By Jatona

Napoleon Solo sat in the old-fashioned window seat, his long legs drawn up to his chest, totally oblivious to the exquisite young woman seated next to him. His dark eyes were fixed on a certain couple - - a blond male and brunette female - - who whirled around the dance floor to a Strauss Waltz.

He shuddered as an intense wave of jealousy swept through him replacing the depression that had threatened to overwhelm him. To add insult to injury, he knew the 'who' causing each emotion.. <<What right has April Dancer got to hold my partner in her arms!?>>, he fumed, silently. <<His place is in....!>>

He shook his dark head, desperate to rid himself of such dangerous thoughts. "What's the matter with me?", he whispered to the surrounding emptiness.

The young woman smiled but there was no warmth or joy in the expression. "You and your manly pride is what's the matter, Napoleon!", she hissed, out loud, yet knowing that, for the moment, he could neither see nor hear her. "I guess, as usual, it's up to me."

The Waltz was just ending; therefore, with a sigh of resignation, she rose. smoothed her elegant gown, and approached the now solitary blond..

NSIKNSIKNSIKSNIK

"Excuse me. Are you Illya Kuryakin."

The Russian agent, at the mention of his name, turned to face the newcomer and took a moment to study her. Tall, statuesque, about 20, and definitely of Nordic descent; eyes of sapphire blue, filled with both mischief and intelligence, meet his; the nose was well-defined and petite; the full lips full and sensual. For once he was grateful his partner was missing. "At your service", he replied, with a slight bow and charming smile. "And you are?", he prompted.

She shook her full mane of naturally blond curls. "My name is not important, but Napoleon Solo is", was her response.

At the mention of his partner's name by this stranger who refused to identify herself, Illya went into agent mode. "What is Napoleon Solo to you?", he demanded.

"A very close friend whom I'm worried about."

Illya frowned. "Worried?"

The woman titled her head towards a supposedly deserted corner of the large ballroom.

Illya followed her gaze, his frown deepened by what he saw. The woman was right. Something was definitely wrong. Of all the special days of the year, there were three Napoleon loved: New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day and Christmas. Never one to miss opportunities, the first two were especially treasured by the incurably romantic agent as they provided him with the perfect, and legal, right to kiss everyone special to him. "When did you notice this?", he asked.

The woman checked her watch. "It's ten now. I would say about two hours."

Illya nodded. "About an hour after we arrived", he murmured to himself.

"Yes", the young woman confirmed.

The anxiety in her voice wasn't lost on the blond and convinced him she was no casual acquaintance. "Don't worry. I'll talk to him", he assured her.

For the first time since their meeting she smiled at him. "Good luck. He can be stubborn", she warned.

Despite himself, Illya returned her smile. "So can I", he retorted. "Now, if you will excuse me."

Not waiting for a reply he turned and headed toward his partner.

The young sighed as she watched him go. "I'm counting on it", she whispered, then turned and headed for the elevators.

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"Napoleon!?"

Napoleon Solo started and banged his head on the window. "Ow!", he complained, then looked up at the Russian as if seeing him for the first time. "Were you talking to me, Illya?", he asked, obvious confusion in his voice.

"Only for the last ten minutes", the younger man replied. Silence. "You seem distracted", he continued. "Is anything wrong?"

Napoleon shook his head, slowly. "Sorry", he whispered. "Lots on my mind."

Illya took a moment to study his friend and was appalled by the sadness he saw in the dark brown eyes. He was about to voice his concern when Solo suddenly abandoned his solitary refuge and headed towards the elevators. He followed, staying close. "Are we leaving?", he asked.

"I am going home", he announced, not breaking stride. "Why don't you stay and enjoy yourself", he suggested as an afterthought.

Illya shook his head. "I prefer not to. You know how I am when left alone at these functions", he teased, hoping his partner would take the bait. When that didn't work, he tried again. "Would you mind some company?"

Napoleon shrugged. "It's a free country", was all he said, as they entered the elevator.

Illya reached out and punched the button marked P1.

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Napoleon stood on the balcony of his penthouse, his back to the bejewelled skyline of the city, and once again fixed his gaze on the blond leaning against the fireplace. The white tuxedo, trimmed in red, molded itself to the trim body; the red silk dress shirt was open to the tapered waist, exposing the nearly hairless chest; to add to this, the flames of the newly lit fire, illuminated the vision.

Ever attuned to his partner's moods, Illya approached the balcony, stopping just short of the steps. "What is it?", he asked, concerned.

Unable to trust himself to speak, Napoleon held out his hand. To his great delight the Russian obeyed the summons, moving up the three short steps with feline grace. They were more inches apart.

"Talk to me, please", Illya pleaded.

**Yes, Caro', tell him**

Napoleon started and began to tremble. "What is going on here!?", he demanded. He had distinctly heard a female voice; yet, there he and Illya were the only two in the room.

Illya had felt it, too - - the sudden coldness that seeped into the room, despite the roaring fire. "Perhaps we should close the sliding doors", he suggested, then moved to do just that.

**Now, Caro'!**

Sensing the urgency in the voice, Napoleon reached out and caught the Russian, gently, by the wrist. "Illya?" He murmured the name like a prayer.

Illya, now illuminated by the full moon, turned. "Yes?", he whispered.

Reaching out, Napoleon stroked the smooth cheek and jawline. Outwardly he tried to control the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. //Jesus! The only time I've felt.....// He did not finish the sentence. Inwardly, he was pleased when the Russian leaned into his touch; long, fine lashes closed over pale blue eyes; full lips, ripe for kissing, parted slightly. The future of their partnership depended on Illya's reaction to what he did next.

**Go for it, Caro'! It is time, Napoleon** the voice encouraged.

Made bold by the voice, Napoleon closed the mere inches separating them by leaning forward and placing a brief, shy kiss on those tempting lips, and withdrew.

For his part, Illya, conveniently, forgot to breathe. The feathery touch of those lips, so long fantasized about, sent shock waves through to his soul. "Hmmm", he purred.

Encouraged, Napoleon leaned in again. He teased the lips apart with a questing tongue.

Never a man to be left out of the action for long, Illya parted his lips and sucked in the now demanding invader. Once captured he sucked greedily on it.

Napoleon gasped as both surprise and desire swept through every fiber of his body. He had not expected this response.

**So - - who's complaining??** The voice teased.

His heart overflowing with happiness, he deepened the kiss.

UNCLEUNCLEUNCLEUNCLEUNCLE

For what seemed Ages later, they reluctantly ended their first kiss as need for air became necessary.

Breathing hard, their bodies touching - - they had not yet embraced - - the UNCLE agents took stock of what had just occurred. The first revelation they noticed was that neither of them was that no words were necessary; the second revelations was lack of regret and the happiness that threatened to crush them. The third was that this was no one night stand.

Illya finally broke the companionable silence. "Napoleon?"

"Hmmmm?", Napoleon replied, purring.

"Did you hear a voice a few minutes ago?"

Napoleon stiffened but did not release his hold on Illya. . "Ah...yes", he answered, slowly. "I thought I was losing it!"

Illya shook his head. "No. I heard it, as well. What did the voice say to you?"

"My feelings for you were intense and I wanted so much to kiss you. The voice told me to go for it."

Illya nodded. "It whispered: 'Thank you, Illya' to me."

Napoleon was stunned. "The voice was feminine." A statement not a question.

"Definitely."

Napoleon was silent as he pondered the implications. He had never believed in ghosts, or spirits, until after Shelagh had died. <<So, she was here!>> He'd heard her voice several times over the past seven years; sometimes he felt her presence. Tonight it was very strong. It had been with him day. The only reason he'd gone to the party was for Illya's sake. He smiled to himself. Five years ago, when they were partnered, he'd taken on a self-appointed mission - to make certain his stoic Russian partner had fun! **"I miss you, Caro' Mio. Show yourself!**, he pleaded, silently.

**Not yet", came the reply. "Tell Illya.**

Napoleon nodded, then sighed, heavily. "Yes", he whispered, responding to the voice; he then addressed the Russian. "The...there's so much I need, want to say, to tell you...." He paused, fighting to marshal his turbulent thoughts.

The despair was back again and it tore at Illya's heart. His friend was hurting deep inside.

He hugged the rigid body reassuringly. "Tell me."

The touch seemed to calm Napoleon; give him strength. "You know I was married once", he began.

Illya nodded. "Yes. You told me she died."

Napoleon nodded. "Seven years ago, this night." He sighed. "We had three wonderful years...." He paused. "You know", he continued, "You remind me a lot of her. Same fire, same spirit, intelligence.... Same beauty....." He fell silent, unable to continue.

Knowing the American's high personal standards, Illya was deeply touched by the compliment being paid him. "I am honored, Napoleon", he whispered. Several minutes passed in silence; then. "Napoleon, how did she die?"

Napoleon swallowed, hard. "The car she and three of her friends were riding in was blown up. There was barely enough left to bury. In fact, we had to identify them by their dental records."

Illya was silent for several moments as he digested this information. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. Did you find out why she was targeted?"

Solo understood the question, also his partner's mind. //Once an UNCLE agent.....// "Yes.

The other three passengers were not only Black but her best friends. She made no secret of it."

"Racial."

"Definitely. However, we never found out who was responsible."

"And you never will."

"No. Anyway, the first year was the hardest. Despite my family, what friends I had, I felt so alone. I would see her face everywhere, hear her voice, even think she was standing beside me." He paused. "Stupid, huh?"

Illya scoffed. "There is nothing stupid about it, Napoleon. You lost someone you loved in a horrible way. Your reactions are natural."

"Yeah. I know." Now Napoleon turned to face his partner. "Then, it was natural. The problem is, I still feel her - - especially tonight."

Illya considered this; then, "When has it been this strong before?"

Napoleon considered this for several moments. "Funny you should ask that. The last time it was that strong was when we were partnered!"

**Bravo, querido!** the voice enthused. **You're getting there!**

Illya nodded. "Of course. It all makes sense."

"Well, will you please explain it to me!", Napoleon snapped.

But Illya ignored his partner's tirade; in fact, he ignored the American. His eyes were focused on the figure on the balcony. "Of course!", he whispered, once more. It was the same woman he had spoken to at the party.

"Illya.....?"

Illya put a finger to Solo's lips, signaling for silence. "Don't make any sudden moves, Napoleon", he warned. "Just turn very slowly towards the balcony", he added.

The hairs on the back of Napoleon's head stood on end. "Why?", he whispered.

"We have a visitor and I don't think you want to frighten her."

//Her!!??// Swallowing hard, Napoleon turned. His jaw dropped as he recognized the visitor. "Shelagh!?"

Sheilah Helena Solo nodded at the two men from the balcony. Those same beautiful features Illya had seen at the party were set in mock exasperation. "Men! You can live with them but not without them!", she teased.

Napoleon continued to stare; Illya remained silent.

Sheilah indicated the livingroom. "May I come in?"

Both men recovered at the same time but it was Napoleon who answered. "But, you.....

you're......", he stammered.

"Dead", she finished. "It's not a bad word, Caro'."

Napoleon bowed his head. "It is when you're the one left behind", he replied.

Sheilah's features softened. "I'm sorry, querido; none of us had much choice; however, you will be getting a full report shortly. " She saw that he was about to reply and, knowing him as she did, decided to get back to the matter at hand. "I have very little time left. Napoleon,

stop mourning me and get on with your life?"

Illya nodded in agreement. "Indeed, 'Polya. You will never be alone again. That here", he stabbed is own chest lightly, "was someone who shared...." He paused at that, reconsidered, then continued. "No. Someone who loved you. Am I correct?"

Napoleon smiled - - a true smile of contentment and happiness. "You're correct, Illyusha. I've known for some time that I loved you; yet, I remained silent, thinking that breaking that silence would break up our partnership. You mean too much to me...."

Illya reached up with a finger and began to tease the double chin. "...as you mean to me, 'Polya. That is why I, too, remained silent. She was trying to let us know now is the time."

"Then will St. Valentine claim is most humble human offering."

Illya smiled. "St. Valentine will claim his Apollo with all his heart and soul", he replied. To enforce his words, he took Solo's lips in a fierce kiss.

Once more the need for air forced them apart. "Bed?", Illya asked.

Napoleon nodded and allowed the Russian to head him towards the Master bedroom.

Neither man noticed as the apartment door seemed to open of its own will; nor the female figure that exited it, blowing their retreating backs, a kiss.

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