"Damned..."
Napoleon Solo considered the thing as if it were a venomous spider. The threatening look didn't impress the mother-of-pear button which swung gracefully and eventually rolled down. The shirt gaped miserably. He couldn't conceal the horror under his tie.
No way.
Sighing, he picked up the button and peeped hopefully at the receptionist's desk with his most charming expression.
"Napoleon?"
His partner pointed an accusing finger at the button, "You don't intend to ask Wendy... about this?"
Napoleon raised an innocent eyebrow.
"Mr Waverly wouldn't like it, Napoleon!"
No. Of course, no, he wouldn't...
"Oh they would probably do it with pleasure, but... they are not our maids. It... it would be disrespectful."
Napoleon sighed and put the button in his pocket.
"Mr. Kuryakin?" Wendy handed a small paper bag to the Russian who smiled, took the bag and kissed the woman's hand.
"Thank you,..."
"My pleasure, Mr Kuryakin."
"Illya...", the Russian hissed softly.
She blushed slightly as he left the hall.
"Wendy?"
She looked dreamily at the deserted hallway.
"Wendy?"
"Oh, Mr. Solo... Sorry. May I help you?"
Napoleon Solo smiled, "No, Wendy, thank you.", but he didn't leave. "Mmmm... Wendy... did you make cakes for Illya?"
She burst into laughter, "No, Mr. Solo... It's just..." She hesitated but, by the way, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were friends, so... "I noticed that Mr Kuryakin got holes in his socks and I offered him to mend them."
The hazel eyes turned black.
"You "offered" him to mend his socks...?"
She smiled, "Yes... Poor Mr. Kuryakin... he worried but I insisted... and... Mr. Solo?"
The CEA had vanished into thin air.
"Illya? ILLYA KURYAKIN? Where are you, you, sneaky preachy Russian?"