Men of U.N.C.L.E.

Mission 1: The Bet

You aren't entirely sure of what frustrates you most- Illya's stoicism or Napoleon's sleek banter. Either extreme makes you nervous, honestly, because the two men are incredibly difficult to read.

You've been getting better at it, though. Hell, you've made it into a game now.

Gaby and Waverly have even placed bets. They gave you three weeks. If you can make Ilya smile, or, god forbid it, laugh, you'll be upgraded from rookie agent. No longer will you be stuck in the sidelines as moral support.

If you can get Napoleon to act seriously pissed off, or force him to be genuine, it's the same deal.

Plus, a couple hundred dollars and bragging rights.

The thought of it excites you, but you need to focus on one of them if you're gonna succeed.

Choosing either spy seems almost as difficult as completing your task, honestly. It's like asking a person to choose between their right or left arm. Either way you're gonna lose.

You stare pensively at the ceiling, trying to decide. Sleek or Blunt? Tall dark and handsome or really tall blonde and equally handsome?

Finally, you sigh and nod. You'll take your chances with Ilya.

***

Trying to conjure up a strategy, you walk towards the living room.

Your posture is determined. Illya will like you, Damn it.

However, your bravado disappears as soon as you approach him.

Has he always been this big?

He is playing chess by himself, and though his attention seems to be solely focused on the pieces, you have no doubt that he knows you are here.

"Waverly assigned you as my mentor," you announce, a little too loudly.

His hand hovers over a pawn for a few moments.

His blue eyes are still focused on the game, but you detect a slight hint of annoyance.

"I'm not a babysitter," he tells you, evenly.

His accent and enunciation make the words sound vaguely threatening.

"Well, good, 'cause I'm not a baby." You cringe at your reply. Is this really happening? Did you just say that?

"What I mean is, well, I don't need a babysitter. Besides," you try to appeal to the weird competitive rivalry he has going on with Napoleon "he said it was either you or Solo, and, I mean, Solo is a great spy but... I don't know if he'd be a good teacher."

He stops tapping his fingers against his thigh and leans back. "You will not get in my way."

You glare. "Whoa, there. I'm inexperienced, not incompetent." There are a lot of things you can accept, but being treated as a moron really does get on your nerves.

He doesn't deign your outburst with a reply, instead returning his attention back to the game.

Too late, you realize how difficult your task is truly going to be.

***

The phone besides your bed rings and you pick it up groggily. Napoleon's smooth, mocking voice fills your ears. You try not to cringe. "So you chose Peril? I'm offended. You don't think I can be genuine?" You can almost see the man's face twisting into a pout. Then he laughs. "I'm in on it, by the way. Five hundred dollars says you can't."