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Their target stood in front of them, back turned as he smirked at them through the mirror in front of him. Through the reflective glass, Napoleon could see the man’s lips moving, though he could barely hear what he said, focused as he was on his partner, whose finger was currently twitching staccatos on his upper thigh. His whole body was trembling, shoulders a tense line straight across, and his eyes were like pools of ice where Napoleon could see them in the mirror.
Just watching him made his heart ache; an undeniable surge of grief throbbing in his chest. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch, to do something about what was happening in front of him, but every possible reaction died before thought could lead to action.
He chanced a step forward, kitty corner, hoping that their target wouldn’t notice, though he was so busy prattling on that Napoleon thought it a wonder he even knew they were there at all. He wasn’t paying attention to them, Napoleon noted, because he was now right beside his partner, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, quite usual for this point of an episode.
Napoleon no longer knew what he was on about, but Peril must’ve, seeing as how his finger was no longer twitching at his side, a sign that he had only seconds before their cover was blown and massive destruction ensued.
Without thinking, or perhaps giving up on the concept, Napoleon grasped Illya’s still-shaking hand in his.
He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the rejection that was sure to follow; rejection he knew would follow so bold a move. However, none came.
“Peril,” he murmured, voice soft so as not to disturb the man in front of them, even though there was no chance of him being disturbed, anyway. The agent now beside him gave no indication that he’d heard, but where Napoleon had been incredibly careful not to apply too much pressure to his gentle grip, Illya squeezed his hand tight enough for the bones to crack together.
“Illya,” he tried, hoping the sound of his name would help to snap him out of whatever funk he was in. His fingers loosened slightly, but that was the only indication that he’d heard.
Thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t been caught, he pushed his luck even more and stroked the back of Illya’s hand with his thumb, gentle, circular strokes that he hoped were grounding, or at least a little bit welcome.
He could feel the way Illya relaxed at the gentle touch, the stiff line of his shoulders easing into a more natural curve. Solo watched as the anger practically drained out of his partner’s body, basking in the warmth that overcame him when he felt him leaning ever so slightly against his shoulder. He bit back a dazed smile and forced his eyes to stay open as he traced his thumb in gentle patterns, Illya’s hands finally beginning to relax and no longer twitching like mad.
Just in time, too, because their target turned around right as Waverly’s team of agents burst through and arrested him on the spot.
“Great work keeping him talking, boys,” Waverly said, but there was a knowing glint to his eyes, as if he’d been witness to their little show, and Solo forced down a very unbecoming blush because there was no way anyone else knew about the occurrence except him and Illya. And, yeah, he’d like to keep it that way.
fin <3