Chapter Text
It happened as they were walking down a nondescript street. Illya paused, staring at the window display of one of the stores.
“Peril?” asked Solo, stopping next to the other man. “What is it? Are we being followed?”
Illya mutely shook his head, his gaze still trained on the storefront. Gaby stood slightly behind the two men, watching the street. At this time of night, in middle of winter, there weren’t many other people outside.
“Illya,” she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, “It’s late. We should be getting back to the hotel.”
Illya nodded numbly, still not looking away from the display. It was showing off some of the store’s wares, propped on top of boxes of different heights, with bits of colored paper strewed about artistically.
“The confetti is particularly fetching,” commented Napoleon. That seemed to break Illya out of his trance, and he rolled his eyes. “You are ridiculous, Cowboy.”
“He speaks!” gasped Solo in mock surprise, earning eye rolls from both his partners.
“What is it, Illya?” Gaby asked, moving forward to look at display. He pointed to the cluster of Easter eggs perched atop a box, mumbling “They remind me of –”
He stopped speaking, and Gaby and Napoleon waited silently for him to continue.
“When I was young, we would dye eggs for Easter. I would be in the kitchen with my mother…I was in charge of making the Easter eggs, and she would bake the kulich. The whole kitchen smelled like onions and bread, and she let me try the icing before she put on the kulich. The next morning we would trade eggs with neighbors, and give food to the hospital or homeless people.”
Gaby slipped her fingers into his larger palm, squeezing his hand softly. Napoleon, amazingly enough, didn’t make a snarky comment. He locked eyes with Gaby, and a silent agreement was made.
“Come on, Peril,” said Solo, not unkindly, “We should go.”
Illya sighed, but agreed. They made it back to the hotel without further incident, and once in the lobby, they split up, each moving towards their own room.
Solo was only alone in his room for a few moments before Gaby came in.
“So,” she said, sitting down in one of the chairs and pulling out paper and a pencil, “How should we do this?”
He sighed dramatically, sitting in the chair next to her. “Well, clearly it must be a surprise. Peril won’t stand for it if he knows what we’re doing.”
Gaby nodded, scribbling notes on her paper. “We’ll need help to pull this off,” she stated, “Once we have a plan, I’ll contact Waverly.”
“Our first step should be to make a list of supplies,” Napoleon mused, “From there, we just need to figure how to distract Peril.”
“And how to actually make them.”
“That too.”
“We should be able to spare you for a couple days,” Waverly said, inspecting his notebook “It is the holiday season, after all.” The team’s last mission had gone splendidly, and he was not averse to allowing them a small vacation. Gaby smiled, pleased. Solo, standing behind her chair, asked “And the other items?”
A small frown formed on Wavely’s lips. “They shouldn’t be hard to acquire,” he confirmed, “But may I ask why you need them?”
“For Illya,” Gaby answered, and Solo nearly laughed out loud at the look on their superior’s face. His eyebrows had inched infinitesimally upwards, managing to make him look resignedly alarmed. The man was nothing if not understated.
Surprisingly, the easiest part was distracting Illya. He looked mildly displeased upon hearing they had time off, and muttered something about “waste of time” before disappearing into his apartment for the rest of the day.
Napoleon shrugged, and he and Gaby adjourned to her apartment. They had agreed that Napoleon should handle the actual cooking, since Gaby was notorious for burning any food under her supervision.
They spent the entire day in the kitchen, rushing back and forth busily. By evening, they were sweaty, tired, and their feet ached, but they had developed a sort of rhythm, getting out of the way or passing the knife before the other person had to ask them, and the job was almost done.
Gaby collapsed into a chair, fanning her face with a hand. Napoleon passed her a glass of water, and she downed it in one gulp.
“We should clean up,” he said, but it was several more minutes before either of them moved.
“You can shower first,” Solo offered gallantly, “I’ll clean up.”
Gaby scoffed. “You take twice as long in the shower.” When he looked like he would protest, she gave him a friendly shove. “Go on, I can handle this.”
Napoleon smiled gratefully, and left her to handle the clean-up. Emerging from the bathroom, he saw that she done everything, even laying out place settings at the table. “Wow,” he muttered, impressed.
Gaby’s grin was board and happy, in spite of her tiredness and dirty clothing. She took her turn in the shower while Solo removed his creations from the oven and added the finishing touches.
“I’m going to get Illya,” said Gaby, now clean and dressed in a nice green dress. Solo nodded, and waited by the door, listening to the sounds in the corridor.
There was a light tapping – Gaby knocking on Illya’s door, the muddled sounds of voices, and then footsteps. Napoleon quickly moved away from the door, waiting by the table instead.
The door opened, revealing Gaby standing next to Illya. “Surprise!” She and Solo chorused at the same time.
Illya stood completely still for several moments, and Gaby and Solo exchanged glances. Was this the wrong thing to do?
But the next second Illya was rushing forward to the table, staring at it as though he was a child on Christmas morning. Which, to some degree, was accurate.
“Consider it an early Christmas gift!” Napoleon said, grinning. “Or Easter gift, in this case,” Gaby corrected, coming into the room and closing the door behind her.
“You…you made Easter eggs and kulich!” Illya breathed, picking up one of the dyed eggs are though it was made of spun glass. “It’s just like I remember.”
He turned towards Gaby and Napoleon, eyes glittering with happy memories. “You…you…” he seemed at a loss for words. “Don’t strain your English,” Napoleon joked. Illya frowned at him, but he was too happy to be truly angry.
Clearly deciding this nonsense had gone on long enough, Gaby stepped forward, embracing Illya. Solo watched them for a few seconds, a rare, true smile on his face, before Illya, voice thick with emotion, said, “Cowboy, you are being stupid. Come here.” Napoleon complied, joining them in the hug.