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

Chapter 2 - Strawberries

When Illya's eyes finally opened, the first thing he noticed was the dull ache in his left shoulder. The second thing he noticed was the small hand resting on his chest. He turned his head slowly to look at Gaby, trying not to wake her. Her face was pressed into the blankets, and she was completely dead to the world, a streak of his blood on her cheek.

Slowly, he lifted her hand off of his chest and slid away from her, nestling her fingers beside her other hand. He rolled from the bed wincing in pain. He held the towel against his shoulder as he walked unsteadily to the bathroom, lightheaded from blood loss.

Flicking the light on, Illya looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale, his shirt hanging open, stained with a mixture of blood and vodka. Groaning, he peeled it off, abandoning the ruined garment on the floor. Slowly, he removed the towel, wincing as the fibers pulled at the wound. The red-tinged towel joined the shirt on the floor, and Illya leaned closer to the mirror, examining the wound.

Though encrusted with dried blood, it didn't appear to be infected. That would explain the heavy vodka smell surrounding him; Gaby must have doused the wound multiple times to kill whatever infection might crop up. Groping in the cabinet, Illya found a washcloth, soaking it in warm water and gently beginning to clean away the blood from his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he tried not to press down too hard o the tender flesh. When he finished, he dropped the cloth in the sink, leaning against the counter tiredly, fingertips pressed against the granite so hard they turned white.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened and walked into the bedroom, quietly opening his suitcase and pulling out a black turtleneck and his spare jacket. He winced as he slid it over his head, his shoulder throbbing. His leather jacket lay on the floor where Gaby had left it last night, still wet from his hurried dive into the Seine after The Frenchman's sniper had found his mark. He picked up the soggy wad of material and plopped it in the small kitchen sink before slipping back into the bedroom.

He tiptoed up to the bed, pulling back the covers before lifting Gaby's sleeping form from under the afghan, gently tucking her in between the sheets. He looked down at her, feeling the need to press his lips against hers, but resisted, knowing a kiss would wake her. Instead, he slowly pulled on the new jacket, walked to the door, and let himself out without a sound.

Once he was on the street, Illya took a deep breath of the Parisian air, fresh with morning chill. He made his way down the rue, stopping in a drug store to buy bandages, tape, and ointment for the wound, which he could feel starting to bleed again thanks to his movement. The small paper bag of medical supplies dangling from his long fingers, he meandered down the street until he came upon a bakery, the mouthwatering scents of various French baked goods pouring out.

~

"Myshka." Illya said softly, laying a hand on Gaby's shoulder. "Wake up, little mouse."

Gaby's eyes flickered open, and she turned over to look at Illya, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he saw her sleepy expression. "Illya, what are you doing up?" She gasped, sitting up, the events of the previous night coming back to her in a rush. "You should be resting!"

"Shhh, myshka, you care for me. Now I care for you." He lifted a tray from the bedside table, holding it out to her. "Eat, Gaby. I'm alright."

"But..."

"Eat." He sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the steaming cup of coffee and handing it to her.

Gaby shook her head, accepting the cup and taking a sip. "Thank you." She murmured, handing the cup back to him. He set it on the tray, handing her the bowl of fruit, which he'd cut up in the kitchen when she was still asleep.

"You didn't have to do this." She said as she took the bowl, sighing with satisfaction as she tasted the perfectly ripe strawberries. "Want a taste?" She grinned, holding out a slice between her fingertips.

He leaned closer, taking the bite from her with his teeth and capturing her small hand in his. "Very good." He pulled her hand forward and kissed her slim fingers. "Very, very good."

Gaby tugged on his large hand, pulling him closer, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. Her eyes closed just before his warm lips met hers. Illya let go of her hand, reaching up to caress her neck. He only pulled back when the tray threatened to tip over.

"You make me spill breakfast if you do that too much." He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Then you'd best set breakfast aside." Gaby reached out, running her hand down his arm.

Illya quickly set the tray back on the bedside table, moving closer to kiss her deeply again, his fingers tangled in her wild hair. Her hands rested on his broad shoulders, sliding down to his chest. Suddenly, she pushed him away. "Illya, you're bleeding!" Gaby pulled at his shirt until he helped her get it over his head. She gently touched the skin near the bullet wound.

"I may have forgotten to use bandage." Illya shrugged. "Was too busy with your strawberries."