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Solo looked at the nearest clock. It was 11 p.m. by now, meaning it had been almost been twelve hours since Waverly had dropped the bomb about U.N.C.L.E. When Napoleon used the phrase “dropped the bomb” around Illya the same day, however, he’d reacted severely shocked and Solo and Gaby had to explain to him that it was just a saying and no bombs had actually been dropped, since that would mean their little U.N.C.L.E. alliance had ended before it’d even started. They always found having to explain English phrases to Illya oddly endearing, though neither of them would ever admit it.
Or maybe Gaby would, Solo thought to himself, his tired gaze drifting to the bedroom door of Illya and Gaby’s suite. Gaby was already in bed at 9, what both the American and Russian spy found weird, to say the least. At least Solo did, until he spotted a bottle of liquor in the bedroom. He wondered if she was asleep by now, or downing another glass of whisky. He figured the latter.
“Are you actually incapable of relaxing?” Solo sighed, tired of Illya’s constant walking around, sitting down at his chessboard only to stand up and walk around again. Napoleon knew Illya was still trying to make sense of the whole new situation and a thought entered his mind. Their dear Red Peril had probably never worked together before. Solo didn’t exactly know how things were handled in the KGB, but he figured teamwork wasn’t exactly important.
Having figured this out, he couldn’t blame Illya for his restlessness anymore. Not as much, at least. He was still annoyed Peril couldn’t relax for one damn second because his stalking around made Napoleon anxious too.
“I figured I would be heading back to Moscow by now.” Illya’s voice was low and quiet. He sounded more like he was talking to himself than with Solo.
“Why, Peril, you’re not looking forward to working with me?” Solo grinned. He was tired, too, but his act would not be dropped, not even a minute.
“You could say that.” Clearly there was more to it than he was letting on. He didn’t even try to start a fight.
“Then, at the very least, aren’t you looking forward to working with our dearest Chop Shop Girl?”
Illya stopped in his tracks, wondering where Solo had ever heard that nickname. He hadn’t said it out loud more than once, right? When he carried Gaby to bed. He was fairly sure he hadn’t.
“There it is!” The triumphant tone in Solo’s voice annoyed Illya. He didn’t like talking about him and Gaby. He wasn’t even sure what to make of it himself. “What’s the problem?”
“There is no problem, Cowboy. The only problem here is your smug face.” He hoped Napoleon would retort, resulting in them fighting about anything but his relationship with Gaby. But, of course, luck was not on Illya’s side tonight.
“Please. You’ve gone from terrifying KGB assassin to a vulnerable Russian puppy in less than a week, and the cause of that we both know.”
“I am not puppy. Nor am I assassin. I am an agent.” His voice grew louder, but it was still noticeably soft, probably careful not to shout and wake Gaby. The last thing he needed was her to join this pointless discussion.
“You, my friend, are smitten by cute, little Gaby. How adorable.” Napoleon’s grin widened when he saw Illya’s disgusted face when he’d called him “friend”. “Can’t blame you, really. Love the girl to death.”
Actually, the reason for Illya’s frown was the way Solo had described Gaby. Even though she may be small and, Illya had to admit, she could be cute, she was actually very strong and very lethal. Even if Illya hadn’t actually witnessed her kill a person, she’d surely murdered him mentally in the span of just a few days. He should hate her for it, but hate and Gaby didn’t fit together. Even when she’d betrayed them, he couldn’t hate her for it, because – he even told her so later – he would have done exactly the same. Isn’t that just what he’d been doing the past years? Blindly following superiors orders? He was, so he couldn’t possibly blame Gaby for doing the same.
“I am not, and even if I was, it would still be none of your business, Cowboy.”
“That’s alright. I can just ask Gaby about it in the morning.” Solo stood up, stretching and yawning before heading for the door. Illya thought for a second that Solo really reminded him of a cat. A very smug, lazy cat. He was allergic to cats.
“I am at a loss, Cowboy,” Illya admitted. He slumped down on the couch in defeat. They had gotten the rest of the day off after flying to Istanbul, but they were all exhausted nonetheless.
“How so?” Napoleon asked, his back facing the room. Illya could still somehow sense his smugness, though. He radiated it, together with pride, vanity and a ton of other things Illya could name in English if he tried. He didn’t, however. He didn’t feel like thinking any more about Solo than absolutely necessary.
Illya took a deep breath, swallowing his Soviet pride as much as he could. “You are right, Solo. You, for once, are right and I am at a loss for what to do.” His voice was hushed again, barely audible in the fairly large hotel suite. He really didn’t want Gaby to hear.
He expected Napoleon to laugh his annoying, loud American laugh and probably boast some more about how he was often right and Illya just refused to admit it. Much to Illya’s surprise, however, he sat back next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It made Illya uncomfortable and he wanted to pull his shoulder away immediately, but since he guessed Solo was about to give him some advice, he didn’t.
“Listen up, Illya,” Solo started, his voice serious. He had only used his actual name once before, and that was right before he began to insult his parents. Illya’s attention was fully on Solo, wanting to hear every word of advice he had to say. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Illya frowned. “What?” He pulled his shoulder away from Solo’s hand. “What is this supposed to mean?”
“I mean, it’s been working so far, hasn’t it? I wouldn’t exactly call myself a matchmaker, but I’d say I did a pretty good job with that tracking device back in Rome.” He shifted his tie a little, proud of his little achievement.
“That was you?” Anger welled up in Illya’s stomach, but then he realized he should be thankful. For what, he wasn’t sure, since Solo had also interrupted him and Gaby moments later, but he was.
“I don’t expect a “thank you” or anything.”
“Good, because you are not getting one.” Illya flashed a grin, and Napoleon figured it was his way of saying “thank you”. “I am going to bed. This evening has been insightful, Cowboy.” He stood up and opened the door of the suite, suggesting Solo should leave.
Napoleon complied, walking into the hallway of the hotel’s fourth floor. “I expect payment for the next piece of advice, though-“
“Goodnight, Cowboy,” Illya interrupted before slamming the door shut. He regretted it immediately after, though, as he heard shifting in the bedroom. Seconds after, a sleepy Gaby appeared.
“Is everything alright?” She asked, rubbing her eyes.
Illya smiled and it shook Gaby awake just a little bit. “Yes. Everything is fine. Go back to bed now, little chop shop girl.”