Napoleon fiddled with a pencil and contemplated his best line of defense. It was going to take cunning, stamina, and no little luck to pull this off. He looked down at the three little pieces of paper, one sort of round, one square, and one triangular.

"Okay, if I meet Pam at the restaurant, and drop Suki off at the museum… no, if Carol catches me there without her… " Talking out loud wasn't really helping either. He was almost thankful when his office door flew open.

"Napoleon, come quick! We need you." The man darted away even before Napoleon could identify him. That didn't matter. Napoleon acted the way he always did, immediately and without question. It was how he was trained and how he responded.

He raced out and headed left in the direction of the sounds of a fight. A group of people from various Sections stood around shouting encouragement and vague insults.

Napoleon shook his head and pushed them aside, wading into the fight to separate the assailants. It didn't surprise him that much that one of them was his nearly new partner. The Russian had already developed a reputation as a scrapper.

"Break it up," Napoleon ordered and Illya Kuryakin fell back a step. Sutherland advanced that same step and Napoleon suddenly found himself, half conscious, on the ground between them. This time it was Section Three who pulled the two men apart.

"What the hell is going on?" Napoleon demanded.

Illya shrugged off the hands holding him and shook his head. "Nothing."

"And I suppose nothing is why your nose is bleeding." Illya held his handkerchief to it and sniffed, still not taking his eyes off the other man.

Napoleon turned to Gary Sutherland, one of the Section Two agents Napoleon had come in with. His reputation for being a smart ass and unable to follow orders had kept him back with the junior agents. "And you? Do you want to be a junior agent your whole career, Gary?"

Sutherland muttered something and Napoleon's eyebrows arched.

"I didn't catch that, Gary."

"Promotions are up, Napoleon," Claudio, a senior agent, explained. "One guess as to whose name was and whose wasn't on the list."

"It's not fair. I deserved that promotion – not that Commie."

Illya tugged, but the Section Threes held firm. "Take Mr. Kuryakin to the locker room," Napoleon ordered, not even looking at his partner. "And take Mr. Sutherland down to Medical and get him patched up. Then take him to see Mr. Gilletti."

He watched the two men being half dragged, half pushed away in opposite directions and sighed. Most of the employees at UNCLE had accepted Illya. They'd learned to look past their prejudices and see the man for who he was. That he was committed, smart, and talented went without saying, but he was also an asset to the organization. He wouldn't be in UNCLE otherwise. There was still the odd hold out who saw the agent as The Red Threat. Illya had proven himself loyal to UNCLE, but some folks just refused to see it.

"Какие глупые удары агент? Действительно ли он безумен? Он хочет умереть (What sort of fool punches an agent? Is he insane? Does he want to die?)?" Illya was muttering when Napoleon entered the locker room. The Section Threes stood there quietly

"Какие глупые удары назад (What kind of fool punches back?)?" The agents turned, startled by Napoleon. They didn't know he spoke Russian was his first guess. "Ю знает лучше (You know better)."

"In my country, we never start a fight that we have no intention of following through to its conclusion," Illya slammed the door to his locker and both Section Threes went for their weapons. "Sorry," he apologized, lacklusterly, as he gathered up a handful of washcloths. Illya flopped down onto a bench and tilted his head back. He sniffed and squeezed his nose at the bridge.

"Is it broken?"

"Probably, but it wouldn't be the first time."

Napoleon nodded and jerked his head to the door. "You can go, I'll take over." Napoleon watched the men walk away before turning back to the blond and sitting down beside him. "What possessed you to throw a punch?"

"A broken nose."

"He threw the first punch then."

"I never even saw it coming. I just came around the corner and… as they are so fond of saying these days, POW! Right between the eyes." For a long time they just sat there, the only sound in the room the clicking on and off of the water heater and Illya's sniffing. "I didn't ask for that promotion, Napoleon." Illya's comment was very quiet. "For exactly this reason."

"I know. I guess Waverly and the other Section Ones thought you deserved it." Napoleon handed him another washcloth. "I know you turned down the last one."

"I just want to do my job, Napoleon, that's all."

"Why don't you head down to Medical and get that looked at?"

"So they can tell me it's broken? No thanks. I'll be fine."

Napoleon left Illya on the bench, sniffing, and went back to his office. As he approached, the secretary he shared with three other senior agents raised a hand to him I a half wave.

"Mr. Gilletti would like to see you."

"Thank you, Abigail." Napoleon made a gesture and followed it. Norm Gilletti was Section Two, Number One, in short, Napoleon's boss. He knew he wasn't in trouble, but his hard headed partner might be.

He got to the door and knocked. At the answer, he entered and looked around.

Joe Mayall, Gilletti's partner and Section Two, Number Two was gone and his desk looked as if it had lost a battle with the local land fill. How the man found anything was a mystery.

"Ah, Napoleon, come in." Gilletti gathered some paper off a nearby chair and dumped them onto an already impressive stack of reports. ""We need to talk."

"Yes, sir." Napoleon sat, adjusting the crease in his pants as he did.

"I hear we had a bit of trouble this morning. What are we going to do about it?"

"Do? Give Sutherland a chance to simmer down and see if a cooler head prevails." Napoleon shook his head. "He knows, deep down, that he doesn't deserve a promotion."

"Doesn't keep him from wanting it all the same."

"If I was his partner, I'd beg to differ. The man is an under performer. He consistently scores low on his field tests, just barely pulling a passing grade. I wouldn't go into the field with him, not even as a junior officer, much less as a senior one. He needs to go back to see Cutter for a refresher course. I would almost be willing to bet, he wouldn't pass this time. He's lost his drive."

"What are you saying, Napoleon?"

Gilletti knew exactly what Napoleon was saying and he knew it. "I would recommend a refresher course and possible dismissal afterwards, pending the results."

"And what about your partner?"

"He was defending himself; I would not discipline an agent for that."

"I did, but you didn't know that, did you?"

"What?"

"Kuryakin is coming back from three days of disciplinary leave."

Napoleon had wondered where the Russian had gotten to, but as it wasn't odd for them to be sent on different assignments, he hadn't asked. "May I ask the details?"

"He had an altercation in the parking garage."

"Who?"

"He wouldn't say. Said he didn't know them." Gilletti took a swallow of coffee. "About a half hour later, three agents showed up in Medical with injuries they said they had received during a stake out. There were no stake outs planned at that time, but since Kuryakin refused to come forward with the names..."

"Why would someone jump Illya?"

"I'm sure they were asking themselves that same question afterwards. I… we thought that perhaps by promoting him, it would send a message to anyone still harboring a dislike against him. "

"It sent a message all right." The phone rang and Napoleon became silent.

"Yes, sir, I understand. I'll grab Joe and be right up." Gilletti cradled the phone. "I'm sorry, Napoleon, orders from upstairs. When I get back, we'll continue this discussion. You can buy the first round." He grinned and winked.

"All right." Napoleon grinned back.

" Dismissed."

Napoleon stood and walked from the room. As he approached his office, he was surprised to see the door open and people walking in and out.

"What's going on?"

"Moving your office mate in," one of the men muttered as he struggled to angle a desk through the door.

"Office… mate?" Napoleon liked having his own office. Even though it was small; with two people, it was going to be downright claustrophobic. "Who authorized this?"

"I did, Mr. Solo." Napoleon turned and smiled at Waverly. "Do you have objections?"

"No, of course not, sir, it's just, the space is small and personalities have been known to clash in larger spaces." He trailed off as he watched Illya approach, carrying a cardboard box. "Wait… you?"

"Still object, Mr. Solo?"

"Not as much, sir."

"Then I will leave you two to it."

Napoleon watched Illya unload the last of the boxes and frowned. "What is that?" He nodded to a small crudely fashioned lump of clay that Illya was placing in a drawer with extreme care.

"My baby sister made it. I think it's supposed to be either a chicken or a seal." Illya turned it in his fingers and smiled fondly. "Or possibly even a likeness of Stalin. It's hard to tell."

Napoleon grinned. He forgot Illya had a family back home. Just then the door opened and his secretary … their secretary leaned against the frame, her face white.

"Abigail, what's…?"

"You need to go to Mr. Waverly's office, right now, Mr. Solo." Napoleon looked over at Illya, who was starting to stand. "No, just you, Napoleon…"

Napoleon exchanged a glance with Illya, grabbed his jacket and headed up. Around him people were walking in a daze, standing in small groups and murmuring, pausing as he passed. What the hell?

He knocked on Waverly's door and then entered. Waverly was standing, staring out the window. From this height, it overlooked much of the neighborhood.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Sit down, son." Waverly didn't turn from the window as Napoleon took an uncomfortable seat on the couch. "There is an unfortunate aspect of this job. We protect the innocent, keep evil at bay, and make the world safe for its populace. The price we pay for that is often very high, but we, as soldiers, pay that price willingly. It's when the unthinkable happens that we stop and question God's wisdom."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Gilletti and Mr. Mayall were killed this afternoon in a traffic accident. The young man driving had been celebrating his new job. He ran a stop sign and hit their car head on. Mr. Mayall was killed instantly and Mr. Gilletti died before the ambulance could arrive."

"The other driver?"

"As is often the case with drunk drivers, he escaped without serious injury."

"We were going to have a drink tonight," Napoleon murmured. "He was only a few months away from field retirement."

"I know." Waverly's voice was very kind and very gentle, more so than Napoleon could ever remember him being before and he appreciated it. "There is another matter which we will need to discuss before too long passes."

"Which is?"

"Your promotion to Section Two Number One. You are next in line and I know Mr. Gilletti was grooming you for the position."

"Yes, he was, but I'm not sure…"

"He was sure, that's all that matters." Waverly turned to him now and Napoleon was struck by how old the man looked. Death from THRUSH, that was a constant for them, but not death by stupid accident. It made Napoleon realize that no matter how they wrapped it, enforcement agents were still just human after all.

"I'll go make the arrangements." Napoleon stood and walked to the door.

"Mr. Solo?"

"Sir?"

"Get Mr. Kuryakin to help you. I think he will be considerable comfort to you in the days ahead. Never forget to rely upon your partner for additional strength at times like this."

"I will, sir, thank you."

Waverly watched the young man walk from the office, the youngest Section Two Number One to date, but he knew Solo could handle it. Gilletti had been confident in his choice. Waverly hoped he was as equally right in his.

He reached across his desk and hit a toggle. "Miss Beecham, contact the Section One heads, we have something to discuss."

To be continued…