Drunk

In Rome, Illya's constant refusal to share a drink with her had initially surprised her. He was Russian, Gaby had thought, how could he turn down vodka? It was ridiculous stereotyping, but he was so obviously a representative of his country in nearly every other way that his deviation from the biggest known characteristic was slightly baffling. When she had gone with Waverly to give him and Napoleon the good news, she had been somewhat disgruntled to see that he was drinking whisky with the American. Was it her? Did he just not want to have a drink with her? What did he think she would do to him? She had been offended for some time, until leaving the balcony she stole a glance over at his glass to see that it was still as full as it had ever been. He had mimed the motions but had never taken a sip.

After that, she resigned herself to the idea that he was teetotal. At least it meant that his refusal was not in any way personal, which she did appreciate. Again in Istanbul he did not touch a drop, and after a while she stopped asking and simply provided him with coffee or tea whenever she had to order for him or if he came up to her room to discuss the current mission. After their success in Istanbul, UNCLE became more firmly established as a spy group- they were given a headquarters in London, and all three spies were provided with flats nearby.

To Gaby's annoyance, the sexual tension that still simmered between them continued to remain unresolved. She could understand why he had done nothing in Istanbul, after all they had thought it would be just one more mission and then they would all part ways and return to their respective agencies. But once they had settled into London she had thought that he might finally make a move, and when he didn't she had even shown up at his flat in a flatteringly low cut dress to try to push him along a little. To her surprise he had not taken the bait, even when she had given him plenty of opportunity to kiss her and with some annoyance she had stomped off home. True, she could have made the first move but his reluctance had struck at some alarm bells and she now wondered whether his interest in her in Rome had been nothing more than a passing infatuation that had faded with time. The thought had struck her ego a rather deep blow, and she had made a heavy dent in a bottle of wine back at her flat, wallowing in rejection.

She had remained in such a state for a couple of weeks, and after drunkenly confessing to Napoleon about her one-sided attraction to their stoic Russian friend, he had been quick to reassure her that her feelings were returned.

"Don't be ridiculous Gaby, Peril adores you." The American had admonished. "Give him some time, he might need to adjust to London life before he jumps into a relationship. You might also have to reign back a bit on the subtlety, you could appear naked in his flat and I don't think he would realise what your intentions were." She had laughed at the thought, and realised it was probably the truth. Illya appeared to have little experience with women, and maybe Napoleon was right. If Illya wanted time she could give it to him, although there would be a limit to her patience. Until then she would try to treat him as she always had, and hope that eventually he would reward her.

A few weeks into their stay in London, Gaby's assumptions about Illya being teetotal were abruptly and totally destroyed. She and Napoleon had decided to head over to his flat one morning to cheer him up, bringing coffee and breakfast along with them. The previous night he had been forced to miss a mission debriefing in order to meet his handler, and from what she had heard from Napoleon she doubted that the meeting would have gone well. The first inkling she had that there was something very very wrong, was when the door to Illya's flat had opened while they were still several feet away and a leggy blonde had appeared, quietly shutting the door behind her.

"Hello," Gaby nearly rolled her eyes when she heard Napoleon immediately switch into charm mode, "are you the cleaner for this building? You'll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe, you are far too pretty to spend all day scrubbing floors."

The woman looked started at the sudden intrusion, and had stared at them owlishly before slowly nodding her head at Napoleon's question. It wasn't a particularly convincing gesture, and Gaby found herself scrutinising the supposed cleaner more carefully. Her clothes were not those that would be worn by someone in that job, the dress she was wearing looked plain but expensive, its appearance slightly marred by the numerous wrinkles that covered it. Her makeup, which may have been impeccable earlier, looked slightly smudged even after clear attempts at correcting it. Had she truly been a cleaner, she might have also looked more comfortable at being at her place of work but instead she looked a little on edge as she warily scrutinised the man and woman before her.

"Uh, Napoleon. I don't think she's a cleaner." Gaby couldn't help but feel as though she was missing some larger picture, but for whatever reason she suddenly felt a sharp dislike for the undeserving woman.

"What?" The American turned towards her, looking totally and sincerely baffled. "Don't be ridiculous, Gaby. What else would she be doing here?" They both looked back at the woman who was awkwardly trying to sneak past them without arising further suspicion when a sudden call from the door they had all been fixated on interrupted the terse silence.

"Catherine, you forgot your coat." The thickly accented voice called out from the door, which had opened very slightly. The woman, Catherine as they know knew her to be, flushed deeply. The red of her face contrasting with the sunshine-yellow of her hair, she made her way back to the door to collect the garment that was held out. She snatched it without uttering a thank you, and bolted after that, speeding past Napoleon so quickly that he accidentally dropped one of the cups of coffee he was holding and looked back at the woman's retreating back in annoyance.

"Your cleaner's rude, Illya." He complained as both he and Gaby advanced towards the flat, the door opened wider at that and the Russian poked his head out. He didn't look great, there were bags under his eyes and his hair was a bit of a mess. He also looked distinctly unhappy to see them, although that expression disappeared momentarily as he seemed to consider the American's question.

"Cleaner?" He asked.

"Yeah, that woman who was in your flat." Napoleon clarified slowly, as though the Russian was being dim on purpose. His face scrunched up slightly as he looked at the American in disbelief.

"She wasn't my cleaner." He said, and he seemed to wince slightly as he caught sight of Gaby behind Napoleon. As she neared, Gaby could see that his shoulders were bare although she was uncertain as to the rest of his state of dress since the rest of him was hidden behind the door. Still, that sight was enough for her to connect the dots and come to the correct conclusion. As Catherine's reason for being at the flat became clear, she found that she wasn't even angry she was just unbelievably shocked. Beside her Napoleon still hadn't caught up and was frowning in annoyance.

"Then who was she?" Illya only sighed in response, and tiredly rubbed at his eyes.

"Can we talk about this at some other time, I'm not feeling very well."

"Are you hungover?" Napoleon suddenly asked incredulously, it was not something Gaby had considered and as he said it she took the opportunity to look over Illya, searching for tell-tale signs. His eyes were slightly red, and she noticed that the room behind him was mostly dark and he seemed to be struggling to deal with the brightness of the corridor.

"Does it matter?"

"You went drinking without me?!" Napoleon demanded, sounding far more offended than he had any right to be. Gaby watched as further realisation suddenly dawned on him. "And you went picking up women without me? What the hell Illya? I thought we were friends." Gaby shot Napoleon the dirtiest look she could, and was pleased to see him suddenly shrink back as he remembered she was there. When they both turned back to Illya for the explanation they both felt they were owed, they found themselves facing nothing but a closed door.

As much as Gaby had wanted to forget what had happened, Napoleon seemed particularly unwilling to let her. It wasn't that he was purposefully trying to remind her that Illya had decided to spend the night with some perfectly proportioned blonde goddess, but he did seem to be trying to comprehend how he could have so badly underestimated his Russian colleague. In that sense, Gaby couldn't help but agree. They had both mocked him openly about his lack of social skills, and now they had proof of the contrary even if Napoleon seemed insistent that it had been some sort of fluke.

Once her initial shock had faded, Gaby found herself growing very irritated with Illya. Piecing together what she knew about him, she found that perhaps his actions were not quite as unexpected as they should have been. He had a bad meeting, and she knew that whenever Waverly decided to tell her off about something she had done wrong she usually wanted to go away and lick her wounds, often wishing she could go speak to Illya about it and receive some measure of sympathy. She could understand the desire to get drunk and seek comfort from someone, even if she hadn't expected him to cope in that kind of way. What annoyed her is that he felt he needed to do this with a stranger when she was there, ready and willing to provide him with any support that he needed. Remembering how beautiful Catherine had been, Gaby couldn't help but feel inadequate beside her and wondered whether that may have been the reason Illya had chosen not to go to her for help.

Whatever his reason were, Illya seemed absolutely adamant he was not going to speak a word of his night, despite Napoleon's many attempts to get him to spill, remarking rather drily about how much Napoleon resembled a gossiping housewife. Of course with their lives being so dangerous, it was only a matter of time before something else went wrong. On a mission in Paris, Napoleon had been shot in the shoulder. Much later on the injury would be seen with some amusement, as he had not been shot by someone on the mission but rather by the disgruntled husband of one of the women he had seduced on a spare night. But at the time, it had been a great cause for concern, and Illya and Gaby had immediately taken him to the hospital for treatment. Illya in particular had looked very guilty, he had not seen the man approach until it was too late, and heedless of both her and Napoleon's reassurances that it was not his fault she knew he would continue to blame himself. Luckily, the injury was fairly minor. It had avoided all major arteries and veins, thankfully the man had been too distraught over his wife infidelity to take proper aim. Still Napoleon had needed to spend the night in hospital, and she and Illya had returned to their hotel once they had been sufficiently reassured by the staff that the American would be fine.

After a few minutes of composing herself in her room, Gaby had made the decision to head over to Illya's to see how he was coping. But when she knocked on the door there was no answer, and she felt a huge burst of annoyance as she made a guess as to where he had disappeared to. She did make some attempt of searching the nearby bars for him, irritated that once again he had not felt comfortable enough to divulge in her his problems and that he had likely gone to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. Eventually giving up, she had retired to her bed and fallen into a nightmare. It was a stupid thing really, and one that should not have affected her so much. But she dreamed that she was in a room full of women, while Illya searched around, speaking to everyone except her even while she screamed to try to get his attention. The next morning she had woken with a start, and spent several minutes trying to calm her heart rate down and reassure herself that she was overreacting to the whole thing.

When Gaby went to Illya's room she was deeply pleased to see that while hungover, he was alone. It seemed to suggest to her that perhaps he did not seek comfort in other women every time he was upset, and she had felt no inconsiderable amount of relief as she sat in an armchair while he busied himself making them both a cup of coffee. Her hope had been brought to a sickening halt though, as she spotted the lingering trace of lipstick on the back of his neck as he had his back to her. He had likely been unable to see it when he had cleaned up before she arrived. The bed was perfectly made up, and aside from that red stain he had clearly put a lot of effort into hiding the signs of last night's debauchery.

"So who was your guest last night?" She spat out, glaring at the back of his head even as she watched him suddenly freeze as he realised he had been caught out.

"It doesn't matter." He mumbled, still not turning to face her. She scoffed derisively.

"I just don't understand why you can't just speak to me or Napoleon if you're upset. You don't need to go on all night bender and sleep with some tramp just to make yourself feel better." She snapped. He sighed as he turned to face her and she could see that he did look quite guilty.

"It is not that easy."

"Yes it is." She insisted, pushing away the coffee he handed to her in annoyance. "You could say, 'hey Gaby something's bothering me', see how difficult is that?"

"You drink a lot." He ignored what she said, the accusation spoken very weakly as he tried badly to justify himself.

"Yes I do. But I do it because it's fun, not because I'm upset." She retorted. "Damnit Illya, that can't be healthy." Gaby was surprised at how sincere she was in what she said, true she had always viewed alcohol perhaps a little less carefully that she should have but Illya's attitude towards it was particularly worrying. Most days he would not drink a drop, and then the minute something went wrong in his life he would drink until the pain went away.

"I don't know how else to cope." He said eventually, after a long and miserable pause. He looked ashamed at his own weakness and Gaby felt a sudden surge of guilt as she wondered whether she had been too harsh. He had spent so long without friends or anyone to confide in that his reaction did make some sense. In Russia he was under constant observation as the son of a traitor, and if he ever felt down or had anyone doubts who really could he trust enough to speak to about it? A drunken night with some anonymous warm woman with soft skin was likely the only source of comfort on those cold evenings. But things were different now, he had her and he had Napoleon if it came to it. There was no reason for him to go to anyone else, so all it seemed now was some residual coping strategy he clung to in dark moments as though it was the only source of light to guide him through.

"Illya…" She sighed and reached over to take one of his hands in hers as she looked at him seriously. As always his hands were cold, but she didn't let that bother her as she tried to think through something she could say to him to convince him that there were other ways to deal with his bad moods. He looked so lost and vulnerable as he met her gaze, that all she wanted to do was forgive him immediately and hug him until he cheered up. But she restrained herself, certain that if she did get closer to him she would smell some other woman's perfume on him, and even with her current efforts at being understanding she knew that such a sensation would likely ignite her anger again. Shouting at him now would not help.

"I am always here for you, no matter what." She told him seriously. "And Napoleon is too." She added hastily. "I know he's a bit of a dick, but despite the bravado he does care about you and he would support you if you needed it."

"Next time I will try." He said tentatively, meeting her gaze with a slightly hopeful look in his eyes.

"You better." She said warningly. "Or I swear to any higher power that exists that I will find you, and I don't care what you're doing at the time or who you're doing for that matter," his face turned endearingly red at that and she forced herself not to smile at his embarrassment as she continued, "I will drag you away to shout at you."

"I understand." He said solemnly. She didn't think he did, she was totally serious when she warned him that she would interrupt any tryst that she would catch and would take sadistic glee in kicking the poor shocked woman out of the room. But she felt some cheer as she realised he wouldn't be able to hold it against her now that she had warned him, it would be his fault if she 'accidentally' punched, kicked or in any way injured the person he had chosen to spend the night with. There were worse ways she could proclaim her possessive claim over him. Admittedly, she couldn't think of any worse way at that moment but she was sure they existed.

"Let's go get some breakfast and take some food to Napoleon," she suggested, "I'm sure he will be wanting something other than hospital food." She drained her coffee and took the mugs over back to the kettle, picking up a napkin and wetting it slightly with some water.

"That sounds like a good idea." He agreed, and nearly jumped when he suddenly felt the wet napkin on the back of his neck. Gaby carefully wiped away the evidence and with a raised eyebrow showed him the mark that had now been transferred over, he flushed again when faced with it and snatched it from her to drop it in the bin. "It didn't mean anything." He said, sounding very insistent.

"I know." She replied softly. She would have been more concerned had it been an ongoing affair with a single woman.

"Please don't tell Cowboy."

"Of course I'm going to tell him." She said between coughs of laughter, she had almost forgotten how badly Napoleon had reacted when he first found out Illya wasn't totally incompetent with woman. "You need to suffer some more, and I'm sure he will forget all about getting shot when I tell him." Illya looked pained at the thought, but didn't resist when she pulled his arm to take him out of the room and head towards a nearby bakery.

With hindsight, Gaby probably should have realised that Illya would not be able to change his ways after one measly pep talk. And that was how she found herself one night tearing through what felt like all the bars in Barcelona, demanding in broken Spanish whether anyone had seen a large, drunk Russian. Luckily for her, Illya was not an easy man to forget and she followed a trail of guidance to eventually arrive at an expensive-looking bar in one of the higher class areas of the city. A vision of fury, she had stormed up to the bartender and repeated the question she had asked all night.

"A Russian, yes." The man looked slightly taken aback by how she had spat out her question. "He's over there." Her gaze followed the direction he was pointing the spot the object of her ire leaning in close to speak to a busty redhead. The woman in question looked utterly entranced by whatever he was saying and giggled often, purposefully shoving her cleavage in his face at every opportunity. "Try not to cause too much of a scene with your man." The bartender said drily.

"No promises." She had snapped back at him, aware that she shouldn't be taking her anger out on an innocent bystander when Illya was a much better target and only a few feet away. He did not see her even as she approached until she stood above him, positively simmering in fury. Gaby managed to finally speak some words through clenched teeth as he finally looked up to see her, an expression of drunken surprise on his face as he immediately recognised her.

"You," she addressed the woman beside him with contempt, "piss off." She had learned the expression from Waverly and found it to her liking as it conveyed all the feelings she felt in a simple two words. "And you," she turned back to Illya, "come with me. Now."

"Excuse me." The redhead said snootily. "We're trying to have a conversation here, and your presence is ruining it." Illya looked as though he wanted the ground to swallow up as Gaby found herself turning back to the woman.

"I'm sorry, was something I said unclear?" She shouted, not even bothering to lower the volume as she saw the other woman flinch and several customers turn in their direction in curiosity. "Take yourself and your fake breasts somewhere else before I break something of yours, and I don't mean that hideous last season purse you're carrying." The barely concealed threat seemed to strike home, and the woman spluttered incoherently as she tried to think up a response. Behind her, Gaby could faintly hear some chortles of laughter from her captive audience and she shot a sweeping glare behind her to silence them.

"What are you, his wife?" The woman managed to say after some silence. Of course that wasn't the case, but Gaby would be damned if she was not going to take this easy out the woman had so unwittingly provided her.

"As far as you are concerned I am." She turned her angry gaze back to Illya. "And as far as you are concerned I am. Now move."

Obediently Illya stood up and followed her out of the bar looking very much like a kicked puppy. The streets outside the bar were cobbled, and she found that with his unsteady gait he stumbled a fair few times, swearing quietly in Russian as he did so. Eventually losing patience she returned to his side, and looped an arm through his to drag him back to their hotel.

The balmy night air was very pleasant, and as they put more and more distance between themselves and the bar she found herself calming down a little. Illya had messed up on the mission and blown their cover when he had thought she was in danger, she should have realised that he would fall back into old habits. In her defence he had seemed fine, she had pestered him for at least an hour as to how he had been feeling and he had insisted that he was okay. Maybe some time alone with his thoughts had destabilised him.

Once they arrived at the hotel she nearly felt sane again, and she shoved him none too gently into the armchair of her room as she went to make him a lethally strong cup of coffee. He had the decency to look very sorry as she worked away, shooting him angry looks occasionally.

"What did I tell you last time?" She snapped, and he grimaced as he took the first sip from the still boiling hot mug she handed him.

"Not to get drunk and do something stupid." He dutifully answered.

"And what did you do?"

"Got drunk and nearly did something stupid." His readiness to admit his mistakes did mollify her a little.

"Exactly." She took the seat opposite him and looked at him exasperatedly. "I know today wasn't easy, but I gave you plenty of opportunity to speak to me about it."

"I'm sorry." Illya said glumly and looked appropriately miserable. He looked very drunk, and Gaby doubted they would be able to have a serious conversation about his behaviour until he sobered up. She sighed loudly.

"We'll talk about this properly tomorrow." She said, he nodded and made a move to stand up and head to his own room, but she crossed over to the door quickly and blocked the way. With her arms crossed she glared him down, ignoring the fact he looked more confused than trite at that moment. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until morning, you might go back to the bar if I don't keep an eye on you."

"I won't." He protested.

"You also told me you would come see me next time you were upset." She retorted. "Forgive me if I'm having some trust issues at the moment. You will sleep on the floor next to my bed, and maybe next time you'll listen to me."

Gaby made him turn around so she could change out of her day clothes into her pyjamas, not even wanting to head into the bathroom in case he tried to make an escape. Sufficiently attired, she yawned tiredly and slipped into her own bed, shooting him a dark look until he went to lie down on the floor next to it. She switched the light off, and stayed awake until she heard his breathing even out at which point she allowed herself to shut her eyes with a sigh and felt sleep take over.

The next morning, Illya clearly felt worse for wear. A combination of a hangover and a stiff body from spending all night on the floor had made him particularly grumpy in the morning, and Gaby took sadistic satisfaction in seeing his suffering. She waited until evening, when he seemed sufficiently recovered in order to have a decent conversation. Again, she dragged him back to her room and forced him to sit in a chair while she poured herself a stiff drink. She watched him eye it nauseously as she drained the glass, and defiantly poured herself another one.

"Since you won't listen to my initial instructions, I am giving you a different set." She told him authoritatively. "Next time you go drinking, you take me with you. You will not be contracting a venereal disease on my watch."

"I am always careful." He protested hotly, and she silenced anything further with another well placed glare.

"Regardless, you will not be going alone. If you do, I will actually attack your new friend." She threatened sincerely. "It will be your fault, and I'm sure Napoleon will back me up if it attracts Waverly's attention." Dejectedly he nodded, and without anything further to say to him Gaby sent him away from her room and indulged further in her bottle of vodka, thinking darkly that at least she didn't feel a sudden need to sleep with strangers when she was unhappy.

A month or so passed with relatively little incident, and as far as she was aware Illya had not done anything she might disapprove of. They had been quite lucky in that time, most of the missions had been reasonably routine with very little true excitement. Of course such a lull did not last, and Gaby found herself playing a honeypot while Illya stood nearby pretending to be a waiter. She caught his eye as she waited for the mark and was a little surprised to see him looking very tense and irritated.

Eventually the mark did arrive and Gaby self-consciously adjusted herself in her seat. Napoleon had picked out her outfit and she had to admit she wasn't too comfortable in it but he had been strangely insistent that it was the correct choice.

"He won't be able to resist you." He had told her with a wink at the time when she had sceptically examined herself in the mirror. She was sure he was right, the mark apparently had a thing for scantily clad women and her current outfit left little to the imagination. Tight, short and low cut she felt like she was walking around with a 'fuck me' sign on her back. Illya had looked appalled when he saw her, and his eyes had nearly bugged out of his skull. He managed to compose himself before he could drop his tray of drinks onto a young couple, and if anything Gaby almost felt the dress had been worth it just for the amusement she derived from his reaction.

The mark looked very pleased by her choice of attire, and as Gaby flirted away she pushed down a twinge of annoyance when he made very little effort to look away from her chest. All she had to do was get him away from his bodyguards, as soon as that had been accomplished Illya and Napoleon could take over. It did not take long for the conversation to take a sharp descent into the gutter, and she tried to fake enthusiasm as the mark leaned in to whisper all the repulsive things he intended for her. He had an active imagination, she had to admit, but none of it sounded particularly enjoyable to her even had it involved someone more to her liking. Stealing a glance over at Illya she could see that his jaw had clenched and the tray in his hands was trembling slightly. The mark nearly caught her distraction and she immediately turned back to laugh at his not even remotely funny attempt at a joke. The pearl ring on her index finger felt like it was burning as she realised that Illya was listening in on the entire conversation.

Soon enough, the man invited her up to his room and she had coyly agreed, secretly pleased that this would all be over in a matter of minutes. The bodyguards were left at door and she let him slobber over her as she waited for her work partners to arrive, wishing they would speed up. The mark was too distracted to hear two loud thuds outside the door, and she nearly breathed out a sigh of relief. The door burst open, and Napoleon and Illya both marched in, the latter turning a rather odd shade of purple as he noticed that the mark's hand was at that moment buried underneath the front of her dress, leaving little doubt as to what exactly he was grasping under there.

In a blur of movement, Gaby found that the space beside her was suddenly empty and the mark was on the floor unconscious. She looked over at Illya with a raised eyebrow as Napoleon went to inspect the newly unconscious man.

"A little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?" She said drily even as he looked back at her incredulously.

"He was taking liberties." He growled out.

"What makes you think I wasn't enjoying it?" She retorted, and watched him turn several shades darker. In a small amount of time, realisation suddenly dawned on her and she felt an indignant anger fill her body. "Seriously?" She spluttered out. "You're really going to try to justify your jealously? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"As entertaining as this is," Napoleon interrupted, hefting the unconscious man upwards, "now is really not the time for you two to be getting into this conversation."

Giving Illya the dirtiest look she could muster, she moved over the American and helped him carry the man downstairs, making it look as though he was an unfortunate that had drunk too much and that they were taking home. Everyone around them seem to buy the act and they delivered him to some waiting agents, before returning to their hotel. Before Illya could make a beeline to his own room, she grabbed him by the arm and marched him to hers.

"Do you want a drink?" She demanded as soon as they were alone, he looked shocked at the question as though he thought the conversation would be going in a different direction, but he did nod slowly. "Good, let's go."

He followed her obediently as she found a reasonably quiet bar and told the bartender to just give them the bottle of vodka instead of messing around with glasses. They found an unoccupied corner, and Gaby made short work out of a considerable amount in the bottle before handing the rest to Illya. She was spoiling for a fight, which was part of the reason she had decided not to stay in their room before she could destroy it as thoroughly as they had done in Rome.

"Well, what was that today?" She demanded once they were both tipsy enough to speak frankly with each other. She had always found alcohol to be a potent truth serum, and she was determined to have out a conversation with him now that she had been wanting to have since they left the Italian city. She would get answers today, even if they weren't the ones she wanted. He shrugged uncomfortably.

"I did not like the way he spoke to you, as though you were a piece of meat. And you let him!" There was something accusatory and hurt in his voice, something that had absolutely no place to be there considering his own behaviour.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you." She retorted. "You're not my boyfriend, Illya, you have no right to judge me."

"You seem to have a problem with me sleeping with other women, why should I not react the same?" For the first time since they had begun to address his unusual habits he sounded angry rather than guilty.

"That's completely different!" She stated hotly.

"How?" He demanded, gesticulating wildly with his arms. "How was my reaction today any different to yours in Barcelona?"

"Because…" She stuttered a bit, trying to find some justification but unable to do so. The colour drained from her face as she realised that there was some grain of truth in what he was saying. Yes, he had been jealous today but she had been the same every time she had caught him with some other woman. "You chose those women." She said eventually, feeling some triumph that she had managed to find something. "I didn't have a choice about the mark today."

"You said you enjoyed it." He accused.

"No I didn't. I only let you think I did to provoke some sort of reaction." She glared at him, surprised to find her eyes misting a little. "I don't think you realise how much it hurt, you going to all those women when I was here and ready to listen to your problems. Was it really so bad that for one moment I wanted you to feel the same way I did?" The confession seemed to drain the anger from him, and he looked away guiltily.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He said quietly. "You should have told me. I thought you were only concerned about the drinking."

"God, you're so obtuse." She complained, shaking her head in annoyance. "Of course I cared, how could you think any differently after Rome? I didn't exactly make my feeling subtle then or after."

"It will pass." He insisted. "I am not good for you, you will realise that soon."

"For fuck's sake Illya." She dropped her head into her hands and audibly groaned. "You don't seem to get it. It's not going to pass just because you think it should, good god even with all the stupid shit you do I was still not prepared to give up on the idea that eventually you and I could be together. And I'm still not." The latter part she confessed more quietly, suddenly fearing that perhaps he would reject her. A silence stretched on for some time now that she had made her own feelings clear, she didn't dare look up in case he looked back at her with pity. She had laid all her feelings on the line, and now she would find out whether or not he felt similarly.

"If you're sure." He said slowly, the tension in the air suddenly dissipating by that tentative comment.

"I am." She said, proudly raising her eyes to look back at him. His shoulders were relaxed and he looked back at her unblinkingly, his face utterly unreadable but somehow soft.

"Then maybe we could make a go of things." He suggested hesitatingly. "I care about you a lot Gaby, more than I perhaps should. But if I'm being honest I think you will regret this."

It suddenly became painstakingly clear exactly why he had rebuffed her back in Istanbul, and why he had never made a move elsewhere or approached her when he needed support and even now why he remained strangely reluctant. She knew her only feelings for him ran deeply, far more than a passing infatuation or even just some lustful desire. But to him, who had probably not had a relationship longer than a single night he likely could not see that, and in that regard she had not really helped. The sensible thing to do would have been to tell him the full extent of how she felt, but like him she had feared that it would all end in inevitable rejection and heartbreak. Now it seemed as though the bravest thing they could both do would be to take this great leap into the unknown and hope for the best.

"Well if we don't try we won't find out if we regret it." Gaby told him firmly, leaning in close. "And who's to say we will regret it? Perhaps your idea that we should stay apart will be a greater regret than if we start something and it doesn't pan out. Surely it is better to know that not?"

"Maybe." It wasn't the unambiguous agreement she wanted but it was enough for her to eliminate the distance between them and press her lips to his for the first time. He kissed her back gently, one hand reaching over to cup the back of her neck. It was a short kiss, but they remained close for some time after that, giving themselves time to process the decision they had just made.

"Let's go home." She said, and they returned to the hotel leaving the half-full bottle behind them, no longer needing its empty comfort or its liquid courage.

They didn't sleep together that night. Not because neither of them wanted to but because it did not feel like the right time, and while Gaby understood it would be different she still didn't want to be yet another woman Illya had bedded while drunk and she was sure he similarly did not want her associated with those kind of memories. They did kiss once again outside of her room, but she did not invite him in and he did not make any gesture or suggestion that he wanted to join her for the night. They parted amicably, and Gaby watched him leave until he disappeared from view before she shut her own door and leaned back against it with a happy smile. Sober, she thought to herself very seriously, when they eventually did consummate their relationship (which she had no doubt would happen sooner rather than later) she wanted them both to be totally and one hundred percent sober. A week later she got her wish, she woke up clear headed that morning and happier than she had been in a very long time.

Author's Note: Goddamn this got long. Some more of my headcanon that Illya only drinks when really upset and tends to be quite self-destructive when he does. I love Gaby in this, she's trying to be supportive but goddamn does Illya make it difficult for her. Rather concerned that all my drabbles have involved drinking or the aftermath of drinking so far.