It was an ordinary day at U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters in New York city, or so Napoleon Solo thought.

He was sauntering along one of the grey corridors, doing his usual flirting and giving compliments to the ladies as they went on about their duties.

Some he'd stop and admire as they walked ahead of him, watching the almost hypnotic swaying of their hips in their tight black pencil skirts. The height of their heels seemed to make their derrieres jut out in the cutest way.

This ordinary day suddenly changed into something strange as a Napoleon heard a commotion down the hall.

Illya appeared, apparently dashing past as if his life were in danger.

"Napoleon help me….run interference!"

Stampeding after the flustered Russian were a number of women all shouting they loved him and were demanding he kiss them.

Napoleon knew he couldn't stop this gaggle of determined girls, and instead he got between them and Kuryakin, running after the Russian as well.

Illya darted through the gymnasium doors and straight into the men's locker room. It was there Napoleon blocked the door, after yelling for help from the other agents who were working out.

The women pushed forward, all the while saying they were in love with Illya, but the were repelled by a half-dozen men, including Solo.

Ten minutes later, Illya reappeared, his hair wet and he was dressed in a grey sweatsuit, white cotton socks and a pair of black and white high top Converse sneakers, the kind people generally wore to play basketball.

They were a little large and obviously didn't belong to the Russian and no doubt had been borrowed.

As soon as the women were in close proximity to Illya, it was as if a switch had been flicked off. They turned away without a word (though some of them were blushing) and left the gymnasium, trying to be invisible.

"Okay Tovarisch, you going to do some explaining here?"

Napoleon folded his arms in front of himself, looking rather smug.

The other agents went back to their workouts, uninterested in what Kuryakin had to 'd eventually hear about it through the regular gossip channels and they were sure it was going to be a doozy.

Illya took a deep breath before answering.

"I was working in the lab when one of the assistants knocked over a beaker containing some sort of love potion. It splattered on my lab coat, which I disposed of immediately. Unbeknownst to me some of the solution had gotten on my suit. When I left the lab, women started accosting me and...well, you saw what was happening.

I decided it was best to shower and change here. I am not sure if my suit is even salvageable, as it will have to be taken back to the lab for analysis; I suspect dry cleaning will not work. We will need a hazardous material bag in which to transport it."

"A love potion you say?" Napoleon cocked his head to the side as he mused. "That could come in handy."

"Napoleon, do you really think you need help attracting women?" Kuryakin began towel drying his wet hair.

Solo thought for a second before he smiled. "Naaah, but it did wonders for you. So going to call it 'Love Potion Number 9?"

"I will not even dignify that with an answer." Illya turned and walked back into the locker room, once out of view he rolled his eyes as he shook his head.