A.N. This is it folks - the very last chapter of the story that was meant to be a one-shot :)
I just want to say a huge thank you to absolutely everyone who supported this fic; your reviews and follows have meant a lot to this girl desperately trying to cram for her exams.
As always, a review would be much appreciated (as this is the final chapter) and I hope you've enjoyed the mis-adventures of Mr&Mrs Agent Solo.
Love to all of you
- C xxx
Grand Plaza Hotel, Rome, 1963
Napoleon wasn't surprised to open the door and find Illya standing stoically on the other side. He'd called down earlier to invite the pair in the room below for drinks before they went for dinner. The absence of Gabby, however, did make him frown slightly.
"Come in." He smiled at the man, holding the door wide. "Just finishing packing." He told him as the Russian closed the door behind him and Napoleon headed back to the open suitcase on his bed. "Fix us a couple of drinks; I think we've earned them."
He most definitely had, he thought to himself as the sound of running water from the bathroom at the other end of the suite continued to fill the space. Needless to say; if Peril had turned up 10 minutes earlier, he'd have found Napoleon in a far less refined state.
"I guess it's business as usual now." He commented as Illya almost silently made his way to the small drinks station. "Back to how things were." And he couldn't be happier about it; he planned to take a long vacation from the CIA, citing injuries from his time spent at Uncle Rudy's hands, and spend some much-needed time with his wife.
He glanced up from the suitcase to find Illya staring intently at him and his pile of clothes waiting to be packed. Napoleon watched the man casually un-screw the lid onto the bottle of whiskey in his hands as the American moved to place more items into his case.
Ironically, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the Russian had been focused on. Napoleon was well aware that the corner of the tape he'd snatched from the grass on Vinciguerra island could be seen under his shirts.
He could hear Illya pouring whiskey into glasses as he reached under a pair of neatly folded trousers and retrieved a handgun. Choosing to believe the best of the spy not 10 paces behind him, he kept it holstered and continued to pack around it.
"You feeling okay?" He asked, hands constantly brushing the concealed weapon as it lay at the top of his packed clothes.
There was silence behind him and Napoleon let out a tiny sigh as he considered that this whole mission might just end in bloodshed. Illya gave a stiff nod as Napoleon turned to watch him re-screw the lid and gently place it back onto the tray.
He turned back to the case and resignedly slipped the gun from its case and resumed packing, all with one eye on the perfectly positioned shaving mirror at the bedside, giving him a clear view of Illya.
"So what now?" He asked, choosing to let the Russian believe he wasn't onto him. "Mission accomplished; heading back to Russia?"
"Something like this…yes." The Russian bit out as Napoleon watched him silently unzip his jacket and reveal his own holstered weapon. "You?"
"New York." He couldn't keep the grin off his face even as his eyes zeroed in on the gun. "Going to spend some quality time with family." He lifted the gun as he slowly straightened. "Almost forgot…" He started as he slipped another item into his other hand. "…got something for you." He turned abruptly, forcing the Russian to drop his own hand from his gun and catch the item Napoleon had thrown to him.
He kept the gun just out of sight behind his back as Illya turned the item over and over in his hands, a look of disbelief filling his blank features. He took a moment to study the inscription on the back before hastily pushing up his sleeve and fastening the watch to his wrist; his shoulders easing slightly at the comfort of having it back.
"You know what my mission is?" He asked, tearing his eyes away from the watch.
"Same as mine was." Napoleon replied as he pulled the shirt from on top of the poorly hidden tape. "Kill you if necessary…" He used the gun to gesture to the pale blue tape box. "…to get that."
"Professor Teller's research disc."
They were in a silent stand off as Napoleon kept a good grip on is gun, very much prepared to be the one who walks out of this suite even if it meant killing the man who was slowly growing on him.
"Everything okay here, gentlemen?" Both their heads snapped to the new voice in the room and Napoleon watched Illya immediately step away, his hand dropping from his gun as Eva stood in the doorway of the bathroom.
He hadn't heard the water turn off but not for the first time, he was glad of his wife's ability to move silently and appear at the perfect moment. Illya was now staring out onto the terrace as he tried to casually re-zip his jacket and Napoleon was relieved that they'd apparently found a different way to resolve this.
The fact that the Russian was going slightly pink at the sight of his wife in nothing but thigh grazing towel, was an added bonus to the situation.
"Illya was just pouring drinks." He explained, dropping the gun onto the bed and noting how her eyes followed it. Typical spy; she knew exactly what was going on.
"Wonderful idea." She beamed at the Russian as she moved past him. "I'll take mine with ice."
The man gave another stiff nod, clearly grateful to be able to turn his back on them, and reached for the bottle again.
"Perfect timing." Napoleon murmured as she pulled closed the sliding doors to the bedroom, sealing them from him.
"All sorted?" She asked, reaching for the small holdall that had been sent up for her and placing it next to his own.
"I think so." He told her, hands sliding back around her towelled waist as she began to dig through the bag for clothes.
"We have a guest." She reminded him as she smirked against the soft skin at the back of her neck. "Napoleon." She huffed, turning in his arms. "You'll make him blush."
"That's the plan." He mumbled against her neck before placing a kiss there.
"Napol-" She stopped as the shrill ring of the room's phone sliced through the air. She shot him a look before slipping from his hold and picking up the receiver.
"Hello?" She paused as the voice on the other end spoke quickly and concisely. "Yes of course, I'll be right there." She didn't wait for any further conversation and replaced the receiver. "I have to see Waverly."
"You can't be serious?" The air was thick with tension as she spoke. "You've had me travelling all over the place ever since I left New York; I need some time."
"You're needed on a plane, Agent Solo." Waverly was entirely too relaxed for her liking as he sat, legs crossed, on the sofa; a copy of his favourite British newspaper at his side.
"A plane home; with my husband to try and salvage whatever is left of my marriage." She told him, her fingers curling around the wooden back of the chair she was stood behind in an effort to stop pacing. "The marriage you ruined."
"Eva-"
"Don't 'Eva' me." She snapped. "With the greatest respect, Waverly, I'm not doing this."
"It's your job." He reminded her. "So, unless you're willing to quit; you don't have a choice."
"Like I didn't have a choice when you turned up at my door at told me to leave my husband and my home?" She asked. "I've done my job, Waverly, I did everything you told me to; I left my husband because you told me it was more important I get on a plane…let me have this one chance to make things right with him?" Her voice became a whisper at the end. "While I still can?"
"I'm sorry Agent Solo." Her hands slid from the chair back as he spoke and she may have been fooling herself but she was sure she saw something resembling guilt flash through his eyes. "But as was the case then; this isn't my decision – this elite taskforce has been nothing more than a whisper in the corners of boardrooms for years and now we have the chance to implement it with both you and your husband at the helm…this isn't something we can pass on."
Eva stepped out onto the terrace of Napoleon's room just as he and the Russian clinked their glasses together in a small toast. She couldn't help the smile that bloomed at the sight of the burning research tape in the ashtray on the table between them.
"Good evening, gentlemen." Waverly greeted them as he and Gabby followed her out into the sunshine. "Rather touching scene." He commented, eyeing the fire and the shared bottle of whiskey.
"I've always loved a bonfire on a good summer night." Eva added, moving to stand next to Solo as he leant against the railings overlooking the city.
"So, I have news." Waverly said after a moment of letting them all enjoy the sunshine. "A fresh little unpleasantness has arisen. I've spoken to your superiors, and now that we're all such good friends..." he shot the two men a look as they shared a smirk. "…they've kindly agreed to let me keep the team together for a while."
"We leave in an hour." Gabby told the men; having only been briefed a moment ago herself.
"Where we going?" Illya asked, his sunglass clad eyes instantly on Gabby as Eva hid a smirk at his eagerness to spend time with the German.
"Istanbul, Kuryakin." Waverly told him. "You'll need your curly-wurly shoes." He shot them all a grin before turning and striding away. "Oh..." He stopped. "…And you have a new code name."
"Code name?"
"Yes, rather a good one: U.N.C.L.E." He smiled again before slipping from the terrace and leaving the four alone.
"U.N.C.L.E.?" Napoleon asked as Gabby fell into one of the waiting chairs on the terrace with a sigh.
"Don't ask." Eva said, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip. "He came up with it himself and is entirely too proud that he got an acronym from it."
The terrace was silent as the four slowly digested the news that they were now a part of an international taskforce headed by none other than the charismatic Brit.
"Two Solo's." Illya broke the silence as he watched the couple pass the glass of whiskey back and forth and shook his head at the absurdity of the notion. "I don't think the world can handle one never mind both of you."
The couple shared a smile as Napoleon's arm snaked around her waist.
"Exactly." He smirked. "It's why we're such a great pair."
"дуэт" The Russian shook his head at the grin spreading across the blonde's features.
"Exactly, Illya; дуэт."