Nameless

"Fräulein Schmidt?" A thickly accented voice asks as Gaby opens the door of her flat and she flinches back at the unexpected intrusion. She had only opened the door that evening to take some bags down to the communal bins and had not even heard a knock to announce the stranger's presence. Her uninvited guest seizes her momentary surprise to push past her and walk into the flat, revealing himself to be a blonde-haired man with an intimidatingly large frame. The sudden invasion of her home causes her to feel a momentary stab of panic before her stubborn streak rears its head and banishes such thoughts to the back of her mind.

"What are you doing in my home?" She demands. "I didn't invite you in, get the hell out!" Gaby continues to hold the door open and makes a harsh gesture towards it which he ignores as his gaze sweeps over her head to examine the modest furnishings of the flat.

"Your assistance is needed on a matter of international security." He states flatly, returning his attention to her. "You will come with me."

"What?" Gaby asks, mouth gaping in surprise. "What are you talking about?" The blonde man does not immediately answer as he looks down at her. He is so much taller than her and it almost looks painful for him to crook his neck at such an angle in order to hold her gaze. His eyes are very blue, she can't help but notice through the angry fog that clouds her mind, icy blue- like a lake frozen over during the winter.

"Your father was taken away from his home in America by Nazi sympathisers." She goes silent as she allows the news about her father to sink in, he has been in America this entire time. It makes sense, but she can't help but wonder why he could not have taken her within him instead of leaving her on this side of the iron curtain. The anger from this revelation serves to add fuel to the indignation she feels about this total stranger storming into her home and issuing orders.

"I don't see what any of that has to do with me." She says haughtily, raising her head to glare at the intruder. Her animosity does not seem to faze him too much, although he does incline his head slightly to the side as she speaks, a strange curiosity appearing on his face.

"We believe they have taken him in order to develop a nuclear bomb which they can then sell to the Nazis." Gaby felt a cold shiver as he delivers this news even though his tone is manufactured disinterest. "It is of interest to us to recover your father and the bomb, should it already have been developed, and we believe you would be a valuable asset to this mission." The more he speaks the more she notices the accent that taints his perfect German, he sounds like he is from somewhere further East, likely Russia. He is probably KGB, she realises with a start. The Soviets would have the resources to get this intelligence and would have a vested interest in her father due to his past career, they must want to use her in order to get to him. She shouldn't be surprised, MI6 had the same intentions.

"My father abandoned me as a child. I don't see how I can be of any help, and to be perfectly honest I don't really care what happens to him." She tells the man defiantly, ignoring the little niggle at her heart that informs her she might regret making such a hasty decision. Her statement only seems to increase his confusion, and a frown creases his brow.

"You don't care for your father?" He sounds slightly incredulous, as though the thought of resenting an absentee parent is utterly bizarre to him.

"Would you if yours also abandoned you?" She shoots back, annoyed that a total stranger would dare to judge her.

"My life is unimportant." He says simply. "We need to leave, I have arranged a safe house for a few days before we leave to commence the mission. Pack anything you might need, we will likely not return for some time." He looks at her expectantly, but she doesn't move.

"No." Gaby says firmly. "I don't see why I should."

"A nuclear bomb in the hands of such people would kill thousands of people, potentially more if your father passes on his technique for enriching uranium and they can create further bombs." He sounds like a disappointed school teacher and it only annoys her further.

"I understand that." She nearly shouts. He is treating her as though she is too stupid to realise the potential consequences of her father's kidnap. "And I'm sure you can recover him without my help, I don't want to be a part of this." He looked at her thoughtfully for some time, not saying anything. She feels slightly uncomfortable under his close scrutiny and feels a slight tension settle on her shoulders. He really is very handsome, and had circumstances been different she might have been more welcoming of such attention, but they aren't so she continues to glare at him.

"You are angry with your father. I understand that-" She cuts him off angrily before he can continue.

"I don't think you do!" Her declaration has very little effect and he continues on speaking, not paying the slightest attention to her interjection.

"My father left when I was eleven." He says mildly, his face has closed off to her now and he continues speaking without revealing the slightest trace of how the uncomfortable subject matter might feel. She cannot bring herself to interrupt him as she wonders where he is going with this line of thought. "I have not seen him since, but I know where he is. He is in a gulag in Siberia. I am also angry with him, but if I was given the chance to see and speak to him I would. It is better to take such opportunities while they are available than to face regret when they are taken away." Her anger fades considerably at such a personal revelation and she realises with some small amount of guilt that her accusation had been unfair.

"I'm sorry." She says tentatively, and he shrugs, his face still totally unreadable.

"Like I said, my life is unimportant." He switches subjects quickly. "The KGB would be very grateful for your help, and in exchange for such assistance they may permit you to leave across the wall to join your father in the West, once this mess has been dealt with." The offer is pretty meaningless since she already has such assurances from MI6, but she does appreciate it and she stands awkwardly for a moment, biting on her lip as she considers what to do. This task is what Waverly had planned for her anyway, no doubt he would soon hear about the Russian intervention and wade his way through the political turmoil to extract her at some point. There was little harm in doing what the KGB agent suggested until then.

"I'll pack some things." She replies, resigned to her fate.

"Please be quick."

Uninvited he sits on her foster father's favourite armchair and waits for her to finish her speedy dash through the flat, shoving items into a backpack. She knows that she is unlikely ever to return, and so along with enough clothes for a few days she is careful to pack anything she would regret leaving behind. Most of them are sentimental pieces- photos of her foster family, her birth mother's jewellery and other such items. Eventually she is finished, and he stands up again to open the front door for her.

They walk out of the flat and he leads her to his car parked outside the building. A long silent drive later and they arrive at the safe house he mentioned. It is an innocent enough looking cottage, one that could easily have been owned by a small family, and he unlocks the door to let her in. Inside it is very sparsely furnished, but there are two beds and there is fresh food in the cupboards and fridge. While the Russian busies himself with some paperwork she inspects her surroundings, and immediately spies and grabs a bottle of vodka that she comes across in a cupboard.

"Do you want a drink?" She asks, thinking of him momentarily before getting started at reducing the volume of liquid still in the bottle. He looks up from his work, some of his hair falling into his eyes as he does so. He brushes it out of the way, drawing Gaby's attention to his large hands. If he wanted he could probably put both around her waist and have the fingers of both hands meet in the middle. She almost wants to ask if he'll try to assuage her curiosity but she bites back the words before she can say them, fully aware how totally inappropriate it would be for their current situation.

"No thank you." He says politely, and returns to his work. He had started on the paperwork shortly after arriving, pausing momentarily to put a pot of food on the hob of the cooker. It is a stew of some kind, it looks edible enough she thinks, but if it isn't she has a bottle of hard liquor to line her stomach. She pours herself a glass and knocks it back quickly just to pour another one. Bored, she slumps into the seat next to him and places both bottle and glass in front of her, intentionally setting the bottle right on top of his work to annoy him. She feels indispensable enough to take such liberties, and he glances up in slight irritation as he moves it out of the way.

"So what happens now?" She asks.

"We wait for my handler to arrive. He will brief us on the next steps. Your father's captors are in Italy so we will be flying there after we have established an effective cover story for your presence on the other side of the wall." He summarises and watches as she drains her second drink. "Would you like a bigger glass?" He asks insincerely, sounding half-disturbed and half-impressed that she could drink it like water.

"I think I can cope with this one." Gaby replies drily, wishing he would join her so she wouldn't have to drink alone. She finds his professionalism slightly unnerving. He doesn't get the chance to reply as a coded knock on the door interrupts them. As he goes to answer it, she hides the bottle and glass back in the cupboard and makes a concerted effort to look sober as she hears the harsh Russian words at the door, the Russian's handler does not sound happy and he does not sound like the kind of man she wants to be on the bad side of. He is shorter than the agent who has been with her all evening, but his presence is commanding and somehow more threatening than the mountainous man who follows him as he marches towards her.

"Fraulein Teller?" The handler spits out, and she nods meekly.

At her confirmation he turns back to the other Russian and continues to speak loudly and unpleasantly in the language she doesn't understand. The Russian just stands there and takes the tirade without complaint, although she does notice slightly worryingly that at some point his hand starts tapping against his thigh in a strange rhythm. Eventually the handler leaves, shooting her a dark look as he exits. He looks like he would rather be shooting her than requesting her help and she doesn't bother to hide her relief when the door closes behind him. The Russian breathes out a heavy sigh once they are alone again, and she watches in surprise as he moves over to the cupboard to retrieve the bottle and pour himself a hefty amount that he drinks as quickly as she did. With several short movements he catches up and bests her own current unit count. The alcohol seems to have a calming effect and his hands gradually still until they are mostly steady.

"You going to share that?" Gaby asks, and he jerks slightly at her voice as though he had forgotten she was there. He returns to the table, bringing the bottle and the two glasses back. The paperwork is shoved into a briefcase and put out of the way. "Thank you." She says when unbidden he tops up her drink from the few sips she had taken and pushes it back towards her. He rests his head on one of his hands, suddenly looking exhausted and she feels a surge of pity for him.

"We're staying here for tonight, and then we're heading over to the West to pick up some mission essentials." He says, sounding glum about the whole situation. "We fly to Italy after that." The conversation with his handler seems to have drained him, more so than her purposeful attempts to irritate him. She wishes there was something she could do brighten his spirits.

"What's the plan?" She asks around the rim of her glass, watching him carefully. She is surprised by how quickly she has grown to have some trust for this man whose name she still doesn't know. Perhaps it is the shared dysfunctional relationship with their fathers that means she doesn't resent him quite as much as she would expect, and honestly he has also been far more polite than he needed to be to her. She wonders whether other KGB agents might have been so willing to speak honestly to her, share their plans and give her time to gather her things at her flat. She thinks not, she can easily picture another nameless man breaking down her door and bodily dragging her to this location without saying a word.

"Your uncle Rudi, is also in Italy. It appears he is quite close to the people who were seen with your father." He says calmly, finger tapping idly on the side of his glass as he takes an occasional drink. "We will pretend to be an engaged couple and you will approach your uncle about whether he knows anything about your father's whereabouts."

"Is my uncle also involved?" She asks, slightly surprised.

"He appears to be, your father has not been sighted publicly for some time but your uncle has been. He seems to have more freedom of movement which suggests he is perhaps cooperating."

"Great." Gaby mumbles sarcastically and lets her head drop back against the chair, the ceiling above her suddenly swaying and making her feel slightly ill. She shuts her eyes and rubs at her temples, hoping that will get rid of the sudden nausea. Perhaps she should not have drunk so much so quickly, she can already feel her judgment is dangerously compromised, if she is not careful she will do something very stupid.

"Do you not get on with your uncle either?" He asks, looking at her curiously. The sound of his voice causes her eyes to open again so she can give him her attention as she tries to decide whether it would be wise to tell him anything personal about herself. He has already revealed some of his own painful past, so it would not do any harm for her to share some things about herself.

"We get on slightly better." She admits. "He's managed to send me a few letters over the years. It has been better than the total silence from my father."

"It may be nice for you to see him again." He suggests.

"Maybe." She takes a deep gulp from her glass absently, forgetting that she has already told herself to slow down. "I am lucky in a way, I did have a foster family for some time. What about you? Did you get a stepfather or something similar?" She had thought the question would have been reasonably innocent but it seems to have put him on edge and his lips thin slightly as a strange look crosses his face.

"No." His voice trembles with some barely concealed emotion, and immediately she knows that there is more to the story than he is willing to admit. It is likely much more personal to him than his father's current home since he seems in no hurry to elaborate on his monosyllabic answer.

"What about your mother?"

"She's dead." The hollowness in his voice suggests it is not a recent tragedy but still one that hurts deeply. It is another unexpected thing they share.

"Mine too." She says sympathetically. "She died a long time ago. I still have some of her jewellery, and that helps me remember her." She moves forward again to lean her elbows on the table, and through the drunken haze she finds that the movement has put her very near to her companion. He is sitting opposite her now and is looking at her closely, listening intently to her as she speaks. Up close, she can see the light scattering of stubble across his face. It has probably been several hours since he last shaved.

"I have my father's watch." He replies, and her eyes drop to his wrist to examine it. She would not have known how valuable it was to him had he not mentioned it, but it looks good quality.

"It's nice to have these things." She says with a small smile that he returns. "Who would have thought we have so much in common?" He nods in agreement and she finds her gaze drifting to the bottle between them and she notices that together they have put a heavy dent into its contents. She wraps a hand around the neck and puts it to the side so she can't accidentally knock it over. It was probably unwise to start drinking heavily with a total stranger but she is past caring, they both have their demons and seem to cope with them in similar ways. "Why is your father in a gulag?" She asks suddenly, the question takes him by surprise and it is a while before he answers her.

"Embezzlement." He replies simply, his expression is much less guarded now and she can see shame on his face. That likely answers why he was more open on that subject, if his father embezzled from someone important the information would no doubt have been made public.

"That must have been difficult to deal with." Gaby suggests, swaying slightly in her seat. His eyes watch her distractedly as she tries to control her posture and she sees that his own frame is slack and relaxed. Before he had started drinking he had held himself rigidly upright, a tension diffused throughout his large body, but now he is slouching a little and there are other tell-tale signs that he is in the same condition as her. His gaze is slightly less focussed and he seems more pensive.

"No worse than dealing with a father that worked for the Nazis I imagine." He sympathises, and he looks away with a far off look in his eyes. "It makes you wonder what our lives might have been like had they not selfishly pursued self-interest."

"We probably wouldn't be here." She says, and she too finds her mind drifting to scenarios.

"No, we wouldn't." He agrees, and finishes the contents of his glass.

Gaby pushes down an impulsive need to tell him what a shame it would have been for them not to meet. The more time she spends with him, the more she grows to like him. It is odd to have such a frank and honest conversation with someone, she hasn't able to do so in such a long time. It has been very lonely since her foster father died, and with the uncomfortable atmosphere of the city she has found it difficult to grow close to anyone else. If she leaves Berlin she has no reason to return, no real friends or relations that she would want to see again. Gaby can't help but feel that the man sitting in front of her might feel the same and she feels a sudden need for closeness and proximity with another human being, even if she barely knows anything about them. A nagging voice in the back of her head tells her what a terrible idea this all is, and she silences it with a few more deep pulls from the bottle. He raises an eyebrow at her action but doesn't say anything as he removes the bottle from her grip so he can have his own turn.

"So we're pretending to be engaged?" Gaby says with a small grin. "How are we going to sell that to my uncle?" She kicked off her shoes some time ago, and now she edges her feet closer to his under the table. She's noticed that occasionally, when she leans close enough that the front of her shirt gapes slightly open, he is very quick to avert his gaze and she wonders whether he is just as attracted to her as she is to him. In her current state she rather hopes so, and she finds herself really wanting to elicit some kind of reaction from the still fairly stoic Russian man.

"We make up some story about how we met in East Berlin-" he jerks in surprise before he can continue as he notices the weight of her foot on his. She smiles innocently at him when he looks at her suspiciously and keeps her feet still for now.

"Go on, how did we supposedly meet?"

"You are engineer, yes? My car could have broken down and you could have fixed it for me." He stops again as he notices that her foot has travelled up to his calf and she feels a flutter of pleasure as she notices that the skin near his turtleneck jumper has turned red.

"That's plausible." She says cheerfully. "I would have charged you a fortune."

Her tone has taken on a teasing quality and she notices that under all the pressure she has placed on him he is struggling to speak. She doesn't think he's ever been approached so brazenly by someone he barely knows. She wonders whether KGB agents are allowed to have relationships, and it occurs to her that he might currently be in one. She thinks it's unlikely, he doesn't seem to type to cheat on a whim and she imagines he treats every facet of his life with the same seriousness as his work. He goes redder the higher her foot climbs and she enjoys watching him squirm, it is amusing to see him unravel underneath her increasing attention. But her fun ends rather abruptly when he catches her mischievous appendage as it reaches his knee and decidedly pushes it away.

"I am going to bed." He said decidedly. "You should too." She acknowledged the sense in what he was saying with an unhappy sigh and stood up only to fall straight back down into her chair as her lack of coordination suddenly struck her with a vengeance. She looked up at his standing frame and gave a sheepish little smile.

"I might need some help." Obligingly he moved over to her side of the table, and she didn't fail to notice that his own stride was not totally steady. She took the proffered hand and used it to help herself stand, only to stumble again and fall into his arms this time. The whole situation seemed absurdly hilarious to her, so she found herself shaking with muffled laughter as he muttered things in Russian and helped untangle her legs from the chair.

She did find herself slowly adjusting to her new off kilter balance, but before she could make an attempt to walk over to one of the beds herself, the Russian seemed to lose patience and settled for picking her straight up off the ground. This suited Gaby fine, she didn't mind being carried over and helpfully wrapped her arms around him to anchor herself in place. His neck was now very near to her face so she contently found herself nuzzling in to it, letting out a happy sigh as she did so. His cologne smelt very nice, much nicer than what was usually available on this side of the wall so she found herself wondering whether he had picked it up on the black market or while on another mission in the West.

He carried her over to one of the beds and laid her down on it, shortly after making a move to step away which she immediately put a stop to by fisting her hands into his jumper and yanking him on top off her. The cocktail of surprise and intoxication allowed her to be successful and she felt his weight drop onto her. Seizing the opportunity she shifted her face up and kissed him, arms winding around his neck to keep him in place. For a moment he does nothing as she continues to move her lips against his, and then after a small muffled groan he kisses her back, his own hands moving to either side of her head in order to take some of his weight off of her. She runs her hands down his chest as she deepens the kiss and notices the hard planes of muscle she can feel even through the fabric of his turtleneck. For a while it is total bliss, the sheer enjoyment from diverting all thought to the person in front of you and away from any pressing worries or concerns. Eventually though, some smidgen of sense seems to come back to her companion and he tears himself breathlessly off of her.

"This is wrong, you're drunk." His accent has become thicker and is somehow maddeningly more attractive.

"So are you." She retorts and pulls him back, quickly silencing any other protests.

Vaguely, Gaby is aware that this is probably a terrible decision that she will come to regret, but right now she doesn't care. Her good sense unfortunately disappeared soon after her second glass of vodka and now her attention is solely on the very handsome and drunk Russian who seems to have given up resisting and is now trailing kisses down her collarbone, quick fingers undoing the buttons on her blouse as she fumbles with the hem of his jumper trying to lift it up.

She realises that she still doesn't know his name as they briefly separate to divest themselves of the unnecessary garments only to immediately reattach to each other straight after. At this point she can't really ask, and to be honest she doesn't particularly care. Gaby wants to feel cherished and cared for, even if it is just pretend, and after dealing with his handler and giving her those titbits about his past she thinks the Russian feels the same. So for now they will use each other to chase away the loneliness and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

Author's Note: Well that was fun and took a rather unexpected turn, I had planned to write something like 'Illya finds Gaby the night before Napoleon arrives and takes her to a safehouse and never bothers to tell her his name' but at some point the characters decided to get drunk and make unwise decisions. Totally not my fault. Part 2 to this is the next drabble.