Illya glanced up at his communicator as it trilled. Yesterday he never would have considered ignoring it for a moment. But that was yesterday. Then his future was secure and his path clear. How just a few hours had changed that.

Illya stopped and looked down at the suitcase he was packing. It had been through a lot of missions with him. He'd thought he'd lost it a couple of times, but somehow it always managed to turn up in his office, the contents not always as neatly packed as they had been.

He stroked the scarred leather and smiled. It had been a gift from Napoleon his first year with UNCLE.

"If you are going to be an agent, you need to be able to pack like one." It had taken Illya nearly three months to actually use it and only under penalty of intervention by his new partner.

Illya sighed and reached for another shirt. He knew he wouldn't be in a position to buy anything frivolous now that he was back under the USSR's wing. It was going to be hard to go back to food shortages and widespread government corruption. Perhaps he would be sent somewhere else aboard instead. It was hard to even hazard a guess at his future now that it wasn't with UNCLE.

He'd nearly laughed when Waverly told him the news. He could believe Waverly would let him go back to Russia, at least as anything but an UNCLE agent. There was no arguments, no chance to contest, nothing. Tomorrow he would climb on an Aeroflot and head back to Moscow.

He knew it was Napoleon at the door almost before the first knock sounded. He thought about ignoring it, but Napoleon had a key and wasn't afraid to use it.

Illya walked to his front door and opened it. Napoleon was leaning against the frame. "Finally. I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours."

"I've been busy packing."

"You're not going."

"Napoleon, don't. We both know this is out of our hands. I though perhaps they'd forgotten about me, but I should have known the KGB forget nothing."

"Illya—"

"Let me say this first. Thank you. Thank you for your friendship, your guidance and your support. I am not sure where they will be sending me, but I will get word to you if I can."

"Let me—"

"I need to finish this. You have meant the world to me and I'm not sure how I'm going to survive without you constantly borrowing money and needing me to rescue you." Illya attempted a half- hearted smile. "I am going to miss you." Illya closed the suitcase and set it down on the floor.

"Are you through?"

"Yes."

Napoleon picked up the suitcase and set it back on the bed. "You're not going."

"It isn't a matter of discussion, Napoleon. It's been decided."

"And it's been undecided. The reason I've been trying to reach you is that we lost Mr. Waverly this morning."

"What?" Illya had seen the sadness in Napoleon's eyes, but mistakenly thought it was for him.

"His secretary found him. He had dismissed his security detail last night, saying he was quite capable of getting himself home. When he didn't arrive, his wife called us. In view of the impending power struggle, it was felt that it was best if you were to remain here… to run Section Two."

"You're going upstairs."

"Yes."

"Then I'll stay."

"I can't think of a better man to have at my back." Napoleon offered him a sad smile. "Or by my side. Let's go to work, partner."