Napoleon paused with his hand on the door, checking his reflection in the window. The mustache was in place, and without any styling creme, his hair fell over his forehead in a manner reminiscent of his partner's. He looked his part, but the knot in his stomach refused to relax. What if he walked in and Ben wasn't there? What if Thrush had decided enough was enough? He'd been lucky every week for two months - even the Solo luck ran thin from time to time.

He swallowed his apprehension and pushed the outer door open. It was normal to be a little...well, if not nervous, then unsettled. It kept him on his toes - and when walking into the lion's den, every edge helped. He'd rather go in gun first, but this mission required a little more restraint, and it was worth it. The information was vital.

And then there was the informant.

The usual blare of rock and roll greeted Napoleon as he opened the inner door, his eyes zeroing straight in on their table. His stomach quieted as he saw Ben sitting there, relaxed against the back of his chair, his arms crossed, his focus completely on Napoleon as he threaded his way through the crowded tables. It was only as he drew closer that Napoleon saw the tension in the muscles, the fine cords down the bare biceps that were practically vibrating with energy.

The welcoming smile, however, was real, blue eyes travelling down the length of Napoleon's jacket and t-shirt, taking in the well-fitted jeans and then slowly moving back up, meeting his gaze with frank approval. "Hello, Tony." The soft words greeted him as he sat down at the table.

Napoleon nodded at the glass of Scotch waiting for him. It would be his favorite, of course. This man knew his tastes. "Am I late?"

"Not at all. I was just...anticipating your arrival."

"I see." Napoleon took a sip of the drink. "I would never want to keep you waiting."

"I am certain you are worth waiting for."

One of Ben's eyebrows quirked up on the comment, reminding Napoleon of just how much he missed his partner. This attraction would not make things easier for him when the assignment was over. Part of him itched to say the words that would end this for good, but he'd been at this too long to let that itch get the better of him.

He leaned forward. "I'm certain you're worth showing up early for."

"And staying late?"

"As long as I'm needed."

Ben gave him one of those searching stares. That look in the blue eyes, under the mop of blond hair, sent an ache of familiarity to the pit of Napoleon's stomach. He knew what he really wanted - and it had been a hard lesson to take these past two months - but right here in front of him was all he could have for the moment.

Maybe the Solo luck would keep it from ruining all the hard work and sacrifice that had gone into this.

"We shall see," was all the blond said before finishing his own Scotch. He waved a hand at the bartender, his eyes never leaving Napoleon's. A moment later two full glasses appeared.

Finishing his first drink in a gulp, Napoleon picked up the second. "To new friends," he said, clinking his glass against Ben's.

"And old," Ben said, his eyes shifting to the left, towards two burly men a couple of tables away.

Napoleon turned slightly, shifting his legs, and effectively blocking his mouth from the view of the two Thrush goons. "Any news to report?

After imparting some minor information Napoleon had heard elsewhere, Ben lowered his voice and moved closer. "Here's an interesting one."

The constant electric current that ran between them felt darker somehow. Napoleon leaned forward, tapping the table with his fingers. "I'm listening."

"There's a new installation. A scientist, working on a new chemical weapon."

"Any idea who or where? Or what, for that matter?"

With a shake of his head, Ben moved closer still. "Smile like I just propositioned you," he muttered, a flirtatious smile on his own lips. Napoleon complied. "The name I heard was Cardinal. I took a delivery to the warehouse, and I got a glimpse of the test subject. It was...well, it's not pretty."

Bingo!  This was what they'd been waiting for. The mission had paid off, and things could go back to normal, as soon as he took care of Ben. "You weren't supposed to tell me that, were you?"

His eyes narrowed, Ben shook his head again. "I may have signed on for crime, but I didn't sign on to help create something like that. Or worse - end up in one of the tests."

"Well," Napoleon said, eyeing Ben carefully. "You know what this makes us?"

"What?"

"Partners in crime. Together forever - however long that might be."

Ben cocked his head. "What an interesting saying."

"It doesn't ring any bells?"

"No. Is it a quote?"

A quote? For Christ's... It hadn't worked. It was supposed to work, dammit. That fucking Barnard had promised - it was only that trusted promise that had made them go through with this in the first place. "I forget where it came from," he said. He had to try again. Maybe he'd missed a word. "'Partners in crime. Together forever - however long that might be.'"

His brow furrowed, Ben searched his memory before shaking his head. "Never heard it."

When he got back to U.N.C.L.E., he would shove Barnard's diploma down his throat. PhD my ass.  "It was something my...friend and I used to say all the time. Though I can't seem to get it out of my head, now. 'Partners in crime. Together forever - however long that might be.'" He searched for some flicker of recognition, some hint of a smile that would show the man across the table was only pulling his leg, that he really knew the words. But there was nothing. Just Ben staring back at him.

And with no pass phrase to bring his memories back, Illya could well be lost in 'Ben' forever.

I knew this was a bad plan. But Illya had gone for it - he didn't mind temporary brainwashing. The KGB had messed with his head so much before he'd joined U.N.C.L.E. that he figured he was the best candidate anyway.

Apparently they'd messed with his head a little too much.

Fuck.

"Tony?"

"Sorry." Napoleon rubbed his eyes. "What did you say?" Time for Plan B. Get Illya out of the bar and to U.N.C.L.E. HQ as soon as humanly possible. Without arousing suspicion in any of the dozen or so Thrush agents surrounding them.

Well, he'd had harder jobs.

Illya's fingertips brushed his own. "I said, perhaps now that our business was concluded, you'd like to take our conversation somewhere more...private?"

Certain parts of Napoleon thought that was an excellent idea. Unfortunately, those were the parts that generally got him into trouble. And his partner was in no shape to get him out of it.

On the other hand, it would get Illya out of the bar. Once outside, Napoleon could shoot him with a sleep dart and drag him back to HQ, where Barnard had better know how to fix this. Or else he'd be using real bullets on the so-called doctor.

His hand caressed Illya's lightly. "I, ah, I think that's a fine idea. But I'm not so sure your friends would agree."

Illya smirked as he leaned forward. "They'll survive. Besides, it can only benefit them for Thrush to...get into bed with U.N.C.L.E. in this case, don't you think?"

He did think. Very much. And that was the problem. Still, if it got Illya out of the bar... "All right. Right out the front door?"

"Mmm...perhaps the bathroom?"

"Ben..."

"All right, all right. The back door it is." He gulped the last of his drink and rose. "Let's go."

Napoleon blinked. "Now? Together?"

"We could go separately," Illya said, leaning over, his voice low as his lips moved against Napoleon's ear, "but leaving together would make what I'm planning much easier." His hand caressed Napoleon's shoulder as he straightened again, waiting.

Tossing back his own drink, Napoleon got to his feet, following Illya through the back of the bar and out the rear exit. He barely made it out the door before Illya's muscular arms pulled him against the wall. His jacket dulled the scrape of the brick against his back, even as strong hands raised his t-shirt and caressed the heated skin beneath.

As Illya licked his way along Napoleon's neck, Napoleon managed to force his eyes open to take in their surroundings. Another couple was engaged in a similar activity not far from where he and Illya were. They weren't likely to notice if he hit-

"Oh, God!" Pain and pleasure overwhelmed him as Illya bit one sensitive nipple. Napoleon's hands, which had been roaming Illya's backside, gripped the blond head, holding it in place. They loosened their hold as Illya took the other nipple in his mouth, Napoleon's fingers massaging the blond's scalp. As Illya's lips moved slowly lower, Napoleon managed another look around, and groaned more in response to what he saw than the effect of that talented mouth.

The two Thrush goons who had been sitting near them in the bar had stepped outside as well. They were leaning against the wall, watching with undisguised amusement. While he didn't give a damn what others thought of his sex life - particularly Thrush - providing them with ammo wasn't his smartest move. However, he rather suspected their amusement, and their inactivity, would end if he hit Illya over the head, and he didn't think Illya would go with him as long as he was conscious. Not while he was still brainwashed.

Napoleon considered his options. He wouldn't make it a full city block to the car with an unconscious Illya - assuming he managed to fight off the two Thrushies. He thought of the test that had been bad enough to make Illya shudder. Napoleon knew Thrush failures that didn't end up immediately dead could easily end up as 'test subjects.' There was only one choice.

With any luck, Illya would understand.

Napoleon swallowed as he felt his zipper slide almost painfully across his erection, exposing his cock to the balmy night air. Hot, soft lips closed over the tip, just the perfect amount of suction and tongue. He tried unsuccessfully to grip the wall behind him before settling his hands tightly in Illya's shoulders.

Too much technique, too perfect. Either Illya had been programmed more deeply than Napoleon had been told, or this was not the first time he'd done this. Hot, wet suction, moving deeper now, taking more of Napoleon in, sucking him into some place where Heaven and Hell actually managed to exist together. Soon - too soon - he lost all ability to think and just held on for the ride. He opened his eyes some time later to see Illya grinning up at him with a familiar satisfied smirk.

"You taste good, Tony," he whispered as he stood, his body grazing Napoleon's, his lips seeking out their match.

Returning the kiss, Napoleon whipped them both around, pinning Illya to the wall. He reached down to at least partially reciprocate. He freed Illya from the confines of his pants, working his partner hard and fast with one hand. Not what he wanted - to have a fantasy come to life - and to have to hurry through the only manifestation of it was a form of torture Thrush likely hadn't counted on. Of course, if they couldn't bring Illya back, then Ben would remain...

He squelched that traitorous thought, working to bring Illya off as quickly as possible. In the post-sex languor, Illya would be much more pliable. Perhaps Napoleon could convince him to come along of his own free will. He could ditch the goons once he was in the car.

Glancing over at the door, Napoleon sighed in relief. The goons were gone. Likely they now had pictures of their U.N.C.L.E. agent in compromising positions. Two U.N.C.L.E. agents, though they didn't know that yet. But someone would recognize the pictures. Only by infiltrating a new Thrush installation had they managed to avoid anyone who knew Illya as an Enforcement agent.

Turning his full attention back to the matter at hand, Napoleon picked up the pace, feeling that Illya was close. Moments later, Illya stiffened, then sagged against the wall as the evidence of his release coated Napoleon's palm. Napoleon held the smaller man up, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his pants and zipping them both up. He could feel Illya begin to take control of himself again, knew he could stand under his own power, but kept his hold on him all the same.

But Illya pulled away, placing a soft kiss on Napoleon's lips. "I should go."

"So should I," Napoleon said, pulling his gun out of his holster. At Illya's raised brow, Napoleon shrugged. "There's a bar full of Thrush in there. I'm in a dark alley. What did you expect?"

"Understandable."

Napoleon kissed him again. "Come home with me?"

The briefest of hesitations was followed with a decisive shake of Illya's head. "I can't."

"Please?"

"Tony...you know I can't."

"I was afraid of that. I'm sorry."

Illya touched his face. "So am I." He opened his mouth to say more, but the soft whoosh of an U.N.C.L.E. Special silenced him. He crumpled into Napoleon's arms.

With a look of grim determination, Napoleon settled Illya's arm around his shoulder, giving him the appearance of a drunk who'd had a bit too much, and set off for the car.

*****

Twelve hours, too much explaining, and not nearly enough sleep later, Napoleon paced the length of his office. He hadn't left HQ, preferring to sleep in the rooms provided for agents there, with strict orders to be awakened the moment he could see Illya. Now, however, he was wide awake, but still waiting to see his partner.

Barnard had been less than convincing in his assurances that he could turn the memory suppression around. As if I would've believed him anyway. Rather than shove the man's degree down his throat, Napoleon had left him to treat Illya. He was holding onto the degree idea, though, in case...

The sound of his communicator stopped him in his tracks. "Solo here."

"Mr. Solo, this is Gina, Dr. Barnard's assistant. Mr. Kuryakin is requesting to see you."

"I'll be right there."

He forced himself not to run through the hallways, settling for a brisk walk. Still, he reached the room where he'd left an unconscious Illya faster than he'd thought possible. So fast that he'd been unable to figure out what to say.

Illya was lying in the bed, his eyes closed, his clothes replaced with the usual hospital gown. At the sound of the door, however, the blue eyes opened, focusing on Napoleon. At the welcoming smile that followed, Napoleon managed to let the door close behind him.

"So," he said, moving to the side of the bed, "how are you feeling?"

"Like my head was run over by a truck."

"Is that from the sleep dart or the brainwashing?"

Illya laughed softly. "I'm not sure."

"Illya...I'm sorry about the sleep dart."

Heavy-lidded eyes looked up at him. "Considering the problem with the pass phrase, it was the only way to save me. Thank you for that."

"So, you, ah...you remember everything?"

"Before, during and after."

Those blue eyes slid away to stare at the wall. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until at last they each said the other's name at the same time.

Illya waved a hand in Napoleon's direction. "Please, go ahead."

"I'm sorry," Napoleon managed.

"You mentioned that."

He smiled. "No, about...well, when you didn't respond to the pass phrase, I didn't know how else to get you out of the bar. So when you suggested going out to...it was a way out. And then I let it go too far."

"As I recall, I didn't give you much choice."

"But you didn't know."

One eyebrow shot up. "Didn't I? I think, perhaps, in some things, Ben and I had similar tastes and interests." The smile that followed faded quickly. "I am sorry, too."

"For what?"

"For not responding to the phrase. For making you play out the game, for making you wait for the right moment to get me out."

He reached out to touch Illya's shoulder, tracing a line down his arm. "I'm certain you were worth waiting for."

The smile returned. "But I'm certain you are worth arriving early for," the blond replied. "And staying late."

Napoleon's hand linked briefly with Illya's. "As long as I'm needed."

The tight squeeze on his hand was all the answer he could want.