Napoleon had a frown on his face as he watched the young Russian beat a
retreat from the canteen.

"Well, I'm glad he's gone."  The observation came from Abigail, Napoleon's
lunch date.  "Pity he wouldn't go back to Russia."

Napoleon turned to face her.  "Is that why you were so rude to him?" he
asked, in a carefully neutral tone.  "To ah, 'encourage' him to leave?"
There was a smile on his face, but it was lacking any of its usual warmth.

"Oh Napoleon," said Abigail, a sickly sweet smile on her face.  "I just
wanted to spend my lunch hour with *you*...not some Russian blow in."  She
patted Napoleon gently on the hand.  "After all, you haven't even told me
what time you're going to pick me up at tonight."

"Ah, about tonight," said Napoleon, carefully.  He was suddenly struck by
the urge to get as far away from her as possible.  "I think I may have to
postp..."  He was interrupted by the sound of his communicator and inwardly
he breathed a sigh of relief for the reprieve.  "Solo here."

"Mr. Solo, please report to Mr. Waverly's office immediately," came the
voice of the communications officer on duty.

Napoleon smiled almost apologetically at Abigail.  "I wouldn't count on me
being able to make our date tonight.  Any time I get called to the boss's
office, it plays havoc with my social life.  I'll catch you later, all
right?"  He gulped down the last of his coffee and left the room before
Abigail could respond.

Napoleon whistled as he headed along the corridor towards the elevators
thanking his lucky stars for the narrow escape he'd just had.  He had been
flirting on and off with Abigail for a few weeks and had finally persuaded
her to go on a date with him, but her rudeness and callous behavior at lunch
had surprised him.  Whether the Russian was a spy or not was irrelevant.  He
was a fellow member of U.N.C.L.E. and had been approved by Mr. Waverly, and
that was enough to give him a fair hearing in Napoleon's opinion.  Now all
he had to do was come up with a suitable excuse for not rescheduling his
date with Abigail...well, having to save the world again would probably
work.

---------------------

Illya glanced up apprehensively as the elevator doors opened, hoping that
nobody would join him in the car.  It was never pleasant being in close
proximity with people who were studiously trying to ignore his presence.
True, nobody had ever said anything directly to him...but that was part of
the problem.  His attempts at striking up conversation had been doomed to
failure, although it was hard to know whether that was due to his
nationality, or merely his lack of social skills.  Either way, since
arriving in New York, he had scarcely exchanged two words with anybody that
hadn't related to his work.  The doors started to close and he almost sighed
in relief that he was to be alone for at least a little more of his journey.
But his relief was short-lived as a hand appeared in the narrowing gap and
the doors opened again.  Illya glanced up nervously as he was joined by the
man whose table he had sat at for lunch.

"We meet again," said Napoleon, a genuine smile on his face as he lightly
tapped the control panel.  The doors closed smoothly behind him.

"Yes," said Illya, warily.  Although this man had been polite enough to
offer him a place to eat, he was not going to be foolish enough to assume
that it had been done out of anything other than politeness.

"Been in New York long?" asked Napoleon.

"A few weeks," replied Illya tersely.

Napoleon was wracking his brains trying to think of something to say to
break the ice when the elevator came to a sudden halt and the lights went
out.

---

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