When asked, Illya claimed that his injury was his own fault.
"Was compromised. This led to distraction and chance to be wounded," he muttered sluggishly after the incident, his head reeling more from the emotional damage than the physical injuries. The pain in his chest had increased to a dull throb, but the agent couldn't yet figure out if it was real or, as Cowboy would say, from a "wounded heart."
Gaby reached in slightly to run her fingers gently through his hair as he flinched from the American's touch against his side. "Definitely several broken ribs, maybe five or six." His voice sounded as if it were coming through a static-riddled channel on a radio. "And his head…" The rest of his words became foreign to Illya as Napoleon turned away to speak more directly to Gaby. Both of their worried expressions caused the throb in his chest to increase.
"No," the blonde said, trying to reach out and brush their hands away from him. "Я в поряд- I am fine," he restated, knowing their German partner had been skiving off her Russian lessons.
"Illya, you were hit with a crowbar in the chest and slammed into a concrete wall. And you cracked your knuckles in the fight as well!"
As he blearily looked up at her, he dimly realized she was correct as the encounter came back to mind. There had been a fight, and he did remember the crackling sound of his fist breaking against the wall as a fourth attacker slammed a metal object into his ribs. "Was pipe, not crowbar…"
He had allowed himself to be cornered at first; it was either that or allow them to stumble upon Cowboy as he cracked a safe in the next room. The original three was easy for him to dispatch, but the fourth had used his movement against him to target his unprotected chest. He moved to lay an uppercut on the man's jaw, but hit the wall instead as the attacker slid aside and used the momentum to slam him head-first into the wall. The combination did not have pleasant side effects.
Or maybe it did, since the way Gaby was still carding her fingers through his hair sent shivers down his spine and Napoleon's warm hands left his skin tingling.
"Illya, next time be more careful, please," Gaby said as Napoleon moved away to allow her to start working on the minor scrapes and cuts that littered his face and hands. He watched her softly as she cleaned the lacerations and bandaged the more severe ones; at least this time none required any stitches. His broken hand became slightly uncomfortable as she wrapped it tightly, but not enough to bother him at that point. He only snapped out of his daze when she spoke up again. "What is it?"
"What is what?"
He could hear Napoleon's smirk from where he was rummaging around at their room's bar. "You looked like you were starting to go soft, Peril!" Of course Cowboy could fit a tease and a warning into the same breath. It was his agent-code way of saying you were looking at her affectionately.
"Может быть," he replied, almost cracking a smile when he saw the man almost drop his glass.
Gaby's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What did you say?"
"Maybe you practice your Russian now," he teased, finding amusement in her annoyed huff. Illya tried to reach for her hand, which rest on his knee, but his vision chose that moment to go double. He gritted his teeth as the world began to spin.
"Alright, you can complain about my Russian later. Now, you rest," she ordered, leaving no room for arguments. He allowed her to slip off his shoes and undo his belt, but it took Napoleon's added strength to hold him up in order to switch out his regular pants with pajama bottoms. The two then led him to the top of the bed; Napoleon helped him get under the covers before Gaby pulled the sheets up and brushed his drooping hair off his his forehead. As she began to turn away, Illya managed to grasp her wrist with his hand like she had done to him in Rome those many weeks ago. She looked at him with surprise evident in her chocolate eyes.
"Stay," he murmured, not actually knowing if she would hear his request. He closed his eyes to hide his disappointment as she walked away, and thus did not see her walk around the bed to slip under the covers on the other side. It took him more effort than he wished to not move out of the fear that he would spook her. It seemed that he was the one more prone to startling, however, as he nearly flinched when she reached over to stroke his cheek lightly.
"Доброй ночи, Илья," she whispered as Napoleon chuckled quietly from where he watched.
Huh, Illya thought as he drifted off to sleep. Maybe she has been practicing her Russian.
Может быть = Maybe
Доброй ночи, Илья = Good night, Illya
