The argument had been rumbling away for two weeks and it was creating an atmosphere of dread around headquarters. At some point, one of the two men was going to reach his limit and the whole thing would explode. The fact the men involved were Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin made everyone feel as though a fuse was slowly burning towards a gigantic explosion.

The fight was already under way when they'd returned from their last mission together. Kuryakin had barely escaped with his life and had been more than keen to get back. Unfortunately for him, Napoleon had hooked up with a woman from the local office, meaning that they missed their flight. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be that last, but Illya had been in no mood to put up with Solo's inability to get anywhere on time. For a master strategist, his time-keeping was appalling.

That had been the catalyst and, since then, the pair had barely spent any time together, and sniped at one another whenever they were in the same room. Mr Waverly was allowing it continue for the moment, hoping that the agents would sort it out between themselves. The rest of the staff, however, had had enough. It was scary enough when Napoleon was in a bad mood, but the Russian was downright terrifying.

"I've got an idea," Julia told the rest of the women in the secretarial pool. "My sister shuts her two sons in their bedroom when they're fighting, and won't let them out until they've reconciled."

"These are adults were talking about," Sally countered. "I know men can be childish at times, but they aren't children."

"I wonder sometimes," the first woman replied. "But I still think it's a valid idea. We can get security to lure them to a cell, and then lock them in. We'll get Mr Waverly's permission first of course."

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to get the two men into the cell together. Each had been told that there was a prisoner who wished to speak to them. Despite being sure that there were no prisoners in the cells, they went anyway as they both believed the message had come from Waverly. As soon as they were inside, the door was slammed shut and locked.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing Michaels?" Solo roared. "I'll have your head for this."

"And I will ensure that your death is long," added Illya.

"I'm sorry Sirs," Michaels blurted out. "I was ordered to do this, and to tell you that the door will only be unlocked in twelve hours. Someone will check on you regularly."

"What is the purpose of this?" Kuryakin demanded.

"It's so you can work out your differences.

…

For the first two hours not a single word was exchanged. The agents had many years of practice at enduring long periods of confinement. Illya had sat down in the corner of the room, content to wait things out. Napoleon was stretched out on the cot, having nabbed it before his partner had the chance. Although he hadn't spoken, he had hummed, whistled and tapped his fingers against the bedstead. Finally, Illya snapped.

"Must you make those incessant and irritating noises?"

"Actually, yes," the American answered. "I find it eases the boredom."

"You really are the most infuriating man I've ever met. You realise it's your fault we're here?"

"How do you figure that?" Solo asked. "You're the one who threw the hissy fit in the first place, just because we missed the flight. There was another one an hour later."

"You are deliberately missing the point, as usual." Illya snarled. "I was tired and I was hurting and I just wanted to get home. You decided to pull your usual trick and ended up running late; yet again!"

"There are times I could cheerfully punch you," Napoleon growled. "You always have to make a mountain out of molehill."

Kuryakin was instantly on his feet and leaning over Napoleon.

"Go ahead," Illya responded, pointing to his chin. "Hit me if it'll make you feel better!"

Acting on pure instinct, Napoleon brought his fist up and hit Illya on the left side of his jaw. The Russian staggered before losing his balance. As he fell, his head made contact with the small cabinet beside the cot. He was rendered unconscious immediately.

Napoleon leapt up and crouched down beside Illya. Blood was pouring from a wound on the back of his head, and Napoleon had to keep reminding himself that head wounds bled worse than any other.

"Illya? Come on buddy, wake up."

There was no response. Checking for vital signs, Solo breathed a huge sigh of relief when he found a strong pulse. He darted over to the bars and called out for anyone who could hear him. It was ten minutes before his shouts were answered.

"I'm sorry Mr Solo," Michaels told him as he walked towards the cell, "I can't let you out."

"Illya is hurt you idiot," Napoleon yelled. "And yes, it was my fault. Get this damned door open. NOW!"

Michaels didn't need to told twice. While he unlocked the cell, Napoleon lifted Illya over his shoulder and then ran at full sprint towards medical.

…

It was another three hours before Illya awoke. He opened his eyes to see Napoleon staring at him with concern etching his features.

"You actually hit me," he stated.

"I am so sorry, Tovarisch," Napoleon began. "I let you down when we missed that fight, and I should have apologised there and then. It should never have come to this."

"And I shouldn't have let things get to me so much," Illya conceded. "Let us just say we were both at fault and leave it at that."

"You are within your right to make an official complaint," Solo reminded him.

"If I recall, I asked you to hit me. Besides, there are better ways for you to make amends."

"Why do I think this is going to cost me a lot of expensive dinners?"

Illya smiled at his partner. "You are a very astute man, my friend."