Intentionally Misfiled Reports #2

21 Days Later, New York Ciy

It was just a whisper, a hint of a rumour. But pulling on that thread, hoping for the whole mess to unravel was exponentially more than they had to work with since he disappeared. And hope was all they could cling to anymore, and cling to each other. Spending three weeks talking to contacts, informants, and the underpinnings of society, sometimes in very high places had brokered no news. It was as if he had simply disappeared, defying any logic or law of nature. Because he was a force of nature, and the top agent of any espionage outfit did not disappear quietly into the night.

Waverly had voiced quietly that maybe he wanted an out, and took it. Gaby had slapped her commander. Waverly nodded as if it was his due, and got back to looking for his missing man. She no longer wept when considering the missing man's fate. Too many tears had fallen already. He never would have walked away, no matter the pressure of his home agency and displeasure from the top, not with his partner still in the hospital, and promise of a swift return with fresh clothes for the both of them fresh from his lips. He walked out of the hospital and vanished like a genie from a tale, back into a bottle, hidden away.

The circumstances defied any reasonable explanation. Both of U.N.C.L.E.'s cases had been neatly wrapped up. The Istanbul terrorist cell had been apprehended, or unmistakably killed. Gaby's partners may have diverse skill sets, but neither were hesitant to dispense justice when the stakes were high, or in defence of each other. It gave her pause at times, how coldly Solo worked, and with the dark precision that Kuryakin operated. But these two men had already proved their devotion to her. This time she meant to demonstrate to all of the world if she had to, what it meant hurt her boys.

Family was now a metaphor to Gaby. But she did not consider it an abstract, undefinable concept. She held fond memories of her childhood with her foster family, initially taking her in for the stipend during war times, well compensated for raising of the daughter of a well-respected scientist. She had bonded with the man who taught her the family business, having no sons. And she learned well and quickly enough to impress her beloved papa, tinkering, inventing, and improving upon what she touched. Gaby had given up on dreams of her own father returning, knowing that he had forfeited any paternal rights the moment he was told by the government to put his career above his daughter. Uncle Rudy was an enigma to her. Solo had told her Rudy was dead. Something in his eyes stopped her from asking Solo deeper questions. Rudy had been heavily embedded within a criminal organization, and was guilty. At first Gaby had believed Solo to be protecting her, but a genuine expression of some buried emotion on a normally well composed artificial face warned her away. For now, given a chance and the right moment, she would discover what had locked up Napoleon's silver tongue.

Gaby's family, her boys, now was what drove her to work through her broadening skills, and test her courage. She knew if either of them ever discovered the situations she had orchestrated to look for the missing team member, they would applaud, and then arrange for her to spend the rest of her career behind a desk, if only to protect her from their influence. She gave her partner in hospital only the highlights. He gave her some feedback, and different ideas. Otherwise she spent the morning looking through her partners' meticulous notes, practicing the nuances of her English, and working closely with Waverly to decipher the half Cyrillic, half English codes. The afternoons and evenings were spent pounding the pavement when she had some theory to work through, or nursing the man who lay frustrated in hospital, waiting for his turn to find their lost man.

Gaby had until today, felt just as tied down and helpless as her remaining partner. Waverly had done everything he could have, and was sweating with absence of any intel. All three of his agents had confidential information stored in their heads, which given the opportunity could damage the new organization. But the two men had years of codes and phrases, personnel files, and safe house's tucked away, and that information in the wrong hands could rip those annoying three letter organizations in half, along with many of its competitors. The top agent was privy to much, and had likely discovered much more.

Waverly stood firmly that until there was evidence that the man had talked, or his fate was known, he was not to be burned. The obstinate and self-righteous former handler almost done it, out of fear. Gaby had asked what that meant. She had gone still at the answer. Kill on sight, regardless of the agent's disposition, and ruthless removal of comprisable assets- property and people.

So now that Gaby had some gossamer strand to follow, she pursued it with single-minded determination. Three weeks later, and her partner stood unsteadily at her side, his eyes blown with pain medication. He canted dangerously on his own, and then affected a lean on the wall of the alley as they watched the only entrance to a small building lining New York's impressive harbour. Anticipation and wariness wrapped them both. A street urchin said he'd seen some one brought in who was idyllic of the description she had painted of her missing comrade. But that was a week ago, and the urchin had not kept watch. Anything could have happened between then and now, if it was indeed her man that was brought in there, and not some drunk dock worker needing an out of the way spot to recuperate away from the foreman, or any other number of explanations that could steal this away from her.

Oddly the urchin had come to her looking for some reward, because word was passing on the street that beautiful woman was ripping apart the seams to look for her beau. She rolled her eyes at the irony, having played a few roles so far with her companions, she could play it again if it meant getting him back. So the warm presence at her back protected her with the same determination to keep her safe, as she walked willingly into what may have been a trap. Because he wanted his partner back just as much as she did, and even in his condition, he could cover her in this simple set up.

Istanbul had been hard on him. Perhaps he would not have been so badly injured if he had been in perfect health at the start of the mission, but the hungover presence of their first escapade together had affected everyone. Illya's and Napoleon's trust issues and teamwork required much improvement, but both men were evolving. Gaby had thought the time that the men needed to recover would allow the three of them to bond better, and develop a sense of home in New York. She had vainly wished this interlude would have been used to train her with some of the more practical sides of spy craft, but she had instead developed her own contacts and her street smarts as Napoleon would have called it.

So when Gabby walked across the dock under the cover of night, kitted up in tactical clothes, and mask over her face, no one could see her expression when she used Illya's tool to pick her first lock. No one saw her face half as cold as Napoleon's, or her fingers on the grip of the gun half as sure as Illya's. And no one saw the look of dread when she indeed found her errant partner hanging from the ceiling.

He looked dead, his lips cyanotic, face grey, and dark shadows under his eyes. His arms were pulled over his head to two separate chains and tied apart so that he created a Y shape with his arms and heavy body. His lower half dipped into the open trap door into the ocean below. His knees to feet dangled submerged into the ocean. The roll of the waves rocked him slightly so he was never still, but still Gabby could see no intentional movement, and certainly no reaction to the door of his prison opening. He swayed, his head rolling limply on his shoulders. Gabby could hear the waves breaking.

Gabby shook herself, she had been transfixed with the sight of him, but a quick sweep of the room revealed no guards, no others waiting to take her on. She was never accused of being meek, but the sight now burned into her memory gave her some understanding of Illya's moods. Nothing would have pleased her more than one of the men involved being present. But, having found him, her Illya, she hated to leave him here for even a moment. Necessity made her turn and run back out on the dock, her steps now thudding deeply in her ears, as her own heart rate soared.

The black clad men stepped out toward her, limping as ably as he could, his gun raised and swinging back and forth with military precision. "All's clear."

Gaby ripped her balaclava up and holstered her gun. "He's in there." But her tone told her partner everything.

She turned quickly back into the room and felt a strong, almost painfully so grip on her shoulder as she led Solo in and up to where Illya was still suspended from the rafters. Deep wounds were evident where the rope dug in, and oddly enough, where the rope also hung taunt from his ankles.

Solo made a soft choked noise. She felt herself start to tremble. She reached up to Illya's cold neck, hidden by the musculature of his arms.

"Christ on the cross." And that was the most religious thing she had heard that man ever say. "Asphyxiation."

Gaby frowned not sure what she felt, was it her own heart rate that thrummed against her fingers, or was it a hallucination, or was it his pulse. And she screamed when those arm muscles contracted and Illya pulled his feet of out of the water, got his shoulders up to level of his elbows, and took a stubbornly deep breath.

MFU

I hope my efforts to be purposefully vague as to who was in the hospital and who was missing weren't too confusing, but rest assured, its hurt and comfort for everyone. This vaguely follows the events I set forth in other fic Weakness is no Shame Among Partners, but that was just me amping up the hurt comfort in the movie.

I would really appreciate feedback on this as well.