Hey here's a short Gallya fic for ya; hope you enjoy. Do let me know what you think..!

Waverly had given Gaby, Illya and Solo the night off. They had just finished a fortnight long mission in New York and they had at least 18 hours to kill before their flight back to London. They'd found a small dive playing live music and decided to stay for a while. Solo opened a tab and ordered them all drinks while Gaby and Illya people watched. The German applauded as another song ended and her drink arrived. She knocked most of it back in one go.

'Slow down there, Teller.' Solo chided jokingly.

'Hey, it's been a long day.' Gaby said as she drained the rest of it before gesturing to the bartender for another. 'So do you want to dance my Russian friend?'

'No, thank you.'

'Oh come on. It's our night off, Illya. At least do it for me.' Gaby pouted and Illya couldn't help but smile a little.

'Perhaps after a drink or two.' He conceded.

'There's my man.' Gaby smiled victoriously. A slightly faster song began to play and Gaby tapped her fingers to the beat on the bar. A man with a cocky smirk sidled up to her.

'You look like you want to dance, darlin',' he drawled in his New York accent, 'care for a spin?'

'I'd be delighted.' Gaby obliged, allowing herself to be swept away. Illya watched from the bar, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. He didn't quite know what it was but he was angry. Not the normal kind of angry, he just felt something in his gut tugging at him as he watched the man run his hand from Gaby's waist to the small of her back. It made him want to be sick. He looked down at his whiskey; anything to avoid looking at her with another man. Sod this. Illya knocked back his drink.

'You okay there, Peril?' Solo interrupted his thoughts

'Fine. Why do you ask?' Illya said tersely.

'You won't stop staring at Gaby.'

'I am not staring.' The Russian retorted, embarrassed.

'If I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous.'

'What you talking about?' Illya scoffed, hiding his defensive tone, glancing back at Gaby. The song ended and just before she left the dancefloor the man planted a kiss on her cheek. She smiled innocently as she walked away until she reached the bar and her face dropped back to its normal self.

'He did not know how to dance.' She tutted, disappointed and Illya felt a rush of pride for no reason at all. He honestly did not understand what he was feeling.

'Well then, let me make it up to you, Gab,' Solo said, 'may I have this dance?' he bowed, jokingly.

'I thought you'd never ask.' Gaby curtsied in return as she took the American's hand. Illya tensed again. Solo was doing this just to annoy him; he knew it. This was ridiculous. Why was he getting all wound up about Gaby paying attention to other people? This was so unlike him. Granted, he had felt this same feeling when he saw Alexander Vinciguerra flirting her at the racetrack but that was because he was angry anyway – not because he was jealous! What a preposterous notion! Yet the thought of Gaby being with anyone but him made his blood boil. Solo was rarely wrong when it came to matters of the heart – as Illya had come to learn. No. This time Cowboy was wrong, Illya shook his head.

The pair finally returned and ordered more drinks.

'Alright, Gaby,' Solo said, sipping what was probably his sixth or seventh drink about an hour or so later, 'let's see how many people you can get to dance with you in one song. I'm placing the bar at four.'

'Four?!' Gaby scoffed, equally as tipsy by this point. 'Easy. Make it…' she thought for a minute, 'six. Let's go with six.'

'Alright, six. So what are the stakes.'

'If I can do it, you have to pay bar tab AND you aren't allowed to wear suits on the next mission. No dress shirts, no fancy ties, none of it.'

'Not even my Oxfords?' Solo asked sadly.

'Not even your Oxfords.'

'Fine.' He sighed, 'and if you can't?'

'I'll pay bar tab and let you pick out my clothes next time we go out.'

'Sounds like a fair deal.'

'This is not good idea.' Illya interjected. He didn't like the sound of more men putting their grimy hands on his Gaby.

'Well you didn't dance with me so I don't think you get an input.' Gaby quipped shortly. Illya looked shocked, glancing at Solo for defence.

'The lady's not wrong.' He said before getting up to request a song from the band.

'Why are you doing this?' Illya pulled Gaby to him by the crook of her elbow.

'When have I ever needed to justify myself to you, Illya?' She retracted her arm from his grip, walking to the dancefloor the song started. Illya recognised the song. Of course. It was the song that Gaby had made him dance to in Rome. Damn it, Solo.

Gaby began to dance. Swaying alone but not for long as one man took her hands, spinning her. She let go of his grasp and turned into another man, ready and waiting. That's two. The song carried on and Illya looked on, beyond furious.

'Penny for your thoughts, Peril?' Solo said from next to him.

'Nothing I'd want to share with you, Cowboy.'

'Look, Illya, she's not going to wait around forever, you know.'

'Is that why you are torturing me tonight?'

'I wasn't wrong then.' Illya didn't answer. Gaby swayed with her fifth or sixth man – Illya had lost count. She glanced over at Solo and mouthed something about him paying up before flashing a wicked grin at the American. That's it. Illya got up off his stool and stormed over to Gaby, ripping her from the grip of her dance partner and dragging her out of the bar. Solo quickly paid the tab before running after them. Gaby was in the middle of a rant, yelling at the Russian.

'Just because you didn't dance with me doesn't mean I wasn't going to, Kuryakin.' Illya just turned and walked away. Fast. 'Hey! I'm not finished!' but Illya didn't turn around.

'Let him go. We'll see him back at the hotel. It'll be fine.'

'You don't have to share a room with him' Gaby muttered.

'Come on. Let's get a cab.'

The pair arrived back at the hotel twenty minutes later and headed back to their respective rooms. Illya was pacing when Gaby got upstairs.

'Gaby, I-' Gaby silenced him with a thump in the shoulder.

'Why did you do that?' she asked.

'I…' Illya's mouth went dry.

'Tell me.' Gaby pressed, her stern brown eyes demanding answers.

'It is nothing.' Illya said as he made his way to the bathroom. Gaby refused to accept that as an answer and grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him. 'Gaby, let go.'

'Give me an answer.' She slurred, releasing him.

'Fine. I did not like the way that the men were undressing you with their eyes. It was inappropriate and I interfered because it was bothering me.'

'Well,' Gaby crossed her arms, trying to hide how touched she was by his protective gesture, 'I don't need you to fight my battles for me.'

'I am fully aware of this.'

'Then why?' then it dawned on her, 'Illya, are you…' she couldn't quite believe it, 'are you jealous?!' Surely not the Red Peril. That's impossible.

'That is ridiculous. Of course I am not.' It was Illya's turn to cross his arms in defence.

'You are!' Gaby insisted, standing on the coffee table, ensuring that eye contact between them was inevitable, now that they were relatively the same height.

'Gaby, I…' Illya was really finding it hard to form sentences tonight. He sighed in defeat and Gaby's eyes softened.

'Why would you be jealous?' she asked a little more gently.

'I think you know.' He murmured, looking at his shoes.

'Illya,' she reached out and cupped his cheeks, 'you don't need to feel that way.' He was still staring at the ground. 'I'm sorry about that stupid bet. I didn't think it would upset you quite this much.' She pulled his face up to look at her but he avoided her eyes. 'Illya, look at me.' He did and when he did, in his drunken state, Illya couldn't resist closing the short distance between them and pecking her lips gently before pulling away, embarrassed.

'I'm sorry. I did not mean to…'

'Don't be.' She murmured, carding her fingers through his blond hair before gently kissing his forehead. 'I'm already yours, remember.' She waved the engagement ring in his face. Even though it wasn't real the sentiment and emotions were still there. They'd posed as a couple for so long that they might as well already be married. Illya let out a small laugh at this.

'I only wish it were real.'

'Oh Illya, don't go soft on me now.' Gaby teased. 'I might just think you're in love with me.' She revelled in the way the tips of his ears went red in embarrassment.

'Gaby…' Illya almost whined.

'Don't get your panties in a twist, Kuryakin, you know how I feel about us.'

'I do?' Illya said, only semi joking. It was always hard to tell with Gaby.

'Let me remind you.' She said before pressing her lips against his in a soft and tender kiss. Illya deepened it feverishly, all his passion suddenly let loose. Somehow at some point in their drunken frenzy they ended up half dressed on the couch. Gaby was sprawled across Illya's chest, snoring lightly while the Russian's arms were wrapped securely around her. It was such a peaceful scene and if it weren't for the plane they had to catch, Solo would have let them sleep forever.

So... what's the verdict?