In which Gaby blurts out 'I love you'. Bonus points if Napoleon takes that as his cue to leave. Please and thank you!
The three spies came into the hotel bickering, talking over one another about the mistakes of the plan tonight, each of them blaming the other. They had already started the day in a sour mood with last minute changes via Waverly, and the mission had not gone smoothly.
They continued to argue as they walked up the stairs, not worrying about the other guests that they were bothering as they did so. Napoleon was blaming Gaby for breaking character, Illya was blaming SOlo for going too far off the original plan, and Gaby was blaming both of them for the gunshots and close graze that Illya had gotten to his upper arm.
They stormed into Gaby and Illya’s shared room (once again they were under cover as a couple; most of the time they were paired together, but sometimes she was with Solo) still arguing. Solo slipped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Gaby kicked off her heels, watching Illya with hawk eyes as he stiffly removed his jacket and then the turtleneck underneath.
Gaby sucked in a short breath at his bare skin. Broad shoulders, ropes of muscles beneath to be seen as he moved. A surprisingly number of dark freckles splattered across his lightly tanned skin. And there, on his upper right arm, a nasty red wound, not too deep, but obviously painful.
“This?” Gaby said over the two of them, stomping her foot and waving a hand at Illya, “is the sort of mistake we are not meant to make.”
She tugged his wrist and forced him with pokes and prods to sit on the lounge couch so she could reach his shoulder. Napoleon had already placed a first aid kit on the table next to the lamp.
“I am fine,” Illya growled, eyeing Napoleon. “It is his fault.”
“Me?” Solo was definitely offended. “It wasn’t me that yelled and alerted the patrolman, Gaby.”
Gaby huffed and pushed Illya down again when he tried to stand to defend her.
“There was a gun, what was I supposed to do?” she said, angrily opening the kit and searching through it with more fervor than necessary.
“Faint like a normal ballerina who isn’t a spy,” Napoleon snipped.
Gaby grabbed a bottle and some gauze and pursed her lips. Solo still hadn’t gotten over the fact that she wasn’t someone he had to save, but that she was an actual spy. She thought that it was because he was still sore over the fact that she had fooled him during their first mission together.
“I blame you, not Gaby,” Illya said again, not even flinching as Gaby started to clean his wound.
“I blame you both,” Gaby said, pressing a little harder than needed. It made Illya look at her, his expression changing slightly from anger and blame to confusion and empathy. “Any of us could have been shot fatally. We’re lucky that this is just a graze.”
“We would not have been shot fatally,” Illya said, trying to reassure her. They all knew it was a lie. They were spies, there was always a possibility that something would go wrong and they could be killed. That’s just how the world worked.
There was a loud ripping of tape as Gaby pressed gauze against his shoulder and pressed tape around the edges to keep it attached. “And what would we have done if you were shot badly? This could have hit a main artery in your arm. You could have been seriously hurt.” She clenched her jaw and looked down at her red tinged fingertips.
“I told you that I will be fine,” Illya said, his voice softer this time.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not looking at him or Solo. “What happens if next time you aren’t fine? What am I to do then? I love you.”
The words slipped out and everyone in the room froze. Gaby was turned away from Illya already; her eyes grew wide at the realization of what she said. Illya had tilted his head back and was looking up at her, his expression hardly changing despite the weight of the words. Solo was the first to move, glancing between the German and the Russian before he cleared his throat and took his coat off of the back of the chair.
“I believe that is my cue to leave,” he said as he walked out of the room, leaving the two of them with nothing but a soft click of the door closing.
As soon as the door closed, Gaby took in a sharp breath and moved away, pressing his lips together into a straight line as she snapped the first aid kit shut.
“Gaby,” Illya said finally, standing as she moved swiftly away, whisking the kit into the ornate bathroom. His voice was soft and caring and kind in the way that she only ever heard him talk to her.
“Illya,” Gaby said flatly, her voice tight and thin. She crouched down and put the kit under the sink so it was hidden away and threw away the bloody cotton. The tap ran cold over her fingers but warmed as she scrubbed them with soap.
They often roomed together for their cover. It was no mystery to anyone involved in U.N.C.L.E. that the two of them were toeing the professional and personal line. Their first mission had been wrought with tensions; jealousy, anger, ferocity that both of them were used to feeling but in a negative way not this positive way. When they held hands or Illya offered her his arm when they walked, it felt natural not only for their covers, but for them. Was it really them, or was it their cover stories that were in love and on a honeymoon, or engaged and traveling Asia before the wedding? It was hard for even them to tell most of the time.
“What you said…” Illya was standing in the doorway, shirtless and bandaged and making himself as small as possible because the last thing he wanted to do was be intimidating right now.
“I mean it,” Gaby said. She twisted off the taps and grabbed the towel from the ring next to the wide mirror. She took one deep breath before turning to face him, squeezing the towel between her hands. “I…did not mean for it to be said in such a way.”
Gaby was not naïve. She wasn’t expecting anything to be romantic and easy between the two of them. She wasn’t expecting to have long, drawn out conversations about their emotions late into the night. They were a prickly pair, both caring too much about the people around them, but being unschooled in the ways of showing it properly. So they bickered softly, they exchanged longing looks and occasionally their lips would get a hairsbreadth away before someone or something interrupted them.
And somehow, in the mix of traveling the world as spies, putting their lives on the line, they had fallen in love. Gaby had just been the first one to say it.
“I would expect it no other way,” Illya said, the corners of his mouth moving up ever so slightly.
Gaby put the towel on the sink and looked up at him. Her makeup was smudged around her eyes, her hair had lost its body and shape and her dress was tight and uncomfortable. She wanted nothing but to get into her pajamas and collapse into bed. Only this time, she boldly wanted Illya next to her. “You could have died,” she repeated the same thing she’d been arguing about for the last hour. “Any of us can die on any mission if one of us does something wrong. But I…”
Illya stepped forward, gently stretching out his hand and spreading his fingers across her cheek and into her hair. “I understand.” He used his free hand to lift her tiny fingers and press her palm against his chest. It was one of the most intimate things that they’d done. “You are here, for me. Always.”
Gaby blinked, her stomach momentarily fluttering. She almost didn’t like the feeling; it was too overwhelming. She swallowed and nodded, stepping a tiny bit closer. “Ich liebe dich.”
Hello! I just came across your fiasco prompt post and it sounds like a lot of fun. I'd like to request two if that's alright? Jeff and annie from community And Ingrid an dash from witches of east end Thanks!
Give me just a little time to get all the dice rolling done and I'll get you your prompts!
I'm sorry, but the list of reason you reposted on why klaroline belong together is warped and delusional! Normally I wouldn't comment to disagree but if you insist on posting in a tag that is clearly opposed to your crack!ship, then you must be looking for fight. So here goes; gtfo of here with your klaroline b.s.!
i’m sorry but i’m really having a hard time understanding how that was warped and delusional. of course it’s up to you to have your own interpretation but only a blind fool would deny the parallels. the point is we’re not making up stories here. we stated facts. facts that happened in the canon and in both characters’ histories and backgrounds (albeit with some poetic touches here and there). facts that the writers have intentionally or unintentionally) written themselves and facts that they eventually and continually ignore.
i see you’re a tyler fan and i’ve already made a post about that already. but if you must know, not all klaroline shippers are hating on tyler, not all of us condone klaus’ evil deeds (though in the context of tvd being a supernatural show, we try to understand his darkness) but it’s not fair to hate on caroline as well.
anyway, the point is a lot of klaroline shippers don’t even like what’s happening in the canon right now just as you are so i’m not even commenting on your hate. we’re saying that the writers created something bigger, something beyond the canon when they (accidentally, since klaroline is not even supposed to happen) made klaus and caroline the way are now and only someone with a limited imagination and understanding of the characters and of the world they live in (yes and that includes the TVD writers themselves) would deny the full potential of this ship.
the point is, canon or not, this ship lives no matter what all you say. crackship? then so be it. canon be damned.
yeah i’m totes not making excuses for posting in the anti tag. some of the anti’s are insisting on posting in our tag as well so… an eye for an eye.
