WELL, HERE IS ANOTHER PRETTY LONG CHAPTER AND I REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS WILL ENJOY IT. THANKS FOR ALL OF YOU, WHO HAVE STUCK TO THIS STORY FOR THIS LONG AND THERE IS YET MORE TO COME ;) I WISH YOU ALL A HAPPY WEEKEND AND MAYBE I WILL UPLOAD SOME MORE THIS WEEKEND :D THANK YOU FOR READING AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ;)


The morgue was a quiet place.
Somewhere he could sort out his racing thoughts.
He hadn't planned to come here, but as he had walked through the streets of the little town, they had brought him here.
Now he was sitting in the dimly lit morgue and starred at the outline of the body hidden beneath the white sheet.
It was not Gaby.
He had repeated this thought the whole time since the doctor had raised the sheet to reveal the battered body underneath it.

The body, which almost looked like Gaby.
Almost.
It was not Gaby.
As if his sheer will could change it.

Illya could remember the very first time he had thought she had died.
That her life had slipped through his hands.
The panic.
The world coming to a shuddering halt and the coldness taking over his own body.
The relief as she was breathing again.
When she had opened her eyes again and that soft smile as she had seen him.
The gratefulness spreading through his veins and making him work and think again.
He had thought after that it would get easier.
He had been wrong.

Illya had been taught that people were like pawns.
Easily replaced if they didn't do their job.
He had always worked like that.
Death hadn't affected him that much.
Until they came.

The loud American with his expensive, elaborate taste and the infuriating comments and the small German woman, who just simply had strode into his heart and tipped his world upside down.
They couldn't be replaced.


"They make you soft!" His handler had scoffed as they had met during one of their missions in a lonely street café.

Illya knew better.
They made him care and he never had been a better spy than with them.

"Technically he is not your boss anymore!" Solo had told him just before he had left them.

Waverly was.
Solo didn't know.
Didn't understand.
The KGB had him on a very short leash and they would never let their best agent go.
Not without a fight.
If they knew they could use Solo or Gaby as a leverage they would.
Just to keep him in check.
To still have control over him.
Even though he knew Waverly made it hard for them.

"You got the information from the Nazi girl?" Oleg had stirred his coffee slowly.

His eyes never leaving Illya.
Illya had stared at him.
Unmoving.
Breathing in.
Breathing out.
Calming himself.
He had wanted to go back to the hotelroom and see if Solo had managed to talk Gaby out of the meeting with her friend.

He hadn't trust the American.
He slowly did, but Cowboy had suffered from a concussion and he always had bad ideas then.
Gaby had been so stubborn about the whole thing.
Making his blood boil and teasing him.
Leaving these two alone in the hotelroom wasn't a smart idea.

"I'm working on it. It's not easy!" He had heard himself say.

Oleg had just raised an eyebrow.

"She doesn't trust me. I'm Russian after all! The American is a problem too!" The lie had rolled easily from his tongue.

Don't let them see that you care for them.
He needed to protect them.

"I thought you were better! Make sure you get it or do I have to send someone else to get me the information. It won't be that pleasant for her and I don't want UNCLE to think we are not cooperating. It will hang on you!" Oleg had starred at Illya and he had been the first to look away.


Tiredly Illya rubbed his hands over his face.
That meeting had been one of the worst he had with Oleg.
Not the meeting.
The aftermath of the meeting.
The betrayal in her eyes when she found out.
In a matter of seconds he had lost her trust.
He had lost her.
It had taken an eternity until she had trusted him again.
A lot of proving himself to her.
Now he had failed her again.

"I'm sorry!" He whispered.

It sounded hallow in the big room.
Bouncing off the walls.
He stared at the body.
It was not her.
It couldn't!

The bowl with the scalpels and other tools flew through the room and clattered to the floor.
He clasped his hands over his face.
Unable to cry.
Not if there was still the tiny seed of hope for her to be alive.
He felt powerless.

He wanted to wake up from this nightmare and just go back to the hotelroom and find her there.
Occupying the whole couch and looking up from a book sheepishly.
He wanted her to tell him that she used all the hot water and she hoped he didn't mind having a cold one.
He wouldn't.
He would shower the rest of his life with cold water.
He just wanted her back.

Illya wanted her to scold at him for being out so long and telling him Solo was a lot more fun to be around.
He even would let her go on missions only with Solo.
He wouldn't mind if that would bring her back.
He was willing to give everything.
How could he return to London without her?

Coming back to their apartment the trio shared and seeing all the things of her.
Reminding him of her.
It had cost Solo and him a lot of persuading her to move in with them.
Even though she had persisted in the beginning to have her own flat and he never had thought a simple flu would change her mind.
A bitter smile crept on his lips.

He couldn't return to a flat full of her things, her pictures, her books and her smell lingering in the air and reminding him of her.
Never seeing her walking through the door again.
Never seeing her bothering Cowboy while he was getting dinner ready.
Her part of the couch empty.
That part of the couch he could clearly see from his spot by just looking up.
And there was the cat.

The cat she had brought one evening home from a shelter.
Because she had always wanted one.
Of course she hadn't picked a sweet kitten.
She had taken the one they couldn't get rid off.
The one none took.
The ugliest.
The one with a scar over his face from a previous fight.

"He is perfect for us!" She had told him, scratching the cat behind his ears.

"Who will look after it when we are gone for weeks?" He had countered glaring at the cat she had named Henry.

"Rebeca will! She promised to stop by and she knows when we are on a mission!" She had beamed at him and crooning to the cat that Illya was actually really nice and he didn't mean it like that.

The cat had loved him from the start to a clear dismay of Gaby.
She had grumbled to herself that this wasn't fair, because she had been the one picking him out at the shelter.
He should be thankful to her.
He should love her and not that stupid Russian.
She hadn't meant it like that.
Eventually the cat warmed up to her as well, but not to Solo.
Illya had found it very amusing.

A big sigh escaped his lips as he looked up with tired eyes at the body.
It wasn't her.
He wanted to see her alive again.
He had to.

He wanted her to give him that lopsided grin.
The sparkling in her eyes.
He wanted her to take is breath away wearing yet another ridiculous expensive dress.
He wanted her sneaking into his room at 2 am and mumbling she couldn't sleep, while she crawled into bed next to him.
He wanted to finally kiss her, to tell her everything he cowardly never had.
He wouldn't care if she would roll her eyes at him.
Even if she told him, she didn't feel the same way.
He wouldn't care if someone interupted them.
He couldn't believe that it might have been too late.

Slowly he got up and walked like in a trance to the table.
Illya stared down at the white blanket hiding the battered body.
Carefully he lifted the sheet.


"You know she begged her uncle to kill her in the beginning. She wasn't fun at all. Like she deserved to be tortured. No fight! She tried to get her uncle angry just so he would slip and kill her." The goon had wheezed.

His teeth blood stained.
Illya had glared at the man.
His fingers twitching.
They had feared this would have happened.

"But when he showed her the pictures of you…" He had taken a shakey breath, grinning at both agents.

Illya had shot him a murderous glare, which would have froze hell.
He wanted to break more bones.
He wanted the man to pay.
He had felt Solo behind him clearing his throat, anchoring him back to reality.
He needed to stick to the plan.
Keep it professional.

"Damn you should have seen it…. That spark in her eyes. That was fun after it. Her fighting for her life, trying to please him!" The man had laughed.

Blood running down his chin and splattering over his clothes.
Illya had felt like he wanted to through up.

"Do you want to know how he killed her?" The man had looked at Illya and Solo.

He tried to straighten up in the chair and not really waiting for an answer.

"He poisoned her. Never heard or seen a poison like it. It sets your blood on fire and you die a slow, agonizing death! Your girl died in the worst way possible! Without you! Cold and alone!" The goon had giggled and Illya couldn't hold back any longer.

He had launched himself onto the man.
He would kill him.
He still couldn't quite figure out how he had managed not to.
Maybe it was Solo, who had pulled him back or the words, which he had yelled.

"If you kill him we will never find her!"

He had stopped then.
With his hand around the man's throat.
Snapping out of the red mist.
The goon had the audacity to grin at him.

"Do it big boy! Won't bring her back either!" He had closed his hands around the throat.

But he hadn't killed him.
Only leaving him unconscious.
Illya had rolled back on his feet.
Trying to calm himself down.

"What the…!" Solo had sworn under his breath, racking his hands through his perfect hair.

For once he didn't care about appearance.
They had waited until the thug's fingers had twitched and his eyelids had fluttered again.
Aware that he was able to listen.

"What did I say? Don't kill him! He just wanted to get under your skin. Now look what you have done our last lead, idiot!" Solo had snarled frustrated.

"He deserved it! We will find another and that one will sing!" Illya had stared at the man. Debating if it wasn't better to kill him anyway.

"Let's go! We need to get back to London." Solo had sighed, grabbing his arm as if he was afraid Illya would kill him.

Cowboy knew him all too well.
Wasn't always a blessing.

"Don't you want to bury him?" Illya had rasped.

"Do you think he deserves to be buried?" Solo had asked back a pleading in his eyes to go.

"Njet, he deserves to rot here!" They had left then, leaving the man on the ground.

Hoping their plan would work out.


Illya had seen a lot of horrible things in his career.
But this made his stomach clench.
Carefully he folded the sheet back, revealing the battered body.
His eyes drifted over the map of bruises.
Showing him the suffering the woman had been through.
The woman, who looked almost like Gaby.
It wasn't her.
He heard himself repeat it over and over under his breath.
Like a prayer.
As if this would make it come true.
As if it would push back the upcoming doubt.
The tiny voice whispering in his ears that maybe Bob, the doctor and even Solo were right.
That she was dead.
Never breathing again.
Never annoying him again.
Never.
Never.
Never.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.
His hands were shaking violently.