Alexander Waverly looked up from the report he was working on as the
door to his office parted with a soft 'swosh' and allowed himself a tiny
smile as the 'newest addition' to UNCLE entered.  "Good morning, Mr.
Kuryakin", he greeted the younger man.  "Do sit down."

      Illya obeyed.  "Thank you, sir", he  replied, politely.

      The nervousness was not lost on Waverly for he knew the main cause.
"How have they been treating you?", he asked, deciding to address the
situation.

      Illya realized this was more than a question.  "I am used to much
worse, sir", he confessed without hesitation.  "It is not entirely their
fault", he continued.  "I am not experienced in the social graces and I do
not trust easily....."

      "Rubbish!", Waverly scoffed.  "You've only been here two weeks, man!
Give yourself time,"  he advised.  Here he paused.  He could almost hear the
wheels turning beneath the intelligent forehead as the information sank in.
//Now for my Ace.....// "Have you met Napoleon Solo?"

      "Yes, sir.  I have."

       "Good.  Listen and learn.  He is well respected and I value his
opinions highly.  Many have found him a valued and loyal friend; and those
who have become his enemy, well, 99.9% of them are deceased."

      Illya nodded, understanding perfectly.  From what he'd observed,
especially doing their encounter in the elevator, he much preferred Solo as
a friend. //How good a friend, Illya Nickovetch??// whispered his inner
voice.  He ignored it.   "He has invited me to lunch tomorrow, sir", Illya
added.

      Waverly chuckled.  "So he informed me.  Yet, knowing Mr.  Solo as I
do,  I have given you both the day off.  Therefore, I suggest you get the
proper rest tonight, Mr.  Kuryakin.  Dismissed."

      Rising, Illya, out of respect for the elder man,  gave a slight bow
and exited the room.  No sooner had the door closed behind him when he felt
a burning sensation in his fist.  Opening it he found, instead of crumbled
paper, ashes.

      Sighing heavily, he turned in the direction of the elevators and came
face to face with Napoleon Solo.

      "Hi!"

      //Christ!  Those eyes seem to bore into my very soul!!//  "Hi!"  Illya
whispered, unable to meet that encompassing gaze.

      Napoleon frowned.  "Did it go badly with the Old Man?", he asked,
concerned.

       Illya shook his head, slowly.  "Not at all.  He wanted to see how
things were going.  I was truthful with him without going into much detail.
Besides, I have a feeling he knows all he needs to know about me.  It
was...."  Here he hesitated. //Problems, Illya Nickovetch??// his inner
voice chided once again.  Once again he ignored it and continued.  "It is
just that I did not expect  to see you until tomorrow for our lunch."

      Napoleon fell into step beside the blond.  "I'm looking forward to
 it."

      "So am I; however, I am a bit confused.  Mr.  Waverly also informed me
that he gave us tomorrow off and suggested I rest up for it."

      Napoleon put on his best CEA expression.  "A wise suggestion", he
replied with mock severity.   "You see,  my dear Russian, I've taken on a
personal mission."

      "And that is?", Illya asked, his blue eyes dancing with amusement.

      "To make certain that you have fun.  So, with your permission, a
slight change in time.  I'll pick you up around 7am."

      "And why so early?"

      They had reached the elevators.  Napoleon leaned in close.  "Just make
certain you're hungry," he whispered, conspiratorially.

---

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