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Holiday Fun

Illya ran. He ran fast, and he ran hard. He ran counting seconds in a slow, methodical method that was one second each, exactly, no matter how fast his heart was racing, or how his blood was pounding. Every step further out, closer to safety, but so far to go still.

Up ahead, by the little rock wall Illya had earlier marked as the minimum safe distance, Napoleon and Gaby waited.

If Illya could have spared a moment to scowl, he would have. He'd told them to wait by the trees, which was a much better safe distance. At least they didn't appear to be advancing past the stones, though they both wore worried looks. They were waiting for him, but were careful not add to his task by putting themselves at risk. Yet they both held onto each other in a manner that suggested each was worried the other might step over that line.

Illya's mental scowl melted into a smile. He was truly fortunate to have partners such as they.

Then he really did frown as he stepped past a fallen log he'd noted earlier and compared it with his count. He wasn't going to make it on time. Only by a few seconds, but those seconds were important ones.

He tried to eke out a little more speed, but he was already going as fast as he could. He'd taken out all the safety margins back at the turn. If he was a car, Gaby would already have checked his jets for size and flow and pronounced him at his limits.

Closer. The count reached zero and Illya heard the massive explosion behind him. He gave it a half a count more then pushed off on his toes even as he felt the pressure at his back. Using his launch, he let the pressure carry him forward, throwing one arm forward to tilt himself a little, turning his fall into a dive until his fingers almost touched the ground. Then he tucked himself, rolling so his shoulder hit the ground first and then he carried through in a diagonal roll. Without the explosion, he would have been able to come up from the roll. With the extra momentum and blast of heat and pressure behind him, he skidded across the ground for some feet, ending up right in front of his partners, his shoes nearly burned off from the friction, his hearing ringing from the noise, and a burbling sense of accomplishment and delight rising up in him.

Illya looked up at the horrified faces of his friends, Gaby still on the last syllable of yelling out his name, Napoleon already bracing himself for the worst... and Illya laughed.

He threw back his head and laughed with utter and complete delight, rejoicing even as his companions realized he was alive and safe, their worry changing as the tides, each to a different direction.

Gaby threw herself down on top of him, clasping him tightly and choking out his name again. "You bastard!" If they hadn't been on the ground, she probably would have hit him.

Illya wrapped his arms around her and murmured a reassurance, though it probably didn't help that his voice was still threaded through with his joy.

Napoleon shook his head and then continued to shake it. "This is a previously unforeseen side of you, Peril." He sounded bemused, hidden relief poking out behind the casualness of the words and tone. Napoleon held out a hand, bracing himself.

It was the laughter that was confounding them. Illya was generally more restrained than they in showing the outward emotions. They had to know him to know his moods. Illya had to look carefully to see if the moods they were showing were their true ones. Tucking his feet to brace himself, Illya got a good hold of Gaby with one arm, and then accepted Napoleon's hand. As Napoleon hauled him upright, along with a still-clinging Gaby, Illya tried to think of how to express his joy.

Finally, he shrugged. "Was fun." He grinned again.

"Fun?" Napoleon gave him an odd look, and Gaby settled to the ground and backed up a step to duplicate it.

Illya tapped his fingers against his side, though he wasn't really annoyed. He liked using the gesture, though, to see how quickly their eyes went down and up while they tried to figure out if he was or not. Sometimes, it was entirely too easy to tease them.

"Cowboy likes to sneak into highly secured buildings and open expensive safes. Chop Shop likes to drive get away cars through narrow streets and twisty lanes and make fools of those who chase." Illya smiled. "I like to blow things up."

"More than you like to jog," Gaby said, lightly grumbling. "All right, but you gave us a scare there."

Illya shrugged again. "Was close." He pulled Gaby lightly back into his arms. "Make it up to you?"

"If you can," she breathed, tilting her head up.

Illya kissed her. He took his time about it and did it properly. The heat of the explosion and the force of the pressure were still within him, and he shared it with her, even as she let her fears for him be leached out with the kiss.

When he finally raised his head, her eyes were closed and she swayed in his grasp. He drew her near and held her close. Then he reached out to Napoleon.

The American looked at his hand for a brief moment, probably evaluating if Illya really meant it. It hurt, but it was Cowboy's way. He was slow to trust, slow to show feelings, and even after all this time still treated Gaby and Illya like they weren't quite real. In turn, the two of them took every opportunity to show Napoleon that they were.

Finally, Napoleon came to join them, tucking himself in behind Gaby, bracketing her as he and Illya used their height to share their moment above her.

The kiss that Illya gave Napoleon was perhaps less heated than the one he'd shared with Gaby, yet not any less true. It shared more; their common bond and partnership, reaffirming their togetherness, and the joy in the completion of the mission.

Way back in Rome, Illya had fallen for Gaby before she had any clue. She'd been drunk, and in vino veritas, though there vodka had been the truth. She'd showed her defiance, her playfulness, a capricious slap, and a wrestling match that had left him breathless – mostly from trying not to hurt her while she had no compunctions the other way around. At no point during all that had she been afraid of him. That was rare, to the point of non-existence in Illya's KGB life, and he'd fallen hard and fast, while she struggled the next day to figure out his sudden softness. In the day, she was more wary of him than she had been at night. It had taken her some time to catch up to his feelings. But after that, the attraction had been strong for both of them.

Though the Cowboy had never said, and probably never would, Illya suspected with him it was the other way around. Illya'd had no idea that the teasing and the barbs had contained anything else, which was just the way Cowboy had planned them. It wasn't until they merged seemlessly in the shipyard as a fighting unit that anything more had clicked for Illya, and even then it had been lost in the action. Lost until he'd spent a good half hour or more wrapped around Napoleon's back perched on that little moped scooter, shivering and recovering his equilibrium after having drowned. He didn't remember drowning, but once he thought about it, placing together everything that must have happened... it was a long half-hour of reflection, and there had been no reason for Napoleon to have rescued him, no reason at all... Napoleon's care had made Illya look again at him, and had been surprised and softened with what he'd found there.

There would only be that one mission. Illya had thought it would be safe to let himself care. Just for that mission. It would be okay, for one mission. Then there was Gaby's betrayal and it was worse than he'd thought. But he let it go. Because it was still just that one mission. Then it was Napoleon and the disc and Illya's orders... that had hurt. Worse than anything he'd ever felt before. Illya had realized, then, what he'd done by letting himself care in the first place. Going soft had almost destroyed him.

Yet all of them had not only survived, but there had been an 'after'. An 'after' that continued on, and on... It turned out that none of them were giving up things that they thought were theirs, and somehow, they'd each become each others'. Illya wasn't giving them up, and neither were they to him.

In the here and now, Illya pulled both of his partners close to him, and let them reassure themselves that he was alive, while he rejoiced in both the fun he'd had, and also the having of partners that cared.

... ... ...

"Good work," Waverly said, closing the mission report folder and leaning back in his chair. They were still in town, Waverly having come to them rather than them going to him, as was his style. Waverly was not one for sitting long in the office. If he didn't join them directly on missions, he usually at least came by at the end.

The other UNCLE agents that they had met had told them Waverly routinely did the same to them, though not quite as often. But then, their team tended to get the riskiest cases with the highest levels of consequence if they failed. They were the best, and Waverly used them accordingly.

"It occurs to me," Waverly spoke in his elegant accent, flicking his gaze lazily around the group, "that we've been using you three rather hard."

Illya felt his eyebrows draw down as he tried to figure that out. He didn't think they had been – all the missions were logical and had to be completed. If anything, he felt there had sometimes been a lack of such. There couldn't be world-threatening plans every month, after all. So while they were routinely given the biggest cases, in the times between, they also had lesser ones, or went into the office for paperwork. Napoleon and Gaby grumbled about the paperwork, but Illya never minded – he'd often used other agents' reports to help him on a case, and he knew that others would use the ones he wrote.

"I take it we're not going back to the office," Napoleon drawled, having apparently matched Illya's thoughts.

"Not at all, dear chaps. I thought you might be due for a spot of vacation, is the thing." Waverly pulled out a different folder and opened it to blank forms. "Three weeks. Anywhere you'd each like to go. Providing, of course, that you keep your communicators with you in case we need to contact you. Things being what they are."

"Three weeks?" Napoleon looked intrigued.

"Anywhere?" Gaby leaned forward. "Even Hawaii?"

Waverly's mouth twitched. "Even Hawaii," he agreed. "Three weeks, as long as no earth-shattering event crops up."

There might be a problem in translation there. Both his companions were looking happy. Illya grimaced. He knew the word, 'vacation', but to him it was something tourists did that he could use to take advantage of on a cover. Spending lots of money, out of their element and often lost, wide-eyed as they wandered around, being rude and taking pictures of everything. It was useful cover. It was not something he wanted to do otherwise.

"Does our Red Peril not do vacations?" Napoleon's sharp gaze had found him out, and, as usual, gone right to the root of the problem in his own sarcastic manner.

Illya shrugged. "Downtime is fine." It might be his partner, but he wasn't going to expand on his thoughts with them.

"Anywhere – Illya, you could go home and see your mom and sister." Gaby spoke as one who had no more relatives alive, or friends she could visit. She would never go back to East Germany again, and had left all the people she knew. Never regretted... but she did tend to press Illya and Napoleon about theirs. They both wrote more letters than they would have otherwise.

Visiting home was not what Illya considered a vacation. Then, he might have gotten the wrong end of this with his assumptions. If it was simply time off... but three weeks was a very long time. They would not understand three weeks, if he went to Russia. They would assume he was on a mission, and treat him accordingly. For a KGB agent, visiting home was not always best for his family, though he knew they would welcome him.

"Vacations, Peril," Napoleon broke in, "are for fun."

Illya looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Fun that doesn't involve cracking safes, escape cars, or blowing things up," Napoleon elaborated.

"Does not sound like fun." "Where's the fun in that?"

Illya and Gaby overlapped with their remarks and they traded delighted grins with each other – well, her grin to his smile.

Napoleon snorted. He turned to Waverly. "We'll stay here, sir."

Waverly blinked. "Er, this isn't a mission... the offer is for each of you, as you please. I've already cleared it with Headquarters. UNCLE owes you all, and we would like to give you this treat. If Miss Teller wants Hawaii---"

"I don't," Gaby broke in. "Well, I do... but Napoleon's right. Here is good. With all of us." Under the table, her little hand grabbed his and turned it over so she could clasp it. In another situation, it would have been unseen. But here, both Waverly and Napoleon glanced briefly at the table top as if they could see through it before their gazes quickly went up again.

His team was trying to take care of him again. Illya gave Gaby's hand a little squeeze. He didn't quite know why Napoleon wanted to stay here in particular, instead of, say, all of them going to Hawaii if he wanted them together, but he was sure Cowboy had a reason.

"It is good. Thank you for offer, but we are fine." Illya contributed his support to Napoleon's plan, whatever it was.

Waverly spread his casual-seeming scrutiny around the three of them, then nodded, accepting that they meant it. "Well, accounting should be happy about that. But let's not make them too happy, shall we?" Closing the file he had in front of him, Waverly opened another and scratched on the papers.

"A stipend. For lodging and edibles and the such. Each of you can withdraw from this account as needed." Waverly passed around the slips of paper with the bank name and number. "I presume you want to find your own place?"

Napoleon and Gaby fervently said yes, and Illya echoed them in his mind. The Cowboy's plan would not be helped with UNCLE in their every move. The funds, however, were practical and so they would use them.

Waverly smiled at them, in that fond and amused way he used so often. "Alright then. I think we're just about done. Do you have anything else for me?"

They wrapped up and Waverly gave his very British fond farewells and took himself off.

Illya would never admit it out loud, but he was rather fond of Waverly, as that man might say. He recognized Illya's abilities – all of Illya's abilities – and yet still teased and cajoled him just like the others, perhaps, even, a bit more. Nobody else would have dared.

Gaby turned to Napoleon. "Okay, Cowboy, what are we doing?" She didn't often use the nickname, leaving it in Illya's domain, but when the situation called for it, she was as ready to use it without hesitation.

Napoleon smiled. "It occurs to me that with three weeks off..." he trailed off and looked at them expectantly.

They looked back at him, waiting.

"In ten days..." Napoleon tried again.

He met with just as much incomprehension. Though Illya was mentally flipping through the calendar, and he was sure Gaby was as well.

Napoleon threw up his hands. "Christmas. It's Christmas in ten days. It's the perfect time, and we can have so much fun!"

Gaby and Illya looked at each other.

"Okay, maybe not Peril. But Gaby?"

The corner of Gaby's mouth went up. "Yes, we had it in East Germany. It was called "the socialist festival for peace"..." she put a sarcastic tilt on the words, "but it was still Christmas. We shopped, though mostly for things like socks and other practical things. Our people made wood carvings that were in much demand, even from the West. And we put up the trees." She went quiet, and then said softly, "I do remember the CARE packages when I was a child." With a shake of her head, she brightened. "We're a little late for Advent, but we can do two windows a night." Her enthusiasm for it rose noticeably as she spoke. "I can make one for us as soon as we get a place."

Sensing that Napoleon would not ask him due to misplaced concern, after Gaby finished, Illya contributed without a prompt. "We do New Year's. That is our celebration, with Grandfather Frost instead of your Santa Claus. We also have tree, with red star on top, and presents underneath. The children work for their presents, but we get them." Illya wondered what Gaby and Napoleon would think if he explained how Stalin introduced them as new traditions after his children had been to an embassy Christmas party and enjoyed it. The Americans might hold Stalin in distain, but he did love his daughter very much. Illya remembered that from his own youth. And now Illya was so very, very far away from that youth, with such a mix of companions that none could have foretold. He smiled. "The actual date does not matter. We can have your Christmas, Cowboy – as much of it as you want."

... ... ...

They moved into a decent sized rental gotten for cheaper than it might have been, due to timing and desperation, and from it being on the outskirts of town, further than most people wanted to be. Perfect, however, for them. There was a bedroom with a king-sized bed, and one with a twin. The king was for all of them, and the other for naps when there hadn't been enough rest, one way or another. The kitchen was equipped enough to satisfy Cowboy, who instantly went off to get supplies, not letting Gaby or Illya accompany him.

Gaby and Illya traded glances. "He is going for presents, no?"

"Da," Gaby responded in Russian, more light-heartily than practicing. "I hope he doesn't go overboard."

They paused and then both laughed. When was their Cowboy ever anything than extravagant?

"He will expect some from us." Illya spoke in resigned tones, but inwardly he was already thinking about what he might get for each of them.

Gaby smiled, her warm heart showing without reservation. "Such a trial, Illyusha!" She reached up to kiss him gently upon his chin, then moved to his lips. If he had been sitting, it would have been his nose first.

She played the innocent so well, because she still had a lot within her, spy or not. Kindness was something she and Napoleon both had in common, though they both covered it with other mannerisms. Or so Illya believed – he had mentioned it once to them, and they both had scoffed at him, and told him of the three, he was the soft one. Maybe he was just the lucky one, to have their kindness for himself.

With common agreement, they too went into town, splitting up once there to go their separate ways. Illya's destination was an art shop where he bought better pencils and paper than what he had on him. He would often make gifts for his mother and sister, sending them in with the letters, something of little value that would not be confiscated. Though still some did not make it through, perhaps mistaken for code or hidden messages. But it was a type of gifting he was familiar with. The thought of actually buying something directly for Napoleon or Gaby... it made him nervous. A material item that they might or might not like, all waiting on the smile or frown upon unwrapping.

That was not the point, he knew. But still, better to stay with what he knew. Even if his art wasn't up to Cowboy's standards, he was sure at least the effort would be appreciated.

When they got back, the kitchen was full. Perhaps Napoleon hadn't gotten presents after all, at least not then. The home also had acquired a certain festive air with bright red flowers and ribbons in different colors.

"I got popcorn!" Napoleon waved a burlap cloth bag around enthusiastically, and a couple of kernels fell out.

Illya picked them up, curious. "This is cow feed."

Napoleon grimaced. "Yes, that's where I finally found it. But just you wait! It will be wonderful."

This 'vacation' was going to be a lot of Gaby and Illya trading glances, it seemed.

Gaby went over and hugged Napoleon. "I'm sure it will be."

Napoleon looked down at her fondly, his real smile breaking through and making him look younger. Illya loved watching them like that.

Illya waited until they broke apart before holding a different bag out to Gaby. "I got you present."

Both of his friends blinked, trying very hard to come up with a tactful way of telling him presents couldn't be opened until Christmas eve.

Illya kept his straight face until one of them, Napoleon, of course, opened his mouth to say it. Then Illya spoke first, "Supplies for your Advent windows."

There was a single moment where they both realized that they'd been had. Then the laughter started. Gaby took the bag, exclaiming with delight over the construction paper and selection of things she could use to make the windows and images with. Napoleon brought the hug over to Illya.

Illya reveled in it. So different than Gaby's, so equally meant. Warmth, friendship, affection, and a solid, steady presence from both that meant he was not alone.

"We look for tree tomorrow?" Illya asked. Food had to have come first, of course, but if they were to make this a true Christmas/New Year, a tree was a necessity.

"Yes," Napoleon agreed. "I arranged for a ski-doo so we can go up and get it."

Illya blinked. Snowmobiles were rare in Europe, being more of a Canadian thing. There wasn't as much snow in town, either, so they were going up to where there were both trees and snow... another very traditional sort of thing. Suddenly, the reason why Cowboy wanted to stay here was much more clear. There would have been no snow in Hawaii.

"We don't get the tree until Christmas eve," Gaby unexpectedly protested.

This time, it was Napoleon and Illya who exchanged the looks. They over-rode Gaby with their combined reasoning and not a little bit of tickling and physical affection mixed in with it.

That night, they made decorations. First, Cowboy made them dinner, and drinks after – a mulled red wine with spices that Gaby took one sip of, gave a happy exclamation, and called 'Glühwein'. It was very good, and since they weren't on a mission, Illya allowed himself a full cup. He trusted Cowboy, and though Gaby still teased him periodically about not drinking that first night with her, she understood now why he hadn't – on a mission, on duty, and not going to accept a drink somebody else had poured. This, though, was vacation, with his trusted pair.

After dinner, Gaby and Illya used the construction paper left over from her Advent windows, and they made looped chains out of them, taping the ends and drawing silly things along the chain. After a few of those, Gaby separated out some of the strips and started to weave them together, her tongue between her teeth and a look of fierce concentration on her face. "I haven't done these in years," she explained, seeing Illya watching her make the star.

In the kitchen, Napoleon heated up his popcorn using a saucepan with a little oil in the bottom, covering the top with a lid.

When the first few bangs sounded, Illya and Gaby both dove away from the table, rolling to the sides and weapons coming out. As the mini-explosions continued, in conjunction with Napoleon's laughter, they realized just why he had called the kernels 'popcorn'.

"Mean, Cowboy. Very, very mean of you." Illya came into the kitchen curiously, but the lid was still over the pan.

Gaby smacked Napoleon in the arm. "You could have warned us!"

"Where would the fun be in that?" Napoleon raised the pan from the heat, the popping having slowed down, and he raised the lid.

Instead of a bunch of yellow kernels, the pan was now overflowing with fluffy white... something. They looked nothing like what they had started out as. If Napoleon hadn't been within their sight the whole time, Illya would have suspected him of switching something on them. Though there would have been no point in that. He picked up one of the objects curiously.

Gaby reached in to get another, and just then there was another pop and the whole mixture shook in the pan, with several of the white fluff corns shooting out of it, propelled by the mini-explosion on the bottom.

Gaby jumped nearly a foot and when she came back to the ground she was swearing in five languages. Illya was amused to note that for all her studies in speaking, she'd picked up the swearing words quickly and fluidly.

Napoleon was obviously trying not to laugh again, and just as obviously failing. He grabbed some of the popcorn with his other hand and tossed it in his mouth.

Illya eyed him and the one he held, then shrugged and ate it. It was almost as fluffy as it looked, other than some harder bits that were likely the remnants of the kernels. He swallowed and remarked, "Bland."

"It's better with some butter and salt," Napoleon easily replied. "But that's for later." He poured the popped batch into a bowl and joined them at the table. Taking out a needle and thread, he started stitching the popcorn into a string, much like their paper chains.

"Oh! How fun," Gaby exclaimed, then eagerly tried it herself. Illya joined in, and they alternated their strings with paper and variations each introduced from their own childhoods. With a little encouragement from the others, Illya even made some paper nesting dolls, sketching out their features and placing them inside the other.

It was indeed fun, and a delight to share these with each. There was no scorn, no putting down of the others' ways, no hesitation for fear of what they would think, or say. There was just the sharing, and the delight of discovery. With the three of them, there was only acceptance and the desire for more.

...

They went out early the next morning, up to the mountain where the snow was thick enough to need the two snowmobiles Napoleon had arranged for them.

Illya drove one with Gaby clinging on behind him.

Napoleon drove the other with an easy familiarity that made Illya wonder about his background – it was almost certainly not what was on the records, as he'd already admitted to lying about his age to the military, and if not one, then why not the rest? He also had not bought any ornaments or decorations, joining with them on the hand-made and family ones. Illya had always known that the Cowboy's elegant suits and ways were as much part of his costume for the mark as were his thief tools for the locks. But what was inside beyond the suits... that, they were all learning, bit by bit.

Illya knew that just as equally, Napoleon wanted to learn more about Illya, the quiet parts he didn't speak much of. Both of his partners delighted in being able to make Illya laugh, or bring out his soft side. Both he and Napoleon wanted to chase the ever-present wariness from Gaby's soul, and loved it when she relaxed her vigilance and accepted their touches without evaluating them first.

They were all learning, and hopefully it would be a lifetime's worth. Or at least as long as they had.

Up among the trees, Napoleon found the area that he said they were permitted to take from, and they got off the ski-doos and started to explore.

They got side-tracked rather quickly. A brief snowball fight, that turned to snowman building, that turned to more snowball fighting... it ended with the three of them tangled together, keeping warm in rather a different way.

Illya couldn't actually say which had been more pleasant. The three of them together in heat and want... that was always very nice. Or him with Gaby, or him with Napoleon, or him watching the two of them... it was always good. But the playing. The making things together, the mock-fighting, the teasing... it all came together to be so much more.

The bonds that had been between the three of them from the start were growing stronger and tighter. There was no sign of them loosening or dissolving, and that was all to the good. Perhaps not the best thing for a spy... but Waverly had not split them up, in fact kept them together more than they needed to be, and Waverly was the best at what he did. He used them in danger and in turmoil, and placed their lives at risk when the risk to the world was greater. But he also took care of them, and made sure they were not the job alone. It constantly baffled Illya. It constantly beguiled him. But if it allowed him the job and his partners both, he would accept it. Not understand it, perhaps. But accept.

They found a tree. It was a short little tree – somewhere between Gaby's size and Illya's. They didn't want a huge tall tree they could not carry easily back. A grand old master that it would have been a shame to take down. They found a little one that had sprung up under the canopy of the bigger ones, in a precarious spot where it would not grow much more. This tree would not have a life in the wild, but they would take it home and decorate it, and love it while they had it.

And Illya would never forgive Napoleon for making him think of a tree like that. He shook his head, even as he tied the tree tight to the snowmobile. It was a tree, not a person. Silly Cowboy. Gaby had only laughed at him and wandered off. It was Illya who was left to dwell on the Cowboy's patter.

Eventually, Napoleon climbed down from a tall oak, mistletoe having been tossed down before him, and some pinecones as well. Gaby had found a holly bush and was carefully harvesting from it. They would be coming back with all the traditional elements, from the various cultures they had combined. They were, perhaps, leaning a little heavier on the English side, however it had been Napoleon's idea first, and obviously his delight. They were just as happy to let him lead in this.

Back at their home, their temporary home but a home for now, they spread out their harvest, and the rooms smelled like the outdoors.

The tree went up, braced with cross-boards nailed in the base, limbs trimmed to make more room for presents underneath. The limbs would be used in wreaths, not to go to waste.

A few of the popcorn strings went around the tree, along with some of the paper ornaments. Not too many... they were in agreement that the tree should not be overwhelmed by the glitter.

Gaby carefully measured out where the candles would be placed later, evaluating every spot for stability and safety, trimming where needed to make sure they would not fall. In some places, they had special candle holders for extra safety. For just them, for the here and now, they would be old fashioned and just be careful and only light them when they were there and watching.

That night, they slept in the main room. They were each young enough to do without a mattress for a night or two, and it was delightful not to be confined to a regimented space. Three bodies in motion took up a lot of room. The evergreen smell and the mistletoe that Napoleon had started to hang everywhere (of course he did...) lead to a continuation from the snowball fight and the natural progression from there.

They ended up snuggled together like Illya's nesting dolls. Illya on the outside, Napoleon in his arms, Gaby in his.

Illya had never known such happiness or peace before. Or such fun. He kissed Napoleon's hair, tightened his hand around Gaby's, and fell asleep knowing he didn't want to wake up from this dream.

... ... ...

The days went on like that. The Advent windows opened, two a day. They made wreaths and decorations, played together, laughed together, and enjoyed their time. The spare bedroom became one for working in, with each of them periodically claiming it and not letting the others in. Illya drew. He wasn't sure what Gaby or Napoleon were doing, though he was curious.

Napoleon cooked, rotating between each of their traditional foods, with Gaby and Illya periodically helping in the kitchen but mostly letting Napoleon have his domain – and reaped the rewards with the food. He got a new apron for his cooking, a silly thing with Santa Claus on the front, though Napoleon grumbled that it wasn't as silly as an American one would have been. He got a new apron in every town they spent more than a few days in, whenever he would be cooking. It was always amusing to see what he could come up with next.

Periodically, each would split apart for the day, going into town and their separate ways. Presents wrapped in bright paper started appearing under their little tree. Not too many – they were apparently each careful about that, despite the early worries about what Napoleon might do. Enough for each of them, and a few more for all.

The communicator did not ring. Thoughtfully, Illya added Waverly to his list of people to make things for, and hoped he was enjoying a quiet Christmas at his own home. They knew he was married, but not much else. It was unlikely the rest of the world would stop fighting just for one holiday... but he hoped there would be some peace for Waverly. It had been his gift to them, after all.

... ... ...

"We open the presents Christmas day."

"No, the eve."

"No, the day."

"No---"

"Boys, enough." Gaby glared at them. "Honestly."

Napoleon and Illya dropped the argument with guilty glances.

"All right, then, Mother... when do we open them?" Napoleon tossed the decision off to her.

"The eve," Gaby responded.

Illya pumped his fist in victory while Napoleon acted wounded. Gaby laughed. "Come on, Napoleon – don't tell me you wouldn't have begged to open just a few on the eve anyhow..."

"Well, yes, but that's traditional."

"When you open one, you must open all," Illya rumbled. "We do not have enough not to be left out."

Napoleon sighed. "Couldn't we just have said the day, then opened them all on the eve anyhow?"

They all laughed.

After settling that question, Napoleon went back into the kitchen to check on the goose. By mutual agreement, they'd decided to go German for the Christmas eve meal. Well, mostly because it was Gaby. And Napoleon liked both her and the food. He liked Illya as well, but wasn't as enthralled with the food. That was okay, Illya liked Gaby too, and anything Napoleon cooked was delicious.

Illya settled on the couch and pulled Gaby down with him. She came willingly, snuggling in alongside him and tilting her head up expectantly. There was a gleam in her eye, saying that while she might be smaller than him, she was no push-over and any man that messed with her deserved what they got. Even when it was just kisses and snuggling.

The corners of his mouth tugged up as he acknowledged the warning and then gave her the kiss she wanted. His hand roved down her body, along the curve of her waist, then curving along her behind for a gentle squeeze.

Gaby retaliated appropriately, making it hard for Illya to think about anything else.

Eventually, she let him breathe again, shifting down on his chest and tucking in there like she belonged.

Illya watched her for a little bit, then raised his gaze to the kitchen.

Napoleon was basting the goose but had turned slightly so he could observe them while he did. When he saw Illya looking at him, Napoleon gave a wink, then put the goose back in the oven and turned to his dumplings.

There had been no question in those brilliant eyes. Napoleon had watched them, and not doubted his own place in their affections. Or so Illya thought. There had been other indications of it as the days had gone on, Napoleon slowly relaxing with them.

None of them really knew how to deal with having things they wanted. On the surface of it, they wouldn't even look to be compatible, and at times they weren't. But they fit together, each within the other. None of them would be complete without the others. Illya was still trying to deal with this himself.

He had turned down a trip to see his mother and sister, because it would be dangerous for them, and so he could spend time with those that he, ultimately, loved as much, if not more. The danger was in them, and yet, so too the attraction. He loved Gaby, with her untamed spirit and determination. He loved Napoleon, with his fierce intelligence and wit. He was even, with their tutelage, starting to love himself.

...

The goose was delicious. As were the apple and sausage stuffing with it, the red cabbage and potato dumplings, and the dresden stollen. Illya didn't think he'd ever eaten so much in his life. Gaby was almost in tears by the end of the meal from the memories of her childhood and the connection with it and the present happy times. The men carefully ignored this as she gave no indication of wanting to be comforted, and had glared when Illya even hinted at it.

After dinner, they lit the candles on the tree. They settled back to watch, this time with Gaby in Napoleon's arms on the couch, and Illya sitting on the floor, his back against the couch and both of them with a hand each on his shoulder, stroking the skin on his neck and playing with his hair.

All the artificial lights in the home were off, just a few candles in the hall, a couple in the kitchen, and the ones on the tree. It was beautiful, and peaceful. Something they didn't have a lot of in their work, stealing the moments where they could. This was more than a moment, though, and it was all the more precious for that.

When the candles had burned down to the point of either going out or being dangerous with their sputtering flames, Illya reluctantly stretched and got up. Behind him, the other two grumbled but also shifted out of their positions and stood.

They turned on the lights, and blew the candles out. Then, without a word exchanged, they settled on the floor in front of the tree and looked at each expectantly.

"Which first?" Illya asked, glancing between his partners and the presents assembled. It had been long since his childhood and the presents of the New Year. He had mixed memories of many toys and loud laughter with his father and mother in their suites in the Kremlin, the expensive but false ones of his mother's friends, and the ones that he would make on his own and present to her in hopes of a smile. There had been few presents at all after he had been recruited by the KGB.

Napoleon and Gaby glanced at each other, then simultaneously reached for packages and shoved them his way. Napoleon's was big and bulky, oddly shaped. Gaby's was small and carefully wrapped.

Illya laughed. He hesitated a moment, then reached for Napoleon's. He suspected Gaby's was sentimental, and he wanted to start on a lighter moment. Opening the package, he reflected that he could certainly count on his Cowboy for that, and his laughter deepened.

The fluffy teddy bear was big and soft and had a little grey flat cap sewed on his head and a black scarf around his neck. Illya supposed it was as close as Cowboy could get to his normal turtleneck. He peered a little closer – the hat and scarf looked hand-sewn. That explained what Napoleon had been doing in their crafting room.

Napoleon's eyes danced, his grin large even as he searched for Illya's reaction.

Gaby made a gurgling noise of delight and reached for the bear. After a moment, Illya gave it up, and used his hands instead to reach for Napoleon and kiss him, holding him tight. "Thank you, Cowboy," he whispered into the other man's ear.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it," Napoleon said lightly, the slight tension in his voice revealing, at least to Illya, the very real concerns he'd had.

Illya looked to where Gaby was still in raptures over the bear and grinned. "I think it might be present for Chop Shop instead, but yes, yes I do."

Napoleon relaxed, leaning into the embrace. "There's more in the package."

It could wait for another few minutes. Illya took his time letting go of his partner.

When they finally disconnected, Illya reached again for the package, this time noticing the second, smaller package that had been underneath the bear. He pulled it out and unwrapped this as well.

There was the sentiment that the bear had hidden. Speechless, Illya gazed at the small pot of jam and the package of tea. There was no way that Cowboy had gotten those here in town. He must have bought them earlier, and then kept them in his luggage, waiting for a time to give them to Illya.

Illya ran a finger over the Cyrillic script on the tea, a wave of home-sickness running through him, despite having all he wanted right here instead of there. He forced his attention to the jam and smiled softly, recognizing it as a strawberry blend he'd taken a liking to a few missions back. He hadn't realized anybody had noticed. Well, Napoleon noticed everything – it was part of who he was. Taking action on what he saw, though, was another thing.

"Thank you, Cowboy," Illya repeated again, meaning the words and enlacing his sincerity within them.

Time to move on. Illya reached for one of his own tubes and passed it over to Gaby.

Gaby eyed it curiously, then opened it and drew out the rolled paper, smoothing it out to see the drawing.

Just as Illya had, she started laughing, and Napoleon joined in.

"Oh, Illya," she hiccupped. "You weren't even there."

The drawing with colored pencils was of a race car on a track, with Gaby splendid in her green and white trim dress leaning into the engine, one slim leg bent up in the air. There were hints of admirers behind her, a couple of them that might just slightly resemble himself and Napoleon. He'd been generous drawing her curves, and her leg, and her... he might have concentrated some on what he liked. The physical parts, that is.

"Waverly told me about it, later," Illya admitted, cringing a little at the reminder of how badly he'd let a lot of that mission get away from him. He'd been off-center through the whole thing, unsure about his mis-cast role, his so-called partner, and the woman he'd been assigned to. They had come together in the end, but it was almost luck more than skill.

"I love it," Gaby proclaimed certainly. "Though I think you and Cowboy will be getting more out of it than I will." She laughed, even as she glanced at Napoleon who was indeed looking at it in admiration for more than just the skill of the artist.

Illya looked pointedly at his bear that was still tucked under one of Gaby's arms.

Gaby grinned, and casually reached for a different present and handed it to Napoleon.

With a casualness that matched Gaby's but was a little more eager, Napoleon started to unwrap it, paused, then tore the paper off like a little child. Illya and Gaby laughed at him, joining with the silliness.

Once the paper was gone, what had seemed to be a box holding a present turned out to be the outer layers of a diorama. Two multistory housing buildings flanking each other, with a street between. A street that was narrower on one end than the other... and a car stuck between.

Illya blinked in recognition, while Napoleon gave a bark of laughter that was tinged with admiration. "You made this?"

Gaby shrugged. "It's a model. I can put those together in my sleep. It might not be an engine, but..." she reached over and pulled the car back to the wider part of the street and then let it go. It proved to be on tracks, gliding along the street until it arrived stuck on the other end.

"Which isn't to say I did a bad job on it," she hastily added, as if she thought their silence had another meaning.

"That's not..." Napoleon reached over and pulled the car back himself. "It's obvious, how good it is. And how memorable."

"I had a little speech to go with it," Gaby said a little wistfully, "A grand one, full of all sorts of memories and thoughts and admonishments..."

Napoleon pulled back from playing with the model and looked from Gaby to Illya. Illya shrugged – he didn't know either.

"But I don't think I need it anymore. That we need it." Gaby tilted her head back and to one side to stare at Napoleon. "You accept us now."

With lightning speed, Napoleon went from puzzled to comprehension to apprehensive.

"Oh relax," Gaby said with a sigh. "I already said I wasn't." She smiled a little wanly and reached out and played with the rooftop, opening and closing a small lid on the top. "You've had a tendency to think of us as me and Illya, with you on the side. That's not it. That's never been it." With a small shake of her head, she abandoned the model and reached out to Napoleon, drawing her fingers along his cheek and patting him lightly. "But you don't think that anymore. Not since we've been here."

Illya realized that was true. They had been going from mission to mission, with down time between... but there was always something else. Here, it had been them, and just them. As Napoleon had wanted it, but Illya didn't think even he had anticipated how it would have changed them. They had already been close, but there had been the gaps... and now those edges had been smoothed over. Napoleon had been as Gaby had said, and now he wasn't.

Reaching out as well, Illya laid his hand over Napoleon's. Gaby's hand slipped from his cheek to his shoulder.

"I shouldn't," Napoleon said with fond resignation, "be so easily read."

He let their touches endure for a moment more, then got up. "Who wants some more punch?"

Gaby and Illya looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"You're not, Cowboy. Trust us, you truly are not." Illya replied to Napoleon's previous statement instead of his question.

Ignoring them, Napoleon continued rummaging in the kitchen.

Gaby and Illya let it be. It was Napoleon, and he was who he was, just as they were. It was sometimes hard to realize one had entanglements, when one had been so independent before. They all went through it, in this new life of theirs.

Napoleon came back in, carefully holding a large golden pot in one hand with an oven mitt, and a bag of things in his other.

Gaby perked up. "Feuerzangenbowle? How wonderful!"

As if they hadn't had enough alcohol for the night with dinner. But then, it had been a very large dinner as well, so they were unlikely to get very drunk from it. Illya thought he better start getting them all drinking some more water, though, so they wouldn't end up with headaches in the morning. Those were no fun at all. Illya didn't object to drinking, though he was more cautious on a mission. He didn't, however, enjoy it as much as his partners sometimes did.

Napoleon placed the pot on the side table, and then got out what looked like tongs and set them over the top. A sugar loaf came out next, and Illya regarded it curiously, watching as Napoleon set it atop the tongs, balancing over the bowl.

The rum was next, along with a small scoop and a spark-lighter. Napoleon glanced around. "Gaby, would you like to...?"

"Of course!" Gaby jumped up and joined him. "I'd be delighted. We used to have so much fun..."

Handing the scoop to Gaby, Napoleon poured some rum into it, then Gaby slowly poured the rum over the sugar loaf, soaking it, but not to the point where there was any excess running out. When both she and Napoleon were satisfied, they got another scoop of rum, then Napoleon set it on fire.

Illya blinked.

Gaby poured the flaming rum out onto the sugar loaf, which burst into dramatic flames itself. Napoleon and Gaby cheered as the burning sugar loaf began to melt and drip down into the punch bowl.

Almost, Illya wished he had his camera with him. This would make a wonderful picture. Perhaps for a drawing later, now that he had started it up again. He hadn't done any drawings other than mission-specific for awhile now. He hadn't realized how he'd missed doing them.

Gaby and Napoleon continued to carefully add more rum to the flaming mixture until the sugar loaf was completely melted inside the spiced wine. It was much like what they had at dinner, but with the extra drama and heat – and rum.

To his surprise, Illya liked it. The extra caramelized sugar and rum had added a kick to it that he enjoyed more than just the mulled wine – which had been good enough, but this was just that much more.

They drank, and laughed, and talked freely... and eventually got back to the presents. Presents, Illya was learning, were not just delight of acquisition – they were also emotions and feelings, and revealing a bit of themselves, and hoping the other would like it too. The giving, the receiving, the interactions with them. There was definitely more to this than he remembered from childhood. But children were always more focused on themselves. As adults, there was this more, and it was somewhat terrifying.

He wasn't the only one who thought so. Particularly after Gaby's talk. Napoleon picked up a box that was smaller than Illya's bear, but larger than the one Gaby had tried to give Illya earlier, and hesitantly held it out in her direction.

Illya's heart went out to his partner. Normally so suave and secure, confident in all he did and flamboyant in his actions and deeds, these presents meant more to him. Or, if not the presents themselves, then his partners' acceptance of them. For all they had come together during this time, now that Napoleon accepted he was part of them, it was also more to lose.

Gaby carefully unwrapped the box, not tearing the paper and setting it to one side. When she opened the box, she gasped. "Napoleon!" She carefully set it to one side, then moved over to hug him tightly.

Curious, Illya picked it up. He thought at first it was a bottle of perfume, then he looked a little closer at the German writing around the '4711' on the blue and gold label. He blinked. "You got Chop Shop cologne?"

"She likes it," Napoleon said through Gaby's hair. "I saw how she reacted to men wearing some."

And then, apparently, had gone and tracked down what the scent was. Illya admired Napoleon's research on details, though was a little astounded at the lengths he went to.

With a little laugh, Gaby disentangled herself from Napoleon and took her present from Illya's hands. "My father was a u-boat operator."

Both of the men blinked. She saw their expressions and sighed. "My vati – my dad. Not Utto Teller. He had abandoned us and left, even before the end of the war. My step-father rescued my mother, then found her and I after he was released by the Allies. He got the job in the auto shop later."

Napoleon tilted his head to one side as he absorbed that, while Illya reflected that neither of their countries had put a comprehensive file together on Gaby, concentrating more on her natural father. An oversight. He bet that Waverly had.

"But why cologne?" Illya persisted after a moment.

Gaby giggled. "The navy used to issue it to the u-boat operators, but the men didn't use it – they shipped it home instead. When my mom married my step-father, he had bottles and bottles stocked up. I remember it well." She twisted the cap off the bottle and sniffed it, a dreamy look coming over her face.

Then she put a little on her fingers and dabbed it on first Illya, then Napoleon, and leaned in to sniff them, her nose tickling their necks and making them shiver in anticipation. "Just right..."

Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, resigned and amused. Napoleon had probably figured this would happen from the start.

It was another item that Napoleon couldn’t possibly have gotten in town. Or probably hadn't. Who knew how many other things he had squirreled away in his luggage or flat for them?

A little more seriously, Illya nudged his other drawing tube Napoleon's way.

Napoleon uncapped it and drew out the paper. When he unrolled it, he was quiet, his face still and hidden.

Gaby edged over so she could see it. She too, went quiet as she studied the drawing.

Illya didn't have to look again. He'd thought about something lesser, more light-hearted, like his drawing for Gaby. But in the end, he'd gone with his first impulse. He wasn't sure now if it was right, but it was what it was.

He'd based it on Michelangelo's ceiling painting in the Sistine Chapel. The famous one. But he'd put himself in Adam's place, under-water, drowned... still reaching out, but hand limp, unable to complete the grasp. Above him in the air, Napoleon, looking through the water directly at Illya, strong arm reaching out, hand open to grasp Illya's and bring him back.

The silence went on long enough for Illya to start to worry.

"Illya," Napoleon's voice was rough, raw emotions torn out of a throat not used to it. He said no more after Illya's name, but his eyes said more.

Illya thought about explaining, saying how Napoleon hadn't had to go back for him, reiterating his gratitude. How he still felt to this day. However, he ended up not saying anything himself, unable to express it in the face of Napoleon's emotion.

Carefully, Napoleon handed the drawing to Gaby, who took it with trembling fingers, holding it reverently.

Then Napoleon leaned over, reaching a hand behind Illya's head and drawing him firmly in.

Instead of the kiss that Illya had expected, Napoleon rested his forehead against Illya's, their mouths still an inch apart. Breaths mingling, but not of passion, rather of affirmation. Napoleon kept them there like that for some time, holding the connection without pushing to more.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Napoleon withdrew. He gave Illya a tremulous grin, trying to reach back for his light-heartedness. "Thank you, Peril."

Illya found himself more disconcerted by Napoleon's reaction than anything he'd expected. Napoleon had a habit of doing that to him. Not predictable at all. Neither he nor Gaby ever did anything quite like Illya expected. It was probably why Illya loved them both. "You're welcome," Illya replied, not adding anything else to it.

Waiting until she was sure they were done, and it was starting to get a little awkward, Gaby cleared her throat. "After that, my last present seems a little anti-climatic." She nudged the little box that Illya hadn't opened yet closer to him.

Illya smiled gratefully to her and opened the box. Inside was a slim woven metal band... Illya tested it, noting both its stretchiness and its strength. But he couldn't quite figure out...

"It goes under your watch band," Gaby explained. "The leather will go over the top and not look any different, but it can attach and keep it secure."

The last mission had nearly seen the end of the watch, again, as a knife slice had cut through the band and the watch dropped into the water. Gaby had retrieved it for him, while he was pursuing the counter-agent.

Automatically, Illya reached his hand to his wrist. The watch had once been his main lifeline, a reminder and a cue, something that was his and a tie to someone he'd never forgotten, a lesson learned, a heart divided. Somehow, it didn't seem quite as necessary anymore. Yet it now had other memories, other associations with it. With fingers that didn't tremble at all, Illya took off his watch and handed it without hesitation to Gaby.

Then he also handed her the new band.

With sure and steady fingers manipulating the fine details, Gaby arranged the hooks she'd placed in it, humming as she worked. Then she gestured for Illya to hold his hand out again. When he did so, she slipped the metal band over his wrist, checking the fit and nodding in satisfaction. Then she did the leather clasp over it.

Gaby held his hand in both of hers for a long moment, then let him go, leaving the watch behind.

It looked no different from the outside, but Illya could feel the press of the metal against his skin and knew that, just like himself, there was indeed a change.

"Is perfect," he said roughly, only realizing after he spoke that he'd lost the article again. English had too many of them. He placed his hand over the watch, and felt it there, old and new combined.

They looked under the tree... and found no more presents. They'd actually gone through them all.

"Well," Napoleon started and then didn't finish.

None of them moved for a while, just thinking about it all. Then they started to sort through their presents again, exchanging and examining them and noting more details than they'd seen before.

Illya retrieved his bear, reclaiming it from Gaby, who almost didn't give it up. But she was distracted with her drawing, giggling over some of the details in the background Illya had snuck in. Napoleon was playing with the model, pulling back and releasing the car over and over again, while he explored the other parts on it.

"I'm surprised, Napoleon," Gaby eventually said.

The men both looked at her. Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd buy more presents, and they would be... different."

Illya laughed, hiccupping a little as the laugh got too loud. "I too," he admitted. "But I like these." He smiled at the bear.

"Wow," Gaby abandoned her previous line of thought to scramble in front of Illya and stare intently at him. She raised a finger and touched the edge of his lip lightly. "Napoleon, do you see this?"

As Napoleon moved to join her, Illya stayed where he was but it took and effort. He could feel the heat starting to raise in his face.

Napoleon tucked himself behind Gaby and leaned his chin on her shoulder, looking with amusement and not a little sympathy at Illya. "He's handsome. Particularly with that little blush he's sporting now. With the prettiest blue eyes..."

Illya swallowed, feeling the blush get hotter.

"No," Gaby said, lifting her finger. "That's normal. What I saw... Make him laugh again," she ordered Napoleon.

Napoleon raised his eyebrow and grinned at Illya. "No fireworks tonight, Peril. We'll let you blow things up another time."

It was weaker than normal, and Illya was embarrassed, but he laughed anyhow, more at the predicament he was in than the joke.

"There," Gaby said, fascinated. Her finger traced just outside his mouth again. "A laugh line. And his eyes crinkled."

"They've always done that." Napoleon raised his own finger to the other side of Illya's mouth. "But you're right, this is new. Peril, are you learning to laugh?"

Illya had always known how to laugh. But... maybe he hadn't done much of it. Not since... Well, for a long time. Part of what he liked about Gaby was how he could relax and tease her, though she hadn't accepted it from him until the day after she'd wrestled him. With Napoleon... ah, his Cowboy with a dry sense of humor to match his own. Now, Napoleon could make him laugh on command, but even for him it had taken awhile for Illya to give voice to his enjoyment.

These days with them... Illya tried a smile. His lips turned up easily, without the tug of tight skin there was normally.

Hands on both sides of his face followed with him. Gaby leaned in and took his lips in hers, rewarding him for what was no more than his time with them. Napoleon's hand moved from his cheek to the back of his head, threading through his hair as he waited his turn.

The night progressed naturally from there.

...

In the morning, when Illya woke, the others were still sleeping. At some point, they'd made it back to the bed, and were tucked around each other accordingly. Usually either Illya or Napoleon were on the side closest to the door and today it was thankfully Illya. He squirmed his way out from the arms and legs without waking them more than a raised eyelid or two before they settled back again.

He padded into the main room and chuckled at the mess they'd left there. Clothes were spread everywhere, though more care had been taken in making sure the gifts were safe.

Illya was awake and hungry, but he knew from experience that the others probably get up for awhile longer. Well, he wasn't going to wait for them. He also, though, wasn't going to be rude and turn on the bedroom light to get dressed.

With a grin, Illya caught sight of Napoleon's apron draped over a kitchen chair and got an idea.

He had fried the first set of blinis and was working on the fillings when Gaby stumbled out of the room, yawning. She paused mid-yawn as she saw him and stood there with her mouth open.

Illya went back to the crepes, filling one and then tucking it and lightly frying it a second time to set the filling, before putting it into a plate and going for the next.

"Napoleon!" Gaby yelled. "Get out here."

Illya turned, but Gaby was still staring at him.

Napoleon was out in seconds, gun in hand, fully awake though he'd probably been completely asleep just before. He looked around, taking in everything at a glance but ignoring anything that wasn't a danger. "What?"

"Just..." Gaby took her eyes off Illya and saw the gun. "Ah, sorry. But you had to see this."

Napoleon refocused from potential attack to everything else in the room, and it finally registered on him what Illya was wearing. And wasn't wearing. His jaw didn't drop, but his eyes got a definite sparkle in them. "Oh yes..."

There was a hint of butter burn smell. Illya hurriedly turned back to the stove, making another blinchiki.

A low whistle from behind told him they appreciated this view as well.

"Why are you wearing my Santa apron and nothing else, Peril?"

"Who cares why, Napoleon? The view!" Gaby's voice rebuked him.

Illya smiled at his blinchiki. "Last night was Christmas Eve. We opened the presents."

"Yes..." Napoleon prompted after Illya paused long enough.

Flipping a few more blinchiki onto the plates, Illya turned off the stove, though not quite everything was cooked. It could wait.

"Cowboy wanted to open presents on Christmas day." Illya moved to a safer spot away from the stove and faced them, leaning back on the counter. "So."

Gaby choked back a laugh, "That's quite the present to unwrap!"

"I accept the challenge," Napoleon grinned, and started forward, then gave a glance to the gun in his hand and went to the bedroom to put it away.

Gaby took the opportunity to start first, hands tracing the edges of the apron and along the strings holding it closed, without actually removing them.

A two-toned whistle sounded through the house, coming from three separate locations.

Gaby and Illya broke apart and without a word headed to their communicators. Napoleon came out of the bedroom again, still with the gun and this time also with his communicator, flipping the edges of the case and twisting the dial to get reception.

"Solo here."

"Ah, Mr. Solo. Are Mr. Kuryakin and Miss Teller with you?" Waverly's voice sounded more stained than was his normal want.

They gathered around. "We are here," Illya spoke for all of them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation---"

Napoleon interrupted him, "Where do you need us, Sir?"

Their eyes went around and met each others'. Their vacation was over, the world and Waverly needed them again, and they were ready.

Upon getting the details from Waverly, they quickly packed, putting a chunk of their items into one large case they would ship to their flats in Luxembourg. For this mission, they would need to travel fast and light, keeping with them only the necessities. All the presents but Illya's watch band were in that case. Even the cologne was too much of a luxury for the moment, and could be enjoyed later.

As they left, Illya looked one last time at the tree and the wreaths and all their decorations they didn't have time to take down.

"You were right, Cowboy," he said quietly.

"I always am," Napoleon said lightly. He let that stand a beat. "Which was it this time?"

Illya curved his mouth up and turned from the house to his companions. "Vacations are fun," he replied simply. "And this was good." He redefined his original conception of 'vacation' in favor of Napoleon's version.

Gaby tucked herself in next to his side, her hands as full as his. "It was," she agreed.

"I will admit to having a good idea now and again," Napoleon admitted. Then he waited for them. "And it was," he added softly, revealing his own journey in those words.

They had the moment. They hadn't had three weeks, but it had been almost two, and it had been enough. They were different, perhaps softer, perhaps stronger. They were like his watch... outwardly the same, but there was a strong, woven metal band underneath that linked them and would bind them when the outer trappings failed.

Time would tell what ultimately came of this, but Illya felt it was a good thing.

Time to go back to work and save the world again. There would be more vacations later.