So this is my second oneshot for Gallya, and second fic published! It's a bit darker and more serious than my first, and really focuses on the vulnerability between the two. I don't want to spoil anything so... I hope you enjoy the fic and that this does the pairing justice!

maiarose

Gaby burst into the room, leaving the door ajar behind her. Staggering towards the bathroom, she quickly rid herself of the cream dress she wore, now stained with large splotches of deep red. Fumbling with the zipper, she hastily peeled the dress off of her lithe body, and rushed to the sink. As she turned it on, Gaby set the number under the strong stream of water.

Hands slightly shaking, she scrubbed roughly in a redundant attempt to get the stains out. The flow of blood and water seemed endless, as if her efforts made no difference. Crying out in frustration, Gaby sped up her motions, a bead of sweat building on her forehead.

A pair of strong, large hands covered her own, causing Gaby to jump slightly. They gently but firmly attempted to slow down her movements. She struggled against them, focused entirely on the dress.

"Gaby, stop this," a deep voice said.

"No," she mumbled, refusing to look up, refusing to cooperate.

"Gaby, stop," he commanded once more.

"No," she repeated, more loudly this time, though her arms felt as if they were on fire from her work.

"Gaby, stop!" he said sternly, turning off the sink before gripping her wrists and pulling her away.

"Let go of me!" she cried, struggling against his hold.

Ignoring her pleas, Illya lifted her into the bathtub, quickly ridding himself of his shoes and blazer before turning the shower on. He sat down at the base of the shower head, settling Gaby onto his lap. His strong arms enveloped her and he cocooned the girl's small frame. The warm water cascaded around them, soaking Illya's clothing, and what little the German brunette had on.

"Slow, Gaby," Illya instructed her, noticing her rapid, shallow breaths.

"I can't," she replied frantically.

"Gaby, slow down!" he ordered as he placed both hands on the sides of her head.

"I can't!" she cried, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack.

Illya suddenly pressed his lips to hers, roughly, desperately, and felt her hands snake around his wrists, struggling to pull away. The water pounded around them as Gaby finally relented, her grip loosening and lips responding to the Russian's advance.

As Gaby pulled away, breathing slowed, she quickly turned silent, her hooded eyes masking her emotions. At that moment she felt an overbearing weight on her chest—the toll of having the ones she cared about in a profession that could so easily take them away, the possibility that every tomorrow could be the last day she saw Illya or Napoleon, and the helplessness she felt every time they were engaged in combat.

And then she broke.

Her tears were invisible in the water, but sobs wracked her body as she buried her face into Illya's chest. He said nothing, rubbing small circles into her back with one hand and cradling her head in the other.

"He was so cold," she whimpered.

"He did what must be done," he replied after a while, attempting to reassure her, unsure of what to say.

"I couldn't do anything, there was so much blood—"

"You were not trained for this," Illya answered sternly. "You will not blame yourself."

"How can you be like this?" she asked, looking up at his face for the first time. "Will you teach me? Because I'm lost, Illya, I don't know how to do this, I don't know how to be strong," she cried. "How can you see your friend, so close to death, yet your façade does not break?"

Illya stayed silent. He held her tighter, his jaw clenched at the sight of Gaby's broken state.

"I have seen many comrades fall. I have seen life leave their bodies. But I stay strong for ones that still breathe," he explained quietly. "Solo will recover. He does not give up easily."

"You think me weak now, don't you," she replied sullenly.

"You care about your comrades. That makes you strong," he said firmly.

Gaby did not answer, and for a long while, both remained under the shower in silence, letting the sound of the gushing water take over the room.

Long after Gaby's tears had subsided, Illya turned off the shower and took her hand as she stepped out. He then led her to the toilet, motioning for her to sit on the lid. She obliged, and he quickly took a towel, wrapping it around her body.

"Do you trust me?" Illya asked quietly.

She looked up and nodded, watching Illya leave the room.

After a minute, Illya returned in only his boxer briefs with Gaby's pyjamas in hand. At the doorway, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then approached the girl.

Pulling her onto her feet, Illya reached behind her tentatively, waiting for her to slap him or make some sort of complaint. When she did nothing, he proceeded to unclasp her bra and remove it. Gaby noticed a slight colour to his cheeks but said nothing, observing that the Russian's eyes were focused on anything but her bare chest.

Illya then procured the pyajama top, pulling her arm through one sleeve, and then the other. He proceeded to button it up, visibly exhaling once it was complete. His eyes seemed glued to the ground for the next few moments as he squatted to pull her knickers down and toss them aside.

Holding onto his shoulder for support, Gaby raised each leg as Illya slipped her pyjama pants on, standing up as he pulled them up around her waist.

Taking her hand into his, he slowly guided her to the large bed and tucked her in. Illya softly caressed her face before turning to leave.

A hand slipped into his and stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to face her once more. Seeing her pleading eyes, only illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window, Illya relented, sliding under the sheets to face Gaby.

"Thank you," she said, taking his warm hand once more.

Illya said nothing, merely squeezing her hand in response.

Silence took over once more as Gaby's eyes began to flutter shut. It had been an exhausting day, and she felt spent. Seeing Napoleon take not one but two bullets to the chest in an attempt to save her life had left her guilt-ridden, a wreck. And the first thought she had after only served to double her guilt—but she couldn't help it.

"You did nothing wrong, Gaby. This is what we do," Illya said, as if reading her thoughts.

"I'm terrible for thinking it…" she trailed off, seemingly already half-asleep.

"Hmm?" he indulged, stroking her hair.

"I'm glad it wasn't you," she mumbled.

Nestling into his chest, Gaby surrendered to sleep, the grip of her hand in his loosening. Illya stayed awake to contemplate her words, slightly unnerved at the extent to which she cared for him, and even more unnerved at the extent to which he realised he cared for her. He took comfort by the sight of her face, so at peace now when it had been the complete opposite just moments before.

"You are strong, my little chop shop girl," he whispered.

Thanks for the read! Just to discuss a bit— I thought Illya dressing Gaby up, and normally stubborn Gaby actually letting him, would be a really sweet exchange between the two, and I wanted to showcase how vulnerable she was being in front of him, physically and mentally. This scene was kind of inspired by the series Skins where Freddie dresses Effy after giving her a shower, and I think it really shows how much Illya cares for Gaby and is enamoured by more than just her beauty (though his physical attraction for her is still clearly there).

Don't hesitate to leave a review because I'd love to know your thoughts! Critique is much appreciated.

maiarose