Author's Note: I wrote this after watching the new movie. I loved it and so was inspired to write this. It is a bit self indulgent, I make no apologies!
Rain. Rain and yet more rain... How could anyone choose to actually live here? Since the moment they arrived in this accursed country it had rained relentlessly. She fell asleep to the sound of the rain battering against the windowpane, and when she dared to peer through the same windows during the day she was greeted with a distorted and smudged view of the outside world. Gaby told herself that it could in fact be a lot worse, but this fact did little to comfort her. Istanbul had been a steep learning curve, Rome a veritable vacation in comparison. Her inexperience in her new career had been blaringly obvious to her team mates and now she was not even sure if she would be allowed to continue with it, even if she wished to. In fact, if Waverley were to ask her right now at this moment whether or not she felt that espionage was for her... she would definitely ask to be put on the first flight home. The thought of her previous life in East Berlin flooded her with despair. She shifted her weight on the couch and reflected on the events that had brought her here. She gazed despondently into the flames of the fire crackling on the hearth. The room was large and grandly furnished, the fire did little to combat the chill in the air. Gaby pulled the blanket more snugly around her, a book slid down and onto the floor with a lonely thud. Maybe a walk would lift her spirits? Throwing back the blanket, she shuffled off towards the kitchen.
Her gait was slower than was her custom, a slight limp on one leg hinted at some kind of an injury. The fact that her left arm was bound into a sling hinted without subtlety that the woman was hurt. As she approached the warm light from the kitchen, her young face relaxed slightly. Gaby knew that Mrs Jet would most likely be busy creating something tasty for the evening meal. The only bright light in this misery was the lively woman who inhabited the kitchen. In truth, Gaby struggled to actually understand anything that the older woman said, as her regional accent was so broad that even though Gaby was very familiar with English, she was often left clueless. Yet, the kind housekeeper/cook did not seem to mind. It could be argued that Mrs Jet actually enjoyed fussing over the slightly built German girl, even if they could not actually converse. Seeing Gaby's arrival, she immediately started clucking and chiding her for being up and about. Then she bundled her into a soft chair which was placed in close proximity to the range. She noted the pale complexion and the slightly flushed cheeks which indicated just how difficult the journey from the library to the kitchen had been. Once furnished with a steaming mug of tea, Gaby allowed her mind to drift back to the events of the previous few weeks.
She felt such a fool, an utter fool. Her team mates would never respect her now. If only she had not behaved so rashly... But at the time she had not even had chance to think it through and had acted only on instinct. Although now that she knew what it actually felt like to get shot, maybe if she ever found herself in that situation again, then maybe, she would think twice before throwing herself in front of a loaded gun. Maybe. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. Waverley had sent her here to recover, but she was finding convalescence to be stressful. Gaby had always been busy and all of this sitting around waiting for her stitched shoulder to heal was annoying in the extreme. The pain would be more bearable she thought, if she had someway to keep her mind occupied. But all of this free time was making her anxious. Gaby had yet to submit her final report for that fateful mission, Waverley had been patient, but she knew that she had to get her thoughts and feelings in check. He would be back at the end of the week and he would expect a complete written account of the mission. Yet she did not know how to put into words what she had yet to understand herself.
"Why does it always rain?" Ilya's Russian accent was thick with disapproval at the soggy weather. Gaby curled up to make herself even smaller on her chair. Maybe he would not even notice her? Then he would just go on through to the rest of the house without her having to talk to him. Maybe she could pretend to be asleep? Or dead? The latter seemed most appealing right now, but before she could properly pretend to have unexpectedly died whilst sitting in the kitchen, Mrs Jet was handing him another mug of steaming tea and urging him to sit in the other chair near the range. Gaby knew that he did not really like the tea, she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he sat down stiffly, clutching the unwanted beverage. Mrs Jet was mumbling something about all the rain being good for the garden and Gaby continued to pretend to be in a coma.
"I know that you are not sleeping" he calmly stated. She could tell without opening her eyes that he was looking at her most intently with those cool blue eyes of his. When Gaby realised that she was holding her breath, she knew that there was no point in carrying on the pretence. She opened one eye and squinted cautiously at him. Illya Kuriyakin was sitting in a chair several feet across from her yet his legs were so long that when stretched out before him, his feet were resting along side her own. She yanked up her own legs and tucked them underneath her. Instantly she regretted this as her hip was still not fully healed from falling through that ceiling (this had happened on the same mission as when she was shot!) and now her muscles were actually screaming at her in protest. This was so ridiculous. She was ridiculous! What was she doing?! Did she even know anymore? Abruptly, she staggered to her feet. He observed how laboured the whole process was and leaned forward as if to catch her. Gaby pushed his arm away, and scuttled off with what little dignity and poise she could manage – which was not very much. Especially when she got the cuff of her cardigan caught on the door handle, which caused her to be almost catapulted right back into the kitchen just as she was trying so desperately to escape. Swearing in German, she managed to run off, unfortunately for her, she had left her cardigan behind swinging somewhat forlornly from the kitchen door handle. Mrs Jet and the Russian traded confused glances and Illya collected the garment as he too passed from the kitchen in a leisurely pursuit of the distressed girl.
"Go away", was the response he got when he knocked at her bedroom door a few moments later. He sighed, folded the cardigan and placed it on the floor outside her room. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and waited. "I know that you are still there." Her voice was close, just on the other side of the wooden door.
"Please open door" he entreated. "We need to talk about it"
"Go away, we have nothing to talk about" she fired back. Illya could tell that she was now sitting on the floor on the other side of the door. He crouched down on his side of the door and rested a hand on the smooth wood. "Gaby, please let me in" he whispered. After several moments of complete silence he abandoned his vigil and strode off towards his own room.
She knew she was being utterly ridiculous. She needed to get a grip of herself at once! Yet, she felt at a complete loss. She had made such an utter fool of herself, and she had gotten shot. They would not want to work with her again. No one would want to work with her once she submitted her report. Gaby resigned herself to being sent back to East Germany. Maybe she could get a job working at her old garage? She wondered if her old apartment was still vacant. She remembered her old life and she shuddered. Maybe there was another option? Everything seemed so confusing, if only she had someone to talk things over with. Mrs Jet was very kind but the accent barrier not withstanding, she was not cleared to discuss matters which were so highly sensitive and confidential. Sometimes she could talk to Solo, but he seemed to have hit it off with a striking redhead from the nearby pub... so he was rarely seen at the moment. That left Illya, and whilst the Russian had certainly loosened up in the time that they had been working so closely together, he was the very last person she could talk to. But then, in a few short days Waverley would be back to collect her report. And that would be the end of that. One way or another.
Illya paced anxiously around his room, it was a good size room but with strides as long as his he quickly ran out of carpet. Ridiculous woman! Why did she persist in shutting him out? She had always been stubborn and headstrong, but this was something new. If anything, she had always thrown her feelings around without inhibition but this new withdrawal was making him uncomfortable. It was true, the mission had not gone according to plan, but it was not the first time that they had had to improvise. However, at the instant that he and Solo had found themselves cornered at gunpoint by a dozen heavies no one had expected an East German mechanic to fall through the ceiling. The distraction was enough to give him and Solo the upper hand and the fighting was fierce. Gaby had broken her fall by landing fortuitously onto a rather large and well muscled man. It was a hard fall but she was strong, staggered to her feet and began wrestling with the nearest underling. It was at this point that things became decidedly more interesting. All he could say with any certainty was that one minute he heard a gun going off and then the next second Gaby was being thrown against him, blood gushing from her shoulder. He grabbed her to him, supporting her weight with one arm and brandishing his weapon with the other. Their exit was aggressive and messy. But eventually they were out, he cradled Gaby in his arms as Solo drove. He applied pressure to her wounded shoulder whilst muttering oaths in Russian.
He had stayed by her side through the night in the hospital, hovering around the bed, never letting her out of his sight. Solo had been off flirting with any and all of the nurses, but Illya had stayed put. When eventually she regained consciousness, he was the first person she saw. Gaby had opened her eyes and there he was, sprawled across a too small chair with his long legs stretched out and under her bed. His tired face was still handsome, even in slumber and propped up on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair... it had taken her breath away. How could she have fallen so hard? The sharp pain in her shoulder and hip reminded her of the previous night's skirmish. The nurse came in and gently attended to her, but still Illya slept on. Gabby had never seen him so still, and she watched him steadily. She noticed the debris in his hair and the blood on his shirt. Her blood, judging by the quantity. Solo finally wandered in, looking as smooth as ever. He observed the sleeping Russian and nodded quietly before planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. "You did good, sweetheart," he gently whispered. Then he left, and it was just her and Illya once more. She dozed as the pain medication took hold, and when she opened her eyes again she was alone.
Waverley had packed them all off to a country house in the north of England to recuperate, and now she had to complete a report. A report, which if it was an honest one, would state that she had disobeyed direct instructions to stay with the getaway car. She would have to admit that when she saw that her team mates were to be ambushed that she decided to take matters into her own hands. All of this was probably going to be considered an acceptable state of affairs. The problem was going to be when she explained her exact reasons for throwing herself between that firing gun and a certain Russian. In that instant she had known what she had to do. When it came down to it, she could not let him die. In that heartbeat, without hesitation she had sacrificed herself for him. But now, she was afraid. The conviction of the moment now tempered with doubt. Gaby had no regrets about saving Illya of course, but what would her actions mean for the group. Would her feelings for Illya mean that she be removed from the team? She did not even know if he felt anything for her. In Rome, it seemed like maybe there was something there between them. But she had hardly known who she was supposed to be at that stage. It could just have been the adrenaline that had pushed them together. Since they had been working together constantly, he had withdrawn from her. They were friends, but never anything more. After all it would be highly inappropriate. And yet, she had still thrown herself in front of that bullet for him. She had ruined everything. She now threw herself onto her bed, in the manner of a distraught heartsick teenager (which pretty summed up exactly how she felt at that moment) and cried herself to sleep.
She was awoken some time later by a rather timid knock at the door. Feeling certain that it was not Illya, Gaby opened the door to find a rather alarmed Mrs Jet. She started chattering on about the Russian, and then she said something about there "being trouble at t'mill"... by which time the German girl was completely perplexed. Honestly, what was wrong with the English if they could not actually speak English! She followed the housekeeper down the stairs and towards the study. They could hear a lot of crashing and muttering in Russian. Gaby opened the door cautiously and discovered that a great deal of the furniture had been overturned. In the centre of the chaos was Illya. He was kneeling on the rug in front of the fire, apparently completely spent after his furious destruction of the room. Gaby patted Mrs Jet on the arm and motioned her to leave, which she eventually did with equal measures of relief and reluctance.
Gaby slowly approached her team mate. She was standing right before him before he even seemed aware of her presence. Still kneeling, he looked up into her face suddenly, she could see that his hands were still twitching. Gabby knelt also, and gently covered his trembling hands with her own. She had not been this close to him since Rome. She could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw and the tell tale shadows beneath those blue eyes. His hands calmed beneath hers, and she inhaled him. There was a fire in those piercing eyes and she felt almost naked before him.
"I know why you are angry with me" he suddenly announced. She had been so busy gazing at him that she had momentarily forgotten the circumstances of why they were there.
"I am not angry with you." Gabby replied, confusion on her face. "Why do you think that I am angry with you?"
"It is because you got shot, I did not protect you, you are right to be angry" he hung his head, so close to her face it was almost resting on her. She pushed upwards slightly so their foreheads were touching.
"I am not angry with you" she repeated. "I knew what I was doing..."
His face pulled back so that he could look at her properly. "I do not understand"
She realised that she had gone too far, and attempted to extract herself. It was unbearable to be this close to him and know that he did not feel the same way. Gaby tried to stand, but found that two large Russian hands were now either side of her face. "Did you mean to get shot?" he asked. "I thought that you were going to die!" He was angry again, the emotions always bubbling away just below the surface. She choked on her own words as she struggled to calm both herself and her volatile companion.
"He was aiming at you..." she eventually stuttered. The words were out now, she could not take them back. He would see her for the fool that she was and then she would be sent away. He paused for a moment, her confession stunned him. It finally occurred to him that she had intentionally taken that bullet in order to save him. She was struggling against him now, vulnerable in her emotions and keen to escape. He realised what a fool he had been, that so much time had already been lost. He slowly turned her burning face to his, his eyes locked onto hers. Finally, his lips met hers and she gasped in surprise. However, her shock was only momentary before she wrapped herself around him and pushed him to the floor. As she sat astride him, watching the firelight flicker over his open face, she thought about how long she had waited for this.
Meanwhile, Mrs Jet blushed as she observed the lovers before making her way down the long corridor to the telephone. She was happy to report that the conflict within the team had now been resolved. And yes, that all parties were most satisfied with the outcome...