Work Text:
“Oh,” Gaby had said, trying to hide the sadness in her voice after Illya told her he was assigned to a solo mission back in Moscow.
“I’ll only be gone for a month,” he said. He had to admit, he didn’t want to go either. The west felt safer, after all. It was still full of indecency and…. Napoleon Solos, but that didn’t mean he liked the feeling of always moving on thin ice, which had always been the case back in the Soviet Union.
He’d never say it out loud, though. Oleg would have his head. His and Gaby’s, probably.
“You still have Cowboy, yes?” He didn’t like his American partner, but he and Gaby were best friends. He guessed that was worth something too.
“I do, but it’s not the same.” She hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure you’re going to be safe?”
He took some offense to her comment, even though he’d just thought to himself that he didn’t feel safe at all in Russia. “Of course. I will be back home, after all.”
“Yes… Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t want you leaving is all.” Her shoulders slumped, her entire posture was messed up. It upset Illya. She always stood proudly, shoulders back. He suspected it was because she was trying to make herself feel taller, but it still made him smile, seeing her actually being proud of herself. As she should be.
He sighed and pulled her in for a hug. “I’ll be fine. I understand you are sad, you will be missing your dance partner after all.” Her laugh was muffled against his chest. It made him smile.
“Napoleon’s a better dancer than you anyway.” Being a better dancer than Illya isn’t that much of a feat, as Illya never actually danced. He liked watching Gaby dance, though.
They stood there for a few minutes, hugging each other in silence.
“When are you leaving?” Gaby asked. She sounded small.
“Tonight. Oleg said it was an emergency.”
“Oh,” she repeated.
-
Illya entered his small apartment in Moscow. The mission was rather simple, even though it had kept him very busy the last week. Oleg probably just wanted him home for now. Didn’t want him to westernize too much. He was the KGB’s best spy, after all. They didn’t want to lose him, especially to the CIA or MI6.
His apartment didn’t improve his mood; it was dull and cold. The complete opposite of the luxurious, colorful hotel suites he’d grown accustomed to. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get used to such things, but he couldn’t help it.
After making a sad excuse for a meal for himself, he opened the door of his “junk closet”, as he called it. He searched through it, throwing several useless items away in the process, and ended up finding an old record player. It used to be his father’s, when they were still rich and their home was big and warm and their family was together and an actual family.
He pushed the feelings away as much as he could. That’s not why he’d dug up the record player.
Back then, the record player was the best of the best. Now, comparing it to the ones in the hotel suites Gaby used, it looked rather old-fashioned. Not that Illya cared. As long as it worked.
A small wave of surprise went through him when the thing actually worked, since he didn’t expect it to. He checked his apartment for bugging devices for a third time before pulling a record out of his bag and putting it on the player. He had no idea how he got it through the checkpoints, but somehow, it had made it all the way to his apartment.
He put the record on the platter and put the arm on the record. He went to sit down as a crackle went through the room, followed by a familiar tune.
It was the song Gaby played in Rome on that first night. Fair enough, it ended in Gaby attacking him after her having a few too many drinks, but the memory of it still brought him happiness, a feeling he’d given up a long time ago. Until a certain chop shop girl and – he had to add, begrudgingly – cowboy came into his life.
He fell asleep to the warm tunes on that cold evening.
-
A month had passed and Illya was back at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. He was happy to be back, and frankly he was already happy Oleg hadn’t gotten wind of his western music and threatened him with Siberia.
He was assigned to a new mission immediately. His new role was a Russian arms dealer disguised as an architect. His wife – the role that’d been taken up by Agent Teller – had helped him get to the other side of the Curtain. When Illya saw Gaby’s name in the file, he had to suppress a smile.
The same night, he arrived to the hotel they’d be staying at. He hadn’t seen Gaby all day and he knew she was already in the suite. He had to keep himself from running up all the stairs to see her.
Instead, he calmly walked the steps and opened the door of suite 506 slowly. He heard music seeping from the other room and knew he was home.