Illya Kuryakin noted the pause in conversation as he entered UNCLE's
commissary and sighed inwardly.  How had his diligent efforts at making the
best first impression gone so badly awry?  Perhaps he could try to correct
the situation with some pleasant conversation over a meal.

He saw an empty seat at one of the tables, and asked, as politely as he knew
how, if he might sit down.

He was refused with an equal amount of politeness.

Undaunted, he tried again -- and was rejected, politely, several more times.

Then a movement caught his eye, and he looked over to see a couple sitting
together at a table.  A dark haired man a few years older than himself was
the one waving, while his well-built blonde companion stared at the man as
if he'd lost his mind.

Illya had to sit somewhere, if for no other reason than to finish his lunch
before he was required to return to work, so he moved over to the table
where the couple sat.

"May I join you, please?" he softly asked, prepared for another dismissal.

"I was hoping you would," the dark haired man answered, standing and holding
out a hand.  "Napoleon Solo," he said with a warm smile.

Illya put down his tray and grasped the outstretched hand.  "Illya Kuryakin.
It is a pleasure to meet you."  He tried to smile back, hoping it didn't
look too stiff.

Napoleon proceeded to introduce his companion, and the two men sat down.
Illya at first silently followed the conversation between his tablemates,
then made an observation at what he thought was an appropriate moment.

It hung in the air and quietly died.

He made a few more attempts, but it was like talking to no one.  Twice it
seemed as though Napoleon was about to respond, but the woman at the table
quickly jumped in with a change of subject.

All too soon, his meal was finished and his time was up.  He politely
excused himself, stood up, and left, taking his tray over and disposing of
the trash on it before returning the dirty dishes to the kitchen area.

As he walked down the hallway on his way back to the lab, he shook his head,
despairing of ever being able to fit in here.

One of the lab techs stopped him as he entered the lab area.  "Report to
Waverly," he was told.

'Good,' he thought to himself, 'perhaps I can ask to be returned to Europe.'

---

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