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Napoleon Solo was on a mission.
Not that this was anything new for him, of course. In the past year, with U.N.C.L.E. alone, he had stopped the Vinciguerras, staged a silent coup in Turkey, quelled a violent revolution in the Eastern bloc, and saved Washington D.C. from becoming a bombed-out parking lot. But this new mission wasn't handed down to him by Waverly or even Sanders. It was his own.
Illya and Gaby, in Rome, had seemed to be on the verge of falling for one another. After Turkey, they showed no outward signs of any romantic inclinations.
But Napoleon wasn't convinced.
He was sure that they were together-- officially, and often. They somehow were always assigned to a hotel room together-- traveling as husband and wife, as an engaged couple, there was even a mix-up in the Baltic states at a hotel where there were conveniently only two rooms available and it conveniently wouldn't blow their cover if Illya and Gaby knew each other, so they chose the room with the double bed, saying they were comfortable enough with each other by now to deal with it.
Napoleon suspected they did more than deal with it.
And he was going to catch them.
1. March 11 - Copenhagen, Denmark
Wind whipped the eaves of the hotel. Napoleon settled in, wearing a thick robe, a glass of brandy in his hand. He switched on his receiver; upon their arrival, he'd snuck into the lovebirds' room and planted a series of bugs-- and not the low-tech ones.
Now, it was time to wait. They had gone to the corner store for some toiletries and in search of Swiss chocolate. He checked his watch-- they would be back soon, as the shops were beginning to close up. He took up the paper and began to read the international news.
Eventually, the combination of the alcohol, the comfort of his plush robe and armchair, and the dull newsprint put him to sleep.
Hours later, he was jolted awake by a sharp squeal.
This is it, he thought.
"God," Gaby moaned. "I can't handle this. The way you move-- it's incredible." She exhaled, a long sigh.
Napoleon got to his feet.
"I was taught by the best," Illya replied, and Napoleon raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
"The finest chess masters in Russia, of course. I was a prodigy, you know. At age four--"
Napoleon rolled his eyes, switched off the receiver, and crawled into bed.
2. March 12 - Copenhagen, Denmark
While getting dressed in the morning, Napoleon decided to listen in to his teammates' conversation. Maybe, he thought sourly, they did something other than chess last night.
Silence reigned as he brushed his teeth and fussed with his hair. Then--
"I'm exhausted." It was Gaby.
He rushed to the other room.
Illya's voice came over the speaker. "I'm sorry?"
"No, don't apologize. I just--" She giggled. "I can't believe you could go so long. I've never met someone with that sort of talent."
Napoleon clenched his fist in triumph, even though he had no wish to hear about Illya's talents. He was about to shut it off and race upstairs when--
"I did say I could recite Pi to 12,000 decimal places," Illya said, and Napoleon could hear the proud grin in his voice.
Gaby seriously stayed up to listen to that bastard recite numbers?
With a certain amount of fury, he fastened his cuff links.
3. March 12 - Malmö, Sweden
Napoleon collapsed into his hard little twin bed. They'd been shot at, chased, and injured, and consequently had taken a ferry to stay at a bed and breakfast in Malmö for the night before regrouping. There had been no time to plant new bugs and, quite frankly, he wouldn't have had the energy even if there had been an opportunity. Luckily for him-- or unluckily-- the bed and breakfast had thin walls, and he could make out most of their conversation just by closing his eyes and listening.
"You're so flexible," Illya was saying in a low voice when Napoleon returned to the room.
"You haven't seen anything yet," Gaby replied.
"Show me."
There was a moment of silence, and Napoleon raised his hand, about to beat on the wall and yell to them.
"I am in awe of anyone who can do splits," Illya said a moment later. "I never knew you were a ballet dancer. You would put our ballerinas in Moscow to shame."
Napoleon groaned audibly and pulled the blankets over his head.
4. March 13 - Malmö, Sweden
"You can't hurt me," Illya was saying.
Napoleon listened with mild interest. He was sorting through a cache of paraphernalia that had been in a black leather bag, which he had picked up when his quarry had dropped it earlier that afternoon as Napoleon chased him around the streets. And you thought you would have an advantage by following us, he thought.
"You're just trying to provoke me," Gaby replied playfully.
"Maybe."
"I think you like it too much."
He raised an eyebrow and set down the computer disk. Of all things-- this? If he had expected even one of them to be a masochist-- which he hadn't-- he would have never guessed it would be Illya.
"Only because you haven't succeeded yet," came Illya's response.
Silence. Napoleon could hear Gaby's heels click across the floor. "All right. Russian vodka is disgusting and bow ties went out with the fifties."
Napoleon had to put his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
5. March 14 - Stockholm, Sweden
They would be in Stockholm for two days, they had been told, while Waverly sorted some things out. Their mission for U.N.C.L.E. accomplished, the trio had spent the day shopping and relaxing. Napoleon, thinking that now would be the time that his esteemed colleagues would let their hair down and their clothes off, had returned early to the hotel to bug their room.
He'd just stepped out of the shower when he heard it.
"I need it," cried Illya.
"Right now?"
"I can't go to bed without--"
"Illya, I'm tired."
"Gaby..."
"All right."
Then, silence. Napoleon listened, his ear glued to the receiver. Why were they so quiet? Then--
"That's it... yes... right there..." It was Illya.
Napoleon pushed into his slippers and marched out of the room. He reached 413 and was about to bang on the door when--
"YES!" came Illya's shout.
"Now you don't have to worry about finding your damn missing Lego piece in the morning," groused Gaby. "I'm never letting you buy them again. Can we go to sleep now?"
6. March 15 - Stockholm, Sweden
Napoleon relaxed in his armchair, a glass of wine at his side and the new John le Carré novel in his hands. As Fred Leiser was about to be reactivated, he turned from the page and stared sullenly at the receiver.
Illya had been talking for hours about quantum mechanics, which he had a Ph.D. in, and Solo couldn't understand a word. "Each energy element," he was saying, "according to Planck, is proportional to its frequency. So E = hv, where h is Planck's constant."
"Mmm," Gaby said, and Napoleon thought she must be as bored as he was.
"However. Planck insisted that this was simply... aspect of processes of absorption and emission of radiation. It has nothing to do with physical reality of radiation. He did not think this was big discovery."
"That's history, Illya. You've told me that already. Tell me about the new and exciting stuff."
"String theory," he said, a smile in his voice. "Your favorite."
She giggled. "I can't help it."
"The string vibrates in different ways. Sometimes, it looks like ordinary particle-- its properties are determined by vibrational state of string."
"Mmm," said Gaby again, but her tone was different.
As Illya continued his scientific explication, Napoleon noticed that he began to breathe more quickly. And Gaby, here and there, made little quiet noises, and--
He set his book firmly on the table. Are they seriously sleeping together while talking about quantum mechanics?
And then a noise came from Gaby's throat that told him that they most certainly were. He swung his door open, strode down the hallway, and knocked on their door.
The noise inside quieted, but no one came to answer.
"I know exactly what's going on in there!" he shouted triumphantly. "Peril, you better stick your head out this door and tell me you are going to stop trying to hide this from me or I swear to God--"
The door opened a crack, and Illya appeared in the door, wearing a sheet. "Cowboy, you will go away right now if you don't want to end up like our Norwegian friend this morning."
"Admit that you and Gaby are together, then."
"Fine. Tell anyone else and I will break your legs."
"And are you seriously using string theory as pillow talk? Because--"
Illya's fingers began to tap against the door frame.
"Fine. And she was right. Bow ties did go out with the fifties," Napoleon asserted, turning on his heel and marching back to his room.