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It had been a long and frustrating day, and Illya could think of nothing more perfect than a good night's rest. Except, however, there was the matter of the chop-shop girl being insistent on impeding such plans.
Next to him in bed, she had spent the last hour turning this way and that, sighing loudly when a position didn't interest her and moving to the next. It was massively loud, and hugely disruptive, and profoundly annoying.
“Gaby,” he gritted, “if you do not stop, you will have to sleep on couch.”
She hooked her small legs around one of Illya's, so that her left thigh was between both of his and her right calf twisted around, her foot hooked around his ankle. “I'm freezing,” she explained, and of course she was. The bag with her real pajamas had been lost, and there had been no time to find a shop during their first day in Smolensk – too much planning to be done to take down their target, a crooked diamond manufacturer. It had been hailing all day and still was, the mid-November nighttime temperature hovering at a high of about 5 degrees. Napoleon had rifled through both their rooms and called in favors from the lobby to hunt down all the extra blankets he could, but upon piling those up Gaby had found the result the opposite of relaxing – the weight of the blankets had practically crushed her chest.
“If you were not so tiny, you would have body heat to speak of,” Illya teased. This earned him a hard poke to the ribs. He bristled and threw the sheets back abruptly, yanking down his sweatpants and tossing them at the German. “Go, put on. Will help.”
Gaby stumbled sleepily to the bathroom, humming some popular English song on her way. A moment later she emerged, the bathroom light illuminating her frame, and Illya pushed out a shocked laugh.
“Ridiculous.” He shook his head at her, taking in her dainty lavender camisole and the way his fleece jogging bottoms were drawn up to her natural waist over the silk, about a foot of drawstring bow hanging down to her mid-thigh. The legs of the sweats still pooled at her ankles, the extra fabric folded and bunched around her feet.
“You are too short, chop-shop.”
Gaby half-smiled at him. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”
“I do. Are you now... amicable to idea?”
“Well, these are certainly warm. What about you?” She eyed his boxer shorts.
Illya beat his fist against his chest. “Cold legs are non-issue for pride of KGB.”
Gaby yawned mockingly. “I can definitely sleep now. Your shtick is so tiring.” She crossed the rest of the distance to the bed, crawled into Illya's lap without asking, and her breathing almost immediately relaxed against his chest as he pulled the covers over them again. He followed her quickly into sleep, still sitting upright against the headboard.