Chapter Text
Illya subconsciously fumbled with his bow tie as he scanned the room. His tux, he felt, was much too flamboyant for a simple art gala, but Solo had insisted as well as Waverly. He let out a short breath and dropped his arms to his sides and rolled his hands into light fists as he continued to survey the room. Waverly, the head of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement had made Illya the face of the team’s next mission. When he first learned of the plan, Illya had calmly excused himself to his room and proceeded to leave the bathroom mirror in shards. He tightened his left fist in memory of the event; he felt the small scabs on his knuckles stretch as he clenched his fist harder. Turning slowly and casually, like Solo had shown him; Illya grabbed a champagne flute off of a passing waiter’s tray to hide not only his awkwardness but to also scan more of the room. As he lifted the drink, he spotted her; on the edge of the room in front of a large abstract painting of what he assumed was a land scape. The painting itself was not what had caused Illya to set down the glass and begin strolling through the crowd, but rather the hand that he had noticed on Agent Tellers forearm.
“Peril,” Illya could hear the cowboy’s warning voice in his head. His fingers began tapping rapidly on his thigh. He could not give up Tellers identity for his own selfishness. He knew that the mission, no matter how ridiculous, depended on her performance.
***
(Rome, Italy. Three days ago)
Waverly had briefed them on the upcoming mission and had given them all one hour to pack. As Illya meticulously folded his few clothes, he went over the details in his head. While the Vinciguerra’s were no longer a threat, it became known that before Dr. Teller’s sudden death, he contacted a fellow scientist from Istanbul to attempt an escape. No response had been received from the young scientist, Baris Yavuz. After the fall of the Vinicguerra family, Yavuz suddenly disappeared from his home and his laboratory was cleared of any evidence of his being there. An associate of the Vinciguerra’s, the Contessa Simona de Alcazar, left Rome for Istanbul the same day. While the Contessa, an elderly widow, was not suspected her son, Deigo del Alcazar was. Having been close to Victoria Vinciguerra, it was believed that she shared her plan with the young Alcazar. Both Deigo and his mother were last seen in Istanbul, preparing for an art gala.
The plan was simple; become close with the Contessa and Deigo to locate and rescue Dr. Yavuz. The gala was to be used to get information about both people. There was only one small hitch in the plan, as Solo had stated.
“The Contessa knows me. I met her at the Vinciguerra event. If I happen to show up in Istanbul at the same gala under a different name, she will most definitely become suspicious and our whole plan will be ruined.” Napoleon leaned back in his chair and pointed a casual finger in Illya’s direction. “Let Peril here be the face of the operation.” Illya gripped his scotch glass tighter and leaned against the balcony railing.
“Fine idea, Mr. Solo. But do you believe our comrade here can pull it off? He’s the most … sociable person.” Waverly looked at Illya over his glasses and eyed the burly agent. Illya himself was about to protest when Gaby spoke.
“He can do it.” She said simply, “I am sure Solo and I can teach him a few things about being sociable.” She casually slid the large sun glasses into place, but not before giving Kuryakin a small wink.
“Well then, let’s put this plan into action. Kuryakin, you have the Contessa, Teller the young chap. Solo you will do surveillance and coverage. You have one hour to pack your things. See you then.” Waverly stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and left without another word.
Illya paused in his packing to glance behind him at Gaby, who was still carelessly throwing clothes into a large suitcase. She was to seduce Deigo and become close to him to gain information. Illya closed and locked his small case and strode over to the window, tapping furiously on the leg of his pants. He did not like the idea of Agent Teller having to seduce Deigo or get anywhere near him. She was, after all, barely even an agent; Waverly recruited her barely two years before to learn about her father’s assistance in the Vinciguerra plot. Illya had spent his life training to become a KGB agent and now, only three years later, was using his skills to seduce a Spanish Contessa.
He pulled the curtains back from the window and looked out, crossing his arms. He could see Teller in the reflection of the window and studied her cautiously. In their last mission together they had been engaged and now they were not even to be acquaintances. He knew that if things went sour at the gala that he could protect himself, but he was unsure about Gaby’s abilities. Illya watched her continue packing and recalled that less than two days ago she had pinned him on his back. For such a small person she had held her own against one of the KGB’s best agents while nearly completely inebriated, he remembered. He also recalled the feel of her as she pinned him down; her breath coming quickly from the altercation and feel of her hair on his face as she held him down. While she wasn’t particularly heavy sitting on his chest, she used what weight she had to hold him steadily under her. He recalled the feel of her under his hands; the smooth, tones muscles in her arms, the trimness of her waist and the slight curve of her hips against his fingertips. Her thighs on either side of him, her chest moving in and out as she leaned closer to him, arms sliding to the floor.
“Illya,” a hand on his shoulder made him turn quickly and unfurl his arms from his chest. “Let’s get going. Waverly will be waiting.” Gaby’s hand still lingered on his shoulder. “I will follow you,” Illya looked down at her face, her full lips. Illya wanted desperately to run a finger across those lips to feel their softness. He wanted to reach up and feel the heat from her face warm his hands, to stroke her soft skin of her cheek. He was about to move his hand when she removed hers from his shoulder and turned to gather her suitcase. He remained still for a moment and then retrieved his bag as well as hers.
“I will carry this” he said. It wasn’t a question and Gaby didn’t refuse, she simply nodded and they left the suite in search of Napoleon.