Author's note:

I have never had the opportunity to visit any part of Russia or Ukraine for myself, and so I beg all who live in those places, and those who have visited them to forgive any mistakes I make in any detail connected to this part of the story. I will always make use of facts where I can, beyond that I hope my imagination is sympathetic.

Another Disguise

It was a pleasant stroll through the streets to Mark's favourite café which seemed to Emma to have been lifted straight out of a book, even down to the walls covered in photos of the sights of London; Tower bridge with the road raised mid-river, traffic lined up on either side waiting to cross. The Houses of Parliament fronting the Thames, Big Ben, the famous clock atop its tower beaming across the city, St Paul's Cathedral with its huge domed roof, rebuilt by Christopher Wren after the original building of the same name had burned to the ground during the great fire in 1666. A photo of Piccadilly Circus, the centre of a veritable spider's web of streets; buses, cars and pedestrians all vying with one another, jostling and getting nowhere quickly.

A photograph of Trafalgar Square taken sometime after the main rush of tourists had departed, the ever-present pigeons disturbed from their feasting, just taking to the air and frozen in time. Finally, pride of place on the rear wall of the café, the first sight to be seen on entering, a panoramic view of Buckingham Palace, taken from The Mall, the Victoria Monument in the foreground, glistening as the sun reflected off the gilded winged Victory atop the monument. Emma was enthralled. She had visited London once as a child with her grandparents, and some of these photos brought back long since forgotten memories of that week. Mark grinned at her.

"Almost feels like home." He said. "Let's sit down. What do you fancy?"

Emma studied the menu card with a half grin on her face.

"Bangers and Mash, Fish and Chips, chip butty…" she read aloud. "Mark, what's a Chip Butty?"

"Basically a chip sarnie." He replied. "A sandwich…on bread, usually or a large roll or bun. You can have sauces, salad on the side. More satisfying than it sounds, really. Probably pretty unhealthy too, but who cares?"

Emma smiled.

"Chip butty, side salad and a mug of hot sweet tea…is that right?"

"If that's what tickles your fancy, your word is my command." He replied, and giving her a wink, he got up and went to the counter to order their meal and pay. When he returned, he found her looking pensive.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded.

"I guess so. Mark, I know that section two agents are not supposed to get involved…but it does seem a bit harsh."

"Harsh for them? Or for the one who falls for a section two?"

"Well both I suppose, but I was merely being selfish. Thinking of me."

Mark nodded.

"It's not easy for us either you know. It's a trade-off we have to accept."

He was silent for a moment, watching her as she played with the corner of the tablecloth.

"You've fallen for Illya haven't you? Head over heels?"

She nodded, a single tear rolling down her nose.

"Even if he was still alive he wouldn't want me would he?"

"I dunno, but whether he would or not, he wouldn't deliberately show you anyway, being as he wasn't free to…do anything about it, if you know what I mean."

"He took me to dinner the other week you know. It was just an innocent thing, really. I'd had some bad news from home. Illya came into medical for some booster shots and found me crying. I suppose he felt sorry for me, and took me out to dinner to try and cheer me up."

"And it worked?"

"Did it just. I fell for him as you say, head over heels. Hook, line and sinker! But after dinner he walked me home, said goodnight and walked away. That was it. No goodnight kiss or anything else. He was just being nice to me because he felt sorry for me. And now you're doing the same thing. Buying me dinner because you feel sorry for me. I must be a really pathetic specimen."

Mark gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Maybe you lose your heart just a bit too easily, Emma, but I don't see anything pathetic about it. It's quite brave if you think about it. I mean, you've had your heart broken over Illya, and if you were to make the same mistake over me, the same thing would happen again and for the same reasons. You may find you break your heart several times, but it means that you are not afraid to take a chance on love, and when the right person does come along, the heartbreaks will all be worth it."

Emma smiled at him.

"Now why couldn't someone have reminded me of that a few days or even weeks ago?"

"Emma, we do care about you at UNCLE. We risk our lives on a daily basis, many of us, and you help to patch us up again. It doesn't hurt to sit and have a good heart to heart with a good friend occasionally if you have something weighing you down. The benefits are manifold…not the least of which is the fact that if you talk to someone at UNCLE about your troubles, especially if they are connected with people or events at work there is less likelihood of sensitive information getting out to people who don't deserve it."

Her eyes widened.

"You're serious about that aren't you?"

Mark frowned slightly.

"Of course. Why do you think we have our own psychology department? The psych specialists are not just there for the field agents. They are for everyone who works for UNCLE because of the security risks involved in talking to anyone outside about things. We don't even talk to our close families about UNCLE worries."

Emma stared at him, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Er…I think I may have made a…that is to say…oh no!"

Their food arrived at that moment. Mark thanked the waitress and handed Emma her napkin.

"What's happened Emma?"

"I'm sorry Mark, suddenly I've lost my appetite."

"Hey, come on kiddo. If you tell me what has happened, maybe I can try and help."

"It was about six weeks ago or more, no, about two and a half months ago, about a week after Illya took me for that meal. I was feeling down because I'd fallen for him, but apart from an occasional nod in passing, it was as though I didn't exist. One day it was too much and I was really miserable as I walked home so I decided to go down to Central park to try and clear my head a bit. I ran into an old school friend. A girl I knew in high school. She and her parents moved to Brooklyn when she was around fourteen, and they moved away some time after we graduated. But Livvy Pag and I got really close while we were together."

"And you two got talking?"

Emma nodded, her eyes troubled.

"She asked me what was the matter, so I told her that I was in love with a guy at work who didn't even know I existed. She sympathized and we got chatting."

"Did you tell her anything about UNCLE?"

"I told her I worked for UNCLE as a nurse, but that was all. She invited me home for coffee. So I went. We drank coffee and reminisced about our schooldays, and I started to get really relaxed. I mean it was just so nice to be with her again. I guess I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was quite late, so she called for a cab to take me home."

"And that was all that happened?"

Emma nodded.

"I never told her anything worth a fig, truly."

Mark nodded.

"Have you visited her since?"

"Yeah, once a week now I take a cab to Long Island to visit her, and take a cab home again. Livvy pays, she seems to be pretty well off these days."

"Livvy Pag? That's an unusual name."

Emma smiled. Mark's relaxed demeanor putting her at her ease at last.

"Oh, that's what we called her at school. Her full name is Olivia May Del Paglio."

MFU MFU

Chief Tarasov was eager to do what he could to help, and he offered Illya the use of an UNCLE helicopter to take them the first leg of their journey, wherever they wanted to go. When they learned finally, from research their first destination, they accepted the offer with gratitude. They would be able to hire transport of some sort once they were there and on the ground, they were sure.

Illya sat in the chopper, with his eyes closed, to all intents and purposes sleeping, although how he could possibly be asleep with the noise of the chopper, Napoleon had no idea. Anyone else and he might have decided he might have been praying; but not Illya. He had seen and suffered too much to have any faith in prayer these days. Napoleon was certain of that much. Napoleon glanced at his friend. How was Illya feeling, returning to Kyiv after all these years? Napoleon was aware that if he had to come back to what had always been home, Illya would have preferred to come alone. The blond agent was taciturn at the best of times, especially about his private life or his past. He suspected that one of the things that had been concerning Illya the most over the past day or two was the knowledge that having Napoleon Solo along would be most disconcerting, and he had been clearly battling his need for Napoleon's company and assistance with his need for keeping his family and past strictly private.

The chopper set them down on a broad empty stretch of highway, wished them luck and took off quickly. The two men looked around, seeing nothing notable in either direction.

"So which direction is Kyiv?"

Illya frowned, looked at his watch, and then up at the sky, but the sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of cloud.

"We want to travel westward. Don't you have your compass in your watch Napoleon?"

"Oh yes, so I do!" Napoleon grinned and opened the watch face to reveal the tiny compass inside. We go thataway!" he declared, pointing. The two men started walking.

Just twenty minutes later they were standing at the top of a low gentle rise and looking across at the vast city of Kyiv.

"Do you know whereabouts we are going my friend?"

Illya nodded mutely and started to walk again.

As they walked, Napoleon began to suffer in his disguise. The fat suit he was wearing consisted of layers and layers of extra padding which as well as being rather heavy, was becoming insufferably hot in the sun. His face started to redden, and he couldn't help but stop and rest after a while. Illya bit back his impatience, knowing that his friend's suffering was real and not very pleasant. In spite of his own feelings, he couldn't help being slightly amused, although he tried hard to hide it, knowing Napoleon would not appreciate the humour of the situation right now. Napoleon wiped his brow theatrically.

"I really need to cut down on all that chocolate and pastry, Illya." He commented, rolling his eyes, "…and get back into the gym. I didn't realize how out of shape I was becoming."

Illya thought of half a dozen amusing comebacks but he fought the temptation, deciding that sympathy would be more apropos under the circumstances. Napoleon did not need to be here suffering at all, after all.

"At least all that extra weight and insulation is keeping you safe. Me too for that matter."

Napoleon nodded. That was the largest reason it had been decided that his profile and outline had had to change as well as his facial features. Napoleon Solo walking down the road alone did not mean that his partner was alive. But Napoleon Solo walking down the road with Mikhail would have suggested strongly that Mikhail might be Illya after all. For now, it did not matter that the world believed Illya dead. What mattered was that everyone believed that Mikhail was still alive.

As they walked through the city streets, Napoleon glanced sideways at his partner. It seemed that events seemed to be constantly conspiring to remind Illya of his loss. Now, he was having to pretend to actually be Mikhail, knowing that his brother would never again show up to fend for himself. Mikhail was back in Moscow, laying on a slab in the UNCLE morgue. Napoleon wondered, once all of this was finally over, how long it would take Illya to recover from it all? Losing Mikhail, learning Mikhail was THRUSH, almost being killed himself, then being smuggled away from New York, knowing that everyone, all of his friends and colleagues would now believe that he too was dead. And now, more outrageous than anything else, having to pretend that he was Mikhail himself, the brother that he now hated as well as loved for all the evil he had done and had tried to do. Who knew what other indignities still lay ahead before all of this was finally behind them?

Napoleon thought of his own family. To his older brother and sister, he was the genius younger brother, the one who had lived up to all expectations and then vastly exceeded them. He knew how greatly he was loved by his family, his mother, and his brother and sister, and his nephews and nieces adored him. They thought the world of Uncle Leo, and saw him all too infrequently. What were they going through now? Waverly had insisted that the deception had to be complete if it was to work, that his family were to be told the truth only once it was safe to do so. Certainly that could not be yet. What were they suffering, at his loss? Would they ever forgive him when he finally got back to them to apologies?

Illya glanced his way and saw the hint of wetness in his friend's eyes and clapped his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Napoleon."

Napoleon frowned.

"What for?"

"I am forgetting that this has to be as hard for you as it is for me. You have a family to make everything up to later. They will forgive you?"

"Of course they will Illya…eventually. I suppose it depends what Mr. Waverly tells them."

"He's as tough as an old boot, and as thick skinned as a whale, Napoleon, but he knows how to be sensitive when he needs to be. He'll smooth the way as best he can, I know it."

Napoleon nodded, and tried to put his concerns to the back of his mind. For now, finding a certain elderly lady was the first priority. He followed as Illya turned down a side road and about half way down turned again into a very narrow road with rather ramshackle houses that looked like they had been built in the last century of odds and ends. There was a strange look on Illya's face as he paused outside one of the houses and knocked on the door.

ENDNOTE: As I will be away from my computer for the major portion of next week, chapter fourteen will be a few days late in being posted.