THE SHADOWS AFFAIR

 

"NO!!" Napoleon Solo shouted at the top of his lungs, coming instantly and fully awake.

After taking several deep breaths, he turned on his bedside lamp, unnerved to find his Walther P-38 locked firmly in his grip.  A glance at his alarm clock told him it wasn't long past midnight.

"...it was a dream..." he said, tossing off his covers.  "...just a dream..."

And yet the memory was so vivid, so real...

On his way to relieve his bladder, he spared a thought for his neighbors, thankful his walls were soundproof.

As he splashed water on his face, he looked into his eyes in the mirror above his sink.  They were wild, haunted.  A reflection of his soul.

With a yawn, he staggered back to his bedroom, patting himself dry with a hand towel.  Although the bed was inviting, his heart was still racing at breakneck speed.  It always beat faster when his partner was in danger.

Whatever his nightmare had been about, it had already started to blur around the edges---except for the part where Illya Kuryakin died.  That was still crystal clear...tangible.

He laughed at himself, heading into his living room to pour himself a scotch.  He was the Chief Enforcement Agent of a multi-national organization bent on ridding the world of evil.  Yet here he stood, needing a glass of courage to steady his nerves.

It wasn't working.

'When,' he wondered, 'had the little pest come to mean more to me than life itself?'

There were others in Napoleon's life whom he...whom he loved, such as his parents and immediate family.  In high school there were crushes that made his pubescent heart soar to unimaginable heights.  And then there was his marriage to Elizabeth Callum.  While he genuinely cared for her, the truth was they married because it was expected of them, rather than because of any underlying passion.  Even so, when she was taken away from him in a car accident, he was heartsick at losing her.

Napoleon gave another laugh.

Since he was listing the people who meant the most to him, he was obliged to include Alexander Waverly.  Napoleon loved his father, but he never liked him.  They could never...connect.  Not the way Solo connected with his acerbic boss.

All of which brought him back to Illya.

"Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin," he said aloud, letting the words roll off his tongue.  "My friend, my partner...my one desire."

He downed the last of his scotch in one take.

There.  The tremors had stopped.  The bad men who lurked in the shadows had scurried back into their holes.  And Illya was safe.

"...it was a dream...just a dream..."

 

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            "What are you doing!?" Illya Kuryakin snarled as four burly firefighters kept him from trying to run into a burning warehouse.

"Let me go! My partner is in there!" the feisty blond managed to drag the men three feet closer when his strength finally gave out on him.

As he watched in abject horror as the roof of the structure caved in, he knew in his heart Napoleon Solo was dead.  There was no way he could have escaped the deathtrap THRUSH had sprung on him.

What the firemen couldn't know was that Illya wasn't trying to make a foolhardy attempt to rescue his partner.  He was, in fact, trying to join him; to perish alongside the CEA.  The alternative was to live without Napoleon and he didn't think---no, he knew he couldn't do it.

 

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            Illya struggled up through several layers of sleep to find himself in bed, dripping with perspiration.

"...it was a dream..." he said, tossing off his covers.  "...just a dream..."

With half-closed eyes he stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, wanting to wash away the sweat along with the melancholy the nightmare had brought with it.

'How,' he wondered, 'could I have been so stupid to have let this happen?  How could I have fallen in love with my partner?'

Standing under the spray of water, working shampoo into his golden locks, he acknowledged he had always been attracted to men.  While he did not apologize for his nature, he knew there were those who would crucify him and other likeminded men and women. Therefore, growing up it was safer to concentrate on his studies; safer to excel in his work; safer to be alone.

He shook his head with a bemused smile at all the women who mistook his disinterest in them for shyness.  Which, of course, only served to make them all the more predatory.  Well, no, thank you.  He would leave all that... mating nonsense to others!

To Napoleon...

His shower finished, Illya dried himself off and put on a fresh pair of pajamas.  A glance at his bedside alarm clock told him it wasn't long past midnight.

Since the thought of changing his damp sheets was more than he could handle at the moment, he grabbed a spare pillow and a quilt off the foot of his bed and made his way to the living room to sleep on the couch.

Closing his eyes, he could still visualize the burning warehouse.  He could hear the chaos of the firemen and the police shouting out orders; could hear the clamor from the onlookers.

And Illya could still feel the pull of wanting to walk into the inferno to be with Napoleon.  It was the same pull he felt a hundred times each day...

"...it was a dream..." he snuggled under the quilt.  "...just a dream..."

 

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Napoleon Solo frowned.  It was 1:00 in the morning; who would be knocking at his door this late at night?  If it was work related, Mr. Waverly would have contacted him on his communicator.  If it was Illya, he would have telephoned or just let himself in.

            It wasn't lost on Napoleon that they were the only two people who came to mind.  Not a parent or family member.  Not any of his women...

            With gun in hand, he approached the door with extreme caution.

            "Who's there?" he challenged.

            "Me," came the reply.

            His frown deepening, Napoleon deactivated his security alarm and unbolted his door.  Standing in the hallway outside his penthouse was a bedraggled Russian wearing a blue robe over his pajamas.

            "Aren't you a little early for Halloween?" Solo teased as Illya Kuryakin shuffled past him and, without a word, walked straight into the bedroom.

            Confused, and amused, Napoleon secured the front door and reset the alarm before trailing after his friend.  He couldn't have been more surprised to find Illya lying in his king-sized bed, the blankets up around his shoulders.

            Solo mentally scratched his head.

            "Um...It's not that you aren't welcome, Illya, but...what are you doing here?"

            "I could not sleep," he said succinctly as if it explained everything.

            "I see..." Solo said, though he clearly did not. 

'Heck, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth!' he mused while turning off the bedside lamp.  Removing his own robe, he slipped under the covers alongside his partner.

            After five minutes had passed, Napoleon could no longer contain himself.

            "Ow!" Illya yelped.  "Why did you pinch me?"

            "Sorry.  I wanted to prove you were real."

            "Yes, I am real---and tender!"

            "Sorry, sorry!  I thought I might still be dreaming."

            Several more minutes passed in silence when, speaking in a small voice, Illya said, "...I saw you die..."

            "Pardon me...?"

            "...I dreamt…there was a fire...you were trapped...I saw..."  Illya paused, stemming his emotions.  "...I could not go back to sleep..."

            Napoleon rolled toward his friend.  By now his eyes were accustomed to the dark and he was able to see the worry on Illya's face.

            "THRUSH had us cornered," he said evenly.  "In my dream you were...they shot you and I...I saw you die..."

            Illya's brow furrowed.

            "...do you think this is a bad omen...?"

            Napoleon smiled.  "I think it means we must care a great deal about each other if we're in each other's unconscious thoughts!  At least...I know I care for you..." he reached out a hand and lightly, ever-so-lightly caressed the blond's cheek.

            Illya grabbed the hand reflexively and stilled it.

            Napoleon held his breath.  He knew whatever happened next would change the course of his life.  Would Illya brush him off with a flippant remark?  Would he fracture his every bone?

            "...you may be right..." the Russian said at length.  "...we must care a lot for each other..."

            Napoleon exhaled.  "You know, when I was a boy, if I had a nightmare my mother would hold me in her arms until all the fear and doubts were gone.  Only then was I able to fall back asleep."

            "...I suppose it would not hurt to test her method..." Illya said, his expression playful.

            Even in the dark Napoleon's smile was blinding as he readily drew the blond into his arms.

            'This,' he thought, 'must be what heaven is like!'

            After five minutes had passed, Illya could no longer contain himself.

            "Hey!" Napoleon yelped.  "Why'd you pinch me?"

            "Sorry," he heard the laughter in the younger man's voice.  "I thought I might still be dreaming."

            "Wisenheimer!" Napoleon said with a snort.  "Does this feel like you're dreaming...?" he pressed his mouth to Illya's.

            Let it never be said Napoleon Andrew Solo was a coward!

            When their lips parted, Solo was immensely relieved to see Illya's eyes were glazed over.  "...well...?"

            "Oh, yes," Illya purred.  "It feels very much like a dream to me.  I may need you to prove me wrong again!"

            "It's not a dream..." Napoleon said, kissing his one desire.  "It's not a dream at all..."

 

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