She opened her eyes, but all she could see were shadows, various shades of grey. "Where am I?" she asked, trying desperately to squelch the panic rising inside her. "What happened?"

"There was an accident," an unfamiliar male voice told her. "The bus in which you were riding exploded. You were hit in the head, very hard."

"But why can't I see anything?"

"The part of your brain that controls sight was damaged, but it's too early to ascertain how much of the damage was permanent. Time will tell."

"Do you mean to tell me that I may never see any better than this again, ever?" Her shrill voice held a note of panic.

"There, there," said a soothing female voice as a soft hand patted her arm. "It's far too early to give up all hope. You may well make a full recovery. Just try to get some rest, all right? Everything will seem better then."

Yet all she could think about was the blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the brilliant hues of everyday life that she'd taken for granted up until now. How could she bear to live a life devoid of them? It was simply too much for her to comprehend.

He'd just finished preparing the photographs when the telephone rang. He'd been busy all week, preparing for the spring fashion show, and he'd been absorbed with finding the very best designs to promote Vanya's. It was a far cry from his previous career of pursuing justice all over the world, of dodging bullets and outsmarting villains. Those had been the days when he literally hadn't known from day to day whether he'd be alive to see another sunrise. Now the worst thing he had to worry about was negative reviews in fashion magazines.

"Mr. Kuryakin? Sir John Raleigh here." Illya felt slight annoyance yet, at the same time, a rush of adrenaline. Sir John Raleigh had taken over Alexander Waverly's position at UNCLE after the latter had retired. Illya himself had resigned from UNCLE several years previously, and had thought that he'd seen the last of his crook chasing days. Apparently I was wrong, he thought to himself.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I desperately need your help, and that of Mr. Solo as well," Sir Raleigh continued. "We suspect that Gervaise Ravel may be behind a recent bus bombing, as one of the victims was someone you know."

Gervaise Ravel. The dark-haired beauty had been a ruthless killer who, together with her partner, Harold Bufferton, had killed Gregory Ravel and threatened the life of his daughter, Marion.

Marion. She'd been his for such a brief period of time, and yet he'd never been able to get her out of his mind. He'd dated several women casually since the last time he'd seen her, yet none of them had been able to take her place in his heart.

"Marion...is she all right?" His heart was in his throat as he asked the question.

"She was taken to a local hospital with a serious head injury. That's all the information I have. I'm sorry."

She'd loved her job as a photographer, had lived for the satisfaction of seeing her work in magazines or displayed on walls, even on the walls of her own apartment. What would her life be like if she could never take another photograph? She'd have to pursue an entirely different vocation, yet she wasn't sure if she'd ever even have the heart to do so, as all she'd ever wanted to be was a photographer.

Unable to see anything except shadows, various shades of grey, she found that she was now almost totally helpless, that she had to be fed and led to the restroom. It frustrated and depressed her, as before, she'd considered herself to be fairly independent.

During the early days of adjusting to her new condition, she found her mind drifting back to him more and more often. Petite, blond, and handsome, he'd attracted her from the start. His standoffish mannerisms had only made her desire him more, and the time in the cell when he'd finally proven to her that he could 'pretend he was a human' and held her had cemented a bond between the two of them that had persisted even after they'd parted ways. No other man she'd dated since then had come anywhere close to replacing him in her heart, and she knew that none of them ever would.