April had just left the Commissary with two cups of coffee on her way to Medical to visit her partner, Mark Slate. They had flown back from Nebraska on the UNCLE jet as Mark had sustained deeply bruised ribs in a pitched battle against some THRUSH soldiers. She was about to step onto the elevator when she heard Mr. Waverly's voice call out, "A moment of your time, please, Miss Dancer!"

She looked around to see the Old Man at the opposite end of the hallway. "Mr. Waverly! Of course; how are you, Sir?"

"Quite well, thank you for asking. However, I should be asking you how you feel. I understand Mr. Slate sustained some injuries requiring Medical's intervention."

"Yes, Sir."

"I was just on my way to see him. Would you mind if I accompany you?"

"No, Sir; not at all." She held the elevator while he walked to her and then they stepped on and she pushed the button for Medical. "I'm sure Mark will be thrilled that you're stopping by."

"Hmm," he replied distractedly. He pulled a card from his inside jacket pocket, read it and then replaced it, but not before April noticed a quick smile cross his features. "Miss Dancer, I spoke with Mr. Solo after your debriefing. He told me that both you and Mr. Slate were involved in the hand to hand combat that landed him in Medical."

"Yes, Sir. There were three THRUSHies against the two of us."

Mr. Waverly's caterpillar – like eyebrows shot skyward. "And you were uninjured?"

"I also have some bruising, but not like Mark, er, Mr. Slate. Those guys attacked him first; I think I shocked them when I joined in; I guess they thought I was just going to stand there and scream."

That brought a chuckle to the Old Man's lips. "I don't think THRUSH will be underestimating you much longer, Miss Dancer."

She looked at her superior and raised her chin. "I'm ready for them, Sir."

The elevator doors opened on their floor and as they walked to Medical, Mr. Waverly said, "I know you are."

They were directed to Mark's room and entered to find the Brit sitting up in bed looking decidedly unhappy. April went to her partner's side, put down the coffee and rubbed his arm. "What's wrong, Darling? Your face looks like a thundercloud."

"These bloody doctors want to keep me overnight to see if I have a concussion! Excuse me, Mr. Waverly."

"Quite alright, Mr. Slate. I take it you would rather recuperate at home?"

"Yes, Sir! This place is downright depressing."

"I'll be right back," Mr. Waverly said as he stepped out of the room.

"Wonder what that's about," April mused as she sat in the chair next to the bed and took Mark's hand and shook it.

"We'll know soon, I'm sure, Luv."

Moments later, Mr. Waverly returned followed by Dr. Jameson, the Chief Physician of UNCLE New York. "So, Mr. Slate," the doctor began, "I heard that you don't want to stay the night. Imagine that; a Section II who doesn't want to stay in Medical. I'm shocked, shocked, I say. Seriously, if Miss Dancer is willing to babysit, I will release you to her care."

"One condition," April added, "You stay at my place. I saw your apartment before we left, Darling. A tornado would have left it neater than you did."

Mark laughed out loud. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course, Darling. You can stay here."

Mark looked at his partner affectionately and then at Mr. Waverly. "My partner is all fight and vinegar. I accept your condition, Luv. I would love to stay in your Pink Palace."

"We have a deal! Mr. Waverly, if it's okay with you, I'll finish out the day, come back to pick up Mark and have a car drop us at my place and I'll work from home tomorrow. I owe quite a bit of paperwork to Mr. Solo."

"That will be fine. Feel better, Mr. Slate," the Old Man said as he turned to leave, "Barring unforeseen circumstances, I expect to see you on duty on Monday."

They watched Mr. Waverly leave, followed by the doctor. Mark spoke first. "Thanks, Luv."

"You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you, Darling?"

"Absolutely. Drink your coffee. I'll see you later."