Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own Man from UNCLE, duh.
Sometime post-movie. Cutesy. Short, very short.
I really hope I manage to turn this into a series.
She begins to take liberties.
And over time, he notices (oh, and he does notice), they do become more liberal.
She pokes fun at his gruffness. Adjusts his lapel. Reaches over at dinner and tries to spear all of his peas onto her fork.
"Take mine, Gaby," Napoleon offers from across the table, eager to be rid of the pre-packaged muck that had been the only available food in the dingy safehouse. "Peril here needs all the food he can get."
"No, no," she dismisses, barely sparing said Peril a look, biting her lip and continuing the excruciatingly slow labor or ensuring each tine is beaded with four tiny green circles in perfect alignment. "Illya hates peas."
For his part, Illya does not protest, simply stares at Gaby whilst trying to remember if he had ever spoken with her about his preference in vegetables.
"She is right," he says tersely, acknowledging Solo's expression. "I hate them."
