Wisdom preceded his steps, reason clouded his judgement and need fanned his desire. Solo stilled in the long gray hallways, conscious of eyes upon him, from the secretaries who wove to and fro to the dainty steps of specialists immersed in their own fields.

He stopped by the lab, the door curiously ajar and Napoleon walked inside.

There was Illya's work station, clean and ordered. The desk items of everyday use lay in ubiquitous quiet as if they too longed for the fine long fingers to touch and use them again. Solo's hand trailed across the discarded items, lost for a moment to his own thoughts.

"If you intend to re-organize my desk Napoleon please at least leave me some directions." Illya's soft Russian accent cut through the reverie to the heart of the American.

Solo withdrew his hand and did not trust himself to turn. He fought his natural urges and brought back the mask of impassive calm. With no small effort he brought his breathing under control and turned.

"Directions?" Solo smiled as he took in the familiar shape and sight, the blond head bent over some documents as the blue eyes leveled to meet familiar liquid brown.

"Whenever you tidy things up I can never find them again, so some directions would be useful. What are you doing down here anyway?"

The young American ducked his head hiding the blush that stained his cheeks. " I just needed to take a walk."

Illya's eyes had narrowed as he came perilously close to his partner, confusion showing on his face. "Are you alright Napoleon, you seem distracted?" A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and he started almost leaping away.

"I...ah...am having some difficulties on a case, I needed to clear my mind, you know, find a quiet corner. Besides I was told you were on assignment."

"Walking or hiding?" Napoleon turned and leveled his gaze on the slight blond figure, it startled him somewhat to be known so well.

"I guess a bit of both." Again Illya frowned at Napoleons response, uncertain what the problem was and keenly aware of the time. He glanced down at his watch a little past four in the afternoon. He could spare a few moments. Finally placing the documents down on the workbench he waited till Napoleon settled his own back against another desk resolutely not looking at his partner.

"Napoleon what is wrong?" the question came out softer and filled with more concern than Napoleon had ever heard in the young Russian before.

"Told you." The dark head hung as though an admonished child and he shrugged.

"The case? You're taking it personally?"

Napoleon finally looked up his arms folded against his chest. "Hard not to."

"Why?" Illya studied his friend for long moments, the tension that leaped at his jaw, the firm stance of the spread feet, fingers that dug into his own arms.

"I have been placed in an awkward position Illya."

"Go on."

"Let us suppose there is this person, someone I thought I knew well, someone who has been living a lie and holding out on me for years. Someone who has abused a position of trust, and now I am supposed to trust them again implicitly because UNCLE has told me I have to. What would you do?"

Illya's own hands tightened on the desk as he leveled his gaze at his partner. Guilt rose in him yet how could Napoleon know, how could he have guessed at the secret he himself was uncertain he carried.

"Who?" Illya asked in he hoped not a too worried tone.

Napoleon looked up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "My partner." He all but spat the word out like some distasteful morsel he had been forced to eat.

Illya leaned heavier and looked at Napoleon. "I'm sorry."

Something broken and small in the tone of the apology caused Solo's head to snap up. His eyes opened as he reached forward. "Ah, Illya, I wasn't referring to you. Solo's eyes narrowed as he regarded his suddenly flushed partner.

"Ah." Illya turned his face back to the files, relief flooding through him.

"Is there something you shouod be telling me, tovarish?" Solo prodded gently, aware that in time Illya would tell him if he needed to know. Needing to know was no longer an option, he kept his gaze firm and level, hoping for the wall to come down between them, the one Illya maintained with irritating regularity.

Illya shook his head. "I assume that you are refering to Colonel Richards. You suspect him to be a THRUSH agent?" The young Russian changed the subject easily as he watched Napoleon smile fondly for a moment before returning to business.

"I suspect," Solo answered.

"Then you are not sure?"

"Reasonably."

"Reasonably? For a man like you reasonably is not good enough." He looked up to see the American standing inches from him. "You asked my advice, well here it is. Take the time to be sure Napoleon and if you are right do not allow it to become personal. He obviously will not."

Solo nodded and reached out touching gently the arm before him. "How goes your assignment?"

It was the Russian's turn to rub at his eyes, "Tiring. I have to go, Napoleon." The casual touch sending sparks through the compact frame.

"Stay safe tovarisch."

Illya nodded, smiling at the man before him as the realization finally clicked into place. "I will, and Napoleon?"

Solo looked up as Illya opened the door to leave, blue eyes held him fast. "Yes?"

A small wry smile twisted Illya's lips and grew in moments to a good-natured response, tinged, Napoleon thought, with a hint of something else. "I have missed you too." Before he could form his lips or for that matter his mind around a response the door closed firmly and Napoleon felt a great deal easier than he had in days.

OoooOOOOOOOoooo

Alexander Waverly fondly recalled old memories and friends regretting the many occasions he had ignored to catch up with them. Always the job got in the way. But then again, it had never really been a job, UNCLE was his passion, his life devoted to it and the cause of justice. Some superfluous and insidious men would comment about the stupidity of the existence of the Agency and yet he knew without doubt that the tide of evil had to be turned.

He often thought about that. In lonely and dark nights envisaged himself attempting to hold back the Nile with nothing more than a teaspoon. Still he persevered. His people to a one were dedicated and desired the same outcome. None took up the mantle with the thought of personal gain, money was not the issue, although he hired the best and he paid them well. The dark soldiers in increasing night walked with a small flicker of light to the rest of the world. And he was pleased.

His footfalls brought him closer to the man who sat by himself at the small table, so refined, elegant and self assured. He had always been proper but had conceded with much humor that he lacked a certain style. With this thought his mind recalled images of Solo and Kuraykin. Oh to be sure they both had style, looks, charm, flair, both intelligent to the extreme. Solo more cunning and prepared to walk the ways of political correctness. Kuraykin always allowed people to underestimate him. A lesson learned the hard way by many of THRUSH's finest. He chuckled at the confidence both men had, especially when in each others company, and a small regret wound itself around his heart that he had to separate them to get the job done.

Solo was his protege, and would survive mostly anything, but to lose Illya or threaten the blond tore loose a wealth of emotion neither man would acknowledge. Illya on the other hand touched his heart, an innocent in a lawless land fighting the hard way to survive in a world which offered him little warmth.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind and approached the man at the table, determined that this affair should end as soon as possible for all their sakes.

The dark somber suited man lurked at the edges of the club. His face hidden behind the New York Times. Immaculately polished leather shoes shone from beneath tailored pants and casual fingers flicked the pages with applied disinterest.

"It was good of you to meet me at such short notice Derek, may I?" Alexander Waverly indicated the other low plush chair across from the tables single occupant.

Derek Flanners, ex MI5, General on special assignment to Her Majesty's Government currently cached to New York looked up. His face was cordial and open yet the dark gray blue eyes regarded the man before him with an odd mixture of fear and friendship.

"Of course." He waved his guest to the nearest chair and smiled as a butler unobtrusively arrived bearing a drink tray. "Scotch if memory serves."

Waverly smiled his craggy features softening for a moment. He heard Derek's words something polite and proper regarding dinner and watched the butler leave. "Ah yes, well it is your memory I am in need of my friend."

Flanners laughed, round and deep the sound went and a frission of memory licked up and down Waverly's spine. "Always to the job Alexander." He saluted the comment with his drink and emptied the glass. "what will it be this time?"

"I need to know everything you have on Colonel Mark Richards."

Flanners smile faded and he crossed his hands into his lap - "That Alexander is a very big bird, what does UNCLE want with him?"

"UNCLE already has him, the question Derek is do we want to keep him. His current assignment - who orchestrated that?"

"Top level, the Colonel has some very powerful friends."

"Powerful enough to keep him from a court martial?"

Flanners smiled slowly - "Ah Da Nang, yes I do believe they did. You have been watching him for a while then?"

Here Mr. Waverly softened his demeanor, "Actually no, one of my people picked it up."

"Really? Good man?"

The head of UNCLE smiled and nodded, "Yes, the best."

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To Proceed to Part Five
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To be continued...

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