#501-800

[imaginegallya]

Have you already written a fic where Gaby is dying and Illya comforts her? I absolutely love the blog by the way; thank you for keeping the fandom alive!

It’s a gunshot that takes her down. Hot and impersonal, ripping through her dress and tearing into her chest. Everything is hot, burning, brilliant  -- hot. The air rushes from her lungs and leaves her ragged,  desperate for a mouthful air. There’s no time for her to scream, she simply falls like a puppet losing its strings. The blood turns cold and gel-like when he finds her. She doesn’t answer him when he calls her name, she doesn’t even cry out for him. She simply turns her blood-stained hand over and beckons him in with curling fingers. Gaby wears white in a sea of red.

The string of pearls around her neck is broken and scattered across the museum’s basement floor. Works of art hang half-restored around her on easels, but Illya can only focus on her and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her thick lashes are stuck together, heavily saturated with tears that have escaped down the sides of her temples and matted into her hair he spent nearly an hour pinning behind her with careful fingers just before their mission.“Illya,” Gaby’s voice is so faint he wonders if he’s too late. His knees hit the ground, there’s no grace to him as he comes undone at the seams. The world around him unravels as Gaby’s sticky fingers find his wrist. Her palm closes over the glass face of his father’s watch and he reaches over her. His fingers skim the curve of her cheek and then down to the wound on her sternum. All his field training bubbles up in his thoughts, reminding him that this is a lot of blood -- and chest wounds are mostly fatal when there’s no pressure. So he folds his palm over the darkest part of her beautiful white dress and presses down.

Gaby shouts. It’s a broken version of his name and the air stutters on the tip of her tongue as she clings to wrist, playing with the familiar strap of his leather watch. She pinches the skin there, reminds him she’s there, to look at her. Illya drags his gaze down and despite all his training, his hard stare falls apart. His blue eyes are wide, his lips are parted -- he is unable to mask his fear. “Gaby,” He whispers her name quietly, afraid he’ll shout if he doesn’t control himself here and now. He drags his gaze to his palm and then to the puddle behind her. “Gaby, you’ve lost --” “I know.” She hushes him softly. Her rough hand is a small consolation prize. Months of dancing around one another and all he has to show for it is her hand tightening on his arm, silently begging for him to save her from the pain that is eating through her all thanks to a little metal bullet.

“Is going to be okay,” He lies and moves his free hand up now. He swipes her bangs back out of her face and takes the time to drown himself in the dark pools of her eyes. He swallows down the lump in his throat lets his thumb brush under her eye, down to the soft skin of her upper lip. He smears her red lipstick.

“No it’s not,” Her lips twitch under his attention and he hooks her bottom lip with his thumb and leans down slow and careful. He pretends to wash away all the blood and lets his nose gently touch hers. She trembles against the floor, scared to die like this, forgotten in a white dress.

“вы будете жить.” Illya breathes quietly over her and before he can do the honors, Gaby uses whatever strength she has left to turn her head up and catch him before anything -- life or death, interrupts them. She kisses him hard. It’s a desperate sort of kiss that he still feels when the extraction team pulls him off of her. The burn of it lingers when they air rush her to an emergency room, nearly a half hour away to surgeons who will not treat her kindly. The mission is considered a failure.

Napoleon donates blood. Illya donates time.

U.N.C.L.E. relieves her of duty. Illya leaves for Moscow only to return to a beaten down garage in the English countryside, with a busted water pump and a nose for the most expensive mechanic in all of England.

[imaginegallya]

Hello! So sorry for sending another prompt (I see that you have so many of them!) but I couldn't resist sending this: Because of Illya's absence (because of the mission) pregnant Gaby had to go alone to the doctor. During the check up she finds out that they're having twins. Now I want to know Illya's reaction to this after his return.

She sits patiently in the airport, the only sign of her nervousness peeking through with how she chews on the skin around her thumbnail. Absently, her hand comes to the swell of her growing belly, rubbing it gently through the cotton fabric of her dress. She’s nine weeks along and she although the swell is only at the beginning stages, she can feel all of the differences in her body.

Gaby wonders if it’ll be double now.

Her eyes glance around the terminal before checking the time on her watch. Illya’s plane is due to land any moment now and she feels her nerves jump into overload. Only days before her doctor had announced the exciting news that she was having not one, but two babies. Two bundles of joy that would share she and Illya’s genes. Two children that they would raise better than their parents ever managed to do.

And it terrifies her in the biggest of ways.

It’s not that she doubts the love Illya has for her or will have for their children, she just isn’t sure that they’re prepared for this. She’s only been free of her work from UNCLE for a little over sixth months now, deciding to take time off for her own wellbeing. Even now she finds herself spooked on occasion, worry building in her that something will tear away this life she has built with the man she loves.

The last thing she wants is for her children to go through the emptiness she felt growing up.

Immediately her eyes fall on the tall, blonde Russian that walks through the gate, his bag slung over his shoulder. She stands from her bench and approaches him tentatively. When his eyes fall on her, the blue lightens up considerably. It will always surprise her that she manages to calm that storm that rages inside of him. Gaby never imagined she would have that much power over another human being.

His steps hurry and he gently pushes his way through the crowd until he stands in front of her. Illya looks down as Gaby stares up at him, a smile pulling to both of their faces.

“I have missed you,” he says as he leans down to kiss the top of her head and pull her into his arms. Gaby wraps her own arms around his waist, inhaling deeply the smell she had missed for weeks. When he pulls back, he holds her at arm’s length and his eyes glance up and down her, lingering on the small belly she is forming.

It’s then that Gaby blurts out suddenly, “I’m having twins.”

Illya’s hands fall from her shoulders and he stares at her, confusion lining his features.

“I just found out. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner but I wanted to tell you face to face. I know it’s a lot so soon and it’s going to be much more work bu—“

She’s cut off as Illya pulls her back into his arm and hugs her even tighter than he had before. Gaby relaxes into his hold, her nerves calming for the first time since she’d found out the news.

“Twins,” he mutters against her hair, a sigh leaving his lips.

When he finally lets her step away from him, he reaches to touch her belly, his fingers delicately spreading out against her dress. He stares at her belly for a long moment and Gaby watches as his eyes go softer than before. Illya surges forward and kisses her and Gaby responds in kind, her fingers wrapping up in the bottom of his sweater.

“I love you. I love our babies,” he whispers when he pulls away from her. They stand that way for a beat and when Illya steps back, he takes her hand in his own.

“Let’s go tell, Cowboy. He will be surprised to have twins to babysit.”

“I can’t believe you would trust him with our children,” Gaby teases, a smile on her face as Illya pulls her alongside him.

[imaginegallya]

Prompt: Illya teaches Gaby how to play chess and there's fluff when he talks about the importance of the queen, maybe? (this blog is so wonderful, btw)

Gaby takes another long drink and scoots a little closer to Illya. Her leg collides with his for a moment as she reaches over his arm and touches one of the little ivory carved pieces on the chessboard. Illya’s hand spasmed for a moment, fingers spanning out for a moment before he quickly closed them back up into a well uniformed fist. He doesn’t react right away to Gaby as her fingers dance over the top of the pieces and she pushes one of them into a dark square on the black and white board.

She’s made a terrible move and probably doesn’t even know it.

After a few days on assignment, stuck in the small hotel room she ran out of radio stations to change to and finally took a spot next to him on the couch. There was a pitiful pout on her lips as she asked him to teach her to play chess only it’s turned into more of a headache than an actual lesson. Gaby never moves the piece where he tells her, she also doesn’t seem to understand their roles as she constantly moves them incorrectly. It’s been over an hour now and he has already defeated her twice, both times were embarrassingly quick for her. That’s when Gaby raided the liquor cabinet.

Only this time she’s moved her queen and Illya can’t stop the ‘tsk’ that leaves his lips while she takes another long drink. The smell of vodka is strong, but she’s stronger than any alcohol with a sharp sigh that leaves her. Either she is very bored or very drunk, which one he can’t quite decide on. Even when he gives her another ‘tsk’ at her move.

“What?” She cuts her brown gaze up to his, lips poised to snap back.

Illya meets her determined little look with both of his brows raising, pointing his index finger towards the piece she moved, “Queen.”

“So?” Gaby asks as she holds her glass up for a moment, swirling it so the ice clinks together.

“So, Chop Shop.” He doesn’t give into her little glare. Instead picks up her queen and holds it up, close to her nose. She goes cross eyed for a moment before backing her head up a bit, and then stares at the little piece in his hand, “Your Queen is important. Queen most important on board.”

He gestures  to the board with an open palm. His lips are slightly curved up, amused that he has something new to teach her, even as she squirms to the edge of her seat, setting down the vodka glass.

“But you said the King wins the game.”

“Well yes. Only Queen is most important.” He twists the little piece in his hand for a moment before he sets her down on the middle of the board, his voice lowering a bit as he holds the piece carefully along the carved sides. Illya moves the piece back and forth and then side to side, “Queen is most important piece on whole board. She makes the mission for your pieces. She can go left, right, back and forth. She can also do this,” Illya’s words pause as he drags the Queen into a diagonal run along the dark squares.

Gaby’s leaning a little closer to him and the board. Her lips are parted and she has one of her eyebrows raised, “How is she more important than the King then? Hm?” She turns her head up and immediately they are too close. Solo could walk in at any moment. The phone could ring or the room service could arrive and draw them apart. This is the closest they’ve been since Rome.

Illya’s nose is close to her own as he turns towards her and in a moment everything between them is silent.  Her brown eyes are lowered and fixed to the corners of his mouth  where he’s trying not to smile. At this distance he can smell the vodka on her lips and almost wants a taste of it. He finds himself thinking ridiculous things now, things the KGB beat out of him at such a young age. Only he wants them with Gaby, he wants to lean in and press his mouth along hers just like he wanted to back in Rome. Instead he swallows down on all those thoughts and answers her with a soft whisper, “The Queen can do anything.”

Her tongue darts over her bottom lip and he decides to push the rest of their lesson aside. Illya leans in for a kiss when the hotel door swings open and in comes a soaking wet Napoleon. His dark hair is stuck in every which direction and his shoes are squeaking against the plush carpet as he takes off his expensive dinner jacket.

Illya swears and Gaby gets off of the couch, snatching her glass up again. 

“Oh my,” Napoleon sighs as he throws the expensive jacket over his arm and starts undoing his cuff links, “Interrupting again am I?”