That morning, Illya arrived in the Director's office to meet a very penitent-looking Napoleon.

"Hello, Illya," Said his friend, who was holding a mug of coffee that he offered to Illya - as an offering of peace, perhaps?

"Hello, Napoleon..." Illya replied warily, not sipping the coffee at all, "What is it today? A tack in my chair? A booby trapped doorway?"

Napoleon shook his head at each suggestion.

"No, no, no, Illya," he said calmly, "I want to make peace. I'm sick of fighting. We're friends, and, I mean, come on, is this any way for two adults, let alone a director -"

"Acting director," Illya corrected him.

"-And a number two in UNCLE to be behaving?" Napoleon finished, ignoring Illya's interruption. Stepping forward, Napoleon offered his hand to Illya.

Illya shook hands with Napoleon carefully, still unbeleiving. This was very un-Napoleonic behaviour. However, could it be possible that the American could have perhaps gotten his act together and decided to start acting like an adult?

"Alright," Illya said finally, "What are your terms of surrender?"

The Russian could see the twitch in Napoleon's eye when he termed their peace-making thus.

"Won't you sit down, Illya?" Napoleon asked him, gesturing toward a chair. With a relenting sigh, Illya Kuryakin took a seat and --

Fell on the floor. Hard. Into a pile of nuts, bolts, and leftover parts. Napoleon was leaning on the table, laughing as Illya got up, hardly able to gasp, "Oh, god, Illya, your face, you should have seen your face!"

The Russian turned tail and left the room, angry and sore - in more ways than one, unable to look at the sly devil Waverly had left in charge of his career.

Outside the office, Illya paused and leaned against the wall with a weary groan, rubbing a hand over his face in fatigue.

When would it end...?

Just then he stopped. That smell...it was the same smell he had caught on his way into the Director's Office...but he couldn't quite place it.

Moving down the corridor cautiously as could be, Illya did a double take as he passed a sleek, shiny surface - the Laboratory window. His reflection gawked back at him, covered in a fine layer of black machine grease where he had just rubbed his hand.

Making a quick dash to the washroom down the way to try to wash off the stinking substance, Illya indulged himself with several shady Russian curse words before leaving, his face slightly tinged with red from scrubbing so hard, and also from embarassment - who else had seen him walking down the corridor, looking like he'd just been caught in a head-on collision with a TNT stockpile in a machine parts shop?

--

That night, in his small apartment on 5th Avenue and West Bellfort, Illya dialed up an old friend he had worked with a couple times before. Surely, with her firey, red-headed nature and Boondocks background, Special Agent Erin Tucker would have some ideas to sic on his new enemy.

The phone rang twice, and then -

"'Lo?" Groaned a voice.

"Tucker, it's me, Kuryakin," Illya began, "Look, I need your help -"

"Kuryakin," said Erin grumpily, mispronouncing it 'Curry-Yackin', "Do you know what time it is?"

Kuryakin checked the clock with new enthusiasm. Sheepishly, he replied, "2:30AM."

"Now what the hell 're you doin' on ma phone at two-damn-thirty AM in the bloody mornin'?" Erin drawled indignantly, a bit thicker than usual.

"I-I'm sorry," Illya apologized, "I'll call back later -"

"No, no," said Erin, "You called me, now you're gonna spit it out. So spit it out, honey, 'fore I kill ya."

And spit it out Kuryakin did. All the young man's hate, frustration and rage came pouring out into every word as though a finger hand been pulled out of the great dam. Illya didn't know why, but Erin was someone who always gave one the feelings of freeness, as though you could really talk to her and get answers to your problems with out the usual mockery that came with. Usually, 'honey' would have immedeately turned Illya away from openness, but he knew that with Erin, it was merely a habitual gesture that was part of how Erin had been brought up and still was today.

"...And now I don't know what to do," he ended miserably, "I'm run dry."

Erin was silent for a moment.

"Okay, Illya, honey," she said, "I'ma give you a set of instructions, m'kay? And I want you to follow them to the letter..."

--

Up next - what happens now!?