I was hiding.
It's true: Illya Kuryakin, Number Two, Section Two, was cowering deep in the bowels of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Had I had not been so miserable, it might have been amusing.
Currently between assignments, I had managed to elude my partner and steal away to the lab. My superiors in Enforcement were used to my infrequent forays back to Research, allowing me quite a bit of autonomy when it came to my spare moments. Usually, I had many more projects than time, but today they all remained dormant as I moodily contemplated my problem.
A noise behind me alerted me to the fact I was no longer alone. Although my back was to the door I immediately knew who had entered my small domain. The very slightest scent of his clean-smelling aftershave preceded him. After carefully pouring a measured amount of liquid into the beaker, I turned to see Napoleon leaning next to the wall by the partially opened door.
"Napoleon, whatever it is, I do not have time for it." I wearily removed my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. Not being a full-fledged member of Research my laboratory was only a converted janitor's closet, but it served me well enough. To be honest, today it served as a way to escape from Napoleon. But my partner had tracked me down anyway, venturing where he rarely dared.
"C'mon, Ginny has a new camera and wants to try it out. I said we'd be happy to oblige."
"Ah, Ginny," I replied sarcastically. "Is she the one in Translation or the one in Communications?" I plucked an empty test tube from the deep pocket of my lab coat and set it on the counter, silently wishing Napoleon would just leave.
Instead, he just chuckled and straightened from the wall. "Neither, she's the one in Training."
"Napoleon," I repeated, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice and failing, "I have no wish to help you seduce another young lady as you pretend to take an interest in her hobby. Now, please, I have work to do." I turned back to the counter, trying to convey my total absorption in the brewing of my tea over a Bunsen burner.
There was a small silence before Napoleon spoke, anger evident in his voice. "All right, that's it! You've been as grumpy as a bear with a sore paw since we returned from Paris. Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are you going to make me guess?"
I schooled my features into impassivity before turning, flinching inwardly at the mention of Paris. "I'm sorry if my manner has been a trial to you," I said stiffly. Why would he not simply go away?
Napoleon sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, everyone's entitled to a bad mood now and then. It's just—"
He paused and I slipped my glasses into the breast pocket of my lab coat. "Just what?" I asked, a bit too harshly.
He remained silent and I took a closer look at my partner. There was a weariness about his eyes that I hadn't noticed before and I was suddenly struck with the painful thought that Napoleon was unhappy. A little twist deep in my chest made me ashamed of my recent behavior.
"Napoleon, I—"
"Is it me?" he interrupted. "Have I done something to offend you?" I looked up into the concerned brown eyes and my throat constricted. How could I tell him the truth?
"Of course not," I replied quietly. "Please, forgive me. I have simply been—" I searched for the right word, one that would not reveal the source of my own unhappiness. "Contemplative. I apologize for my poor company."
"Illya," he replied gently, the tone of his voice causing a small, unwelcome flutter in the pit of my stomach, "I never find you poor company. I've just been worried, that's all." He flashed a comradely smile at me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I mean, one minute we're sitting in that outdoor café on the Left Bank, watching the girls go by, and the next you mumble something about the Sorbonne and you disappear until our flight leaves."
You were watching the girls, Napoleon. I was watching you.
"Apparently your time was well-spent," I answered with a false smile, recalling Napoleon's tale of the willing mademoiselle that he had found to pass the time with.
My smile was not returned. "I would have preferred to spend the time with you."
I was not expecting that and it flustered me. Luckily, behind me the water for my tea began to boil over so I turned and removed it from the burner. I fussed with the tea things, hoping Napoleon would toss off a goodbye and go in search of Ginny. But to my dismay he walked closer and sat down on the stool to my immediate left, his knee brushing my thigh as he made himself comfortable.
Sighing, I reached under the countertop and withdrew two glasses, then reached in again for the small crock of sugar I kept there. Napoleon remained silent at my side, watching as I poured the tea into the glasses. I hadn't expected company so I only had enough for one full glass, but I didn't mind sharing. I poured some sugar into both glasses and stirred them with a plastic stylus after surreptitiously wiping it on my lab coat. There was something deceptively domesticated about my actions and I tried not to dwell on the small spurt of contentment I felt in performing this ritual for Napoleon.
I handed him his glass and picked up my own. From years of habit, we touched glasses and simultaneously said "santé" before taking a sip.
I was loath to break the intimacy of the moment. Standing next to Napoleon—the man I was quite desperately in love with—while we drank lab tea was bittersweet torture. I needed him to go—but I wanted him to stay.
After a few minutes, Napoleon spoke. "So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
Damn. I had hoped he had forgotten. I swallowed, finding my throat dry so I took another sip of tea. Although I hadn't completely thought it out, the hopelessness of my situation had been made so apparent to me in Paris that I knew I must make a choice—a choice that would surely break my heart. Straightening, I looked him in the eyes, steeling myself against the affection I saw there.
"Napoleon, I've been contemplating a move back to Research."
He didn't blink. "All right, for how long? I know you've usually got something or other going down here so if you need a few days—"
"Permanently."
The half-empty glass clattered to the countertop. It looked like it might tip over and as I reached to right it his hand shot out and grasped my forearm. The glass didn't tip but was quickly forgotten as Napoleon stood quickly, my arm still locked in a tight grip.
"You know, don't you," Napoleon said in a dark, dangerous tone. It was not question, it was a statement of fact. "You've finally figured it out and now you're hightailing it away from me." He stepped closer to me and for the first time in our relationship I was intensely aware of the slight difference in our height, a difference to his advantage. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and stepped back, confused both by his words and his actions. But before I could speak, he went on, his voice still low. "When did you catch on, Illya? Was it after I got you out of that stinkhole in Bombay? Or when I thought you were dead in that explosion over in Manila?" His brown eyes pinned me, demanding an honest response.
I did not know how to reply. I stared at him, thinking back to those two incidents. In Bombay a T.H.R.U.S.H. agent, who took quite a bit of delight in his skills with a bullwhip, had held me captive. That had resulted in a few hours in the infirmary with no permanent damage. The second incident in Manila had been a bit more serious. A munitions installation had exploded and I was rendered unconscious for an uncomfortable amount of time, buried under a pile of rubble until Napoleon dug me out. Both times, Napoleon had been close afterwards, first hovering as I had the wounds from the whipping dressed, then sleeping in the empty bed at my side in Manila so I would not wake up alone.
Now, in my cluttered laboratory in New York, these incidents and so many like them began to parade before my mind's eye: Napoleon gently tending my back after I was "disciplined" by Mother Fear; Napoleon coming after me on that godforsaken island, knowing Mr. Waverly had given the order to have it destroyed. Napoleon always there, always finding me, saving me, caring about me.
I took a deep, shuddering breath as reality broke apart and reassembled itself in the depths of coffee-dark eyes that watched me carefully, waiting for my reply. My dry lips parted and I moistened them with my tongue, thrilled to see Napoleon's intense gaze fall to my mouth. In the space of a breath, it all became clear and my heart began to beat in double-time as I contemplated my next action. If I was right, a hitherto unimaginable happiness would be laid at my feet; if I was in error, it would mean sorrow of the deepest kind.
It would be unendurable.
In the end, my response was quite instinctive. As I tried to formulate a verbal answer my right hand rose of its own volition to lightly cup Napoleon's cheek, my thumb involuntarily caressing the smooth skin near his mouth. His eyes drifted shut at the contact, his own hand coming up to cover mine and press it close.
"Napoleon, I don't know what to say," I finally whispered, shifting closer until the lapel of my lab coat brushed against him.
"Illya," he replied, opening his eyes to search mine, "can we at least talk about this? Don't transfer." He spread the fingers resting on his cheek, threading them with his own as he pulled our entwined hands between us. "Request another partner but just don't leave Enforcement." He smiled wryly, the sadness in his eyes striking me hard. "At least that way I'll see you once in a while. Selfish, I know, but—"
"Napoleon," I interrupted, "be quiet. I won't transfer."
"—I promise not to make it hard—"
"Napoleon, I said I'll remain—"
"—stay out of your way—"
"Oh, blast it, Napoleon, do shut up," I muttered, then I reached up and pressed my mouth to his. There was the merest pause as the warm lips beneath mine were immobile with shock, then Napoleon moved as fast as I've ever seen him. A swift backwards kick had the door to my lab slamming shut as my hand was released and I was enveloped in strong arms. The tentative, searching touch of my mouth was quickly overcome as Napoleon took command of the kiss, brushing the tip of his tongue against my lips until they opened, then gently thrusting inside.
In my entire life, I had never felt anything like that kiss. My eyes closed as it deepened, the inevitable rightness of his lips on mine drenching my parched soul. Napoleon had me off balance almost immediately, loosening his hold long enough to slide his hands under the lab coat to caress me through my cotton shirt. His firm mouth, so often the object of my dreams, was as masterful as I'd imagined as he slowly, thoroughly possessed my own. His tongue began to stroke mine demandingly and the kiss that had begun as a simple means of needful communication escalated into a growing wave of arousal.
I clutched at Napoleon's suit coat as he moaned into my mouth. When I returned the sound his lips broke away from mine and he deftly slipped the lab coat off my shoulders to puddle at our feet.
"Napoleon—" I tried to speak but was cut off.
"Shhh," he said against my neck, "let me..." He didn't finish, instead pressing his mouth above my collar. Just as I was adjusting to the feel of his warm lips against the sensitive flesh there, reveling in the sensation, my attention was divided when strong hands pulled my shirt clear of my trousers. One broad hand splayed against the bared skin of my lower back, the other sliding down and yanking me tight against Napoleon's hips.
My eyes flew open as our groins collided and I leaned back abruptly, startled at the intensity that had us both breathing hard. Napoleon raised his head and met my eyes, his own wild and passion-black.
"Sorry," he panted and started to back away. "I can't—"
"No, you don't," I growled and yanked at his lapels. His forward motion brought his head back down to mine and I took shameless advantage, planting my lips against his and beginning a little possession of my own. In response to my aggressiveness, Napoleon smiled into the kiss and placed his hands low on my hips, pulling me forward more gently than the last time.
I would have happily stood there forever, lost in the arms of this man, flying on the sweetness of his kisses, but the outside world intruded in the form of my ringing phone.
"Mmm," I tried to break the kiss but Napoleon merely followed my lips as I turned. "Napoleon," I muttered against his mouth, "Napoleon, it may be Waverly. Napoleon!" I chuckled shakily as I pushed him away. He didn't let me go, exactly, instead letting me turn in his arms as I reached for the phone.
"Kuryakin here," I croaked. Napoleon had his arms around my waist from behind, his mouth resuming its exploration of my neck.
"Illya? Ginny! Hey, is Napoleon there? Did he find you?"
I carefully covered the mouthpiece with my hand and leaned back. "It's—oh, yes, there—um, she wants to know if you've found me..." I bit my lip and closed my eyes as Napoleon's mouth tugged at my earlobe.
"Well? Have I?" he whispered, arms tightening with a proprietary manner that I was already becoming addicted to.
"Oh, yes, Polya, you most certainly have," I murmured in reply, the phone forgotten in my hands as Napoleon turned me back in his arms to once again claim my mouth.
"Illya? Illya! Are you still there?" The tinny, faraway sound of Ginny's voice brought me back to reality quite unwillingly. I moved my mouth far enough away from Napoleon's to bring the phone back to my ear.
"Yes, Ginny, Napoleon found me. I don't think a picture—"
The phone was plucked from my hand. "Ginny, Napoleon. We'll be there in, oh, twenty minutes or so. Yes, all right, I'll make sure he's presentable. Yes, goodbye." Without looking, his mouth descending on mine, Napoleon hung up the phone.
When we pulled back to draw breath, I pinched Napoleon's rear playfully. "Presentable, Napoleon?" I managed between pants.
He nodded once, sharply. "Yes, presentable. Because right now," he rubbed his nose against mine, the deep affection inherent in the gesture filling me with profound joy, "you look absolutely irresistible and I'd rather not share you with the rest of the population when you look like this."
I swallowed against the rush of desire mixed with mirth that welled up inside. "Oh, well," I finally managed, "when you put it that way..."
It was more like half an hour later when Napoleon and I met up with Ginny in her office. In that precious thirty minutes, among many deep kisses and warm caresses, some very special words were exchanged between us. Napoleon had finally called a halt—wisely, I'm sure—but not before plans were made for the evening—and every evening thereafter.
Ginny spent an inordinate amount of time positioning us, finally setting me on a stool that came just below the edge of her desk. After clearing a space, she put Napoleon next to me on the desk and had him lean in so that we would be framed to her satisfaction. A white sheet hung behind us, appropriated from the infirmary to give her the proper background.
I doubt very much that Ginny expected Napoleon's hand to end up on my shoulder. In fact, he later told her—quite glibly, I thought—that he had placed it there merely for balance. Even now, so many years later, I can still feel the caress of his thumb as it brushed the skin at my nape, the warm draught of his breath as he murmured deliciously wicked things in my ear when Ginny's back was turned. I think it was just after one especially memorable suggestion that this particular photo was snapped.
A copy sits on our mantel, framed in understated, elegant chrome. To this day, I don't know how anyone could look at that photograph and not see the emotion shining from my eyes. I once mentioned something like that to Napoleon and he merely shrugged before pulling me close.
"I see it, love. That's all that matters."
Dratted man. Must he always be right?
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