Chapter Text
After so many months of being around him, Gaby had realized there were three very distinct personalities within the overall persona that was Illya Kuryakin.
First, there was the personality most people saw: Agent Kuryakin. This KGB agent was ruthless and mechanical, determined to a fault to do whatever was necessary to get the job done. Prone to violent outbursts, Agent Kuryakin was a terrifying presence capable of inhuman strength and speed. This was the version of Illya Gaby had first met, when he tore the trunk off of her car. She still saw this version regularly with U.N.C.L.E. missions; it was this version of Illya that got shit done, the version Waverly needed.
Then, there was the personality most reserved for dealing with Solo: The Red Peril. This version was confident, headstrong, and prone to showboating. Tossing deadpan sass back and forth between himself and Cowboy, this version of Illya was more likely to make mistakes, trying to “out spy” the American.
Lastly, there was the personality Gaby loved most. This was the real Illya, the soft, beaten, vulnerable man who would do anything for the people he loved. He was tender, with gentle eyes and a quiet tone. He was reassuring, but scared of making mistakes. Very few people truly saw this version of him, even though he used it to help build his unassuming roles for infiltration, such as an architect or fashion designer. But even in those cases, Agent Kuryakin would come through. The only person that saw the real Illya was Gaby. He wouldn’t dare let down his guard enough to show any other living soul his raw core. It was an honor to see this side of him, every time. Even after months of being together, it still caught her off guard to see the effect she had on him.
Her favorite thing, her guilty pleasure, was waking up beside him, with the early morning sunlight creeping in over them. Invariably he would smile at her as he said his good mornings, giving her a look that said all was right in the world. In all the chaos of being an agent of U.N.C.L.E. this regular moment of tenderness every day helped ground her.
That morning was no different. Curled up together in the middle of Barcelona, Gaby woke slowly to the sound of Illya’s steady breathing. The morning was cold, even under all the plush blankets and the general warmth of the hotel, and Gaby snuggled closer to her large Russian for warmth. This got his attention, and he looked down at her with the same tender expression he did every morning.
He woke early, and always had. But recently, with the addition of Gaby into his bed, he remained under the covers, trying not to wake the little woman beside him. She wondered just how long he had been awake this time. Sometimes he woke in the wee hours of the night from a nightmare, sweating and shaking with fear, and he would stay awake the rest of the night. Somehow, Gaby would sleep through most of these episodes. That day, however, he didn’t have any of the signs of a rough night, his face was clear and soft, his hair tousled but not slicked with old sweat. His fingers were warm, his touch mindful of the rough callouses as he stroked her cheek and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
“Good morning.” His first words of the day were always thick with his accent, more so than usual.
“Morning,” she replied, sleep still scratching at her throat.
He leaned down to kiss her forehead, shifting to do so, but Gaby apprehended him to kiss on the lips. She could feel his smile pull against her own lips as his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Shifting her weight, Gaby moved to straddle his lap in attempt to get closer.
The perfect wake up, she thought as she deepened their kiss, drinking in the taste of her man.
But all good things come to an end eventually, and more often than not the end of a tender moment between Gaby and Illya was abruptly halted by the presence of their mutual partner, Napoleon Solo.
“Sorry to interrupt what appears to be a very good morning….”
Illya let his head fall back to the headboard, groaning up at the ceiling when Solo sauntered into their room. “Go away Cowboy.”
Gaby turned to give Solo a little scowl, but she knew he was there to call them up to begin their mission. She and Illya would have to wait until afterwards; the mission always took priority.
Solo ignored both of them, nursing a cup of coffee as he made his way to the window, pulling the curtains open to look over the skyline of Barcelona. Illya hissed at the sudden light, covering his eyes. Gaby blinked until her own vision adjusted, watching Solo patiently.
“We have our orders from Waverly, he’s set up a meeting for breakfast in some little bistro in town. You’d best get up and ready, the room is reserved for 8 o’clock sharp.” He turned back to them and grinned infuriatingly.
“Why didn’t Waverly call and tell us himself?” Gaby shifted off of the bed to start getting ready, not concerning herself with picking the outfit with both Solo and Illya there to chastise her choices.
Solo hummed in such a way that made Gaby’s face burn. “He figured the two of you were…occupied, and didn’t need to be interrupted.”
“So he sent you to interrupt,” Illya grumbled, hand still over his face.
“Someone had to,” Solo grinned. “Otherwise you would never leave this room and I would have to stop the devious Mr. Capello all by myself.”
--
Gabriel Capello was their target, as Waverly would soon explain over their breakfast in the small private room of the bistro. He was the most prominent oil tycoon in the Iberian Peninsula. Though he primarily worked out of Madrid, he often came to Barcelona in the winter, celebrating the holidays with his family.
This year, however, he wasn’t just in Barcelona for personal reasons, he was planning on selling out to a budding organization trying to fire up World War III. Capello had worked with the Vinceguerras, although very distantly, and he agreed with their lust for war. Believing it would be advantageous for his business, he was well prepared to make an alliance with anyone who shared his ideals.
U.N.C.L.E., of course, was brought in to put a stop to that plan.
The plan was to coax Capello into giving up information, ratting out the organization he was preparing to team up with. Then, they would interfere however they could, once they had all the details.
“You have permission to kill him, if necessary,” Waverly advised over his morning cup of tea. “But of course, I would like to keep this as simple and clean as possible. Less paperwork and all that.”
Gaby nodded, as did Solo. However, the latter tossed a glance at Illya, who did not respond. Gaby knew he was already resigned to the worst. Bad men needed to die, more often than not.
“We do have a backup, for the company’s sake. We can’t just have one of the major oil companies in Europe go down overnight.” Waverly continued, “His son, Jordi, openly opposes his father’s ideals. It would be quite simple to just have him take over as the heir to the company. Whether his father is dead or jailed at the conclusion of the mission, Jordi Capello should be our best bet for keeping the economy stable.”
“So why not just go in and do away with the father, nice and simple?” Solo leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the empty seat beside him.
“Well, that would certainly solve the immediate problem, Mr. Solo. However-“
“If we just clean up this mess and move on, the organization he’s working with will just find someone else,” Gaby supplied, cutting Waverly off.
Waverly nodded at Gaby, gesturing in her direction. “Exactly that, and we will lose out on any information Mr. Capello can give us about this elusive new organization. If we simply kill him off we lose out on a wealth of information that his son does not have access to.”
“So what’s the plan?” Illya had his hands folded across his chest, watching Waverly quietly and intently.
“Well, you and Mr. Solo will be a couple of business partners, looking to strike a deal with Mr. Capello. Get on his good side, Get him to talk about what he’s been up to. Talk to his son and make sure he’s fit to take over when all is said and done. That sort of thing.”
“And Gaby?” Illya’s brow knit together. Gaby knew why he was concerned. Typically she was partnered with one of the boys, a bit of arm candy to help them with their cover. It was odd that Solo and Illya were together and Gaby was the odd one out.
“Don’t worry, we have something very important planned for Ms. Teller,” Waverly grinned at her, nodding. “She’s an apt agent on her own, and some of my peers have wondered why we are not using her to her full capabilities. So, this mission is a honeypot. Gaby will be working alone to seduce Mr. Capello, get him by himself and catch him bragging. His son is reported saying that Mr. Capello does have a particularly bad habit of telling his mistresses vital business information in an attempt to impress them, dazzle them. He doesn’t expect them to know what he’s talking about. So, we have our little Gaby here play the part of the innocent secretary, his favorite.”
Silence hung over the table as they processed this. Gaby couldn’t help but look forward to working alone again, especially in a situation where she wasn’t lying to her friends or using them to complete her own mission. However…
“How far does this seduction go?” Gaby could feel Illya’s foot tapping on the floor beside her, though he was restraining himself quite well.
“Ah,” Waverly fidgeted, adjusting his glasses. “As far as it needs to, to get the information.”
Gaby paused. “Wait. You want me to flat out use my body for this mission?”
Waverly nodded, unashamed. “That is…a bit colloquial, but yes.”
The tapping under the table intensified, Gaby could feel the vibrations shake up her leg. “And if she doesn’t want to?”
“I’ll be fine, Illya,” she murmured, laying a hand over Illya’s. He barely eased.
“Don’t worry about little Gabs, Peril,” Solo sighed, stretching like a cat in his seat. “Honeypots are remarkably simple, especially when it’s a woman seducing a lecherous older man. Show a little skin, bash your lashes, smile…and he’s yours. There’s plenty of ways to get through a mission like this without going too far.”
Illya sighed, turning to get confirmation from Gaby. Their eyes met, and she could see Agent Kuryakin ease off. She smiled at her protective lover, knowing he was just concerned with her safety. But she could handle herself.
“Fine,” Illya mumbled, turning away resentfully.
“Excellent,” Waverly nodded. Gaby kept an eye on Illya as Waverly continued to explain their covers and the mission. Illya never looked up from his plate.