Chapter Text
Gaby doesn’t try to talk to Illya after Waverly threw them out. That’s fine, because Illya doesn’t seem interested in talking either. She doesn’t know what to think, she’s angry and she’s tired of it. Everything is out of control and she can’t go on like this.
The car is where she left it, directly in front of the building. She slides in behind the wheel and waits for Illya to join her. The place Waverly picked for them is back in the town, one inconspicuous apartment above a café. It’s easy to find. Their stuff from Solo’s loft is supposed to be already there. After she parks the car, she gives Illya one of the keys. He takes it wordlessly and gets out. Gaby stays behind the wheel for a few moments longer, before cutting the engine.
She catches up to Illya on the front door. The apartment assigned to them is on the second floor. If Illya’s wound acted up on the staircase, he doesn’t show it.
The apartment is rather spacious, a lot more than the loft, but the second she sets a foot in it, she feels trapped.
There are three bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, one bathroom. Their luggage is piled in the doorway of the living room. She is quick to grab a bag with what looks like mostly her stuff and disappears into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind her. The room is sparse, but not unwelcoming. She lets herself fall on the generously large bed head first. She doesn’t remember the last time when she really slept. The last two days at Waverly’s side have been too busy to let her rest. Still she knows sleep will be difficult.
She turns to her back to stare at the ceiling and listens to Illya quietly moving through the apartment. She imagines him unpacking some necessities, but leaving the majority of his possessions in his bag. This is not like the loft. This is not a home. It’s not long before the front door opens and shuts again, after that, silence.
Now alone in the apartment Gaby gets up to leave her room again. It doesn’t take long for her to sort through their luggage, in case there is still something left of hers in other bags. She goes to inspect the other rooms a little more closely. The fridge is full, but she can’t work up the energy to make herself something to eat. Instead she goes back into her room and draws the curtains shut. She lies down on her bed to let herself drift away. It doesn’t work.
***
There’s a strange routine they fall into.
Illya leaves early in the morning, returning after sundown only to disappear again in his room. Gaby turns her own room into a makeshift workshop. Gear, tools and spares are scattered on every available surface. The few times she falls asleep, she just passes out where she is. She can never remember her dreams, but she always wakes up with the feeling of dread. If she doesn’t tinker, she roams through the apartment. She sees Illya fewer times than one would think of people living together, and when she does, they barely exchange a word.
Gaby both wants him to talk to her and to avoid that. She wants to hear what exactly happened at Avery’s mansion, but her stomach twists at the mere thought of hearing more. With the little sleep she gets, there is a lot time on her hands to think, to wonder.
On some nights she wants to slip into Illya’s bed and ask for forgiveness and just to let her sleep next to him, but that’s not going to happen. She is sorry for how everything turned out, but she’s not going to take all the blame. Still she misses him, the way it was between them. And she misses Solo, although his being here would only add to the tension.
She’s right.
Solo joins them after two and a half weeks, wearing one of his suits, a cast on his left hand and a black leather glove on the other. It only takes one short, wordless encounter between him and Illya in the hall for both of them to practically flee the apartment.
The cast gets replaced by a second glove after another week. Nothing else changes.
Gaby stays mostly in her room, disassembling anything she can get her hands on. Illya is gone the whole day. Solo is gone the whole night and stays holed up in his room the rest of the time. When Solo comes home in the morning, always smelling of a different perfume, Illya has already left at the peak of dawn. Gaby doesn’t know who is avoiding whom. Waverly calls them every few days and Gaby answers the ringing every time. When he asks her about Illya and Solo, there is little to tell.
To think back about the fight they had means thinking about Avery and how he died, and she refuses to give that bastard more time of her day as he takes already. She sees him every time she hears Napoleon coming home, instantly taking a shower and emerging from the bathroom with his gloves back on. She sees him, when Illya leaves at dawn with his running shoes and returns only hours later, completely exhausted, sometimes with a new patch of blood staining his shirt where he was shot. She sees him every time she holds something sharp or something metal and sometimes without any prompting at all.
She doesn’t regret killing Avery and this is what worries her. She ended a life and she doesn’t feel remorse. In fact she doesn’t really feel anything. Maybe she’s just a cold blooded murderer and she just didn’t know until now, which scares her more than the prospect of killing again.
Waverly gave her a number for when she feels like she needs someone to talk to, who is not on anyone’s side. The piece of paper where she wrote down the digits sits on her bedside table. She doesn’t call.
***
The dream is gone again when she opens her eyes, but she can still feel the terror clawing at her. She sits up abruptly, jostling the tools and bits of tech spread over her bed. She turns on the small lamp at her bedside table to look at the clock. Almost five in the morning. That makes about three hours of sleep this time. She doesn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry at that. What she does know is that her stupid body won’t let her get any more rest beyond this. She’s still fully dressed, so she doesn’t bother to change anything about her appearance as she walks up to the door and silently opens it.
It’s dark in the apartment, just the streetlights coming in through the windows illuminate the place. Gaby settles down in one of the armchairs by the window and clicks on the light on the small table beside her.
Taking a deep breath she studies the small living room, trying to clear her head. Making coffee is probably not the wisest decision in the middle of the night, but the prospect of something hot to drink is rather appealing right now. She stays sitting there for a while, weighing the pros and cons of caffeine at five o’clock, when she hears something at the door.
A couple of seconds later the sound is there again. Metal against metal at their front door. Someone is trying to get in.
Silently she stands up and moves out to the hall, just in time to see Illya coming out of his room, a gun already in his hand.
The sounds coming from the door seem oddly loud. Picking a lock usually doesn’t make so much noise. They wait for the attacker to come in, as the scratching turns to something sliding in and the pins of the lock clicking in unison. Illya raises his gun, as the door swings open, the confused frown on his face matching hers.
The light from the staircase floods the small hallway and blinds them for a second. The silhouette in the doorway is definitely male and definitely familiar.
Illya’s finger slips away from the trigger instantly.
“Solo?”
An even more familiar voice.
“Who else were you expecting?”
Gaby hits the light switch.
Solo looks like a mess, his clothes and hair askew. There’s an odd shine in his eyes, one of his fake smiles plastered on his face.
His eyes fall on the gun in Illya’s hand and he huffs out a laugh. It sounds wrong. “It’s like Rome all over again, isn’t it?”
He rummages in his coat, his motions jerky and uncoordinated, until he finds what he’s been looking for. He doesn’t exactly slam his hand on the sideboard next to him, but it’s close.
“Here’s your stupid watch.”
Both Gaby and Illya stare at him, then at his hand revealing the familiar clock face. Illya doesn’t rush to get it, instead he stays glued to his spot. His voice is rough from sleep or from something else, Gaby can’t quite tell.
“How did you get it?”
Solo huffs and shrugs off his coat.
“Stole it from the evidence locker. It’s not like they can convict Avery of anything now.”
He walks past Gaby with his coat in his hands. His usual cologne trails behind him, as does the smell of alcohol. She glances at Illya, his frown back on his face. He smells it, too.
They watch Solo hang up his coat, only to see him wince as he lifts his arm over his head. The coat slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. Solo glances at it shortly, only to leave it lying there. As he walks through the open door towards the living room, he sways and knocks his shoulder against the doorframe.
Gaby follows Solo quietly and leans against the wall across from him as he sinks down on the couch with a silent groan.
He’s drunk. It would be funny if she hadn’t seen him empty most of a bottle of liquor only to stand up and act like there was only water in his glass.
Movement in the corner of her eyes makes her look up. Illya stands in the doorway, his watch back on his wrist. Solo’s coat is draped over his arm as he holds up a small bottle with a white label and cap.
She doesn’t have to read the label to know that they are Solo’s prescribed painkillers.
Reckless and dangerous. Gaby can feel anger well up in her again, just as it did in the hospital. She swallows it down. It didn’t help then, it won’t help now. Instead she looks at Illya, who still hovers in the doorway, then at Solo, who looks exhausted facing them.
“How much did you drink?”
“Don’t know.”
Solo’s words now come out slurred.
He sighs heavily.
“It’s not like we talk, so leave me alone.”
The words sting, mostly because they’re true. She can see it on Illya’s face as well.
“That doesn’t mean we don’t care.”
And despite how he acts sometimes, she knows he cares, too.
Solo snorts and looks away.
He looks odd as he sits on the couch, his limps splayed careless in front of him. Even in the hospital he looked more put together than this. He runs his hand through his hair again, messing it up even more, before letting his head fall back on the backrest behind him.
His voice is almost too soft to be heard.
“My ribs still hurt.”
In a heartbeat, Illya enters the room. Gaby can just see how careful he is as he sits down next to him to hook Solo’s arm over his shoulder, the other one wrapping around Solo’s torso, low enough not to put pressure on the ribcage.
Solo still winces as they stand up together.
She goes ahead to open Solo’s bedroom door. Illya almost drags Solo behind him, whose legs don’t seem to be co-operating with him. Gaby has a flashback to the night when they brought Illya back to the loft. She hopes that this night will have different consequences. Illya sits him down on the edge of the bed and Solo instantly flops backwards. The bed is almost not broad enough for his head to stay on the mattress. For a second both Illya and Gaby stand there looking at him. Illya is the first to react and nudges Solo’s foot with his.
“You will regret it tomorrow if you sleep in your suit, Cowboy.”
Gaby thinks all of them startle a little at the easy way the nickname rolls off Illya’s tongue, but he doesn’t correct himself. Solo makes a sound, but doesn’t sit up, so Illya nudges him again, a little more insistent.
Solo groans and turns his head from one side to the other. “Don’t care.”
Illya huffs. He glances at Gaby shortly, before bending down to remove Solo’s shoes.
Solo huffs out a laugh. “Don’t start what you don’t want to finish, Peril.”
Illya ignores him and glances back at Gaby while undoing the shoe laces. “Would you get some ice?”
Gaby stays for a few more seconds in the doorway before turning around to go to their fridge. There’s no ice in there, but a few bags of frozen vegetables. She takes them anyway.
By the time she returns, Illya has Solo down to his dress shirt and slacks and maneuvered him to lie down in the middle of his bed. He left the gloves on.
Gaby approaches with the frozen bags. Solo glances at her, but doesn’t react as she hands them to Illya. He lets out something almost too close to a whine as the cold touches his sides. Illya is quick to pull up the blanket up to his chin.
With nothing else to do, Gaby walks around the bed and sits down. After a quick glance at Illya, he does the same across from her, leaving Solo lying in the middle of them. The bed is barely large enough, leaving only a few inches between them and Solo each.
For a few moments everything is silent. The murmur escaping Solo’s lips is almost unintelligible, muffled by the pillow and jumbled from his tongue stumbling over the syllables.
“I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”
Gaby reaches up to push back a wayward strand of hair. “We don’t mind.”
Another stretch of silence. Gaby thinks Solo dozed off, when he starts again.
“I’m not a victim.”
Gaby and Illya share a glance. They both know Solo well enough to understand what he’s referring to. Gaby can read it off Solo’s tone, off Illya’s face. It is at this moment when she realizes how well she got to know them. They don’t feel like people she simply works with, they feel different.
She finds Solo’s shoulder and squeezes it lightly.
“You don’t have to be a victim to hurt.”
There’s a quiet hum, then Solo shifts. It’s not much, he lies almost exactly like before, only his shoulder now brushes Illya and his other arm leans against her.
Illya stays sitting where he is, so does Gaby.
She watches Solo’s features relax as he drifts deeper and deeper asleep until his breathing evens out. And no matter what she tried to convince herself of in the last weeks, she doesn’t want to leave. She shares a look with Illya over Solo’s sleeping form. She can tell Illya knows this too.
Something shifts within Gaby, something that has been askew for a long time.
Her eyes drift to Illya’s watch, finally back at its rightful place. His fingers trace the face of it in slow circles. She knows this gesture. The tapping is to stave off the anger, the circles are meant for comfort.
Illya’s voice is barely a whisper.
“In Iceland- ” He stops abruptly. Gaby looks up from his fingers with widened eyes. Illya doesn’t meet her gaze, his shoulders are hunched, but after a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth again.
“In Iceland, Cowboy and me stayed in a cottage outside a village two hours away from Akureyri. One night heating went out, so we shared bed. I-”
Gaby sees how Illya’s fingers start to tremble. “I had a dream. I woke up when Cowboy threw me to the floor. I almost choked him to death in my sleep.”
The sound of Solo’s breath fills the silence between them. Illya waits for her to recoil, to get scared. It’s obvious in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. She waits for a few moments. When Illya doesn’t continue, she reaches over Solo to place her hand on his. As expected, his fingers are ice cold, but she doesn’t draw back.
“Is that why at first you slept on the floor in the loft?”
Illya’s fingers twitch under hers.
Gaby hums softly. “It’s hard to miss a six foot five Russian lying between you and the bathroom, when you need to get up in the night.”
Illya is still not looking at her. There’s a shadow of anguish on his face. Gaby knows this isn’t the end of it, but she leaves her hand firmly where it is, slowly warming Illya’s under hers.
“I dreamt about Mikhail.”
Again that name. Gaby instinctively tightens her hold on Illya’s hand. She spent so much time wondering, pressing for an answer, but now it doesn’t seem worth the pain it caused. She wished she could have understood that earlier.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Slowly Illya lifts his head. His eyes flash icy blue in the dim light.
“I want to.”
Gaby nods, unable to say anything else.
Illya swallows thickly.
“He was one of my father’s friends. After my father was taken away, he came to the dinners my mother hosted.”
Gaby knows enough about those dinners, about what happened there. It’s not hard to figure it out.
Illya looks down to his lap, shortly glancing at their hands. “I wasn’t allowed there, but Mikhail came to find me when my mother was occupied.”
There’s a pit forming in Gaby’s stomach. The fingers under her palm slowly ball into a fist, but she refuses to let go. When he looks back at her again, his eyes are glistening.
“He hurt me. There is-” He clears his throat. “There is still a scar on my leg. One of his rings had a sharp edge.”
The silence is heavy between them. He clears his throat again.
“When my mother found out, she shot him on our doorstep. They sent her away like my father, that was when I was put into training camp.”
Gaby wants to rage and cry at the same time. There’s so much bubbling up in her, so many words on her tongue, but this is not about her. She knows Illya waits for her to say something. Still, what is there to say. She knows Illya well enough that he doesn’t want pity and it’s not pity what Gaby feels.
“Your mother was a very brave woman. I’m sorry you lost her because she was protecting you, but I’m not sorry that she did.”
There’s a lot more that she wants to say, that she’s honored for him to trust her, that she’s sorry for pressing the matter when she had no right, that she doesn’t think anything different of him, but the tentative smile she gets from Illya is enough.
“Thank you. She was.”
They sit by their partner for hours until they see the first rays of sunlight on the horizon. It’s Gaby who moves first to stand up, but Illya follows her immediately. Gaby waits for him at the door and closes it after both of them walked out. On a whim she leaves a small gap open. She takes a last peek through it, but Solo is still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling in an even pattern.
When she turns around, she almost collides with Illya’s chest. She stumbles half a step back and looks up to him. A small smile is back on his face which she can’t help but return. It’s still careful on both of their sides, but it’s a start.
“Sleep well, Illya.”
“You, too.”
They stay standing there, looking at each other for another few moments, before simultaneously turning to their bedrooms. As Gaby glances over her shoulder for a final time, she finds Illya doing the same.
***
She wakes up not to her heart racing, but to the smell of breakfast. The daylight falling through the shades of her window is bright. Her clock confirms her suspicion that it’s already past noon. She still feels sleepy, but curiosity makes her get up anyway.
When she steps out of her room, she sees that the door to the kitchen is open. The delicious smell is now more prominent, coffee and pancakes. Hesitating only for a moment, she crosses the hallway and enters the kitchen.
Solo is standing in front of the stove with his back to her, one of his aprons thrown over the wrinkled dress shirt and suit pants, the same he wore last night. There’s a huge stack of pancakes piled up on a plate to his right. Next to the pancakes is a pot full of coffee and his gloves.
She raps her knuckles on the doorframe. Solo’s arms twitch once before he turns and looks over his shoulder. His smile is somewhat careful, but not faked.
“Good morning, Gaby.”
“Morning.”
They just look at each other for a few moments, before Solo turns to the stove again.
“I’m making pancakes for breakfast.”
That much was obvious, but Gaby doesn’t comment on it.
He glances at her shortly.
“If it’s not too late.”
She can see that he’s trying to put them back together again, to where they were before this mess started. Maybe that’s not possible, but she is not going to let Solo try alone.
“It’s not.”
She casually wanders into the kitchen to look over his shoulder. There’s batter for maybe two more pancakes, one still sizzling in the pan before him. She can see his shoulders tense slightly, as she looks further.
His hands are covered in rosy patches of new skin, other parts reddish and raised. She takes a step back again.
“Looks delicious. Would you like me to set the table?”
Solo’s shoulders relax as he exhales. “Yes, thank you.”
Gaby has to go through almost all the cupboards before she manages to find everything. She carries it all over to the table in the corner of the kitchen and lines it up. It’s not much space, but the table is larger than the one in the loft and at least they have three chairs.
Which makes her think of another thing still missing.
“I’ll get Illya.”
She can hear Solo hum, before she is out of the kitchen. Her knock on Illya’s door isn’t very loud, but she hears Illya moving not a second later. When he opens the door, he’s still squinting at the brightness of the room.
“Breakfast is ready. Are you coming?”
Illya blinks at her in surprise, but follows her into the kitchen with a nod.
They come in just in time to see Solo flip the last pancake onto the pile. His gloves are back on. Gaby tries not to be too disappointed, as she sits down with Illya.
Solo places the stack of pancakes in the middle of the table and joins them.
Illya’s head is lowered, but he glances at Solo through his lashes.
“Thank you.”
Solo shrugs. “I think I have something to make up for after last night.”
For a few moments they just sit there awkwardly, until Gaby takes the first pancake and places it on her plate. They don’t really talk while they eat, but the silence is not as uncomfortable as Gaby feared. There’s still a lot of words left unspoken between them and she doubts they can resolve everything in an instant. This will take time, but she knows where to start.
She stops eating halfway through her last pancake.
“I don’t want out of the team.”
Both Illya and Solo look up from their breakfast. Gaby swallows once.
“I want to stay with you, but I can’t watch you getting hurt and then trying to hide it from me. I don’t need to know everything, but I’m neither stupid nor blind and I care about you.”
She looks at Illya and Solo one at a time. “Both of you. I hate to see you hurt, but I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is you shutting me out.”
There is something twisting in her stomach, but she ignores it.
“So as I said, I don’t need to know everything, but don’t lie to me. And I’m sorry.”
Illya’s face is still carefully blank, but she can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. She can understand him too well. She is hopeful too.
Solo looks at both of them in turn, apprehension in his eyes, but not dismissal. To her surprise he lets his fork fall on the table and leans back in his chair.
“Alright, I’ll start.” He throws a glance in Illya’s direction. “But before that I want to remind you that I recently had my ribs broken and would like to avoid doing that again.”
Gaby didn’t exactly expect this reaction, but she did hope for it. It’s time they talk.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see Illya’s eyes narrow.
Solo takes a sip of his coffee, before looking at Illya.
“I had your watch since I was out of the hospital. I didn’t want you to get it back once Waverly sees and recognizes it.”
Illya sets down his cutlery as well, but other than a twitch in his hands he seems calm.
“Why?”
Solo’s gaze flicks down for a second, before he looks into Illya’s eyes again.
“I was angry.”
Still he carried the watch around and didn’t dispose of it, Gaby realizes, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I was angry, because maybe you were right.”
He huffs out a laugh, but there is no hint of humor in it.
“I met someone last night. It was like any other time before. We talked, it was nice, I got an unmistakable invitation. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe.”
He laughs again, the sound somehow hurts. “Embarrassing really.”
“No, is not.”
Illya looks at him fiercely, but not unkindly. “Do not be ashamed, if it’s not your fault.”
For a moment Gaby sees Solo’s eyes widen as if in recognition, then not so inconspicuously glances in Gaby’s direction.
“It is fine, I told her.”
Solo’s surprise shows for just the blink of an eye before it gives way to one of his real smiles. “Well, good for you, Peril.”
Illya’s smile in return has lost its carefulness from the last night. Seeing them like that eases something in Gaby’s chest.
They finish the last bits of the pancakes. Just as they did in the loft, Gaby and Illya handle cleaning the kitchen and doing the dishes, leaving Solo sitting at the table to finish the last coffee.
After stacking everything away they are about to disperse apart again, Illya and Solo heading back to their own rooms, when she stops them by pointedly clearing her throat.
“Do you mind if I set up shop in the living room?”
A headshake from both Solo and Illya.
She gives them a wink. “Alright, thank you.”
Both men disappear into their rooms, but Gaby notices that neither of them close their door all the way. She smiles and goes to her room to collect her newest project from all the clutter she left lying around in her sleepless nights.
Just as she organized everything to her liking, Illya appears in the doorway, just outside as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. “What are you working on?”
Gab huffs. “I’m not sure yet.”
Illya raises his eyebrows at her, but says nothing. She tilts her head to him slightly.
“Would you like to take a look?”
Illya nods and finally enters the room. He stops right next to her, bowing a little over the table. She watches him, as his gaze roams over the table, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Communicator?”
Gaby looks a little longer before she answers.
“Yes, but smaller than what we have and less conspicuous. Maybe even some sort of casing so that it won’t be detectable.”
Illya hums. “What range?”
“As far as I can make it work.”
Her eyes fall on Illya’s hands. He carries a book which she didn’t notice before. She smiles as she sees the title.
“Dr. No still?”
Illya looks down at the book in his hand, his smile a little strained. “I have not felt like reading for some time.”
He must have left off the day before they went to Avery’s club. Gaby tilts her head towards the couch.
“Make yourself comfortable then.”
Illya looks shortly at her, then walks over to the couch. She can hear the sound of fabric against fabric as he sits down.
They fall into comfortable silence, only interrupted by the faint sounds of Solo moving around in his room, taking a shower and pottering around some more.
Gaby is almost finished with her handiwork, when Solo comes to lean against the doorframe. His hair is still damp and curly. He’s not wearing a suit, but one of the few sweaters he always buries deep down in his cases and the dark pants he wears for breaking in. His feet are bare, but not his hands. As impressive as Solo’s usual style is, Gaby likes this look on him better, because nobody else gets to see him like this.
Gaby catches herself before it counts as staring and casually takes one of her small screwdrivers to check the stability of her work, which she already did twice.
“Any idea how to camouflage a pocket-sized communicator, Solo?”
Illya looks up from his book. From the way his eyes crinkle slightly, she knows he’s not unaffected by Solo either.
Solo hums shortly in thought.
“You could make it a pack of cigarettes.”
A snort from Illya.
“Talking into a pack of cigarettes, not inconspicuous at all, Cowboy.”
Solo raises his eyebrows at him. “But cyanide cigarettes are so much better.”
Illya frowns at him. “Cyanide cigarettes?”
“The book in your hand, Dr. No isn’t it?”
“No cyanide cigarettes in the book.”
Solo shrugs. “There were some in the film.”
Gaby could practically smell Illya’s indignation that Solo knows the film, but not the novel it was based on, and she suddenly has the urge to laugh. It’s such an ordinary thing for them to bicker over some ridiculous detail and it’s good.
They seem to notice too, for both of them stop in their tracks. Both look at each other, having some silent conversation. It ends, when Solo’s eyes drop away to the small table next to the couch.
“What is that Peril?”
Curiously Gaby follows his gaze. There’s something lying on the table, a photograph of some sort, but Gaby can’t see what’s in it from her angle.
Illya’s free hand jerks once, as if he wanted to grab the photograph but then decided against it. He clears his throat and pointedly looks back at the pages of his book.
“My bookmark.”
Solo slowly walks over to it and picks it up. When he sees it, his eyes widen for a moment, before turning to Illya.
“Where did you get this?”
Illya’s eyes stay firmly on the page in front of him.
“I took it myself.”
Gaby gets up from the table and walks over to Solo. He hands the photograph over to her.
It’s a photograph of them, Gaby and Solo to be precise, from Istanbul. And Illya kept it all these months, probably looking at it almost daily.
Gaby looks up to Illya, who still makes a show of reading.
“It’s beautiful.”
Illya glances over the edge of the book at her.
“But I’d like it better, if you were in it, too.”
The sentence hovers in the air between them, no one agreeing or disagreeing. Illya breaks the spell with a huff. “We’re spies, there can’t be photographs of us together.”
It’s sad that he’s right. The only thing that saved the photo from being destroyed is probably that Gaby is not really recognizable. Still she stands by what she said.
Carefully she puts it back down on the table. Solo stays where he is, looking at Illya again.
“You know, if you get tired of reading, your watch is not the only thing I took from evidence.”
Illya lets the book sink to his lap, surprise on his face. Solo tips his head over his shoulder.
“Your chess set is in my room.”
Illya’s eyes narrow. “How did you do that?”
Solo just winks at him. “Do you really want to know?”
Gaby can barely hold in a chuckle at Illya’s resigned headshake. Still, he gets up from the couch to follow Solo out.
They don’t return to the living room after that. Gaby uses the time to breathe a little, letting everything go through her head again. She can’t let the few kindnesses and ordinary small things fool herself. All this is familiar, but still fragile. They’ve all been hurt and that won’t get better overnight. Still, having Illya and Solo closer to her again feels right in a way she can’t explain. Now that they left the room, she wishes them back just for them to be there. She knows it’s childish, but that doesn’t change the fact that her fingers fly even faster over the wires and spares at the prospect of following them.
It still takes some time for her to finish the communicator prototype and as odd as it sounds, to disguise it as a pack of cigarettes doesn’t seem like a bad idea. She plans to give it a try, but for today she is done. Packing up her equipment, she does it a little more neatly than in the last few weeks. Finding quite a few stray pieces in her room she puts all of it away. By the time she leaves her room, it’s already dark outside.
Solo and Illya haven’t emerged again, the door to Solo’s room standing open.
She finds them sitting on Solo’s bed with the chess set between them. Both stare down at the pieces deep in thought, although it looks like Illya has already won. More than half of the white pieces are lined up in front of Illya, Solo having captured only a few pawns and a knight.
Gaby lets them be and goes to the kitchen to prepare a small dinner for them. She’s never been interested in cooking, so they will have to be content with her assembling some sandwiches. She makes six of them, two for each, and carries them out on three plates. She’s back right in time to see Illya win.
She climbs on the bed as well, behind the chessboard, to have an unobstructed view. They eat in comfortable silence and to both Gaby’s and Illya’s surprise, Solo agrees to a rematch. Gaby knows he likes chess not much better than her, which is just short of not at all, and he stands no chance of winning. It’s kind of sweet, that he still wants to play on.
Gaby evens the odds a little by taking over Illya’s side every three turns and most likely sabotaging his strategy. The longer the game lasts, the lower she sinks on the bed, until she almost nods off between her moves. She doesn’t know how late it is, but she lost enough sleep over the last few weeks. She’s a little surprised but relieved that sleep is coming so easily right now. She fights to keep her eyes open as she contemplates just to annex Solo’s bed and go to sleep where she lies or to risk losing her sleepiness by getting up.
She only noticed she’s already more asleep than awake, when Solo calling her name makes her eyes snap open again. The game in front of her is decided and she can’t even remember when she dozed off.
“No insomnia for you today, Gaby?”
She huffs out a laugh, as she struggles to sit up. “I told you, it’s not too bad when the two of you are not lying somewhere in a ditch bleeding out.”
Solo glances down at his hands and clears his throat.
“I know you didn’t leave last night until the sun went up. We could stay with you.” The second the words leave his mouth he clamps his mouth shut. Illya and Gaby exchange glances. It should be awkward, but then again, it’s not like they had not slept together in the weeks before. And to be honest, Gaby misses that just as much as she misses both of them.
“No.” Illya’s voice is firm with no room for arguing. Gaby gets a glimpse of the disappointment on Solo’s face before he covers it up. Illya’s hand finds Solo’s shoulder before the other man can say anything.
“My room. I have the biggest bed. We shared before.”
Illya doesn’t let go of Solo as they both stand up from the bed and proceed to walk over to Illya’s room. Gaby trails behind them, a small grin on her face as she can see the tips of Illya’s ears redden slightly. She uses the opportunity to slip into the bathroom first. When she comes back, Illya already changed into his sleeping clothes. Illya takes the next turn, leaving her with Solo alone in his room, something he would have never done just months ago.
Illya’s room is always tidy to the point it doesn’t seem lived in. As she suspected, the shelves are bare and his bags are still unpacked.
Solo sits at the foot of Illya’s bed, looking around casually as well, but Gaby can feel he just waits for her to settle. She does him the favor and sits down next to him, but before he can say anything, she gently takes one of his gloved hands in hers. Even through the leather they radiate warmth, so different from Illya’s but just as nice. His fingers twitch in hers, but he doesn’t withdraw them.
“You know you don’t have to hide this from us.”
It’s easier said than done, but she hopes they can slowly get there.
His fingers flex once. “I know.”
He lets her play with his hand for a little more, before taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for lying to you about going to Avery.”
She squeezes his fingers lightly.
“I’m not angry anymore.”
“Well, I’m still sorry.”
She looks up from their hands and meets his eyes. They were nothing but sincere. Gaby nods, but doesn’t look away. Since she first noticed it, she has been fascinated by the brown fleck in his eye. She wonders what caused it, pure chance or if his parents had it as well. They never really talk about family, but she hopes they will someday. Her gaze slips down to his lips for a second.
A door opens and she hears footsteps in the hallway.
She didn’t even realize how close they were sitting until Illya appears in the doorway and sees them together. Gaby and Solo stay as they are, not moving.
Illya keeps looking at them, his hands begin to twitch at his side. “I can go.”
Before Gaby has time to react, Solo already opened his mouth.
“Stay.”
And suddenly this is not about just sleeping in the same bed. Maybe it never was.
Gaby wordlessly extends a hands towards Illya.
Illya shifts his weight from one leg to the other as if he contemplates running, but he stays where he is. His hands clench to fists at his side, his head drops a little.
“I am not good at this.”
Next to her Solo gets on his feet. He slowly walks towards Illya, leaving him plenty of time to step away. Illya doesn’t move, looking at his partner through his lashes. Gaby doesn’t think he has any idea how vulnerable it makes him look.
Solo stops directly in front of him with only a few inches to spare. His right hand slowly reaches up to Illya’s cheek and rests there.
“May I?”
For a few moments they just look at each other. Gaby fears that Illya might break away and leave, when he gives a tiny nod.
The first time their lips meet it’s just a fleeting brush. Both draw back after that. Illya looks down at his partner with surprise and slowly a tentative smile forms on his face. Gaby feels warmth spread inside her, as Solo mirrors his expression. The second time Illya meets him halfway and it’s all the sweeter for it.
She will never understand how people could think this is wrong.
It ends almost too soon, as Solo steps back with the familiar grin on his face.
“Behave yourselves while I wash up.”
Illya nods, still looking a bit awestruck. Gaby laughs a little, before sliding back onto the bed and holding out her hand to Illya again. This time he comes to her.
She is already stretched out in the middle of the bed, when he sits down at her left side. Gaby turns to face him, as he stays sitting there in silence. It’s all confusing to say the least. It’s a risk and not only in consideration of their jobs. If anyone finds out it will doubtlessly be used against them. She won’t hold it against Illya, or Solo for that matter, if he decides to back out.
“Do you want this?”
Illya glances back at her, but stays silent. She props herself up on her arms to be at least a little closer to his eyelevel.
“Having both me and Solo?”
Illya looks at her for another moment, before ducking his head a little.
“I have not thought this is a possibility.”
Gaby grins a little. “Have you never imagined?”
The faint blush rising on Illya’s cheek is answer enough. Gaby doesn’t press for more. She isn’t cruel.
“So why shouldn’t it be possible?”
Illya glances away, shrugging.
“Is not how it is supposed to be.”
Gaby never gave much thought to the way things are supposed to be, but she knows this isn’t easy for Illya, who grew up with so little air to breathe. She sits up properly and reaches out to him. Illya doesn’t withdraw, as she kneels behind him and slips her arms around his neck.
“Do you still want us?”
Illya’s yes is barely more than a whisper, but it is enough.
He lets himself get pulled backwards until he’s fully on the mattress. After a little turning they end up on their sides, facing each other. There’s a small, hopeful smile on Illya’s face and Gaby knows she looks the same.
“Cowboy needs more space.”
A gentle hand sneaks over her waist and curls around her. Gaby doesn’t protest as she’s turned around and drawn back until her back rests against Illya’s front. She can feel the tension in Illya’s body, still unsure if he’s allowed. Gaby covers his hand with hers like she did the last time. Illya slowly relaxes again.
“He should sleep on his back. Better for healing.”
“Always the gentleman, Peril.” Both Gaby and Illya look up to see their partner leaning in the doorway, a grin on his face. He’s in his robe again, the pillows and blankets from his and Gaby’s rooms in his arms. Illya grumbles something in Russian, low enough only for Gaby to understand if she only knew the words.
Solo hands them the pillows and blankets for them to arrange and goes to switch the lights off.
There is just enough light left to make out his shape against the background as he walks back over to them. The mattress dips under his weight, as he lies down on his back next to Gaby, leaving still a polite distance between them. Which is not going to happen. Gaby reaches out to him and grabs the collar of his robe, tugging at it until Solo shuffles closer to them with a suspiciously relieved sigh. She doesn’t understand how her partners can be so intelligent and so dumb at the same time.
She only stops tugging when he’s close enough to rest her forehead against his shoulder. Her fingers release the robe to wander down his arm to his hand. The lack of skin reminds her sharply that he still wears the gloves. She decides not to say anything, when Illya suddenly shifts and a cold hand joins hers. Solo’s fingers stiffen at the touch.
“Peril, please-“
“This is my fault.”
Solo exhales audibly. “Avery did this, not you.”
Illya doesn’t say anything else, but his guilt still hanging over him.
After a few moments of silence, Solo curses softly. His hand slips out under theirs. He raises it to his face and uses his teeth to slip off the glove. The light is too low to see much, but he holds his hand out to Illya.
Carefully Illya closes his fingers around it. From what Gaby has seen earlier, the scars must be noticeable by touch. Illya still doesn’t say anything as he runs his thumb over the back of Solo’s hand. He sets it down again on the bed after, but instead of letting go, he holds their intertwined fingers against Gaby’s stomach.
Gaby lays her hand on top of them, holding them in place.
“We made it through. We’re still together. That’s all that matters now.”
They still need time to heal. There will be scars, but they are not alone with them.
Solo looks down at their joined hands and turns to his side. Gaby is about to push him gently back down, when his other hand reaches out to cup her jaw.
Her eyes fall shut automatically as he leans in. His lips are warm and softer than she imagined. The kiss is tender and so unlike anything she would have expected from Solo it makes her heart flutter in her chest.
She doesn’t get the chance to protest when he draws back for another arm sliding under her head from behind her to turn her around.
After such a long wait, Illya’s kiss is nothing but sweet relief. Her thoughts flee her all at once as she melts into it. It could have lasted an hour or just a moment, she can’t tell as they break apart.
They settle back down again, Gaby pressed between Illya’s chest and Solo’s side even closer than before. Their warmth radiates through her, making her forget all the pain, anger and fear of the last weeks.
Her lips still tingle with the kisses she received, the impressions blurring into one feeling as she slowly drifts away.
She’s home.