Dangerous

"What's wrong, Illya?" my girl asked in that direct way she has.

I looked at her, and for a hot minute I couldn't really remember what I'd been thinking about before because she was wearing a red dress. All too soon, however, it came flooding back.

"Nothing," I growled, my standard answer.

"Stop it," she said, crossing the space between us and folding her arms stubbornly. "There's something. I can tell."

I scowled down at her. "I should have put you over my knee and nipped this whole thing in the bud that first night."

She put out her first finger and waggled it in my face. "Don't change the subject. I want an answer. We're—together now, and I don't want things starting out with a weird feeling in the air. It gives me indigestion."

"Together, hmm?" I said, coming over to bathroom sink, where she was washing her face, and standing behind her.

"I said don't change the subject," she reiterated.

"Fine," I answered, letting feelings I'd been suppressing bring their darkness to the surface of my expression. "I was thinking about my training, about what they told us every day."

"What was that?" She wiped her face with a towel and turned to face me.

I cleared my throat. "They—said attachments are dangerous, that those of us who finished the training would be too dangerous to ever love or be loved. They made us dangerous on purpose."

My little girl took my hand and led me into the sitting room of our suite, pushing me into the chair and plopping unceremoniously onto my knee. "You listen to me, Ilya Kuryakin." She took my face in her hands because I'd hung my head, and she lifted my chin and made me look at her. "The only dangerous thing here is what you believe about yourself. It's all lies, all ridiculous. They made you strong; they didn't take your will. The man I see is the man who didn't take advantage of a drunk girl, who wouldn't kill when he was ordered to, because he knew his opponent was a good man. I see someone with great strength, who refuses to use that strength to do terrible things. That's the opposite of dangerous."

I blinked. "Is this what you think of me?"

"Of course," she answered. "It's not just what I think. It's the obvious truth." She's always so sure about things. I stared at her. It hadn't occurred to me that she actually liked me, that she actually thought I was a good man. All this time, I'd thought she loved me in spite of myself.

"Do you want me to hold you?" she asked, as pointed as ever. I nodded wordlessly, still too stunned by her revelation to form any kind of reasonable answer. She put her arms around me, and though she's too small to hold much of me, it still felt good. After a moment, I returned the embrace.

"I think you're the dangerous one," I teased after a few minutes, when my good humor had returned.

"Don't you forget it, Illya Kuryakin," she growled from against my shoulder, but her growl sounded more like a kitten than a tiger.