(illya's still dozing fitfully when solo checks back in an hour later, rubbing at a crick in his neck from falling asleep in an office chair in the study. illya's tea's stone cold by now.)
(groggy from drifting in and out of restless sleep, he clumsily stretches his legs out from under the quilt) What- (clears his throat) what is the time?
(illya adjusts the blanket so that he could get up easier; he accepts solo's outstretched hand, hesitates as he wraps his fingers around his hand for a moment, then pulls himself up) ... thank you.
(when he left solo a week ago, he had expected things to... not turn out this way. he remembers this mistrust, the sound of a locking door between them. but now, solo at his side since minsk...)
(he sits on the bed, looking around and pulling the quilt tighter around himself. he sniffles. this room is cold though the windows are closed, but it would be colder downstairs.)
(solo, himself, looks like he could do with a proper bed too- and the bed does look big enough. but. this is an awkward thought to entertain, even if he doesn't feel like he wants to be alone tonight.)
(he slants a look at illya when he claims responsibility for the whole mess that became of their mission. he disagrees, quite vehemently, in fact, but it won't do illya any good to bring it up now.)
(he mistakes the pinched look on illya's face for discomfort - the sniffling and the huddling doesn't help - and goes to fetch another small mountain of blankets from the cupboard for him.)
(he pauses in his construction of illya's blanket nest, holding a truly garishly flowered quilt. where does waverly find these things?) Blankets? For the cold? Surely that's a thing in Russia.
(equally dryly) So the rumours are true. We capitalists sleep naked, too. On a bed of money, surrounded by the corrupting influence of bourgeoisie decadence.
(he kneels at illya's feet and starts working on his laces. he looks up at him after a self-conscious moment and says, wryly: ) This might be reaching into coddling territory. (he tosses illya's shoe aside.)
(looks up at illya by reflex and blinks, momentarily startled by how close their faces are. solo grins, not breaking eye contact, and tugs illya's laces loose.) Too late. (he tosses that shoe aside too.)
(there's a flash of annoyance on illya's face before tempering into something softer. he hasn't known how much he had missed seeing that playful grin. he sits back, joints aching as he does.)
(he acknowledges the reply with a nod, then shifts his gaze away when solo asks that, thinking about the interrogation techniques employed, shy of physical violence that would leave lasting marks-)
(-possibly because they intend to use him as a bargaining chip later. illya swallows the lump in his throat; he knows he's incredibly lucky to be rescued in a week.) Nothing I couldn't handle.
(oleg would have left him behind, though he's not sure about kgb's upper command. u.n.c.l.e. could have definitely cut him since - section 2 was too new for many valuable trade secrets.)
(he wonders if the rescue was at the behest of waverly; he returns his gaze to solo, his voice suddenly quiet, in contrary to how he feels inside) I'm sorry if I've worried you.
(solo nods soberly at illya's reply; if there's anyone who could handle it, illya would be it. still. he stands, picking imaginary lint off his knees, and sits on the bed beside illya.)
(between the jet lag and setting up the rescue mission - and the sick weight of guilt and dread in the pit of his stomach - things haven't been pleasant.)
(illya can feel the added pressure on the springs of the bed and it is somewhat comforting, the sense of realness- the tangible presence of another: he knows then he doesn't want to be alone tonight.)
(exhaling shakily, his eyes fall upon one of his discarded shoes lying on its side next to an antiquated dresser, as if focusing on it will help him not convulse too much.)
Will you sleep here? (he rasps eventually, breaking the silence that hung between them like a dark cloud on the brink of precipitation) The bed is wide enough... and I do not wish to be alone.
(solo's head snaps up in surprise at illya's words, eyes wide as he looks at illya - /really/ looking, like he's seeing something new and uncharted in the proud, stubbled set of illya's jaw.)
Sure. (he says easily, but even that is faked. he kicks off his shoes and leans sideways into the headboard) But if you kick in your sleep, Peril, the deal is off.
(solo makes a small noise of mirth at the statement. he mirrors illya and curls away from him, feeling the full weight of their botched mission in his bones.)
(as if someone drove a tank over me and threw me into the water)