Mixology
Their downtime afforded hours upon hours of time in which to get to know each other on a more personal level, but it was more of a bore than anything. They’d spent month as partners within UNCLE, and even Illya--normally so stoic and stern-faced in the presence of boredom, had begun to crack. They spent endless days in Napoleon’s New York apartment rather than their own separate ones, because, well..he could cook.
They’d grown close at least; Gaby and Illya had reconciled their affections for each other but hadn’t wanted to make it exclusive. Exclusivity didn’t bode well for agents whose missions sometimes ran toward the romantic, and Illya wasn’t really looking for much in the way of constant companionship, so long as he had the two of them as company.
The two of them; Napoleon factored into the relationship status, as well. It was still a point of conjecture for Illya, but Gaby was very slowly worming out Illya’s appreciation of Napoleon, whether Illya liked it or not. He’d shared the odd kiss with the American agent, but light touches and bodies piled together on the sofa while watching television were common enough and platonic enough for Illya’s confused self.