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Gaby stared down at Illya, somewhat surprised to find herself sitting on his chest. They were both out of breath from the brawl that had just destroyed half their room. Though her hands still pinned his shoulders, he was no longer trying to push her off of him. Her head was swimming from the mixture of alcohol and exercise, and gravity seemed to be dragging her head down, closer to his. Illya’s eyes searched her face for some hint of her intentions. He really was infuriating with his Russian stoicism. She had really only meant to throw him off balance and maybe work off a little of her own pent up frustration. But now she was straddling his chest. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, inching closer to hers. Her hands slid onto the floor and his moved to her waist. She could feel their heat through the thin layer of her pajamas. The alcohol was hitting her hard as their lips were barely a whisper apart. His scent filled her head as unconsciousness overwhelmed her.
Illya felt Gaby’s body completely relax on top of him as she passed out. He let out a dazed sigh, unsure of what had just happened or what it meant. This tiny German girl was a firecracker and he was coming to like her more every second they were together. He didn’t immediately get up, relishing the soft weight resting on his chest. It seemed an intimate moment despite the volatile events that had led them there and he was loathe to give up the feeling, sure he would never get another chance to be this close when she was sober and conscious.
He became aware of splintered wood digging into his back, and Illya reluctantly decided it was time to move. He sat up slowly, and Gaby slid farther down his chest. Her arms came around to hug his neck, and she turned her face to nuzzle closer. Cradling her gently, he stood and carefully made his way to the bedroom. One arm supporting her dead weight, Illya used the other to yank back her covers. He gently placed her on the bed and pulled the sheets around her. He smoothed the hair from her face and straightened up.
“Good night, little chop shop girl,” he said softly, turning away. Her small hand shot out to clutch his. He glanced at her face, but she was still dead asleep. Her grip slowly loosened and fell away. He stayed for a moment longer, watching her peaceful, if intoxicated, slumber. With a sigh, he went to clean up what he could of the sitting room.
Hours later, Illya woke to the feeling of his blankets being moved. He sat up quickly, years of training taking over. His instincts were quiet, though. He realized what had woken him when Gaby pulled the rest of his blankets down and climbed in beside him.
“Gaby, what are you doing?” he half-whispered. She mumbled something incomprehensible about a dead fish in the engine, and Illya realized she was not awake. She began shivering, so he pulled up the blankets, intending to leave the bed in favor of the empty one. However, when he leaned over, Gaby latched onto his chest and snuggled closer. He tried to dislodge her, but her grip was unyielding. Not wanting to wake her, he lay back on the bed. She immediately scooted even closer and rested her head on his chest. Resigned, he put his arm around her and held tight. Illya didn’t sleep at all, but he had never spent a better night.
When the sun began peeking over the horizon, Illya carefully returned Gaby to her own bed. He dressed quietly and slipped out the door. He had an important errand to run before breakfast.