Work Text:
Alexander Waverly triple checks the stack of papers in front of him to make sure they are in order. The result of many weeks of difficult red tape and negotiations, boiled down to a dozen sheets of paper. It makes his efforts feel a bit anticlimactic, really, but he believes that will change shortly.
He hears the automatic door whoosh open to reveal Illya Kuryakin, bearing a circumspect look and slightly hunched shoulders, as if he is trying to look smaller. “You asked to see me, sir?”
Waverly smiles. Always so formal, even after all these months of working for him. “Yes, yes Kuryakin, come in” he gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.” He wears a smile that he hopes is welcoming and warm - this is a happy occasion, at least he thinks it will be.
Kuryakin meets his smile with a serious, intense gaze. Waverly is suddenly reminded of how quickly he can take a man down, and suppresses a shudder. One of his top agents, certainly, but still a bit terrifying from time to time. He clears his throat - all the more reason to get down to the business at hand.
“Well, Mr. Kuryakin, you have been with us for some time now - I’m assuming you still enjoy working for UNCLE?”
Illya frowns. ”Yes, sir,” he straightens a bit in his chair. “Is good job.” His eyes dart to the monitor behind Waverly’s head that cycles through the internal surveillance cameras. “Good team.”
Succinct, as always, Waverly thinks.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He grabs the papers and taps them on his desk to straighten the stack. “I have some news for you, good news, I hope you’ll find.” Illya’s brow furrows as he reaches out to accept the papers.
“This is contract?” he says, flipping through the pages. He looks up, looking almost startled with the realization. “You have transferred my contract from KGB?”
“If you’re willing,” Waverly says cautiously, “then yes - I would like you to work for me full time. Permanently.”
Kuryakin’s jaw clenches as he flicks through the papers, and nods slightly. Waverly suddenly feels nervous - perhaps he had misread the situation. It hadn’t occurred to him that Kuryakin might have been looking forward to returning to the KGB. He’d seemed to be growing more and more content with his team, but perhaps he was just making the best of the situation. Though truth be told, the tone of the negotiations made him suspect that returning might not be an option anymore.
“And what about Solo?” a soft voice says, not looking up from the contract. “He has contract as well?”
Ah.
“I’m sure you understand that I can’t discuss the specifics of personnel issues with you but - I can say that I am working on it.”
The look he receives is on the verge of being a glare but there’s something else underneath that Waverly finds curious. The cooly coded complaints in Miss Teller’s reports had made it clear that while camaraderie was on the rise there was still no shortage of friction between Solo and Kuryakin. He himself had observed that discord more than once in the office. Kuryakin’s softening glower is making him think that perhaps something there has shifted.
“His situation, as you know, is a bit more complex than yours.” It’s not the biggest understatement he has ever made, but it's damned close.
Kuryakin puts the contract on the table, leans back and nearly burns a hole in the wall to his left with his scowl.
“I hope you will still consider signing on with us.” Illya’s attention snaps to him, now looking almost confused. “Please believe me when I say that securing Solo’s contract is as important to me as it is to you. It will take time, but it is time I am willing to spend.”
A soft sound that is bordering on a laugh surprises him. “Yes, I will sign,” Kuryakin says, somewhat less tense. “It would be my pleasure to continue to work for you, sir.” He picks the papers back up, flipping through them again.
“There are no tricks, I assure you, but take your time to review it. Just get it back to me whenever you’re ready.”
When he returns from his lunch meeting with an ambassador visiting from Sweden, the contract is on his desk, filled out in neat, precise handwriting.
Gaby Teller is shrewd and sharp, and Waverly adores her. When he first made contact, he had been a bit blinded by her strategic value and did not take notice of her vast potential. Now, to his delight, she is fast becoming one of the most promising agents working for UNCLE. He thinks he has the makings of a good handler, once she’s a little less green, so he takes every opportunity to show her new things, to gauge her reactions and catch glimpses of which paths he might guide her down.
Today he is reviewing an in progress case file with her. She has already asked a half dozen questions that none of his current logistics supervisors had thought to ask. She is putting the pieces together rapidly, and yes he had made sure they were all there for her to find but it is impressive how quickly she pulls the strings to cinch everything into a neat package.
“That’s that, I’d say! You could send an an agent out whenever you like,” she says, looking proud of herself. Her smile borders on cocky, and Waverly hopes to see it more often. Her growing confidence can only be an asset to UNCLE.
“Very good, Miss Teller!” Her smile slides into one that’s more genuine at his praise. “So what do you think? Should we send ‘The Cowboy’ on this one?”
He is startled by the bark of laughter that slips from her, and so is she judging by the way her hand flies up to cover her mouth.
“Something funny?”
“No, no,” she waves her hand at him, regaining her composure. “It’s just - I’ve never heard anyone but Illya call Solo that.”
Oh. That is interesting.
“Well,” he clears his throat. “My apologies, I didn’t- really? You don’t ever call him-” she shakes her head, looking as though she is suppressing another laugh. “And I suppose the same goes for-” and she’s barely containing it now, the laughter clear in her eyes as she nods without hearing the rest of his thought.
“Very well!” he takes a deep breath in. He’s immensely grateful that this blunder happened here and now and not, say, in front of the agents in question. “In that case - shall we send Solo on this one?”
She clears her throat. “Yes, I think his experience in Oklahoma will support a quick extraction.”
She’s correct, that’s what he had been leading her to, but as he continues to support her in arranging the details his mind is not focused on transportation and lodgings but on two agents who he is starting to suspect might be getting on quite a bit better than he had realized.
It’s a gorgeous spring day and Waverly spots Gaby, who he knows was planning to meet Kuryakin at a cafe near HQ to finalize the details of their current mission. She is sitting at a small bistro table, sipping at a coffee and reading a newspaper. In the periphery, just outside the cafe terrace, he can see Kuryakin and Solo having what appears to be a somewhat intense conversation. He assumes everything is under control, but it wouldn’t hurt to check in. Besides, he’s been meaning to ask her something. He slides into an empty seat at the table to join her.
“Good morning,” she says without looking up from her paper. A server appears immediately, startles him a bit actually, but he orders a tea
“Good morning, Miss Teller.” He leans back in his chair and watches his agents from behind his shaded lenses. They are standing very close together, and it looks as though Solo is trying to convince Kuryakin of something in calm, hushed words. Tension radiates from them both, doing nothing to assuage Waverly’s growing concern. “Everything all right, I trust?”
“All is well, just ironing out some details” she says, almost amused. Across the terrace, Solo reaches out and squeezes Kuryakin’s elbow with a smile, making the other man huff and look resigned.
The tea arrives and he thanks the server, taking a test sip. It’s perfect. He lets his mind cycle through a few of his observations over the last few weeks. The many, many times he has seen Solo manually engage his flirt mode on the girls at HQ, noticeably more forced than the smooth lines that had been perpetually dripping from his mouth during his first months with UNCLE. The innumerable times Kuryakin’s jaw clenched when reception got a bit too handsy pinning Solo’s badge to his jacket. The treats from the bakery down the street brought back only for Kuryakin, Solo’s paperwork completed in his partner’s handwriting. It all appears to point somewhere, so he decides to go ahead and bring up the subject that had motivated him to take a seat in the first place.
“Tell me,” he says casually - Gaby looks at him over her paper, tilts her head curiously. “You would let me know if there was anything important that I needed to know about my agents, wouldn’t you Miss Teller?”
“Important?” She looks back at the paper. “How do you mean?”
He suspects she might be enjoying herself, but he can play along. “Oh, I don’t know.” He turns the tea cup in his hands, as though he were truly thinking about it. “If there were something that might impact team dynamics, anything like that.” He takes a drink.
“You mean… something like if they were having enthusiastic sex at every given opportunity?”
He very nearly spits his tea back into the cup. “Yes.” He sets the cup down less smoothly than he intended. “Yes, something like that.”
“Nothing to report,” Gaby says cooly, turning the page with a small smile that tells him all he needs to know.
Across the terrace, Kuryakin is speaking with a concerned earnestness that Solo absorbs with a wry smile. He’s leaning into Solo’s space as his speech intensifies, making the most of the few inches he has on his partner.
Waverly grabs his cup for another drink to make himself look away. “No concerns?”
“No.” Gaby folds the paper and puts it down and looks at him for the first time since he sat down. “No concerns. Things have been much smoother, actually”
“Is that so?”
They both look up to see Kuryakin crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at Solo’s shit eating grin. Kuryakin turns to go, and Solo grabs him by his forearm and pulls him back around.
“Well. They’re no longer fighting just to have the excuse to put their hands on each other. And it’s been ages since Solo spent the night with someone who was trying to kill him,” she gives Waverly a smirk, eyebrow raised. He can’t deny that Solo’s promiscuity had created…complications for this team in the past. “And Illya…” She gives a small smile and looks as though she is weighing her words. “He’s doing better too.”
“I suppose that explains the decrease in property damage charges,” he can’t help but joke. “You’re not worried that this might make them compromised? Attachment-wise?” They both look and see Solo staring imploringly at Kuryakin, one hand squeezing his partner’s shoulder. Illya gives a short nod without breaking eye contact, his face overtaken by an incriminating softness.
“I think that probably happened a long time ago, if I’m being honest.” Gaby is watching them thoughtfully. “Way before any of…this.” They’ve parted now - Kuryakin heading towards her table, Solo walking off to the South. “But you’ve said yourself - they’re the best. I’m sure they know how to handle it.”
Waverly’s heart twinges a bit at the depth of feeling that bleeds into her statement, but he doesn’t disagree. It’s probably already a problem for all three of them, he realizes.
Kuryakin arrives at the table and sits in a chair that looks too small for him. “We are set,” he says, his voice low as he tracks the approaching server. “Service entrance at 4:12 exactly”
“Very good!” Waverly says brightly as he stands. “Good luck this evening - I look forward to reading your reports.” He leaves them to their conversation, hoping very much that Teller’s assessment is as spot on as it usually is.
They’re good, Waverly thinks as he observes them over the next weeks. They take care not to arrive at the same time in the mornings, separate themselves when chatting with colleagues, still pretend to hate each other from time to time. Solo in particular is good at managing his body language as a cover, but even he can’t stop himself from watching Kuryakin across the room, from standing to protectively intercept Waverly when he invades their office unexpectedly, from smiling too broadly at his partner’s subtle expressions. Kuryakin is less skilled at hiding, his body telegraphing his attraction as he leans towards Solo in conversation, sitting slightly too close to him when they debrief, or putting his hand up and nearly placing it on Solo’s lower back before catching himself and dropping it when they walk through crowded areas.
He sometimes sees whispered conversations directed their way. Sometimes overhears snide, knowing comments. Nothing he has to intervene in, not at this point, but it’s enough to know that while they are good, they’re not good enough when they work with people who are experts at observing and cataloging subtle details.
He has just finished meeting with Solo to discuss cover details for their upcoming mission. As they exit through his office door, Solo slides over to his secretary's desk. He sits on the desktop, leg nearly touching her arm as he lays on the charm so thick that Waverly is faintly worried they’ll all be stuck in it.
She gazes up at Solo, seemingly smitten, playfully responding to his over the top advances. She agrees to a drink at some undefined point in the future, and Solo glides out of the room with a wink.
Waverly lets the air clear for a moment before he says “Miss Donalds, I’m shocked - I was under the impression that you were engaged to be married!” He’s teasing but he is frankly a little surprised by her behavior.
“Oh, Mr Waverly, it’s just a bit of fun. Everyone knows he doesn’t mean anything by it.”
He knows then that it is the worst kept secret at HQ.
He doubles his efforts at negotiating with the CIA.
He can tell the moment the radio channel opens that something has gone wrong. Confirms it by the shaking in Teller’s voice as she says “We need backup, as soon as possible.”
“Whatever you need, I’ll have them there in 15”
“Ok. So. Transport - my tires are flat. And extraction, I think.”
“Working on it” he says as he quickly starts aligning resources to dispatch.
“And um. Maybe damage control. Something appears to be on fire.”
Oh dear. He sends out his orders.
“Support team will be there in 16 minutes”
“Thank you sir”
“Status report?”
He can hear her huff in frustration. “Objective failed, sir. They knew we were coming. Agent Solo is down, Agent Kuryakin…status unknown” she says with admirable resolve.
“Solo is down?”
“Knocked out and captured, shot with a tranq or something, I'm not sure exactly. Illya said they took him and then I lost comms with them both.”
Waverly can imagine what that means - presumably Kuryakin won’t return without his partner. He glances over at the small stack of papers that have been the biggest pain in his ass for the last few months and hopes this resolves cleanly.
He hears a surprised noise come through, followed by “I have visual on Illya! Hold on.”
Only Kuryakin? Waverly thinks. That's not good. “Keep the comms open, support is 12 minutes out.”
Teller does as instructed and he hears Kuryakin’s running approach, a terse “here”, and loud shuffling sounds.
“Objective cleared, sir,” Teller breathes.
“Excellent - tell Kuryakin to stay put, 11 minutes,” he says, watching the support team get closer on his monitor as he listens over the open comm.
“Illya, wait! Waverly says to wait for support!“
“No time.”
“They'll be here in 11 minutes!”
“I will be back in 9!” Kuryakins voice fades into the distance as he hears Gaby swear.
“Ran into the burning building?” Waverly guesses.
“Yes. Well. It's only a small fire. He grabbed the tracking receiver, which means he can find Solo now but- .”
“But now you can't find either of them,” Waverly finishes. He considers having his extraction team attempt to recalibrate their receivers, but has a suspicion that Kuryakin is honed in on his own tech and not something from the lab.
The comms stay open. There's a loud nothing for several minutes which is eventually disrupted by the sound of an explosion.
“Everything all right there? 2 minutes out.”
“I'm not sure, I don't know what that- oh, thank God.”
“Good news for me?”
“They're out - Solo is up and walking. Well. Sort of walking. He’ll need medical.”
Over the comms he hears his support team roll up just as he hears Solo slur “heyyy gorgeous.”
Waverly rolls his eyes. “Good work, Teller. Get Solo to medical and deliver that microdot to analysis. And tell Kuryakin to come to my office as soon as you're back.”
When Kuryakin shows up to his office 20 minutes later bloodied and looking a mess, Waverly realizes that his request was taken quite literally. Maybe to make up for the disregard of his earlier one.
“Mr. Kuryakin, come in.” Illya takes a step so he is fully in the office, but only just - his body held rigid with tension and fury that Waverly can feel from across the room. “Take a seat.”
Kuryakin stays standing, staring straight ahead - a perfect soldier. “No need, sir. I am prepared for correction.”
“Correction?”
“I disobeyed order. You asked to see me immediately. I am here for correction.”
This gives Waverly pause. He has heard rumors, of course, regarding KGB operations and knows strict discipline is a core tenet, but he had no intention of punishing Kuryakin for his misstep. They’d come out of the ordeal on top, and while things hadn’t gone the way Waverly would have liked that was the case with many successful missions. The adaptability of his teams was imperative, annoying though it might often be in the heat of the moment. He trusted them to do what needed to be done.
“Yes, well. Sit down, Kuryakin. That’s another order.”
Illya sits quickly, body stiff and eyes on Waverly’s desk.
“You completed the objective, Kuryakin. No, ah, correction necessary.” Waverly is relieved to feel the slightest bit of tension dissipate as Illya begins breathing normally. “But perhaps some more communication next time? Possibly a little trust? I am also quite invested in Mr. Solo’s well being after all.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Illya chews his lip a bit and appears to be deciding if he has more to say. He huffs out a frustrated breath. “I did not think there would be time. I knew with tracker I could reach him quickly.”
“I’m very glad you did. After all, I wouldn’t want all the work it took to arrange this paperwork to have been wasted.” He reaches over and gathers the small stack of hard won papers, waving them a bit for emphasis. Kuryakin looks up sharply. “I assume you are headed to the infirmary next?”
Kuryakin nods, looks a bit wary.
“You’ll have them look at your arm before you see Mr. Solo, I hope.”
The way his agent looks down at his bleeding limb and touches the injured area as though he just noticed it makes Waverly glad he gave the explicit instruction. Kuryakin nods again.
“Excellent, well. Once you’re taken care of, can you please give him a message for me?”
“What is message?”
“Please tell Mr. Solo to come to my office when he is cleared by medical, I have something important to discuss with him.” He jogs the stack of papers against his desk, hoping the meaning comes through clearly. Judging from the widening of Kuryakin’s eyes, it does.
“Yes, sir. I will tell him.” He looks like he wants to say more, but all that comes out is a heartbreakingly sincere “Thank you.”
Waverly dismisses him with a wave, putting Solo’s contract in a folder for safekeeping until they can meet.
It’s a Friday a few weeks after Solo’s transfer has been finalized and he’s feeling a little cheeky when he does it.
He has his secretary print out two copies of the policy for him. He doesn’t recall ever having it printed out before, hell, most people probably don’t even know it exists. He generally lets everyone keep their personal lives to themselves. It’s natural, in their line of work, to want to keep some secrets. Or to attempt to, at least.
Still, he smiles to himself as he skims over the bold writing at the top: “Romantic and Intimate Relationships Policy”
When he enters his agents’ office, he smiles as they look up in a synchronized motion. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good to see you, sir,” Solo says, rising from his desk and walking over to greet Waverly. He’s looking a bit battered, and Waverly makes a mental note to give this team some well deserved time off in the near future. “Where are you sending us now? Cairo? Los Angeles? Paris maybe?”
“You wish Paris,” Kuryakin scoffs.
“Nothing so exciting I’m afraid,” Waverly says. “But now that you’re both officially UNCLE assets, I just wanted to drop off a policy refresher for you to review.” He puts the forms on each of their desks.
“Ah,” Solo says, retreating to grab the papers from his desk without bothering to mask his disappointment.
“Enjoy your weekend, gentlemen.” Waverly almost wants to stick around for the reaction, but he settles for standing right outside the door.
It isn’t long before he hears the choking sound that emerges from Kuryakin, followed by Solo’s smooth “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, eh Peril?”
“Cat, what- what cat, Cowboy?! Waverly knows that we-”
The telling silence that consumes the sentence’s end makes Waverly think that maybe it was a good idea to have them review this particular policy after all.
“Just an expression. C’mon, I’ll explain over lunch.”
Waverly leaves, walks quickly to stay out of their range. And although he knows he should remain impartial, he allows himself to keep the smile on his face the whole way back to his office. He can’t be sure this won’t blow up in their faces, but for now it’s nice to see his agents happy. They may as well be afforded the happiness they can find. After all, he has a lot of work for them to do.