TITLE: The Dreams of Vampires Affair

AUTHOR: RAC

RATING: NC-17 for violence (in disturbing dream sequences so consider yourself warned) and smut <g>

PAIRING: IK/NS

EPISODE WARNING: Picks up at the end of The Bat Cave Affair (see synopsis link below for those of you who haven't seen it). Oh and for you canon purists, yes, I took some liberties with the bat cave door.

DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to whoever the heck owns Man From U.N.C.L.E. now. And that's not me.

SUMMARY: Illya's suffering odd side effects from one of the bat bites he got while a prisoner in Count Zark's bat cave.

FEEDBACK: Absolutely.

DISTRIBUTION:

THANKS: To Morr, my partner in crime! And thanks to Lee the T and Dinah for beta assistance. And thanks to the folks at Channel W for their ongoing fic help.

Go here if you want to read a synopsis of The Bat Cave Affair

The Dreams of Vampires Affair

Leaving Clemency to her ice cream soda, Napoleon walked Illya to the door. Napoleon gestured surreptitiously back to the girl. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

Illya made a sour face. "She is not my type, Napoleon. You are welcome to her."

"Why'd you ask her out then?"

"Because I knew you probably already had." One corner of Illya's lips curled up in a small lopsided smile.

"So you didn't want to go out with her?" Napoleon felt a bit irritated. It wasn't as much fun if Illya wasn't put out by his dating her.

"Nyet. I almost died because of her. I think I will be safer if she is not thinking of me. I wish you all the best." He gave Napoleon a serious look. "But I do not think she is your type either, my friend."

Napoleon glanced back at Clem, who was happily spooning out the last of her ice cream. "She's pretty. That makes her my type."

Illya shook his head. "Be careful of this one. I suspect she wants a husband, and has decided that you will do."

Napoleon snorted. "Smarter women than she have tried to get a ring on my finger." Napoleon took a closer look at his partner and frowned. "Are you feeling all right? You look pale."

Illya shrugged. "I am tired, that's all. I have been rather busy of late."

Napoleon grinned. Then he reached out to grab Illya's chin and turned his face first one way and then the other. "All the bat bites cleared up?"

Illya jerked his head out of Napoleon's hold. "Most of them." His fingers, as if with a mind of their own, touched the side of his neck just for a second.

Curious, Napoleon pulled down the neck of Illya's black turtleneck. He grimaced when he saw the bite there. "Ouch. Are there more like this?"

Illya took a step back to remove himself from Napoleon's prying hands. "That is the worst one."

"It looks like a vampire bit you." Napoleon bared his teeth and covered his face with an imaginary cape, and spoke with a heavy, and painfully incorrect, Romanian accent. "I vant to suck your blood." When that got no response from Illya, Napoleon sighed. "Any news on Count Zark? Did the local team find him?"

Illya shook his head. "No, he seems to have gotten away."

Napoleon let out a half-laugh. "He was a piece of work. He and Transylvania were made for each other." Getting back to the business at hand he gestured at Illya's neck. "Has Medical seen that?"

Illya frowned. "Yes, they have seen it. I am fine. Go lavish your attention on your clairvoyant and leave me alone."

"Grumpy, grumpy. Are you sure you're not sore that she's going out with me?" His tone was hopeful.

"Quite sure." Illya nodded toward her with his chin. "Better hurry. She's finished her ice cream soda. She may start gnawing on the furniture next."

Napoleon could almost believe it. Clemency could eat an amazing amount of food. Almost as much as Illya. Napoleon found himself reluctant for his partner to leave. "You could come with us, if you want."

Illya snorted. "And here I thought you were my friend. Sorry, but an evening at the Purple Unicorn watching you parade Miss McGill around on your arm does not sound appealing."

Napoleon took in Illya's pallor, and felt a surge of protectiveness. "I could just take her back to the hotel, tell her something's come up."

Illya's brow furrowed. "Why? Go. Have what passes as fun for you. I am going home to relax. I think I deserve it after saving all of Europe."

Napoleon frowned. "All right. But call me if you need me."

"I am going home to my vodka and my music, and the three of us will have a wonderful evening together. Why would I need you?" With a small smile, Illya turned around and left.

Napoleon watched him walk off and had to overcome a strong urge to chase after him. Shaking off his mood, he turned and sat down across from Clemency. She gave him a bright smile. "I purely do love these ice cream sodas."

"Shall I order you another one?"

"Better not." She ran her hands down her waist. "After all, a girl's got to watch her figure."

Napoleon gave her a dashing smile. "I've been watching it, and it's just fine."

Clemency lowered her head and blushed. "Why, shucks, Mr. Solo, you'll turn my head."

"I thought I told you to call me Napoleon."

She smiled, batting her eyes. "Napoleon." Her eyes flickered to the door. "How's Mr. Kury-ay-kin?" She put her hand on Napoleon's arm. "I can't tell you how bad I feel about putting him in such danger. Lawd almighty."

"It's Kuryakin." Somehow her mispronouncing Illya's name wasn't quite as charming as it had been the first dozen times.

"That's too much name for my tongue to get around. Back in the mountains, we don't get too many foreigners."

Napoleon pursed his lips as he gave her a look, then he stood, gracing her with a quick smile. "Let's get you back to your hotel so you can get ready for our evening."

She let out a delighted giggle. "I do declare, I'm so excited about bein' your date tonight, I could just bust."

Napoleon felt an unexpected pang of longing for Illya's company and wished he hadn't made plans. He and Illya had been apart too often lately working different ends of their missions, and in the three days they'd been back from Transylvania they hadn't had a moment to themselves.

But, he did have plans and he had no intention of disappointing a lady. Taking in Clem's expectant smile, he winked at her, and directed her toward the door.

*****

Napoleon always enjoyed the presence of a lovely woman, so the evening passed pleasantly enough. He'd taken Clem to dinner, and then to the Purple Unicorn, as promised. Napoleon sipped his wine, watching the sway of Clemency's hips as she made her way to the powder room.

His groin tightened in anticipation of getting the lovely lady into bed. Napoleon knew he had his work cut out for him. She was, in his estimation, a born cock tease. Napoleon suspected Illya was right. She was going to try to go for the brass ring, or the gold ring, in this case.

Napoleon held his left hand out, giving his ring finger a lopsided smile. She wasn't the one. He wasn't averse to the idea of commitment, to marriage, but he'd never found the right one. There'd been glimpses, but something had always interfered, and in retrospect, Napoleon had been grateful.

Truthfully, Napoleon liked his life the way it was. His job was important, with a compensatory salary to make up for the danger. He had women whenever he wanted them, and he had Illya. A soft smile lit his face as he thought of his partner.

Napoleon liked people, and he'd had many friends in his life, but he'd never had a friend like Illya. In Korea and during his college years, he'd met men he liked and trusted, men he expected to stay in touch with. Yet, somehow, over the years, they'd fallen away, eventually ceasing to be essential. But Illya was different. Illya was essential.

The memory of Illya's pale face caused Napoleon to frown. More often than not, Illya was the one who got hurt on assignments, as Napoleon ended up succoring the innocent who got caught in the crossfire, and this latest affair had been no exception.

Napoleon glanced up to see Clemency returning. Ever the gentleman, he rose to seat her. As her fingers tapped in time to the music, Napoleon held out his hand. "Would you care to dance?"

She gave him a brilliant smile. "I purely would."

One hand on the small of her back, Napoleon worked his way to the dance floor. Then, with effortless grace, he moved with her to take their place among the other dancers.

*****

Back at the hotel, Clemency kicked off her shoes and rose up on her toes to kiss Napoleon. She sighed as she rested her head on his chest. "You sure do know how to set a girl's heart on fire."

Napoleon grinned into her hair. He pressed a few kisses down her face. "I'd be glad to set the rest of you on fire, if you let me."

Clemency took a step back. "Now wait just a minute, there, Mister."

Napoleon lifted his hands in surrender at the tone in her voice, hoping to avoid another homespun sermon. By the look on Clem's face, Napoleon knew he was not going to be that lucky.

"My granny warned me about good-lookin' men."

Napoleon gave her a tight smile. "I'm sure she did."

"And do you know what she said?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"She said, Clem, you best be on your guard against good-lookin' men. They think the world owes them a favor."

Napoleon frowned. He had never met Clemency's grandmother, and never would, God rest her soul, but he already didn't like her much.

Clem continued on her soapbox. "Yes, sir. She said that a good-lookin' man will try and help himself to the milk without buyin' the cow first. You know what I'm talkin' about?"

Despite the coarse analogy, Napoleon knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd known this wouldn't be easy and answered with a volley of his own. "Perhaps I'd best say goodnight, then."

Clem frowned, and Napoleon bit back a grin. She clearly hadn't been expecting him to give up so easily. Napoleon decided he was tired of the game. He glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too late to drop in on Illya.

Her voice sullen, she answered his unspoken question. "He's asleep."

Napoleon glanced up at her, surprised at the volunteered information. It was the first time all evening she'd said anything that smacked of her ESP. "Are you sure?"

Clem nodded. She took a step toward him and snaked her arms up his chest to wrap around his neck. "You can kiss me again if you promise you won't take advantage of me."

Napoleon had to work at not rolling his eyes at her ploy. He sincerely hoped she couldn't read his mind right now; he didn't think she'd be too flattered. He reached up, took her hands and gently extracted himself from her clutches as he shook his head. "I don't believe I can be trusted to make any such promise. I think I had better go. I'll call you tomorrow."

Clem worked her lips into a pout. "Promise?"

Napoleon chucked her under the chin. "I promise. Mr. Waverly's assigned me to you until we get all those repeat tests done on your ESP, now that you don't have that comb anymore."

Clem tried to wrap herself around him again, practically purring. "I purely am grateful for your time, payin' all this attention to a little ol' country girl like me."

Again, Napoleon extricated himself, pasting a charming smile on his face. "Time well spent, my dear." His thoughts wandered to Illya, and for some reason a shiver ran down his back. He glanced at her. "Are you sure he's asleep? And he's fine?" During this mission, even taking into account Thrush's interference with her clairvoyance, Clem had been unusually tied in to Illya.

"I told you he was sleepin'." Her voice was annoyed.

Napoleon leaned forward, gave her a small peck on the lips, and backed away. "I'll be by to pick you up in the morning."

She batted her eyes at him. "I'll be waitin'."

With a last smile, Napoleon made good his escape and headed for his car. Despite the lateness of the hour, and the fact that Clem had said Illya was asleep, he still toyed with the idea of dropping in on his partner. Napoleon sat in his car and finally chose to go home, deciding that what Illya probably needed most was a good night's sleep.

*****

Clem stared at herself in the mirror. She frowned. "Don't you be lookin' at me that way. I told the truth."

This was an old game to her, bouncing her ideas and thoughts off her reflection. Home had been lonely since her granny had died and the sound of her voice helped fill the void.

Clem stuck her tongue out, making a face. "It was the truth. He is sleepin'. 'Sides, it ain't natural for a man to think about another man so much. I declare Napoleon spent more time thinkin' about that partner of his tonight than he did me."

A guilty face stared back at her. She sighed, knowing she wasn't doing right by the poor man. Clem tried again to convince herself she had the right to do what she was doing. "He is sleepin'. It weren't no lie. Anyway, I want Napoleon to pay attention to me. How am I gonna get him to fall in love with me if he's worryin' about that other fella?"

She still felt guilty. For a few seconds, she thought about calling Napoleon to tell him that he might want to check on his friend. Then, she watched as that stubborn look took over her face, and she knew she wouldn't. Maybe she'd tell him tomorrow. Maybe. After all, it was only bad dreams. Everyone had bad dreams. With that, she flipped off the light and headed for bed.

*****

Illya had done everything he could to try to stay awake. He'd drunk enough tea to keep the Titanic afloat, had gone for a long walk, even tried to read some fictional spy story for a laugh, but it had been three nights now with too little sleep, and his body was craving rest.

The dreams were disturbing. And considering the nightmares Illya had been plagued with most of his life, that was saying a lot. These were unlike any dreams he'd ever had. They felt real, the people, the touching, the pain, the blood. All of it, too real. Since these particular dreams started, he'd wake up each morning, forcing back panic, while he examined himself for the blood he was sure he'd find on his hands, or in his mouth, disgusted at the proof of his ejaculations.

Illya ran his hands over his face, fighting back the exhaustion. He almost called Napoleon, but couldn't imagine asking him to come over because he was afraid to go to sleep. Napoleon would laugh himself sick. He'd come over, but his method for keeping Illya awake would be to tease him mercilessly.

Illya thought about getting up and taking another cold shower, but his body wouldn't obey. His eyelids were drooping, and his body grew heavy. Finally succumbing, he curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

The hunger consumed him. It had been too long since he'd fed. Walking the streets, he could hear the heartbeats of a thousand men and women, smell the blood coursing through their veins and arteries. The anticipation made him lightheaded.

His eyes searched the crowds, looking for the perfect victim, one who would be easy to cull from the herd. Then he saw her and he waited until he was sure she was alone. She was absorbed in the merchandise being offered for sale in the store windows. It would be the last thing she ever did.

He waited for her to move further down the street, away from the potentially protective eyes and ears of her fellow humans. She strolled along, blissfully ignorant of the fate awaiting her. He sprang from the shadows and dragged her into the alley, one hand over her mouth, the other secure around her body.

He was too strong for her to fight back. There were few strong enough to stop him from taking what he wanted. He saw the fear in her eyes and fed off of it. Her terror was as vital to him as her life force. He needed both to survive.

He drew her further into the darkness until he was sure no one had seen him. Then, unable to wait another second, his hand still securely over her mouth, he shifted his hold on her enough to bare her neck. Licking his lips, exposing the sharp fangs, relishing her new burst of panic as she realized what lay in store for her, he pierced the soft flesh and began to feed.

He could feel it surge through him; it sexually aroused him. The taste of her filled his mouth, the salty, viscous fluid rolling over his tongue, heating his throat, filling him with power, feeding his erection. It was while he was feeding that he felt his immortality like a living breathing presence. Nothing else made him feel alive like this; even the orgasm he experienced paled in comparison to the texture and vibrancy of her pulsing sacrifice.

He was disappointed when she fainted. Her fear had been delectable. He'd have to pick a man next time; they fought harder, and they lasted so much longer before the blood loss weakened them past the point of consciousness.

Her life force flickered, and then died, passing from her to him, and he dropped her dead body to the ground. She was of no further use.

Illya snapped awake with a gasp. His neck throbbed. He put his hand up and pulled his fingers back to find them covered with blood. Illya jumped from the couch and moved to the bathroom.

The bite on his neck was bleeding. It bled after every dream, no matter what he did. Pressure dressings, topical coagulants, nothing seemed to help. The dreams made the puncture wounds bleed.

He could still feel the woman's death. It rested on his conscience as if he'd been responsible. He could feel the moisture in his crotch, knew that he'd ejaculated, that his body had found enjoyment in her demise. It sickened him.

Illya yanked his clothes off and turned on the shower. Standing within, letting the cool water flow over him, watching the blood from his neck wash down his body, he was desperate to understand what was happening to him.

*****

Napoleon glanced up when the cafeteria door opened and frowned when it still wasn't who he'd hoped it would be. He was brought back to his tablemate by a whining voice.

"Napoleon. You're not payin' me the least bit of attention."

Napoleon flashed Clem an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a bit distracted. I'm just wondering where Illya is this morning."

Clem rolled her eyes. "I do declare, you worry somethin' awful about that man."

Napoleon supposed he did at that. He pointed at Clemency's head. "Why don't you do your thing and tell me where he is."

"Well, shoot fire and save the matches, do you think all I do is keep track of Mr. Kury-ay-kin?"

Napoleon didn't even bother to correct her pronunciation. He was tired of doing it and it certainly didn't help. "You do seem to always know where he is or what he's doing."

Clem made a sour expression as if that idea didn't exactly appeal.

Napoleon gestured again, his need to know stronger than his usual good manners. "So, come on. Where is he?"

Clem glowered at Napoleon, but then she obediently shut her eyes. After a few seconds she opened them back up and nodded definitively. "He'll be along shortly. He's just--" She paused and then touched her neck. "He's fiddlin' with somethin' on his neck." She brightened. "Maybe he's puttin' on a tie."

Napoleon didn't think so. That bite on his neck had looked nasty, and after three days, it should have been mostly healed. He reached for his communicator. "Is he home?"

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, and then shook her head. She caught Napoleon's eyes and pointed. "He'll be comin' in that door any second."

His partner walked through the door just then and Napoleon was up and several steps away before he remembered Clem. He turned and smiled at her. "I'll be right back."

Clem sat back in a huff.

Napoleon strolled over to Illya and cast a worried eye on his partner. "You look like hell."

"Thank you. Good morning to you too."

"No, I mean it. You look like hell. Are you all right?"

Illya waved off his concern. "I'm fine."

Napoleon had heard that phrase before and too many times it was a complete lie. He reached up and, before his partner could stop him, pulled Illya's black turtleneck away from his neck. He scowled when he saw the bandage and the stain that indicated fresh blood. "It's still bleeding?"

Illya jerked his head away, but he answered the question. "It won't stop."

Napoleon grabbed Illya's arm and gave him a determined look. "I'm taking you to Medical."

Illya frowned. "I've been there already."

"Today?"

Napoleon could tell that Illya wanted to lie, but instead let out a sigh. "No, not today."

"Then we're going right now." Towing Illya behind him, he headed for the door.

Illya dug his heels in, and stopped the forward momentum. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Napoleon looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

Illya nodded toward Clem. "Your lady friend doesn't look happy that you're abandoning her."

Napoleon let out a noisy sigh and then tightened his lips. He pointed a scolding finger at his partner and then at the floor. "You. Stay right here. Don't move, don't go to the office, don't get anything to eat. Stay."

Illya rolled his eyes heavenward and stood, folding his arms across his chest.

Napoleon gave him one last look of warning and then headed back to Clem. On the way he grabbed a Section III agent and brought him to the table. "Clem, this is Fred Knight. Fred, this lovely lady here is Clemency McGill."

Clem smiled at Fred, and he smiled back.

Napoleon smiled at them both. "Fred, would you please escort Miss McGill down to the conference room in Section IV? Dr. Evans is expecting her in fifteen minutes."

Fred looked like it was his lucky day. "It would be a real pleasure, ma'am."

Clem gave Fred a smile, but then her lips formed a charming pout as she gazed up at Napoleon. "I thought you were assigned to take care of me."

"I am, but something's come up that I need to take care of." He gave her his most placating smile. "How about I come get you at noon and we'll have lunch together?"

Clem batted her eyes at Napoleon. "You wouldn't be foolin' me, now, would you?"

Napoleon put a hand over his chest in protest. "Your lack of faith wounds me."

Clem waved him off, her sharp eyes looking up at him through long lashes. "For sure you're foolin' with me now."

Napoleon glanced behind him quickly to make sure Illya hadn't strayed from his assigned position. All that got him was glares coming at him from both directions. Deciding Illya wouldn't stand still for much longer, he smiled at Clem. "I'll see you at noon, then." Without waiting for her agreement, he turned and without a word grabbed his partner's arm, dragging him out the door.

Illya let out a dramatic sigh. "I do know the way. I have been there once or twice."

Napoleon flashed him a disgusted look. "And you've managed to evade the place more times than I can count. If I let go of you, you'll disappear down some hallway and you won't surface until you've bled to death."

Illya's unusual silence tickled Napoleon's early warning system. He gave Illya a careful look, taking in the pallor. "How much has it been bleeding?"

Illya looked annoyed. "I haven't exactly been measuring it."

"How much?"

Illya shrugged. "I don't know."

"That's not a very scientific answer, Doctor Kuryakin."

"Believe it or not, I don't go to bed with beakers and pipettes on the bedside table."

Napoleon could hear something in Illya's voice that told him that whatever was going on, it had Illya worried. He didn't bother to ask Illya to confirm his opinion; he knew the Russian would deny it to his dying breath. Napoleon firmed up his grip, as if Illya might take off at a run, and didn't let up until the door to Medical closed behind them. When Dr. Sadler appeared, Napoleon called him over. "Hey, Eric, I need you to look at Illya's neck."

Eric cocked his head at the Russian. "Is it still bothering you?"

Napoleon answered, much to Illya's obvious displeasure. "It's still bleeding."

The doctor looked surprised, his eyebrows rising. "It's still bleeding?"

Illya gave another shrug. Napoleon risked getting his hand ripped off and pulled down the turtleneck again. The reddened bandage spoke for itself.

Eric hmmed and gestured toward one of the examining rooms.

Napoleon watched in surprise as Illya meekly obeyed. Screwing his mouth up, he followed behind, his instincts on full alert. Whatever it was must really be bothering his partner to make him this uncharacteristically docile.

Eric patted the gurney and Illya hopped up on it. At another gesture from the doctor, he took off his holster, and pulled off his turtleneck.

Being a firm believer in the get it over quick philosophy, the doctor ripped the bandage off of Illya's neck.

Illya glared at him, but kept his mouth shut.

Eric prodded the bite a little. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's nothing."

"Your CEA doesn't seem to think it's nothing."

Illya glared at Napoleon. Napoleon ignored him. He spoke to the doctor instead. "It shouldn't still be bleeding, should it?"

Eric shook his head. "No." He crossed the room and gathered supplies. "But I did some checking on vampire bats after you got back and it made for interesting reading. Their saliva contains three active ingredients to keep the blood they're feeding on flowing. One of the main ingredients is an anticoagulant. Then there's a second one to keep red blood cells from sticking together, and the third ingredient keeps the veins under the bite from constricting. They're the most remarkable creatures."

Napoleon considered his words. "So you think the bleeding is because of bat saliva?"

"That seems as likely a reason as anything else."

Napoleon didn't miss the flash of relief in Illya's eyes. It made him curious. What had Illya thought was going on?

The doctor glanced at Illya. "Does it bleed all the time?"

Illya shook his head. "It only seems to bleed in the morning. After a while it stops." He shrugged as if unconcerned. "I probably pick at it in my sleep."

Napoleon heard that tone again. His brow furrowed. He tried to imagine a world where he could ask Illya what was bothering him, and Illya would simply tell him.

Eric cleaned off the neck wound with some alcohol, and then let it dry for a few seconds. He hmmed, and then said, "I think I'll suture it closed. That should take care of it. But I'll collect a blood sample to make sure we're not missing anything." After donning sterile gloves, he pushed around the wound to make it bleed and then drew up a small amount of blood into several capillary tubes. He reached for a suture kit. "Want some anesthetic?"

Illya shook his head no.

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "Illya, let him numb the area first. It's not like you're out in the field, with nothing but me and a rudimentary first aid kit patching you together."

Napoleon thought Illya would argue again, but instead he gave a terse nod of agreement. Napoleon crossed his arms, drumming out a beat with the fingers of one hand against his other arm.

Illya gave him a look. "What is it?"

Napoleon looked down at his nervous fingers. He stilled their movement. "Nothing."

The next look Illya shot him made it clear his partner didn't believe him. "Go back to your office, Napoleon. I believe that Dr. Sadler is capable of performing this procedure without an audience."

Napoleon didn't want to leave. He tried to think of an excuse to stay, but he really didn't have one, other than wanting to be with Illya. Maybe they could have dinner. Then he remembered Clem and he scowled. It was doubtful that Illya would want to join them, and he was quite certain that Clem wouldn't appreciate sharing him with Illya any more than she already did.

Illya sighed. "Napoleon. Your facial expressions will make the doctor nervous. I'd just as soon he had steady hands as he approaches my neck with a needle."

Napoleon flashed his partner a disgruntled look. "All right, all right, I'm going." He followed that up by his most pointed CEA look. "Don't do anything strenuous today. In fact, you should probably go home and sleep."

Napoleon didn't imagine the brief flash of alarm that crossed Illya's face and it made him even more reluctant to leave. Illya covered it well. "I will go to my lab, and do nothing more strenuous than read notes, and pour liquid from one container to another." He flashed Napoleon a teasing look. "I may have to walk across the room a few times, assuming that's all right with you."

Napoleon let out a sarcastic laugh. "Very funny." He spoke a brief farewell to the doctor, and reluctantly left.

Eric grinned at Illya. "Bit of a mother hen, isn't he?"

Illya smiled tightly in return but he chose not to respond. Right at this particular moment, he was feeling grateful for Napoleon's mother hen tendencies. The bite had been worrying him, but he would never have come to Medical on his own. He was relieved it would be sutured closed, eliminating the problem. He tried hard not to think about the dreams.

*****

They were back in Clem's hotel, snuggled on the couch, watching TV. Napoleon had tried to let his hands wander a couple of times just on general principle, but Clem was having none of it. Her appeal was rapidly fading. Sex might have made listening to copious amounts of mountain truisms worthwhile, but without it, Napoleon was getting bored. There wasn't much going on behind the pretty face.

The only thing that was still amusing was Clem's firm belief that her attempt to turn Napoleon into husband material was working. And because she was so committed to her path, Napoleon had no intention of sleeping with her, even if she threw her naked body at him. Knowing her, she was as fertile as a rabbit, and even with a condom, Napoleon was taking no chances.

His thoughts kept wandering to Illya. He had gone to the lab twice during the day to check on Illya only to be shooed away both times. When he'd checked in one last time before leaving with Clem, it was only to find that Illya had already left.

Napoleon heard a harsh sigh. He guessed that Clem had clued in to the direction of his thoughts. Napoleon supposed he should be grateful she only picked up on his thoughts about Illya. Suddenly annoyed with her consistent pique at his concern for his friend, Napoleon turned to her. "Haven't you ever had a good friend?"

"Shoot fire, of course I have me some friends."

"Then why does it bother you so much that I'm worried about Illya?"

"It just ain't natural."

Napoleon frowned at her. "What's not natural?"

"How much you care for him."

"What's wrong with caring for him?"

"You love him."

"Of course I love him. He's my best friend."

Clem flounced back against the couch. "It just ain't natural."

Napoleon moved away from her and considered the woman, his lips pursed. "We're back to that. What exactly are you saying isn't natural?"

"Men lovin' other men."

Napoleon frowned at her. "I can understand that the idea of a man being sexually involved with another man might be unsettling to someone of your upbringing, but surely you've been around men who care deeply for their male friends."

"What do you mean someone of my upbringin'? Are you tryin' to tell me that you don't think it's unnatural?"

Napoleon shook his head. "No, I don't. As long as it's consensual, it doesn't bother me at all. Love comes in all shapes and sizes." He held up his hand to stop her from interjecting. "But, despite my feelings on the subject, Illya and I are just friends. If we were anything more than that, I'd hardly be here with you like this."

Clem gave him a horrified glance. "You don't think there's nothin' wrong with a man touchin' another man?"

Napoleon shook his head again. "I already told you that I don't."

"Well you should. It's a sin against God. God made men and women to be together. Anythin' else is unholy."

Napoleon couldn't imagine how he'd gotten in this conversation, or why he'd been foolish enough to argue with her. Along with all her folksy sayings, she'd inherited a mountain's worth of stubbornness from her dearly departed mama and granny. He went for a major distraction and pulled her back into his arms. "Well, now, that hardly affects us, does it?"

She wasn't ready to move on and pulled away. "It does if you think of Mr. Kury-ay-kin that way."

Napoleon tried to control his temper. "Clemency. First of all, it's pronounced Kuryakin, and I'd like you to try to remember that. Second, as I already said, Illya and I are just friends."

"You sure?"

Napoleon found that he couldn't help needling her a little. "I think I'd know if Illya and I were lovers."

She almost recoiled. "How can you even say that out loud? It's disgustin'."

Napoleon got up and fixed himself a drink. "I don't expect you to understand this, but when you stare death in the face on a regular basis, the inconsequential facts that ordinarily set people apart lose their hold. They just don't seem to matter as much when your mortality is being shoved down your throat."

Clem's expression was censorious and not open to change. "It's just wrong."

"Why?" Napoleon thought about his homosexual friends, the strength of some of their relationships. "Why is it wrong?"

"It just is."

"Why?"

"It says so in the bible." She looked around the room and then headed for the bedside table. "I'll show you."

The last thing Napoleon wanted was Clem getting out the Gideon's Bible and finding scriptures to back up her viewpoint. He grabbed her arm. "Clem. Let's not argue about this."

Clem gave him a long hard look. For a few seconds, he watched as she had second doubts about him as husband material. Then, a cunning look crossed her face. He knew she had decided that she was the one to save him from his sinnin' ways. Napoleon had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He reached for his coat, deciding he wasn't in the mood for her type of redemption. "I think I'll call it a night."

She tried to talk him out of leaving, but after only a few kisses, Napoleon was free and back in his car. He glanced at his watch as he turned the key. Almost midnight. Giving in to temptation, he pulled out his communicator and called his partner.

"Kuryakin here."

"Why aren't you asleep?" Napoleon grinned; he could almost hear his partner's frown.

"If you were worried about me sleeping, why are you calling me so late?"

"If you'd been sleeping, I would have sung you a lullaby until you fell back asleep."

"Fortunately, I don't need to avail myself of your services, thank you anyway."

"Are you making fun of my singing?"

"Yes."

Napoleon chuckled and switched subjects. "How's your neck? Has it been bleeding at all?"

"No, I believe Dr. Sadler has taken care of that."

"Good. So, you're all right then?"

"I'm fine, Napoleon. Stop worrying about me."

"Can't. It's in the partner rulebook. Thou shalt worry about one's partner."

"Where's Miss McGill while you spout mythical rules at me?"

"In her hotel room, pouting."

"I take it she's failed to elicit a proposal from you?"

Napoleon snorted. "I think you were right, Illya. She's definitely not my type."

There was a short grunt of agreement. "Then go home. Go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Napoleon hesitated, not sure why he still wasn't buying Illya's nonchalance. Something was wrong. He knew it. "You're sure? I can come over."

The ensuing hesitation startled Napoleon. He had fully expected Illya to snap at him for being so persistent. Finally the rebuff came, as he knew it would. "I do not need a babysitter. Go home. If you're that desperate for something to do, go drinking. Or go back to your Miss McGill."

Napoleon sighed. "Fine, fine. Reject me. See if I care."

There was another unexpected hesitation. "Napoleon, I--I do not want you to think that I don't--" He broke off.

Despite the incomplete sentence, Napoleon got it, although he was surprised that Illya was willing to comfort him. "I don't. Like I said, that's what partners--and friends are for. Just try to get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Napoleon."

"Goodnight." Napoleon recapped his communicator and headed for home.

*****

It was raining. He could smell the wet earth, and the pall of depression that lay over the city. It had been raining for days. He loved it. The overcast skies allowed him to move about during the day, although he kept to the shadows as much as possible.

It was time to feed again. The general misery elicited by the weather had been lovely, but he needed blood. And sex. It had been too long for both.

He didn't like going without. But, he'd come close to discovery in the last town, and had had to leave. He had been exploring this new town for a week, learning its alleyways, discovering the areas where people were apt to be the most distracted, ripe for the picking.

Now it was time. He found a bar: dark, seedy, a place for loners, and for those who were different. There were three men at the bar and he made brief eye contact with them all as he took a seat and ordered a drink. Then he waited.

He was a handsome man, always had been. Always would be. He never changed, never aged. It didn't take long. One of the men slid over next to him and started up a conversation. Implied in the words was an invitation. He had every intention of taking the man up on his invitation, although he planned to take much more than what was being offered.

Within minutes they were heading out into the cold and wet, the man leading him to his small and dingy apartment. He sneered, thinking the man should be grateful that his paltry life would be ending soon.

He embraced the man, enjoying the feel of his hard body, the clear evidence of his desire pushing against his own hardened cock. Taking a woman was a delight, but taking a man was heaven. Submission meant little when there was such an unequal spread of power. Tonight, a woman would be too weak for him. He wanted a man to dominate.

Clothes began to make their way to the floor. He shoved the man against the wall, unleashing just enough of his strength to give the man pause. When the man's eyes widened with a small touch of alarm, he drank it in.

His need was growing. He wrapped his fingers around the man's throat, and started to tighten them. He needed more than a touch of alarm; he craved the fear. His wish was granted.

The man started to fight back, tried to pry away the fingers, to punch at his body. He ignored it. The man's strength, although more than a woman's, was still, after all, nothing compared to his own power.

He felt something sharp stick his side and, surprised, he glanced down to find he'd been stabbed with a letter opener directly below his ribs. The pain was annoying, but it would fade quickly. He yanked the opener from his body and threw it across the room. The fear in the man grew stronger.

He closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy it. Feeling the man weaken, he loosened the hold on his neck a little. It was too soon for him to die. Much too soon. He dragged him over to the small kitchen table and forced him to turn around and bend across it.

The man struggled, his legs kicking, his fingers aiming for his captor's groin, not for pleasure but to try to inflict hurt. He subdued him, holding him down, then entered him with one brutal thrust. The cries of pain were like a symphony. With a driving force, he took his pleasure. When he could feel his climax approaching, he bent over the man, pulling his head back, exposing his neck. As the first spurt of semen jetted out of his cock, his fangs sank into the carotid, and he drank from the man.

There was nothing he liked more than the dual sensation of ejaculation, and feeding. It emptied him and it filled him. The little death coupled with immortal life.

He pulled out of the man, and let his body slump to the ground.

It was early, perhaps he'd feed again before dawn.

Illya jerked awake, breathing rapidly, his heart pounding. The dreams were so real. Every night he killed, every night he took pleasure in it. Men, women, children, he had no conscience, only the need to meet his own gratification.

Illya hated the man in his dreams with a vengeance, and was deathly afraid it meant that this sickness, the ability to do this much harm, was inside of him. What else could the dreams mean, when they came night after night?

He glanced down at his pants and saw that he'd ejaculated again. Touching his neck, he could feel the wetness there and felt a moment of despair. Despite the stitches, he was bleeding again.

Getting up, he headed for the bathroom, pulling off his pajamas as he went. He stood naked in front of the mirror and investigated his neck. Around the stitches, two tracks of blood were making their way down his neck, heading toward his chest now that the fabric of his pajamas was no longer soaking up the blood.

He glanced at his abdomen, saw a few glistening drops of semen. Then he noticed more blood. Fear swept through him. He was cut, exactly where the letter opener had been jabbed into his body in the dream. And it was seeping blood.

Illya just stared at it. His thoughts chaotic, he tried to find a rational excuse for the wound but found none. All he could think was that his dreams were starting to come true. He felt caged by confusion, betrayed by his body. He couldn't bear to even look at himself. With a harsh wrenching motion he turned on the shower and stepped within. Grabbing the soap he began to wash himself, scrubbing as hard as he could in hopes it might cleanse away the residue of the dreams.

*****

Napoleon was already ensconced at his desk behind a mountain of paperwork before Illya made his way into the office. He'd been fighting the urge to call his partner, wanting to make sure that he was all right. In another minute he would have given in to the urge and braved the Russian's morning grumpiness.

When Illya walked in, Napoleon's relief was short-lived. He frowned. "Remember when I said you looked like hell yesterday?"

Illya moved to his desk. "Vividly."

"Well, I lied. Yesterday was just a warm-up exercise, apparently, because today you really look like hell."

Illya sat, pulled a file toward him. "Your poetic observations leave me speechless."

Napoleon got up and moved to Illya's desk. He perched on the front edge, to Illya's left. "What's going on? Are you sick? Do I need to take you to Medical again? Talk to me." He didn't care if Illya did snap at him, it was time to get to the bottom of this.

Illya put the file down and let out a beleaguered sigh.

Napoleon braced himself for a Russian tempest. Nothing happened. He reached out a hand and raised Illya's face with a gentle nudge to the underside of his chin. "Illya?"

Illya tried to turn away, but Napoleon wouldn't let him. He closed his eyes.

Napoleon could see the conflict on his partner's face. He sensed that Illya wanted to confide in him, but was faced with his own natural reluctance to reveal a weakness. When Illya opened his eyes, Napoleon was taken aback at the acute anxiety exposed. He dropped his hand, but stayed silent, not wanting to say anything that would make the Russian withdraw.

"Napoleon." There was a pause. "I've been--I am--" His communicator went off. Illya reached for it, and flashed Napoleon a small, tired grin. "Saved by the bell."

Napoleon glowered at him, and crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear that the conversation was far from over.

Illya uncapped his communicator. "Kuryakin here."

It was Waverly. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. Please come to my office immediately. I am in need of your services."

"I'm on my way." Illya recapped his communicator and stood, glancing at Napoleon. "Duty calls."

Napoleon frowned. "I'm not so sure that you're fit for duty." He cocked his head to the side. "Are you?"

Illya snapped, "I'm fine."

Napoleon was silently damning Waverly for his timing. Another minute and he was sure Illya would have spilled the beans. He flashed Illya a disgruntled look. "And why just you? Why not both of us?"

Illya gave him a dry smile. "You have an assignment already."

Napoleon grimaced. So he did. Clemency. "Still."

Illya put his hand up to stop his partner. "He said immediately. I have to go."

Napoleon gave up for the time being. "Let me know what he wants." When he did not receive the affirmation he expected, he gave his partner a warning glare. "I mean it, Illya. And this is your CEA talking as well as your friend. If it's too strenuous a mission, Waverly may need to find someone else."

Illya nodded. "I will let you know."

Napoleon grinned mischievously at him. "We could always swap assignments."

Illya shivered. "No, thank you. I think I'd be safer in the jungles of Peru."

"She's not that bad." All he got for that was a roll of Illya's eyes. As Illya left, Napoleon cursed Waverly again, and then he cursed his partner. This wasn't the first time, and Napoleon expected it wouldn't be the last, that he wished he c