Work Text:
Pick-up Lines
Gaby/Illya
Warnings: None
1.
It's Napoleon, with the keen eyes of a thief who picks it out as the most likely hiding place, a small air vent in the side of the wall, just shy of the high ceiling. They've ransacked the rest of the room and come up empty-handed so it's their last hope.
It's too high even for Illya to attempt to reach so he and Napoleon drag a table across but even with this boost and reaching as far as he can Illya can't quite reach the grate.
"Wait," Gaby says joining him and Napoleon on the table top and kicking off her shoes she accepts a boost from Napoleon and climbs onto Illya's back. His arms grip her legs steady as she straddles his shoulders. They wobble precariously as she pulls at the grate but Illya shifts his weight and they're rock steady a moment later.
"It won't budge," she says, her fingers racing over two screws holding it in place. She can just slip her fingers through the holes in the grate and her fingers graze something soft. "There's definitely something in here."
Napoleon withdraws a slim case from his trouser pocket and selects a screwdriver and passes it up to her. She wobbles as she reaches down to accept the screwdriver from Napoleon but Illya is as still as a statue beneath her. It's only a moment's work to remove the screws and she triumphantly retrieves not one but two suede pouches from the grate and tosses them own to Napoleon.
"The documents and," he says with no small amount of glee as he opens the second smaller pouch, "Diamonds."
"Do you need someone to keep those safe for you?” Illya asks.
Napoleon huffs and slips the pouch into his breast pocket. “No.” Napoleon stretches out his hands to help guide Gaby down but Illya just dips his head slightly and lifts her clean over his head.
“Oh.” Gaby gasps at the unexpected motion and his hands tighten around her waist in response to her surprise.
“Are you okay?” he asks, still gripping her tight.
“We need to get moving.” Napoleon prompts, already moving towards the door. Illya jumps down from the table, barely a step for him. Gaby prepares to jump too but Illya sweeps her off the table before she has a chance to argue. He sets her down gently next to him and she finds herself unexpectedly thrilled by the secure grip of his hands on her waist again. She wants to linger, enjoy his hands on her body but there’s not time for it right now. There are guards shouting at the other end of the corridor and they both follow Napoleon out of the room in a hurry.
2.
“I told you I shouldn’t wear these shoes,” Gaby says staring at the heel trapped in the metal grate and then glancing up at the men rapidly gaining ground on them. She drops to her knees and yanks the heel out of the grate. There’s no way to fix it back on there and then but she’s not sacrificing these shoes completely.
“Sorry,” says Illya. “I did not think we would be made to feel so unwelcome.” He sweeps her off her feet but there’s not much time. She thinks maybe he’ll sweep her up in his arms but instead he grabs her round the waist and swings her over his shoulder.
“Illya!” She shrieks. “Put me down!” But it’s clearly not an option. She’s securely held and he’s moving ridiculously fast even with her extra weight and the way she must be throwing off his balance. It takes everything within her not to flail and fight from this ridiculous position. If he’d given her time to kick off her shoes, she’d have been just as fast. Probably.
“Those shoes really do go better with the dress,” he says in between heavy breaths as he runs. They make it to the far end of the street as Napoleon sweeps up in a hotwired car.
“What kept you?” he asks as Illya deposits Gaby by the car. Even as he pants heavily Illya opens the door of the car for her and she hobbles in awkwardly, climbs across the backseat and he slips in next to her.
She thrusts the offending heel into Illya’s hands. “You can pay to have them fixed,” she says as the car screeches away.
3.
“Illya?” she says as the door to the apartment opens.
He frowns. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
She’s bundled beneath a heap of blankets on the couch and though she’d originally given up on trying to sleep in their bed she’s been dozing since she curled up here. He perches on the edge of the couch and gently rests his hand against her cheeks, her forehead. “You still have a fever.”
She hums in agreement. “I’m glad you’re home. Did it go okay?” She was supposed to be there with him, she’s his pretend fiancée again; some simple recon on a diplomat but trouble has a habit of finding Napoleon and Illya so she knows they can’t be too careful. She knows she can’t be too complacent.
Illya squeezes her hand. “It went well. We should get you back into bed.”
She sits up and closes her eyes as the world spins.
“Gaby?”
“’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”
“Wait there,” he instructs and she sinks back against the couch, wishing that movement was an option. She closes her eyes and listens to him bustling about in the background. It’s soothing and reassuring and she’s starting to drop off again when Illya reappears.
He folds the blankets against her and then scoops her up gently from the couch. She’s cradled against him in a cocoon and bundled securely in his arms. It’s only a few steps to their bedroom. She tugs his arm.
“Illya.”
“Are you okay?” He halts in his tracks, face crumpling in concern that he might have harmed her.
She nods, presses herself against his chest and he grips her a little tighter. When he places her down on their bed she doesn’t let him leave. He wraps himself around her and strokes her hair away from her face. It’s not long before she falls asleep.
4.
“Oh God,” says Napoleon as he drops the rope out of the window. Even Illya furrows his brow in concern when he returns from fastening the other end of the rope around the bed post. It is a long way down.
“I’ll go first, then Gaby, then you.” Napoleon climbs out of the window and slowly starts climbing down the rope.
Gaby looks out the window and instinctively takes two steps backwards and shakes her head. “No. No.” She turns to Illya. “There has to be another way out!”
Illya shakes his head firmly. There is smoke creeping into the room around the blankets they’ve laid against the door.
“Illya, I can’t!”
Illya looks out the window; Solo is just under halfway down and they can hear the crackle of the approaching flames outside the door. He runs across the room, drags the bed closer. It will give them a few more moments when the fire breaks through.
“I will carry you down on my back,” he says.
“Illya-” she starts to protest.
The room is getting hotter as the fire approaches. He takes her hand and turns his back to her. Instinctively she climbs up, wraps her arms tight around his chest and her legs around his waist. The paint on the back of the door starts to blister and pop.
She knows he can do this but as he climbs out the window she buries her head against his back and screws her eyes shut tight.
“It will be okay Gaby, I will keep you safe.” It takes him a few moments to find his rhythm and they swing clumsily against the wall a couple of times. Illya grunts in discomfort but his grip on the rope doesn’t falter. The rope below them is still moving so she guesses that Solo must still be climbing down. Their progress is slow, slower than it needs to be and she wills Illya to move faster. The rope swings more violently and there’s a shouted apology from Napoleon and then it goes taut again.
Illya uses the tension in the rope to find a new rhythm and suddenly they’re moving much more quickly. Napoleon is shouting encouragement which she guesses is mostly for her benefit, Illya doesn’t need such things. It feels like an eternity but in reality is probably only another half a minute before they’re on the ground.
Napoleon claps Illya on the shoulder with relief, runs a hand across the top of Gaby’s head, she’s still wrapped tight around Illya. There’s a loud bang and the windows in the building start to blow out and glass is falling down around their heads. She slips down from Illya’s back and they huddle against the wall till the debris has finished falling. He covers her totally, and she buries herself against him, pulls him as tight to her as possible.
“Are you okay?” Illya asks her. She nods.
“Are you?” She turns his hands over and his palms are rough and red from the rope, his knuckles grazed and bleeding from smashing against the wall.
He nods impatiently and grabs her hand in his. They haven’t much more time to get away.
5.
Even down the back corridor of the club the music is loud and oppressive, she can feel it rattling through the floor beneath her. The strip lighting overhead doesn’t provide enough light and it’s still too hot. She’s halfway down the corridor with Illya almost at the target’s office when they hear footsteps approaching, at least three men. There’s no way to get out of there without being seen, no convenient janitor’s closets or bathrooms to duck into. She sees Illya’s fists start to curl, that he’s preparing himself for battle, even though it’s the brief to get in and out without being noticed.
“No,” she says. “I have a better idea.” And before he can argue she reaches up on her tiptoes and takes Illya’s face in her hands and kisses him. He utters a little gasp in surprise then returns her kiss. It doesn’t feel like part of a cover. It feels like they’re giving in to something that they’ve been resisting for too long. As the men round the corner and move towards them she wraps a leg around Illya and he sweeps her up and pushes her against the wall, his hands under her ass.
She’s vaguely aware of the tallest of the men saying, “You shouldn’t be back here.”
Their mark, short and squat, sandwiched between the two larger men just laughs, says, “They’re just kids, leave ‘em. Don’t you ever remember what it was like to have a pretty girl?” She takes one hand off of Illya’s shoulders and waves at them as they pass.
The mark and the other man laugh, joke about how long it’s been since the taller guy’s had a girl, the usual sort of thing. She’s surprised, relieved at how well it’s worked. She’s not sure how anyone looks at Illya and sees a kid.
She and Illya break apart as the men enter the office. His eyes are comically wide with shock, even though they’ve practically been dancing around this moment ever since they first met.
“Gaby,” he says breathless.
“I know.” She trails little kisses along his jaw. “I know.” She curls a hand through his hair and then leans in to kiss him again. No-one’s watching them this time and they’re both freer. Her legs grip Illya tighter and he’s pushing her hard against the wall as he kisses her deeper. She lets out a little moan and his breath is hot and heavy against her cheek.
The lights flicker overhead and finally they break apart.
“We should-”
“The mission,” he says, with a tight nod. He lets her down slowly, her body touching his the whole way down to the floor. She rests for a moment, head pressed against his chest then smoothes out the wrinkles in her dress and eases past him up to the door. She listens then shakes her head at Illya and makes her way back to him.
“We missed our window for now I think.” Illya frowns. They’ll have to come back later tonight, or tomorrow. It’s not the biggest screw-up but they could have done without the added delay.
“We need to finish what we started here,” says Illya but it sounds oddly mechanical.
“No,” she says. “Let’s go for a walk and come back.” They can have another run at it in half an hour, if that doesn’t work there’s always tomorrow. It isn’t urgent and they can’t act without Naopleon’s intelligence and he won’t be back for another two days.
“Gaby-” She knows it’s not how he would choose to do it; he would get it done now anyway. It’s something she and Napoleon are teaching him, how to live in the grey area outside of orders.
“We should finish what we started here.” She pulls him closer, reaches up to kiss him again. He hesitates, glances at the door then back at her and nods.
“Okay,” he says, then smiles and bends down to kiss her again. “I would like that.” She takes his hand in hers and leads him out of the club.