Chapter Text
The light overhead came in a blinding blur, his vision focused in and out on his surroundings. A pale yellow light was strung overhead, illuminating part of the dark room. The only thing he could see was the light, everything else was too dark. Voices murmured nearby but his ears couldn’t quite turn the sound into words. He could only hear the harsh German accent of the man he had been following. Slowly Napoleon began coming to his senses. His hands were bound, unable to move under the uncomfortably tight leather straps that held him in the chair and his head could barely turn. Something was looped around his dark hair, pushing it back, pressing hard on his forehead. He was trapped and his head was throbbing. Blinking a few times, the American shifted in the chair again, he kicked a leg out, only for it to go nowhere. He was bound there too with his ankles clanking together, he grit his teeth out of pure frustration trying to pull upwards with his hands. His fingers folded into fists and he pulled with all the strength he could muster up.
Nothing happened. Everything stayed in place including himself. A frustrated sigh left his lips, all he could remember was lunch with Rudi Teller, the man with the thick glasses had been going on and on about his private art collection, of how expensive it was. It wasn’t until Solo started asking questions that flags began to go off. The Teller estate was more or less running out of funds. The expensive lavish lifestyle held by Rudi Teller was quickly bankrupting them, the art was more or less stolen.
The Monet hanging in the library, Solo had recognized it almost instantly. It had gone missing in Prague after being shipped from one museum to another. Shipped no doubt by Vinciguerra Shipping Company. The pieces were slowly beginning to come together. In exchange for expensive stolen art, Rudi offered up his services to the Vinciguerra family. Services that included some very gruesome crimes no doubt, there were newspaper cut outs all over the Teller mansion. He had first noticed them in the study and then once more with the newspaper in the dining room and again when he had let himself into Rudi’s room just hours ago, or at least it felt like hours ago. His head throbbed some more.
Teller must have hit him.
Somewhere between lunch and the questions, Teller must have hit him hard in the back of the head but with what, Solo would probably never know. All he knew now was the faint throbbing and the sour taste in the back of his mouth. Wherever he was being held was dark, but he could see a window off to the left in the corner of his vision. It was small and dark. He was more or less in a wine cellar or basement, it must have been sometime in the night judging by the lack of noise overhead. He shifted in the chair again, barely an inch or so when footsteps sounded close by. The American froze, this was not part of the plan when he had agreed to accompany his best friend to Germany. Dying was not in the plan at all, sleeping with several young woman had been, maybe finding a muse or two had been as well but not dying. Not dying at the hands of a man who played with his food rather than eating it.
“Oh you are awake Mr. Solo, good.” Rudi Teller’s voice was overly cheerful, loud and too close for comfort. Solo’s brows furrowed for a moment as he tried to lean his head away from the voice, but he was trapped, tightly wound in the chair. “I was beginning to think you would sleep all night long and then where would we be?”
“Well, we would still be in Berlin and I would be in my room.” Napoleon drawled out carefully, “What exactly do you plan on doing with me? My comrade is bound to notice my absence.” It was true, he hoped Illya was looking for him. That his friend wouldn’t just forget him while trying to win the affection of the man’s niece.
“Yes, well, I can only hope my Gaby is keeping him busy,” Rudi clapped his hands together as he spoke but he didn’t sound too confident in those words, making the American wonder for a moment.
“She doesn’t know, does she?”
Rudi flicked his gaze over the thin wire rim of his thick glasses. His forehead wrinkled as he observed the other man for a moment, sniffling slightly, “There is no need to draw her into this.” Rudi was stern with his voice, almost commanding Solo to leave Gaby out of the conversation, “This is between you and I, Mr. Solo.”
“Not likely.” Solo drawled out watching as Rudi stood and moved for a small table with wheels attached to the bottom of it. He wheeled the small table close to the chair and silver instruments sparkled off the top of it. They looked like medical tools, all new and clean, and ready to be used. He swallowed hard and turned his blue eyes away from the table, “It’s just you actively sought out a wealthy estate to marry her off to. I am guessing you’re running out of money. That all this dirty business with the Vinciguerra family isn’t paying off.” He was using all the charm he could muster up as Rudi’s fingers smoothed along the medical tools, finding a syringe with a needle that looked long enough to piece through his bicep. Solo swallowed hard and kept going while Rudi stuck the needle down into a clear vial, extracting some sort of liquid from it, “Is that why you went to Russia? Seeking out the Kuryakin fortune?”
Rudi glanced from the vial up to Solo and tilted his head, “The Kuryakin fortune is well known, I knew they had a son who was not married. For reasons I didn’t care for. I found his parents. It wasn’t hard when they’re just as criminally bound as the Vincinguerra’s. Tell me Mr. Solo, do you always talk so much?”
“Usually there’s more wining and dining involved,” Solo sniffed just before Rudi stuck the needle tip into the bend of his elbow, right into the vein. Sweat beaded up on his pale forehead and slipped down his cheek as he grit his teeth again, trying to hold back any grunts of pain as the man depressed the plunger. A strange euphoric sensation started in his arm and then his heart started to speed up.
“Easy Mr. Solo, it’s just a small dose of adrenaline to keep you alive for now.”
Napoleon’s breathing picked up, “You picked the wrong estate to mess with, tell me. Did you know the Kuryakin’s are broke? They fled to avoid the taxes of war.”
“Yes, but their son,” Rudi grinned now, showing off yellowing teeth, all crooked and menacing. “Their prodigal son took what was left of their fortune and nearly tripled it by the time he was in his early twenties. Something almost unheard of in times of war. I merely put the idea of him marrying my Gabriella in their head. They wrote their son and then the strangest things began happening. Mr. Kuryakin wrote me and I invited him months ago to dinner. All I had to do was propose my Gaby to him. He seemed like a man desperate for their approval. It must be hard growing up under that umbrella of shame in such a proud country.”
Napoleon’s fingers closed into fists again. Anger flooded his system. He was angry at this man, angry at him for taking advantage of Illya for seeking out his friend, for using his own niece for personal gain. It was something disgusting. He shifted in the chair as Rudi started moving wires around him, tucking metal endings under the leather straps on his arms, “What about Gaby?” Napoleon asked, turning his head up to Rudi who was working diligently on his torturous setup.
“What about her?” He sounded exhausted at the mention of his niece’s name. Like she was nothing more than an expendable pawn in his own personal chess game.
“The shame she’ll have to hold when you get caught.” Napoleon spoke louder now, “I mean you used her to get your hands on a fortune, you don’t even know if Illya would marry her.”
Rudi nodded as he moved away picking up a small switchboard like object. It was metal and had wires coming out of the back of it and little silver and black knobs on the other side where his fingers were dancing dangerously close to, “Oh the thought crossed my mind. Gaby is far from lady-like. I knew if I sent her to social gatherings she would never find a suitable husband with enough wealth to sustain the estate. I had to set up the arrangement. Ah, here it is.” He found the button he wanted and the little light over Solo’s head dimmed for a moment and then a race of electricity shot across his skin. The instant contact had him squelching out a sharp sound. His body twitched, pulsing with the race of electricity, heart slamming into his ribcage so hard he was certain it would break free.
“Now Mr. Solo,” Napoleon could hear Rudi through the roaring sound of blood rushing through his head, he shook under the electrical surge, fighting to keep his eyes open, “Now you get to experience real art!” The sudden jolt of electricity stopped and Napoleon gasped. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his head was clouded, vision going blurry. His skin felt like was on fire with a dull burning sensation running over the tips of his nerves.
“Real art?” Solo gasped out the words as Rudi smacked the little board in his hand, shaking it a bit as he played with the connecting wires that were splitting out of the back of it.
“Bad connection,” Rudi shrugged and twisted one wire around another before pushing the button all over again. It was worse the second time around. Blood slipped from his nose, down his pretty mouth and he could taste the copper on the tip of his tongue. The edges of his vision were going black, like someone had dropped fresh ink in his blue eyes.
Then it stopped again and the black edged away. Something golden caught in the field of his vision as Rudi smacked the contact board again. Napoleon’s mouth twisted up, faint little smirk as he welcomed the reprieve, “You’re a very bad man.” Solo whispered out the words, finding his voice again as Rudi shrugged to him, uncaring of his words. “God get me out of here Peril.”
“Working on it Cowboy.” Rudi’s face turned into confusion and he tilted his head to the side.
The Russian’s voice echoed in the basement and Rudi stood, dropping the board. The contact picked up again and Napoleon shouted this time as the electricity jolted across his nerves. Illya’s fist hit Rudi first and then everything started blurring out. He could see the light overhead swinging. The sound of a young woman screaming. Then the sight of the woman in front of him. Her sleep clothes were too big for her, he could almost see down her blouse as she pulled the cable off of his skin. The electricity ceased and he shouted in relief, coughing a bit at the dryness of his throat. Gaby’s hands found his face and she ran her thumb under his nose, wiping away the blood.
“Napoleon,” Her eyes were wide and scared. She looked afraid as she pushed the leather strap away from his head, and he knew why when he saw Illya throwing the nearby table into the wall, splintering it as Rudi scrambled back, throwing medical instruments at the blond giant headed his way. “Napoleon I have to get you out of here and we have to get to the police,” She was trying to keep her calm, fingers shaking and voice wavering. The American man felt a pang of guilt. She had no idea all of this had been happening in her own home, with her own money, her own estate ran dry by a madman with a murderous taste in his mouth. Gaby undid the rest of his bindings and he struggled to stand for a moment. He collapsed for a moment against the small woman. Gaby practically buckled under his weight but she helped push him up, leaning him up against the closest wall as she moved towards her Uncle. Her pajama pants caught on her heels. She looked exceptionally small as she ran across the room just as Rudi bent over the edge of a small table. Then there was the sound of the gun. The sound echoed in the small basement, fired off by Rudi, pointed at Illya, but he had missed. The revolver in his hand shaking and Gaby shrieked out her Uncle’s name.
Rudi turned to look at her and when he turned he pointed the gun at her and fired. Illya’s vision went red. His hands moved on their own, he picked up the closest thing he could and struck Teller with it hard in the throat. The silver scalpel sliced through the skin and punctured the artery. The spray of warm blood hit his face but Illya didn’t stop. He kept driving it forward until Rudi’s body hit the wall and the sank down to the ground with a horrific gurgle of air escaping the wound. Rudi’s body fell against his bare feet and Illya took a step back, blood sticking to his hands, covering bits of his face, he turns to the woman leaning back against Napoleon. Gaby’s oversized blue shirt was tinged in red. She had a look of shock on her face as blood slipped from her right shoulder and soaked into the fabric.
“I-I think,” Gaby breathed out the words with a sort of soft disbelief. She sounded lost almost, voice soft and laced with confusion. “I think I’ve been shot.”
“Gaby,” She moved her hand over her shoulder and pressed it tightly there, standing under the light where Napoleon had been held just a few moments before. She pulled her palm away, staring at the bright sparkle of blood on her palm. Pain burned through her chest, adrenaline seeping away. Her eyes flicked towards her Uncle behind Illya, dead. He was dead and bloody and Illya was covered in his blood. Her stomach churned and she felt light headed. Illya took another step towards her and then another. When her knees knocked together he closed the rest of the space and caught her into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” She said the words into his ruined shirt, “I’m sorry you came and for him. I don’t--” Gaby didn’t know how to apologize for her Uncle. She didn’t know how to breathe right now, everything was hot and on fire. Her lungs burned and she felt the twinge of pain when Illya pulled the edge of her top down to look at her shoulder.
“Is going to be okay,” He breathed softly, his nose brushing the crown of her head. They had heard it all in the stairwell. They heard Solo putting the pieces together. They heard Rudi confirming it all and Gaby had the first tear sliding down the curve of her cheek when she realized their arrangement was done for wealth and spite. Now, Illya was pulling her up, motioning to Solo, tilting his head back, “Are you okay Cowboy?”
The dark haired man nodded to him, motioning to the small woman, “She’s innocent you know.” He managed to straighten himself up, leaning on the wall behind him for support. His whole body still on fire, on the very edge of something dangerous. He needed a good drink and a very pretty nurse to set him straight. Illya nodded to him though, his hand covering the woman’s shoulder as he looked up at him.
“I know, I heard.” It was all he could say as the situation sank in.
The air around them grew cold and footsteps on the upper levels let them know there were servants up and about. Illya motioned to Napoleon and with ease the three of them managed to make it up the steps to the telephone in the main hall, authorities were called along with the driver.
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Illya rode with Gaby to the hospital and Napoleon stayed behind working with the police, combing through the story with his pristine details. The coroner came and collected Rudi Teller, servants got to work on the blood.
The Monet was taken out of the library, along with several other priceless pieces.
The estate dismissed most of the help while Gaby laid in recovery.
Authorities locked up the property, her fortune temporarily gone with the click of a lock.
Despite the tension in the air, Illya never left her side. He waited outside the doors until the doctors had taken care of her and then waited by the bed until she came to. Her fingers sought out his and he let her take hold of his hand. She held onto him until she fell back asleep, the distant sounds of the hospital filtered out by her private room. He took care of her hospital bill and when she slept, he had gone out and bought her a new dress to wear when they discharged her. He hung it on the back of the door, white and green a colorful strike in the pale room.
When she woke, he stayed with her then. Listening to the changing in her breathing as she managed to say his name along as he tore his eyes away from his reading material. He folded up the novel and tucked it inside of his jacket, an orange on her small table. When she had tried to reach for the fruit, he had stopped her. Before she could protest, he started peeling the fruit and tearing off perfect wedges for her. Illya fed her just like he had in the grass.
All her protests faded away and she let him.
Solo had taken care of the auctioning of her Uncle’s things, making her enough money to live off of comfortably for a little while.
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“What do you plan on doing now?” Solo asked, sitting across from him in the hospital cafe. Steaming cups of coffee were placed in front of them and Illya folded his arms across the table. A week had passed and Gaby would be getting released in a few short hours. His best friend caught his gaze and the two of them sat there in the silence before Illya exhaled heavily.
“We go home? You paint?” Illya shrugged his shoulders, something in his tone told Solo he didn’t want to leave just yet. Not empty handed. They had come to Germany to retrieve him a fiance and now it seemed bittersweet to leave the woman behind.
Napoleon reached for his cup, “Maybe,” He murmured over the rim of his mug, taking a small sip of the steaming liquid. Swallowing softly the man stretched out his legs and held onto his mug with both hands. The heat warming his fingertips as he looked up at Illya, “Suppose we don’t just yet?”
Illya turned his head to the side, tilting it just a moment as he spied Solo and raised a fine eyebrow, “No?” He moved for his own coffee cup this time, drinking the dark liquid down before licking over his bottom lip, “What do we do then?”
“Well, call me a romantic, but this is where you go sweep the young lady off of her feet. Marry her.” Napoleon grinned setting his mug down, adjusting his expensive cufflinks on his bright blue suit as he did so. His smile reached his eyes as he turned his head towards the exit of the cafe.
Illya scoffed at his words, “Marry the woman after I killed her Uncle. Not very romantic. Not even close to Russian way.”
“Between the two of you, I don’t think there is any sort of right way. You came here to convince her. Now, are you the one who needs convincing? I don’t think she wants your money Peril. If anything at least offer her a place to stay. Besides, I’m sort of fond of the little --” Solo’s words were cut off as a woman walked by, tall with dark hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in all white with comfortable looking shoes, a nurse. He watched her walk by and then watched her walk away from their table, heading for the counter to order coffee. Illya crossed his arms along his chest and an amused smile touched his lips as he watched the wheels beginning to turn over in Napoleon’s head as he slid back in his seat, “If you’ll excuse me.” He tipped his head down and excused himself from the table while Illya shook his head, leaning back over his coffee for just a moment longer. His dark reflection stared back at him in the little cup as he mulled over Napoleon’s words.
Solo’s voice drifted to him from by the counter. The young nurse was laughing now, her hand on his arm and he was buying her coffee, leading her out to a bench outside to sit with him, leaving Illya to his own devices. He stayed with the coffee a bit longer before finishing off his mug and sliding out of the cafe with ease. He left Solo behind taking his way through the hospital’s maze like halls. He made his way back to Gaby’s private room, not bothering to knock. He figured she was asleep, but when he opened the door he was met with a different sight. Gaby stood at the end of her bed, wearing the dress he had bought for her. Her fingers were playing with the petals on the bouquet of flowers Solo had put on the small table by her bed and she plucked off the rose petal before glancing up at him.
“Illya,” She smiled with his name, stepping away from the flowers and reaching up to tuck her hair in behind her ears. She walked carefully around the edge of the bed, no longer wincing in pain. Her color had mostly returned and she was smiling now. Gaby moved towards him and he fought the urge to run to her. Instead he made himself take a slow step forward, moving to meet her halfway in the room.
“You’re up,” He motioned to her, eyes skimming along her dress. His dress.
“I am,” She practically beamed at the words. She was tired of being confined to the bed, tired of being cooped up in the small hospital room. Gaby played with her hands for a moment, fingers lacing together and then she glanced down at her feet, “I get to go home today. Not that I have a home.” Her voice faded off for a moment. Her home was locked away, her Uncle had devastated her estate, run her fortune down, but Illya and Napoleon had come to the rescue. She had enough funds to keep herself afloat for a little while longer.
Still her words struck a chord in him and he stepped forward, “I have a proposition for you.” He started, voice low and he watched as her head tilted up. Gaby’s eyes caught onto his and he cleared his throat, moving a hand up and brushing her dark bangs away from her forehead. “We continue our plan.”
Her brow crinkled a bit. He smoothed his thumb over the wrinkles, taking them away as he continued on with his train of thought. Her hands fell against his jacket, fingers grasping onto the expensive material. Illya continued on, “You come home with me. I get the chance to let you see Russia, how I see Russia. You dance with me even.” His voice was softer now, watching her process his words with wide eyes, “And we continue the engagement.”
Gaby’s mouth twisted up into a smile, “Our long engagement?”
After a moment he nodded, “Yes, long engagement best.”
Gaby’s hands in his suit jacket tightened and he let his fingers slip into her hair. It was softer than he expected, his fingers curled around the soft tendrils and she leaned her head back for him. Illya’s fingers stroked lower, tracing the line of her throat pausing there as he watched her swallowed hard. He could hear her voice ringing in his ears when he had gone to kill her Uncle. Gaby’s voice had broke through that red haze. She had quelled that temper in him and he had been scared seeing the red seep into her pajama shirt. Her fingers tightened in his jacket and she found herself pulling him in closer. Illya leaned in, lips skimming across her forehead first but Gaby wasn’t having it. Her fingers slipped up from his shirt and hooked around his neck and in a moment she was pulling him down. His lips skimmed hers and the taste of oranges lingered between them and she pushed herself up on the tips of her toes, kissing him.
Gaby kept kissing him. She kissed him on the train to Moscow and again when he put a small pearl ring on her finger. He kissed her in the first snowfall, pulling a warm fur hat on her head. He kept the kitchen stocked with oranges and she turned the ivory colored walls into works of art, bringing new life and color into the old estate. Solo stayed with them and then traveled, but somehow always found his way back to them when the seasons changed.
Their long engagement turned short and she married him in the spring.