Illya (redperilatdawn) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-09-01 15:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, gaby teller, illya kuryakin |
Who: Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Mason-Teller
What: Illya pays Gaby a visit after waking up with a new scar
When: After these
Where: Gaby's garage
Rating/Warnings: G | None
Status: Log | Complete
Illya still did not know what to make of the sudden appearance of a scar on his face under his right eye but the memories of how he'd gotten it were still fresh and he supposed that might explain the phantom pain that seemed to linger. He had been relieved when there had been no blood as changing sheets was no fun for anyone and he would rather not to do that until it became necessary.
After speaking with Gaby on the network he had busied himself throughout the day until it was finally time to head over and he did so, with her file in his bag, as he thought it only fair she be given it ahead of their meeting with Napoleon so that she could familiarise herself with the contents. It was her information after all.
The journey to her garage was quicker now that he had done it on several occasions and knew all the shortcuts and back routes, a habit he supposed he would never shift from his time spent carrying out operations in Russia and to some extent here in the USA. He parked up, stepped out and made sure to grab his bag before he headed inside.
Gaby was already waiting, having shut up early to facilitate Illya coming to visit her, just cleaning up and keeping herself occupied until the Russian joined her. She was concerned, waking up injured sounded horrific, especially if it had been enough to leave a scar.
At the sound of the door, she stood up from where she had been filing under the desk. Her lips curled up a little and she moved out from behind it, worry flickering over her face as she moved closer.
"I'm- does it hurt?" She tipped her head, "It is not as obvious as I thought it would be."
It was not a bad scar, Illya knew that, and he was lucky to not lose his eye on that side. Very lucky. Of course the memory of the injury itself was still fresh which might explain why it still felt tender to the touch.
"It is a little sore but nothing more than that."
Without asking, Gaby stepped up into Illya's space and ghosted her fingertips over his cheek, her touch barely there as she didn't want to hurt him.
"Of all the things to come through into reality," she said softly, cupping his cheek with her hand, "that is definitely one of the least enjoyable."
Illya was still getting used to being touched in a way that wasn't inappropriate, aggressive or painful though the more Gaby did it the easier it became to not jerk away or regard her suspiciously. He inhaled as she cupped his cheek and reached up to curl his fingers around her wrist before squeezing softly.
"It was not the most enjoyable that is true."
Gaby stood up on her toes and pressed a kiss to Illya's cheek, not dropping her hand so fast that his touch fell away, instead she made sure to catch his fingers and tug him with her to the office that was set away from the front door.
She had a large couch in there and a small desk in the corner though it was covered in clutter and hardly ever used.
"Sit," she told him, "would you like a drink?"
Illya's eyebrows twitched a little in surprise at the kiss to his cheek and he was about to accept that the fleeting affection had been exactly that but then she was catching his hand and tugging him in the direction of her office. He could have easily withstood it but he didn't, he allowed himself to be tugged along.
"Is that an order?" He asked with a smirk before he shrugged out of his jacket and rested it over the edge of the couch before he nodded. "Mm, please."
"It is," Gaby replied with a quirk of her eyebrow like she was challenging him to tell her he wasn't going to sit down. "I've got soda, coffee, tea or water. No alcohol, I have underage employees."
"Water then," Illya affirmed as he took a seat on the couch and effectively dwarfed it with his unnatural size. "I also brought this with me." He reached into his bag and pulled out a tan folder which he set down on the other side of the couch.
Gaby looked pleased when Illya sat down, grabbing him a bottle of water from the small fridge that she had, getting herself a cola before she walked back over and sat down on the edge of the couch, handing the water over and moving the folder, resting it on her lap.
It was a plain manilla folder but it looked older, if that was even possible, like it hadn't been made in the last couple of years but it still looked new. Just an old style.
"Do I even want to look inside?"
"It is not as bad as you fear," Illya assured her as he took the bottle with an appreciative smile. "It is factual at least." Which it was but then it was Russian intelligence and they didn't tend to go into unnecessary details but enough to have as much information as was needed.
The contents of the folder had a lot of information on the Gaby in the dreams, her family, her upbringing, potential weaknesses, family relations as well as a detailed description of her skills, personality and any other notable information that they thought pertinent to the mission.
"Factual for someone that is not me," she pointed out quietly even as she opened it and flicked through the dossier. It was curious to her that there were some similarities; abandoned by her family and adopted by someone else, a good family that taught her useful skills.
She glanced up at him. "Why do you have this?" she asked. Her dreams had not yet progressed past being in her garage with Napoleon and someone - Illya - following him. "What does Russian intelligence want with me?"
Illya cracked into his bottle and took a few steady swallows as he watched her flip through the details littered across the pages. "Napoleon says that it is both Russian and American intelligence that are interested in you. In particular your father who according to that file is very much alive and a person of considerable interest in the ongoing war."
Gaby flinched a little at the mention of her father. "Hm." It was the only response she gave, closing the file and pushing it back across the couch to Illya. "Napoleon told me that my dreams would be getting interesting, I suppose that's what he means."
She tipped her head. "What have you dreamed so far?"
"A lot of my time before the KGB," Illya shared as he regarded the folder. "I have only recently begun to dream of my time with them and it would seem these dossiers on you and Napoleon both are the beginning of the mission that has us working together, reluctantly apparently."
Gaby's eyebrow lifted. "I suppose I am in for some interesting nights, then," she said after a moment's pause. She thought about her dreams and wondered how quickly - or indeed if at all - they would stop being reluctant colleagues.
"Thank you for sharing this," she added, with a little smile. "Though it is a shame that you woke up with the remnants of an injury that you should not have done."
Illya took a further sip from his bottle of water. "I think the same can be said for all of us. Of course Napoleon is ahead but I am sure we can catch up with him in time."
He lifted his fingers to idly scratch at the scar in question. "I suspect there will be more where this came from."
Gaby shifted a little closer and brushed her fingers over the scar when Illya's hand fell away.
"I would have hoped not," she said softly, sadly, "but I fear you are right."
Illya glanced up as Gaby moved closer and brushed her fingers over the scar and for a moment his world narrowed down to just her. The deep dark depths of her brown eyes, the gentle slope of her nose, the way she had the smallest smudge of oil on her jaw and how she smelt like vanilla and rose water mixed with leather and metal.
"The life of a KGB agent," he murmured softly as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
"Not one I would wish on anyone," Gaby replied equally softly. "Thankfully it is not your life here, just your life in the dreams."
Her fingers lingered over the scar before dropping to touch his jaw, meeting his gaze evenly.
"I do appreciate you bringing me the file. I- I'm sure when we catch up to Napoleon it will all make a lot more sense."
"I am still a Russian agent who works for Russian intelligence," Illya replied evenly. "So in some ways it is the same but not quite."
He inhaled and exhaled, lifting his much larger hand to wrap around her slim wrist, grip tightening for a moment.
"I hope it will."
Gaby smiled, glancing down at where his fingers were curled around her wrist. "I hope so."
She took a breath, jumping a little as the phone rang, shattering whatever might have been happening between them and she grimaced.
"That," she said, "can go to voicemail. Did you want to go and get something to eat?"
Illya faintly cursed the phone in his head, a string of Russian punctuating his thoughts, especially as it definitely broke the moment.
"Yes, I could eat."
He could always eat if the truth were ever told. "I will leave the file with you though."
Gaby nodded. Getting to her feet and picking up the file, she moved over to the desk and locked it away, resting her hip against the large chair and putting her fingers into her pockets.
"Food?"
"Food," Illya affirmed with a nod of his head as he rose to his feet and gathered up his things. He waited for Gaby before he headed in the direction of the exit and his car.
Gaby glanced at her phone, the button for her voicemail blinking and she just scowled at it before she grabbed her jacket and bag, following Illya out of the garage.
They could talk more over dinner. And, she thought, she should message Napoleon.
The three of them were overdue for a meeting.