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The house was silent. Illya could handle silence. He excelled at silence. Why, then, did he feel the ringing in his ears beginning to swell? Why did the walls feel much closer than they had when he went to bed?
He looked towards the closed door. His fingers tapped out an attempt at a calming rhythm. At some point, the soft rustle of skin on fabric mutated into a violent knocking on the door that shook the tiny cottage. Illya drew his knees up to his chest and covered his ears with his palms, but that only made things worse. Shaking, he pulled the gun from his nightstand and silently moved towards the door. The knocking echoed in his head. He watched his trembling hand reach for the knob and turn, the scrape of metal on metal making him cringe. Whatever, whoever, was out there would certainly know he was about to open the door.
They wouldn't have time to run, Illya told himself. He was much faster. The door cracked open slowly. Strange. He thought for sure he would've ripped it off its hinges. As soon as the door was open, the knocking ceased and the ringing in his ears subsided.
For good measure, he left his room, making sure his gun was armed on the way out. He crept down the hall, clearing the dual kitchen and living area. Then he backtracked, cracking open Gaby's door. She was fast asleep, and the room was clear. Last was Solo's room. His hand hesitated over the door knob. Illya shook off the uneasy feeling, knowing, hoping, that it was just the nerves he always had around Solo.
The room was empty. Solo stirred in his sleep and Illya quickly closed the door. Both his partners were safe. Cold and miserable, and probably freezing to death here soon, but safe.
Somewhat satisfied, he trudged back to his room, leaving his door open just enough to stave off the knocking. Illya returned the gun to his nightstand and sat heavily on his bed, crossing his legs and knocking his head against the wall. The pain was familiar and grounding.
But, still. The silence.
Illya felt the urge to do something he hadn't done since he was a small child. Closing his eyes, he pictured the home he grew up in, his mother showing him her wooden rosary. The beads were a deep mahogany color, and well loved by countless prayers. The metal crucifix that hung from it was worn from the same. She would close his small hands around it, and then place her hands around his, whispering prayers of safety and health and abundance.
Tonight, Illya had no rosary. Nevertheless, he found himself muttering familiar words that made him nauseous. Then he paused, thinking of the damned situation that got them here in the first place.
Illya sighed, and whispered in his mother tongue to whoever was listening, "I have made grave mistakes. My hands are stained with blood. It is my fault we are trapped here in the cold."
His mind then traveled to junior high school, when he first began to notice the shape of other boys his age. He remembered the foul things he was called, and the abomination he'd been deemed. He thought of how he couldn't keep his eyes off of Napoleon Solo, the American agent he had been tasked to kill, but had fallen for instead. "Father, I know I deserve Your punishment, but please spare them from it. I cannot help the way I feel about him. I have tried. But he doesn't need to suffer for my mistake. Please get them out of this mess I've made. If that means I don't make it out with them, so be it."
Just then, a voice from the doorway spooked him. "Peril?" He knew who it was immediately, and his face flushed. Had he heard?
Illya glared at him, trying to calm his pounding heart, "What are you doing in my room?"
"Your door was open," Solo looked away from him with something akin to nervousness in his demeanor. This stupidly beautiful man.
"And that is invitation?" Illya managed to spit, "Get out, please." He couldn't trust himself in his current state.
"Illya, wait-"
Illya squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, "Out."
"I'm not leaving." This stupid, stubborn, beautiful man.
Illya spared him a glance. He searched his partner's eyes for any sign that he'd run, or worse, had come to him with ill intentions. What he found instead was a determination only Solo could muster, and a deeper emotion hiding behind it that Illya couldn't name. He sighed heavily and broke their gaze.
Solo's footsteps grew closer as Illya reached over to pull the lamp cord. It threw a golden light onto Solo's features that nearly made him breathless. "What do you want?" he finally asked.
"It's not that cold out," Solo spoke as he settled onto the bed, directly in front of Illya. He had heard. "I think you're being a bit dramatic."
Illya's face remained a practiced neutral, despite the anger and twinge of betrayal he felt. "Changed my mind," he growled, "Out. Now." He turned to turn off the lamp, but a steady hand clamped around his wrist, stopping him.
"Hear me out," Solo asked, "Please?"
Solo had an equally as practiced puppy-dog face on. Illya couldn't deny him, and he knew it. He clenched his jaw, but dropped his hand to his knee where his fingers drummed another failed attempt at a calming pattern. Solo was quiet for a moment, which unnerved him even more.
"Winter just started," he finally said, "Me and Gaby aren't going to die of frostbite any time soon. We're not as sensitive to the cold as you think, Peril."
Illya groaned, and his head hit the wall again. Not as hard this time. Solo would scold him for it. "It's not nice to eavesdrop."
"We're spies. It's what we do." We also kill each other, he wanted to say, his fingers twitching at the thought. Instead, he just gave a disapproving hum. "You can't blame yourself. If anyone's to blame, it's me."
"No-" Illya started. He should've been paying closer attention to his surroundings. If he could've just taken his eyes off of Solo for one second-
"I literally tripped the alarm. I have no idea how I didn't see the wire."
Illya's mouth fell shut. Solo had a point. A tripwire was definitely not what they were expecting on a mission to retrieve stolen top secret technology. "...it was very low-tech trap," he admitted, looking away, "It was…not expected."
"See?" Solo urged. Illya felt a hand on his knee and he froze, staring at the point of contact. Solo's touch was like electricity. He didn't want to move, for fear of spooking him away. It seemed his stillness had done the spooking, however, because much to Illya's dismay, he removed his hand. "Not your fault," Solo finished, folding his hands in his lap.
His fingers had started their tapping again. "How much else did you hear?" he asked quietly, fearing the answer. Maybe if he asked quietly enough, Solo wouldn't hear him and they could just sit in the uneasy silence that had unfolded between them.
The small breath Solo always took before saying something big let him know that he had not been successful. "Enough Catholic guilt to fill the Vatican," Solo chuckled.
There it is.
"And that you secretly care about us. That tough guy exterior had to crack eventually."
A pang shot through Illya's heart. He really did care about them. He wished he could express that more. "At KGB…emotions led to death. Comrades were just men. Collateral damage. But here…at U.N.C.L.E…" Illya trailed off. This sense of care and familiarity was new to him. He hoped Solo could fill in the gaps. That seemed to be something he was good at.
A wistful look washed over Solo's face as he agreed, "Yeah. I can't even remember the name of my desk mate back in New York. But I remember Gaby doesn't like gin; she only drinks martinis because she thinks it makes her look distinguished."
The memory of a very intoxicated Gaby confessing that fact to them made him smile softly. Solo continued, "And I remember our pact to trade off eating the olives she thinks we like."
Illya could almost taste the bitter musk on his tongue. He held back a cringe. "She is always so pleased to give them. It would break heart for her to know," he mused, daring to meet Solo's eyes again. His gaze was steady, confident. Grounding. Illya could feel his shoulders relaxing bit by bit and Solo's voice lost the echoing quality he hadn't realized was there.
"And," that small 'Big Thing' breath again, "And I remember that you take your tea with more sugar than you want to admit. And that you like your coffee black. Which doesn't make any sense to me, but, hey, who am I to judge? I remember you wear turtlenecks because you think the scar on your throat is unsightly."
Illya swallowed down the feeling of the knife against his throat. It was one of his first and most memorable scars. He was barely out of training. Actually, he remembered, it was during training. A particularly malevolent teacher who's swim-or-drown methods left many a trainee with scars.
He didn't know his hand had reached up to trace it until Solo took it gently, pulling it away and holding it with just enough pressure for Illya to have the option of retreating.
"I remember that you think your hands are too rough for any sort of tenderness. But I've seen the way you carry Gaby to bed when she passes out in the living room. And I see how you pet every dog and stray cat you cross paths with," Solo spoke lower, with a more serious tone. His eyes were locked on to where he held his hand.
Illya's mouth was dry. Why was he saying these things? It pulled on his heartstrings in a way he didn't entirely mind, but it confused him deeply.
When Solo met his eyes again, all of the confidence had left him, replaced with a raw, almost wild look.
"Illya, I know you don't like what I'm about to say, but it's not a bad thing," Solo took a deep breath that set Illya's nerves on end. Even so, none of the tunnel vision or auditory hallucinations reared their ugly heads. Solo had a knack for keeping them away. He braced himself for what he was going to say.
"You are more than capable of softness. Your teeth are sharp, but you don't use them. When I look at you, look at your hands…" Illya watched in awe as Solo lifted their hands, pressing their palms together. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. "I don't see the blood you claim they're stained with. I just see you."
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? How could anyone feel that way? Especially about him. Especially Solo.
Then his partner did the unthinkable. He turned his hand just enough to lace their fingers together. Illya furrowed his brow. Why? How? His eyes lingered at their hands, then flicked back to Solo's face. Solo looked absolutely petrified. Of him?
Did Solo really think he would hurt him?
"Tell me if I'm wrong," Solo breathed, and Illya suddenly became aware that he wasn't looking at his eyes anymore, "Tell me to stop."
I could never.
If Illya thought Solo holding his hand was unthinkable, what he did next was absolutely mind-blowing. Solo's free hand snaked up his shoulder and cradled the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly close, then kissing him.
Napoleon Solo, the famed womanizer, delicately captured Illya's lips with his own. He tasted like coffee and petrichor. Illya could survive on Solo's mouth alone. He dropped Solo's hand, only to grasp his face, burying his fingers in his hair as he kissed him back. Solo rose up to meet him, making Illya's heart soar.
Bottled up emotions exploded out of him all at once. Fear, love, guilt, want, shame, devotion. It all spilled down his face in blasphemous salt water rivers.
They parted for air, foreheads pressed together. "You don't have to be ashamed, Illya," Solo breathed.
A sharp coil wound itself around Illya's heart. He never meant to make Solo think he was ashamed of him. "Ya net, dorogoy. I am sorry," he shuddered, fighting back a sob that threatened to wrack him. Only Solo could make Illya Kuryakin, previously the KGB's most ruthless agent, feel emotions so deeply.
Illya felt Solo wipe away the tears that had dared to fall. He kissed him again and whispered, "Don't apologize. It's a rather frightening thing."
Utterly terrifying are the words Illya would have used. "I am scared of nothing," is what he said instead, trying to growl the words like a threat, but failing miserably. It filled them both with a wet laughter that they could barely keep quiet.
"I was headed to make tea, I could bring you a cup if you want," Solo offered after a long exhale that settled him.
Illya could feel the goosebumps on Solo's neck, so even though he was plenty warmed by the encounter, he said, "I will come with you. Keep watch over fireplace so Gaby does not murder us."
Solo looked like a cosmonaut seeing Earth from space for the first time. He leaned in for one more kiss before praising, "Good plan."