Chapter Text
The next morning Illya prepared for his departure to London.
At the crossing into West Berlin he had his suitcase and bag inspected. After reviewing his papers the guard rummaged around his clothing and then Gaby's items. He flipped through the albums in disinterest and then lifted the bear from the bag.
"Plüschbär?" He asked in astonishment, giving the large man a once over.
Illya shrugged casually.
The guard returned the items to the bag and pushed it back towards Illya with a raised eyebrow before turning to the next person in line.
Once Illya reached the airport and boarded his plane he could finally give a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if he was relieved to be getting further away from the increasingly uncomfortable gaze of his KGB superiors or that he was returning to his colleagues, whom he had become quite fond of. Either way, he was very pleased once he was off the ground and on his way to the UK.
He had always enjoyed London. It was one of the first cities he had visited in the West and while it still reeked of opulence and capitalism it had a subdued, grey, old-world charm that appealed to him. It was also not nearly as ostentatious as American cities, which he very much appreciated.
Upon arriving to his hotel he quickly unpacked his suitcase and showered. He did not need to check-in to headquarters until the following morning so he thought he'd pay Gaby a visit in the evening. Solo wasn't due to arrive until dawn after taking a red eye from New York. While he begrudgingly looked forward to seeing him, Illya was glad he could have the evening with just himself and Gaby.
He spent more time than he would like to admit looking in the mirror and inspecting his clothing and he was generally nervous when he picked up the phone's receiver to call her number. What is wrong with you?! You are KGB, just dial the number!
He was still holding his breath when she answered the phone almost immediately.
"Hello?"
"It's Illya....from work" he almost choked. He squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation with himself.
A subdued laugh came over the receiver. "Oh, that Illya. I wasn't sure."
"Are you home?" he continued miserably.
"Yes, I did answer the phone" he could hear her smiling.
"Yes...of course" he said, violently raking his fingers through his hair. He hoped to any and every god in the universe that no one was tapping this horrendous phone call. "I am in London, and might stop by, your place...?"
"Yes, that's fine. I will be here all evening" she said, giving him her address.
"Ok, goodbye. See you soon" he said quickly before slamming the receiver down and resisting the urge to punch himself in the face.
After putting his hair back in order he grabbed the bag and headed out of the hotel and to the nearest tube station.
She lived in a small flat south of the river Thames in a quaint, if somewhat working-class, neighborhood. The building itself was a renovated 19th-century house and was much more welcoming than the multistory concrete Stalinist apartment block she used to call home.
With the bag over his shoulder he approached the red door and knocked. Not long after, he heard several locks clicking and his heart quickened and suddenly she was standing before him. She smiled brightly and invited him inside before he stooped slightly to get through the doorway.
Her single flat was on the second floor. It was only slightly larger than her previous place, and almost just as sparse, her having just moved in, but there was a feeling of life in there where the apartment in Berlin had been eerily sterile. The last remnants of grey English light came through the window, illuminating a small sitting room. The window was slightly ajar and birds chirped in the garden behind the residence.
"Do you want food?" She asked as she made her way barefoot into the kitchen off the side of the sitting room, her high ponytail swinging behind her.
He set the bag on the coffee table in front of the couch. His stomach answered her by grumbling. "Yes, please. I have not eaten yet today."
She had concocted some ridiculous meal called fondue, which according to her was becoming all the rage in New York. She was clearly indulging in every aspect of Western culture she could come across in her new home, he thought with a smile. He would have just preferred to eat the food without needing to individually dip every piece in cheese but it was tasty nonetheless.
Over dinner and wine, they spoke about her relocation to London and her favorite parts of the city and how confusing the British could be from time to time with the snobbish manners of the upper class and the sometimes incomprehensible accents of the lower. She seemed to have adjusted well for someone who had uprooted her entire life in a matter of weeks, but he would not expect anything less. She was strong.
When they were finished, he headed back into the sitting room.
"I brought you something."
"Mm" she said around a mouthful of cheese as she left the kitchen "something from back East? what did you bring me? A Russian copy of The Communist Manifesto?" she teased.
"No."
"Lenin's body?"
"No."
"Despair??"
"No. Open the bag."
She made her way over to the coffee table and began unzipping the bag with a look of curiosity.
"I hope you do not mind" he explained as she revealed the contents "but I retrieved some things from your old apartment that you may want back..."
His voice trailed off as she unwrapped the framed pictures. She looked at them without any reaction and for a moment he was very much afraid she would be angry at him for invading her home. After what seemed like an eternity her face broke into a smile and she looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"I never thought I'd see these again!" She exclaimed. She quickly tore into the next wrapped item to reveal the music box and the necklace within.
"Illya! How...how were you..." She tried to ask as she clutched the necklace, marveling at its existence.
"Stasi idiots did not touch the place and no one was going to stop the KGB from entering" he explained matter-of-factly.
She donned the necklace which looked elegant draped across her decolletage.
Without missing a beat, she pulls out the albums.
"I never knew you were fan of folk music. Such a good German" he said with a smile.
She threw her head back and laughed. "You're going to regret bringing these back!"
"I already knew this" he sighed.
She dug further into the bag and released a gasp "Bruno!" She pulled the toy from the bag and instinctively held it against her chest, her chin resting against the top of its tattered, one-eyed head. Then her face turned beet red as she looked down at the pathetic bear and back at Illya in embarrassment.
"He is not destroyed yet. I thought you might like to finish the job."
She laughed and put the bear in her lap as she sorted her jewelry. "You went through my whole place....did you look in my panties drawer?" She asked coyly, looking at him from the side of her eye.
"I did not" he replied pointedly.
"I wouldn't have minded if you had" she said half jokingly.
This time it was his turn to blush. "If you want that you should have Cowboy inspect your apartment next time. It will be first and only place he looks."
She grins and pulls out the last item. Her smile slowly fades when she opens the album to reveal her childhood photographs.
"I haven't looked at these in years" she murmurs as she flips through the pages. Her face grows more solemn as she came across the photograph of her five-year-old self with her parents.
They remain silent for several breaths.
She closes the book and looks back at him. "Thank you" she says quietly.
"Least I could do...all things considered."
He stayed several hours longer as she insisted on playing some of her albums for him. She regaled him with tales on how she obtained the illegal records and of drag races and underground concerts she would attend in East Berlin - but only after she made him promise to not use the information to condemn people back home for doing the same things.
As she spoke he was surprised to feel himself becoming envious of the rebellious spirit she had as a youth; he never would have allowed himself to stray from what the State considered proper and honorable behavior. He wondered how someone as multifaceted as Gaby could ever enjoy the company of someone as straight-laced and boring as himself.
When the bottle of wine was finished and the record crackled as it spun at the end of its track he helped her clean the kitchen and headed for the door.
"Thank you again" she said before abruptly wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back and held her much the same way she had held Bruno, with his chin on top of her head.
"You're welcome," he said as they released each other and he headed out onto the street "see you tomorrow." She waved from the doorway as her mother's necklace gleamed in the street light.