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A sharp pain to Gaby’s shin roused her from her sleep. With a tired grunt, she rolled over and was falling back asleep when she was kicked again. In the dark, she slowly sat up on her elbows, her hand reaching out to shake Napoleon’s shoulder.
Both of her partners were haunted by bad dreams from past lives, and both of their sleeping selves dealt with the dreams differently. Illya never acted out but would wake suddenly, breathing heavily and never being able to fall back asleep until Gaby wrapped her arms around him. Napoleon was the opposite. He kicked in his sleep and would twist and turn until he woke without realizing how much he had been moving. He was easier to calm and only took moments before falling back asleep.
Gaby has had to sleep with both of them for previous missions and tonight she was sharing a bed with Napoleon. It had been so long since she hadn’t been curled up against Illya that she had forgotten about Napoleon’s nightmares. She felt guilty for failing to remember that Napoleon was just as damaged as Illya was; he was just too good at hiding it.
Gaby’s hand pulled on Napoleon’s shoulder, making him lie on his back. She touched his cheek and spoke quietly but firmly.
“Napoleon. Hey, wake up.”
His eyes fluttered open lazily. They met hers in the dark and Gaby gave him a sleepy smile. Napoleon’s eyes were still lost somewhere, most likely watching a comrade/friend/brother being shot or blown up. Gaby couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had seen during his time in the war.
She laid her head down on his shoulder and after squeezing his hand reassuringly, he was fast asleep again. Gaby sighed. The more missions they ran together, the more it seemed like Gaby was actually taking care of her boys rather than the other way around.
Closing her eyes, she knew she would rather die than watch either one of them relive their nightmares.
The following morning, Gaby and Napoleon readied themselves for the day’s assignment. Gaby sent him careful glances while he made breakfast, wondering if he remembered his dreams or her waking him up last night.
If he did, he never mentioned it as he tied an apron around his waist. Napoleon’s smile was glowing like usual as he prepared an omelet for her. She sat with her tea held up to her face, her lips blowing cool air over it. Pulling her knees up to her chest and placing her feet on the edge of her chair, Gaby watched him flip the omelet easily. She couldn’t believe that those same hands could hold a gun steady while he sat in a rocking boat or a speeding car. They were also the tools used to seduce women with soft touches and caresses. Watching as Napoleon placed a perfectly made breakfast in front of her, Gaby was never not impressed by the versatility of the famous Napoleon Solo.
“Bon appétit, mon amie.” Napoleon’s accent was flawless.
“Merci, mon petit chou.”
Gaby smiled lightly regardless of her French being absolutely atrocious.
Despite how much she loved Illya, Gaby enjoyed the missions where she was married or engaged to Napoleon. They were able to joke about their relationship, knowing neither of them was interested in the other, making everything easily acceptable.
Gaby had once called him her best friend. She had meant it.
Napoleon had smiled. He still had yet to tell her how much it meant to him.
With their breakfast finished, Gaby and Napoleon made their way downstairs to head off to a horse race, where their target owned one of the thoroughbreds. They had gone out shopping the other day and while ignoring Illya’s condescending comments on the clothing, Gaby and Napoleon had found some fun outfits perfect for a horse race.
Napoleon had chosen a large hat for Gaby and with it on her head, the brim of the hat brushed her shoulders. The American dress she chose was loose with a big skirt; Gaby adored it. She would never admit it to either of her partners, but missions in America were some of her favorite ones. The clothes were comfortable and different from the European styles and it seemed like Gaby could get away with a lot more regarding her attitude. Americans were rude and so was Gaby. To nobody’s surprise, she fit in well when it came to blending in with Americans during missions.
The mission they were currently on was simple. Gather information from the target, Andrew Foster, on the location of some smuggled weapons in Chicago and enjoy a week-long break afterwards. Gaby and Napoleon were to be some rich French couple, Laure and Olivier Tailler, interested in owning a race horse and Illya was a stable boy for backup, which had been hard to convince him to accept. After learning of Illya’s cover, Napoleon had made a snarky remark about horse shit and Russians. Of course, Illya immediately took offense and launched him and Napoleon into a fist fight. With no help from Waverly, Gaby finally had to throw herself onto Illya’s back in order to stop him from killing Napoleon. The two of them had been walking on eggshells around each other since then.
So when Napoleon and Gaby walked passed the stables later that day with their arms laced together and Gaby smiling happily up at her fake husband, it was no surprise to find Illya glaring at them as he angrily brushed a horse. With a criminal smirk, Napoleon nodded his way before pulling Gaby against him, his hand wrapped around her waist. Gaby rolled her eyes, knowing Napoleon was egging Illya on, but of course Illya took it personally. He turned his back to them and stomped away, the fellow stable boys watching with wide eyes.
Gaby coughed, “You two are ridiculous. You both need to learn to express your feelings in a healthier manner rather than beating the shit out of each other.”
Napoleon winked, his eye surrounded in concealer to cover the dark bruise underneath, “Oh mon chèrie, all men act the same way.”
“Well, men are pigs,” Gaby lowered her voice to a sweeter tone once they stepped into the box with their reserved seats, “Except you, mon ange.”
With polite smiles, the other rich folk in the box stood up and introduced themselves raptly. Gaby pretended to harbor a heavy accent that prevented her from speaking much English as Napoleon introduced her. The women with fancy hats were eager to let Napoleon kiss their cheeks but showed great distaste with Gaby. She wasn’t quite sure what bothered the women so much, and she didn’t pursue the problem. However, she did notice how all of the other people in the box knew each other. According to Waverly, the people were supposed to be random rich folk, but they all talked pleasantly to each other like they had known one another for years. Already, Gaby was feeling anxious. There was something wrong.
Unlike the wives, the men were far more interested in Gaby, including the man, Andrew Foster, who worked in the warehouse in Chicago. Ignoring her anxiety, Gaby acted well with her eyelashes batting innocently at them. She must have pulled it off because the women turned on their husbands quickly, tearing the men’s gazes from Gaby. With angry looks between husbands and wives, they all turned away from Gaby and Napoleon to chat to one another.
Taking their seats, Napoleon jumped into an intelligent conversation about the horses straightaway. Gaby was not surprised by his ability to research everything about a mission. Out of their trio, he was by far the most attentive.
Playing the part, Gaby simply clung to Napoleon’s arm, her fingers playing with his tie as he spoke with the women. Between sentences, Napoleon would kiss her fingers gently with a soft look in his eyes and every time, it stole Gaby’s breath away. She had grown too used to the joking womanizer and had forgotten that Napoleon was actually a gentleman at heart.
After a few chuckles and smart words, the conversation shifted to one about the purchase of a thoroughbred. The women smiled politely with acidic eyes before letting their husbands take over in the discussion. Gaby felt her gut twist in warning. She wasn’t sure why but everything about this confrontation felt wrong. She almost felt like these people had been steering the conversation towards the topic of purchasing a thoroughbred. But it was possible that she was overanalyzing everything.
“So how would one begin to purchase a horse?” Napoleon’s accent was impeccable.
One of the men grinned, “Well, if you have enough money, you can usually buy from an existing owner, Mr. Tailler. However, most aren’t willing to sell, especially if the horse runs well.”
Napoleon glanced at Gaby, “That’s what we were thinking of doing actually, right mon coeur?”
Smiling sweetly, Gaby nodded, “Oui.”
The one man spoke again, “Oh really? Which horse did you have your eyes on?”
Uneasy, Gaby squeezed Napoleon’s arm in warning, but he ignored her, “The young filly by the name of Devil’s Fire.”
Gaby watched the men grin menacingly before their target Andrew Foster stepped forward. Gaby’s heart raced as he glared at Napoleon.
“And what interests you about my race horse?” Foster crossed his arms. Gaby felt Napoleon’s fingers tighten around hers. He must have finally caught on.
Too late, Napoleon tried to save himself, “She’s a fine horse, but if you aren’t interested in selling then we were also looking at the new colt-”
Foster broke in, “Oh I’m willing to sell. You know, why don’t we have a little chat about her? Just you, me, and my friends here.”
A look was sent towards the wives and they sat up quickly, “We’re going to go powder our noses. Why don’t you come with, Laure?”
Gaby smiled weakly at their offer before stuttering her words, “Oh no thank you.”
“Nonsense, we need some girl talk anyway. These men are so boring with their business,” Mrs. Foster placed a hand on Gaby’s shoulder.
Feeling panic rise in her chest, Gaby pressed her lips to Napoleon’s before standing quietly. The look in his eyes was apologetic as the women escorted Gaby away.
Once the women were out of sight, all of the men stood silently around Napoleon.
Foster smiled down at Napoleon, “You really thought buying my horse would give you an inside look at me?”
Dropping his accent, Napoleon shrugged, “Well, it was my plan, but I see now that I might’ve missed some key points.”
“Don’t act like your little wife isn’t in on it. I can promise you that my wife is taking good care of her, just like we will be doing with you. Also, the unusually tall stable boy will be taken care of as well. I’ve known you would be coming for days. You can’t trust everyone in your little organization.” Foster nodded at the other men.
Napoleon had never been very good at hand to hand combat, so when the five men converged on him at once, he was only able to take out one of them before being slammed to the ground. Fighting against them, Napoleon had one final look at the horses being led out onto the racetrack before they cracked his head on the cement.
When Napoleon woke up, he was being dragged between two men down a corridor with Foster walking calmly in front of him. They strolled through a door into a large warehouse, a private jet sitting in the center.
Napoleon tried to struggle against the men’s grips on his arms, but his head spun and black spots darkened his vision with any slight shift. They carried him into the jet and into a small room towards the back. Gaby was already there, a gun pointed at her head by Mrs. Foster. She was bruised but otherwise looked fine.
The men dropped Napoleon to the ground, barely giving enough time for his hands to catch himself before he hit the floor.
Foster walked around so Napoleon could see him, “Not looking so good there, Napoleon Solo. Maybe a nice long flight to Chicago will help? Too bad we couldn’t find your Russian friend, my boss would’ve loved to have met him.”
Foster smiled darkly before snapping his fingers and leading the men out of the room. Mrs. Foster gave Gaby a quick shove and followed them out. Napoleon heard the door lock.
Gaby fell to his side, “Napoleon? What happened to your head?”
She helped him sit up as he replied, “Concussion, I think.”
“No shit. They split your head open.”
Her fingers brushed a spot right above his forehead and Napoleon winced. Napoleon despised head injuries; he would much rather nurse a stab wound since they usually didn’t leave him lightheaded and dizzy. It was near impossible to think with a concussion.
Gaby sighed as they felt the jet take off, “So Illya got away.”
Napoleon nodded, “Looks like he’s our only chance to get out of this mess.”
“We might find a way out ourselves.”
Napoleon hummed in response as he leaned back against the wall, his head making the room spin. Gaby scooted over until she sat next to him. Placing her hands on his neck, she pulled his head down until it sat in her lap.
Closing his eyes, Napoleon muttered, “Sorry I got you in this mess.”
Gaby shook her head as she twisted her hands in his hair, careful to avoid his wound, “It’s okay, we’re both at fault. It was nice to be your wife for a few hours though. You’re a lot sweeter than you like to think you are.”
Napoleon felt sleep draw him in as Gaby’s petite fingers drew circles in his hair.
With a small smile, he murmured, “Don’t let Peril hear you say that.”
Napoleon was pulled back to consciousness when he felt the plane land. Gaby was sleeping soundly above him, her hands still twisted in his hair. The moment he sat up, he heard footsteps approach the door and the sound of a key in the lock. Gaby woke abruptly when the door creaked open and Foster stepped into the room. Gaby scrambled to her feet and helped Napoleon to stand.
Foster gave them an odd look, “Had a nice flight? Welcome to Chicago.”
Two men came in a placed dark bags over their heads and tied their hands together before walking them out of the room. They were escorted into a car and Napoleon counted the turns taken before they came to a stop. Loud machinery filled the air as they were taken into a building and down flights of stairs.
When the black bags were pulled off, Gaby and Napoleon squinted against the fluorescent light before their eyes adjusted. They stood in a corridor lined with metal doors, obviously located in a basement. Napoleon assumed it was the warehouse where the smuggled guns were being kept. He glanced around frantically, hoping to find any shred of information that could help them escape. His search came up fruitless.
Foster untied Gaby’s hands and shoved her into one of the rooms. One of the other men held a gun up to her, keeping her standing in the small room.
Foster turned to Napoleon, “Unfortunately, my boss is busy at the moment and is unable to meet you. No matter, he gave me strict instructions to keep you alive so he can speak with you later. He’s very interested in your Russian friend, you see. Anyway, I always ending up talking too much. But before I go, I have one last thing. Seeing as you’re a master at locks and whatnot, I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter. Escape would be too easy if this weren’t to happen.”
A knife was pulled from Foster’s coat and before Napoleon could even prepare himself, the blade was plunged into his body, right below his ribs. Gaby moved forward with her arm outreached until a bullet was shot at her feet. Napoleon’s body curved around the blade as Foster twisted it every so slowly. Groaning agonizingly, Napoleon choked when Foster pulled the knife out and shoved him into the room. He fell to the floor at Gaby’s feet as Foster shut the door.
Gaby dropped to his side, her voice shaky, “Oh my god, Napoleon.”
She placed Napoleon’s hand to the wound, making him put pressure on it as she tried ripping a big enough piece off of her dress to wrap around the wound. She panicked as the blood ran out from under Napoleon’s hand, soaking his shirt and collecting on the floor.
Napoleon coughed lightly, his lips spattered with blood, as Gaby removed his jacket and pressed it to the injury. By the time she had the wound covered up, Gaby was doused in his blood. She slapped his face lightly when his eyes began to flutter shut.
“Napoleon. Come on, you can’t go to sleep right now. I need you to stay awake. Just listen to me, okay? Illya will be here soon and we’ll get to go home. You know he’s too stubborn to give up that easily.”
Napoleon’s eyes met hers for a second before staring up at the ceiling. Gaby pulled his head into her lap and tried to calm the panic filling her up. Was this what Napoleon saw in his dreams? One of the men he fought next to in the war dying in his arms? Or even her or Illya? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. The thought of living this scene over and over was unbearable. Her insomnia didn’t seem so bad in comparison.
Gaby’s blood stained hand gripped Napoleon’s firmly when she began to hum. She wasn’t sure if it would help keep him awake, but at least it would calm her nerves. Hopefully then she could think of a way to get them out. Napoleon’s lock picking skills would’ve definitely come in handy.
Pausing from her song, Gaby whispered, “When we get back to New York, you have to teach me how to pick a lock.”
Napoleon smirked weakly and choked out a reply, “You bet.”
With a small smile, Gaby began her song again as they waited in the silent room.
An unknown amount of time passed before the door was opened again. Knowing this was her only chance, Gaby crawled away from Napoleon and leapt to her feet. The man placed a plate of food on the ground and was turning away when Gaby jumped onto the man’s back.
“He’s going to die if he doesn’t get treatment soon!” Her dry throat ached from the shouting.
The man struggled underneath her before clasping a hand on her leg and throwing her to the ground. He sent a punch along Gaby’s jaw and a kick to her ribs before leaving the room without a word. Gaby cradled her throbbing jaw in her hand as she sat up slowly. She examined the tray on the ground with glazed eyes. An apple, a small loaf of bread, and an interesting chunk of meat were placed on it. Walking back over with the plate, Gaby set the tray down before helping scoot Napoleon to the wall so he could sit up.
Groaning out in pain, Napoleon leaned against the wall halfheartedly and accepted the apple handed to him. With tired eyes, Gaby watched a small line of blood ooze out from underneath the makeshift bandages on Napoleon’s wound. It couldn’t be much longer until Napoleon wouldn’t be able to stay awake from the amount of blood lost. Gaby had been hoping Illya would appear before then. But it was looking more and more hopeless.
After the apple was finished, Gaby handed the bread to Napoleon, the mystery meat left on the plate as she leaned on the wall next to him. She ignored her growling stomach, knowing Napoleon needed the food way more than she did.
Napoleon finished the food quickly and immediately leaned over against Gaby, his head resting on her shoulder heavily. Gaby listened to his breathing with rapt attention for a few minutes and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep to the steady beat.
Her dreams fluctuated for a while before landing on a recent memory. She was under blankets in a soft bed, her eyes heavy from sleep as the mattress shifted next to her. She rolled over to see Illya sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare back curved as he ran his hands through his hair. The sunlight through the shades made the room glow a soft orange and Illya’s form was outlined against the light. Gaby scooted closer to him, placing soft kisses on his hips and then trailing them up his spine, until she had her arms around his neck and her chest pressed against him. He sighed when she fell back down onto the bed, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“I have to go. I’m meeting up with Cowboy.”
“Ok. Say hi for me.”
Gunshots startled Gaby from the indulgent dream, her heart racing in her chest. She shifted underneath Napoleon to wake him, but his head hung limply on her shoulder. Placing her palm to his mouth, Gaby didn’t feel his breath.
“Napoleon!” Gaby frantically moved him onto his back. She pressed her fingers to his wrist and didn’t catch any pulse. Cursing, Gaby began pumping her hands against his chest before blowing air into his lungs. She only had to give a few more pumps to his heart before he took a deep breath, his eyes flying open. Gaby was released a breath, feeling her heart calm back down. Napoleon gave her a confused look when gunshots went off again, a lot closer than before.
Napoleon coughed up blood as Gaby helped him sit up again.
“What’s going on?” Napoleon mumbled out.
Shaking her head, Gaby responded, “I don’t know, but you were just-”
She was cut off by the opening of the door. In the doorway was a tall figure with a gun in hand and a hat upon his head.
“Illya?” Gaby murmured. She didn’t need an answer before she sprung up and yanked him into a short embrace. His hands were warm on her neck as he kissed her cheek lightly. Gaby pulled away from the comforting embrace and led him over to Napoleon.
Gaby spoke as Illya leaned down, “They stabbed him. I’m not sure how long ago, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“How you doing, Cowboy?” Illya’s voice was steady despite his worried eyes.
Napoleon smirked, “Could be better.”
Illya nodded as he pulled Napoleon to his feet and placed his arm over his shoulder. Gaby followed Illya out of the room after having a gun placed in her hand.
“Did you take out all the guards?” Gaby muttered as the passed some lifeless bodies.
“Yeah, but there weren’t a lot actually.” Illya paused at an intersection before taking the left hallway. “Waverly is in a car a mile out. He already has a nurse waiting in the hotel room for us.”
Napoleon choked out a cough, letting more blood slide out of his mouth. Gaby and Illya moved quicker until Illya stopped outside a door. The small window showed a large hanger on the other side. Lines of trucks were parked silently with no sign of movement.
“Follow me closely,” Illya muttered to Gaby before making his way into the open room. They had barely made it a few steps in before men appeared from the back of the trucks, guns held up to Illya and Gaby. Gaby raised her gun but slowly lowered it after the men surrounded them. Illya’s hands twitched when Foster walked through to reach them.
“Nice try, but we knew you would be coming Red Peril. Now I have all three of UNCLE’s best spies. How fun.”
Some of the men stepped forward and grabbed Napoleon, tugging him onto the ground. Gaby barely had time to lift her gun before Illya had snapped one of the men’s necks. Shouting, the guards pressed in closer and tried to control Illya. Gaby was seized from behind, her arm twisted up her back until she cried out in pain. Illya was subdued on the ground with the butt of guns smacked against his head multiple times. A man leaned over Napoleon with his hand pressing lightly to his wound, making Napoleon twist under his grip in agony. Foster grinned wickedly at Gaby as he ordered the men to take them all downstairs.
Struggling against the man’s grip on her, Gaby watched as they dragged a half dead Napoleon and an incapacitated Illya back into the warehouse and down flights of stairs. They were brought into a large room with dark stains marking the floor. Lines of water on the floor led to a dark pool sitting in the corner. Napoleon and Illya were placed on their knees beside each other and Gaby held up in front of them with a gun pressed to her temple.
Foster strolled in, whistling a joyful tune before stopping in front of Gaby. He held the same knife he stabbed Napoleon with in his hand.
“Now, I would like to know everything about UNCLE. Including how you got the information on this business of mine. And if you don’t cooperate, I will, how to say this lightly, mortally injure your little partners over there.”
Gaby’s eyes flickered over to Napoleon and Illya. Illya shook his head furiously and Napoleon simply met her eyes, his face pale and sickly.
Foster tugged on her chin, making her look at him, “What will it be little Gaby?”
With a resolved look in her eye, Gaby pulled her chin away from him and spit in his face. The man behind her twisted her arm painfully and Gaby yelled out.
Foster wiped his face, “Well, if you’re not going to play nice, then I’ll have to make you talk. I think I’ll start with your little lover boy.”
Foster turned to Napoleon and let the knife slide across Napoleon’s throat, leaving a thin trail of blood. Gaby froze in her captor’s arms as Foster smiled.
“Start talking or your precious boyfriend gets it.”
Illya shifted on his knees as his confused eyes met Gaby’s. She scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to think of a way to convey to Illya that the misunderstanding could be possibly used to their advantage. But Foster didn’t miss the shift in Illya’s eyes when Gaby looked at him.
“Ah, I see. The American isn’t the right one. But the Russian? Now that’s a little surprising. I didn’t think he had it in him.”
Foster left Napoleon to fall over to his side and moved to Illya. Pulling Illya’s head back, he exposed Illya’s neck and pressed the blade to it. Gaby struggled against the man holding her, sheer terror filling her up. Illya still gave her a slight shake of his head. Gaby opened her mouth in protest before shutting it again.
Foster rolled his eyes and stabbed the knife into Illya’s thigh. With the blade twisting in his leg, Illya groaned deeply and struggled against Foster. Gaby thrashed her body against her captor’s as the blood ran onto the floor, mixing with the trails of water leading to the small pool.
Foster held the blade in Illya’s thigh as he looked up, “Come along Gaby. Just names would suffice.”
“Gaby,” Illya choked out her name before Foster shushed him.
She stilled and bit her lip. Napoleon wasn’t moving but she could still see his chest rising and falling slowly. Illya breathed heavily with the knife deep in his leg. Gaby closed her eyes before shaking her head.
Foster tugged the knife out of Illya’s leg, eliciting a whine from Illya. He wiped the blood away on his shirt before moving back to Gaby.
“I’m getting tired of this, so new rules. Either you talk or I kill one of the boys. Now who I kill is entirely up to you. I mean Napoleon is already half dead so you could put him out of his misery. Or you can watch me kill the famous Red Peril. The decision is up to you, darling.”
Foster stepped away from her and took a stand behind Illya and Napoleon. Gaby felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
She could either give up everything about UNCLE or watch one of her partners die. And the decision of who to kill was on her shoulders.
Gaby shut her eyes tightly. Her immediate first thought was to save Illya, but the idea was quickly shot down. How could she choose one over the other? They were both closer to her than she usually allowed. This situation was a perfect example of why she hid herself all the time.
Taking a deep breath, Gaby opened her eyes and watched Illya bleed out on the floor. For the first time in her life, Gaby let a man hold control over her heart. She wasn’t entirely sure what her and Illya’s relationship was or how it would end up in the future, but she knew she didn’t want it to end so soon. Illya was continually at her side even when she didn’t want him to be. His arms were her comfort after a long day. She wasn’t sure she could survive long without him.
But on the flip side, Napoleon was the friend she had been unconsciously longing for her entire life. He was the one who risked his life to save her from East Berlin. He was the one to go out drinking with her until ridiculous hours and then carry her home. Napoleon was always there with a glass of vodka and some home cooked food when Illya’s Russian behavior pissed her off. Despite how much she wanted to constantly smack him for his over the top attitude, Napoleon was her best friend.
Gaby tore her gaze away from the bloody floor and met Napoleon’s blue eyes. For the first time since meeting him, Gaby saw fear consume his eyes. He coughed soundlessly and smiled gentled at her. Not his usual smirk, but a reserved expression that wrenched on Gaby’s heart.
Foster sighed annoyingly, “You’re taking too long.”
Without warning, Foster pushed Napoleon to his knees and plunged the blade into the soft tissue by his collarbone.
It felt like Napoleon’s body took an eternity to fall. The blood pulled out with the knife was flicked onto Illya’s stunned face. Gaby’s scream didn’t register in his ears as Napoleon hit the ground, lifeless. A fury like no other burned through his veins and then he was standing without remembering moving and had the knife out of Foster’s hands in under a second. The pain in his leg was forgotten as he thrusted the blade into Foster’s body.
The man holding Gaby released her the moment Foster was stabbed with his own weapon. Scrapping her knees on the floor, Gaby flew to Napoleon and fell down next to him. Kneeling over, her dress was soon soaked with the blood gushing from his neck.
Gaby turned him over until she could see his face. She choked when she saw his eyes open and meet hers.
“I’m so sorry,” Gaby wasn’t sure he could understand her through her sobs. “I should’ve done something. If only I was better. I’m sorry.”
Napoleon squeezed her hand, the ring on his finger coated in blood. With each rattling breath he took, more blood slid out of his open neck. He tried to take a deep breath but only choked when blood ran out of his mouth.
Gaby didn’t hear the gunshots silence around her. And her body didn’t feel the hand placed on her shoulder with a sickening grip.
Napoleon closed his eyes briefly and muttered, “I’m scared.”
Gaby’s hands shook when they wiped away the blood from Napoleon’s face, “It’s okay.”
Napoleon looked over her shoulder at Illya and gave him a faint nod before his breath halted, the ghost of a smile still etched on his face.
Something shattered deep inside Illya. He stood quietly and stumbled away from his dead partner, his ears unable to block the thundering sound of Gaby’s cries. His last full memory of Napoleon repeated in his head. His own fist smashing against Napoleon’s face and the curse words shouted at each other. The aimless anger against his best friend. He regretted it all. Illya continued out of the room, unable to endure the sight of Napoleon’s lifeless body. He wandered aimlessly until he came across some of Foster’s men. They weren’t much of a distraction.
Time passed and Gaby didn’t move from her spot. Blood was dried to her cheeks where she had rubbed the tears away. Napoleon’s hand was limp and cold in hers.
After what felt like an eternity, feet splashed in the water next to Gaby. Warm hands placed a jacket over her shoulders and untangled her fingers from Napoleon’s.
“Come on, Gaby,” Waverly’s voice was soft as he pulled her to her feet. Gaby watched as two men from UNCLE knelt beside Napoleon and lifted him up into their arms. Napoleon’s hand swung lifelessly at his side as they carried him out the room. With his hand on her back, Waverly led Gaby out of the basement and up into the light of afternoon. In the daylight, the blood covering Napoleon and Gaby was vivid and horrific. Gaby hardly noticed the bodies of guards lining the floor as she made her way to a helicopter parked in the hanger. She climbed in after they lifted Napoleon’s body into the main compartment.
Strapping herself into the seat, Gaby looked up when Illya sat down next to her. Despite the fresh blood splattered across his clothes and the dead look in his eyes, he was calm. As the helicopter took off, Illya’s hand found Gaby’s and they sat in mourning silence together.
The funeral was held the following week. There were only four people present. None of the women Napoleon had met throughout his life showed up. None of his comrades from the war appeared. Not even the men he worked with in the CIA made an appearance, they were more likely to be celebrating the long awaited condemnation of a war criminal. So with his family long dead, it was only Gaby, Illya, Waverly, and the pastor.
The day was sunny and warm, Napoleon’s favorite time of year in New York. Gaby wore a bright yellow dress Napoleon had picked out for her while they had been in London. With her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, Gaby stood next to a stoic Illya.
Illya’s bruised hands trembled in the sunlight as he remembered the sound of Napoleon’s breath leaving his body. He had been unable to sleep for the past week due to the nightmares waiting at the edge of his unconscious. Illya sat up late into the night, fruitlessly waiting for Napoleon to appear and make some snide joke about Russia. But when he did sleep, Illya would awake to a silent kitchen and Gaby sitting at the table with a lost look. She was usually found in that same spot every morning, her eyes gazing at the apron hanging on the door.
Both of them had yet to remember what their lives were like before Napoleon had barged in.
After listening to the pastor’s short speech about Napoleon’s goodness, which Gaby rolled her eyes heavily at, each one of them stepped forward to say their final goodbyes. Waverly went first and made it short, simply placing a flower in the casket. Illya followed after him and took his spot next to the casket.
Without speaking, Illya closed his eyes. He wasn’t positive about when Napoleon had become so important to him, but Illya knew he had never felt this broken before. He shifted in his suit uncomfortably before reaching down and taking off his father’s watch. The pain connected to the item seemed trivial in comparison to what he felt now. Placing the watch on top of the casket, Illya rested his hand against the wood.
“You’re still a terrible spy, Cowboy.” Sunlight glinted off of Napoleon’s ring on llya’s finger as he turned away. As he passed Gaby, he noticed the shiny tears sliding down her cheeks but didn’t say a word.
Last to go, Gaby stepped forward and came to a halt by the casket. She tried to take deep breaths to calm her tears but failed as her shoulders shook.
“I miss you,” she murmured before a watery smile appeared on her face, “It’s so weird how much my life circulated around you and your ridiculous jokes. I mean, who’s going to bicker with Illya about my clothes now?”
Gaby paused as she held in a sob, “You know, the other day I saw a girl at our hotel and immediately thought about you. It was so sick and wrong, but in some weird way, I was so happy to hold those memories of you.”
From across the cemetery, Waverly yelled, “Time to go. Our flight leaves soon.”
Feeling panic rise in her chest, Gaby frantically spoke as the hot tears rolled off her cheeks, “I miss you so fucking much Napoleon, and I know Illya does too. And without you here, I-I’m not sure how things will work out. But I promise to keep Illya in line for you and I promise to not drink as much. And I promise with all my heart that I will visit every last museum for you, since you always enjoyed dragging us to them so much.”
By the time she had finished, Gaby’s tears had dried and the sun had warmed her back considerably. She heard Waverly slam the car door and she took a step back from the casket.
“Goodbye.”
Gaby walked to Illya. His eyes were soft and heartbroken as she took his hand, Napoleon’s ring cold against her finger, and they turned away. Neither looked back.