Illya Kuryakin sat in the computer room at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York. The immense main frame was silent as he prepared to request data, though today it would not be given to him via paper punch cards and printouts. Today he was using a keyboard with small vid-screen modified to show the information.

The screen slowly faded into view, revealing the U.N.C.L.E. banner with a very specific message beneath appeared one letter at a time.

"Classifed database. Clearance required."

He flashed a momentary smile, having been involved in the re-booting and set up of the new system. Illya of all people had that clearance.

"Access terminal."He typed in followed by his pass code on the keyboard.

"The classifed information you are trying to launch has been encrypted with EYES ONLY cipher algorithims."

Illya entered the correct information to get past the ciphers. He was in and typed the name Napoleon Solo.

There was no guilt, no sense of impropriety pulling up his new partners classifed file. Illya Kuryakin was after all a spy, and trained well by the GRU.. He was indeed a Russian spy, technically. Though he'd sworm his allegiance to the Command, still it didn't hurt to know a few things. What better way than to make use of is Soviet intelligence training.

Illya did not give not a second thought to the fact that he himself was fiercely protective of his own background, he refused to share his past with anyone. Life had taught him that was a dangerous thing, plus there were too many tragedies in his past and for those he wished not be pitied by anyone, in spite of their good intentions.

Alexander Waverly had a private file on the Russian, detailing his past not only with the GRU but prior to that, detailing the loss of his family at the hands of the Nazis, his survival and escape from the Sryets concentration camp, his life in the orphanage and state schools, his naval service, all his university background. The only thing missing were the details of his assignments with the GRU. Illya was assured no one would have access to his personal information, and the young Russian took the Old Man at his word, a rare trust on Kuryakin's part.*

He accessed the private files that listed so many things personal, as well as an agent's performance record; how many missions were a success, what was their kill rate and so forth. That right there was a topic never discussed, as U.N.C.L.E. preferred the use of sleep darts as opposed to bullets...still, as Kuryakin knew, killing an enemy was sometimes a necessary thing. These sleep darts were something to which he'd have to become accustomed.

Thought his Soviet masters had trained him, Illya Nickovich Kuryakin still possesed the mores instilled in him at an early age by his family and those he never abandoned. He played the game, hiding his attitudes and beliefs...telling his superiors what they wanted to hear. His life as an intelligence agent was thrust upon him by his sponsor Victor Karkoff, and a young orphan boy was give no choice in the matter...well there was a choice. Fail and die; not much of a choice.

Still there was a deadly spark within him, and his trainers saw it. His cold-heartedness was developed and Kuryakin could call it up from the depths when it was needed. That blood-thirstiness helped him survive, yet he still tempered it with a sense of right and wrong. How could he not do so and dishonor the memories of his mother, father and grandmother who taught him to be a good boy when he was so small. It was possible his superiors sensed this weakness in him, and that was why he was so readily sacrificed to U.N.C.L.E. Perhaps because he was still green, and they presumed he would die quickly; becoming the loss to the Command and not the Soviet people.**

It was those beliefs that made him unable to turn his back on the street children in Kyiv during the war. Helping them could have meant his doom but still he could not abandon them…*

And now he was like a snooping old woman, checking up on his partner. Illya needed to know beyond what people said about Napoleon Solo; what was urban legend and what was truth.

He needed to not only know what kind of agent Solo was, but what kind of man. There was too much of an aura around the him and his reputation. Kuryakin needed the truth, and knowing that; he could temper his own performance.

Illya looked at the screen, seeing the American's background….where he was born and raised, his stint in the army, his recruitment to U.N.C.L.E. Seems he'd been married at a very young age, and lost his wife in a car accident.

As the Russian quickly read on, there were all indications that Napoleon was indeed the man people said he was; devoted to his job and the precepts of the Command.

His success rate with his assignments was high, though most of them were completed alone; then there was a string of partners with whom he was unable to develop a rapport. He was living up to the name of 'Solo'.

"Why," Illya wondered, "would Waverly wish to change things. If Solo was a successful agent, then why give him another partner when he did fine on his own? Illya himself would prefer to work alone, but apparently the Old Man had other ideas...like Solo he too had been paired with a number of partners that just didn't work out, for them that is.,

The Russian scrolled down, looking at Napoleon's statistics...he did not have a high kill rate. Surprising since his missions were victorious time and again. The the American apparently was true to his reptutation; a rare thing indeed.

Satisfied at what he'd found, Illya did one last thing, checking is own file in the database. It was as he'd presumed it would be, basic...revealing only that he was an orphan and nothing more. Waverly was a man of his word, but it didn't hurt to just check.

And now he, Illya Kuryakin, was partnered with this American; the man, no... the legend that was Napoleon Solo. The blond wondered if he could live up to the challenge of being assigned to work with the top Section II agent? Only time would tell he supposed, but he would give it his best.

Illya cleared the search parameters. This failsafe had been embedded by him in the program. No one but he knew it existed, so no one would know to look for it and use it. All indications he had accessed the terminal were erased. If anything, GRU taught him to cover his tracks.

That was the Soviet in him. No one needed to know his business, or his concerns about his new partner…

As he prepared to power down the program, an unexpected message appeared on the vid screen.

"Next time just ask Mr. Kuryakin. A.W."

"Chyort." The Russian swore as he shut things down. He paused, reconsidering his reaction. Hmm, perhaps he did not need to be so stealthy in such questions. This was not the Soviet State after all…

The video screen flashed to life once more, even though he'd shut it down.

"Come to my office as soon as possible. A.W."

Illya cursed aloud again…

"And please mind the language Mr. Kuryakin. Observe some proprieties if you please."

This time the screen went blank and the terminal shut down.

Maybe it was a little like the Soviet Union after all where there was someone always watching and listening.

"Yes sir," Kuryakin said aloud, talking to the thin air. "I apologize."

Waverly's voice came over a small speaker located near the terminal. "Apology accepted, now to my office. I have a matter requiring your and Mr. Solo's attention."

Illya Kuryakin straightened his tie as he headed out the door, planning to go directly to the inner sanctum that was Alexander Waverly's conference room; thinking the man must have eyes and ears everywhere.

"Yes I do young man." He heard the Old Man's voice one last time from the speaker behind him.

"How? Nevermind,"Illya told himself as he shook his head…"Just nevermind."

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* ref "Beginnings" s/6767104/1/Beginnings

* ref "First Kill" s/6758034/1/First-Kill