I.

Gaby was in the kitchen searching for her a flute for the complimentary champagne Napoleon got — stole — at the hotel he was with a friend at. The so-called complimentary champagne was obviously cheap and newly produced so it didn't have that rich taste from years. Nonetheless, they ran out of vodka because of her, so it would make do for now.

Illya had remarked that the champagne was most likely American manufactured.

(It was actually Belgian manufactured but details, details.)

On the tips of her toes, she opened the top cabinet and spied the two flutes at the top shelf. Illya had done dishes yesterday — okay, she and Illya finished it, and she hadn't stopped him because it was rare of him to share a drink with her — so that pretty much explained everything.

Knowing her beloved was engrossed in his game of chess, and in a very irritable mood because of his broken arm from a previous mission, Gaby knew she had to climb the counters.

She wasn't even short — just an inch or two below average height, but when your partners were more than six feet tall, well, one can't help but feel smaller than usual especially in European countries.

Mindful of the fact that Illya had just wiped the counters clean, she placed her right foot on the edge of the counter, as well as gripping it with her hands. She bent her left knee and was ready to heave herself upwards when she saw a large shadow on the wall.

Gaby whipped her head to the side and gave him a smile. "Hello, darling," she greeted casually.

"What are you doing, Gaby?" Illya asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I am going to climb these counters and grab the flutes at the top shelf of cabinet."

"You might fall; I just cleaned them." But his face was filled with amusement.

"Illya. Please. I am a spy. I can handle slippery counters."

He ignored her and walked over to her. She remained in position and felt his stomach bump onto her rear. Looking upwards, a perfectly fine arm stretched over her and easily grabbed the two flutes.

Gaby placed her foot down and turned around, head craned upwards.

He smirked slightly and gave her both of the flutes.

"Let us indulge in generic champagne, shall we?"

II.

After a two missions, one immediately after the other, the only three agents of U.N.C.L.E. were exhausted to the core. Napoleon was still nursing a sore shoulder after having it dislocated two times (one out of necessity unfortunately). Illya had bruises all over his abdomen and had just recovered from a hernia (which he remained to be embarrassed about). Gaby had received a long deep gash on her thigh and had to get the wound immediately inspected and stitched up since she came into contact with rusted metal (which was ironic considering her talent with cars).

Their last mission was at Pohnpei, which would have been considered their most random location if it weren't for the fact that five ships in a row have been spotted along the coast of the island. Sources had informed them that they were using the island as a meeting point to discreetly smuggle in drugs. Thankfully, the three of them had reached the ship before it left dock and apprehended the men steering it.

Unfortunately, it was not the ship of dreams but the ship of nightmares because Napoleon's shoulder had suffered, Illya's muscles received quite the beating, and Gaby had the misfortune of getting into a harsh impact with the ship's rusty railings.

It was their last night before departing back to headquarters (which, for now, remained to be an empty warehouse), and the people of Pohnpei thanked the three of them graciously by throwing a celebratory event displaying their culture's traditions.

Napoleon had disappeared somewhere, most likely to get really acquainted with the culture by getting acquainted with the ladies.

The ladies were about to perform a dance. While they all got into position, many of the people gathered where Gaby and Illya were at, almost crowding them. Gaby knew Illya didn't cope well with crowds, so she grabbed his hand.

When she looked up at him, his face remained its usual grimace but nothing worrisome. In fact, he looked amusing with the leis and weavings the people had made for them draped around his neck and the crown of his head. Gaby herself wore a lei and was able to wear the garments the Pohnpeians wore.

The dance began, but Gaby could not see anything besides through the spaces of people's necks. Illya was a giant amongst the sea of people, the little boys and girls often staring up at him in wonder, but Gaby was pretty much around their height; however, even on the tips of her toes, she wasn't able to enjoy the view.

The obvious answer came to mind. Before she could tug on Illya's shirt, the man himself bent down in front of her and held out his hands to grab onto her.

Gaby smiled and climbed on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She squealed quietly when his grabbed the back of her thighs and swiftly got up to full height.

It was amazing to see the sights at this height and to enjoy the culture's tradition properly.

She rested her cheek against his stubbly one.

III.

The drought was insufferable. Gaby was tanner than ever. Napoleon suffered from sunburns on rather strange areas on his body. Illya, in all his pale glory, had tan lines when the three of them had headed to the pool yesterday.

The U.N.C.L.E. agents were to wait for a fellow CIA spy going undercover as a member of a gang harassing people at night. Apparently the gang was doing an initiative to get in with the big leagues. Since the gang was active at night, they had to meet with her during daylight. To keep up with her cover, she had a waitressing job at a high-end café. Unfortunately, the café was packed beyond belief with people taking advantage of the cool air.

Even with her sunglasses and hat, the sun was winning. She placed her hands on her hips because if she crossed them she'd feel the sweat forming on her bare arms.

"Why couldn't you flirt with the waiter handling reservations?" Illya asked Solo, donning sunglasses as well.

Napoleon held a newspaper up over his head, cheeks flushed. "He's a committed man, I'm afraid," he explained. "We'd clash."

There was an area just outside the café that had tables with umbrellas. Naturally they were all occupied. One table was filled with teenagers, and Gaby was itching to march over there and just drop onto one of the boys' laps to give them a scare and run off.

"Дорогая моя," Illya murmured, bending his head down so she could hear him, "are you all right?"

Never one to miss an opportunity to joke around, Napoleon smirked and commented, "Ah, yes. You're looking positively orange today, Miss Teller."

Gaby smiled sardonically. "Fick dich," she retorted.

Illya bit back a chuckle.

Napoleon's smirk merely grew, infuriating her further.

Her gigantic lover began stroking her arm up and down to comfort her, but his overall body heat worsened the situation. She stepped back from his hand.

"Illya, no," she whined. "It's too hot."

She would've burst out laughing at the slight pout on his lips and maybe kissed it if it weren't for the goddamn sun. He took a few steps away. Unfortunately he was now blocking the exit and moved until he was right in front of her but with the much-needed distance.

Because of that, Illya was blocking the sun and a marvelous shade saved her from the tortures of the sweltering sun. The wonderful feeling was cut off too soon when she realized Illya's back was burning from taking all the sun away from her.

She grabbed his large hands. Before she could express her concern, he squeezed her hands once.

"Just for a few minutes, Дорогая моя." He smiled softly at her.

The love she had for him grew tenfold, and she knew she would spend the night thanking him for as long as it takes.

"Well, in that case." Napoleon walked until he was next to Gaby. "You wouldn't mind, would you, Peril? You're doing us a great service with your gargantuan form."

"пошел на хуй."

"That should be your wedding vows."

IV.

Gaby certainly didn't mind being the honeypot for a lot of the missions. She understood that she was an attractive woman that had an ambience of delicateness and elegance to strangers. She was also petite which made those she seduced want to protect her. Moreover, Napoleon wasn't the only one who could use words dripping with honey and eyes smoldering with lust effectively.

However, it got quite exhausting. She would like to be the one infiltrating the enemy's base or taking the role as the getaway driver. She knew playing the honeypot was the most dangerous task a spy could ever take on, but it wasn't the only skill she possessed. Besides, her two partners were more than capable of acting as one — one more willing than the other.

What the job mainly consisted of were stroking the men's egos, placing her hand dangerously near their crotches, and whispering empty promises in their ears. The part she hated the most about the job was pretending she enjoyed it especially when they would get carried away and ask for more.

Last night, the three of them had just finished a month-long mission. It had taken quite a while because they had to travel different countries all the time just to track a package. The enemy's plan had been to make the shipping of the package untraceable.

They all knew it was a matter of time before the enemy doesn't receive the package at the determined date, so they took advantage of that short amount of time to relax.

In order to shake off the never-ending jetlag, Napoleon had been eyeing a woman taking photographs of the hotel's interior. Gaby and Illya had decided to take a walk around because they both knew they wouldn't be able to sleep it off what with Gaby's insomnia and Illya's adrenaline.

Gaby sat at the bench of a park and waited for Illya, who was ordering ice cream for them at the truck a few feet away.

"A beautiful day, isn't it?" a man's voice said next to her.

Without removing her sunglasses, she looked up and saw a man dressed in a well-tailored suit.

Just what I needed, she thought. "I suppose," she replied simply before turning away. She stifled a snort when a couple of kids in front of Illya stared at up at him with awed expressions. Just by his tense shoulders, she could tell he was uncomfortable but not in a dangerous manner.

Much to her dismay, the man took a seat, knee brushing against her exposed one. She moved it immediately.

"A lady shouldn't be alone on this beautiful day." He smiled charmingly at her.

"I'm not." She hoped taciturn replies would obviously imply that she wasn't interested.

"I don't see anybody keeping you company."

She didn't reply, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe body language would work.

It didn't.

The man continued coaxing her to open up but then ended up talking about relationship etiquettes or something along those lines. She wasn't listening to him.

Once she saw Illya ordering, Gaby stood up quickly and began walking to her lover.

She cursed under her breath when the man followed her, matching his steps with hers effortlessly.

"Why the rush, darling?" he asked, still smiling.

She knew she had to be upfront in order for him to go away. But she didn't want to and shouldn't have to. This man shouldn't be so dense. Honestly, just by her not removing her sunglasses to properly interact with him was a big sign already.

Once she was behind Illya, the man opened his mouth again, but she interrupted him.

"You better have gotten one for me. I'm not sharing one cone with you," Gaby spoke, placing her glasses above her head.

Illya turned around, holding two ice cream cones. It was amazing how the cones didn't break from the grasp of two large hands that could tear a car apart. He stepped closer, and she had to crane her neck upwards, smiling softly.

The man that had been pestering her froze at the sight of the towering Russian.

Gaby grabbed one cone and turned around. She raised an eyebrow at the frozen man while licking her frozen treat.

"You are in our way, tiny man," Illya growled.

And from that, he scampered away.

His fright was understandable. Illya was an incredibly tall man and gave off an intimidating aura. His eyes could turn threatening and icy in a split second.

But he should've fled just by her body language and overall attitude towards him.

She felt a large hand encompass the one not holding the cone. She interlocked his fingers with hers.

V.

She wasn't cold. In fact, the room's temperature was perfectly fine. She wasn't uncomfortable. The sheets, pillows, and mattress felt like clouds. She wasn't buzzing with energy. The briefing with Waverly had bored her to death a few hours ago.

Something was just missing.

On the couch, Illya was playing chess by himself, a ritual he must do before bed. It was to keep his mind sharp and to relax it He didn't like being bothered during that important ritual of his even though Gaby usually never listened, but she knew it was an important time for him to de-stress.

It was nearing the end of that ritual since he played for exactly thirty minutes. Gaby stretched out on the king-sized bed, trying to focus on the silky pajamas she wore and the cottony feel of the comforter. She could drink some vodka, but she was far too lazy to walk over to the mini bar.

"Illya," she called.

He didn't respond, but she knew he heard her.

"Illya."

"Gabriella. One more minute."

"Illya, come to bed."

She closed her eyes happily when she saw him stand up from the couch and began putting away his chessboard. He had taken a bath with her and had freshened up before he played so all he had to do was lay in bed.

His face went to the side of her neck, and he inhaled her scent deeply, murmuring something in Russian.

Gaby reached behind her and grabbed his arm, wrapping it around her stomach. She felt his long legs tangle with her. A soft kiss was planted on the nape of her neck.

This was it. She felt completely surrounded by him as if he was her personal teddy bear (which he was no matter how many times he grimaced when she told him that). Her eyes began drooping close, his large, warm form lulling her to rest.

I.

Illya's heard scathing remarks about his family, ethnicity, and overall appearance for years. He was used to it. Sure, from time to time, his finger would tap against his thigh or a surface; his hand would shake; and then something would get destroyed whether it was furniture or a person's body.

With the help of Gaby and Napoleon, he was getting better at controlling his anger. Really, though, they were only triggered when somebody poked and prodded at the darkness inside of him. Gaby's soft voice and gentle hands helped sometimes. Napoleon would normally take control of the situation and make it backfire on the enemy.

Unfortunately, none of his partners were present this time.

The hotel room was completely and utterly destroyed. It was as if a bunch of burglars ransacked the place except violently. What looked like took hours was merely five minutes of pure unadulterated rage.

Illya's chest was heaving, and his hands kept shaking. There was nothing left to break, and that usually never happened. Most of the time, once he was done, his hand would stop shaking. He didn't know what to do if they continued. What was there left to do?

He was about to punch the walls when he heard a voice.

"Illya?!"

The shaking lessened. The heaving stopped.

"Illya, answer me!" She was attempting to open the door, but it was futile; the dresser and couch he threw to that area blocked the entrance.

He couldn't respond to her voice even though he wanted to. All he could hear were those disgusting, lecherous remarks they said about her and her body. The bug he planted on Solo must've fell because he knew Gaby's ring was secured on her finger.

He was supposed to help his partners bring up the packages, but those words swirled around menacingly. Then he saw red. All he saw was red.

His knees hit the floor, and his hands hung loosely on his sides. Eyes remained on the doorway, though unfocused. He willed Gaby to come inside even though the doorway was blocked.

"Gaby," he whispered. "Gaby."

He detected Napoleon's voice, and then two harsh kicks smashed into the door. A small hole was formed, but Napoleon could not fit.

Relief fluttered inside of him once he saw the familiar brown hair peek in and enter slowly and carefully through the makeshift entrance. Once she was upright, Gaby maneuvered around the broken furniture and had to climb over cracked and overturned tables.

Though exhausted beyond belief, he managed to skim his eyes over her body to check for injuries and was satisfied once he saw none.

Small, calloused hands grasped his face tenderly. His eyes then focused on her frightened and concerned brown ones.

"Извините меня, пожалуйста," he spoke so brokenly.

Gaby's eyes watered, and he wasn't sure if it was from how vulnerable and exposed he sounded. Once he realized tears were streaming down his cheeks, she knew she was crying for him.

She held his face to her stomach, bent over, and wrapped her arms soothingly around him. She stroked his hair and the nape of his neck so gently, so softly.

The feeling of her tiny body protecting him and alleviating his worries and rage made him press his tear-streaked face against her stomach even more. He wrapped his too-long arms around her and released all the negativities plaguing his thoughts and heart.

"Never apologize, Illya," Gaby said firmly. "Я буду всегда любить тебя."

The shaking stopped.

Translations:

Дорогая моя — "My dear."

Fick dich&пошел на хуй— "Fuck off."

Извините меня, пожалуйста — "I'm sorry."

Я буду всегда любить тебя — "I will always love you."

— I tried to get accurate phrases from articles and websites created by native speakers.

Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.