"What sort of idiot schedules a midnight drop in a cemetery on Halloween?" Napoleon Solo pulled his suit jacket closer and wished he'd brought along his top coat. The day had started out so warm that he'd foolishly trusted the whims of the October weather. Now he was cold and stuck with a grumpy partner. Not that he blamed Illya. To get a date with Miss Homer was a rare feat and Illya had succeeded… until the call came down from Waverly's office.

"The same one who agreed to his terms and signs our paychecks." Illya Kuryakin, while warmer and not hating the cool breeze that brushed against his cheek, was equally annoyed. It had been the first night in what seems a year that he'd managed to wrangle a date. He'd even agreed to donning a costume for the chance of spending the night in a young lady's company. Instead, he sat here with his partner. It wasn't usually a bad thing, but not tonight.

"Ten to one, they don't even show." Napoleon turned up his lapels and studied the nearby gravestones.

"I won't even favor that with an answer."

The contact, when it came, couldn't have been more of a surprise. They were there lounging by the appointed gravesite and were suddenly surrounded.

"Well, at least they showed up," Napoleon managed before he ducked to avoid a fist. With a little luck, the fight would warm him up.

Illya side stepped his adversary and slammed a fist home. The guy dropped and Illya just barely had time to jump aside to avoid the man who replaced him.

Illya caught a right cross to his mouth and grimaced at the taste of blood. If things had gone just a little different, he would have been in the sweet and perfumed arms of Miss Homer, the darling of filing. Now he'd never get another chance. She'd never let him make it up to her.

He took a step back and felt a fist swish by, then he foot caught something and he went over. He whacked his hand and a cascade of stars appeared before his eyes.

Strange, I'd always thought that was just a saying, he thought as he grabbed the injured area. He hissed at the pain, but didn't see any blood. That was good, wasn't it?

That's when he became aware of something being very wrong. He was alone in the graveyard, no, not alone. He was being cradled by someone.

"Napoleon?" he managed.

"Not exactly." The odd quality to the voice made him sit up far too fast and he grabbed his head again. "You need to move slower than that."

"Thank you," he whispered. "Where is my friend?"

"I only saw you."

Illya let his hands drop and he gasped at the sight. They were covered with wiggling maggots. He was on his feet and yards away from that spot as he frantically combed his hair and shook himself. He muttered in Russian, rude and terrible things, as he sent them to their maker.

"Sorry. I try to make them behave, but they have a mind of their own."

He turned at the voice and suppressed a moan. The woman standing there had been dead for some time, but she was still in the stage of decomposing. Her hair and face was without color, but the dress she wore was an almost comical brilliant blue. It seemed old fashioned. "Who are you?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saying who and not what. It's very hard to come to terms with being a festering corpse without someone hammering it home again and again." She walked over and hefted herself up onto a gravestone. "I'm just waiting for Mr. Right to come and take me away from all of this. Of course, that's what I was waiting for when I was alive and it cost me my life. How is a girl supposed to know the guy she's dating intends to kill her?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It wasn't your fault. My sister blamed herself for a long time. She was the one who'd set up the date. She couldn't have known. No one could have." She sighed heavily. "Things just sort of happen for a reason, whether we know what it is or not. I never blamed her for a minute."

"What is your name?"

"Sarah. My name is Sarah. You?"

"Illya."

"You are Russian?"

"I am."

"How is your head, sans maggots, I mean?"

Illya touched the bump gingerly. "I will be fine."

"I was afraid of that. You are the nicest man I've met here." She gave him a sad look just as Illya heard a familiar shout.

"Illya!" He grinned at Napoleon's voice.

"I have to go.

"I know." She sighed and rearranged her skirt.

"Good luck?" he offered and she smiled at that

"Thanks. You, too."

Illya felt faint and dropped to his knees. Hand were on him, but before he could react, he heard Napoleon's concerned orders. "We need to move now. Can you do it?"

"On your heels." Illya looked at Napoleon's bruised and beaten face with a sense of relief. Together they staggered from the cemetery.

Illya looked behind him and the girl in blue waved to him. He half raised a hand, but Napoleon caught it and pulled him away.

The next morning Illya walked carefully through the corridors. He'd avoid a concussion, but he still felt as if he would vomit if he moved too quickly. By rights he should be home and in bed, but he had to report to Waverly before that luxury.

He headed to filing and went directly to Miss Homer's desk. She looked up at him over the top of her glasses and he held out the bouquet of flowers he was carrying.

"I was hoping that we could perhaps try again."

"Not any time soon. You look like you took on an army." She took the flowers and inhaled their bouquet. Illya was just glad to have some distance between them and his nose now.

"I feel as if I did. I would have much preferred your company. I suspect you wouldn't have punched quite so hard."

Miss Homer laughed and opened her bottom drawer. She pulled out a number of items in her search for a vase. A frame picture caught Illya's eye. It was the girl he'd seen last night. In the photo, she was alive and laughing, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. She was wearing the same dress.

"That's my sister," Miss Homer murmured softly. "She was murdered."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." He handed the photo back.

"It's okay. I set her up on a blind date and the guy turned out to be a homicidal maniac. He killed her, then the gutless wonder killed himself." She hugged the photo before returning it to the drawer. ". If I hadn't pushed her into that date, she'd still be alive. It was all my fault." She put the flowers into the vase and smiled, brushing away a tear. "Thank you and give yourself a couple of weeks and ask again. I can't promise anything, but I have a feeling the outcome will be good."

Illya smiled, bowed politely and turned to leave. As he waited for the elevator doors to open, he said over his shoulder. "She doesn't blame you, you know."

"Who?"

"Sarah. She doesn't blame you for what happened."

"How could you even know that?"

He stepped inside the elevator and hit the close door button. "She told me."

Illya did not have to wait two weeks to see Miss Homer.