"This latest affair is one more example of how their.*relationship*.has made them vulnerable to THRUSH, and thus, they are becoming more of a liability than an asset to UNCLE," Senior Enforcement Agent Robert Cushman said, sitting cross-armed at the circular conference table in the nerve center of the New York office.

Alexander Waverly, Number One, Section One, inwardly sighed. This wasn't the first time he had been broached about the relationship between his top two agents. He was also privy to the gossip, the rumors, and the whispered questions about where their friendship ended and their supposed romance began.

Regardless of the accusation's validity, the circumstances leading up to this latest affair *did* seem to be happening with great regularity. Without warning or provocation, Illya Kuryakin, Number Two Enforcement Agent, Section Two, was captured by THRUSH agents and dangled as bait, knowing his partner, Chief Enforcement Agent Napoleon Solo would soon come to his rescue. The plan was to capture both agents---a significant coup---and turn them over to THRUSH Central as a means of quickly promoting higher within the ranks of the terrorist organization. That was the *plan*, except the architects of the scheme were now pushing up daisies.

Napoleon never was one to take kindly to anyone manhandling Illya.

At the same time, a satrapy was shut down---one which UNCLE was blissfully unaware of---and vital THRUSH documents were confiscated. On the whole, it was a very good, if unexpected, affair---apart from the unfortunate physical torture Illya had endured, landing him once again in the Medical Section.

"None of our other Enforcement agents are captured and used against us as often as those two are," Cushman went on, somewhat annoyed by his superior's calm attitude, not that he expected the older man to stomp around the office and throw his pipe in a fit of umbrage. Still, why couldn't the old fool see that Napoleon was a degenerate and not fit to be CEA? Let alone the 'heir apparent' to Waverly's job when he retired? There were plenty of other agents who were more deserving and who had been with the agency longer. Himself, for instance.

"I appreciate your concern," Waverly said in his grandfatherly voice, lightly sprinkled with a British accent. "However, I can't exactly shelve either agent. They are too important in our fight against THRUSH and other nefarious factions. And I'm not convinced their relationship---whatever it entails---is the sole reason they are singled out for capture. They are, after all, our top agents. You don't promote within THRUSH by capturing *junior* officers! Now, if there is nothing more, I'm expecting a conference call from our Paris office."

Cushman was, among other things, exasperated, flustered, and flabbergasted. And most irritating of all, he was dismissed! Pulling himself up to his full height, he turned on his heels and walked with distinction out of the old fool's office.

Once the door to his office sealed shut, Alexander Waverly shook his head at the departed agent. "Pompous fool!" he snorted, pulling open a file.

<><><><><>

Alexander Waverly arched his back, getting rid of the kinks from sitting at his desk too long. Yawning, he glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost 10:00 p.m. These late nights at the office were getting to be too much for him at his age, but he wasn't quite ready to step down from his post, and Napoleon Solo wasn't quite ready to take over the reins.

"He's still a pup, wet behind the ears!" Waverly said out loud to no one with a characteristic harrumph.

Grabbing his coat and hat, he made his way, not to the exit, but to the Medical Section. Having called the infirmary earlier in the day, it wasn't necessary for him to check on Illya Kuryakin's welfare in person---he knew the agent was merely being held overnight for observation. The truth was he had a soft spot for the prickly Russian and wanted to see for himself that he was safe and sound. While Napoleon would always be held in the highest regard, there was something vulnerable about Illya which brought out the paternal nature in the gruff Chief of Operations.

As he crept into the dimly lit hospital room, a slow smile crossed his face. Reclining on the bed with his back propped up with pillows was UNCLE's CEA. In his arms he cradled what appeared to be a golden-haired boy with the face of an angel: Illya Kuryakin. Both agents were fast asleep.

Stepping closer, Waverly gently tucked the blankets up around their shoulders before heading home...