Chapter Text
Gaby loved Illya.
That was a fact, everybody knew it, nobody questioned it. She loved him, and he loved her.
They weren’t officially «a thing», and no one really knew how far they’d gotten with each other, but for everyone at UNCLE Gaby and Illya meant love.
She was fine with that, and more than happy to play husband and wife with him again during missions. She didn’t even get jealous when someone flirted with him.
She did get jealous when people flirted with Napoleon though. She couldn’t help the knot in her belly when he smiled that special smile at someone who wasn’t her. She tried her best to conceal it, by fear of what it meant, but it was still here, right under her skin.
It was right here now, as she watched him pour a drink to a fancy lady by the pool of the hotel they were currently staying in. Luckily Illya wasn’t by her side, so she didn’t have to act unnafected, but it was still so unnerving, that urge she had to go grab him by his collar and drag him back to her.
After a while of watching him she decided she’d had enough, so she grabbed her bag and retreated back into her suit, head full of thoughts she refused to consider without being alone.
As soon as the door closed she dropped her bag, poured herself a drink and got in the bathroom to run herself a bath. Adding an entire bottle of bubble bath to it, she quickly discarded her clothes before skipping into the bathtub.
Only then did Gaby allowed herself to think about her situation. And the more she did, the clearer it got: she loved Illya, yes. But she loved Napoleon too. If she was being honest, she had loved him for a while now.
It had all started back in Rome, and even before that, in Berlin. When he had matched her sass, snarky comment for snarky comment, without ever losing his temper or he’s refined behavior. When he had taken the time to explain every details of the mission to her, knowing that it would make her feel more in control, and not just like a bait to catch her father.
She hadn’t thought much of it back then, they weren’t supposed to stay together more than a few weeks. But weeks had turned into months, and it hadn’t stop.
There was Istanbul, when he had made faces at her behind Illya’s back, or when he’d pouted like a child when she’d refused to let him steal a diamond ring.
After that Rio, when he’d covered her in precious clothes and jewelry, and had only smiled when she had asked whether he had stolen all these or not (he definitely had).
Then Oslo, when he’d cooked for her for the second time ever, and they’d gotten drunk on ridiculously expensive wine before sharing the single bed their apartment had (and swore to never tell Illya about it).
And it really didn’t help that he was so handsome, or that he looked at her with such pride and respect.
She couldn’t help but think she was being greedy, wanting his attention when she already had Illya’s. And what would the Russian say if he knew about it? What would Napoleon say?
But on the other hand she didn’t like hiding things from them, and especially not something like that, when she felt like they could have something so strong between the three of them.
She should talk to them, Gaby thought, or at least to Napoleon. He was most likely to understand, and definitely more open minded about that kind of thing than Illya. She just needed to find the right moment, and the courage to do so.