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

Chapter 3 - Napoleon Arrives

Gaby leaned in closer, examining the injury. "Well, aside from the fact that you've reopened the wound, it looks pretty good."

"I know, I could smell vodka all over me." Illya shook his head. "You like far too much."

"What? It's a multi-use liquid. It sterilizes wounds and knocks me out when I can't listen to you grumbling at your chessboard anymore."

"I don't grumble." Illya defended himself.

"You're grumbling right now." She protested.

"I am injured. I'm allowed grumble, yes?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Fine. We need to put actual bandages on this, before you ruin the rest of your shirts." Gaby leaned forward, pressing her lips against his.

Suddenly, the hotel room door burst open and Napoleon Solo sauntered into the room. "My apologies, don't let me interrupt anything. Carry on." He sank down on the sofa, smoothing his suit jacket as he looked sadly at the empty glass Gaby had left the night before. Illya and Gaby broke apart quickly, Illya rising to his feet.

"Solo." Gaby sighed. "Have you ever heard of knocking? Or is that not something you do in America."

"Oh we do it. But where's the fun in knocking. So much more entertaining to just walk in." Solo smirked. A frown appeared on his forehead as he noticed the bullet wound in Illya's shoulder. "What have you done to yourself now?"

"The Frenchman's sniper is very good shot." Illya shrugged.

"Yes, we can send him a bill for the bandages." Gaby sighed, tugging on Illya's arm. He grimaced, following her to the kitchen where she pushed him into one of the chairs. She pulled out the supplies he'd picked up at the pharmacy, arranging them on the table.

"Sorry." She said, dousing a piece of a bandage in vodka and wiping at the wound. Illya gritted his teeth as the alcohol stung his flesh. She was as quick as possible, hurrying to expertly wrap the bandages around his shoulder. When she was done, she kissed him quickly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Illya dug out a fresh black turtleneck, pulling it over his head before rejoining Solo in the living room. "You are late."

"Sorry, got held up by a delayed flight and a delightful French stewardess." Solo said. "I knew you'd gone soft, Kuryakin."

Illya glared at him, shaking his head. "You would rather sleep with the enemy yes? Or were my bugs lying when Victoria Vinciguerra was in your room?"

"I was making a sacrifice for the team!" Solo protested.

"Oh yes, you sounded very upset, cowboy."

"Anyway." Solo sighed, changing the subject. "What's your progress with The Frenchman?"

"Not much." Illya shook his head, sitting down in the armchair as the sound of the shower turning on came from the bathroom. "More girls disappear every day. His clients must pay well if he can afford men like the sniper who shot me."

Solo nodded. "Perhaps Sheik Fariq Al-Fayed or one of his friends, rumor has it they're fans of buying young European women."

"Possible." Illya glanced back at the bathroom.

"What is it?' Solo asked.

"I don't like Gaby being here." Illya's fingers tapped an irregular rhythm on the arm of the chair. "If I was followed, she could be target."

"Were you followed?"

"I doubt it, unless someone followed me into the Seine. But it is possible."

"You jumped into the Seine?" Solo grinned.

"I had sniper trying to blow my head off, what would you like me to do?"

"True." Solo stood, walking to the window, looking down at the street. He squinted at a man leaning against the building across the street, puffing on a cigar, his eyes directed up at Illya and Gaby's hotel room. He quickly looked away, but Napoleon had already caught him. The man pushed away from the building, walking down the street.

"What is it?" Illya asked, joining Solo at the window.

"It would seem you have a visitor." Solo glanced at Illya, watching him clench his jaw. "Perhaps you were followed after all."