Irae was certain there were no interns in the London office of UNCLE. The description of the young man was not familiar either, so she went through the motions and left a message for Diamene about the attack. Well aware that Shakespeare's Horatio had no clue where the peculiar and weird were concerned, she was quite certain that this was something more than the viral issues at hand.

She was also beginning to be aware that Mr. Kuryakin was both very attractive to her and suspicious of her presence in England. Neither was a good idea, but she didn't see her way clear at the moment. Least said, soonest mended, she told herself and took a sample of the goo to the lab for testing.

"Sea water and a gelling agent they can't identify," she reported to the agents a couple of hours later. "Also, no, the London office does not have secondary school equivalent interns over the summer or at any other time of year. Security is uncertain how the young man entered the building, but has several clear pictures of him in the hall outside the staff room and in action." She paused thoughtfully as she handed over the report and photos.

"Something more, Miss Chase?" Napoleon asked as he caught the look on her delightful face.

She gave him one of those sideways, not quite exasperated looks that women sometimes shot at his partner, then shook her head, more to clear it than to answer his question. "This is all strange … stranger than usual."

Now she had both men's attention. How to continue? "Doesn't it strike you as odd that the peculiarities you reported from Innsmouth wait until now to show up again?" Her pale eyes traveled from one man to the other and back, coming to rest on Illya's face, meeting his direct look with a troubled one of her own. "I'm sorry. The whole thing has my hackles raised and a definite desire to go find whoever is responsible and deal with them," she finished, a fierce tone in her usually soft voice. When did she get so damn protective? Of people who were more than capable of taking care of themselves?

Solo chuckled. "Maybe you should apply to Survival School."

"Already did. I'm under consideration," she assured him. "Unfortunately, I am also an excellent research assistant, file clerk and gofer." She hoped her smile would defuse her probable misstep reaction to the threat to these two men. Damn Diamene for being right, she did want to make certain the agents remained active in their fight. "Is there anything else?"

"See what you can find out about our hero." Napoleon handed the photos back to her. "Leg work and good practice in case you get accepted."

"Yes, sir." She nodded to Illya and left.

Both men watched her exit and head down the hallway. Illya made a sort of knowledgeable snorting sound before returning to his own research.

"What? She's a lovely woman."

"She's not what she seems," the Russian shot back, surprised at his own vehemence. His brows drew together as he assessed his reaction.

Napoleon saw the troubled look and perched on a nearby stool, waiting. Silence. "Give."

"Give what?"

"You've having a lot of thoughts and keeping them from your partner is liable to get him shot, or annoyed with you. So, give. What are you thinking in that devious Russian mind?" Solo's tone was teasing, but he knew that look and that his partner's instincts were generally more right than wrong, sometimes much to the American's chagrin. The Yuconovich was one of those times.

Illya puttered with petri dishes and things on the lab table before sagging slightly and turning to face his partner. "Angel Island."

Napoleon nodded. "I was there." He waited. The events on Angel Island were ones he and Illya had never discussed once they were off the island.

His partner looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. Solo borrowed Helena's sing song 'Patience is a virtue' inside his own head to keep from badgering the Russian for answers. There were things he missed while they battled the Professor and his minions. Illya had arrived at the sacrificial scene before he did; what the agent had seen there was glossed over in their reports by mutual consent. They both knew there were monsters in the world, but it was simpler to keep them human rather than to acknowledge that there were … others.

"Dagon."

"The professor was ostensibly raising the mythological sea god …" He shut up as Illya's cold gaze met his eyes. Then the gaze softened and the Russian took a couple of breaths before he continued.

"We both know what almost happened there. We both know that the woman at THRUSH and her 'cousin' are," he faltered, avoiding the words neither of them wanted to speak. "Unusual."

"Yes, that's a very good description. It was there?"

Illya nodded. "This is more of the same. The white haired girl told me that had they not found the two women there …"

"You were the target." His partner looked so miserable as he nodded his agreement, Napoleon wanted to fold him in his arms and tell him it would be all right, much as he would a child. Not that his partner would accept such a reassurance. "So, you figure this was another attempt to kidnap and sacrifice you?" he asked lightly.

Another snort. Good.

"Nyet. This was ill thought out and probably has something to do with the … research." He stared at the small glass dishes. "What would the virus do to them?" he asked almost inaudibly.

"Maybe we should find out. "

"Maybe we should find out in a slightly more contained lab," Napoleon headed him off.

"Ah. Yes. Good idea." Illya swept the petri dishes into his hands and headed out to a more secure area with Napoleon in tow.

MFUMFUMFUMFU

"Grandfather," Diamene addressed the still very handsome, barely gray haired man standing at the window, staring out across London, taking in the buildings and the sunset. "It's getting very serious." She was deferential, but firm.

He turned to face her, a frown on his somewhat dissipated looking face. "It is not our concern," he informed her. "That is the world. We no longer concern ourselves with the fools out there. Family: that is our concern."

"And the followers of Dagon who seek our younger brother?" She met the sharp glare of his dark gaze with patience.

"He is not yet family."

"True. But some day, some day he will be. It is unwise to have that potential in their hands. We both know this. Grant me permission to act, more than I have."

He regarded her for a log moment. "Not yet. You are too much involved already, daughter of my heart. If he is to become, he will become without your interference. He will be stronger for that."

She gave him one of her warm smiles, shaking her head at the same time. "Do you see everything, Grandfather?"

"I see a great deal. Now, dress for dinner. We have guests."

"Guests? I thought you were … the English branch?"

"Exactly," he answered her, his arrogance softened by thoughts of a woman he still loved.

"Then I'd best get ready." She crossed to where he stood, giving him a quick hard hug before leaving him to his thoughts. The English branch of the family; this would be her first time meeting the woman who still held Grandfather's heart. What an adventure this was turning out to be.