"I don't know why the waiter was so disgruntled," Illya Kuryakin asked as he and his partner, Napoleon Solo, walked down the street.

"He just couldn't believe you ate an entire pot of fondue by yourself," Napoleon said. They were vacationing together in the Swiss Alps, staying in a ski lodge in Zermatt and they were out seeing the town and having a bite to eat that evening.

"Is that so uncommon?" Illya asked. He wore a white turtleneck under a blue and white heavy sweater that set off his eyes just so, he wore tan corduroy pants and snow boots.

"Yes. For non-Illya's it is," Napoleon laughed. He wore a tan long sleeved shirt under a maroon heavy sweater and black pants, he also wore snow boots.

"You talk about me like I am a different species," Illya said, grimacing.

"Well, there are other humans, there are even other Russians but there is only one Illya," Napoleon said.

"Nonsense. There are hundreds if not thousands of Illyas in Russia," Illya said.

"There may be, but there is only one Illya like you," Napoleon explained with a smile.

"THURSH should be glad," Illya responded.

"Indeed they should. But THURSH is not what I want to be thinking about right now. I think I would like to find a bar, a bottle, and a blonde," Napoleon grinned.

"Could we just grab a bottle and go back to the lodge? It's getting late and much colder," Illya said.

"You cold? I would have thought a Russian would be used to that," Napoleon said, he had spotted a bar and they headed that way.

"I have been living in New York for four years, before that in England, my days in Russian winters are far behind me. Living in the West has softened me up," Illya admitted with a sigh.

Napoleon smiled as they went in the bar, he ordered a bottle of vodka. "You win, we'll take his bottle from the bar and I'll have to settle for you as my blonde," he said.

Illya gave a disapproving look as they left and headed back to the lodge, walking down the street they heard a gunshot and the next thing Illya knew Napoleon was on the ground, clenching his shoulder. "Napoleon!" he said, he bent down to his friend.

"Ugh. Oh Illya," were the only things Napoleon uttered.

"Bad, yes?" Illya asked. His Russian accent becoming thicker as he was worried.

"Hurts pretty-good. Don't know how-bad," Napoleon got out.

Illya didn't say anymore he just carefully and quickly helped his partner to his feet and got him to the hospital that was a block away. There were no more shots so Illya figured that whoever it was had been targeting Napoleon or they would have shot him too.

Once at the hospital Napoleon was rushed back immediately and Illya wasn't allowed to follow, he was resigned to sit out in the waiting room for news, when he sat down he realized that at some point during all of this he had gotten the bottle of vodka, he looked at it a moment and then opened it and turned it up, chugging a third of it at one time. A man in his thirties sat down beside him, he had black hair and brown eyes, lightly tanned skin, he wore a heavy coat and Illya could see he had on gray suit pants and dress shoes that put him out of place for a local.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Kuryakin. I believe we have a mutual, um, uncle?" the man asked, he pulled out a card and handed it to Illya.

Illya was quite grumpy and took it from him with a jerk to read it. "Well Robert Colloy of the California headquarters, I believe you're right, we do have a mutual uncle," he said, handing the card back.

"I heard about Mr. Solo as soon as it happened. You see, I've been sent here to capture the man who shot him and I'm afraid he thought Napoleon was me," Robert explained.

"Well I have to admit that even though I am sure you are glad that it is not you probably having surgery right now, that it makes me cross," Illya said, his face held a stormy expression and he took another drag on his bottle.

This comment rubbed Robert the wrong way and he gave Illya a look. "Look, I know Napoleon, we're friends, we've worked together before and I would never wish ill on him. I wish it were me back there, he is a total innocent in this case and I feel responsible for him getting shot," he argued.

Illya's face softened some. "I'm sorry, forgive me for my words. Napoleon is my partner, we are close friends and I am worried for him, I am not angry with you, I spoke out of turn," he said.

Robert also relaxed, letting his guard down. "It's okay, I understand. I guess we're both on edge right now, I'm sorry too. It's been a rough mission for me, I've been chasing this guy all over Europe and I feel like the closer I come the farther behind I get," he sighed.

llya responded with a grunt and offered him his bottle. "Vodka?"

"I thought you would never ask," Robert said, he took the bottle and turned it up for a drink.

"This man, who is he? Why don't I know about him? Is he THURSH?" Illya asked, he took back the bottle and held onto it like it was his only friend.

"I'm sure you do, it's Van DuRosen of the Canadian branch for THURSH. He and a few others moved into the L.A. area about six months ago raising money from Hollywood backers for an attack on Canada to be blamed on the United States. But his boss found out that he wasn't exactly sending all the money back to Canada and that he had his hand in the till, ever since then it's been a race between me and THURSH assassins to find Van. This isn't the first time he has tried kill me, I doubt it will be the last, I feel like I need a nerve pill, a strong cup of coffee, a cigarette and-" Robert was lighting a cigarette as he spoke.

"Vodka?" Illya asked, handing the bottle back.

"Yes," Robert said with a sigh.

"You are right, I do know DuRosen. Have you no partner to help you?" Illya asked.

"No. My partner, Jimmy Codean, is down with the flu and the L.A. office is strapped for field agents, so here I am," Robert said, he turned the bottle up again.

"That is very bad for you. What will you do now?" Illya asked, taking the bottle as it was handed back.

"Report to Mr. Donleson and wait to hear what he says. Maybe Van will think I'm dead and slow down a little, we both lost the assassins when we got to Zermatt. There is nothing I would like more than to not give a damn, I am so tired," Robert said, he rubbed his brow, cigarette in hand, the other arm along the back of Illya's chair to his right, legs crossed.

"You look it. Perhaps once we know how Napoleon is, I can help you," Illya offered.

"That would be great! Thanks, Illya," Robert said.

Illya noted how easily and quickly Robert switched from 'Mr. Kuryakin' to 'Illya', he smiled slightly, he liked Robert. "First, let us finish this bottle, then we find out about Napoleon, then you call Mr. Donleson. DuRosen will be easy to track, from what you say it is only catching him that is hard," he said.

Robert smiled. "I like the way you think, Illya. But we don't need to get drunk," he said.

Illya scoffed. "I do not get drunk, I am a Russian. But perhaps you should watch your self," he said.

Robert laughed and leaned his head back against the wall, puffing out smoke. Soon both men fell silent, Robert looking up at the ceiling and Illya periodically drinking his vodka, brooding, waiting for word.

A/N: I had Robert Culp in mind for Robert Colloy