Illya sat at his desk with a cold cup of coffee in front of him and his head in his hands. It was, by his watch, 2:48PM. It is almost time, he thought glumly. I do not want to do this. I do not know if I can do this. He picked up the coffee to sip, looked at the contents and dropped it in the wastebasket next to his desk in disgust. Just then, there was a knock on the exterior of the pneumatic door. Someone knows better than to just walk in unannounced. "Go away!" he ordered, "Nothing will start without me. Tell them to wait!"

Instead of the sound of footfalls fading away, he heard the door swish open. Instantly enraged, his head snapped up to rip a new one for whoever had dared to disturb him. There standing before him was Mr. Waverly, leaning on a silver – headed walking stick and studying him quietly with those eyes that seemed to take in everything. "Sir!" Illya greeted him as he shot out of his chair to attention. "What may I do for you?"

The Old Man sighed audibly, "Mr. Kuryakin, what you may do is accompany me to the auditorium so that we can begin the memorial."

The Russian grabbed his jacket off the coat rack and put it on. "Sir, I do not think it is appropriate for me to attend…"

"Nonsense, Mr. Kuryakin! It would be most improper for the service to proceed without you; after all, Mr. Solo was your partner. I have already had Miss Rogers put it out on the office grapevine that you are far too distraught to speak. If word were to get out that you are refusing to accept your partner's death, I would have no choice but to order you to the Psychiatric Section and your credibility as Chief Enforcement Agent would disappear."

Illya closed his eyes in frustration. "Mr. Waverly, please, he is not dead. Let me continue to keep looking for him. I can…"

Mr. Waverly raised his hand and the blond immediately fell silent. The Old Man spoke kindly but, firmly. "Mr. Kuryakin, we have been through this: We sent search parties out to retrace his steps, alerted every intelligence agency we are allies with to be on the lookout for him. We have shaken down every mercenary, rogue spy, every free agent we could find and no one has any information on Mr. Solo. It's been four months; if he were alive, he would have contacted us by now. You know I thought of him as my heir apparent; I have had to accept he is gone. I suggest you do the same. All of Section Two is depending on you to lead them. If I have to replace you, morale will dip even lower."

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Illya replied, "Yes, sir."

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

The memorial service was an emotional affair. Napoleon Solo was a well – liked man by both the men and women of UNCLE. After Mr. Waverly delivered the eulogy, people were invited to share their memories of the man who had been Number One, Section Two for seven years.

Illya Kuryakin, his grieving partner and new CEA, sat stoically during the service listening to others remember the man he knew as his best friend and brother. April Dancer and Mark Slate stood together at the podium and shared their histories with Napoleon with the gathering. Mark stood behind April to provide physical and emotional support while she told of the encouragement she received from Napoleon when the burden of being the first female UNCLE Section Two agent threatened to overwhelm her. When she finished, Mark stepped up to speak about Napoleon's support and advice about how to deal with his female partner. "All that female companionship of his finally paid off," Mark said to the laughter of the assemblage. Afterward, both agents went to Illya to hug and kiss him; gestures he accepted from them in the spirit of the occasion.

They were the last people to speak before the service ended and Illya stood and accepted condolences, hugs, kisses and encouragement from the agents and support staff of UNCLE New York as they filed by on the way out of the room. Very shortly, the grapevine was going to hum with the news that Illya Kuryakin was so devastated by Napoleon's demise that he actually allowed any and all who approached him to physically comfort him.

Eventually, only he and Mr. Waverly remained in the auditorium. He looked at The Old Man and said firmly, "I will never give up on Napoleon; I will either prove he lives or will know what happened to him. But rest assured, Sir, I will neither shirk my duties and obligations to you nor to the organization."

In return, Mr. Waverly replied, "I have no doubt, Mr. Kuryakin but, for now, go home" before he turned and left Illya alone to ponder his situation. The Russian sat back down and scrubbed his face with his hands. He looked around the room at the pictures of Napoleon that had been placed on the walls for the memorial; many had been taken in offices throughout UNCLE. There were pictures of the two of them with Mark and April, Mr. Waverly; pictures of Napoleon with secretaries he had been dating at the time. His eyes lighted upon a picture of the two of them sitting at their desks, smiling at whoever was standing in the doorway taking the picture. Marian took that with her new camera; I always liked it. He strolled over and plucked it from the wall. She did say I could have it.

Illya returned to his office and hung the picture above the file cabinets before he sat at his desk. He looked across at the empty seat that had not been occupied by his partner for months and shook his head sadly. No point in staying here now; no one will contact me for anything. He stood to get his coat and headed to Reception. He yanked his badge from his lapel and dropped in on the desk. He nodded to the woman there, not really seeing her at all before going through the door into Del Floria's. When the door swung closed behind him, the receptionist, Ronnie, called Millie in Translations to tell her that the Ice Prince was back to his normal, aloof self.

Illya used his key to enter Napoleon's penthouse. He had been coming here for weeks now. Technically, it was his penthouse as he was the beneficiary of the bulk of Napoleon's estate but, he felt no sense of ownership. He stayed there, in the guest room, to feel closer to his partner. He walked into the kitchen to fetch his vodka from the freezer. Pouring a tumbler full, he went into the living room and flopped onto the sofa without spilling a single drop.

After the first big swallow, he sipped the alcohol as he stared at the unlit fireplace until he reached a decision. Reaching for the phone, he thought What good is money if you cannot use it? He listened as the phone rang and was finally answered on the sixth ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Wolf. It is your brother – in – law, Illya."