A/N: A short episode tag to The Never Never Affair. For those who don't remember, Napoleon shot Gervaise while tied to a chair with his gun behind his back, aiming in a mirror. He looked as surprised as anyone that it worked.

A/N2: Thank you for everyone who left their kind words on my previous story - you've inspired me to keep going.

Napoleon had returned an hour or so ago, having successfully refilled and returned Mr Waverley's humidor. He was now attempting to write up his report on the Affair and Illya, having already finished his, was watching him and considering.

"I still do not see how you managed to shoot Gervaise while you were tied to the chair," he said.

Napoleon, apparently looking for any excuse to tear himself away from his report, leaned forwards and fixed him with an intense stare. "Skill, my dear Illya. Pure skill."

"Luck," he corrected. "Pure luck."

"Are you calling your CEA a liar?" Napoleon demanded, his stern tone belied by the laughter dancing in his eyes.

"A CEA who is inherently truthful would be a very poor spy," Illya pointed out. "So, yes. I am calling you a liar."

"I don't know," Napoleon shook his head sadly. "I think that may be a disciplinary offence."

"I believe I shall take my chances," Illya said dryly. He looked at Napoleon contemplatively. "I bet you can't do it again."

"Really." Napoleon looked intrigued. "What do you bet?"

"If you make the shot, I'll write that report for you," he proposed. "If not, you'll buy me dinner," he proposed.

Napoleon looked down at the report in front of him. "I'm already half-finished this," he said. "That's hardly a fair deal."

"Alright, I'll write your report for our next assignment together," he offered. "Always assuming, of course, that neither of us end up dead or seriously injured."

"You're always so optimistic," Napoleon murmured, smiling. "Alright, I accept. We'll need a floor length mirror. And I take it you don't plan on doing this in the office?"

"What's the matter?" Illya asked innocently. "Not so sure of your skills as you thought?"

Napoleon just looked at him.

"No, perhaps you are right," he conceded ."Very well. I will go and retrieve a mirror from Del. You go and make sure one of the firing ranges is free."

"I'll find some rope as well," Napoleon agreed.

Getting a mirror was easy enough; Del very rarely asked any questions. But when he walked back into HQ, Carol at the front desk stared at the large mirror under his arm, her eyes wide.

He paused. "It is for Napoleon," he explained. "He is afraid he has spotted a grey hair."

"Oh!" She clasped her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh, my. You'd better get to him quickly. And I swear, I won't breathe a word to anyone."

"Thank you," he said gravely as he walked away. "He is very sensitive about these matters."

When he got to the firing range, he was still smiling enough to himself that Napoleon fixed him with a look of deep suspicion. "Well?"

"Very well," he agreed. "Shall we?"

He indicated the chair and Napoleon sat, his hand obligingly behind his back."Ow," he protested, as Illya tied the rope efficiently. "Not so tight. I swear, you're more sadistic than THRUSH, sometimes."

"No," Illya said. "Merely less inclined to underestimate you. So!" Napoleon was facing the mirror, the paper target was at short range behind him and to the side. He met Napoleon's eyes in the mirror enquiringly. "Like this?"

"Like this," Napoleon confirmed. "Gun, please."

He passed the gun down and watched Napoleon fumble to get it the right way up and facing the right direction.

He shook his head, looking at the set up. "Luck," he declared.

"Skill," Napoleon disagreed, and he fired. "Ha!"

Illya turned to look. There was a distinct hole in the target, directly over the right hand. "You shot him in the hand?"

"I imagined he was pointing a gun at your head," Napoleon explained urbanely. "I shot the gun out of his hand, leaving him disarmed and incapacitated, ready for you to capture him so we can take him in for questioning."

"Oh, so I am free in this scenario you have concocted?" Illya asked.

"Free, but with a gun pointed at your head," Napoleon emphasised. "A situation which I have now rectified. No need to thank me."

Illya smiled. "Luck. Simple, luck."

"Twice?" Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "Face it, Illya. This is skill."

"Two inches in any direction and you would have missed completely," he said.

"Ah, but I didn't miss," Napoleon said at once. "And now you're writing my next report for me. Now, are you interested in going double or nothing?"

"How?" he asked grumpily.

Napoleon met his eyes in the mirror. "Don't tell me you don't want to give it a try?"

He looked straight back at Napoleon. Of course he did. They shared a brief smile and Illya quickly untied Napoleon and they swapped over.

Gun clasped in his clenched hand,s he stared at the target in the mirror for a long moment, trying to gauge angles, trying to feel for the slightest draught that might be enough to throw his aim off. If he missed in the range a shot that Napoleon had made in the field, he really would never hear the end of it.

"Don't forget the mirror adds ten pounds," Napoleon said helpfully.

Illya pursed his lips and fired. Well. That was certainly a hit.

In the mirror, he saw Napoleon wince. "I'm calling foul on that one," he said.

The shot had gone directly through the target's groin.

He grinned wolfishly. "You cannot deny," he said. "The man is certainly incapacitated." In fact he'd been aiming for central mass. But in this game a hit was a hit and he was no more going to confess he hadn't precisely hit his target than Napoleon was.

"Oh, most definitely," Napoleon agreed. "Remind me not to get on your bad side. And on that note," he added, resting his hands familiarly on Illya's shoulders. "If I was imagining him pointing a gun at your head, what dastardly crime were you imagining that you decided to shoot him there, hmmm?"

He was saved from having to answer by the sound of the door opening. They both looked round to see Walter Lewis and Jason Corwin standing there, staring. Well, he was tired to a chair, holding a gun, while Napoleon leaned on him. This probably did invite some questions.

"What's going on?" Walter asked, going for the most obvious one.

"A new directive from Section I," Illya explained, stone-faced. "All Section II agents are now expected to be capable of taking on THRUSH with both hands tied behind their backs."

Jason started to smile. "You're joking..."

"He never jokes about operational matters," Napoleon corroborated.

Illya nodded. "We wanted to get some practice in before the assessment."

The two turned to look at the target. "You made that shot in the mirror?" Walter asked slowly.

They nodded solemnly.

Jason and Walter exchanged glances. "Right...we'll leave you to it. Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin."

"Goodnight," Napoleon called after them. He turned to Illya. "I'm not sure they believed you."

"No," he agreed. "But they're certainly going to be trying it tomorrow. And you owe me dinner."

"You owe me a report," Napoleon countered, untying him with a flourish.

He grimaced. True. "Shall we discuss the terms over drinks?"

"An excellent idea," Napoleon agreed happily.

UNCLE Internal Memo #206.

FAO All Section II Agents Across All Stations:

Due to the rising costs of repairing ceiling tiles in firing ranges, and the occurrence of several injuries, all agents are hereby notified that the practice of attempting target practice while the agent has his hands tied behind his back must cease forthwith.

Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!