Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gaby stood on the precipice of Fate, her dark hair dancing along her shoulders in a mellow, aimless breeze, her face cast in an otherworldly glow which mimicked that of moonlight. There was no moon, however. No stars, no celestial bodies above her, only the black velvet sky above an inky black sea, both stretching out to meet on the horizon.

She wrapped her arms around herself, unaccountably chilled, and closed her eyes. Where are you?

Summer had gone in the world above, she knew, and autumn was nearly fled and yet her husband had not returned. Her stomach churned at the thought of it, the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, he had changed his mind about their plan.

“Why would he choose to come here, when there is blue sky and life above,” she murmured to herself.

Footsteps rustled the grass behind her and she turned to see Solo approaching. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his stride steady. When he caught sight of her face his shoulders slumped, and his eyes held pity. She wanted to hate him for it but there was too much emptiness inside her for the emotion to fully form.

“I’m sorry Gaby,” he said as he drew closer. “I haven’t been able to reach him. The mortals have him working exclusively in-country and I am thoroughly locked out. There is nothing I can do.”

She turned away again without a reply, futility clawing at her insides, so foreign and daunting. All her power, yet wilting, momentary man, held her in their thrall.

“Do they know what awaits them when they come here?” she wondered aloud. ”That there is a special place in my realm for those who wrong the gods?”

“Why do you think they seek so desperately to bind you too. With you and Waverly, they could rise up an army of the dead to crush their enemies. All for their fleeting, useless fame.

“Maybe he simply changed his mind.”

Solo stepped forward and gently turned her back to him. “Gaby, no. I promise you that is not the case.”

“What good are your promises, Solo?” she asked, looking up at him with a grim line to her mouth. Her eyes as inky black as the sea behind her. “What good are anyone's.”

...

“T'fu! It is as hot as Hades out there.”

The words were heard carrying across the cafe as the man stepped inside, jingling the bell as the door closed behind him. Illya Kuryakin felt a pang at the statement but continued to sip his coffee, maintaining his cover as just another patron of the small business as he waited for his mark to arrive.

“It is not that hot, Arseny. Quit complaining like an old woman.”

“It is December! We should be frozen blocks of ice at this moment. My wife wasn’t able to put out the pelmeni to freeze! My flowers are trying to sprout.”

Illya winced at the thought. That was not good. Soon the trees would begin trying to blossom, he could feel it in his bones. What would he do then? Would he be stuck? Or would it be the trees that suffered? The entire situation was still new to him. He had no idea what would happen, but he couldn’t imagine it would be good. Could his country, the Earth itself, survive without a winter?

Vasily Dobrovolsky, Illya’s mark, finally entered the cafe. The man looked around surreptitiously before approaching the counter, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. Illya waited until he had set those hands on the counter to order before rising to his feet and heading toward the door. With a calculated trajectory, he collided with the man, knocking shoulders with Vaily as he stepped back. With quick, practiced hands, Illya used the opportunity to plant a tracking device inside the man’s jacket. They both stumbled back from each other and Illya reached out to steady the man and looking conciliatory, managing to set one more beneath his collar.

“Watch where you’re going!” The man grumbled and Illya released him, stepping away as he thought of a few, choice comebacks. Things could easily lead to a fight if he didn’t hold his tongue, (and he wanted a fight a little too badly at the moment,) so he ignored Vasily's continued commentary and pushed out the door into the sunlight.

It wasn’t hot by any means, but it was also not cold. Illya frowned and unzipped the jacket he was wearing. It was actually several degrees warmer today than it had been yesterday. He shook his head; every day was beginning to look more and more like... spring.

Determined to confront the situation head-on, he set his gait to intercept the trolley, his intent to return to headquarters and once again speak with his superiors about what was happening. What needed to happen. Surely now it was obvious they weren’t going to be able to continue ignoring the new state of affairs.

Blagodareniye Bogu.

He took a slow breath to steady the hitch in his heartbeat, settling into his seat on the trolley. The thought gave him such relief. For months now he had worked over, under and around his longing, the lonely ache, the empty place inside him. A space that he hadn’t even noticed was there before, not until it had been filled, for far too short a time. By her. He did his work dutifully, both jobs, did them well. All with a promise, a finish line to cross. But that finish line had come and gone and he was still here.

Gaby. His mind sang her name and the ache of missing her welled up inside him.

Certainly, he cared if the world came to an end but even with that possible threat hanging over him, the only thing he could think about was seeing her again. He needed to see her, hold her, make love to her. Wanted so desperately to kiss her lips and hold her hand in his.

The hand on his thigh folded into a fist.

An image flashed in his mind of their first meeting: the fierce blaze of her eyes, the fire of her, how she had seemed to fill up all of space and time. He’d been so surprised later to see her actual size.

He smiled to himself. Then he pressed the heel of his hand to his chest at the ache he felt there. What if they wouldn’t let him go?

There would be no way to tell her, just as he had not been able to tell her of his tardiness, of the obstacles he was running headlong into time after time. There was no phone to the Underworld, and the one in charge of relaying messages was bound himself, to another side of the mortals ridiculous Cold War.

Illya sighed at the thought. Once these things, political alignments and loyalty to them, had seemed important to him. Before. Before he had known the truth, seen his true reality.

He looked down at the small, thin wire on his wrist. The brass abomination that suppressed his power. The one that kept him on a nearly even playing field with men. He flexed his fist hard, straining at its hold, the metal digging into his skin, but it was unbreakable. Even Gaby had been unable to break the bond of it.

But she didn’t have one. She was free.

He thought of the way she had risen up, fire in her eyes and at her back, her hair dancing in the wind it created.

Would she come for him?

What would it mean if she did?

As he made his way into Oleg’s office, the words were playing over in his head. All the words he needed to say, with “what if” running on repeat in the background.

“I have planted the tracker,” he said sharply. “Now, you have kept me too long. I need to return to the Underworld.”

Oleg’s eyes didn’t even lift from his paperwork. “No. You have work to do here.”

The nonchalant rejection was like a slap and Illya inhaled sharply.

“You think that just because you had some dalliance with that creature you are free of your obligations?” Oleg asked, finally looking up. Smugness was drawn in every line of his face.

“You made a deal,” Illya said darkly, his voice shaking almost as badly as his hand at his side. “This goes beyond you.”

Oleg stood to his feet and came around the side of his desk, peering up at Illya, getting into his personal space. A challenge and a threat. All it would take is one strike. Yes, he could easily kill Oleg, he didn’t need supernatural powers to do so, but it would bring nothing but trouble. The Gulag for him, or worse, his mother.

“You belong to us, she has no hold on you. No proper claim. That usurper, that–”

“She is my wife!”

“She is an abomination!” Oleg’s eyes flared with a glee-like fire as he hurled the insult.

Illya’s fist tightened so hard his knuckles ached. His ears and face went ho. His heart was slamming into his ribs, his jaw clenching until his teeth burned inside his jaw. Somewhere the sound of growling filled the room and it was several tremulous moments before he realized it was not him growling. He could feel the rumble of it in his entire body, but it wasn’t coming from him. Oleg’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back from Illya, his face going pale.

Cerberus should not have fit inside the small office. He was larger than any human, at times Illya had seen him larger than the building, but the laws of physics did not apply to this gatekeeper of the Underworld.

Everything went still. Oleg was cowering behind his desk while trying not to look as though he was cowering. Cerberus was showing three of his heads, three sets of fiery eyes set on Illya’s handler and Illya... Illya was suddenly realizing that, on some level, he had begun to think it had all been a dream. He had started to believe none of it had happened at all and that Gabriella, Goddess of the Underworld - their time together, their marriage - had been some lonely hearted fantasy his broken mind had created.

“Cerberus.” Illya exhaled the name, his voice a low rumbled. The beast turned his attention to him and Illya glanced around, searching without thought, for the woman -Goddess - he had been so desperately missing.

There was a shimmer effect and the great animal had only one head, a handsome dog face with dark, sweet eyes. Cerberus whined, and his giant tongue came out, licking Illya from foot to crown.

“No! Augh!” Illya sputtered and then, remarkably, he laughed and brought his hand up to caress the side of Cerberus’ face. “Yes, I know I am late. But I do not need one of your special baths.”

A humph like whine followed and the giant nose butted into his chest.

“It could not be helped,” Illya consoled, patting him. It was a lie, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. It could not have been helped by him but the last thing he needed was for the hound of hell to eat his handler.

Not that he would be missed.

He focused on his wife’s pet instead, scratching behind enormous ears. “How are you here?” he asked, knowing he couldn’t get a real answer. He didn’t ask the question he really wanted. Why didn’t you come sooner?

“Get that–” Oleg was waving his finger toward the door. “Kuryakin you get that– thing out of here.”

Illya turned to look at the other man, eyebrows raised as he continued to scratch at the giant chin “You think I have any say over him?”

“You should watch your tone when talking to me,” Oleg hissed leaning forward. Quicker than the human eye could detect, Cerberus whipped his head around and growled, flames bursting from his eyes. Oleg flinched back but didn’t stop his rant. “Gulag is still an option for you, Kuryakin!” he warned, voice only slightly less offensive with the warble of fear in it. “They can’t reach you in there.”

“Cerberus,” Illya rumbled softly, leaving Oleg’s threats and focusing on the hellhound. “Come, let the man alone.”

Cerberus whimpered, his huge head ducking down to bump into Illya’s chest and knocking him back a step.

“Go back to Gaby,” he murmured to him. “Take care of her. Tell her, if you can, that I will be there as soon as I am able.”

Cerberus let out another long whine and side-eyed Oleg.

“Don’t worry,” he instructed, although anger and frustration were buzzing inside him like a hoard of angry bees. “I can handle it.”

If a giant dog from the underworld could look doubtful, that was the look Cerberus offered in return for those words. Then, with one more shove into Illya’s chest and a growl for Oleg, Cerberus vanished, leaving the two men alone in the room once more.

“If you think these parlor tricks are going to–”

“Look outside, sir.” Illya demanded in a nearly flat tone, trying to keep himself in check. “Look at a thermometer. This is beyond you now. It is beyond me.”

“Don’t try to tell me what is beyond me! I–” the phone on Oleg’s desk rang and he must have been even more affected than he revealed because he snatched it up off the base and answered gruffly.

Illya watched, his pulse still thrumming, nerves jangling under the surface of his skin. He could hear the voice of the other person on the line easily, a gift he had always had but one he had never understood until the events of last spring.

“Olezhen'ka, Sveta’s tree!” Oleg’s wife, Nina. Illya recognized her voice. Their daughter, Svetlana, had died as an infant many years ago.

“What about it! I am in a meeting!”

“The neighbor’s tree is growing buds, if her tree begins to bud and then it freezes, it will die!”

Oleg’s jaw tensed, and he looked up at Illya, eyes hard. “Perhaps I should see if I can keep it from freezing at all then.” His words bit into the anxious energy burning inside Illya and sent a jolt of true fear through his belly.

“That would be a bad idea,” he gritted out. And it would be. Not because of what he would do, not even because of what Gaby might do, but because the world was built on a balance and right now it was dangerously out of whack.

“You cannot do that. Oleg, don’t tease me as though I were a child! How will we protect Sveta’s tree?”

“Please, Nina,” the man said, voice softening as he turned away. “We will find a way. Have a cup of tea to calm yourself and I will be home as soon as I can.”

Illya waited as his superior returned the receiver to its cradle.

“You think you are very clever, don’t you?”

Illya didn’t respond.

“That you would dare to wield control over me in this way... it is unacceptable.”

“I have not–”

“Do not speak.”

Fingers began to tap at Illya’s side and he exhaled slowly as he once again fought to control the violence of his temper.

“You will go to your slut in the underworld. Fuck her, have your little holiday–” his words choked off as Illya’s hand wrapped around his throat. He had crossed the room with heightened speed before the thought to do so had finished forming in his mind. Oleg’s eyes flared, first with victory, then, as Illya’s hold continued to tighten, fear.

“You will not speak of her in that way,” Illya growled, no longer able to rein in the rage blazing through him. His body trembled, and he knew he was capable of tearing the man apart, without effort and without remorse. “Do you think you are immune to death? If I were to kill you now, I may go to the gulag, but do you realize where you will go? Who you will face on the other side?”

Oleg’s fingers scrabbled at Illya’s wrists, flexing then clawing. Impotent. A strangled sound leaked out of his compressed throat, eye bulging in his head as he was unable to draw in air. A heartbeat, then another, and finally Illya was able to let go. His superior fell to the floor and Illya stepped back, chest rising and falling with heavy breath.

He might have just doomed them all.

Oleg pushed up onto his hands, breathing harshly. “Go!” he barked out, hoarse and strained. “We will deal with your insolence in the spring.” He looked up at Illya and there was a new light in his eyes. “Just like you must leave,” he said, a sadistic gratification in his tone. “You must always return.” Oleg worked himself into a sitting position and twisted his mouth into a smirk. “I will see you on the other side, Kuryakin.”

A chill ran through Illya at the words, his eyes flashing, but he forced himself to hold onto what calm he had managed to regain and left the room, shutting the door a little too firmly behind him. He hurried through the building and out the front door, down the looming steps and once more into the sunlight. There he took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before turning his feet toward home.

She was in the kitchen when he arrived. The warmest room in the house he had been raised in, it was decorated for the coming holidays, completely over the top and extravagant. He smiled softly and shook his head.

“It is as though a Western Christmas has exploded in here,” he declared, making her known to his presence.

Toma looked up, surprised and wiped her hands on her apron before approaching, throwing her arms around him by way of greeting.

“Illyusha!” She squeezed fiercely and then pulled back to study his face, her dove gray eyes looking into his in that keen, knowing way of hers. Finally, she waved a hand at the room. “You don’t like it?”

Illya took in the ostentatious display a second time. It was horrendous but somehow, he liked it. Perhaps it was the air of rebellion it portrayed or just his mother’s enthusiasm. “I did not say that.” He looked around the kitchen, the dishes in the sink, the trays of cookies. There was the warm scent of roasting meat in the air. “What are you up to?”

“Well,” she said dismissively. “I made your favorite for dinner.”

He chuckled. “You have been making my favorite meal for nearly two months. I do not know how I am able to have so many favorites.”

Toma turned on him with a narrowed gaze. “Do not tease me. I am just–”

“Treating each meal as if it is our last together?”

She spun away, moving toward the sink where she grabbed up a bowl and started washing it. “What else am I supposed to do? Act like it is nothing?”

Illya tsked, moving toward her. He took the bowl and set it aside. “I will do the dishes,” he told her.

She turned into him and pressed her head into his chest. He enclosed her in his embrace. He wasn’t sure what to say. He loved his mother. For so long now it had been only the two of them. The two of them against a world very much set out to destroy them. It was difficult to leave her. At times it was difficult for him to admit that her place at the top of his heart had been replaced.

Had he ever thought he could love someone more than he loved his mother?

Gaby’s face came to mind, hair spread out on her pillow, dark eyes looking up at him and the pang of longing it brought was so acute it caused his breath to hitch.

“And this is why one shouldn’t have sons,” Toma said in the space between them. She lifted her head. “Daughters never leave you in quite the same way.”

“Mama–” he began, needing to soothe her, not leave her in sadness.

“No-no,” she held up a hand and cut him off. “It is right, it is as it should be. I just wish you could have found a girl who wasn’t quite so far away. We will never have holidays together again.”

“Perhaps you could come down?” Illya said. “You are welcome. You know that.”

Toma sighed and shook her head. “It is no small thing to enter and leave the Underworld.” She pushed off his chest and touched the brass at her throat as she moved to the oven. “Besides, right now I think it would be like intruding on honeymooners.”

He could not stop the blush that crept over his face and into the tips of his ears. “I– it is not–”

Toma laughed and opened her stove. She reached inside and pulled out the dish she had been cooking and set it on a trivet. “So, they are finally letting you go,” she said, and he wasn’t surprised she knew without his telling. “Fools, they have endangered the entire planet. I’m not entirely sure it’s going to be able to balance itself back out.”

“That is not the only problem,” Illya said, thinking of the way he had left things with Oleg. “Perhaps you should come with me. They may try–”

“I have never run from them and I won’t begin doing so now.”

“Mama, this time I may have pushed too far.”

She looked up into his eyes and set her hands on his shoulders. “They can breathe threats all they like,” she told him. “But they cannot harm me. Think of the damage it would do to their already struggling harvests.” She shook her head. “No, I will be fine. Now, let’s eat and enjoy this night together. You will leave in the morning, yes?”

“Yes, and–” His brow furrowed in thought. “There is one more thing you can help me with. If you are willing?”

“Of course,” she said, running a hand over his arm. “Anything for my son.”

...

In the cool air of early morning, Illya and his mother gathered at the broad base of the Cosmic Tree. He turned to take in her face once more, pale in the eking light of dawn.

“Take care of yourself, mama.”

“I always do,” she told him firmly. “Other people too, if you recall.”

He sighed and looked at the sky. “I have not forgotten. Does not change the fact that I–”

“That what, darling?”

“My only regret, in all of this, is leaving you.”

Toma gave him a sad smile. “I know.” She began taking her coat from her bag, fluffing it up. “She is worthy, I suppose?” she offered quietly. “As worthy as anyone can be of my son.”

“Mama...” he began then caught sight of her cheeky smile. “You are a menace.”

“I do try.”

He shook his head, humored then looked around. “I hope this can be corrected.”

“I will leave it to Gaia to manage it. This is her fault in any case, isn’t it?”

“Be careful, mama.”

“I am always careful.”

“No, you are not.” A few moments of silence passed between them, then, “You will be able to send the package?”

“I have already taken care of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, my son.”

They shared a look and Illya nodded. He turned away and set his hand on the tree, thinking of Gaby: her face, her touch, the sound of her voice. The trunk became incorporeal beneath the weight of his hand and he stepped through to the other side.

As he disappeared from view, Toma pulled her coat tight about her, tugging a hat down onto her head as snow began to fall from the sky.

“Goodbye, Illya. I will see you in the spring.”

...

Candles illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow as Gaby counted the stitches along her knitting needle for the fifth time. Growling, she finally tossed them, and the mass of yarn dangling from them, aside. Ridiculous, mortal hobby. It wasn’t as though she needed scarves or sweaters or woolen socks. She should have known it was stupid the moment Waverly had suggested it.

She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed, antsy, then bit her lip as a rush of worry flooded in, each one chasing the next in an endless procession. The ache in her chest was both a crushing weight and a vast, cavernous void, dark and empty. She let her head fall back against the couch and a tear leaked from her eye before she swiped it away with a furious hand.

The click of nails on her stone floor drew her attention and she lifted her head to see Cerberus making his way toward her. He was panting happily, loping across the room with an air of satisfaction she didn’t usually see on him. Unless he had gotten to chase some soul attempting to escape.

“Where have you been, hmm?” she asked as he plopped down at her feet. She curled forward and reached down to scratch his head. The touch was soothing, and she pushed her fingers into his soft fur a second time. She had a flash of pushing her fingers through other soft hair, yellow hair, with blue eyes looking up at her and she folded her fingers into Cerberus’ dark fur to draw herself back. “Did you put some naughty soul in its place?”

Cerberus gave a quiet bark and set his head in her lap, looking up at her with soft dark eyes. Her smile was tremulous as she took his square head in her hands and scratched behind both his ears. “Did you come to cheer me up?”

“I don’t know about him, but I certainly did.”

Gaby’s head snapped up to see Solo striding across the room, looking dapper in his suit. She stood to her feet as he drew near and shook her head.

“Do I need to ask for my key back again?”

“Not at all, Darling,” he said, grinning. “I hardly need a key.”

“Ah to be the God of Thieves.”

“Not only thieves, don’t minimize me.” He took her gently by the shoulders and tugged her in for a kiss on the cheek. When he drew back, a frown marred his brow and one of his thumbs came up to wipe beneath her eye.

Gaby raised the back of her hand and scrubbed at the spot, spinning away. “So, would you like a drink then? I will tell Macaria that there will be two for dinner.”

“I was right then,” Solo reflected, following after her. “He’s still not here.”

“I’m out of scotch, you’ll have to make do with vodka or gin.”

“Gaby–”

She smacked down the decanters she had held up, clattering the tray and the other bottles. Her shoulders lifted with her breath. Words, worries, and fears rattled around inside her mind, but she held her tongue, flexing her jaw as her hands tightened on the glass beneath her fingers.

“He will have to come at some point.” Solo's voice was edged with concern. “The world up there is on the brink of a disaster –”

“So, he will come to protect the world then,” Gaby said softly and then shook her head as the insecurity leaked out of her. Tears started again, and she hated them, hated that Solo would see them.

“Fuck.” He exhaled the word and then he was pulling her into his arms. “That is not what I meant.”

Gaby shoved her face into his chest but said nothing, one hand fisting in his lapel. Six months was a long time in the mortal world, so much could happen. Now it was nearing nine... without word, without knowing. A million scenarios came to mind as she clung to Solo’s embrace. Pretty mortal girls who could be with him all the time, who wouldn’t take him from his mother. Illya, lying in the sun surrounded by soft laughter and flowers. Why would he ever come back here?

Cerberus whined and set his head against her leg, pushing gently and suddenly she saw Illya being chastised, saw an angry mortal shouting, his face red. She heard their angry voices as though through a thick wall of glass.

“She is my wife!”

With a gasp, she yanked back from Solo’s embrace and dropped to her knees, taking Cerberus by the head. “You saw Illya?” She looked into his eyes as if he could answer her further that way, though she knew he couldn’t. She kissed his silky head and then shot back up to her feet.

“What?” Solo asked. “What is it?”

“They are keeping him, holding him there!” Her hair lifted from her shoulders as she started across the room, her skin taking on a soft glow. “Cerberus, come!”

“Gaby where are you going?”

When she turned back her eyes were white hot. “To get my husband!”

Solo’s own eyes flew wide and he lurched toward her, reaching out a hand to take hold of her but thinking better of it at the last minute. “Wait. Wait!” He hurried after her as she stormed into her cloakroom and pulled out a long, broadsword. “You cannot go up there.”

She pulled the sword from its sheath and the blade gleamed in the light from her eyes. She turned on him, fierce and angry, floating off the ground now and Solo drew back slightly at the sight of her. “DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO!” Her voice cracked through the space like lightning and Solo fell back another step.

She flew from the room, no longer touching the ground but Solo followed after her on his own swift feet. “Gaby, they are waiting for you. This could very well be a trap they have set! They will bind you if they have even the smallest chance. You can’t go! Think about what they would do - mortal men - if they bound you? Gaby stop and think about this! I can go. I’ll go!”

Gaby ignored his demands, her focus entirely on one thing. The way that man had looked at her Illya, the tone in his voice when he’d called her his wife. No one treated her husband that way, no mortal would hold him against his will!

“You make false promises, Solo.” Her voice rang through her open hall, echoing off the marble walls. “I will go, and I will make them pay for what they have done!”

She threw open her door and everything went still inside her. Illya was standing there, his eyes widening at the sight of her. Her heart jumped, and she sucked in a breath of air as all the anger rushed out of her. The fire left her along with it, and she dropped back to her feet. “Illya?”

More handsome even than she remembered, Illya held up placating hands. “Gaby, I–”

With a cry she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned the hold just as fiercely, bringing her in tight. With a gasp he buried his face in her neck, breath trembling there.

“I thought–” he murmured. “I had started to fear it had all been a dream.”

“I thought you had changed your mind.”

He drew back his eyes huge, filled with sadness, reflecting her own pain. “Net, nikogda, moya lyubov'.” He cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes and she lost herself there. He brushed his thumb over her cheek and she knew she was crying again. Like a fool, the fool she was only for him.

She kissed him, pulling him in even tighter and moving her mouth over his with a soft whimper. “Forgive me,” he pleaded between kisses, running them down along her jaw and kissing the tears from her eyes. “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.”

“Illya.” She pressed her cheek to his, held him firm and said it again and again.

“Where were you going?” he asked, running his nose beneath the crook of her jaw. Gaby basked in the feel of his touch, the solidness of his body against hers.

“I was coming to get you,” she answered and felt him draw in a breath.

He pulled back to look at her again and the longing in his voice echoed inside of her. “Why did you wait so long?”

“Because she shouldn’t go up there at all,” Solo’s voice rang out, reminding Gaby that he was there and startling Illya who twisted his body, putting himself between her and the sudden threat, one hand going for his gun in a very mortal-like move.

Gaby felt him relax when he realized who it was, and she kissed him one last time before having him return her to her feet.

“Solo,” she said softly. “Do you think we could take a rain check on dinner?” she glanced up at Illya coyly. “Something has come up.”

Solo scoffed and Illya shifted. She wondered if he was blushing slightly and smiled at the thought.

“Of course, of course, I imagine food and friendship is the last thing on your mind.” He smirked and lifted his coat from the rack before turning back to them. His eyes landed on Illya, the dark blue softening a moment. “Good to have you back, Peril.”

Illya nodded. “It is good to be back.”

“All right, I will leave you two lovebirds alone. Enjoy yourselves but don’t overdo it, you’ve got...” he trailed off and then shook his head. “Sorry.” He turned to Gaby and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Tomorrow too soon to safely come back?”

She laughed and turned away from him. “Better make it the day after.”

With a chuckle, Solo slipped past them and started down the drive to his car. “See you then! Don’t forget to hydrate!”

“Goodbye, Napoleon!” Gaby called and stepped back into the house with Illya, closing the door.

“So,” she began but then Illya was lifting her up into his arms. She grinned up at him, crossing her ankles. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Kuryakin?”

He looked down at her with a heated gaze she felt it down to her toes. “I think you know.” He hesitated, his voice changing to something softer. “Mrs. Kuryakin.”

“Mmm,” she looped her arms around him. “You remember the way to the bedroom?”

He started up the stairs, easily taking two at a time. “I guess we will find out.”

...

Illya savored the weight of Gaby on his chest, the scent of her hair as it trailed over his skin. The heat of her body, the solidness of her touch. The undeniable reality of her. He made love to her with such needy desperation, his ego was only saved by the fact that she returned that eagerness in spades. She took everything he gave and gave it right back, feeding his impoverished heart and body as he fed hers until they were replete and exhausted.

“I missed you,” he admitted from his pillow as he took in the sight of her face. He reached out and cupped her cheek, unable to keep from touching her, knowing she was really there. She put her hand on his.

“I missed you too.” Her eyes looked between his and he could see it there in her, that same hunger, that same ache that gaped inside of him. That ever-present loneliness that had been eating at him. Already he needed her closer again. “We need to figure out a better plan.”

“We do,” he said, sliding his hand down to her back and pulling her back against him. “But not right now.”

She moaned as he kissed her, splaying her hand on the side of his face. “No,” she agreed, “not right now,” and she kissed him back just as deeply.

This time things were a little more purposeful, though no less urgent. They had lost so much time.

...

Untouched by Helios’ light, morning was more of a concept than a reality in the Underworld, but Illya’s body had its own rhythms, set by the world above and the strict discipline he had over himself in daily life. It was one of few things he had any control over.

Upon waking, he remembered where he was and the itch of duty calling faded away, replaced by a sense of peace. He reached for Gaby, wanting her close, needing reassurance that he was not alone. His fingers met with soft hair and he smoothed his hand down as he rolled onto his side, but there was nothing but hair and he cracked open one eye to find Cerberus there, chin on his paws, dark eyes looking at him.

Illya sighed. “Good morning, Cerberus,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “You are going to continue with this habit I see.” Cerberus whined and shuffled closer. Illya scratched behind the floppy ears and then rolled over to the nightstand. He pulled the drawer and paused at the sight of his few things still waiting there, just as he had left them last spring. He ran fingers over the book and notepad, then lifted up the last item.

Rolling back to Cerberus, he lifted the red, bone shaped chew toy and wiggled it. The dog’s dark head lifted with a sound of interest.

Illya swung himself out of bed, inhaling as his feet hit the cold stone floor. “Come,” he waved the toy for Cerberus to see. “I will get a treat to put inside.”

He yanked on his pants and padded out into the hall, Cerberus panting at his heels, and made his way down the grand staircase to the front hall. The clack of hooves alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t alone, and he turned to find Theophanes standing just inside the parlor doors.

“Master Illya,” he greeted, arms folded behind his back, all decorum as always.

“Theophanes,” Illya replied, affection warming his voice. “It is good to see you again.”

The faun looked him over with a raised brow and he felt overly conscious of his half-dressed state. “You are very late.”

“It will not happen again.” He hoped.

Theophanes nodded. “That would be good. It caused much distress.”

Thinking of the strain his tardiness may have caused Gaby made his chest ache. “I know,” he said. “It was not by my choice.”

The butler’s gaze was assessing, then he nodded again. “Welcome home, Sir.”

Home. Illya felt the word settled warmly inside him. He was home. “Thank you, Theophanes. It is good to be home.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Theophanes asked. “Shall I have the cook prepare breakfast early?”

Cerberus, who had been sitting surprisingly still during this exchange bumped his nose at the chew toy in Illya’s hand and then tried to take it from him. Illya looked down, remembering his purpose for having left bed at all, and lifted the toy as a reference. “I will not be needing anything, thank you. But Cerberus would like a treat for his toy... and some distraction.”

Illya wasn’t sure whether he imagined the smile that lifted the corner of Theophanes’ lips. “Indeed, Sir. I will get right on it.”

Cerberus made a muted bark and followed the toy as Illya tossed it to the faun. Theophanes caught it with ease and started to turn away.

“Wait,” Illya called, holding up a hand. Theophanes looked back. “It is nearly the Solstice. Where are the decorations? I thought that Gaby celebrated Christmas.” He was sure she had told him so, and she had grown up in a German home. If he was wrong, it was going to disrupt his plans a little.

“She asked us not to decorate,” Theophanes informed him. “That, out of respect for you, we would be focusing more on the New Year as our celebration.”

Illya frowned, then shook his head. “No, that is not acceptable. I do not care about those things.”

“The Soviets have outlawed Christmas, I believe,” The butler remarked. “And didn’t Russia celebrate it in January?”

“Arbitrary laws made by self-important mortals.” Hearing himself refer to them so easily as ‘mortals’ eased him just that much more. “I will not take her holiday away from her. Especially not for their vanity. Please.”

This time the butler’s smile was obvious. “Of course.”

Illya crept back into their bedroom. Gaby was curled into a ball on her side and the sight of her alone in the large bed stole the air from his lungs. Sadness washed over him, and he quickly rejoined her, sliding under the covers.

“Is it time to get up?” Gaby mumbled, wiping a hand over her face and moving to sit up.

“No,” Illya said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, tucking her in against his body like two nesting dolls made perfectly to fit. “No getting up.”

He felt her soft chuckle, but she settled down in his embrace, her body relaxing.

“You might be on vacation, Husband.” The word zinged through his thoughts with a wash of pride and belonging. “But some of us work year-round.”

“Mmm.” He settled his face into her soft, fragrant hair. “But not today.”

“No,” she agreed, caressing his forearm where it was strapped across her belly. “Not today.” She relaxed further, body sinking into his and into the bed and he let himself be drawn in along with her, to where even the gods rested with Morpheus.

...

Several hours later, they emerged from their room, in search of food, and came downstairs to find the place festooned in traditional Christmas decor. The large entry room fireplace was burning an enormous log, the mantle hung with evergreen boughs. Candles, greenery, and red ribbons were everywhere. Illya stopped part way down to take it all in, overwhelmed by the extravagance.

Gaby squeezed his hand and turned to look up at him with concern. “I’m sorry. I asked them not to. I guess they forgot.” She turned and started to descend. “I’ll tell them to put it away.”

“No,” he said softly, halting her descent. “I told them to do it.”

“You did?”

“Come, I actually have a gift for you.” He pulled away and started off down the stairs, blue robe dancing around his ankles. Gaby balked, tugging on his arm with their still connected hands.

“What? Illya, no–”

Illya came back up to her and swung her into his arms. “A good husband should always bring his wife gifts when he has been away, especially if he is late in returning.”

“Illya, really. I’m Queen of the Underworld!” She protested with a laugh. He carried her down the broad staircase and across the foyer into the sitting room where more decorations were on display, filling the air with the scents of spruce and incense.

He set her on the sofa and crouched down in front of her. “And why should the Queen’s feet ever touch the ground if the –” he frowned as if uncertain.

“Prince Consort,” Gaby supplied his official title. He made a face and she laughed.

“Prince Consort,” he said with distaste. “Is here to assist her.”

She responded with a hum. “Maybe I should be carrying you around. I can float.”

“That would be very awkward,” Illya replied flatly and Gaby grinned and cupped his cheek. She couldn’t stop touching him, assuring herself he was real. “Now,” hi insisted. “You sit right here.”

Gaby watched Illya leave the room with Theophanes and fought back the ping of unease that rose up as he left her sight. Even now she felt so certain he would disappear, that the Primordials would somehow see fit to take him from her, Chaos swallowing him up, leaving her here alone again.

“Did it arrive?” Illya asked, following Theophanes across the hall.

“Of course,” another voice answered from inside the room. “Did you have doubts?”

Illya looked up and smiled when he saw who was standing there. “Waverly.”

“I must say, you have caused a lot of trouble up above,” Waverly said, stepping forward and setting a hand on his shoulder.

“It was not my doing.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

“What is happening, now?”

“Well, the moment you crossed over, snow started to fall, and the ground froze solid.” Waverly gave him a pat and stepped away. “Needless to say, Chaos had a heyday.”

Illya sighed. “Maybe they will learn from this,” he said, frowning deeply. “But I hate that people will suffer.”

“People always suffer,” Waverly told him. “It is an unfortunate truth. Men hurt men.” He gave Illya one of his iconic, assessing looks and then turned away. “Now, your mother asked me to deliver this.” He turned around with a box in his hands. “I am not a messenger, you know. That is someone else’s job.” His sardonic smile crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“I know,” Illya said, taking the package gently. “Thank you for this.”

“You are welcome. It is the least I can do, all things considered.” Waverly’s smile was sad. “There will come a time when those bindings will fail,” the man offered carefully, and Illya glanced at the fellow deity’s unbound wrists. “It has been foreseen.”

“I am not sure I have it in me to hope for that day,” Illya confessed.

Waverly nodded then tapped the box, which shifted in Illya’s hands. “In the meantime, this should help.”

Illya managed a small smile. “Yes.”

“All right, back to the upper realm for me. It is a lot of work trying to keep this war cold.”

“I understand. Thank you again.”

“Say hello Gaby for me. I don’t want to interrupt your reunion.”

Illya felt his cheeks warm. “I am sure she would be pleased to see you.”

“Another time.”

“Yes,” Illya said with a nod.

...

Gaby’s worries dissipated as Illya reentered the room. He looked pleased with himself and that alone made her heart swell toward him. Some ruler of the dead she was, so lost and smitten.

He had his hands behind his back and walked forward to kneel in front of her.

“Is this a proposal?” she teased. “We are already married.”

“No,” he drawled. “It is not.”

“Then where is my gift?”

“You will have to choose a side,” he informed her, tilting from side to side.

She rolled her eyes and tapped his left arm. He brought out his hand, opening it to reveal a bare palm. Gaby scoffed. “Very funny.”

He used his other hand to bring out a festive looking box. There were holes in the side and its shifted in his grip.

“What is this?”

“You will have to open it to find out.”

Gaby hmphed and then lifted the box onto her lap. It wobbled slightly, unevenly weighted on the bottom. She lifted the top and peered inside to see a pair of yellow eyes staring up at her. Her gaze snapped up to Illya’s and then back to the box, reaching inside to pull out a small, gray kitten with a gold ribbon around its neck.

“She is a Bast,” he explained gently, reaching out to caress the little furball. “They are soothing to souls and are able to see inside them to know what they need.” He looked up at her, slightly worried. Gaby brought the kitten to her chest, so warm and soft. “I thought maybe she could be of help, to you and Cerberus... perhaps distract him...”

Gaby chuckled. “So, this is really for Cerberus.”

“No, I–” He sighed and hung his head. When he looked up again, he studied her face. “She can communicate with us, and she is small and can easily go unnoticed. She can slip between realms and–”

“Be a messenger,” Gaby finished, a huge weight lifting off her chest and shoulders.

“Yes.” He set a hand on her knee and squeezed. “These last nine months without contact were–” Gaby cut him off with a kiss.

“Me too.” She bumped her nose against his. “I don’t want to do that again.”

“No,” he agreed, and they exchanged a few more slow, tender kisses. “Do you like her? She is no Cerberus but...”

Gaby lifted the kitten, who was trying to gnaw on her thumb. “It wouldn’t matter if she was a simple, mortal kitten,” she told him. “I love her. Thank you.”

Illya kissed her again before finally taking a seat beside her on the sofa. The kitten took interest in him immediately, and pounced on him, clawing and scratching at his fingers. He laughed and wrapped her up in one hand wiggling her back and forth as she accosted him.

“So fierce,” Gaby laughed. “I’m going to call her Leona.”

“Seems very appropriate.” He lifted his eyes to hers, his look fond. “Merry Christmas.”

“Illya,” she sighed. “Are you sure? This seems unfair to you.”

“I promise you that it is not.” He sighed and seemed to study the kitten in his lap for several moments. “This is our time,” he began softly. “The rules of men do not apply. What they think, what they believe, it has no place unless we give it place.” His blue eye returned to her face, sincere and searching.

“You are right,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest for reasons she couldn’t place. “We can celebrate all or none. It is our choice. Our time.”

Illya leaned in and kissed her, his lips so sweet on hers. She sank into it and when he drew back, she pulled him in for another.

“We will make our own traditions,” he told her. “You and I.”

“Yes,” Gaby breathed. “We will do just that.”

...

“You know, Peril,” Solo said the next evening, pointing at Leona, who was sitting prettily in Illya’s hand, with his glass of champagne. “Most men who have offended their lover just bring flowers.”

Illya rolled his eyes and then looked pointedly at Solo’s head. Solo frowned and reached up, fingers dislodging the flower crown that has appeared there.

“It doesn’t count if the gift takes no effort,” Illya explained.

Solo pulled off the crown and looked over the pink and yellow flowers before replacing it back on his head. “Very good point.”

Gaby sidled up to Illya, reaching up to pet her kitten and then tug her Husband down for a kiss. When she looked at Solo her eyebrows lifted. “Very becoming,” she observed. “But hardly season appropriate.”

“Don’t blame me.” He gestured at Illya. “You apparently can’t take the spring out of him.”

Illya grumbled about a few things he would like to take out of Solo and Gaby chuckled as she patted his arm.

“Still no tree I see,” Waverly remarked, joining them.

“They don’t grow here, naturally,” Gaby told him, taking in the space she would normally have a tree. “And with the way things ended up, we were unable to have one brought down.”

“Gaby,” Solo admonished. “You didn’t ask me. I could easily bring you the most beautiful–”

“Do you have any soil?” Illya interrupted.

“What?” Gaby frowned up at him.

“Don’t you still have all that soil from when you thought to try your hand at gardening?” Waverly asked.

Gaby turned to him, her cheeks warming. “Probably, I would have to ask Theophanes.”

Illya’s fingers on her back tugged at her and she looked up at him again and found his curious gaze. “When was this?”

Gaby cleared her throat. “Earlier,” she stammered. “After you left.”

“You wanted to garden?”

“I had so much time to feel and I thought maybe it would make me feel...” she rolled her eyes at herself. “Closer to you.”

Solo may have chuckled but Illya bent down, the arm at her back lifting her up at the same time, and kissed her. A careful, gentle kiss that, nevertheless, gave away the hunger behind it.

“Thephanes,” Waverly called. “Are we still in possession of Her Majesty’s garden soil?”

“Of course, Sir.” Theophanes paused in his round of filling all their glasses. “I never do away with anything unless I am specifically told to do so.”

Illya cleared his throat and handed Leona to Gaby. “Come, take me to it.”

The party followed after the two men, several of the servants taking up the rear, too curious to be left behind. They stopped in the outer garden, where a large expanse of Midworld soil was spread in deep layers of that of the Underworld.

Illya looked to Gaby and then down at his hand, closing it into a fist and squeezing. When he opened it, a large seed was resting there, warm and alive in his palm.

“I think we need more than a seedling, Peril,” Solo teased, though it was more friendly than mocking.

Illya planted the seed in the soil and laid his hand over it. His fingertips sank into the humectant soil, and he felt as though it returned his touch. He wasn’t completely certain he could do this, but for Gaby he would try. “A tree grows over many springs,” he said quietly as he closed his eyes. “And I am all of them.”

A rumble, shook the ground beneath their feet and up between his hands sprung first the seedling then they young tree, growing and expanding quickly until it stood taller than him, its branches spanning out thick and full. The air was filled with the scent of pine.

When he stepped back from it, Illya felt Gaby’s hands warm around his arm, pulling him close. “Amazing,” she said. “Beautiful.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect.” Her brow furrowed.

“What?” he asked, looking back at the tree to search for the flaw.

“We will have to cut it down to bring it inside.”

“Oh.” He sighed in relief and bent to kiss her. “It’s okay. I will grow you another.”

Soon the empty space in Gaby’s sitting room was filled with the enormous tree and everyone, including much of her staff, were gathered around as it was wrangled into place. Gaby laughed at Cerberus checking the branches as if some errant souls might be hiding inside.

Waverly seemed to have taken over the job of head decorator as several fauns and nymphs brought in box after box of decorations.

“So,” she said, turning to look up at her husband. “Is this what you have in mind?”

He smiled at her. “It has you smiling and that is all I care about.”

The sentiment touched her, so she bumped against him and turned back to watch. “It isn’t too much for your Soviet sensibilities?”

He ducked down and kissed behind her ear. “You are too much for my Soviet sensibilities,” he murmured. “Do you think they would even notice if we–”

“Sneaked out?” she finished for him. “Found some little nook to hide out in.”

He hummed. “I was thinking something like that, yes.”

Gaby bit her lip and took his hand in hers as she slowly started backing toward the door. “Come. I know just the place.”

As they disappeared from sight, Solo moved closer to where Waverly was overseeing the careful draping of a garland. “Should we call them out on their retreat?”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “No, I don’t think so–Up a little higher man, yes that’s better.” He looked back at the door. “For this year at least, I think we will cut them some slack.”

Solo settled a hand over his heart. “You don’t know what you are asking of me.”

Waverly just shook his head. “Stop whinging and get back to work. This tree will not decorate itself.”

Gaby’s laughed was hushed as she pushed Illya into a small alcove behind a gauzy curtain, and he could himself joining her, feeling lighter than he ever remembered. He sat down on the stone bench the space offered and pulled his wife into his lap. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply.

“Here’s to making our own traditions,” she said, resting her forehead against his.

He breathed her in, his hands smoothing over her waist. Real and warm. “Here is to our time.”

The End