Illya and Gaby - The Frenchman (The Man From U.N.C.L.E)

Chapter 1 - Delirious

Illya shoved the hotel room door open with a crash, stumbling into the room, drenched in water, red-tinged droplets falling from his fingers to the floor. Gaby spun around from where she stood at the window, nearly dropping the small glass of vodka in her hand.

"Illya?" She gasped, setting the glass down on the table beside the couch. "What happened?"

Illya fell heavily to his knees, eyes nearly closing with fatigue. "The Frenchman, he had more men than expected. One had shockingly good aim in the dark. I discover this the hard way."

Shaking her head, Gaby knelt in front of him, peeling his drenched jacket away from his shoulder. She winced as the bloodstained shirt came into view. "I told you to wear protection."

"And you were right, as always, little chop shop girl."

Gaby rolled her eyes, carefully pulling the dripping jacket down his arms. He groaned, nearly losing his balance, leaving heavily against her for a moment. Struggling to support his weight, Gaby pushed on his shoulders. "Come on, stay with me. We need to get you to the bedroom so I can fix this without you dripping blood on the carpet."

"You would rather me drip blood on bedsheets?" He frowned.

"Better there than here. At least you won't fall asleep on the floor like a drunken farmer." She wrapped her arms around him, straining to help him up. "Get your feet under you, Illya, before I pour vodka in the wound and go to bed. You weigh twice as much as me."

"Sorry, chop shop girl." He mumbled, clumsily dragging himself to his feet. She half supported him as they staggered towards the bedroom, barely making it in time for her to shove him onto the mattress. His long frame bounced on the mattress, arms and legs splayed every which way.

"Is very bouncy." He slurred, half awake.

"You're delirious. Roll over." Gaby groaned, pulling on his shoulder. "Work with me, I have to stop the bleeding."

"Anything for little mechanic." He sighed, slowly turning over onto his back.

His eyelids flickered as Gaby straddled him, hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it open to reveal the bullet wound in his shoulder. She frowned, sliding off of the bed and hurrying to the living room to grab the bottle of vodka, then to the bathroom for a towel and the tweezers. When she got back to the bedroom, Illya's eyes were closed, having fallen unconscious from exhaustion or blood loss or both.

"Shit." Gaby growled, straddling him once more, pressing the towel against his shoulder. It quickly began to turn red with his blood. She pulled the cork from the vodka bottle with her teeth, moving the towel away from the wound and pouring a splash of the clear liquid into the hole, watching as the blood and vodka mixed into a pinkish stream pouring over this shoulder and onto the sheets.

Mopping up the mess with the towel, she gritted her teeth and picked up the tweezers, splashing vodka on them too before carefully sliding them into the wound, trying to find the bullet. Finally, metal hit metal and she gripped the slug with the slim tips of the tweezers. She pulled gently, feeling the small chunk of metal sliding past the layers of flesh.

Gaby thought it was a good thing he'd fallen asleep. He would have tried to keep a straight face and pretend it didn't hurt, but she would have been able to see the pain in his eyes. She hated to see the pain in his eyes, and it was a pain she saw far too often. Finally, the bullet came out, and she looked at it for a moment. Crumpled and covered in Illya's blood. She disdainfully dropped it in the empty water glass on the bedside table.

She poured another gush of vodka into the wound, which had started bleeding more profusely. Pressing the towel against his shoulder, she walked to the bathroom, pulling out another clean towel to cover the injury until she could go out and find real bandages. Once his shoulder was acceptably bound, she tiredly pulled his shoes off, setting them at the end of the bed, and working his pants down his long legs, carefully folding them and setting them on the chair in the corner.

He weighed so much, there was little she could do to remove the bloody shirt, so she would be forced to leave it until he eventually woke up. She crawled up next to him, pulling the red afghan from the chair over both of them, laying her hand on his chest, feeling his breath rise and fall.