A.N. Just a quick chapter before we get to the last installment. Chapter 16 will be the last chapter of this story and I'll probably be posting it on Monday so keep an eye out for it. As always; reviews are welcome and deeply loved. Hope you enjoy! xxx

Grand Plaza Hotel, Rome, 1963

The hotel foyer was the picture of opulence with a magnificent chandelier dominating the ceiling of reception. The group of operatives moved slowly, Eva assumed that it was due to the fight gabby had detailed to her between Napoleon, Illya and Alexander Vinciguerra. Apparently, the Russian had won by throwing a motorcycle at the Italian.

"We'll have dinner together." Gabby announced as they all came to a stop in the centre of the huge room; the loitering hotel guests shooting the muddy elements of the group sneers. "Tonight." She added, eyeing everyone individually.

The German was scratched to hell and had grass in her hair and yet nobody seemed to argue with the look in her eye; they were having dinner together then. Wonderful. That wouldn't be awkward at all.

She shot everyone one last look before turning on her heel and striding towards the elevator bank; Illya following closely behind as Waverly slipped off too.

And then it was just the two of them; standing silently in reception, not meeting each other's eyes. She blew out a sigh before turning from him and heading to the desk at the far end of the room where two immaculately uniformed women were watching her.

"What rooms have you got available?" She asked, running fingers through her matted hair.

"Let me check, Signora." The receptionist nearest her offered with a smile as she scanned the guest book in front of her. "I'm afraid we only have-" She stopped as a hand clamped around Eva's arm and pulled her away from the desk lightly.

"Add her to my room." Napoleon bit out as he tugged on her again.

"Certainly, Mr Deveny." The woman said with a bat of her eyelashes. "Under what name?"

"Mrs Deveny." He called over his shoulder as Eva finally gave in and let him pull her towards the elevators.

Honestly, she was a bit smug about the surprised look on the receptionist's face.

The ride up to the eighth floor had been… excruciatingly awkward. They'd stood in silence under the doors swept open and Solo led her down the plush hallway to his room.

"This is quite the suite, Mr Deveny." She noted, letting the door close with a soft click behind her as Napoleon moved through the room. "Very nice." She mused, stepping around the sofa to stand in the middle of the suites living area and staring out at the view his terrace offered of Rome. "I-" She was cut off as arms pulled her into a solid chest and lips descended onto her own.

It took her less than a second to register who this was and where they were and how long it had been since their last before her own arms were winding around his neck and his lips reciprocating everything. He'd somehow pulled her closer and now he had one hand splayed across her back, holding her to him; keeping their lips fused until the need to breathe was too much.

Their breathing was laboured as they parted; their eyes scouring every inch of each other's faces as they remained in their embrace.

"Sorry." He shot her a tight smile. "I just…it's been…" He cleared his throat and stepped back from her, forcing her arms to fall to her sides. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." She dug her hands into the pockets of the long coat she still wore. "How are you?"

"Well." He lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "You?"

"Well." She mirrored, staring down at the stilettos that had been mauled by the marshland of Vinciguerra Island.

They were at a standstill now. They couldn't look at each other and they'd officialy run out of pleasantries. He was still in dirty combat gear; the beret he'd worn to infiltrate the island now stuffed into his back pocket.

"You should clean up." She gestured to the mud. "Shall I call for someone to come look you over? Illya has a nasty cut on his forehead so I bet you've got one somewhere."

"I'm fine." He told her, turning to enter the bedroom of the suite.

"Are you sure?" She asked, following him to lean against the doorframe and watch as he dug into a drawer. "I'm sure that receptionist would be more than happy to-"

"Stop it." His voice was hard as his hands stilled.

"I'm just saying that-"

"I said; stop it." He looked up at her. "I haven't seen you in almost two years and the first thing you do is…"

"Is what?" She asked, pushing off the frame. "Is comment on how many people you've slept with in that time? Forgive me for not being overjoyed at the thought of my husband with other women."

"And you've stayed celibate, I suppose?" He straightened. "You haven't so much as looked at another man?"

"It's my job."

"Mine too." He reminded her. "So why do you get to be pissed but not me?"

"Because I'm jealous Napoleon!" She exclaimed before clapping a hand over her mouth and turning away from him to head back into the living area. He stopped her.

"You're what?" He asked, turning her slowly to face him again.

"You're surprised that I'm jealous?" She asked incredulously. "Really?"

"Surprised that you admitted it." He replied. "You're not big on vulnerability."

"People change."

"You haven't." And he could see now that it was true. She hadn't, not really; her nails were still red and her hair still as soft as silk and he could see the faint outline of a chain under her jumper which he knew would have her wedding ring on the end.

"Neither have you." She could see it too; he was exactly the same. Familiar suits were hung up in the slightly ajar wardrobe and his aftershave was the same and he held her the same; his touch surprisingly soft as she stood between the hands on her upper arms. She'd even spotted the small box he used to store his own wedding ring in when they were on missions.

"I'd like to start this reunion again, if that's alright with you?" She laughed at the small grin he shot her.

"I'd like it too."

His hands slid from her arms and moved under her coat to hold her waist, pulling her a step forward as her hands moved to rest on his chest; his heartbeat just tangible beneath his thick jumper. They were a mere breath apart when he whispered: "Hello."

She responded by gripping the material and pulling him close.