Safely Tucked Away

by Rita

Email: mommacita1@juno.com (Rita G Mac Auslan)

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I just like to play with them. And I 
always bring them back safe and sound - well almost always.

***

Summary: A-Team/Man From UNCLE cross-over. Illya is apparently 
permanently disabled. Face has been rendered catatonic, also apparently 
permanently. Both have been safely tucked away...

***

"You have a visitor, sir," the aide announced quietly. The frail man in 
the window seat looked up and said, "There must be some mistake; I get 
no visitors."

"Well, I'll double-check, but ..." the aide trailed off in confusion.

The man smiled his thanks, then spoke again to reassure her. "Don't 
trouble yourself about it. It's happened before and undoubtedly will 
again."

The aide's heart beat faster. This patient smiled rarely, but when he 
did, heads turned. She nodded and pulled the door closed behind her.

The man turned to look out the window. A bright, Spring day greeted 
him. Visitors' Day. Now that he looked, he could see children running 
through the manicured grass to picnic sites, their elders following, 
pushing wheelchairs or lending support to others using canes, walkers, 
or crutches.

He glanced over at his roommate, lying in a bed enclosed on three sides 
by what might otherwise have been an open double-width closet. If he 
was all too aware of his lack of visitors, the man in the bed was all 
too unaware of those who visited him. Shaking his head at the irony, 
the man in the window seat shifted again and resumed his reading.

A few minutes later, the door opened again. "You *do* have a visitor," 
the aide said.

"It cannot be," the other began in firm, if soft, tones. He did not 
need to be reminded of how alone he was twice in one day.

"Ah, but it can, tovarisch," boomed a voice that had sounded only in 
memory for too long.

"Napoleon!" The man in the window seat turned too quickly and bit back 
a cry of pain. Ignoring it, he continued, "How?"

Napoleon Solo grinned with immense satisfaction at having surprised his 
unflappable partner. "Well, I did have a little help."

"Yes, of course," Illya Kuryakin, for it was he in the window seat, 
said, realizing how this must have come about. "Come, sit and tell me 
about it," he invited. "But do lower your voice." He nodded towards the 
recessed bed. "He had a bad night and sleeps lightly." As Napoleon 
nodded his understanding and arranged the pillows on the window seat to 
make room for himself, Illya allowed his mind to drift back to the 
conversation which undoubtedly had been the beginning of the story.

***

Illya's roommate had three regular visitors. In this very exclusive 
private facility, names were rarely exchanged and questions never 
posed, so he had to guess at the relationships.
The eldest visitor he presumed was the father of his roommate. He came 
to visit regularly and spent his time sitting on the edge of the bed, 
holding his son's limp hand or stroking his head. He was polite to 
Illya, but paid him little attention.

The second regular visitor puzzled Illya. He called the bedridden man 
"little brother", but he was a muscle-bound black man who wore a Czar's 
treasury in gold jewelry. He could hardly be related to the blond man 
whose blue eyes stared unseeing at him.

But Illya suspected it was the third visitor who had set in motion the 
events that brought Napoleon Solo to his lonely room. This visitor came 
only sporadically and was in constant motion while speaking non-stop. 
Illya judged him to be a best friend or perhaps lover. In this place 
where privacy was so well-guarded, the visitor 's movements frequently 
invaded Illya's personal space. He picked up items from the desk, 
examined them, commented on them.

One afternoon, Illya returned from physical therapy to find the man 
holding the framed photo that sat beside his bed.. Hearing the door, 
the man spun and strode over to confront Illya. "What are you doing 
with this of Stockwell? Who's he to you?" he demanded.

With great effort, Illya stretched out his arm and took the photo out 
of the stranger's hand. He wheeled past him to carefully replace it on 
his nightstand before turning his chair to speak. "The gentleman in the 
picture is not named Stockwell. However, to answer your question, he 
was my...business partner."

***

Said "business partner" was now staring at Illya with patient 
amusement.

"Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts," Illya apologized. "I haven't been 
called upon to socialize in over five years."

"It was never one of your stronger suits anyway," his friend commented.

"True," Illya acknowledged. "So, Napasha, how did he find you?"

"Ahh, now that in itself begs the question," Napoleon responded, a 
twinkle in his eye as he gently teased his old friend. "Which 'he' 
found me would be a better question."

Illya grimaced in disapproval, then sighed and gave in. "Very well, 
Napoleon: who found you - and how did he do it?"

Napoleon laughed and leaned forward to gently kiss Illya. "You're so 
cute when you pout, my love, how can I deny you the full story?"

"You can't," Illya stated flatly. "Nor can you put me off this way 
here. You'll have to get me out on an overnight pass to do that, and 
you have neither the time to learn how to care for me nor the place to 
bring me." He reached for Napoleon's hand and brought the palm to his 
mouth for a kiss to soften his words.

A cloud crossed Napoleon's face. "Sir John had no right to keep your 
whereabouts from me. Mr. Waverly would never have done this." He paused 
and his expression became even grimmer as another thought struck him. 
"Or was it your wish?"

Startled into forgetting his physical limitations, Illya somehow leaped 
the distance between them and landed in his lover's lap. "Never!" he 
declared. "I looked for you each Visitor's Day for a long time. Then I 
decided you couldn't bear to see me like this. I understood. It 
happened before." He shrugged against Napoleon's chest.

"That wasn't it - I swear!" Napoleon wrapped Illya tightly in his arms. 
"Sir John said you were alive, but not in a condition to see me. I 
believed him. He said he'd tell me if...but he never did." His voice 
dropped. "I didn't ask again. Maybe part of me didn't want to know."

Illya pushed back. "It doesn't matter. You are here. So tell me the 
story."

"All right." Napoleon pulled Illya back to him, stroking his hair as he 
spoke.

"You noticed my resemblance to Hunt Stockwell?"

"Actually, one of my roommate's visitors, ahh, remarked on it." Illya 
replied, leaning into Napoleon's shoulder.

"Fella about our age, twitchy?"

"That would be an accurate description."

"Well, he works, or worked, I'm not sure which, probably he isn't 
either knowing Hunt, he works for Hunt."

"You're speaking in riddles, Napasha."

"It gets that way with Hunt, Illya. General Hunt Stockwell is my big 
brother. I'm told we look almost like twins."

"That would explain the outburst when whoever-he-is saw your picture."

"Yes. Apparently that particular operative isn't too stable at the best 
of times, at least according to Hunt. Anyway, we went into similar 
fields, but Hunt was always willing to engage more in the, ahh, grey 
side of the business than I was."

"A mercenary?"

"Really, Illya, you wound me!" Napoleon turned his head to kiss his 
lover's forehead. "But, yes, a mercenary in the employ of the US 
government. Always with a legitimate military front. He's a retired 
General now. Just don't look to closely into what branch of the 
Services he comes from. He's jumped about quite a bit you might say."

"Hmm, that would imply that my roommate and I shared related careers. 
As does his friend."

"To a certain extent, I would guess so." When Illya pulled back again 
to frown at Napoleon, the latter was quick to reassure him. "It isn't 
that I don't trust you with the knowledge, I just don't know. When Hunt 
doesn't want to tell something, he just doesn't. You can't make him. I 
tried to find out what happened to his long-time partner once - nearly 
had my jaw broken for my interest!"

"So you're similar in more than just looks and profession?"

Napoleon chuckled. "Well, his little blonde, sorry Illya," he 
interrupted himself at Illya's sniff, "his partner wasn't Russian, but 
the resemblance between the two of you is definitely there. Anyway," he 
continued, "apparently your friend's friend demanded answers from Hunt 
and Hunt decided to humor him. When he heard what you looked like, he 
put two and two together and, well, here I am. Despite Sir John."

Illya nodded against his shoulder, but remained silent.

"Tovarisch?" Napoleon asked and was answered with a soft sigh. He 
lifted his old friend's chin to see his face. Sad eyes filled with 
tears greeted him. "What is it, Illya?" he asked softly.

Illya sat up straighter against Napoleon's supporting arms. "I am so 
glad to see you. I thought I never would again. But ..." he trailed off 
and a single tear escaped his eye.

Napoleon brushed the tear away. "But?" he coaxed.

Illya sighed again. "It is very selfish of me, old friend, but in many 
ways seeing you now is worse than thinking I would never see you 
again."

"How?"

"Now I have to start over being satisfied with my memories. And content 
to be alive and safe."

"What? Why are you saying that? Do you think this is a one-time thing, 
that I'll go away and never come back?"

"Not purposely," Illya hastily assured him. "But I am a detriment to 
you. Someone who can be used against you. Probably that's why Sir John 
never let you know where I was. Napoleon," Illya explained gently, "you 
*can't* come here regularly, maybe not at all. It would endanger both 
of us."

"Illya, things have changed. I'm retired now, well, semi-retired. I 
consult with various organizations, including U.N.C.L.E., but also 
including my brother's and with independents from time to time. For the 
most part, it's desk work, I'm rarely in the thick of things; that's 
for younger men. So I do have the time to learn how to take care of you 
- and I will take the time - and I also havee a place to bring you - and 
the means to get caretakers if you need special
attention."

Illya looked long into Napoleon's face, reading the love and sincerity 
there, but not daring to allow himself to hope they could actually be 
together. He turned in his lover's arms and glanced out the window. 
Families were slowly walking towards the parking lot, some turning to 
wave farewell to other residents as they went. "It's time for you to 
go; someone will be coming to tell you so very soon."

Napoleon nodded and they both smiled as the door opened quietly. 
Putting Illya down carefully, Napoleon rose and fastidiously 
straightened his clothes, making Illya chuckle softly. Then
Napoleon leaned down for a quick kiss. "I'll be back next Visitor's 
Day," he said in parting, "and I'll sign up for whatever training..."

Illya stopped his words with a finger to his lips. "Napoleon," he 
whispered, pleading. "Don't make promises you may not be able to keep. 
I will accept your word that you'll visit again. That's enough." He 
smiled reassuringly. "More than enough, my Napasha."

Napoleon nodded. "All right. But I will, you know." He turned and 
followed the aide out of the room.

***

Illya lay in bed staring at his lover's photo while he quietly stroked 
himself. He had not cared about his sexual capabilities until the 
previous month, but weekly visits by Napoleon, with ever-increasing 
intimacy, had made him curious. He could have asked his medical team, 
of course, but the very thought made him blush. He wondered whether 
Napoleon had inquired and decided that if he hadn't, he would soon, 
when the nursing instructor certified him ready to take Illya on 
outings away from the facility. Napoleon did not have his inhibitions. 
However, Illya decided that practical experimentation would resolve the 
issue just as well as medical
opinion.

Judging by the large, throbbing organ he now held, Illya concluded he 
was sexually functional. Now the question was how to finish without 
becoming the central topic of the nursing staff's gossip. He was past 
the point where imagining nasty scenes or thinking of cold objects or 
weather would help. Nothing for it but to use the available disposable 
pads and dispose of them
himself before the night shift made their next rounds. "I love you, 
Napoleon," he whispered to the photo, before closing his eyes and 
giving himself to the physical sensations his groin demanded. He arched 
and moaned softly into his pillow as he climaxed, then lay still, 
gathering his strength before collecting the used pad and manipulating 
himself into the bathroom to dispose of the evidence.

It wasn't until he was back in bed, on the edge of sleep, that he 
realized his lack of pain despite his unusual involuntary movements. 
Too tired to ponder them now, Illya set the thoughts
aside and drifted into pleasant Napoleon-filled dreams.

Across the room, another blonde's dreams were also sexual, but not at 
all pleasant. His silent struggles emerged from his mind to be fought 
physically, triggering the motion sensors set in his alcove.

Two orderlies rushed in, almost silent, and tried to both restrain and 
soothe the frantic man. As usual, their ministrations were to no avail. 
Attempts to restrain him only made him fight them as well as his 
internal demons.

Finally, one nodded to the other and the second administered a 
sedative. The body beneath them went limp and still. After ensuring his 
respiration and pulse were steady, the orderlies left, glancing at 
Illya's sleeping form as they existed. "At least one of them sleeps 
peacefully," the first orderly murmured to the second, who nodded his 
agreement.

***

The lights were out. Even the low-level lighting that allowed the staff 
to check on their patients during night-shift. Even the emergency 
lights that were supposed to come on if the electricity failed. Which 
meant the generators were not yet online, or had also failed. 'New 
England storms are just as bad as Siberian storms,' thought Illya, 
quickly recognizing the source of the failure. 'Not that I will ever 
admit that to Napoleon,' he added with an mental
chuckle. He wondered briefly what had awakened him, then the noise 
entered his conscious awareness. Thinking it was the trees in the 
storm, he looked towards the window. Outside the window was blackness. 
The whole area was without electricity. But there was no howling of 
wind, only the rustling noise.

Illya lay still trying to sense where it came from. Of course. His room 
mate was thrashing wildly in the throes of a nightmare, causing the 
bedclothes to rustle like tree leaves. The motion sensors were out, 
too, and the nightmare had progressed further than Illya had ever 
witnessed. Without thinking, Illya crept to the foot of his bed, 
nearest the alcove. He watched for a few moments, his mind tickled with 
a sense of familiarity at the man's movements. Then he was back in his 
own past.

***

"Illyusha," his mother's sad, but calm voice came to him over the 
guttural curses of his captors. "Don't struggle, my little one. It only 
makes the hurt worse. Let them do what they will. They can only harm 
your body, not your spirit." The Germans holding both Illya and his 
mother down did not understand her words, but Illya did and tried to 
obey her.

Perhaps, indeed, her spirit was not hurt by the repeated gang rapes 
mother and son endured to give his sisters time to escape through the 
forest, but that Illya was not so fortunate became obvious night after 
night. After the Germans left them, his mother began singing lullabies 
as she stroked away the night-terrors. Sometimes they calmed Illya into 
dreamless sleep and sometimes they woke him, but always they eased his 
spirit.

***

Illya heard his mother's voice soothing him now and began softly 
singing along with her. At the first sounds, the man in the bed turned 
his head. Slowly, his body ceased its struggles and his
breathing became even. Blindly, he reached toward the sound, a small 
whimper escaping the silence of his alcove. Illya, still singing, drew 
himself to the edge of his bed and stretched to reach his needy room 
mate. Somehow, he found himself holding the younger man's hand and 
stroking his back, murmuring to him in Russian that he was safe and no 
one could harm him anymore.

The emergency generators started up with a rumble a few minutes later, 
their initial discharge shaking the building. The young man whimpered 
again and clutched at Illya's hand. Illya switched to English to 
explain what the noise and shaking was, only then realizing he had been 
speaking Russian.

An orderly arrived with a flashlight perhaps half an hour later, to 
find Illya still sitting on the other's bed, watching him sleep. "He 
had a nightmare," Illya explained to the astonished staff who quickly 
gathered. "But I think he will sleep now. I would like to go back to my 
bed."

***

At the next Visitor's Day, Illya was sitting beside his roommate's bed, 
reading, when the white-haired visitor arrived. The man was announced 
as much by the aroma of fine cigars as by the soft creak of the door. 
The older man looked surprised to see Illya at bedside, but merely 
nodded and smiled a greeting.

Illya wheeled back away from the alcove and had begun turning his chair 
to give the visitor some privacy, when the bedridden man reached out 
for him without opening his eyes. Illya took the searching hand in his 
and patted it reassuringly. "It's all right, my friend," he said 
soothingly. "You have a visitor to keep you company." As he spoke, he 
placed the hand in the older man's and once again withdrew.

The older man clasped the hand as though it were a precious gift and 
perched on the edge of the bed. The man in the bed startled as it 
dipped under the added weight and pulled his hand free. He curled 
inward, bringing his knees to his chest and his hands to his face. Then 
he stopped moving and frowned. Slowly he brought the fingers of his 
freed hand to his nose and sniffed. Both Illya and the older man stayed 
perfectly still.

The bedridden man straightened and reached for the hand that had 
grasped his. The white-haired man tossed Illya a bewildered look, but 
allowed his hand to be pulled to the younger man's face. The sniff this 
time was followed by a sigh. The young man held the older one's hand 
against his cheek with both of his, releasing it only when he relaxed 
into sleep.

The white-haired man was still baffled. Looking from his hand to Illya, 
he asked, "What was that about? Do you have any idea?"

Could the man not be aware of the pervasive cigar smell that identified 
him, Illya wondered? "Actually," he said as nonchalantly as he could 
manage, "I believe he's becoming more aware of his surroundings. 
Perhaps there's some familiar, ahh, smell, about you?"

The older man frowned in momentary incomprehension, then smiled. 
Rising, he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a cigar, passing 
it under his nose to savor the aroma. "Ah, yeah, I guess there is at 
that." He leaned down and gently wrapped the sleeping man's hand around 
the cigar.

The sleeper stirred and murmured something that might have been 
"Hannibal", followed by a sigh.

"Yeah, kid, it's me," the older man replied softly. Illya felt he was 
intruding on something intensely personal and wheeled backwards to the 
window.

Unfocused blue eyes fluttered open in the dimness of the alcove. And 
abruptly snapped shut again. 'No, it's another damned dream. No one's 
coming to save your ass this time, Templeton. Don't surface; it's not 
safe.' But the reality of the smell of tobacco leaves and the feel of 
the cigar in his hand broke through the barrier he had built. The blue 
eyes opened again. The smell was still there. The eyes focused. The 
cigar was still there. The eyes scanned the area.
Hannibal was still there. It was too much. Abandoned hope clashed with 
remembered despair. He retreated. The eyes remained open, but lost 
their focus. The cigar rolled from limp fingers.

Hannibal Smith sighed. "For a minute I thought he recognized me," he 
mumbled to the silhouette at the window.

Illya nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps for a minute he did," he 
suggested.

Hannibal nodded sadly, sketched a salute in farewell, and turned to 
leave.

***

Small-arms fire broke the stillness of the night. A distinctly unique 
sound, not easily forgotten once heard. Two pairs of blue eyes snapped 
open, the minds behind them fully alert.

Illya dove into his wheelchair, shoved it to the window, launched 
himself out of it, and threw up the sash and screen. Boots echoed 
hollowly on granite steps; doors were flung open. Questions were barked 
and pistol shots rang out. The second man in the room had attempted to 
roll for cover, but found himself strapped to his bed. He pulled 
hurriedly at the strap around his chest, quick fingers finding the 
clasp and learning its intricacies in the dark, stopping his motion at 
the ringing sound of boots on the inner metal stairs.

Illya, still at the window, also stilled himself to silence. From the 
nurse's station outside their door came the harsh demand, "Where is he? 
Tell me or die!"

Followed by a brief silence and a single pistol shot. Orders followed: 
"Split up. Start at the ends of the hall and meet back here. How many 
blue-eyed blondes can there be in one nursing home?" Boots thumped away 
in both directions following their leader's command.

Illya didn't hesitate. He tore one drape down and tied it to the other, 
still attached to the rod. Then he flung the loose end out the window. 
Slithering to the floor, he joined his roommate, who had lost no time 
in freeing himself from the restraining straps and rolled silently off 
the bed. With simultaneous nods at one another, they raised the side 
rail from its lowered position and slid under the bed, the younger one, 
reaching back to pull the end of the
blanket down over the once again dropped rail. Just in time. The door 
was flung open. Boots passed within inches of them, stopping still as 
their owners noted the flung-off bed clothes and open window.

Curses came from the open doorway. "Fools! Didn't anyone stay outside 
on guard?"

"But, sir..." began a fearful voice. The sound of a rifle butt hitting 
flesh and bone ended whatever the underling had been about to say. A 
body hit the floor a moment later.

"Come on! He must be weak, probably disabled or he wouldn't be here. He 
can't get far."

The door slammed shut. The boots receded down the metal stairs, then 
more doors banged and the granite steps echoed with bootheels. Vehicles 
screeched up and voices shouted. Then the vehicles took off and silence 
descended. The men under the bed continued listening, motionless and 
silent, for long minutes. Finally, Lieutenant Templeton Peck raised the 
rail again and rolled out from under the bed. He held the rail up while 
his unknown companion joined him.

Getting a good look at the man for the first time, Face grinned and 
asked, "Okay, which one of us were they hunting?"

"Does it really matter at this point?" Illya responded acerbically.

Face pulled back, realizing he didn't really know if the man crouched 
next to him on the floor was friend or foe. He paled and bit his lip, 
struggling to maintain his tenuous contact with
reality. "No," he answered meekly, "I suppose it doesn't."

Illya, who had been scanning their surroundings visually while 
listening for any out-of-place sound, turned at the change of tone. He 
backtracked instantly, remembering his erstwhile partner was extremely 
fragile. "Sorry," he said soothingly, "I didn't mean to snap. I haven't 
had to do this in a long time."

"Neither have I." Face paused. "I don't really know how long." He shook 
the irrelevant thought away. "At least you know where and when we are. 
What's next?"

Illya reassessed the man before him. Fragile certainly, but also 
courageous. Only a fool or a hero would place his life willingly in the 
hands of a stranger. And this one didn't appear to be a fool - a fool 
would be dead by now. Turning back to the problem at hand, he asked, 
"Can you walk unaided?"

Face pulled on his best nonchalant mask. "Good question." He pulled his 
feet under him and straightened, one hand on the bed for support, then 
rose to a stand. A wave of vertigo washed over him, but he withstood 
it. He grinned shakily down at his new commander. "All the parts seem 
to work. I'll be okay. What about you?"

"If you can pull me upright, I believe I can manage on my own," Illya 
replied, willing his body to obey. With some complaint, it did and 
Illya rose to his full height, slightly shorter than
Face's. "I believe clothes are the next item of business. You'll have 
to wear something of mine, I think. I have no idea where your clothes 
may be."

"I probably didn't have any when I was brought in," Face mumbled. He 
was remembering altogether too much. He closed off his mind in order to 
function.

When Illya raised an eyebrow and looked at him with concern, Face 
managed a half-smile and a shrug. Illya made his way to the clothes 
chest, using the wall for support, and tossed pants and a top to Face. 
"They'll be big, but they'll have to do."

Face nodded and scrambled into them, noting the adult diaper as he 
pulled the pants up. 'Don't think,' he reminded himself. "'Kay," he 
said as he pulled on the pair of sneakers Illya slid over to him.

Illya, too, had finished dressing. Now he nodded towards the door and 
Face began slowly moving, hugging the wall, with Illya close behind 
him.

"I hope you're not too affected by carnage," Face said over his 
shoulder after looking out at the charnel-house scene.

Illya peered around him at the dead bodies of the medical staff and 
swallowed once. "Unfortunate, but it was to be expected."

"Agreed. You need to take the lead - you *do* know your way around this 
place, right?"

Illya nodded. "The back way is best. There is a wooded area and I've 
seen the volunteers come through there - presumably from town." He led 
the way, keeping to the walls as much for support as to avoid the 
bodies strewn haphazardly on the floor.

It was all Face could do to stop himself from checking each body for 
dogtags. He focused on the man leading him, noting the pain that was 
being ignored. Doing a quick check on himself, he found his muscle tone 
was lacking and he was weak, but he was not particularly in pain. He 
watched Illya brace himself against the rail and slide slowly down the 
stairs. Quickly he mimicked the older man's actions and found himself 
at the employee entrance. A row of lockers lined the wall. "Wait," he 
called softly as Illya headed for the door. Face quickly dispatched the 
flimsy locks and rifled the wallets and purses in the lockers for cash. 
"Small town?" he asked.

Illya nodded.

"No credit cards then," he said regretfully. "Too much chance of 
getting caught."

Illya nodded. He had taken advantage of the delay to catch his breath. 
"We'll have to risk a car though," he pointed out. "Neither of us has 
the stamina to make it through the woods on foot. Maybe there'll be one 
with out-of-state plates. Can you hot-wire a car?"

Face looked insulted. "Of course. Can't you?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Illya admitted. "I usually left that end of 
the business to my partner."

With some difficulty, the two men searched the parking lot, settling on 
a car whose tags indicated it was from the other end of the state. 
After a brief rest to catch his breath, Face got the engine started. 
"Where to?" he asked.

Illya shared the map he had found in the glove compartment. "Away from 
the nearest town, I think. They'll expect that we're on foot when they 
think about it."

Face pointed out a large town, or maybe a small city, on the map. "How 
about here? We can make it on one tank of gas and its got enough 
population for us to lose ourselves in - at least for a while."

"Do it."

***

The car's tank was full, so they drove straight through. Passing a 
medical supply store as they entered what turned out to be a small city 
after all, Face pulled over. "Only be a minute," he told Illya as he 
got out of the car. He returned with a folding wheelchair and a large 
sack. "You've just become my disabled older brother," he informed Illya 
as he loaded the goods into the trunk. Illya gave him a puzzled look. 
"Never mind," Face said. "You'll see what I mean. I used to be pretty 
good at this."

Face stopped twice more: at a department store where he purchased 
clothing for each of them and two duffels, and at a grocery store. At 
each stop, he asked Illya to wait in the car.

Continuing towards the downtown area, they passed several hotels and 
motels without slowing down. Finally, Face found what he was looking 
for. He pulled into the entrance arch of a residential hotel and 
signaled the bellhop as he got out of the car. "I can manage my brother 
if you can get our bags and groceries," he said.

They were soon ensconced in a ground-floor, wheelchair accessible room 
with its own private entrance. "Amazing," Illya said, taking advantage 
of being in a wheelchair again as he unpacked while Face locked doors 
and windows and drew the curtains.

Face shrugged modestly. "It's what I do - did - for the Team," he 
explained. "Besides, you looked like you needed it." He took the last 
grocery bag and started loading the small freezer.

"And this?" Illya asked, holding up the adult diapers that had come 
from the medical supply store.

"I don't know whether - I mean...they're for me, I can't tell, you 
know?" Face trailed off and sat down hard on the couch.

"I would guess it was just a convenience for the nursing staff," Illya 
said kindly, realizing his error.

Face nodded and visibly pulled himself together. "Hope so. Okay, now 
what?"

Illya thought for a moment, then held up a finger. "This may not work. 
It's been over five years, after all. But it's worth a try." He reached 
into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a pen. Face looked 
totally confused. Illya thought, 'Ah, then you're not one of us - at 
least not precisely.' He twisted the top of the pen, brought it close 
to his lips, and said, "Open Channel D."

Face jumped when the pen replied with a female voice, "Channel D open. 
Is that you, Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya did not seem the least bit surprised. Calmly he answered, "It is. 
Put me through to Sir John, please."

"Certainly, sir. May I be the first to say it's good to hear your voice 
again."

Illya smiled. "And yours as well, Karen. Thank you. Now, if you would?"

"Certainly. Transferring."

The next voice to come from the pen was gruff and masculine. "Mr. 
Kuryakin. Good of you to check in. We wondered what had become of you. 
Mr. Solo is just shy of frantic."

"Please reassure Napoleon that I am unharmed, Sir John. I take it the, 
err, situation at my previous domicile has been discovered?"

"Quite. How are you situated? Are you able to sit tight for a bit?"

"Yes, sir, as long as we aren't discovered."

"'We', Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Yes, Sir John. My roommate is with me. His skills have proven 
invaluable."

"Ah, I take it he took this opportunity to regain full consciousness.

Interesting, that. I'm sure the Psych group would like to hear more 
about that."

"He is one of us, then?"

"Ah, well, yes and no. Not an agent, you understand, but under our 
protection, let us say."

"Your protection seems to have been less than adequate," Face 
interjected impatiently.

"Lieutenant Peck, I presume. Welcome back, Lieutenant. The General will 
doubtless be pleased to hear of your recovery."

"Doubtless," Face repeated mockingly.

"Ah, Sir John," Illya interrupted what threatened to become an 
altercation to get them back on track. "You said we needed to take care 
of ourselves, I believe? For how long?"

"Well, until we can tie up some loose ends, as it were. We've got your 
position and we'll arrange to have you under surveillance immediately. 
I'll be in touch when I know more. Stay put for now." Abruptly Sir John 
broke the connection.

"Well, that was enlightening," Illya said to the now silent pen.

"Sorry," Face murmured.

"For what?" Illya looked at his companion. "That's Sir John's way. Off-
hand I'd guess he doesn't know when we can safely come into the open. 
So he blusters." Illya sighed. "Napoleon's right. Mr. Waverly would 
never have behaved so badly."

"Who?"

"My first employer. Sir John took over when Mr. Waverly retired."

"Oh." Face waved off further explanation. The focus that had gotten him 
this far was quickly ebbing away. "It's all right. I don't need to know 
anything. You're probably better off the less I know. I'm probably 
better off the less I know, too."

"Perhaps."

Illya wheeled himself over to the couch and put a hand on Face's arm. 
"Don't retreat. I don't know precisely what put you into that - fugue 
state - but for now, Sir John's promise of protection notwithstanding, 
we have to depend on each other."

Face nodded. "I'll do whatever you say."

That would have to be enough for now, Illya realized. "First, we need 
to eat; then we both should try to sleep," he said, prioritizing for 
Face. "Can you cook?"

That brought a real chuckle from Face, surprising Illya. "Not according 
to my Team," Face said. "But I bought instant, microwave everything. I 
can follow directions on packages." He got up and went to the freezer. 
"Lasagna okay?"

Illya nodded agreeably. "You were lucky - you didn't have to taste the 
home's food. Even microwave lasagna will taste good after five years of 
that. Mother Russia's orphanages served more palatable meals."

Face frowned. "I wonder if I can eat."

"I think so," Illya reassured him. "They used to feed you pureed 
versions of what the rest of us got through a feeding tube."

"Well, if not, we might as well find out sooner than later." He put the 
tray in the microwave and set the controls.

<><><><><><>

Illya noticed Face struggling to stay awake as they finished eating. 
"You're exhausted. You've done all the driving and running around. I'll 
take care of the dishes, why don't you get ready for bed?"

Face rose and headed toward the bedroom, then stopped and turned back 
to Illya.

Hesitantly, he said, "Umm, I bought pajamas..." He lapsed into silence 
and waited. Illya wasn't sure what the problem was, although he 
remembered Face's remark about probably not having any
clothes earlier that day. Considered with the type of nightmare Face 
seemed to have, Illya was getting a very disagreeable suspicion about 
the trauma that had sent his companion spiraling
into catatonia. Carefully casual, he responded, "I'm glad you thought 
of that. Just leave mine on whichever bed is for me." He pretended not 
to hear the younger man's sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, Face came back out, clad in blue silk pajamas. He 
seemed more relaxed. "Ah, you were right; I seem to having working 
innards," he said in a relieved tone. "Well, good night - you know, I 
don't even know your first name. Seems a little formal to call you 'Mr. 
Kuryakin', unless that's what you want," he finished hurriedly.

"No, not at all. It's Illya," the other replied. "Good night - 
Templeton, is it?"

"It is, but most people call me 'Face'."

***

"You should have waked me," Face said, blinking at the sunlight as he 
walked out of the bedroom.

"You seemed to need the sleep," Illya replied without turning. He sat 
in his wheelchair at the patio door, scanning the street while hidden 
from sight by the opened drapery. A small semi-automatic pistol lay in 
his lap.

"I kept you up." Face made it a statement. His shoulders drooped and he 
grimaced. "I'm sorry. I never remember the nightmares when I wake up." 
He ran a hand through his hair.

Illya pushed his chair backwards and pulled the draperies closed most 
of the way. "I'm a light sleeper," he said, turning towards the younger 
man. "You make no sound, but I'm attuned to motion. I fell right back 
to sleep once you calmed, but you didn't sleep well until almost dawn." 
He changed the subject. "There's coffee."

"Thanks." Face poured a cup for himself and refilled Illya's mug.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight. We should probably keep watch 
anyway."

"Mm. You're probably right. Why don't you take first watch, then? I 
can't sleep once it's light out anyway."

"'Kay, that'll work."

***

"There are watchers out there," Face reported when Illya came out of 
the bedroom to take over the watch. "Two o'clock and five o'clock on 
the ground. Ten o'clock on the roof with a 'scope.
Yours?"

"We can hope," Illya replied. "I would have thought UNCLE agents would 
be harder to spot, but Napoleon did say things had gone downhill in the 
past few years. You'd best get some sleep," he
added as Face tried to stifle a yawn.

Face nodded and headed for the bedroom, returning in pajamas a few 
minutes later to enter the bathroom. Only seconds passed before he was 
out again. "UNCLE is better," he remarked, handing Illya a folded piece 
of paper with his name on it. "Of course that does bring up the 
question of who they are, then." He slid past Illya to the window as 
Illya read the note.

Illya joined him a moment later. "Perhaps you should get dressed again, 
my friend," he suggested, passing the note to Face. Face scanned it 
quickly and muttered a soft curse. The note had answered his question 
about who was observing them. He dressed quickly and packed their 
duffels.

"Bathroom window, then up and over to the air shaft," Illya ordered as 
Face emerged from the bedroom. Face nodded and led the way.

***

Hours later, Face was renting a car three towns away while Illya used 
the phone to rent a tourist cabin. They drove to the nearest mall, 
parked the car, and went through the mall, stopping to make small 
purchases. Then they exited on a different level and, walking to a 
public phone, called a cab. The cab took them to an Italian restaurant 
where they ordered, left cash under the bread basket, and left through 
the washroom window. They paid cash for a double
room in the flop house behind the restaurant.

After securing the room, Illya collapsed onto the sagging double bed 
that dominated the room. Face looked at the rickety chair that was the 
only other seat, shrugged and gracefully folded himself onto the floor.

"At this point, I don't really care if he does catch up with us."

Face was on his feet standing over the older man in an instant. White-
faced, he snarled, "Don't say that, even as a joke! You don't know who 
we're dealing with, do you?"

Illya sat up and raised his eyebrows. "You've heard of General Chao?" 
he asked in surprise.

"Of course. Why else would he be after me?" Face asked.

"I assumed he was after me," Illya replied. The two blonds looked at 
each other speculatively. "Vietnam?" Illya guessed. Face nodded, then 
suddenly hugged himself, shivering. "I'm sorry," Illya whispered. "I 
didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"'S'okay," Face mumbled. He looked very young and vulnerable, standing 
in front of Illya with his arms wrapped around himself. Illya patted 
the bed in invitation and Face sank down next to him, glancing warily 
at the older man. Illya said nothing and Face slowly relaxed. Finally 
he asked, "How do you know Chao?"

"Ahh," Illya said, gathering his thoughts. "He's the one who put me in 
the Home," he said finally. "Seems to have a thing for blondes." He 
leaned back against the wall and, after a moment's hesitation, Face 
joined him.

They sat in silence until Face drifted off to sleep, his head falling 
onto Illya's shoulder. Illya realized the man hadn't slept in over 24 
hours and marveled that he hadn't complained - hadn't even mentioned 
it. Slowly Illya moved Face, laying him down on the bed so he wouldn't 
get cramped muscles. He sat next to the sleeping man reviewing the 
day's events until he felt himself beginning to doze off.

Illya undressed quietly then he turned to Face and pulled off his shoes 
and socks. Face murmured in his sleep, but didn't wake. Illya climbed 
awkwardly onto the bed, kneeling over Face to unbutton his shirt. Face 
whimpered as Illya undid his jeans and slid them off. Illya crooned a 
Russian lullaby to calm Face as he rolled him onto his side and pulled 
off his shirt. With some difficulty, Illya pulled the bedclothes down. 
He stopped for a moment, admiring the
younger man's beauty. Then he slid into the bed next to Face, pulled 
the covers over both of them, and yanked the cord to turn off the 
single light bulb that illuminated the room.

Face lay still, pretending to sleep, waiting for the older man's next 
move. He was relieved, if surprised, when Illya's only movement was 
relaxation into sleep. Face, too, relaxed, but hadn't
quite drifted off when Illya rolled onto his side, murmuring 
indistinctly. His arm brushed Face and Face stiffened, instantly alert.

"Ah, Napoleon," Illya whispered, "It's been so long." He reached for 
the body next to him.

Face rolled to get away from Illya, but the narrow bed only allowed him 
to turn onto his side before his face touched the wall. He fought to 
remember that the man holding him was Illya, enacting a dream, but lost 
the battle when Illya's erection brushed his backside.

Illya began rubbing his erection into Face's cleft through his briefs, 
murmuring endearments to Napoleon the whole time, but Face was reliving 
a different experience, one far less pleasant.

***

"Ah, blond even here," General Chao observed approvingly. "I have 
always wondered. And blonds bruise so easily, do they not?" He pinched 
the fair skin of one buttock and watched it discolor in proof of his 
statement. "When I display you to the camp, the bruises will let 
everyone know I've had you!" He laughed unpleasantly, then pinched the 
blond's other buttock when he got no
response.

The young lieutenant, bound face down on the slab, ground out his name, 
rank, and serial number from between clenched teeth, then clamped his 
mouth shut.

Chao laughed again. "Even if you tell me nothing," he gloated, running 
a finger along the downy cleft, "no one will believe you when they see 
this evidence. No broken bones, no welts, only the bruises rough sex 
brings. Ahh," Chao paused in surprise when his finger slid easily into 
the opening at the bottom of the cleft.

"What have we here?" he asked. "So, you are not new to this after all. 
But perhaps I will add to your experience." Roughly he forced all four 
fingers into the slender body, rubbing the tender sac under the hole 
with his thumb as he widened the entryway. Under his hand, the 
lieutenant writhed silently, fighting down his aroused response to the 
invasion.

***

"Nice, tovarisch, very nice," Illya murmured, feeling the silk briefs. 
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pulled them down. He put 
his arms around his dream lover and felt the erection welcome him.

Face squirmed against the unwanted attention, tears coursing silently 
down his cheeks as the dream Chao discovered the full extent of his 
response.

Illya felt Napoleon's buttocks rub his erection. It wasn't often that 
Napoleon wanted to be taken this way, but he obviously recognized 
Illya's need. He slid his hands around to stroke his lover's buttocks - 
and stopped still, snapping out of his dream into wakefulness. 
Napoleon's buttocks were smooth, bare skin, not velvety with soft hair, 
like these.

"Bajamoi!" Illya cursed as he opened his eyes and realized what he had 
done. The man under his hands was writhing in terror, not pleasure. 
Illya backed away and quickly tucked his softening member into his 
shorts.

Face felt the coolness on his back as the body heat was removed. He 
shuddered convulsively as he wondered what new torture device Chao was 
going to use. Dimly he recognized that he was confusing two different 
memories, but he couldn't sort them out and wasn't sure it mattered 
anyway.

Illya pulled Face's briefs up and began singing the Russian lullaby 
that soothed them both.

Face frowned when he felt clothes put on him. He tried to concentrate. 
There was no pain and he was being clothed. Chao had never done this. 
The sounds he heard were not the rough syllables
of orders being given in Vietnamese or English. They were the soft 
syllables of song, but not in English. He shook his head to clear it. 
Russian. Illya. Illya had started to rape him. 'Well, Face, what did 
you expect?' he asked himself bitterly. 'You wear a "take me" sign over 
your head. Even the Team couldn't keep their hands off you.' No, that 
wasn't true. That had been Chao's last ploy - trying to convince him 
his team mates were gang-banging him. It had
driven him inside himself, but it wasn't true. He shook his head again.

"Face? Lieutenant?" Illya queried warily. "Are you awake?"

"Why'd you stop?" It was the only question Face had, but he hadn't 
meant to blurt it out loud.

"I was dreaming," Illya stammered. All he could do was tell the truth. 
Face had no reason to believe him, but it was still all he could do. 
"Of my lover. I dream of him often - very vivid dreams. I thought you 
were he." There was no response from the man still clinging to the 
wall. Illya sighed and continued. "Then I realized it couldn't be and 
stopped. I had no intention of molesting you."

To Illya's surprise, Face rolled over to look him in the eyes. After a 
long silence, Face said, "Thank you. Most people don't stop, or can't." 
He shrugged. "You must miss him very much."

"I thought I'd gotten past that," Illya admitted. "Then, a few months 
ago, he found me. I would guess that's what brought all this about."

"The dreams?"

"Those, and Chao finding me - or us."

Face nodded slowly. "Well, if you need to, just let me know in 
advance." At Illya's surprised look, he shrugged again. "I've been used 
that way before - as a substitute, I mean."

"Thank you," Illya said after a long pause. "That's, that's quite 
generous of you."

"I don't mind. It's not like being taken by force." Face turned sad 
eyes on Illya. "Actually, it feels very nice to be loved like that, 
even though I know it's meant for someone else. It must be really 
wonderful with someone who loves you. People who are loved are very 
lucky."

"It feels," Illya tried to put it into words. "It feels like when you 
were a child and your mother would rock you to sleep - safe and warm."

If possible, Face's eyes grew even sadder. "I don't remember that 
feeling. I don't remember my parents at all. Safe and warm, hmm? The 
closest I can think of are times when I was hurt and one of the team 
would hold me until they could get medical help. Is it like that?" Face 
turned child-like eyes on Illya. "Yes. Yes, it is. It is very much like 
that. My lover, in fact, was also my partner. To love I think, one must 
first trust. And in my business you must trust your partner with your 
life."

"Mine, too," Face murmured, and would have continued had a noise from 
the window not attracted both men. The rusty screen was being removed.

A gun appeared in Illya's hand, while Face slid off the end of the bed 
to flatten himself next to the window. Face got the first intruder in a 
neck lock and pulled him aside. The click of a safety being released 
made the second intruder halt, raise his empty hands, and remark in a 
familiar voice, "I told you, you were making too much noise."

Straining slightly against the pressure on his throat, the first 
intruder ignored the second to address his captor. "Ooh, Face, silk 
undies - nice!"

***

He looked like a cat sitting there sunning himself. A sleek black cat. 
The sun gleamed off his white-blonde hair. He seemed oblivious to the 
admiring looks he was receiving from passersby of both sexes. In fact, 
he was acutely aware of them. He came as close to luxuriating in the 
cloud-free day as he was capable of, enjoying the sun's warmth and the 
clean salt tang of the air from the bay behind him.

The blonde in the silk suit paused to admire him, too. The passersby 
now divided their attention between the two: the white-blond in, what, 
his early 40s perhaps? all in black from
turtle-neck sweater to foam-soled loafers; and the smartly dressed 
darker blond perhaps mid-30s, maybe only late 20s? his suit, shirt, 
socks, and shoes color-coordinated in autumnal shades to bring out the 
honey in his hair, the tie a startling blue - startling until
one noticed the exact match with his eyes.

The younger man (and the guesses at age were five to fifteen years off) 
was visibly aware of and disturbed by the attention. He wanted nothing 
more than to shrink back into the shadows. Well, almost. Silently, 
taking care to avoid even casting a shadow in front of him, he 
approached the bench on which the older man (a good 15 years older, 
despite looking 15 to 20 years less than his chronological age) sat.

Not silently enough. "Slipped the leash at last, eh?" Illya remarked, 
only his mouth moving.

"I...think so," Face replied, surveying the area carefully while 
appearing to watch the gulls circle the bay. "I put the 'Vette's bugs 
back in BA's van.

That ought to stall them for a short while. And they think I wouldn't 
venture far alone." He shrugged. "Maybe they're right. But I'm not 
alone." Careful of wrinkling his trousers, he sat, stiffly at first. 
Then, leaning back, he basked in the sun with his friend. "Mmm, feels 
good. Haven't done this in - forever."

Illya smiled. "You Americans say the oddest things. Napoleon would be 
guilty of such an illogical statement."

"How is the old rake?"

"On a mission in the middle east."

"You don't worry?"

"He's helping some oil sheik move his harem. He gets all the rough 
assignments."

"Are you, umm, 'back in the saddle', then?"

"With U.N.C.L.E. or Napoleon?" Illya asked, amused.

"Either, both. Has Napoleon forgiven you for almost shooting him yet?"

"Ah, Napasha has a short memory and I know the ways to make it even 
shorter. It helps that news of Chao's death provided me with an 
immediate cure."

"I'm sure it does." Face stopped short. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sound 
bitter. You're completely pain-free, then?"

Illya nodded. "And you? Has Murdock not forgiven you for nearly 
garroting him?"

"Murdock? He probably doesn't even realize I came close to killing him. 
I'm okay, at least I think I am. The others keep waiting for me to...to 
space out again. I won't."

"I know."

"I wish you could convince them." Face sighed and fell silent. Then he 
abruptly stood up. "Look, could we go somewhere more private?" Illya 
frowned and looked around meaningfully. Face continued, "Yeah, I know, 
there's nowhere more private than the middle of a crowd of strangers, 
but," He paused, then cursed. "I need to ask you something - " He 
reddened and turned away.

Illya rose in one fluid motion. "Come," he said, taking the younger 
man's arm. Neither was oblivious to the disappointed sighs from those 
around them.

***

A short time later, the two men sat drinking wine in Illya's small 
apartment. "I live with Napoleon," he had explained as he unlocked the 
door, "But sometimes I need solitude. Napoleon doesn't understand, but 
he accepts it."

It broke the ice. Face had responded without censoring himself, "I 
guess I should be glad I don't like to be alone, especially since they 
would never allow it. And I...I need them near me." He looked up into 
the eyes, an icier shade of blue than his own, yet warm with concern. 
"Illya, Chao's death didn't cure me. I'm not in danger of going 
catatonic again, but...ah, hell! I need them near me but I can't let 
them touch me. It's killing Hannibal. And it's
worse for Murdock."

"How about you?" Illya asked softly.

Face shrugged. "I don't care for myself, but I keep hurting them. Let 
Hannibal reach up to brush the hair off my face and I freak. Murdock, I 
can't bear his touch at all." Suddenly Face broke down. Sobbing, he 
said, "You want the truth? I want so much for them to hold me, touch 
me, but I can't let them. I can't!"

Illya looked at him thoughtfully. "Chao tricked you into believing they 
were torturing you. Even knowing he's dead, you don't trust your 
senses." Face nodded. "Perhaps it was easier for me. Subconsciously I 
needed to be in constant pain. That kept me out of his clutches. Now 
that he's dead, I don't need that crutch anymore. Psychosomatic pain. 
Gone as soon as it lost its usefulness. But your pain is real. You went 
into hiding when you couldn't trust reality. But Chao's death didn't 
restore your trust."

"I trust you." Face left the sentence hanging in the silent room.

Finally Illya responded to the unspoken plea. "I will try to help you. 
But you must reassure your friends you are safe and well - so that they 
don't hunt for you. Can you convince them to give you...three days?"

"That's all it will take?"

"No. But then you will have to take the risk with one of them. To see 
if you can trust again. Do you want to find out? Convince them."

Face nodded and stood. "Give me 'til the weekend. Meet me here Friday 
at seven?"

"I will be here, tovarisch."

***

"Three days, Hannibal, that's all I'm asking. I won't be alone. I won't 
be in danger. And I'll be back - no matter what - Tuesday morning."

"Face," Hannibal started to reach for him, then sighed when the younger 
man flinched away. Folding his hands in his lap, he tried to sound 
soothing. "It's not that we don't trust you and it's not that we think 
you're coming unhinged. But you're not as strong as you think you are, 
not physically, not mentally. You might overdo ..."

"Overdo what, Colonel? You don't know what I'm going to be doing. Maybe 
I just want to sleep for three days."

"Well, there you have it. I *don't* know what you're going to do. Or 
where. Or with whom."

"If I tell you, you'll try to keep track of me. If I don't tell you, 
you'll either keep me here or tail me, right?" Face sounded both bitter 
and resigned. "Face, you're not a prisoner." Face
merely lifted an eyebrow at that. "Guys, help me out here," Hannibal 
implored to Murdock and BA.

"I don' know, Hannibal. Seem like Faceman's got it right - why pretend 
it ain't so? We don' let him out of our sights. An' if you let him go 
away this weekend, you know either he'll have told you where he's gonna 
be or we'll be tailin' him." BA turned to Face. "Lil Brother, you have 
any idea how hard it was to sit there and watch you starin' through us 
for all that time. Then you goes and disappears. An' when we find you, 
you 'spect us to go 'bout like nothin' ever happened. Well, we can't."

"I know, BA, I know. I'm even more scared of being out there without 
you than you are. But I won't be alone and if I don't do this now ..." 
Face trailed off. "I guess it really doesn't matter." He looked down at 
his hands, defeated.

"Colonel, if I may?" Murdock stopped his CO, who looked about to wrap 
up the discussion with a final 'no'. At Hannibal's nod, Murdock 
continued. "You know, Face was out there by himself. It
wasn't us hid him from Chao, he did it with that spy fella's help. It 
wasn't even us who found them, not really. That other spy fella, he 
figured it all out. I just kinda tagged along." Murdock paused to let 
that sink in. Sometimes the Colonel got so set on a position, he 
couldn't process new data in a hurry. "So, the way I see it, if Faceman 
could wake himself up - we didn't do that, either - and keep himself 
away from Chao, he can probably manage a weekend of R&R without us 
along for the ride." He held up a hand to stop Hannibal once more. "I 
didn't say I liked it; I just said it's what we should do."

BA nodded. "Fool's right, Hannibal. If my mamma could let go of me an' 
let me go to 'Nam, I guess I can ease off an' let you go - wherever you 
need to, Faceman."

All three men turned to their commander. "All right, you've convinced 
me. You can go, Face. Three days. Report back in by 0700 Tuesday 
morning."

"And you won't plant a bug on me or try to follow me?"

"You have my word, Lieutenant."

***

For two days Face talked and Illya listened. Then Illya took his turn. 
He told of being raped while his mother watched and watching while his 
mother was raped. He told of her death at the hands of their 
"rescuers". Of being sold by the orphanage directors. Of being used 
wherever he went because he was small and pretty. Until he was trained 
as an assassin. Then fear kept his assailants away. He bolstered that 
with an aura of coldness, a mask of hardness. Until Napoleon broke 
through his defenses, subtly and gradually, as befitted a master in his 
profession.

Face understood now that Illya's empathy was real. That he had been 
where Face was now, unable to trust, capable only of pushing away those 
he yearned for most. "How did you... ?" 

"Let Napoleon in? Well, I had no choice. He wouldn't go away. Very much 
like your teammates. To try to push him away, I told him how worthless 
and used up I was. I thought he would leave me alone in disgust at the 
things I'd done. Instead it helped him, he said. He told me - much 
later, of course - that knowing what his attempts reminded me of helped 
him reassure me." Illya shook his head in disbelief, remembering. "The 
patience and persistence of that man! He would say, 'Look at my face, 
Illyusha. Look at who's holding you. Look in my eyes. What do you see? 
That's love, my love for you.' He'd keep reminding me that he'd never 
hurt me, always stop -
without my even needing to ask sometimes. He'd instruct me how to love 
*him* first, then slowly return the favors, touch for touch. It took so 
long. But one day I realized he wasn't telling me who he was, wasn't 
holding back until he was satisfied I was comfortable, he was just 
loving me, giving me himself. And I wasn't afraid or confused. That's 
when I gave myself to him." Illya smiled and sighed. Then he shook his 
head to clear it of the memories. "So. They can help you. If you trust 
them enough to tell them what happened. If you don't tell them, they'll 
never know."

"What if they...don't understand?" Face asked softly.

"Do you really think they won't? You know these men - they've been your 
family for how long now? But the choice is yours. Not mine. Not 
theirs."

***

Face reported in at 0700 Tuesday morning as ordered. The relief was 
evident on his friends' faces, but they were hesitant to speak, afraid 
of asking the wrong questions. He took a deep breath and said, "Thank 
you for trusting me. I know it was hard. I need to think about some 
things, but I will tell you what happened this weekend. I just need to 
sort it out in my own head first."

The others nodded and Murdock launched into an enthusiastic recital of 
the weekend's cartoons, which Face had missed. The tension broke for 
the moment and life returned to what passed for normal with the team.

***

Murdock was at the VA, a semi-annual check-in with Dr. Richter, when 
the storm took down the power lines. Face's keening brought Hannibal to 
his bedside. At a loss, fearful of touching his
Lieutenant, Hannibal did the one thing that had soothed him during his 
worst times in the camps; he sang.

To his surprise, Face quieted and reached out towards him. "Hannibal?" 
he asked quietly.

"Right here, Face," came the reply.

Face took the hand that met his. "Can you stay for a little while? The 
darkness..."

"I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"You know, Murdock wasn't completely right."

"About what, Face?"

"He said I brought myself out of the catatonia. Actually, I knew you 
were there the last time you visited. I tried to let you know, but I 
couldn't open my eyes."

"Your roommate said you recognized me. You held onto me and I thought 
maybe you were trying to say my name, but, well, it had been so 
long...I didn't want to fool myself. It could just have
been an instinctive response."

"No. I knew it was you. I think...I think if Chao hadn't invaded the 
place, your visits would have brought me back - yours and BA's and 
Murdock's."

"That's nice to know, Face. Thank you for telling me; it makes me feel 
better about...things."

They sat in silence for a while, then Face, slid down in the bed. 
"Hannibal, would you stay here until I fall asleep?"

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," Hannibal repeated. He reached 
over and stroked the younger man's hair, stopping instantly when Face 
shuddered.

"No, don't stop. I know it's you - most of me does, anyway."

Hannibal resumed the stroking as Face lay tense and still under his 
hand. "What do you mean, Face?"

"Chao, the last time he had me, he...he drugged me I think. Anyway, 
he...there were others, doing...things....to me and," Face moved into 
the stroking now, seeking the comfort it offered in order to continue. 
"I thought - I know it wasn't now, but then - then I thought it was you 
and Murdock and BA. You'd start out stroking my hair like you're doing 
now and then you'd be pulling my hair, using it to bang my head against 
the rocks..." Face was sobbing and Hannibal was close to joining him.

"Face, it wasn't me. I'd never..."

"I know, I know," Face cried, moving into Hannibal's embrace. "But it 
felt like...and I had nowhere to go. Nowhere except inside me. And then 
it was so hard to come back out because what if...what if it happened 
again? And finally I didn't come back out." Face's voice was muffled in 
Hannibal's shoulder now as Hannibal held and rocked him. "Hannibal, I'm 
so ashamed. I was so weak, believing you would hurt me. I should have 
fought it; I know better. I..."

"Shh," Hannibal soothed him. "You weren't weak. You retreated the only 
way you knew how. It's okay. You're back out now. And it's me, not some 
monster Chao dreamed up. I won't hurt you, son. I'd never hurt you." He 
continued rocking and making soothing sounds, humming a little, until 
he felt the younger man relax in his arms. "Face?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm going to tuck you in now, but I'm staying right here."

"'Kay."

***

'Hannibal must've passed the word,' Face thought, feeling Murdock's 
arms around him, hearing him muttering nonsense in his ear. 
"Nightmare?"

"Yeah. You okay now?" Murdock pulled back and loosened his grip.

"I think so. Hannibal told you..." For some reason, it was easier to 
talk like this than in the cold light of day.

"He said Chao made you believe we were hurting you, yeah. Said we 
should help you work through it if we could." He felt Face nod against 
him. He stretched out alongside the other man, still
holding him gently. Face stiffened, but didn't move away. "Try to 
sleep." Face nodded and yawned. Morning found the two men twined 
together.

***

Murdock rolled onto his back, trying not to disturb Face. They both 
slept better sharing a bed, but Face showed no sign of remembering they 
were anything more than the closest of friends and Murdock didn't push 
it. When his body rebelled, Murdock adjusted his position. He'd 
survived for years like this; he could do it again.

"I do remember, you know," came the soft voice in his ear.

"Remember what, Faceman?"

"That you taught me how to love."

Murdock didn't reply. What could he say? Face spoke in the past tense, 
and that was where their love had to remain. Face waited in the 
silence. Maybe he was mistaken; maybe Murdock didn't still love him - 
not that way. From somewhere came Illya's voice. "You will have to take 
the risk."

Face reached out and rolled Murdock over to face him. Hesitantly he 
stroked his lover's cheek. "Teach me again?"

The End

***