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None of them, not even Waverly, had expected their team to last long. They all hoped it would, though they wouldn’t admit it. So when they little team was a year old, celebrations were in order.
Gaby was the one to bring it up, shoving a calendar in Solo’s face during breakfast.
“Good morning, Gaby. Care to elaborate?” he lay down his newspaper, shifting his attention to her instead.
“I think she wants you to look at the date,” Illya provided, not bothering to swallow his breakfast before speaking.
“Don’t be gross,” she chastised him. “And yes. Look at the date.”
“July 14th. I’m not one to forget special days, but this one eludes me,” Solo read the date, laying the calendar on top of his newspaper.
“It’s U.N.C.L.E’s first birthday,” she sighed. “We’re been a team for exactly one year.”
That got their full attention. Illya considers the information, probably just realizing he’d been away from the KGB for most of the year. He’s glad, and he shouldn’t be. If Oleg found out, he’d have his tongue.
Solo, on the other hand, gleamed. “That’s great, Gabs! You’ve really grown since last year. You’ve become quite the spy.” Solo’s usual drawl made it near impossible to discern his sarcastic compliments from his genuine ones, but Gaby could feel the sincerity behind this one. She still wasn’t on par with the guys, but she hadn’t expected herself to be. They were the CIA’s and KGB’s best, respectively. Gaby didn’t expect to exactly become the next James Bond. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t an accomplished agent. On the contrary, she really has grown a lot – she’s one of Waverly’s most trusted agents, and that’s not an easily acquired title.
Illya, in agreement with Solo, simply nodded. They had gotten to know each other well in the past year. Even Illya, ever the stoic giant, had opened up about his past once or twice. Gaby wasn’t annoyed at his silence now either, since she knew he was man of few words. It didn’t mean he appreciated her less than Solo did, who voiced his opinions whether he was asked to or not. She knew he, too, was fiercely proud of her. He was the one that taught her hand-to-hand combat, as well as marksmanship. After all, who better to learn from than the KGB’s best?
Though, Solo had murmured once, he could do with some lessons in love. It had earned him a kick in the shin.
Gaby would have told him to shut up if he wasn’t so right. He’d voiced his concerns months ago, telling her that she could be staring at years of useless pining if they didn’t get to it already. She’d ignored him then, and regretted it. The team had hit the one-year mark, and their relationship hadn’t progressed past stolen glances, double entendres (mostly provided by Solo, but still), and exactly one kiss. It was during a cover, though, so it didn’t count. She was afraid Illya did count it, and lost hope after she didn’t mention it after their mission was over.
“How will we celebrate?” Gaby asked the both of them, but mostly Solo. He was the planner, the people-person. He probably knew how to throw a proper party.
“Since it’s a first anniversary for all of U.N.C.L.E. and not just us, I’d say we go to Waverly and plan a proper party with all of HQ,” Solo proposed. Already, Illya wasn’t fond of the plan.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked. Illya only attended parties if the mission asked him to, usually in cover. In truth, neither Solo nor Gaby had seen the real Illya Kuryakin at a party. They both surmised he wouldn’t fare well.
“What do you propose, Peril?” Solo shot back, looking slightly offended that anyone would pass up on an opportunity for a party.
“Why make big deal out of it? Celebratory drink, at most. Maybe we even have mission when you plan to party. It is not like fascists and dictators will wait a day for us so we can celebrate.”
“Ever the realist.” Solo picked his newspaper up, done with this conversation. He shot Gaby a wink, an assurance that there certainly would be a party. He would see to it personally. The evil masterminds of the world would indeed have to wait.
Four days later and joined by the entirety of U.N.C.L.E., Solo declared the party a complete success. He had gotten the numbers of several very accomplished agents, had received the news from Waverly that their little team wasn’t about to break up anytime soon, and had even spotted his two teammates fleeing the party – together. He couldn’t be more proud.
An hour later, as the evening came to an end, Gaby proposed a toast in the middle of the crowd. She wore the orange and white dress from Rome, accessorized with a certain ring with a black pearl surrounded with diamonds. An homage to their first mission.
“A toast. To good men and terrible spies.”