.”

“So he remains unconscious to protect me?” April said, her voice shaky.

“Yes.  As to Mr. Kuryakin…I expect he will regain consciousness within the next few minutes.”

“Yes, I believe that is the usual term for a sleep dart,” Waverly said.

“How did you know, sir?” April was referring to the Old Man shooting Illya with a sleep gun when he attempted to kill him with a pop bottle of all things.  The Old Man had been waiting when the blond entered, gun drawn.

“I monitor the building and saw Mr. Kuryakin leave his office.  As Mr. Solo was not yet on the premises, I surmised that he was on his way here.”

Again April was impressed with Waverly’s reasoning abilities.  This time it had saved his life.  She didn’t doubt the Russian would have killed him had he been successful in entering his office.  But she also knew Illya’s choice of a weapon was done to alert the Old Man.  And from the twinkle in his eye, she knew Waverly was aware of that fact.

“Where are they now?”  April asked. 

“I have them in the observation room,” doctor Timmons said.

“Together?” she said in alarm.

“Yes, restrained of course.  The drugs affects have made both men like mad dogs.”

 “When can I see them?”

“I would like to wait until they regain consciousness.  See their reaction to each other.”

“Yes, we can observe them on the monitor,” Waverly added.

April didn’t like it.  Whatever the two agents said to each other when they awakened should remain private, but what could she do about it.

Illya rolled his head from side to side and opened his eyes.  The last thing he remembered was staring into a gun and seeing Waverly.  He looked around the room and attempted to stand.  He felt the restraints before he saw them.

He looked down and found he was tightly bound, his hands tied to the bed rail.  Then the rage took over.  He needed to get to Carolyn and the old man was punishing him by not allowing him to do so.  He looked over at the next bed and saw his partner also bound.  He struggled.  Now was the time to end that coward’s life, he thought. 

“Let me go,” he shouted as anger boiled inside of him.

What right did the bureaucrats have to keep him from the woman he loved?  They all needed to be punished.  He vowed to see to it.

He heard a moan, and saw his partner had awakened.

“So I see you’re awake,” Illya hissed.  “Well wait till I get out of these restraints.  I’ll kill you for sleeping with Carolyn.  You wait.  I’ll get you.”

“I’ll see you in hell first,” Napoleon said.  “It’s you who doesn’t deserve her.  She’s mine.”

“No.  She’s confused.  You took advantage…”

“You should have heard how she called my name…” Solo continued.

Illya listened as each word stabbed him like a sword.  Solo continued to talk, his voice swelling with pride as he detailed his exploits with Carolyn.  Illya felt the pent up rage threatening to overcome him, but he couldn’t move.  Soon his world dissolved into darkness.

Solo watched as his friend fell into unconsciousness.  He fought back the tears that were threatening to flow.  He felt so alone, so powerless to stop what was happening to him.  He knew something was wrong.  He was hurting Illya, had almost killed April.  Oh god, what if he had.  Maybe April was dead and he’d killed her.  Maybe he hadn’t felt her memories, their life together touching him in that inexplicable way he’d come to know.

“April,” he shouted, pulling against the restraints.  “April.”

He couldn’t feel her.  She was dead to him, that soul connection severed and he was the cause of it.    And Illya was dead, too.  He’d killed him with words.  Words meant only to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he was feeling.  He’d killed both his friends.  Napoleon was breathing hard, his heart racing.  And then the alarms were going off and he was plunged into darkness.

The doctors raced into the room, April following.  Napoleon had just gone into cardiac arrest and the doctors and nurses were all around the bed.

She leaned against the wall, remembering the scene in the infirmary, of sitting there while her friends sprouted out hateful words.  And then Illya had passed out and Solo went into cardiac arrest.  Just like that his heart had stopped beating.  She felt the room sway and Waverly reach out to steady her.  She leaned against him as darkness surrounded her

Now, she felt him slipping away and a dour-faced man declared Napoleon dead.  She ran to the bed and through her body on top of him.  She heard Illya call out, then all was silent as she looked at Napoleon’s face and felt nothing there, absolutely nothing.

And then she was crying, and calling his name.

“Napoleon, no.  Napoleon come back to me, oh God, please don’t take him.  Please don’t take him.”

She felt hands pulling her away, heard Waverly’s voice.  People were telling her how sorry they were.  She heard someone scream and realized it was Illya’s voice, “Don’t leave me, please…please, Napoleon don’t leave me.  I’m sorry for everything I said.  Everything I did.”     

And then she felt it, a sort of light enveloping her and then Napoleon and Illya. And it was just the three of them as the darkness lifted.  She looked down at Napoleon and saw that his eyes were opened.  She heard murmurs and was pushed to the side.  But he was alive!

Epilog

A week later Carolyn Rice took her own life, a victim of the same drugs she’d given Napoleon and Illya.  The doctor who had created the drug was arrested that same week and was discovered to be the same man responsible for the creation of the green contact lens that had originally ensnared Illya.  The drug was found to be an earlier discovery, deemed unsafe even by Thrush standards who had rejected it. It had been Carolyn’s desperation that caused her to find the doctor and allow him to use his untested drugs on her. 

Further research by the UNCLE medical staff revealed that the drug was extremely potent, affecting an individual within seconds of contact.  It was found that once a victim came into contact with bodily fluids, he immediately became addicted, needing to constantly seek the drug which could only be found by further contact with the carrier.  It was also found that the drug was less potent in certain fluids of the body.  Saliva, for example, wouldn’t affect a victim for at least one hour, whereas in tears and more discrete areas of the body a victim would succumb within seconds.

Carolyn Rice left a suicide note:

Dear Illya,

I have decided to end my life because there is nothing left for me.  Since neither you nor your friend has visited me, I have to assume you know.  I have therefore decided to end my life in a way I could never live my life—on my own terms.   I hated you Illya Kuryakin and I wanted more than anything to see you suffer.  I found the doctor who’d helped me before and we came up with a plan to drug you into submission.  I knew it was just a matter of time when your friend would arrive after he saw the change in you.  You see I knew that the only way to destroy you was to destroy the thing you held most dear.  I raped him and kept him under my power and saw you fall apart.  But in the end you won.  So score one for you.

                                                                                          Carolyn

Illya folded the copy of the suicide note and placed it in his pocket.  He looked up at the orange-yellow sky.  Normally the solitude of the Victorian house would have brought him peace, but not this time.  This time he was inconsolable.  He’d done a horrible thing and it had cost one woman her life and nearly the lives of his two best friends. 

Carolyn had been a victim—changed by the drug that created monsters, but he was the one who’d caused her to hate.  He was the one who had allowed his weakness to involve a lonely young woman in a relationship that had no future.

He stood against the railing, feeling the hopelessness welling inside him.  How would Napoleon ever forgive him once he knew?  So far the report had read that Carolyn had used her tears to introduce the drug into their systems.  It was what everyone believed.  And they believed his recent depression was a result of what had followed.  But that was far from the truth.

Illya looked at the screen door.  Solo had left him alone for awhile, but he knew he would return.  The dark-haired agent had stuck close by, probably sensing that something was wrong.  But he hadn’t questioned him, allowing the Russian some degree of freedom.  Illya needed to tell him the truth.  It was the only way.  He slowly went back into the house.

He found them in the study, the roaring embers of the fireplace infusing the room with its smoky scent, casting the room in a comforting glow.

April looked up as he entered, then excused herself.  She patted his hand as she left the room.  It was almost his undoing.  He felt the lump rise in his throat.  Once he told Napoleon, he would lose everything.  He would never forgive what he’d done.  It had almost caused him to take the life of the woman he loved.  How could he expect anything from his partner except the hate he deserved?

He came and took the seat across from his partner, the roaring flames in front of them.  It was there that he concentrated his attention.  Solo said nothing as he gathered strength. 

“I need to make a confession,” Illya said, his voice low.  When Napoleon didn’t speak, he paused, the tears coming closer to the surface.

“It’s okay, Illya.  You don’t…”

“But I do.  Don’t you see it was my fault?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Tovarish.  Carolyn was sick.  Always had been.”

“But I should have seen.  I should not have taken advantage of her.”

“You entered the relationship with the best of intentions.  It just didn’t work out, Illya.  Happens to all of us.”

Illya knew that Napoleon was speaking of Clara.  He’d loved and lost her, all due to his devotion to UNCLE and her inability to accept that devotion.  In his heart he knew that his partner was telling the truth—he had gone into the relationship with the best of intentions, but he still felt the responsibility for the outcome. 

 He took a trembling breath and sought Napoleon’s eyes. It was time to tell the truth.  “I did not become sick the way you did.  I…I…” He couldn’t continue.  He stood, making his way to the fireplace than turning to face his best friend.  He saw love and understanding in the eyes, but would they be there after he knew the truth?

“You don’t understand.  All of this was my fault. All that happened is because of me.”

Napoleon leaned forward, the darkness of the room illuminating him in the glow of the fireplace.  “How was it your fault?  Because you felt something for a beautiful woman? Because you’re sorry her life ended so tragically?”

Illya closed his eyes.  “Yes, that and more.  You know how the drug worked?”

He opened his eyes and saw his friend nod. 

“Yes, I’ll never forget it.”

It had taken two weeks to get the addictive drug out of their systems, two weeks of the withdrawal symptoms when their bodies cried out for the drug.  During that time they had remained in separate rooms, but eventually as the need for the drug abated, they had been put in a room together and they had talked into the night and both men had apologized for what had happened.  Only Illya could never bring himself to tell the entire story.  The relationship he had with Napoleon was too precious.  Carolyn had been right—the way to truly destroy him was through Napoleon.  Now she was reaching up from the grave to finish it off.  Once Solo knew that the drug hadn’t reached his system through tears, he would want nothing to do with him.

“Listen, Illya.  The doctor explained it all.  The tears she shed was how the drug was introduced into our systems.  After that we became addicted and needed to see her to get more.  It was never about Carolyn, it was about the drug.  She played us against each other.  That’s all.”

“No.  That’s not all,” he said tightly.  “Haven’t you figured it out yet?  Carolyn didn’t get me in her bed by crying.  No…I wanted her.   That’s how the drug got into my system.  It got there willingly.”

Napoleon said nothing, and Illya mentally prepared to pack his bags. Finally he heard his friend speak, “I know.”

He looked at his partner in stunned silence.  Had he heard correctly?  The official record read that the drug was introduced in bodily fluids.  Since Carolyn had cried to seduce Solo, it followed that the same tactic had been used on him as well.

“Napoleon, did you not hear me?”

“Yes.  You fell into bed with a beautiful woman because you wanted her.”  Solo stood and came to stand in front of him.  “Listen, you may not want to hear this, but you’re human.  I know you can go for long periods of time without female companionship, but you’re still human.”

“Napoleon, what I did could have cost us our lives.  If not for me you would have never been involved in this whole mess.”

Illya started to walk away, but Napoleon grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. 

“Listen, you stubborn Russian.  I can’t forgive you because there’s nothing to forgive.  It happened.  Doesn’t matter how it happened.”

“But what if you had killed April?”

“Then you would have been there to pull me through.”

Illya shook his head.  “No, you would have hated me.  As I hate myself.”

“Illya, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never said to a man.”

Illya locked eyes with his friend as Napoleon’s eyes welled with tears.  “I love you, Illya, and there’s nothing…nothing that you’ll ever do to change that.”

The room was silent as the two men regarded each other.  Then Illya spoke.  “I don’t know how to say…to say…”

Napoleon put a hand on Illya’s shoulder.  “You don’t have to say a word.  When I was dying I felt April.  I heard her beg me to come back.  And then I heard you as you screamed my name.  And I heard something else; I heard the love in the words when you asked me not to leave you.  It’s the reason I’m standing here today.  You don’t ever have to put into words the way you feel.  You’ve already done that.”

And then Illya collapsed into Napoleon’s arms and the two men stood in the room as the light from the fire warmed them.

Once upon a time a man had a dream of putting down roots.  He purchased an old Victorian house where his friends could live—a place to restore, to find peace and renew one’s strength.  On this night, three friends slept in peace, knowing that another battle and been won.  But it had not been won by the strength of bullets and gadgets.  It had been won by love.  For in the end they had each other and nothing would ever change that.

It’s Finished

I hope you enjoyed my three story arc.  I probably won’t write for this fandom for quite some time, but you never know when the muse may call me back.  I thank my readers for following me in another tale from the Victorian series. And as always, feedback is welcomed and encouraged.