Man from U.N.C.L.E. Section VII

Napoleon walked briskly towards the office he shared with his partner.  He expected to find the Russian bent over his typewriter, churning out the report that had been demanded by their superior, Alexander Waverly.  Instead of that scene, he was greeted by the sight of Illya in jeans and tee shirt, his left hand encased in a big fielder's glove, and a baseball in the grip of his big right hand.
( happy birthday ahead... )