Solo and Kuryakin were plowing through the woods, having abandoned their car somewhere on one of the local roads. It had run out of gas so it was useless to them now.

Once disappearing into the tree line they decided to double back, hoping their pursuers might think they'd continue to move in the direction in which they'd already been heading.

It was so far so good and their strategy seemed to be doing the trick, that was when Napoleon deemed it safe for them to stop to catch their bread.

Illya dropped to the ground, surrounded by a leafy green bush….

"Look out!" Napoleon hissed, but it was too late.

"For what?" The Russian quickly turned his head to the left and right, but saw no danger.

"I have bad news for you tovarisch but you just sat in a bunch of poison sumac."

"Oh that is what you were on about." Illya leaned in, grabbing one of the leaves and carefully examined it.

"I wouldn't do that Illya if I were you," Napoleon warned.

"No you are mistaken my friend, this is Xanthoceras."

"And what pray tell is that?"

"It is known as the Chinese flowering chestnut, a woody perennial in the soapberry family, Sapindaceae. It was native to northern China in the provinces of Gansu, Hebi, Henan, Liaoning, Nei Mongol, Njngxia, Shaanxi, and Shandong. It is also cultivated in Russia, having been imported there since the 19th Century. So I am somewhat familiar with it," Illya's reply was a bit on the smug side.

"All right if you say so, my walking encyclopedia of a partner," Solo continued to eye the plant with suspicion.

Eight hours later Solo and Kuryakin were in their office, having brought their previous assignment to a successful conclusion after they'd called for and were picked up by an UNCLE helicopter. They'd debriefed with Mr Waverly and were just about ready to head their separate ways for the night after finishing up their written reports. Both men had blown off their post mission checkups in Medical

Illya was typing away, finishing his report, but kept stopping.

Napoleon watched out of the corner of his eye as his partner seemed to be unconsciously scratching his forearms and hands.

"Illya you okay?"

"Fine, why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing...would you mind if I take a look at your hands?"

Before answering, Kuryakin did so himself.

"Dermo!" He swore in Russian.

His hands were covered in tiny red and very sore looking blisters that were oozing fluid, but the worst of it was between his fingers.

He was feeling an uncontrollable urge to scratch, but restrained himself out of an abundance of caution now. He'd been scratching enough already, but had paid no attention.

"What the hell is this?" He held his hands up for his partner to get a better look at them.

"I'd venture a well educated guess that it's a rash from poison sumac. The symptoms are even worse that poison ivy or poison oak by the way. I tried to warn you, but you insisted the plant was that Xantho...xantho…"

"Xanthoceras." Illya deadpanned. "Apparently you were right. What can be done about it?" He was unfamiliar with this particular malady. He paused a second before speaking again.

"Napoleon I am itching down there as well," he pointed to his crotch with a pained look in his eyes.

"Don't tell me, you used the men's room after we got back here...before we showered and changed that is?"

"Yes of course, and I washed my hands after I relieved myself."

"That was too late, the oil from the plant touched your skin and I suspect spread from your hands to your ummm, well you know."

"How long will this last?" Illya gasped. "I know nothing of this poison sumac...you said it is worse than poison ivy?"

"I think so, but I'm not 100% sure, so you better go see Doctor Greene in Medical. To be honest, I have heard the rash could last 10 days to 3 weeks, but it might even go on as long as 6 weeks or more if it's severe enough. The Doc will know for sure."

Illya shook his head as he rose, holding his hands up in front of himself like a surgeon. "Would you come with me to Medical?"

"Sure why not?"

"Napoleon thank you for not saying I told you so."

"No problem." As Napoleon followed Illya out the door he began to sing quietly to himself. 'You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion…"

"Must you sing that song, besides is it not about poison ivy?" Illya hissed.

"Well there's no song for poison sumac, tovarisch," Napoleon grinned ear to ear.