Canon note : This particular bit of fanfiction does not follow The Return of the Man from U.N.C.L.E., but instead takes a different path of what happened following the end of the regular series. For those that preferred Napoleon as a computer salesman and Illya as a fashion designer, my apologies.
Part II
"Mark, love? Do you think I look better with my hair up or down?"
"April, old girl? It depends on the effect that you are after."
"Watch that 'old girl' stuff. You shouldn't say things like that to a woman who has her forty-fourth birthday approaching."
"I don't recall exactly getting a great deal of sympathy back when I hit fifty."
Moving over with a ready smile on her face, April gave the man she would always think of as her partner a kiss on the cheek.
"You need no sympathy. You are positively dashing - as befits the U.N.C.L.E. Head of Computer Sciences - New York branch. Who would have thought you, Napoleon and Illya would all slide so seamlessly into the realms of leadership?"
"You slid rather seamlessly into leadership yourself. That was quite the coup when you became the first female Number One of Section Two."
The slightly melancholy tone to Mark's words made April frown.
"You are still liking it, aren't you, my darling?"
Fondly cupping her chin in his hand, Mark gave a small shrug then casually draped his arms across her shoulders.
"Yes and no. I don't feel right not backing you in the field anymore. Makes me feel like I've abandoned my post."
"Silly thing. You know you've done no such thing. Besides, Napoleon prefers that I run Section Two more from headquarters and less from the field and you know that."
Kissing her gently on the forehead, Mark toyed with her hair briefly before leaning back a bit with his arms still draped over her shoulders.
"You still haven't told me what look you're after, my dear girl."
"Hmmm. Dignified without being matronly. Illya's becoming a citizen, I'm not adopting him."
"I would certainly hope not."
They both turned at the familiar voice.
"Napoleon, you sneak. We need to get you a tie-clip with a bell attached."
"Or matching bell cufflinks."
"Don't give up your day jobs, either of you. Not a social call though, I'm afraid. April, we have an alert from the Chicago office. Believe it or not, someone went in using a code that's been out of date for around seven years."
"That could be genuine. Let's face it, T.H.R.U.S.H. wouldn't be very likely to pull that old of a code out of their hat."
"I was wondering that myself, Mark. So I had the office fax over a picture off of their surveillance to us. I thought I would give it to you to review before we pass it over to April. They've got the gentleman detained in Chicago until they hear from us."
Taking the thin folder offered by Napoleon, Mark flipped it open. April watched as his eyes got wider. Without a word, he left the file open and passed it to April, who quickly looked over the image of the man in question.
"Oh my God. It's Howler."
"Or someone doing a mighty fine imitation of him. But he always struck me as a hard man to impersonate. Mark? Anything pressing in your section?"
"I've got my people working on some new security protocols, but nothing high priority in the pipeline, Napoleon."
"Why don't you and April take a jaunt up to Chicago and verify whether or not it really is Murdock? If it is, see if he'd like to accompany you back. I know Illya would be pleased to see him again."
"Now? We might miss Illya's oath ceremony."
From his inside jacket pocket, Napoleon produced a trio of ticket folders.
"Nonsense. I have your round-trip tickets here plus a one-way. You'll even have a few hours on return to freshen up."
"Assuming no airport delays."
Reaching out, Mark claimed the tickets.
"Oh, don't be so negative, April. If they give us too much guff, we'll send Howler to the cockpit."
"Let's not do that, kids. I don't have replacement planes in the budget."
"Sounding more like Mister Waverly every day there, Mister Solo."
"Bite your tongue. I may have replaced him, but I don't intend to replicate him."
"Perish the thought. Fond as he was of Mister Waverly, Illya wouldn't take that well."
"Both of you scat or he also won't take you missing the ceremony very well."
"On our way, darling. Don't let Illya pace a hole through the floor."
