Napoleon's head jerked up suddenly as the door to his office opened.

"Napping?" Illya lifted an eyebrow, smiling.

"Finally. I haven't had a decent night's sleep all week." He groaned, stretching. There was a kink in his neck-- to be expected, really, since he had fallen asleep with his head on his desk.

"We've had only the most routine assignments." Illya's brow creased. "Why have you not been sleeping?"

"I don't know what it is." He shrugged. "Every time I do manage to fall asleep, I get these dreams. Terrible ones. Can't get a minute of peace."

"Do you think these dreams are trying to tell you something?" The blond asked, hopping up to perch on the edge of his partner's desk.

"Could be, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it means." Napoleon shrugged, leafing through a pile of reports. "Maybe it's nothing."

"Maybe you are sick."

"No bugs going around the office, but I could have picked it up anywhere."

"And from anyone." Illya agreed stiffly.

"Maybe," Napoleon grinned. "Maybe it's part of an elaborate THRUSH plot. Maybe someone put the evil eye on me or something."

"Several times, I'm sure, but you can hardly believe that this is the case."

"Maybe there's a witch doctor with an office in town*."

Illya snorted. "Oh, of course."

"Hey, it can only get better, right?"

"One can hope." He said, giving a non-committal gesture.

"So... the, ah, scribbling..."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. I was just curious about the, um, initials."

Illya turned red. "I-- didn't think anyone had seen."

"I caught a glimpse before you obliterated it. Good thing you keep copies, by the way. That was a semi-important document you shredded."

"We had to make revisions, anyway." He straightened his jacket unnecessarily. "The... the initials are not important, Napoleon. Please, don't think on them."

He nodded and let the Russian go, more intent than ever to find out who they belonged to.

---/-/---

Still no closer to finding the elusive 'HC'-- and still no closer to understanding just why it was so important that he do so-- Napoleon left for home in a minor snit. In the corridor, he nearly ran headlong into a girl. A very attractive girl.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me give you a hand... did you drop anything?" He offered a solicitous hand.

A laugh from nearby, low and almost too quiet to hear, had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Finding new ways to meet women, Napoleon?" Illya teased. "You could have just asked me to introduce you. Helene, this is my partner, Napoleon Solo."

"Mr. Solo. I've heard so much about you from Illya." She extended a hand. Suddenly she seemed less attractive.

"Helene? It's a... very pretty name." He kissed the proffered hand, mind running down a list of potential last names. Carter, Cross, Crippen, Clement, Cardew, Christopher, Channing...

"Napoleon, this is Helene Elysees."

Elysees. Not a C at all. The sparkle returned to the girl. She wasn't the one.

Of course, that put Napoleon back at square one.

It also made Helene, the once-and-again-very-beautiful Helene, available. She wasn't Illya's girl, making her fair game.

"Her fiancee is Kevin from Section 8."

Okay, so she wasn't available. Somehow, it didn't even bother him.

"Well, Kevin from Section 8 must be a very lucky man." He purred, letting the girl go. "She also works here, right?"

"In translations. She's adding Russian to her list, and Kevin suggested that I assist her in her studies."

"Must be nice, getting to speak Russian with someone. You don't get to very often."

Illya shrugged. "Often enough. It is nice. Comfortable."

Napoleon bristled, though he couldn't say at what. At the thought that, even if she wasn't *the* H, Helene was somehow better conversation than he might be.

"I like talking to the girls from translations." He continued. "It keeps me from getting rusty at any of my languages."

"Maybe I should, ah, spend more time in translations." Napoleon smiled weakly.

"You would only brush up on your seduction, my friend." Illya shook his head. "However, I would be more than happy to speak any language you wish over dinner tonight, if you are still buying."

Of course. Dinner. They had agreed to go almost a week ago. Well, maybe in a more relaxed setting, speaking in his native Russian, with a drink in his hand, Illya would be more willing to spill.

---/-/---

To be continued

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