Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

Author's Note: So this is a story I've been working on for about a month and I'm about 40K words in. It's one of the stories I have in my rotation that I'm currently writing to help keep things interesting/to not get writer's block. I went back and forth between posting it on here or not, but I figured I would post a few chapters and see if anyone has an interest in it. If not, I'll just keep writing it on my own.

So the first three, possibly four chapters will take place within the movie universe. I don't like to re-write stories, but as you may have guessed, this is going to be an Illya/Gaby centric story, and I really want to explore what else was going on during that time that helped their feelings grow. Some of the scenes were in the movie, some were not and some are extended. Then, if I continue to post, it will go into a new mission. Italics indicate Russian since and since I don't speak Russian, I'm not going to butcher it by just Googling words. :)

If you like it and want to see more, lemme know. As with all of my other stories, I don't do beta so I edit everything myself. If you find any mistakes, I apologize. If you're reading, I hope you like it.
-SB

"Would you mind it terribly if I borrow your car?"

Gaby's fingers nervously drummed against the steering wheel as she pulled to a stop at the red light. "Are they still following us?" Driving was one of the things that she prided herself on, that came naturally to her, but she'd never felt so uncomfortable behind the wheel of a car in her life. A Russian spy was following them, one which the American had said would string her up by her toes and torture her. Living in East Berlin hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination, but that was not something she was eager to try.

Taking a deep breath, Gaby's eyes flashed to her rearview mirror. "Yes," she answered quietly.

The man who had previously introduced himself as Napoleon Solo seemed neither surprised nor bothered by this news. "Be a dear and hand me the brown paper bag out of my suitcase please. Thank you," he murmured, taking the bag Gaby was holding out for him. "Is there just the one?" he asked, screwing on the silencer.

"Yes." As Napoleon fitted his gun together, he rolled down the back passenger side window with his foot.

Gaby kept her eyes forward as the small, white car pulled up beside her. Trying to act as normal as possible, Gaby glanced at the car. The man driving looked oddly out of place in the small vehicle and his eyes were so intense they unnerved her. Quickly averting her gaze forward again, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and ceased all fidgeting. "Tell me, does he only have one hand on the wheel? Hum for yes." Blinking twice, Gaby hummed quietly. "When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive," Napoleon commanded.

Her eyes subconsciously darted to the blonde driver and not two seconds later she heard the muffled pop of three gunshots. Hurriedly, Gaby slammed her foot down on the gas and her car took off. Smoothly, Napoleon sat up and unfolded the map he had been drawing on earlier. "Did you get him?" she asked nervously, peeking at her rearview mirror.

"No," Napoleon answered, his attention falling to his map. "Let's hope he doesn't drive as fast as he moves."

As if on cue, lights flashed from behind her, drawing Gaby's gaze. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he does."

Frowning, Napoleon looked back and saw the white car was right on their tail. "Take this right," he instructed.

As if he knew what she were going to do, Gaby and the driver of the white car both turned, ending up side by side driving down the next street. "Now what?" she breathed, starting to get nervous.

"Left here," Solo murmured, quickly being tossed to the right side of the car.

"Damn," he hissed, sitting back up to find the car still with them.

"My woman would never wear this." Gaby spun quickly on her heal to find herself staring into the chest of a very tall man. Taking a half step back, her mouth fell open in shock to find the Russian agent who had pursued Solo the other night looking down at her with mild interest, his hands folded behind his back.

"What the hell is he doing here and what does he mean, his woman?" she hissed, turning her glare to Napoleon.

"Well about that," he started. "We are, rather unfortunately, I might add, forced into a reluctant yet necessary partnership with the Soviets, and they don't come more Russian than the Red Peril here."

"You are now my fiancé. Congratulations," Illya Kuryakin said, smiling.

Nostrils flaring, Gaby quickly pulled off her earrings and necklace, tossing them into the couch in the waiting area. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no," she murmured before storming out of the store.

"Smoothly done," Solo shot at the Russian agent, jogging to catch up with Gaby. "Gaby! Gaby, wait! I'm sorry. That wasn't how you were suppose to find out."

Halting in her movement, Gaby eyed Napoleon angrily. "Why do I have to be with him? I don't trust him. He tried to kill us the last time we saw him. According to you he wanted to hang me up by my toes and torture me."

"To be fair I don't think he was trying to kill you. I think in terms of killing, he was directing that towards me." Smiling brightly, Napoleon's hands slipped into his pockets. "I know this isn't ideal or what you were expecting and I'm sorry for that, but unfortunately it's not my call."

"But I don't understand. Why am I engaged to him?" she grumbled, her arms crossing her chest.

"It's your cover, Gaby. He is to be sent to Rome to study architecture for his latest project and he was able to secure a visa for his fiancé as well. While in Rome, of course you would take the time to introduce him to your favorite Uncle Rudi," Solo explained. Taking a step forward, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's best we all just play our parts and get this unpleasant business over with."

"Fine, but I'm not going back to East Germany," Gaby huffed as Solo maneuvered her back into the shop. "That's what they'll want."

"When we're done, you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. I promise." He gave her a small smile as she moved off to the dressing rooms. Turning his attention to the Russian, Solo appraised him critically. "And what exactly is it that you're doing?"

Lifting a dress to inspect it, Illya shot Napoleon a sideways glare. "These clothes you put her in, they're not something she would be wearing."

"Oh really?" Solo challenged, stepping up to him. "Is that how you dress your women behind the iron curtain?"

Tisking, Illya slid the dress back onto the rack. "No, you see there. That is the attitude which is the problem. She's from behind the iron curtain, that doesn't mean she has to bring it with her. You dress her as an American would think a Russian would dress her, not how she actually would dress."

"It's hard to believe you aren't already married, Peril," Solo snorted. "You have such appeal."

Narrowing his eyes, Kuryakin opened his mouth to reply, but Gaby marched out from behind the dressing room curtain. "I quite like this one. Do you know this handbag costs more than my car?" she quipped, earning an appreciative smile from Solo.

"Well, my work here is done. I will leave you in the less than capable hands of our Russian friend here," Napoleon smirked, slapping his Russian counterpart on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "See you two love birds in Rome."

"I-wait!" Gaby hissed after him as Illya approached slowly, surveying her dress.

"Yes, this is good. I like very much," he murmured, manually turning her so he could see the back. Turning her to face him again, Illya reached out and picked up her left hand in his much larger one. "It is missing something though." Gently he placed a ring in her palm. "There, now we are engaged."

Sighing, Gaby inspected it. "I suppose it could be worse," she murmured to herself, slipping the ring on her ring finger.

After their shopping trip ended, Gaby was relieved to have arrived back at the apartment building they'd been staying in. Walking quickly, she sped through the lobby and up the stairs. Not missing a beat, Kuryakin followed her with ease, his long legs having to do half the work her shorter ones were. "Where is it that you are going?" he asked as Gaby kept climbing.

"I'm going to my room to be far away from you," she breathed, stopping at the fifth floor.

Blinking in confusion, the Russian continued his pursuit. "Your room is not on this floor, nor is it far away from me."

Ignoring him completely, Gaby marched to the door of the room she previously shared with Solo, 509, and knocked loudly. "It's open!" Napoleon called from within.

Practically throwing the door off its hinges, Gaby entered, tossing her bag onto the kitchen table. "What is he talking about?"

Looking up from where he was ironing, Napoleon Solo's eyes shifted to the tall Russian blocking his doorway, his arms crossed and his face agitated. "Gaby darling, you're going to have to be more specific."

"I am not staying with him. I don't even know him apart from that fact that he's pushy, rude, freakishly fast, tall and strong and he has no consideration for other people," Gaby said, her eyes wide.

"Unfortunately Gaby, your things have already been sent to the Red Peril's room. You'll be staying together in Rome, so it's best to rip that uncomfortable bandage off now." Smiling over at them, Napoleon nodded his head in their direction. "This fiancé story is going to work much better if you at least attempt to be friendly. You do know how to treat a lady, don't you Peril?"

Huffing, Gaby swiped her purse from the table. "I cannot believe this," she grumbled, pushing past the Russian who was in her way.

Kuryakin and Solo held each other's gaze, both frowning. "Perhaps you should go get your fiancé, Comrade. She's an awfully pretty little thing and a man like you was lucky to have bagged her in the first place, if you ask me. We both know it's fake, but you better stick with her to make sure someone, anyone else doesn't snatch her away."

"You need to keep your nose out of this, Cowboy," he grumbled, pointing accusatorily at the American spy. "We are not to know each other so continued contact is-"

"Are you coming?" Illya took a deep breath, his eyes remaining locked on Napoleon. Even though he could feel Gaby's eyes on his back, he refused to turn around until he had calmed himself.

Leaning to the side in his chair, Solo looked past the Russian to where Gaby stood, hands on her hips with her foot tapping. "I believe she's talking to you." Kuryakin opened his mouth, his top lip quivering but slammed his mouth closed so hard that there was an audible mashing of teeth. Turning around, he slipped his arm around Gaby's waist, leading her away from the room. "If it isn't too much trouble, could you kindly close the door?" Solo called after them. A moment later, Illya's dark face appeared before the door was loudly slammed behind him. "Thank you!"

Gaby followed the tall Russian down two flights of stairs to his small room. Opening the door, Illya stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. Eyeing him hesitantly, Gaby moved past him into the kitchen/living room area. "This is… cozy," she murmured, poking her head into the only bedroom. "There's only one bed."

"Yes, there is," Illya answered, closing the door and locking it behind him.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she gasped, eyeing him like he was perverted.

Rolling his eyes, the Russian removed his hat and set it on the table in the kitchenette. "What kind of man do you think I am?" Gaby said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow. "You will sleep in the bed and I will take sofa."

Pursing her lips, Gaby studied him carefully. "Fine."

The pair just stared at each other for a minute before Kuryakin cleared his throat, nodding to himself. "Yes well." Moving past her, he entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Not soon after, Gaby heard the water of the shower turn on.

Knowing he was preoccupied, Gaby slipped out of her coat and tossed it on the bed. Pursing her lips, she glanced back at the closed door of the bathroom. Satisfied that he wasn't going to come bursting through the door, she ran her fingers along the top of the dresser, stopping when she came to where his simple black suitcase was sitting.

As quietly as she could, Gaby popped the buckles and opened it. Inside were a few modest, solid colored sweaters, a couple pairs of slacks and a few devices she'd never seen before. Deciding not to touch them because she had no idea what they did, Gaby closed the case.

Stepping through the doorway to the small living space of the apartment, Gaby picked up the Russian's disregarded cap, sliding it onto her head. Flopping down onto the couch, Gaby grabbed a travel book on Rome from the coffee table. She only paused briefly when the water shut off before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. Apparently her fiancé had been doing a bit of research.

When the KGB agent walked out of the bedroom in a robe and pajama pants, towel drying his hair, Gaby spared him a glance. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to see the cover of her book.

Closing it, Gaby waved the book around so he could see it. "Just doing a bit of light reading."

"Are you educated?" The question seemed to take them both aback, Kuryakin blinking in bewilderment. "I- what I mean to say is, do you like to read?"

Studying him closely, Gaby stood and walked past him into the bedroom. "I'm closing the door now. Don't come in, understand?"

Kuryakin opened his mouth to reply but she closed the door before his words left his lips. Letting out a frustrated breath, the KGB agent ran a hand through his damp hair before tossing his towel into the kitchen sink. "Are you educated? Fucking idiot."

When Gaby awoke the next morning, the first thing she checked was the door. While it didn't have a lock, she did put a strip of tape across it to make sure the Russian was honest. It remained unbroken. Sighing in relief, she pulled the tape from the door and opened it.

A wonderful smell floated into her nostrils. "Ah, you're awake. I was beginning to think I would have to wake you myself."

"What are you making?" Gaby asked, approaching and leaning over his arm to see the top of the oven. "Omelet," he answered, glancing at her quickly before averting his gaze to the food. "How did you sleep?"

Moving to grab two plates to set on the small kitchen table, Gaby flashed a small, wary smile. "Fine. How was the couch?"

Illya smirked as he turned, dividing the omelet onto the two plates as Gaby placed silverware down. "Small."

Sliding into a chair, Gaby picked up her fork. "Perhaps you're just unseemly tall."

Chuckling quietly, Illya sat opposite her. "Perhaps." He studied her face as she stared back. Seeming to have unnerved her, Gaby quickly forked some omelet into her mouth. Illya visibly winced as she did as well. "It's hot."

Open mouth breathing, Gaby nodded. "Yes, quite."

Placing her fork down, Gaby eyed him suspiciously. "So what is your story anyway?"

"I beg your pardon?" Illya asked, his brow knitting together.

"How did you become a spy?" she asked conversationally as if she'd asked him about the weather or for the time.

Gaby watched as his jaw clenched tightly. "That is classified."

"Your reason for joining the KGB is classified?" A playful smile spread across her face as she watched Illya Kuryakin squirm. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me," he said shortly, picking up his fork and scooping some of his food into his mouth.

Sighing, Gaby did the same. Once the food had cooled and she could taste the omelet, Gaby was shocked to hear the subconscious moan that slipped between her lips. Instantly her eyes darted to where the Russian sat frozen with another forkful of food poised at the entrance to his open mouth. Swallowing her food, she cleared her throat. "You're not as bad of a cook as I thought you'd be."

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he resumed his eating. "Thank you."

Taking another mouthful, Gaby controlled her response this time as she chewed. "Tell me, where does a deadly Russian super spy like yourself learn how to cook?"

"Oh, you like my cooking do you?" he asked, smiling.

"I never said that," Gaby murmured, smiling to herself as she continued to eat.

"My mother," Illya answered quietly, looking back to his plate self-consciously.

"What?" Gaby asked, not having heard what he had said.

"You asked me where I learned to cook," Kuryakin said, looking over at her. "I learned from my mother."

Gaby opened her mouth to say something but she thought better of it and her jaw snapped closed. She considered what to say before she spoke, her voice soft. "Well… it is very good."

The Russian flashed a small smile of pride, nodding to himself. "Good. Eat up. We have long day ahead of us."

Forking more into her mouth, Gaby licked her lips. "When do we leave?"

"Our flight departs in in an hour," he answered, standing and carrying his plate to the sink, washing it. "We should leave in thirty minutes at the latest."

"Alright," she breathed, staring at the piece of omelet on her fork.

There was a knock on the door. Illya froze. "What-"

Illya held a silencing finger up to his lips before moving over to the door. His hand slid into his shoulder holster and pulled out his gun, holding it behind his back. Quickly, he cracked the door open. Sighing, he opened the door wide and slid the gun back into his holster. Flashing the bellboy an overly friendly smile, Illya gestured for him to enter with the luggage cart of clothing.

"Thank you," he said, giving the young man a bill before closing the door behind him.

"I think you frightened him," Gaby chuckled, standing and moving past the tall Russian to place her plate in the sink with his.

Ignoring her comment, Kuryakin gestured to the cart. "There is suitcase for you. I suggest you get dressed and ready to go." Slipping on his brown jacket, Illya moved for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, setting the clean plates in the strainer.

"I must meet with my handler before we leave. Be ready to go in thirty minutes or you will be flying in your dirty chop-shop uniform." With that he opened the door and slipped from the room.

Glancing down at the only clothing she had with her from her previous life, Gaby gave a wistful smile. Turning to the cart of new, expensive clothing, purses and hats, Gaby felt a giddiness rise in her as she reached a hand out to touch the closest dress. It was the beautiful white and green one that her Russian KGB fiancé picked for her. There was a guilt associated with the hefty price tags that were attached to the designer duds. Gaby had never really had anything nice before, and these things in front of here transcended nice. They were spectacular.

Sighing, she released the cloth and pulled the crème colored suitcase out and opened it. "Time to go, my beautiful clothing."