I got a copy of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. as a Valentine's gift this year, and now I am obsessed with Gaby and Illya. They're just so perfect for one another! So here's a quick one-shot about my favorite spies. Please read and relax. Lemon.

The mark was a man named Schmidt. A chemist in his mid-thirties, incredibly bright, but employed by some less than upstanding citizen. He was scheduled to take the overnight train from Hamburg to Marseilles where he would meet with his employers and deliver formulas for the "next big weapon", as Waverly said.

The mission was simple. The team would be on that train, and by the time they arrived in the south of France, they needed to have pictures of the formulas for Waverly's scientists to review. Further instructions would come once Waverly's knew what kind of weapon Schmidt was developing and how it should be treated.

Gaby's role was to distract him at supper in the dining car so Solo could acquire the photographs. Illya would float between the two, first playing lookout for Solo, then providing an exit for Gaby. They would then rest for the remainder of the evening, or jump from the train if their security was in jeopardy.

When the team arrived at the train station, Solo ducked off to follow the mark. Schmidt's employer sent him with two bodyguards, presumably one to watch him and one to watch his work. After surveying them for some time, Solo managed to plant a bug in Schmidt's front shirt pocket. Part tracker, part listening device, it had just enough range the team could hear his conversations from a few cars away, and also tell if he was about to travel out of range and they would need to move closer.

Gaby and Illya retired to a cabin in the middle of the train. There were two leather benches, one on either side, with luggage racks overhead, and a window on the far wall. They were pretending to be a newlywed couple heading out of town on vacation, so they acted much like they did in Rome on their first mission. Near one another, but with minimal touching on no PDA.

Illya put their bags on the racks, then set up his receiver on the seat beside him. He then turned back to his partner, and began random conversations just like a normal couple would. They switched between German, Russian and English, rationalizing they needed the practice.

At the same time, Illya monitored the radio frequency, listening for changes in Schmidt's activity. Gaby read when the conversation ran out, and Illya started fussing with some other piece of equipment he concealed in his luggage.

At 6pm sharp, the background noise coming through the receiver increased tremendously. They heard an unfamiliar voice a moment later asking if Herr Schmidt would like anything to drink.

Illya gave Gaby a look, and she nodded back to him. It was time.

She took a deep breath, stood, and left the cabin. Gaby walked down the narrow hallway, crossed over two more thresholds, then stepped into the dining car.

Schmidt sat at the end of the bar, reading yesterday's newspaper. She knew his security detail was nearby, but he must be keeping a distance because there was an empty seat right next to him, one of only two open seats left at the bar. Gaby walked over, and put her hand on the back of the empty chair. "May I?" she asked. Schmidt briefly nodded over the top of his paper, and Gaby took a seat.

She ordered a whiskey sour from the bartender, and though of a way to engage the mark. When the bartender returned with her drink, she looked over her shoulder at Schmidt's paper.

"I don't want to spoil it for you," Gaby said abruptly, "but Germany beat France, two to one."

"I beg your pardon," he said confused. He must have thought she was talking about war.

"Football," she explained. "You're reading the sports section?"

"Oh. Yes. I see you've already beat me to it."

"I'm afraid I might not be the only one."

"Well it is nearing the end of the day, and this is the morning paper," he said sardonically.

"There's that," Gaby replied sweetly, trying to act appealing for the sake of the mission. "And that's also yesterday's paper."

"It can't be," he said, baffled. But when he checked the date on the front page, he couldn't help but be embarrassed at his oversight. "I just bought it this morning…"

"I finished my copy of today's paper if you'd like it." She gestured over her shoulder, indicating she would need to go get it.

"Thank you, but that is not necessary, Miss…"

"Gaby Webber."

"Mikael Schmidt." He stretched out his hand his hand, which she shook daintily.

"Nice to meet you. Are you going to Marseilles?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Yes."

"Business or holiday?"

"Business. And you?"

"Holiday. Though I think a business trip might be more enjoyable at this point." Gaby sighed, then took a slow gulp of her drink.

"Why is that?" he asked, leaning a bit closer.

"It's a long story. I wouldn't want to bother you." She used the thumb on her left hand to flip her wedding ring around her finger as she spoke. Schmidt's attention went straight for it.

"Marital troubles?"

Gaby gave him a defeated look, all the while smiling inside. She had him right where she wanted.

Meanwhile, Solo sauntered by his teammates' cabin, knocked twice, then kept walking. That was their code. Illya now knew it was time to move. The Russian stood and followed several paces behind Solo, pretending to be drunk and looking for his wife. He walked clumsily, banged on doors, randomly opened a few, calling Gaby's name as he went.

Solo ignored him like most other passengers would and continued walking. He pointed to one door in particular as he passed it, letting Illya know that was where the second was "standing on duty".

That was Illya's next target. When he came up to it, he didn't even knock; he just barged right into the cabin. He fumbled about the small room, his large size and awkward movements preventing the guard from fighting back, escaping, or seeing Solo in the hall.

As soon as Illya was inside, Solo silently entered Schmidt's room. The cabin was laid out the same as all the others, two benches on either side, luggage racks overhead, and a window in between.

There was a leather briefcase sitting on top of the luggage rack, just above a suitcase with the initials M.S. printed on the side. That was the first place Solo looked. And it was also the last. Inside, he found a thirty-page document covered with equations, and he knew that was it. He took pictures, then carefully returned everything to the way it was before he arrived.

Solo then exited the cabin quietly and walked off down the hall so as not to pass in front of the guard's room again. He faked a sneeze when he reached the end of the car, his sign to Illya that it was ok to stop pestering the guard.

Illya, who up to that point had done a great job keeping the gun-for-hire occupied, decided to give up and look for his "wife" elsewhere. He let the guard shove him out of the cabin, then turned back the way he came, and teetered down the hall.

When he arrived in the dining car a few moments later to help Gaby with her exit, he was surprised to see his partner sitting so close to the target. He was even more surprised when he approached the pair and saw Schmidt's hand on her knee. Illya knew she was letting him do this in order to put on a good show, but the sight of him touching her still made his chest tighten.

Illya stormed over to the bar, still pretending to be drunk, and towered over Gaby as she sat in her chair. "Gaby," he said, "who is your new friend?"

Schmidt jumped back at the sight of him, taking his hand off her knee and scooting several inches back into his own chair.

"Oh, I see," Illya commented on his reaction.

"It's not what you think," Schmidt stammered, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I think you're coming on to my wife."

"No! She came on to me!"

"She would never do such a thing." Illya ground out.

"Gaby, tell him!" Schmidt begged. But Illya didn't let her respond. Before anyone had a chance to react, he threw a punch that landed squarely on Schmidt's jaw, knocking him sideways onto the bar.

"Don't talk to my wife!" he yelled, still moving closer like he might swing again.

Gaby jumped up and tried to pull Illya away from Schmidt. She called his name and tugged on his sleeves, but he was barely listening.

A big man came out of the shadows and walked over to stand behind Schmidt. He must have been the second guard, because he was muscular like Gaby had seen before. All he had to do was make eye contact with her before Gaby said, "I'm so sorry! I'll talk to him."

She then dragged her partner from the dining car and marched them back to their room. She all but yelled, "What was that?" as soon as their cabin door was shut.

"It was nothing. Just part of the cover."

"Like hell it was! I've had to chat up marks before, but this is the first time you hit one!"

"I have hit marks before."

"Illya!"

"I did nothing that broke our cover." He stared back at her with fire in his eyes.

"Are you saying I did?"

"No!" If anything she did exactly as she was required, and she did it well, at that.

"Then what are you saying?"

"I couldn't…" he trailed off, sounding more deflated than angry.

"Couldn't what?" she demanded.

"Couldn't just watch him put his hands all over you," he whispered in his deep voice.

"Oh, for God's sake, Illya! The man is a scientist, not an assassin."

"That doesn't matter!" He moved closer and placed his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look up into his eyes. There were so many things he wanted to say to make her understand. But no matter which way he racked his brain, the only thing that came out was, "That doesn't matter," once more.

Despite the lack of speeches, Gaby understood completely. The pull they felt towards one another, it was more than just an attraction. It had meaning. And someone upsetting the precious balance they maintained would diminish that meaning. Neither of them could allow that.

Her eyes softened, and she reached up to lay her hand on top of his. She realized she never vocalized how much she appreciated all he did. They were not very good conversationalists when it came to personal matters. They were more about the action. So Gaby decided to show him instead.

She leaned up on her toes and kissed him lightly. She intended to pull away after a quick peck, but as soon as their lips met, Illya threw caution out the window and deepened the kiss.

It was everything the pair imagined and more. It confirmed something he'd doubted when he'd seen her chatting up the mark a few moments ago. She wanted him, and he wanted her. Badly.

He considered picking her up, throwing her against a wall and ravishing her. But the only two walls at his disposal were a window and the cabin door, both of which seemed uncomfortable. He didn't want to hurt her or put her in a compromising situation, so he hesitated.

Sensing this, Gaby took the lead. She pushed him backwards until he fell on the bench, catching himself on his elbows. He looked shocked for a second, then grinned back at her proudly. He sat up so she could climb onto his lap, steadying her with his hands on her hips. They kissed once more, and began pulling on each other's clothes, searching for skin.

He lifted her dress up, over her head, and she did the same with his shirt. Gaby reached for his belt while he removed her undergarments. A moment later, he was unzipped and she was naked, sinking down on to him.

Illya let out a soft groan, in awe at the feeling of being inside her. She smiled at his reaction, and set a painfully methodical pace. Illya didn't know if she was trying to drive him crazy or if she was just trying to savor the moment, but this game wasn't one he could stand.

His hands worked their way over her body, settling at their juncture between her legs. He pushed her in the most intimate of places, urging her on. She sped up immediately, needing more, and soon came undone around him.

The feel of her losing control around him was too much. He couldn't stand it anymore. He picked her up, and flipped them both over onto the bench. He drove into her again and again until she was exploding once more. He followed shortly behind, grounding out something in Russian she didn't completely understand.

When the pair started coming down from their high, Gaby grinned, "You have got to control your temper."

"Hmm," he smiled back. "I will take it under advisement."

The End.