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The way Gaby should have woken up was by the light seeping through the closed curtains of the bedroom. Instead, she was woken up by the two most stubborn men on the planet bickering.
She kicked off the blankets. It must’ve been noon already, and the temperature still seemed to be rising. Gaby huffed. She liked Caracas, she really did, but she just wished it wasn’t so damn hot. She wasn’t used to the heat; German winters weren’t as extreme as Russian, but they were still cold. Their summers weren’t that great either, so she never had the chance to get used to a warm climate. She hated it.
She changed out of her sweaty pajamas into something lighter and tried to listen to the discussion on the other side of the door. Napoleon had probably said something dumb, possibly about Russia, and pissed off Illya.
This was their second year of working together and he was slowly trying to control his anger. Gaby had to admit it was still a work in process. The man simply had a short fuse.
When she entered the room, Illya looked like he was ready to fight Solo – which he probably was. As soon as they saw Gaby’s irritated look, though, they stopped talking and Napoleon headed for his own suite to give the two of them some privacy. Though, not being one for giving people privacy, Solo was probably just glad she’d arrived and the chance of Illya socking him in the face had dropped significantly. “I’ll let you handle it from here,” he said with a wave, and left the suite.
Illya just stood there, not planning to explain himself, so Gaby just sighed and walked towards the small kitchen.
“What was it about this time?”
“Cowboy says I am being possessive of you.” He was trying his best not to sound angry, but Gaby could still hear it in his voice. Feigning calmness was not his forte, she’d found out.
She just hummed. She wanted to say he wasn’t really wrong, but she figured it’d be better to calm down Illya first.
“Do you think he is right?” His voice sounded more worried this time, his anger fading with every step Solo got further away from him.
“I think he certainly has a point,” she said, matter-of-factly. She took a bite of the toast that was already ready when she got to the kitchen. Burnt. Illya probably made it but forgot about it when he started fighting with Solo.
A faint fwump came from the other room – Illya had sat down on the couch. When she looked, he was looking rather defeated.
“How did he come to this conclusion?” Gaby asked.
“He wanted to go to the beach with you. Joked about you probably getting a lot of attention.” He made a face. “I do not like his jokes.”
She sat down next to him on the couch and sighed a second time. It was still too hot. “The beach sounds fun.”
“That is not the point.” Gaby looked his way. His finger started tapping against his knee. “The point is that he is probably right and I do not want you getting stared at by those- those men.” He wanted to say something else, something insulting most likely, but he didn’t.
“I don’t particularly care.” She got closer to him. “And neither should you, and you know it.”
Illya stood then, and Gaby had to strain her neck to look at him again. Damn him. “I am supposed to care about you.”
Gaby stood too, trying to somewhat match his height. She wasn’t even close. “I didn’t say you didn’t care about me. Just that you’re not supposed to care about other people looking at me.” She struck a pose, trying to lighten the mood a little. “I can’t help it I’m so beautiful.”
Illya laughed. An actual laugh, which was very rare. Gaby knew she’d struck gold. “In that, you are right.”
Gaby tried to kiss him then, standing on her toes. She barely reached him. Though she fell back to her heels when she just touched his lips. She tried again, with the same result.
This caused Illya to laugh again. This would be a good day. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a real kiss.
They both heard the door swing open, fully knowing Napoleon would be waiting for them with a smirk on his face. They looked, and lo and behold, there he was, carrying two bags of towels and whatnot. He wore his favourite Paco Rabanne sunglasses. “Does this mean we’re ready for the beach? It’s still an hour away by car.”
Illya let Gaby go reluctantly, but a smile was still on his face. “Make that twenty minutes if Gaby drives.”