Part two:

Hurt: Napoleon

Comfort: Illya

Antagonist: Angelique

The situation culminated in a stand-off between Napoleon and LaCroix, the gun's inventor, each pointing their lethal weapon at the other. Illya arrived after putting the finishing touches on the incendiary charges that would level the building, and peeked in the doorway just behind his partner's adversary.

Solo caught the Russian's signal and raised his gun. "Put down your weapon, LaCroix. The game's over."

"No, Mr. Solo, it's you who will be surrendering your weapon. For if I fire this gun at you, whatever the round hits, will explode. And my aim is very good. There won't be enough left of you for UNCLE to bury."

Napoleon caught a flash of movement behind Illya. "Illya! Look out behind you!"

Kuryakin turned quickly, saw the intruder who had managed to catch him unawares, and realized Solo was now in immediate danger with the breach of his own anonymity. He flung himself at LaCroix, hitting him in a rough tackle causing the inventor's gun to discharge. LaCroix grunted in pain as he hit the floor, but made no sound after Illya rendered him unconscious with a single, well-place punch.

Illya looked up from the body he was astride and saw Napoleon on the floor, and the intruder, Angelique LaChein, kneeling down beside him. "No—" he breathed, jumping to his feet. "Get away from him—" he growled and pushed her roughly to one side. Then he also knelt down. "Napoleon, are you all right?"

Angelique kicked at the Russian. "I was trying to help, bête! (beast!)"

In obvious pain, Solo still had to smile at the two adversaries. "Now, now, children, let's not fight over the toys."

"Very funny, Napoleon." Illya lifted the hand covering an ever-widening red stain on the left shoulder and quickly examined what he could of the wound. "The round didn't detonate," he reported, half with relief, half with confusion.

"My Aunt Amy always told me to 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'," Napoleon said with a grimace.

"And my experience has taught me that things are not always what they seem to be." Kuryakin pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket, pressed onto the wound and laid his friend's hand over it again. He turned to Angelique, who was standing slowly. "What do you know about this weapon?" he demanded, standing to look her in the face.

"Nothing," she replied curtly, "so you can stop glaring at me."

"Odd that you should decide to come to a remote THRUSH satrapy in Vermont in the middle of winter."

"People do take vacations, Illya, dear, even if you don't, and Vermont has some excellent ski resorts."

"You came here to go skiing?" Kuryakin asked incredulously.

Angelique looked down at Solo on the floor. "Napoleon, darling, you really need to find yourself a new partner. This one is such a 'dull boy'."

Illya gave her a sour look and then ignored her. "We have to get out of here, Napoleon. The charges I set have a ten minute fuse and we've wasted half that dealing with spider-lady here." He allowed himself a smug little smile when Angelique sputtered "spider-lady' back at him followed by an oath in French. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I will certainly give it my full attention." Napoleon rolled over onto his good shoulder and got to his knees. "Be sure to get the gun. I'd hate to waste all this blood and have nothing to show for it."

"What do you think we should do about LaCroix and our little THRUSH snowbunny?"

"If we bring in the inventor, Mr. Waverly might see fit to give us some extra time off. You know, to keep you from becoming too dull a boy? I'm sure for the proper consideration we could get the lovely Angelique to guard him for us. What do you say, my sweet?"

"I might," the platinum blonde said, "if you have your peasant friend here look for his manners."

Napoleon saw Kuryakin roll his eyes in disgust. "I think that's a fair exchange. What do you say, Illya?"

"Since we don't have time to argue, I agree for the short term. I can always kill her later. LaCroix is still unconscious, so I'll carry him. Miss LaChein, if you would be so kind to help Mr. Solo. There's a guardhouse about a half mile from this facility. We can wait for pick up in relative comfort there."

The guard house was a two storey bunker with one level above ground and one below. The underground level was twice the square footage of the above ground level implying that the structure was designed to be somewhat independent of the facility with the off-duty shifts living below, similar to professional firehouses. Illya dumped LaCroix onto a cot, took over Napoleon's support from Angelique and helped his wounded partner down the stairs and to the nearest cot, easing him down as gently as he could.

Napoleon laid back on the cot with a heavy sigh; the half mile trek had just about sapped all of his strength. Kuryakin eased the bulky coat from the wounded shoulder and peeled back the shirt fabric, sticky with blood.

"It's still bleeding, but not as bad as before," Illya said, as if talking aloud to himself.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help here."

The Russian smiled playfully. "When have you ever been much help?"

"I can't move my arm."

The smile disappeared and Illya leaned forward, concern evident on his face. "Not at all? Do you have any feeling in it?"

"Oh, yeah, that I have in spades; radiating down my arm like a pulse."

"The bullet must be pressing on a nerve."

"It shouldn't be a problem if they can get us out of here in the near future."

Illya got up suddenly. "There's a lot that needs to be done," he announced, looking at Angelique. "Do you wish to be helpful, by checking for provisions? We need to know what we have and how much, especially if we're going to be here a while. I am particularly interested in medical supplies."

To both Illya's and Solo's surprise, Angelique smiled and set herself to the task. "Now, that scares me," the blond agent murmured. "She didn't even put up a fuss."

"What are you going to do about our other guest?" Solo queried.

Illya turned in the direction of the other occupied cot. "That's right, I almost forgot about him. He walked over and found LaCroix was regaining consciousness. Quickly, he got a length of rope from one of the backpacks and secured the inventor to the top rail of the cot. "That should hold him until I'm able to deal more at length with him." He looked over at Napoleon.

"Now would be a good time to find out when our ride will be here." He pulled his silver communicator from a pocket. "I'll be right back." He headed up the stairs and a moment later Solo could hear a faint, "Open Channel D".

Kuryakin was back within minutes. "We have a bit of a problem," he reported soberly.

"Let me guess," Solo answered, "They're not coming."

"Oh, they're coming, but there's a storm heading our way and they're expecting it to drop as much as two feet over most of New England. It could be forty-eight hours or more until the snow lets up enough for them to put a helicopter in the air."

From the cot where Illya had deposited LaCroix came a vocalization of distress. "What do you want?" Illya called over.

"Untie me! I have to use the john!"

"You really should let the man relieve himself," Napoleon said.

"I'd rather see to your shoulder. Speaking of which, what's keeping Miss LaChein from her appointed rounds?" He went to the foot of the stairs and listened. Frowning slightly he went up the steps in search of the blonde THRUSH. "What devilry are you up to, Angelique?"

"I was going to open a can of stew, the only thing that looks remotely edible, but I can't find a can opener."

"Did you find any medical supplies?

"There's some sulfa and morphine powder, bandages and the like. Not much more than that. Oh, and some aspirin."

"Good. I may need the whole bottle before this camping trip is over." He collected several packs of drugs, some bandages and a bottle of alcohol. "Save the stew for later," he told the platinum blonde. "Our friend LaCroix is awake and needs to use the facilities. I'd appreciate if you would keep an eye on him while I try to get that round out of Napoleon's shoulder."

"Are you crazy? That's an unexploded round in his shoulder! Do you want to blow us all to high heaven?"

"Something is puzzling about LaCroix's so-called explosive ammunition. And I'm not quite satisfied with your explanation about your timely arrival. A little too coincidental for my tastes. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Angelique scrutinized the blond Russian and the enigmatic smile on his face. "If I do, explain the coincidence to your satisfaction, what can you offer me in return?"

"Safe passage, perhaps, but I'd like to keep the inventor, if you don't mind."

A smile crept across the full lips of the THRUSH. "You can keep him."

"He must not be of much value. Otherwise, you wouldn't be nearly so agreeable."

"I want a promise of safe passage. I don't want a contingent of UNCLE agents scouring the building for me."

"I can arrange it; as a matter of fact, Napoleon would have my hide if I didn't allow you to just fly away unnoticed." He presented the stairway to the basement level. "If you would allow Mr. LaCroix some relief, I will find your can opener for you and meet you downstairs."

He watched Angelique descend the stairs, and then pulled the prototype gun from his waistband. He opened the door and stood in the doorway, taking aim at a large tree fifty yards away. The gun discharged its round and imbedded itself in the trunk of the tree with a smattering of wood and bark: and no explosion.

Kuryakin looked down at the weapon and allowed himself a small chuckle. "It's a fake, she knows it, and THRUSH suspected it," he said quietly. He looked about the kitchen, laid the discovered can opener beside the can of stew, gathered up his first aid supplies and went downstairs.

Illya stepped off the bottom step and was nearly run over by a freed LaCroix racing across the room to the bathroom. He laid the first aid materials on the cotbeside Solo and sat down. "Guess LaCroix wasn't kidding about the bathroom. How do you feel?"

"A little left out, truth be told. What were you and Angelique talking about?"

"Something very interesting," Illya replied, and pulled the gun from the back of his waistband. "This may very well be a prototype hand weapon, but the ammunition is bogus. I shot at a tree and there was no explosion, just a very nice hole."

"So, there's no reason to leave it in there."

"Not unless you're beginning to enjoy the paralysis and the shooting pains."

"What did Angelique want for the information?"

"Anonymity. We get the scientist. We should make it a point to remind him that we saved his life in this deal. THRUSH most certainly suspected they weren't getting what he promised."

"Maybe with a little of UNCLE's TLC, he might have better luck."

Illya sighed. "I'm not sure I like the idea of being able to take tall buildings in a single round."

Napoleon smiled at his partner's play on words. "Goes against the artist in you, eh?"

"Something like that." Kuryakin bared Napoleon's shoulder and cleaned the blood away to reveal the wound just above the collarbone, about a third of the distance from the neck to the shoulder. "Do I have to tell you that this is probably going to hurt somewhat?"

"No, because I know you're lying and it's going to hurt a helluva lot."

"Well, if you cry out, I'm sure Angelique will come to minister to you."

"Illya, I'm in no condition to have Angelique minister to me."

Kuryakin smiled. "Frustrating, isn't it?" He picked up a pair of tweezers and poured alcohol over them.

"Where did you get them?" Solo wanted to know.

"I always carry tweezers. One never knows when they might come in handy." He looked at Napoleon. "What? Did you think I lifted them from Angelique?"

Napoleon looked back.

"Napoleon, that would have been very ungentlemanly." He smiled slyly. "Shall we begin?"

Solo took a deep breath, albeit painful and nodded. He grasped the side of the cot with his right hand.

While each had performed this procedure on the other, it was usually reserved for times when proper medical care was sometime in the unforeseeable future. Infection was always a worry, despite the fact that the projectile entering the body was fairly clean, having just been disinfected by an exploding charge of gunpowder. Bleeding also helped cleanse a wound, but as the world was a dirty place, sooner or later an unattended wound was ripe for infection.

Kuryakin worked carefully and as quickly as possible, as he tried to ignore the vocalizations of pain his ministering was causing. "Try to hold still," he urged softly, but he knew Napoleon was helping him as much as was possible while his body rebelled.

After Solo could contain the moans and groans no longer, allowing a half-strangled cry to escape, they were joined by Angelique.

"So you know," she said evenly.

Illya did not look up. "About the ammunition? Yes. But you more or less confirmed my suspicions when you were willing to let us have the scientist."

She bent over the area where Illya was fervently trying to ease the bullet back out the shaft it had made when it entered Solo. "Is that my tweezers?"

Despite his concentration, Illya smiled. "I didn't think you'd mind. You may have them back later."

She straightened with a sigh. "Never mind. Keep them."

"What did you—sorry, Napoleon—do with LaCroix? Angelique, could you hold him?"

The platinum blonde smiled. "I'd love to, Illya, dear. LaCroix is locked in the bathroom. I'll let him out in a little while." She sat on the other side of the cot and laid her arm across his chest. "I'll help you deal with the pain, Napoleon," she said softly and bent forward to touch her lips to his.

Napoleon moaned but it was difficult to determine if it was from pain or from Angelique's skillful seductive skill. When his free arm found its way around the blonde seductress, Illya just shook his head and sighed. How very like his partner-

The removal of the bullet stimulated an upsurge of bleeding, but it was easily managed. Kuryakin mixed a poultice of morphine and sulfa in a small amount of the honey he had found in the pantry and allowed the mixture to settle into the wound. The fragrance of the honey caught the attention of both Napoleon and his "anesthesiologist".

"What are you putting on his wound?" she said curiously.

"It's honey," Napoleon answered.

"When did you study up on folk medicine, Napoleon?" Illya asked. "Honey was a favorite of my babka."

"I must have read it someplace for research on a mission. The high sugar content inhibits bacterial growth."

"It also makes kisses sweeter," Angelique purred.

"Your kisses are already sweet, my sweet."

Illya put the finishing touches on Solo's bandages and stood up with a disgusted grunt. "I'll leave you two to explore the intricacies of nectar concentrate." He walked away from the pair and went back upstairs to return his leftovers to the pantry.

Knowing that Napoleon was in good hands, literally, Illya pulled another can of beef stew from the shelf, emptied the contents of it and the one already on the counter in a saucepan. He turned the hotplate on and placed the saucepan in the center of it. While it heated, he decided to free LaCroix from the bathroom and explain the situation to the scientist.

It took little convincing. Once LaCroix realized his chances were much more attractive with UNCLE, he was willing to offer help and co-operation. "Good," Illya said thankfully. "You can go upstairs and finish heating the stew on the hot plate. Napoleon will tell you that cooking is not one of my fortes and he's somewhat occupied at the moment."

"But they are enemies!" LaCroix exclaimed when he saw the couple engaged in some very sensual kissing.

"I don't understand it either. Napoleon says it adds spice to the romance. What it adds for her, is anybody's guess. All I know is they manage to juggle the lover/enemy paradox rather well." LaCroix started towards the stairway and Illya followed. "While you're not burning our supper, I'd like to discuss the principles of your prototype, and also why you chose to take your idea to THRUSH instead of UNCLE."

Over the next forty-eight hours the storm did its best to set a record for snowfall and then was carried out to sea. The occupants inside the bunker were comfortably bored as they waited out the storm.

Illya fashioned a makeshift chessboard to pass the time, but after being thoroughly trounced by his partner in two consecutive games, he yielded the board to the others. He was surprised when Angelique beat Solo, but wondered if the handsome dark-haired agent might have cleverly thrown the game to keep Angelique happy.

Napoleon then faced-off against LaCroix, a worthy opponent, who kept Solo occupied for most of the second afternoon. Illya went upstairs to check in with Boston and hopefully get an ETA. He was closing up his communicator when Angelique ascended the stairs. "The weather experts expect the storm to move off to sea later tonight. Our transport should be here sometime tomorrow morning."

The blonde smiled. "Finally," she said with a sigh. "I don't think I'd be able to stand another day of canned entrees. And no wine, utterly barbaric."

Kuryakin made a small sound of acknowledgement, but said nothing more.

"And you'll have your precious Napoleon all to yourself again."

The Russian looked up with a raised eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, I know it's been torturous for you to be stuck in close quarters with Napoleon and me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Darling, it's obvious you have an intense dislike for me, that you much prefer Napoleon's company to mine."

"You are the enemy, so of course, your statement has a ring of truth."

"And you don't find me the least bit attractive?"

Kuryakin smiled. "Let's say on a very superficial level, you have certain attributes I find pleasing. Not unlike," he added, his smile broadening, "the ladies that might be found on any street corner, in any city. However partaking of those attributes has its price, and yours, I'm afraid, is beyond my willingness to pay." He turned to go down the stairs.

"So, you think I'm merely a whore," she replied.

Illya faced her again, his face bland. "We are what we are, mademoiselle. We both do what we must to further our cause. If it was necessary, I would take you in a way Napoleon has never done. However, given the choice, I will say I am not attracted to you in the least, nor do I comprehend his attraction to you. But let's not take offense because someone might label what we'll do for a price." He continued downstairs, a satisfied little smile touching his lips.

Napoleon looked up from his seat on the cot. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What affront is Angelique going to complain to me about later?"

"Just calling it as I see it," Illya replied. "How's the shoulder?"

"Well, considering who the surgeon was, remarkably well. I don't even feel like there's any kind of infection in it."

"I called Boston. They should have someone out for us tomorrow morning."

"So all you have to do is make sure Angelique doesn't kill you while you sleep tonight."

"I don't think she was particularly happy with me, but I didn't see murder in her eyes."

At that moment, the lady in question joined the two UNCLE agents. "You're friend has quite a way with words, Napoleon."

"Did he lapse from his promised gentlemanliness?"

The beautiful THRUSH smiled. "Actually, no. He was quite eloquent."

"He has his moments. Are you up for a game of chess, my sweet?"

"I am, but what I would really like to do is challenge Mr. Kuryakin here to a game."

Illya looked up. "Me?"

Angelique picked up the make-shift board and laid it on the cot next to Solo's. "Of course, darling. We are, after all, enemies."

The next morning, Napoleon was ambulatory enough to get to the helicopter under his own power. Illya and LaCroix carried the gear and climbed in after Solo. As the helicopter lifted off, Illya looked down and saw a black mink-coated figure emerge from the bunker.

Napoleon stuck his head in the doorway of his partner's lab. "Hey, there."

Kuryakin, LaCroix and two other weapons technicians looked up. "Why aren't you in Medical?" Illya asked.

"The doc cleared me for light duty. Said the person who worked on my shoulder did a good job. You know, if the secret agent job doesn't work out for you, you might have a career in medicine."

"I'll give it all the consideration it's due. We've got the prototype apart. A very nice piece of hardware. Care to take a look?"

"No, I'm going to take a couple of days off."

Illya followed Solo into the hall. "I'm sure you have a bevy of young ladies all waiting to minister to you in your weakened condition."

Napoleon smiled at the prospect. "No, actually, I was going to take the time to see a friend."

Illya looked at him curiously, then when realization hit him, he frowned slightly. "Oh, Napoleon, how could you?"

"Well, she did say she was in Vermont for the skiing and we didn't have a whole lot of privacy in that bunker."

"I might just take you back to Medical and see if you're suffering from delirium."

"C'mon, Illya. You have more than enough to do with LaCroix's prototype and I could use a few days off to recuperate."

"You mean you want to be unavailable so I have to write the report."

Napoleon lifted his arm nestled comfortably in a sling. "But Illya, I'm incapacitated." He flashed his famous charming smile.

Kuryakin sighed heavily, resigned. "Oh, all right. But do be careful. I trust Angelique about as far as I can throw her."

"You're still smarting over the way she slaughtered you in that chess game."

"Don't remind me. I guess I'll see you in a few days."

"That's right," Napoleon said. "Unless I get snowed in." He turned from his partner, leaving the blond Russian staring after him, pondering all the ramifications.

end