Notes: the characters aren't mine, and the story is! I know that just about everyone in this fandom has done a "how they met" fic, but I wanted to try my own hand at it; this will be the first in a series of six fics chronicling the highlights of the first year of Napoleon and Illya's partnership. Huge thanks to Kelsey for plot help!

Act I: Prelude of Light

Everyone in Section II had heard of Napoleon Solo—how could they have not? He was almost a legend—the young, wide-eyed idealist who, in 1958, had successfully outwitted and ousted G. Emory Partridge from power and left him for dead in the jungle. Napoleon Solo had done the impossible, freeing an entire nation from Partridge. Ever since then, Napoleon had set his sights on bigger fish; THRUSH was proving themselves to be a formidable foe under the leadership of the man referred to as "the Baron of THRUSH." The man's identity was unknown, and U.N.C.L.E. agents worldwide were desperate to find his identity and neutralize him—and Napoleon Solo was no different.

But for Napoleon, it was becoming more and more of a personal quest, bordering on an obsession. His conquest of Partridge, unheard of and unexpected for a young agent like him, had spurred his confidence. He had spent the following two years attempting to track down the Baron. It was now February of 1960, and though Napoleon handled whatever unrelated missions that were assigned to him, his intense focus on the Baron had become almost as legendary as the success of the Partridge affair. Whispers referred to him as "the Don Quixote of Section II," and these whispers had long since reached the ears of Alexander Waverly, who had been determining what to do about it.

Napoleon Solo was a good man, he knew, and he had made progress in his search for the Baron. But what Napoleon needed was someone to keep him grounded while on his quest. Waverly had tried partnering up Napoleon before with others—and to no avail. The partnerships had not lasted; most of them couldn't keep up with Napoleon, and those who could ended up clashing with Napoleon's extremely outgoing personality. There were few left in Section II who would even consider attempting a full-time partnership, and Waverly knew that he would have to search for potential candidates from U.N.C.L.E's international sections.

Though a few agents caught Waverly's attention, there was one who, in particular, had stood out—a young Russian, having served in the Soviet Navy prior to joining U.N.C.L.E., who had broken the records set by Napoleon in Survival School. If there was a man capable of keeping up with Napoleon Solo, it was this man—Illya Kuryakin. There was, however, the concern about a personality clash; the Russian was described as quiet and introverted—just the opposite of the dynamic young American. And yet, the file seemed to suggest that Illya had no trouble working with a variety of agents; any partnerships he'd had were strained by the sole fact that he was an admitted Communist.

Waverly considered this for several minutes. Illya Kuryakin sounded like a very professional agent—just as Napoleon Solo was. That would not be an issue, he decided; the only issue would be whether or not they'd manage to work together in the way he was hoping they would—that they could keep each other on task, and protect each other out in the field. He would have to hope that Napoleon's fiery personality would mesh with Illya's cooler one.

One phone call to Harry Beldon later, Waverly pressed a button on his intercom.

"Miss Rogers?" he asked the secretary. "Can you please send Mr. Solo in here?"

Napoleon soon entered with a file full of case notes.

"Mr. Waverly, Sir?" he asked. "I'd like to give you an updated progress report on the Baron affair—"

"Not just yet, Mr. Solo," Waverly said, glancing at Illya's file on the table. "I've called you here to discuss another matter."

"Ah," Napoleon said, quickly realizing where this was going. "Sir, if this is about assigning me another partner, I truly feel as though I've made more progress these past two years during the occasions where I was working alone."

"I understand your frustrations, Mr. Solo," Waverly said, with a nod. "And I'm not concerned about the rate of progress; on the contrary, I believe you've made great progress since the Partridge affair. I have confidence that if there is someone here in U.N.C.L.E. that can find the Baron of THRUSH, it will be you, but I do think that having a partner to aid you would not go amiss."

"Well, Sir, if it is what you wish, I will certainly give another partner a chance," Napoleon conceded.

Waverly nodded; he had expected that resigned answer. He now rotated the tabletop so that Illya's file was in front of Napoleon. "I had made a phone call to U.N.C.L.E. Northeast to confirm our new transferee; he shall be your partner."

"You're sending someone from Northeast? Sir?" Napoleon asked, puzzled.

"I decided that for a case as big as the Baron, the chances of success would be more likely if you were partnered up with someone who had a record that could match yours," Waverly explained, calmly. "This young fellow—Mr. Kuryakin—seemed like the best match for you."

"Kuryakin," Napoleon repeated, opening the file. "That sounds…" He trailed off, arching an eyebrow as he saw the file—and the photograph of the young Soviet agent affixed to it.

"Sounds Russian? Yes, Mr. Solo, he is a Communist, formerly of the Soviet Navy. But I also have confidence in saying that I know you well enough to know that it shall not be an issue. Isn't that so?" He paused, noticing that Napoleon was absorbed in reading the file. "Mr. Solo? Mr. Solo!"

"Hmm?" Napoleon asked, suddenly looking up. "Ah, yes, Sir. Not an issue; I know U.N.C.L.E. employs agents from all over the world…" He glanced back at the file. "…He broke my Survival School records?"

"I trust that shall not be a point of contention, either?"

"Not at all, Sir; I'm just surprised…" Napoleon said. "When does he arrive?"

"According to Harry Beldon, he'll be here within the week," Waverly said. "I'll let you know his flight details as soon as I'm aware of them. As you're going to be working together, I'd like you to pick Mr. Kuryakin up at the airport and bring him up to date on the details of the Baron affair; you will both report to me immediately afterwards to decide as to whether or not this partnership will go forward. In the meantime, Mr. Solo, I'd like you to take that file and study it—get to know Mr. Kuryakin before he gets here."

"Understood, Sir," Napoleon said.

He took his leave of Waverly and took the file back with him to his desk. He had some trepidation about working with a partner again after so many had failed. Why should this young Russian be any different than all the others?

He sighed, propping his chin up on his hand as he stared at the file, trying to learn what he could. He would expect nothing, he decided. Perhaps this Russian would end up surprising him.

Illya Kuryakin wasn't surprised when Beldon told him that he was going to be teaming up with a new partner again. What did surprise the Russian was the news that with this new partner came a transfer to New York.

"I'm not too pleased with the idea of losing you," Beldon said, as he puffed on a cigar. "But I owe Mr. Waverly a favor, and it looks as though you are going to be the one involved in this… payment of interest due."

Illya bit back the question on his tongue—would the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. accept a Soviet agent among their ranks? This Mr. Waverly seemed to think nothing of it, but what of the other agents, including his potential partner?

Instead, the Russian asked, "And the agent I am to be partnered with?"

"Ah," Beldon said. "I don't suppose you've heard of Napoleon Solo?"

Illya thought for a moment.

"Da, I think it was his records I broke at Survival School," he said. "And I seem to remember something mentioned two years ago—some great coup."

"His ousting of G. Emory Partridge, yes," Beldon said, handing Illya a file.

"He doesn't sound like an agent who needs my help…" Illya began, but he paused as he opened his file, seeing the photograph on file. His eyes widened in surprise; he had been expecting someone older, more seasoned. The man in the photograph couldn't have been more than a couple years older than him.

"According to Mr. Waverly, Mr. Solo here has been in pursuit of the Baron of THRUSH for the past two years."

"The Baron?" Illya asked, looking up at Beldon. "Nobody even knows who the Baron is!" He paused as the realization struck him. "Mr. Waverly wants me to help Mr. Solo find the Baron? But that is impossible! It cannot be done; the man's identity is one of THRUSH's best-kept secrets!"

"Indeed, it looks as though the young fellow has bitten off more than he can chew," Beldon agreed. "And by my choice, I wouldn't give up my best man on some impossible task. Nevertheless, you are to fly to New York to meet him and discuss the case. Mr. Waverly has assured me that once you have spoken to Mr. Solo, it will be your decision as to whether or not you wish the transfer to be revoked; he will not force you to go on a fool's errand, if you believe it as such. And, clearly, it is." He puffed on his cigar a few more times. "How long will it take you to gather your essential worldly possessions? I promised Mr. Waverly that you would be in New York before the week was over."

"Not long at all," Illya said. He lived very modestly and owned very little; all of his possessions would fit in one small suitcase. And there were no ties of any kind keeping him in Europe; he had no family, and only casual acquaintances. Illya knew how to adjust, and New York would be just another instance to demonstrate his adaptability, assuming he decided to go along with this endeavor.

Illya had decided to reserve judgment before deciding whether or not Napoleon's pursuit of the Baron was a fool's errand as Beldon suggested. Indeed, even if it wasn't, there was still the matter of whether or not a partnership between them would be feasible at all; the information from the file had given Illya a picture of a highly successful agent, but an agent not unlike Icarus, flying dangerously close the sun after being spurred to greater heights from his past successes. Illya was beginning to suspect that, rather than his main goal being to help capture the Baron, Waverly's intent was to have Illya prevent Napoleon's wax wings from melting. Illya certainly believed that to be an attainable goal—assuming, of course, that Napoleon paid him any heed.

Illya sighed to himself as he collected his luggage at the terminal once his flight had landed in New York. It was as he turned to the door that he saw him standing there—the man from the file, who appeared to have been waiting for him.

Napoleon seemed to have spotted Illya at the same moment Illya had spotted him. They stood, awkwardly, for a moment, staring at each other, until Napoleon decided to break the tension by walking over to him.

"Illya Kuryakin?"

"Yes," the Russian responded, with a nod. "You must be Mr. Solo."

"Please—call me Napoleon," he said, extending a hand.

Illya hesitated for just a moment, but accepted the American's handshake; Napoleon's grip was strong, but warm—and open and friendly; though Illya had heard of the Americans' general openness, it nevertheless surprised Illya to see that directed at himself, being a Soviet and assigned to be a partner to a man who didn't seem to want a partner.

Nevertheless, Napoleon was putting on a smile for him, to be cordial.

"I'm guessing you had only that cardboard food on the flight," he said. "I know this great place in midtown Manhattan—the Casablanca Club. We can grab lunch there, and then I'll take you to our headquarters to discuss the case I'm working on."

"Da, I heard about it," Illya said. "The Baron?"

Napoleon placed a finger to his lips and indicated the exit. Illya nodded and followed him to the parking lot. He placed his suitcase in the trunk of Napoleon's car and sat quietly in the front passenger seat as they drove to the club.

"…You can talk now," Napoleon said, seeing that Illya was still very quiet. "I didn't want us being overheard in the terminal in case there was anyone from THRUSH around."

"You are quite cautious," Illya observed.

"Well, it's the only way to ensure that I get to the Baron before he realizes how close I am," Napoleon said.

"And how close are you?" Illya asked.

"Closer than he thinks," Napoleon said, with a knowing smirk. "I'll show you when we get to Headquarters."

"You seem confident," Illya said.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Well… I heard that you'd been trying to follow this case for two years, and that your efforts hadn't borne much fruit," the Russian said, frankly.

"Oh, I know all about the stories going around about me—the Don Quixote of Section II. They don't know the information I've got."

"Why do you not tell them?" Illya asked. "Are you that unconcerned over what the others think of you?"

"Well, I'm not crazy about it," Napoleon admitted. "But I don't mind the grapevine making me look bad if it means that the Baron will lower his guard."

Illya blinked.

"You are diabolical," he said, in admiration.

Napoleon just grinned, pleased, but Illya went red.

"Forgive me; it is not my place to say such a thing."

"Don't worry about it."

"No; you are a senior agent to me."

"Oh, sure, by two years if you want to get technical about it… Look, Illya-"

The Russian blinked, not used to being addressed so informally.

"I'm not going to stop you from saying your mind," Napoleon continued. "If we are going to be partners, I'd rather you be frank." He smirked. "And besides, I took that as a compliment."

But Illya had decided to revert back to the safety of silence. He'd take a look at the information Napoleon had on the Baron before making his final decision on whether or not to proceed with the partnership.

Lunch was spectacular; it had been a long time since Illya had indulged in taking part of large meal. He had certainly surprised Napoleon with how much he could eat, and though Illya had offered to pay for his half of the check, Napoleon insisted on paying for the both of them, as Illya was the guest here in New York.

From there, they went to Del Floria's tailor shop; Napoleon introduced Illya to the proprietor before the man let them into U.N.C.L.E. HQ, and Napoleon led the way to his office.

"You're the first person to see this latest bit of information I determined about the Baron," Napoleon said, as he took the file from his desk drawer and handed it to Illya. "I meant to show Mr. Waverly—I've been showing him all my progress since the last two years. But your arrival came up before we could discuss this."

"My apologies," Illya said, and he opened the file, glancing at the photograph of a man affixed to the front of the file with a paperclip.

"Who is this?"

"That is Silas Moran—international gambler," Napoleon said. "He travels the world, visiting casinos and building his wealth even further."

Illya caught the pride in the American's voice, and it suddenly dawned on the Russian why this man's photograph would be affixed to the Baron casefile.

"He's not…?" Illya began.

Napoleon gave Illya a knowing smile.

"Silas Moran is the Baron."

Illya stared at him.

"His identity is known? How can you be sure?" the Russian asked. "You have proof?"

"I have multiple instances of evidence that points to this being the logical conclusion," Napoleon said, with a nod. "I've had my ear to the ground these past couple of years in regards to the location as to all the major THRUSH meetings…" He took the file from Illya and paged through it, withdrawing a plastic transparency upon which he had drawn a map of the world, and had drawn the points at which the meetings had taken place, along with the date of the meeting. He then took a second transparency from the file and held it up for Illya to see. "This one catalogues the locations of Silas Moran's gambling vacations, and the dates he was spotted at local casinos. Now, observe…"

He placed one transparency on top of the other, revealing that the points and dates of the THRUSH meetings coincided with Moran's travels.

"…I admit that it is an intriguing correlation," Illya said. "But it could be a coincidence."

"I'd thought of that," Napoleon admitted. "So I did some more poking around. This date here…" He pointed to the date beside a point marking Athens, Greece. "Does this ring a bell?"

Illya bit his lip for a moment, trying to remember the date.

"Last October? Da, I seem to recall…" His eyes widened. "Of course! That was when THRUSH decided to act brave and they broadcasted their demands to us; they made the broadcast from the ruins of an ancient temple…"

"The Parthenon," Napoleon said, with a nod. "Silas Moran had checked into an Athens hotel around the same time—but under an assumed name, as I later found out."

He showed Illya a photograph he had taken of a hotel ledger.

"Sebastian Boudetase?" Illya asked.

"How's your conversational Greek?"

"Boudetase… Boudetase…" Illya muttered. "Greek for 'little bird,' is it not?"

"A little bird… like a thrush," Napoleon agreed. "And as for Sebastian… Well, you know of THRUSH's origins, of course?"

"Of course. It was founded by Colonel Sebastian Moran in 1891…" Illya trailed off. "Silas Moran… is he—?"

"The only surviving relative of the colonel?" Napoleon finished. "I did my research, and the answer is 'yes.' Silas Moran has tried to publically distance himself from his family history, but the apple still hasn't fallen far from the tree. And knowing that THRUSH's October meeting was going to be broadcasted, he came up with this alias to attempt to obscure the fact that he was in Athens the same time as THRUSH's public meeting was."

Illya exhaled. Initially, he had thought that Napoleon had been charging through this blindly, with nothing more than fire in his soul. But it was clear now that he executing this plan of his with a clinical coolness not unlike what the Russian would have used.

"It certainly sounds less and less like a coincidence," he admitted. "But you need definite proof before going after Moran with such accusations."

"Obtaining definite proof was my next step before Mr. Waverly brought up the need for a partner. I have it on reliable authority that Silas Moran is headed for Rio at the end of the month to attend Carnival; I had every intention of following him there to tail his actions." Napoleon paused. "I know Mr. Waverly has been following my progress on this case and is pleased by it. He didn't assign me a partner because he thought I can't progress without one. He just thinks I need someone to watch my back."

"I was beginning to get that idea myself," Illya said. "I assume you have no desire for a watcher any more than I have a desire to watch over another."

"No, I don't," Napoleon admitted. "I think I've done just fine on my own." He paused again. "On the other hand… Perhaps an extra person working on this endeavor might speed things up."

"Perhaps it might," Illya agreed. "Da; I will do my best to aid in the capture of the Baron. I shall accompany you to Rio; in the meantime, I had best find a motel to stay in while I'm here in New York—"

"Motel?" Napoleon asked. "Oh, no; don't go settling for that. My landlady has a few pre-furnished apartments vacant in the building where I live, and she's willing to lease on a month by month basis. You can't beat her rent rates."

"That would be preferable; perhaps I can look at some of them later today," Illya said, with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Mr. Solo—ah, Napoleon."

"Glad to have you aboard, Illya," he said, surprisingly sincere. "Now let's go tell Mr. Waverly that we've decided to collaborate on this after all."

Illya nodded and followed Napoleon to Waverly's office. Neither of them had any idea what the future was going to hold, but there was a promise of light, with today as a prelude.