London weather was as unpredictable as an U.N.C.L.E. mission. Even throughout late summer, rain showers pelted down and turned the streets into small rivers.

It had been a rainy day that had turned into an even more rainy night, the steady downpour only getting worse, now including gusts of wind. The forecast promised less rain in the morning, but the wind would prevail.

Napoleon didn't care.

The team had holed up in an unused loft-like space above an office building. It was fully furnished, had a huge open terrace that had currently turned into a wading pool, and the kitchen fridge and cabinets were fully stocked.

Right now, he and Illya were alone. Gaby had taken the night off to do whatever Gaby did on her own; Napoleon had long since learned not to ask. His Sentinel had hit the small gym attached to the master bedroom, which contained weights, boxing gear and an endurance bike.

Napoleon had chosen he spacious living room, spread out over the low table and most of the ottoman, and currently he enjoyed the sound of water beating against the skylight and window panes, the rush of rain outside. It was calming, almost meditative, and he had started to fully relax into the cushions as he read through a book.

The Shield had never, in all his life, meditated. He had also never trained his abilities since there had been not a blip on the normal scale of Guide abilities. His empathic talent had come natural to him, enabling him to scam and con his way through life. It had been a knack, an instinct. The tests had shown him to be almost close to nil, but his success in charming a target and getting what he wanted had been on the opposite end of that scale.

Not that he had ever told anyone.

A gust of wind rattled around the building and Napoleon looked up, water slushing off the skylight and obscuring the view to the slate gray sky.

There was no mission yet and the team had been told to stand down, though to be ready. It meant unwinding, doing what they wanted, having private time in a way he had never experienced within the CIA. For Illya those periods of no missions had been completely new, though he had taken to office work and reports like a pro.

Solo smiled, then turned back to the book.

Now he had a Sentinel.

And he wasn't a Guide.

He was an anchor, the Shield.

It gave him a strange kind of pride, especially considering who the Sentinel in question was and how unconventional their bond had turned out to be.

Sarah Moffett had given him a ton of material to read through, dumping a stack of books in his office and a recommendation list of reading material, too. Wherever he turned, whatever chapter or paragraph he came across, meditation was always mentioned as a technique to broaden his abilities, to become stronger and advance, to get a handle on helping his Sentinel.

But Illya needed no help.

Then there were the spirit animals, who roamed freely around this plane of existence. Normally, to see them, a Guide had to meditate and enter the spirit world. Those two had just traipsed into theirs.

Some authors said that a Guide could commune with his own spirit animal. Napoleon had nearly laughed out loud at that.

Commune.

Right.

They made no sound, left no trace, didn't shed a hair. Thankfully. Napoleon wasn't a pet person.

He leafed through the book, then picked up a stack of papers Sarah had given him. Her personal notes on Guides and interaction with the Sentinel. As a former universal Guide she had a different view than many others, but it helped only a little.

Frustration coursed through him and Napoleon put the papers down.

"Still reading, Cowboy?" came the teasing rumble and he craned his neck, shooting the blond a crooked grin.

"Trying to. And no bad jokes about that, Peril."

"I do not make bad jokes."

"I made a list."

Illya was wearing his work-out t-shirt and sweat pants, looking like he had gone several rounds with the punching bag. His hands were still wrapped and he was just now removing the tape. He peered at the papers, frowning as he bunched up the sweaty tape.

Napoleon let his eyes stray over the skin-tight shirt, highlighting all those nice details about Illya's upper body. It was an appreciated distraction, one he planned on taking to the next level sometime today. Maybe in the shower. Yeah, that sounded like a pretty good plan.

"Why do you continue this?" his Sentinel asked, interrupting his daydreaming.

Not that he really needed to daydream. He had Illya and he would always have him. There was no fantasizing involved. The man was his bonded partner and not just a fling.

Never a fling.

Napoleon suppressed the wave of gooey caramel warmth in his chest.

Damn!

"Because it might just give us an insight into our connection? The weird spirit animals? The whole unusual bond?" He shrugged. "I really don't know. It's… complicated. Like I'm expected to do something and I don't know what it is. I'm flying blind most of the way. Not sure that's a good thing, considering our line of work."

The Sentinel shook his head slowly. "You don't need to learn, Cowboy. You already do what you are doing. You know how to do it."

"And isn't that cryptic."

Illya settled down on the couch, hands still working on the balled-up tape like a stress ball. "You are a Shield, not a Guide. The Guide is active. The Guide needs to touch, needs to talk, needs to reach their Sentinel in case of a zone."

"And you don't zone, I know." Napoleon ran a hand through his rather tousled hair. He had taught himself languages more complicated than what was his natural talent.

Illya focused on his anchor. "You don't need training, Cowboy."

"Okay."

"Neither do I. I know other Sentinels go through exercises, reaffirm the bond with their Guide. They work on their senses, always training them. I've never had a fluctuations. I never needed to worry about that."

Napoleon shook his head. "I don't worry about your senses, Peril. Or zones. Or a fugue. This is about me. And seeing spirit animals." He gave Illya a crooked grin.

"Books won't help."

"If you say so. Where do you get your arcane knowledge from?" Napoleon asked flippantly.

"I know. I feel your presence with me. You are correct, it has become… stronger since you…" Illya looked suddenly angry again. "Since you nearly died," he almost-snarled.

Napoleon poked the anchor and the Sentinel gave him a brief smile.

"You are… solid, you said. It's what I feel, too. Always there. You do what is needed, anchoring my human side to the Sentinel, balancing the rage. No psychotic tics." He shook his head. "No red zones. You are here, all the time." He touched his temple. "Without knowing it. Without doing anything. That's what I need, not anyone else. You do it instinctively."

Napoleon made a non-committal sound. "And apparently I make you invisible to other Sentinels and Guides."

"Which is a good thing. Comes in handy, too."

"To sneak up on someone who otherwise might catch a whiff of you?"

Illya nodded. "Camouflage."

"So you're as neutral as I am now. You don't register at all?"

The Russian shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe weaker. Agent Martin mentioned something. He was confused, though not as direct and appalling in his approach as Agent Daniels."

Napoleon chuckled at the wording. "Yeah, the guy was an ass. It might be important to know how I'm doing it. If I can consciously increase or decrease the shield."

His Sentinel studied him, looking thoughtful. "You dropped it when you showed off to Agent Carmichael."

Napoleon scowled. "I did not show off!"

Illya tilted his head a little, giving him a pointed look.

"She was an idiot," Napoleon only said.

"Agreed. It showed you can do it. And meditating doesn't fit you, Cowboy."

Napoleon glowered at him. "Is that a challenge?"

"Fact. You don't meditate."

He growled something uncomplimentary in Russian, which was loud enough for Illya to hear. His lips twitched.

"Your accent is atrocious."

"So is yours, but I'm not mocking you."

"I never mock you."

"Silently. In your head. I can hear you judging me."

"So the bond is good for something." Illya's large hand squeezed his neck gently.

Napoleon tried not to lean into the contact, but it was hard. Physical contact had never been this amazing as when it was Peril. It had to be a Sentinel thing. Like everything else.

Illya's smile widened. He looked young, happy, so at ease. Napoleon felt something inside of him twitch in response.

"So… no meditating," he decided.

"No."

Napoleon clapped his hands. "Well, good." He glanced at his watch. "Almost time."

Illya nodded. Neither man rose, the Sentinel still touching his Shield, thumb caressing over smooth skin.

"Five more minutes?" Napoleon murmured, a teasing note in his words.

"I know your five minutes, Cowboy."

"Hm, yes, I forgot. You bugged my room."

Illya smirked.

"Kinky bastard."

He gave Napoleon's neck a last squeeze and rose. Solo mourned the loss of contact.

In the back of his mind he kept thinking about Illya, hiding the powerful Sentinel from others, and he knew it needed to be tested. For that he needed to find receptives.

Well, he had time.

And it would be interesting.

UNCLE*

Illya watched as Napoleon slept, looking absolutely relaxed; trusting. Feeling safe.

He smiled at his partner, feeling those soft eddies coming along the anchor line. Napoleon had left his shields down, trusting in his Sentinel to keep him safe, and Illya diligently kept watch. He wouldn't let anything happen to the other man, psychically or physically.

This was their safehouse. They weren't in any danger here, though both regularly checked their surroundings.

For some reason he was thinking about Napoleon's question from so long ago again, when they had been on the freighter heading toward Liverpool. Would his parents have accepted Napoleon Solo as his Guide?

He would like to think so, yes. Parents of a Sentinel were always happy to match their child, be it Sentinel or Guide. Parents of an Alpha would have been overflowing with pride and achievement.

Would they have accepted an American?

Illya smiled a little, eyes tracing the sleep-softened, still sharp lines of the American in question.

He had no true way of knowing. His father had been a supporter of Stalin, had been a party man. He would have had to accept the match, but he might not have been all too thrilled. As for his son's Guide being a man… Well, for all the homophobic waves riding along in every society throughout the decades, Sentinels and Guides had been the major exception.

So yes, Napoleon would have been accepted, but with a slight mistrust and a lot of scowling.

He picked up the old watch that rested on the nightstand, brushing his fingers over the worn leather and metal. The inscription on the back was still there, tiny letters stenciled into the metal.

His father's.

The only possession he had left.

The only physical representation of his old life.

His parents' home had long since been lost to him. With his father's incarceration his mother had lost everything but a small apartment. All their possessions had been taken. And his mother's death, not long after his father's in Siberian, the apartment had been taken, too.

Illya had never needed anything after that, had never wanted to possess anything that could be taken away.

Except the watch.

His reaction to it being stolen from him had been extreme in Gaby or even Napoleon's eyes, but this was… had been… his family's.

There was movement, catching in the corner of his eyes, and he found himself almost nose to nose with a gray, fluffy fox that had jumped gracefully and absolutely silently onto the nightstand. It should be physically impossible for the animal to sit there, but this was a spirit animal. Nothing was impossible.

The fox peered at him, tilting its head in a so familiar manner that Illya felt himself smiling. His eyes searched for the wolfthing and found dark shadows coalescing in a corner of the room, the golden eyes blinking open and meeting his own gaze.

The fox huffed silently, looking a little put-upon, then flicked its ears. It finally hopped down again and sauntered over to the wolfthing that was more black hole and tendrils of darkness than lupine.

Illya watched them, saw how more and more of the wolf became wolfish, and the two animals touched noses as the wolfthing bent down to greet its companion.

"Oh gawd, not them again," came the groan from next to him. "What'd you do, Peril?"

Illya couldn't hide his fond smile as Napoleon glared at their two animals, who were cozying up to each other, ignoring their respective humans.

"Your fox just appeared."

Napoleon stared at him, the glower quite pronounced. "I can feel you contemplating, Peril. That's what drew him. Spill."

"It was nothing bad. Just…"

Napoleon pushed himself up, suddenly more alert, almost like he was listening to the bond. Maybe he was.

"Family," he murmured.

"Are you reading me, Cowboy?"

"You are an open book."

Maybe to this man. Illya didn't really mind that.

Solo's eyes fell on the watch in his fingers and he frowned, thinking. "Anniversary of some kind?" he hazarded a guess.

"No. I do not count the years, either of their deaths or my loss."

And hadn't that come out way too quiet?

Napoleon was silent, his eyes suddenly on the fox that was watching with unreadable eyes. The wolfthing was slinking around the room like the alpha it represented, restless, disquiet. When it passed by where the fox sat, it nosed at one ear. The fox flicked its ear, then craned its neck to make nose to nose contact.

Despite trying not to, Napoleon had to smile at the display.

The wolfthing licked over the gray head, fur sticking up in every direction, and the fox closed its eyes with a blissful expression on its furry face.

"They never knew what I had become," Illya suddenly said, drawing the Shield's attention to him, away from their two very involved spirit animals.

"They knew you were dormant. Or latent, right?"

He nodded.

Napoleon waited.

"Since I was a young child. I didn't come online from losing my father. Or the distress caused by losing everything else after that. It just happened one day, when I was sixteen."

Illya's hands clenched and unclenched, but he felt no imminent red zone approaching. It was just a general sensation of unease at digging up these memories.

"Lately I've wondered what it might have been like."

Solo nodded. The lowered shields meant that he was receiving everything, that his empathic abilities were completely focused on the Sentinel.

Illya placed the watch back onto the nightstand, then suddenly found himself with a lapful of Napoleon Solo. The man had a catlike grace someone his size and built shouldn't have. It was a contradiction like so many things in his fascinating partner.

"Illya?"

The serious, intense look, and the open face would have shocked anyone else, but Illya knew this man intimately like no one else ever would. This was the man behind the masks. This was Napoleon.

"I'm okay, Cowboy."

The blue eyes studied him. It was like a look deep into his soul, enhanced by the empathic touch, the brush of the strong and powerful mind against his. Then Napoleon nodded.

Illya leaned forward and kissed him.

The kiss was answered and Napoleon wrapped his arms around him, sliding closer.

It hadn't been a lie. He was okay. He would always be okay with this man by his side, connected to him like a Guide and still no Guide at all.

UNCLE*

The fox watched the two men, then the wolf shoved its nose into the gray fur, giving it a little push. The fox shot his spirit counterpart a wide grin, tongue lolling, all playful and radiating pleased achievement.

The wolfthing seemed to scowl, making it look even more terrifying than ever, but the fox wasn't fooled. Nor was it impressed. It slipped between the tendrils, letting them caress its fur, and it nearly purred. It curled up on the darkness that was so much more physical to it than to anyone else.

The wolf rumbled, then curled up around the smaller animal.

To the eyes of their humans they were still visible, but neither man was paying any attention. At least for now.

UNCLE*

Sometime throughout the next hour they faded back onto the spirit plane.

UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*

The park was crowded with children on this sunny day. Where it had been raining the last three days, the weekend had turned out splendid. It was cooler, the grass and pavement was still damp, but it didn't stop families from enjoying the day.

The distant sound of a radio could be heard. Children ran rampant, playing on the merry-go-round, sliding down the slides, swinging on the swings. Several parents stood by watching over them. A couple of clowns and a juggler were entertaining various groups of children. One of the clowns was handing out candy.

A little over a year ago, in another place, in another country, Alexander Waverly had drafted three outstanding individuals into his very young, very small organization.

It had been a gamble.

He smiled to himself as he watched his by now infamous team of agents.

His best team.

A year later, no longer the only team, but still the best and the one with the highest success rate.

A powerful, five-senses Alpha Sentinel. Who had no Guide. Former KGB agent. Trainer killer. A man whose father had died in a Russian prison camp in Siberia, whose mother had passed on when he had turned eighteen, and who had no sisters or other relatives who were still alive.

A former CIA agent, who happened to be an extremely talented thief and con man. Heavily shielded, enough to fool everyone who had ever tried to test him. A man who was actually a Shield and now connected to their Sentinel. A man who had no siblings, whose parents didn't know that their then-underage son had faked his age, had joined the army, and gone to Germany. Part of the occupying forces. They had no idea who he was, where he was.

And last but not least a woman who was not only a professional driver, but also a qualified driver. Someone who could shoot, who had picked up Russian rather quickly, who could now crack a safe and open doors. Someone who fit perfectly with the two powerful men who were on the team, who could hold her own against them and had no qualms putting her foot down. A woman whose mother had died, whose father had just recently been killed, and who had no other living relatives.

Perfect agents.

No ties.

Except to each other. In Solo and Kuryakin's case the ties were even more complicated than mere partners.

Yes, Waverly thought. It was a good combination. Unique. It had looked extremely experimental, had threatened to blow up in his face, but it had worked.

Perfectly.

It had been a huge gamble to pair the Russian and the American agent, but after the Vinciguerra affair, Waverly had been convinced that the two so very different men could work together. He had entertained a small hope that it would become more, that the Sentinel would react to Solo in a different way, and in the end he had. No one had believed Waverly when he had told them that Napoleon Solo was more than his files. That there was psychic power underneath strong shields.

He had been proven right.

That Solo had started to shield his Sentinel in turn had been icing on the cake.

It had been a slow process and Waverly hadn't caught on to it right away. He had realized just what kind of a Guide Napoleon Solo was early on; no Guide a normal Sentinel needed.

Kuryakin was far from normal. As he had told him on the chopper: he was special.

As was Napoleon.

And they matched.

Now the Russian was close to invisible to other receptives, like Sentinels and Guides, and it was the extension of the Shield. Napoleon hadn't even known he was doing it and he also had no idea how it was possible.

Waverly had had his theory tested after the Carmichael-Daniels incident. Of course he had heard about it. It wasn't in any official report and neither Daniels nor Carmichael had come to him for a complaint, but Waverly knew.

After that, after telling both agents that yes, Illya Kuryakin was an Alpha Sentinel and yes, Napoleon Solo was his partner, but not his Guide, and yes, he didn't register, he had told both he expected them to treat this like everything agency-related: they would shut up about it.

Waverly had proceeded to do the same he had done before hiring Solo: he had requested receptives from wherever he could find them, arranged for them to brush close by on the street, in restaurants or hotels, and he asked for results.

It had been amazing to hear everyone tell the same story.

Solo registered as nothing, just like before.

Kuryakin was barely perceptible as a Sentinel anymore. Each man or woman had to really concentrate to catch a glimpse of him.

Yes, amazing. Fascinating.

Waverly was aware what an asset he had on his hands.

With the arrival of Moffett and Martin, a rather regular team of bonded Sentinel-Guide, the Commander had had everything confirmed anew. Martin had been extremely off-kilter in the beginning since he couldn't get a single sense of Solo and just faint pings from Kuryakin.

Waverly had talked with both of them at length, had asked all the right questions, and he was pleased to hear that Napoleon and had asked Sarah for some assistance.

Not that she had any experience with a Shield, but she had the connections to get him reading material or read up on the matter herself.

"He's exceptional," she had told her new boss. "In many ways. As is the Alpha."

That Waverly knew and would never ignore.

U.N.C.L.E. was still growing and Napoleon, Illya and Gaby were their point team. He relied on their talents, on their connections, on their abilities. He now had a powerful Sentinel, who could work independently from the presence of a Guide, and the man was almost invisible on the psychic scale. He had a man who was the Sentinel's partner, who was his Shield, who could also work independently, and who had never registered at all.

And he had Gaby Teller, who was turning into a very fine agent, who could hold her own against those two strong men, and who, while not a Guide, had a calming influence on both of them.

Yes, it was looking good.

They hadn't failed yet.

And neither would Waverly fail them. He had their backs. He was their support.

They trusted him to a degree. Not absolutely, never without question, but that was what made them such good agents.

His eyes followed those three as they disappeared among the other visitors strolling through the park. It was a beautiful day. Sunny. Bright skies. Perfect to be here, enjoy Hyde Park.

Their next mission was already waiting.

UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*UNCLE*
Fin!

All good things come to an end and this got longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoyed yourselves! If the muse hits me with another idea, you'll be the first to read it :)