The thing Napoleon finds Illya doing in this story is something I have done since I was a child.I still do it now, though my reasons are different from Illya's

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Napoleon Solo knew his partner better than anyone else and therefore could detect any changes, however subtle, in the man's mood and demeanour. Over the last couple of days, there'd been a slight downward shift in Illya Kuryakin's mood and it was causing concern for Napoleon. Most people wouldn't have noticed any difference, a lot of them believing him to be miserable most of the time. They never took the time to see the erudite, sarcastic and excitable man that Napoleon knew.

Rapping out their coded knock on Illya's apartment door, Napoleon pondered on what could be wrong with his friend. They hadn't had any overly arduous assignments lately, and there'd been no threats to him from his from the Soviet government. Receiving no answer, Napoleon knocked again.

"He's on the roof."

Solo turned, startled by the voice from behind him.

"Mrs Danby!" He exclaimed. "You nearly caused my time to be up."

The elderly woman chuckled. "I'm sure it would take more than me to push you from this mortal coil Mr Solo," she replied. "Like I say, Mr Kuryakin is on the roof. At least, that is where he was heading when I saw him about an hour ago."

"Thank you Mrs Danby," Napoleon said, as he kissed the woman on the back of the hand.

Mrs Danby blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. There was an old-fashioned suaveness about this handsome young man that made her feel like a teenager, despite her eighty-nine years. Napoleon wished her a good evening and went up to find his partner.

Stepping out on to the roof, Solo's heart skipped a beat for the second time in ten minutes. Illya was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. He was about to run over to him when he realised the Russian's lips were moving. Napoleon suddenly felt quite awkward. The senior agent didn't know what Illya was doing, but it was obviously a private matter. He was about to head back down the stairs when Illya turned his head towards him.

"Hello Napoleon."

Sitting up, he beckoned his partner to join him. Napoleon sat down next to his friend, but didn't say anything.

"I was talking to the moon," Illya told him, in answer to the unasked question.

"I probably don't want to know," Napoleon responded. "But, why?"

"It's something I've done for as long as I can remember," he explained. "And it's a habit I can't break."

Illya's childhood had been one perpetual change. He was passed from family member to family member, until there were none left and he was sent into the State School System. Even then, there were no constants. Friends came and went, while Illya himself was sent to various institutes because not one of them could break him of his stubbornness. After that came university, then the Navy and the KGB, followed by U.N.C.L.E. He had never been in one place for long to form any constants

"Yet the moon is always there," Illya continued. "No matter where I went, or where I go now, I know that it is the same moon that has always been with me. In America, children keep journals, yes?"

"Erm. . . yeah," Napoleon confirmed. "I had one myself."

"In Russia, personal thoughts were dangerous," Illya told him, sadly. "Writing them down would have been suicidal."

"Even for a child?"

"Oh yes," the Russian replied emphatically. "A child's thoughts are unfettered. They haven't been trained to think how they are supposed to think. Children have an uncanny ability to see the truth in things. If they voice that truth, it might cause the seed of doubt to be planted in the adult mind."

"So you told your thoughts to the moon?"

Illya looked back up to the bright orb above them and smiled.

"I knew I could tell it anything and it wouldn't betray me."

"Illya, are you okay?" Solo finally asked, getting to the initial reason for his visit. "You've seemed a little off kilter the last couple of days."

"I've lived in New York for five years, and I find myself becoming more Americanised by the day," Illya confessed.

"Are you worried that you're losing your national identity?"

"No," Kuryakin replied. "I'm worried that I'm not worried about losing my national identity. I love my homeland, but I love this home more. Ever since Admiral Volkov's visit*, I've realised that I really do prefer this decadent, capitalist lifestyle."

"Who wouldn't?" Napoleon chimed in. "It isn't a totally evil system."

"Maybe it's time to start thinking about cutting ties with Russia altogether."

"Well Tovarisch, don't make any hasty decisions. Make sure it really is something you're willing to do. You will have my support in what whatever decision you come to."

Illya smiled at his friend and thanked him warmly.

"Also," Napoleon continued. "If the moon is unavailable, you can talk things over with me. I won't betray you either."

The End.

*The Offer