The And Now a Word from our Sponsor Affair
by Charlie Kirby

"And if you act right now, Ronco will include this beautiful set of steak knives!"

Illya Kuryakin resisted the urge to throw his pillow at the TV set, but the reality was, it was his only pillow and if he threw it, he'd have to go get it. One of these days, someone was going to invent something that controlled a TV from a chair or the sofa. Or better than that, a way to mute those irritating commercials.

"Napoleon, must you watch such drivel?"

"I'm not watching drivel; I was watching the news and that came on. It's called a commercial, Illya. Don't you have them in the USSR?"

"No, we aren't given a choice; we have what we have and that's all. You want bread, you buy what they have to sell."

"Sounds dismal."

"It works for us." Illya dropped his attention back to the small book he held. It was in French, but that was hardly an issue. Just for the challenge, he was translating from Russian to English in his head. "When did Waverly say he'd call?"

"He didn't. He just said that we were to stay here until he did." Napoleon stood up and squatted in front of the set to change channels. There wasn't much choice, just the big three. He shut it off and stood back up. Like his partner, he was going just a little stir crazy. To be holed up in a hotel room wasn't a problem at the end of an assignment when rest was a necessity or even in the middle of something when they could spend the time making plans and mapping out alternatives. But to be stuck in a hotel room in Los Angeles with strict orders to stay put with literally nothing to do was practically a death sentence.

Oh they could sun on their balcony or sleep, have as much or as little as they wanted to eat via room service, but they were literally restricted to quarters. They'd already played chess, Napoleon won, and played cards, Illya won, but Napoleon maintained he cheated. They'd talked about big things, small things until they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. They were men of action and three days in any hotel room was too long.

"I keep wondering what we did wrong," Napoleon muttered as he returned to his bed.

"What do you mean?"

"To be punished like this. Did you forget to turn in your vouchers? Travel expenses? Case reports?"

"No, no, and no, and why would it be my fault? I'm not the one who bought three new suits in Paris, or a new pair of shoes in Naples or that watch in London." Illya closed the book and tossed it onto the nightstand. "But I can tell you, if something doesn't happen soon I am going to be forced to take desperate measures."

"You and me both."

Twin on/off blats filled the room and Napoleon sighed. "Finally! Solo here."

"Mr. Solo, is Mr. Kuryakin with you?"

"Yes, sir, I'm here." Illya leaned in over Napoleon's shoulder in order to respond.

"Both of you stay there. Waverly out."

Napoleon looked down at the communicator and shook his head slowly. "I swear whatever it was, I didn't do it... it wasn't my fault."

There was a knock at the door and both men froze. They exchanged glances and both reached for their guns. Illya stood to the right of the door as Napoleon moved to the left.

"Yes?"

"I have a package for you, Mr. Solo. Your Uncle Alex sent me." Napoleon eased opened the door. The man on the other side was wearing a loud floral shirt and pink-rimmed sunglasses. "Hey, hey, cousin, can I come in?"

He took a step into the room and then looked down at the P-38 Illya had leveled at his chest.

"As my partner is a little jumpy, I would advise you to reach very slowly into your jacket and produce some identification."

"Sure, no prob." He reached in and Illya's hand twitched slightly.

"I'd move slower on the way out if I were you," Napoleon advised and then he added softly, "He's Russian, you see."

"Ah, sure, sure Big Daddy, no problemo." The man carefully took a thin wallet from his inner jacket and passed it over to Napoleon.

Napoleon flicked it open and studied the ID card. He reached out and pulled off the sun glasses, to study the man's face.

"Well, Mr. Val Docket, let's see what UNCLE has to say about this." Napoleon walked to his nightstand and retrieved his communicator.

Docket looked down at the pistol Kuryakin held and stared at him. "That's not really necessary, you know."

"It is not your call." Then he unconsciously brought a hand to his face as Docket continued to study him.

"But it is mine." Napoleon slapped Illya on the shoulder. "He's one of us."

"He may well be an agent, Napoleon, but he is not one of us." Illya holstered his weapon grudgingly.

Docket reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a communicator. "Open Channel F please. Willy, are you there?"

"I'm here, Val, what's wrong?"

"Just wanted to let you know I made contact and Waverly wasn't kidding. These two will fit the bill."

"They're in good shape?"

"Pristine, just like Waverly promised. We owe him some California sunshine."

"Ah, excuse me for interrupting, but will someone please tell us what's going on?" Napoleon kept his voice at its polished best.

"Sure, let's head down to the office and I'll explain on the way." Docket gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

"Take the long route." Napoleon advised as he picked up his suit jacket and slipped into it, straightening the lapels as he went. Illya simply snatched up a windbreaker and shrugged into it.

Docket paused at the door and studied both of them again before putting his sunglasses back on. "Waverly is pure genius."

He led the way to a car that was parked under the portico of their hotel. True to form, it was a convertible. As they approached, two attendants hurried up.

"Was everything to your liking, Mr. Docket?" one asked as he opened the driver's side door. "Was your shopping successful?"

"Very, Mr. Hackett, very. Thanks for keeping an eye on her." He patted the red tuck and roll upholstery. Then he frowned as he saw a pair of men walking swiftlyup the sidewalk. "Quickly gentlemen, quickly." He slid in and waited as Illya climbed in the rear and for Napoleon to join him up front. He barely gave the agents time to shut the door before he roared off.

"Sorry about that, but I have to be careful. Those two walking towards us had a look about them."

"THRUSH agents," Illya turned to see if they were being followed.

"Worse - talent scouts. This is a cut throat business here. They saw you with me and they were moving in for the kill."

"They were armed?"

"No, that's LA-speak for they were going to try and woo you from our agency." Docket glanced at his mirrors and grinned just before slamming to a stop. Illya hit the front seat with a thunk. "Sorry, Mr. K. Stop and go literally means exactly that here. Excellent, so now we can talk."

"This is going to be pure poetry," Napoleon predicted.

"More like pulp fiction." Illya righted himself. "Just exactly what is going on, Mr. Docket?"

"About five months ago, we caught wind of a new scheme by THRUSH. They were developing a fragrance for men."

"A cologne?"

"Nope an actual scent, like Chanel No 5."

"Men don't wear perfume," Illya protested, pulling out his own sunglasses from his jacket pocket and putting them on.

"Yet, but you will soon learn, cousin, that the American buying public does whatever we tell them to do."

"We?"

"I work for one of UNCLE's cover businesses. It's an ad agency and we have secured the advertising contract for this new scent."

"What's it called?" Napoleon's interest was piqued.

"Gladiator."

"Why would anyone want to smell like a gladiator? Personal hygiene wasn't highly prized among them at the time."

"I agree, but I didn't name the thing; I'm just the guy responsible for selling it."

"And the plan?"

"We are hoping to get one or both of you close enough to check the stuff out. So far, we haven't even been given a sample to try."

"Suspicious," Illya murmured, bracing himself as the car leapt forward a few feet and stopped again.

"Very."

"But why us? Why not some of your local agents?" Napoleon leaned back in the seat and studied his surroundings.

"We needed fresh blood. Someone who won't be recognized."

"That wouldn't be us then, we are both well known to THRUSH."

"In the field, yes, we're talking in front of a camera." Docket suddenly veered off to one side and stepped on the gas. The convertible shot forward and down a side street. "Waverly seems to think you two will fit the bill."

"Napoleon..." Illya grumbled and his partner just shook his head.

"I swear I don't know what we did wrong, Illya."

"What are you two yammering about?" Docket asked. "This is a plum assignment, you just have to stand around and have someone take photos of you. The opportunity opens up for a bit of exploring, well, then you two do what you do best."

"In the meantime?"

"We'll do what we do best." He drove into a below ground garage and pulled into a marked parking space. "You are both going to have to trust me on this."

"Why do I suddenly feel like Custer's left hand man at Little Big Horn?"

"No idea, Napoleon, I thought it would have been more like Waterloo."

Docket just laughed and climbed out of the car. "We'll arrange to have someone shuttle you back and forth from the hotel to here. Rest of the time you might want to stay low, below their radar. At least until we know if there's anything there."

"You're not sure?"

"Naw, it could just be a money making scheme for them. They have to turn a profit too you know." Docket tucked his glasses into a pocket. "You agents are an expensive commodity. Those suits of yours don't grow on trees, you know."

"Busted," Illya murmured for his partner's ear alone. Napoleon grimaced in return.

They followed the dark haired man into an office and he walked to a desk and sat down. "Okay, we might as well get started." He slapped and rubbed his hands together. "Vonnie, would you send the squad in please."

"The squad?" Illya's hand moved towards his weapon and Docket chuckled.

"Just our make-up people, calm down." Docket shook his head and laughed. "You two are really high strung, you should mellow out a bit."

Three men and a woman entered and Docket rapidly introduced them. "Okay guys, these are our golden boys."

The woman, Shibon, approached the pair and walked around them slowly. "It would be easier if they weren't wearing quite so many clothes. How good do you look naked?" She asked Napoleon. He shrugged.

"No one has registered any complaints."

"And you?" She lifted Illya's chin and turned his head first one way and then the other. "Left is better than right. Take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?"

"Your shirt... and your pants. Both of you."

Illya's jaw flexed and he shot a look at Napoleon. His partner dropped his gaze and smiled slightly.

"Mr. Docket, I think we are going to need a bit more authorization before we comply. Even you have to admit that this might seem a bit odd to someone outside the advertising business."

"Okay... time to call in the big dogs." He leaned forward and hit the speaker phone.

"There are big dogs?" Illya glanced towards the door, then to the window.

"It's a saying, Illya. I'll wager he's calling Waverly for confirmation."

"Don't let me play poker with you, Napoleon," Docket said, then added to the speaker. "Vonnie, would you call our New York uncle?"

"You got it, boss!" There was a pause. "Waverly is on the line for you now."

"Mr. Waverly?"

"Yes, Mr. Docket, what can I do for you?"

"Well, we picked up your packages and they are great, but a little resistant."

"Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?" Their answers overlapped each other.

"Sir?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get on with it. If THRUSH is intent upon unleashing some unknown danger onto the whole of society and you --"

"Just guys really. The item is just aimed at guys," Docket murmured softly as he picked up a file. "And it's not like we're asking them to have sex with an animal or anything."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Docket." Waverly's voice was no nonsense now. "These are two of our top agents and you will treat them accordingly. Remember, also that they are very dangerous and have very long memories... especially the Russian. Don't turn your back on him."

Everyone glanced over at Illya, who crossed his arms and tried to look dangerous, Napoleon smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Dangerous indeed, they don't know about your reading comic books and giggling," he murmured just loud enough for his partner to hear.

"And they won't either...," Illya murmured back, "partner... "

Docket spoke with Waverly for a few more seconds and then clicked off the phone. Shibon held out a hand. "Mr. Kuryakin, your shirt please."

Face set in rock calm, Illya took the jacket off and there was a murmur at the sight of his shoulder holster and weapon.

"Oh, I like that," she said, tapping her mouth with a pencil. She started to sketch something on a sheet of paper. "The way it gathers the material and accentuates the muscles, very sexy and very dangerous."

"It's all right, I have my safety on." Illya said as he worked the straps off and handed the holster to her.

"God, it's still warm..."

Illya looked over at Napoleon and sighed, then tugged his polo shirt over his head. Static made his hair stand on end for a moment and he shook it back into place.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Huston, one of the three up-until-now silent men asked. "You certainly have the moves down. We'll have to do something about the scars."

"Hide them, you mean?" Shibon looked up from her paper.

"Accentuate them - he's supposed to be a gladiator for God sakes." Huston walked slowly around Illya. "Okay, now the pants." Only one corner of Illya's mouth moved as he unbuckled his pants and let them drop. "Nice legs."

"He looks great in a dress," Napoleon said and then paused and smiled at the fuming look Illya leveled at him.

"Keep it up, Solo, your turn is next and I know some things that you might not like aired in public as well... Nappy..."

"Point taken, Pooseycat."

"What?" Shibon looked from one to the other, her clipboard forgotten.

"Napoleon has a short memory when it comes to remembering things, like my name... may I redress?"

"No, but I'll get you a robe. Follow Dwayne." The man raised his hand. "He's going to do your colors."

"My what?"

"Colors - find out what you look good in."

"Black, I like black."

"Black technically isn't a color... it's all colors. And white is the absence of all color. And we will be dealing with neither on this shoot."

"And Mr. Solo, you are all mine..."

Napoleon walked a bit gingerly into the changing room and slammed to a stop. Illya was standing in front of a mirror, completely naked and staring at his reflection.

"Illya, what's wrong?"

"Huh?" The man looked over his shoulder and then back at the mirror. "It's the first time I've seen myself without body hair since I was twelve."

"An early bloomer then?"

"Papa used to say that being hirsute was the Soviet way of staying warm. "

"Survival of the furriest then?"

"You laugh, but you should see our women." Illya ran a hand over his chest and sighed.

"They made you shave your entire body?"

"No they waxed me and THRUSH has nothing on these guys. I will be personally holding a grudge against every candle I see for quite probably the next ten years."

Napoleon's hand dropped reflexively to cover his own genitals and winced. "Ouch."

"That would just about cover it, yes."

Napoleon came to stand directly behind him and whispered in his ear. "You look like my first grade teacher, Miss Snoot."

"I beg your pardon?" Illya's eyes dropped to his own groin. "Miss Snoot had a secret?"

"Your hair, Pooseycat, what did they do to your hair?"

"They gave it an oil treatment and then added body... whatever the hell that is. I thought I was through with olive oil..." Illya moved stiffly back to a changing screen where his clothes hung and started to dress. "Please tell me this is some drug induced dream, Napoleon. Tell me I'm going to wake up in a nice quiet THRUSH cell."

"Would that I could, partner." Napoleon had moved to his own screen and was dressing carefully.

"You seem relatively intact."

"If they use any sentences that incorporate the word bleach, run..." He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it quickly. "They are taking us directly back to the hotel where we are, once again, restricted to our room."

"There is one thing I do not understand, Napoleon."

"Just one?"

"Well, no, but one significant thing. How are we supposed to do any looking around when we are never left alone for a moment?"

"My understanding is that we will have that chance tomorrow. We will be going with a large group over to the manufacturing offices, i.e. THRUSH's current hangout, and the photographers will work with us one at time, permitting the other one to amuse himself accordingly."

Illya brushed his hair into place with a casual hand and grunted. "And something else that is a puzzlement."

"Yes." Napoleon came around the screen, pulling on his jacket.

"Why did they strip my body of all its hair and then tell me not to shave?"

"Not a clue and no desire to find out. I just want to be done and out of here. New York has its share of crazies, but at least there I can recognize them for what they are." He gestured to the door. "Ready?"

"More than you can know."

Napoleon Solo re-did the tie on his robe and let his attention wander. All morning he'd been before the cameras, being put through a series of unlikely scenarios. Now it was Illya's turn and his partner was not happy. There had already been some heated discussions, like the one going on now. Napoleon knew exactly what Illya was doing, permitting him a chance to melt into the background.

"Hey, Docket, I'm going to go grab something to eat ," he murmured into the agent's ear.

"Do you need an escort?" He nodded to one of the many hangers on.

"I don't know..." He lowered his voice. "Do I need one?"

"I think you should take one... in case you get lost..." Docket glanced over at Kuryakin and shook his head. "We're going to have our hands full with that one."

"Oh, the stories I could tell."

"I bet. Okay, let's try something new then. Illya, you are the brave gladiator."

">;LH5 :0: 53> >G5=L @074@065==K9 :C75= (More like his very annoyed cousin)," Illya muttered and Napoleon chuckled.

"What did he say?"

"Suffice it to say, he's not happy."

"Dwayne, show Napoleon where the commissary is, there's a good intern."

Napoleon followed as Dwayne led him out of the room. "You're an intern then? What exactly does an intern do?"

"Someone messes with you, I, in turn, make them into confetti. No one scalps our talent."

Napoleon nodded thoughtfully and then continued. "Is it odd that we aren't even being given a sample of the product we're advertising?"

"Odd, but not unheard of. Some agencies play their products a bit close to their chests." Dwayne looked around and said loudly. "Okay, I think it's this way to the commissary." He opened a door and looked inside.

The secretary at the desk glanced up and smiled. "May I help you, gentlemen?"

"Got turned around, sorry. The Commissary...?"

"Three doors down on the left. It will take you to a staircase and the commissary is one floor below that. Don't take the elevator, it is running slow today."

"Thanks!" Dwayne winked at her and shut the door. "Okay, we are cleared to snoop."

"Her?"

"One of ours, just as one of the photographers is one of theirs. It's all about hiding in plain sight." Dwayne headed down the hall and took a right. "This should lead us to their labs. Do you know anything about science?"

"That would be more of Illya's ball of wax, pardon the pun."

"He's still hot about yesterday?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, at least he won't itch when it grows back, unlike shaving." Dwayne opened the door and three lab coated men looked at him. One moved to cover up some papers.

"Can we help you?"

"We were on our way to the commissary and got turned around, I think." Dwayne glanced around. "You guys have some great facilities here. No wonder you are being so secretive with your latest line."

"Which one?"

"Gladiator. This is one of our models."

"Gentlemen, I thank you for my continued employment." Napoleon let his voice go reedy, almost whiny. "As do my three ex-wives."

"Use some of this on them and you won't have any trouble at all." One of the scientists tossed him a small vial. "Just be warned, a little goes a very long way."

"What is it?" Napoleon turned the vial this way and that, giving it a little shake.

"It's our current fragrance, the one you are advertising. Use a drop and women will be your slaves..."

"It doesn't affect men?" Dwayne took the vial as Napoleon held it out.

"Not as a rule, but in Los Angeles anything is possible."

Dwayne sniffed it and coughed, then hurriedly held it away from his nose. "It smells like horse piss."

"To you, but you put a bit of that in the hollow of your neck and you will have any woman you meet volunteering to be the mother of your children."

"That might be awkward." Dwayne recapped it and swiftly handed it back to Napoleon. "It's all yours."

"Gee, just what I need - another ex wife. Illya would love that."

"He would, would he?" Dwayne said, gesturing to the door. "He doesn't like sharing?"

"Not as a rule." Napoleon waved back at the men. "Thanks, I'll give this a whirl."

Illya walked into the small UNCLE lab, looked around until he spotted Napoleon and went straight for him. "They told me you have a sample?"

"It's in the centrifuge." He looked over at Dwayne and grinned. "Did I lie?"

"No, you said you'd give it a whirl. I also imagine those three scientists are now ex-THRUSH employees for handing over a sample. "

"Knowing THRUSH, they're ex everything."

"Well, two THRUSH and one UNCLE, word is we got our guy out of there."

"They handed out these samples at the shoot after you left." Illya pulled a small vial out of his pants pocket. "It's a little spicy for my taste."

"Spicy? Illya, this stuff smells like horse sweat."

"Really?" Illya sniffed his and then shook his head. "Perhaps the smog has knocked my sense of smell off." He offered it to Napoleon, who cautiously took a whiff and frowned.

"This smells nothing like what we were given."

Illya pulled on his black-rimmed glasses and scanned the sheets. "What are they playing at?"

"Domination of women it would appear," Dwayne said, braving his own fast sniff.

"Hell, all Napoleon has to do is smile to accomplish that. The man's a magnet for the opposite sex." Illya traced a finger down the list of chemicals. "This is most odd. This is basically straight 2-methylphenol."

"What's that?"

"Among other things, it's the basic element in male sweat. It's what triggers cortisol and increases a woman's hormonal drive, according to some studies."

"Really?"

"Drives some women wild." Illya dropped the report to the desk. "What are you testing for?"

"Everything. Are you through for the day?"

"I am through for the duration, but was told it was not my decision to be made. They want us back at eight tomorrow for a group shoot, whatever that is."

"They do some set ups with you and Napoleon. The fact that you two look good together was one reason why Waverly suggested you."

"I still want to know what you did, Napoleon, to annoy Mr. Waverly so much."

"Me? Why couldn't it have been you?"

"Rank, my friend. He would have gone straight to you for disciplinary action regarding me." Illya placed a hand upon his chest. "I am but a mere cog in the giant wheel of UNCLE. You, Napoleon, are a main spring."

"There's a bad joke in there." Docket wandered in, the colors of his shirt preceding him by several yards. "Are you two ready to head back to the hotel?"

"That would be an immediate yes for me. Illya?" When the blond didn't immediately respond, Napoleon tried again. "Illya? Earth to Illya?"

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Are you ready to go back to the hotel?"

"I'd like to stay here for awhile." Illya took his glasses off and tucked them away. "I have an idea..."

"What?"

"Too soon to say. I'll meet you back at the hotel."

Napoleon let the curtain fall back into place and sighed. It wasn't as if he could see Illya walking down the street or anything. Their room was opposite the lobby. The sky outside was turning a confusing mixture of oranges, reds and violets, gratis the ever-present LA smog.

Hard on the lungs, but pretty at sunset, Napoleon thought and then he heard a noise at the door. Even though he was anticipating Illya's arrival, it didn't keep him from retrieving his weapon and taking up position.

A moment later, Illya walked in, waving a hand over his shoulder. He saw Napoleon with a gun and nodded. "Have you eaten yet? You want to go downstairs?"

"They've actually given us permission to leave the room?"

"I didn't ask. There's a really good sounding restaurant up on the fifteenth floor, French, I think. At least it will be a different view."

"That would be heaven. That room service menu is beginning to wear." Napoleon holstered his gun and pulled his suit jacket on.

Illya waited until they were seated and had placed their drink order before talking shop. "We found nothing of any real importance with that sample. It is exactly what it seems to be. However it has some interesting side effects."

"Such as?"

"One of the scientists spilled a drop on his hands and his assistant practically took him down for the count. I've never seen a woman act with such flagrant disregard for decorum." He paused as the drinks were delivered and menus offered. He put on his glasses and began to study the menu. Napoleon went for the wine list instead. "So tell me about your three ex-wives."

"What? Oh, I just made up a cover story for the scientists. I do have a theory though."

"You have Dwayne wandering down the wrong path --"

"What are you going to have tonight, beef, poultry...?" Napoleon interrupted.

"The pheasant looks good and a salad..." Illya paused. "And the brioche de foie gras, I think."

"I think I'll go with the stuffed trout and the onion soup. Coeur a la crème?"

"Cream cheese hearts? As an appetizer? Aren't they more of a dessert?"

"That's always been my belief. Think I'll stick to the caviar."

They ordered and Napoleon selected a white burgundy to start. All the time they sat, Illya's eyes scanned the room, making sure that no one was paying either of them the least amount of attention. To the casual diner, they were just a couple of men out, possibly on a business trip, having dinner.

"So you said you have a theory," Illya prompted.

"Of a sort. Either that or the guys who put this together couldn't get a date in high school. If our tests are any indication, few women would be able to resist it."

"I'm still not following." Illya leaned forward, helping himself to the bread basket as he did.

"Two formulas - one that just smells good, in short, the one you were given and the other... You would be able to control any woman in the world."

"And?"

"Think of the implications globally... suppose the Queen became bewitched by THRUSH . They could wreak considerable havoc before anything could be done. Or suppose you are the popular leader and suddenly your wife is being held an emotional hostage, what would you do?"

"Potential control over any country in the world." Illya whistled and chewed on his bread for a moment. "Just when I think THRUSH can't surprise me anymore, they do."

Their appetizers arrived and the waiter placed the plates down, then offered Napoleon a slip of paper. "A gentleman at the bar asked me to give this to you."

"Thank you." Napoleon glanced at the unfamiliar writing and handed it to Illya.

"Can we talk?" He read out loud. "I don't understand the game here, Napoleon. It's like an entirely different world. We have agents with them, they have people planted with us, but each one is aware of the other. Give me the world of cloak and dagger. Are you going?"

"I don't know. Not while there's food on the table and you're sitting across from it. My mother did not raise a fool."

"Coward." They ate for a moment and then Illya murmured, "So what are we going to do? How do we convince them it's a fool's errand to pursue this? Brute force or something else?"

"This whole thing hinges upon a single application directed at a single target, doesn't it?"

"That's the assumption."

"What if something was to go wrong? Like say during the shoot tomorrow?"

"The bigwigs are supposed to be there - I overheard one of the photographers talking. Why do they think we can't hear them, just because they are shining lights in our eyes?"

"No idea. Could something be engineered to have a large number of women on hand and one of the THRUSH be, uh, over-exposed? Sort of showing him the scope of his short sightedness?"

"I could talk to someone, but the problem is I'm still not sure who to trust." Illya watched his plate being carried away. "There's something about Docket I don't like."

"Same with Dwayne, but I'm not sure if it's just the oddness of the situation here or something else."

Their soup and salad arrived. Illya speared some lettuce, but didn't lift it to his mouth. Instead, he pushed it around on his plate.

"Illya?"

"Yes?"

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

"I was just playing out a couple of scenarios. Being mobbed by women, they can be quite aggressive, you know."

Napoleon sipped his soup and closed his eyes to further concentrate upon the flavor.

"Why would anyone put themselves willingly in that situation?"

"Likes the attention, uh, tolerates it once it's thrust upon them. I really don't know."

"Makes me glad I'm a nobody."

"You're somebody to me."

"Yes, but you aren't likely to be ripping my clothes off any time soon--"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Both men looked in the direction of a strange voice.

"Not yet and who are you?" Napoleon studied the man more closely. He had 'the' look about him. Dark, features carefully set into a neutral expression, eyes moving a little too much.

"I am the one who sent you the note. I was hoping we could talk."

"My friend and I are eating."

"And I am here to make sure you don't bite off more than you can chew and choke, Mr. Solo. Be careful. Not all is what it appears." He handed over a card and walked away.

Napoleon's eyes flicked down to the business card and the familiar logo.

"Another agent?"

"Apparently."

"I need a score card, Napoleon. And I think a few aspirin." Illya set down his fork and rubbed one eye. "This is getting very confusing."

"Agreed. I say we close this up and head back home as soon as possible. I have had about as much West Coast eccentricity as I can stand."

Illya Kuryakin glanced over his shoulder as the changing room door opened and he smirked before returning to the task of dressing in his leather kilt. "You look as if you've run afoul of a bottle of cooking oil. What happened to you?"

"You're one to talk. What color are you exactly?"

"Supposedly beach bronze, but it's more like marmalade." Illya looked back into the mirror. His hair was two shades lighter than normal and his skin about five shades darker and he gestured. "I look like some mutant carrot."

"At least you don't make funny noises when you walk." Napoleon pulled the waistband of his kilt from his stomach. It came away with a slick sloop sound. "It's going to take three days to get this off my skin."

"At least not yet. Are we all set out there?"

"I spoke with Waverly, who assures me that Docket is one of ours. I explained what we wanted and he said it would be taken care of."

"Napoleon, he wears loud Hawaiian shirts, smokes a cigar and has pink rimmed glasses, with palm trees on the side of them. I have more confidence in a sponge than I do in him. I spoke with Waverly about Dwayne and he likewise assures me of the man's loyalties and commitment." He adjusted the shoulder straps. "I wish these were longer. Any shorter and I would speaking in a falsetto." Napoleon began to chuckle. "What?"

"Just remembering a story I'd heard... they were looking for a voice for Daffy Duck -"

"Who?"

"An animated character."

"Animated? As opposed to stationary, you mean? I wouldn't think a stationary character, no matter what sort of voice he, has would be very interesting..."

"A cartoon, Illya, an animated cartoon, surely even you have seen a Warner Brothers short."

"Short what?"

Napoleon let out an exasperated groan and then caught just the briefest hint of a smirk. "I ought to smack you."

Illya grinned. "I'm sorry, but you seemed to need the release. After all, you are all slicked up with no place to go." He scratched his day old beard and sighed.

"So says the mutant carrot man. Let's go get this over with, partner, before they cart us both off."

"Did they tell you what was going to happen?"

"No, just to be ready for anything."

"That evens it out then. Up until now, I've been prepared for nothing."

Napoleon barely realized anything had happened until the moment exploded and threatened to wash over them. One minute, he and Illya were posing, rather intimately, he felt, looking more like star crossed lovers than rivals for the same woman's hand.

The THRUSH advertisers had come in, politely shaken their hands and immediately moved as far away from Napoleon and Illya as possible. Napoleon mistakenly thought it was because they were recognized. Not so, the THRUSH just wanted to distance themselves from the hired help. In their eyes, Illya and Napoleon were no better than the dozens of people who fluttered around the studio. The contempt on their faces was enough to calm Napoleon's worries.

"Get closer to him, Napoleon," the photographer ordered and Napoleon shifted self consciously. Already he was straddling Illya's thigh, his hand far too close to Illya's groin to be entirely comfortable. "Left hand higher, Napoleon. Illya, lean back into him. You are torn between what you know and what you want. Closer, Napoleon, he won't bite."

"If I get any closer to him, I'll be standing behind him," he muttered and felt a chuckle vibrate through Illya. Anyone else and the Russian would have reached his limit hours earlier. Even now, Napoleon knew Illya was about at the end of his patience with all this nonsense.

Then it was as if the room took a huge breath and collapsed into itself. At first he thought it was an earthquake; he knew Los Angeles was famous for them. He braced himself, using Illya as both support and anchor while Illya did the same. There was this strange roaring sound and Napoleon followed it to its source.

The two THRUSH advertisers were literally buried beneath a mass of writhing, twisting women. It looked like something out of a B grade movie. The women fought not only with the men, but with each other as they tried to get to their goal.

At first the men were shouting demands, but those became cries for help and then strangled mews of anguish. Finally the other men in the room had galvanized into action and started to drag the women, still kicking and screaming, away. What they left behind wasn't pretty...

Illya Kuryakin sipped his bourbon slowly. Most nights he drank vodka, but he needed the extra kick today. He pulled the hotel robe closer and stared at the far wall of their shared room. His eyes flicked up as Napoleon entered, but otherwise he moved only to carry the glass back and forth from his mouth to the arm of the chair.

"The doctors turned off the life support on one; the other is getting last rites."

"I never saw anything like that before; certainly animals, but not women. It was like watching a pack of wolves bringing down a reindeer."

"Yes, well, I think we can both say that we didn't quite anticipate the depth of the reaction. Docket said the FAA is pulling Gladiator off the market as we speak. They deem it too dangerous for human consumption at any level."

"After what we saw, I would agree." Illya finished his drink and poured another, passing it to Napoleon. He helped himself to another glass as well. "That is a sight that will stay with me for awhile. When I think no punishment is too severe for THRUSH, I will remember this." He drank. "What will happen to the women?"

"Nothing. Most of them don't even have any memory of the attack. The others are being counseled." Napoleon drained his glass in one gulp and then dry washed his face with a hand. "Poor bastards..."

"We had no way of anticipating the severity of the reaction."

"Docket swears he only used one of those small sample vials."

"Good thing he wore gloves to apply it to the THRUSH's jackets or we would be mourning his passing tonight as well." Illya held up the half empty bottle. Napoleon shook his head. "Better to sleep with Mr. Daniels tonight, Napoleon, than with the lights and the television on."

Napoleon passed over his glass. "Docket's still pretty shaken. Says he's giving it up and going into real estate sales. Waverly gave us the all clear to leave in the morning."

"Good. New York's familiar skyline rivals this one any night." Outside, the wail of a siren interrupted him. "Although some sounds are the same everywhere."

"Pain, greed, despair, it's a helluva of legacy to leave behind for our kids."

"Indeed." Illya held up his glass to Napoleon. "But at least we shall go to our graves knowing we did our best to make it safe for them and theirs."

"For the rest of our lives."

"For the rest of our lives," Illya repeated softly.