Illya stepped onto the main floor of the casino, and tried to maintain a quiet disinterest as he strolled through the floor, catching the remnants of many conversations that would have interested the secret police if he were home behind the Curtain. Snippets of unfavorable political opinions, obvious exchanges of cash for illicit services, and the general abandon of proper decorum had Illya needing to shower immediately. The bright lights, loud music and discordant conversations were overwhelming; he suppressed everything, taking advantage of his height to scour through the crowd looking for his investigation's starting place.
He walked slowly with small steps to keep his breathing easy and maintain control of his limp. The jolt days ago of his car striking the back of the vehicle he pursued, slamming his knees into the dash, and the resultant roll down a hill had only added insult to injury. The press of the crumpled car's steering wheel to his chest had left its own damage, and while the injured ribs had not been serious, he was doing his best to leave off any strenuous activity. The sleep he gotten that afternoon had been unusually restorative; he had drifted off listening to Gaby absently mouthing along as she read, and as much as he wished she would go and explore, it was comforting having her there in his room. He envied Solo her company of the night before and yearned for Gaby to be here with him instead. If Illya wasn't so sure the American didn't have intentions toward Gaby, he would have been suspicious. Solo dressed their tomboy mechanic well, and had paid for someone to do up her hair. She had been ravishing. Perhaps the he had done it to tempt Illya, like the ways Solo had pushed them together.
If many things had been different, Illya would have delighted in pulling that dress off, but the pain and exhaustion of his injuries had made his wits dull, and his company poor. Not only had his discomfort made him step back. His increasing fear of being recalled to the KGB was the chief determinant in his refusal to proceed in their relationship. He would not abandon Gaby, and mirror the way his own family had been pulled apart. Waverly would not split them up while their team functioned efficiently, or dissolve the group, but he could trust the KGB to recall him if they deemed it necessary. And if Illya was recalled, he feared to think about what questions they would ask, and what they would demand. Illya was no longer sure how he would be able to respond such questions or orders. With that uncertainty hanging, Illya could not involve himself deeply with Gaby. He had finally stopped picturing the prostitutes and patriots that had been pushed on him when he had been training in the KGB and stopped thinking of his mother, or whenever he was alone with Gaby. Those experiences meant nothing to him in the face of Gaby's dark eyes, or her teasing grin, but he could tell she was frustrated, as she was nothing if not forward and outspoken. He feared making her feel rejected. This fear of attachment, and the consequences of intimate relations was something he could never discuss with the American agent who begrudgingly became his friend.
While Illya was aware of his own faults, his many characteristics that made him less than a man, he worked to better himself with no small influence from Solo and Gaby. Solo's identity was wrapped up in his flaws and his took pride in practicing his dark gifts. Both he and Solo would not be counted amongst heroes except that they employed their skills in the service of good man. Waverly's intent so far had been to seek and destroy new technologies that had the capability of causing mass casualties. Solo was a tool to that end, using his charisma to obfuscate UNCLE's motives, larcenous hands employed to locate and remove items better left unused, his photographic mind able to piece together cases. The man with all those gifts had not originally chosen to use them for the service of the world. He had been caught and imprisoned. Solo had pride and enjoyed testing the boundaries of his leash, and indulged what freedom he could, gambling, womanizing, and drinking.
Illya could not reconcile the moment that he considered this man his friend; when the mutual respect for their differing skill sets had evolved into trust and companionship. The American embodied everything Illya despised- his self-centered attitude, his treatment of women, his arrogance, and his indulgence in his vices, but in this moment on the casino floor, Illya was moved to keep his own rage in check, focusing on his mission, his task of identifying who had hurt Solo, and making them pay for their actions. It was for the man who had returned a watch to prevent a gunfight, who had burned computer disk to prevent conflicted loyalties, the man who had forgiven his temper, the man that encouraged him to pursue happiness, and the man who unwaveringly stood at his side during combat.
The woman Solo had described would be the most likely linchpin to discover what had happened to Solo earlier. Her timing was suspicious, leaving right before Solo was to be beaten, and he had dropped his guard and allowed her to get close to him. While that did not immediately make her guilty, on Illya's own turf, that would have been enough for him to have her picked up for a frank chat. Nothing so barbaric as he was sure Solo would picture. Torture only encouraged fabricated confessions, and admissions to false crimes created extra paperwork and unjust prosecutions. Instead, Illya implemented the dynamics of powerlessness. Having an uncooperative witness placed somewhere uncomfortable, left waiting restrained, thirsty, and listening to what sounded like forceful interrogation loosened tongues that were perhaps not those of the guilty party but aware of useful information. If that woman had been glued to Solo's side, she would have seen something. Solo had been distracted by his game, his strategy. Backgammon was not dissimilar to chess, and Illya understood how wrapped up in tactics one could become, but the woman would not have had that distraction. She would have been bored, looking about, and most women could not help but to listen in on other conversations. If Illya was lucky, she would have genuinely cared about Solo, and motivated to share what she knew for the American's sake alone.
Illya hummed low in displeasure, failing to spot the woman. A button in his collar sent audio back to where Solo and Gaby waited. In their spare time, he and Gaby should come up with a two way system. The ability to discreetly communicate with his teammates would have been invaluable a number of times. Illya felt a bit overwhelmed in his current role. Emulating charming conversation was not his strong suit, and his accent marked him as an unpopular nationality. He would never admit it, but having Solo feed him lines or even Gaby's input would smooth over his ungraceful tongue.
Illya noticed men in industrially cut suits watching him, lingering at the casino floor's edges, but rather less than he would have guessed. Two had recently changed their shirts, and three had fresh facial injuries. Illya smirked at the damages from Solo's fight; ambushed unfairly and held at gunpoint, Solo gave more than they had repaid. The American agent always got the better end of the deal.
Illya slipped in at a blackjack table as a cover. As he predicted, with a bit of disdain for their profession, the casino thugs' eyes fell away from Illya, uninterested in watching a playing patron. Blackjack was a game Illya could play without saying a word, and from this spot he could see most of the room. Only one other man sat at the table, with a well-endowed blonde cuddled in his lap. She wore an unflattering cheap gown, and was covered in costume jewelry to the point of tackiness. Illya sneered inwardly. No self-respecting man let his woman walk around like that. Neither of the couple appeared happy, only a small stack of chips remaining in front of the man, and the woman looked Illya up and down critically.
Illya anted up, and looked down at the cards, one ten showing, and a hidden nine. The dealer looked tired, and though he wore an artificially attentive expression, he rocked on his heels and shifted his weight frequently, rubbing wrists that were beginning to look arthritic. The man had obviously been here most of the night. He would likely not have heard about the back room events. The dealer's eyes did not shine with unshared gossip. Illya waved his hand flat across the table, and wagged his eyebrows at the blonde. The deck was almost through, and fortunately he had no desire to lose his money. It would be easy enough to start counting once it was shuffled anew while he waited to see if the woman in green would show herself. Pretending to admire the cheaply dressed woman was in poor taste, but he might get the couple to say something useful
"You just got here, didn't you?" The blonde asked, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.
"Of course he did, he just sat down. Hit me." The man thumped his hand down on the table boorishly. "Might as well win something tonight." With a queen showing, Illya doubted the wisdom of the move, and as he predicted the man's face blanched, as he tossed over a seven to match the new card. The dealer busted from eighteen. Illya flipped his hole card, and gathered the hand's winnings, leaving his ante.
"Everyone else seems to have the luck tonight," the loser groused. "Except that American chap didn't get away with it. If he didn't deserve the prize money, why didn't they award it to me? I should have gotten it, if he cheated his way into first place."
Illya hummed questioningly. So this was Solo's final opponent. He looked as self-absorbed as Solo had intimated, but Illya was surprised to see the woman still on the man's arm. Perhaps it was love, the love two shallow creatures could have for one another.
"I was in the final game of the backgammon tournament, and the man I played was a cheat. I should have suspected it myself, I never play so poorly." The man said snidely.
"How could opponent's cheating change your play?" Illya could not help but ask in indignation on Solo's behalf. The man had clearly not been on the one to inform on Solo's purported misconduct. His own interpretation of events was illogical. Illya found the whole idea of cheating at backgammon ridiculous, since predictably getting just one dice result would not be enough of an advantage for a weak player.
Everyone at the table looked at Illya again, and the Russian wished he had kept quiet. "The man was obviously a masterful liar."
"Of course." Illya smiled his best smile to soothe ruffled feathers. He watched the woman blush a bit. Illya may not have had the gift of gab, but he was aware of how to use his other talents.
"You know, I heard last month the winner of the poker tournament was also found to be cheating, and they held the final prize then, too." The man grumbled.
The next hand dealt, clearing the shoe, and Illya was dismayed to see a seven, and an eight. His opponent had a nine. Illya tapped the table with his finger. A ten topped his cards, and he shook his head ruefully and stood. "Is not my game." He turned over his cards.
In truth, Illya was aware of the poor odds the players in the game had against the house, and marveled at his luck in gaining at least that much information. He moved to bar for a drink to use as a prop, and glimpsed the flash of a green dress and red hair. He bought two drinks instead, pasting on his most engaging expression, and did his best to casually approach her. She could only be the one who had left Solo. She leaned against the pillar, and Illya saw one foot tap the ground, obviously upset. Illya moved out so he could approach within her line of sight. He had no desire to scare the woman. Yet.
"You look lonely," Illya said with the most disarming look he could muster. He held out the drink, an old-fashioned, exactly what she had drunk with Solo. One painted eyebrow arched imperiously at him and she ignored the drink. No facial tics belied recognition, so unless she was very good, she did not know who he was.
"I've not had the best night," she answered after a moment. "What do you want?"
Illya smiled genuinely. "I had wanted the pleasure of your company, but perhaps you need a friendly ear more?" Illya tilted his head to two stools at the bar. "You could drink and complain. And I will sit and say nothing."
"Fine." She grabbed the drink from him, and marched to sit at the bar. "An old-fashioned please, Bernard," she called to the bartender.
"That's the same as I bought you. Good guess?" Illya asked, and watch her drink.
"Hmm, a great choice," she sighed. "I work here, you know, and despite how wonderful it is, the last thing I want to do on my days off is come back." Illya sat on his stool and rocked it forward to sit closer to the bar, keeping the wince of pain from his face at the jarring movement. "So here I am, with the most entertaining man I've met in a while. And then I come back, from… from freshening up. And where's he gone? Without a word to me. I've spent the last hour hunting for him. What a fool I am."
"Perhaps another woman caught his eye." Illya suggested heartlessly. If she had truly nothing to do with Solo's attack, she would respond angrily; or hurt if she was an innocent tryst.
"He had eyes only for me. You must know what I mean," she gestured up and down at herself. She was obviously accustomed to a soft lifestyle; too pretty, and had no character. Not his preference.
"Indeed." He also noted that her reaction was cold, vain and truthful. It was not the reaction of a woman scorned.
"Perhaps something else distracted him. What were you up to tonight?" Illya wished he could have asked more subtly, but English was such a blunt language in his grasp.
"Myself, not much," she looked away from him. It was a lie. "He was too busy at first winning the backgammon tournament to pay attention to me."
"That is unfortunate," Illya said, and stroked his hand along her jaw, biting down the bile that rose in his throat. Solo's ability to consort with poisonous creatures was beyond Illya's understanding.
"Why do even care?" She said, and pulled back from his caress, knocking back her drink. "Why would you want to hear about another man?"
"I like hearing you speak. French accents are very exotic, and you are a very beautiful woman." Illya answered, hoping the appeal to her obvious vanity struck true. Solo would have said something shorter, and more profound, brevity being the soul of wit.
She moved to the glass Illya had bought for her, and the bartender bustled by, knocking it over with his elbow. She jumped like a wet cat, and nearly hissed. "Really, Bernard. This is a new dress." Illya grabbed a stack of towels from behind the bar, and dabbed at the alcohol.
"Get us some club soda," Illya ordered, as the bartender blushed. "The color of the dress is dark. If you are lucky it won't stain." Illya dabbed at her lap and she pushed his hands away from her.
"That's fine, I'll finish."
"What is your name?" Illya asked, as he dipped a fresh cloth in soda and handed it to her.
"Vianne," she answered smoothly. If he knew nothing else about her, he would have no reason to doubt.
"What a lovely name. I have not heard it before." And he hadn't. It was not the name she'd given Solo. Illya took a sip of his own drink, disgusted with the flavor.
"It's been lovely, but I fear that this is my call to retire for the night," Vianne said and stood as she gestured downwards. The wet dress clung oddly to her leg, bunched around something strapped to her thigh. Illya jerked his eyes up as quickly as he could. She was already turning to leave.
"May I walk you home? I would not want you to run into trouble alone." Illya said, and wondered how far he would be able to push her. That was no purse belted to her thigh. If he did not miss his guess, it was Solo's gun. This woman was implicated, and he would take the opportunity. Solo have need to forgive Illya's interruption of their affair.
Illya stood and the world shifted oddly. He blinked his eyes and carried on. It took a few long strides to catch up, ones that wrenched at his chest and his knees. "My, you are stubborn. I usually like that in a man." Vianne pushed him back with a single hand, and to Illya's chagrin he felt himself lean backwards. His hip contacted another table, and he grabbed at it as his feet came out from under him. He landed on his back on the marble floor. "I do believe this man has had too much to drink," she laughed. "Boys, help him outside."
Illya blinked furiously. His body was sluggish, and he felt unwell, but he did not close his eyes, and rolled onto his belly. Pain bolstered him as he pushed himself onto his bruised knees. He forced himself up and reached through the slit in her dress, and pulling the familiar gun. He pushed the safety off and ran a snug arm around her neck. "Back up slowly." The words slurred more than he wished.
"You are going to be sorry you got up, comrade," Vianne hissed, all hint of French accent gone. "I would have let you live. The KGB does not trouble us."
Illya dug the gun into her side. "KGB does not tolerate women lying. What did you do to the American?"
"Nothing permanent, darling. Why do you care?" She answered as Illya backed them away. All the surrounding eyes were on them, and ominous men in black suits approached. Illya fired a shot through her hair to strike the wall harmlessly and she shrieked.
"American agent is my concern. Who do you work for?" Illya said, hating how slowly he was enunciating. The world was growing dim. He tried to head them toward the fire exit, but the woman moved very slowly. She put an elbow into his ribs, and Illya squeezed off another shot in reflex. As he bent into the blow, trying to direct its energy into his side instead of his core, he saw the bullet punch into the bartender. The man crashed to the floor. While the man had put something into his drink, it was a violent retribution. "Who do you work for?" The patrons on the casino floor were all running now, creating a barrier between them and the casino thugs.
"I'll never tell you. They'd kill me." She spat, and rammed back against him. Illya turned with her and shoved her to the floor. He kept spinning, and fell against the door, grabbing the handle with one hand and dropping the gun, to push the bolt back with his other. It was harder than it should have been to line up the slotted metal, and he fell through the door once it opened, landing heavily in the back alley. His vision went black as the air pushed out of his lungs. He lay there straining to get up as he saw Vianne rise and pick up the gun. It fired twice and he waited for the pain, as he rolled himself clumsily away. Illya closed his eyes.
Instead he heard the thump of two bodies, and the slam of the door. He opened his eyes to see the women eject the bullets from the magazine and throw them at his chest. She meant to frame him for murders he had not gotten to commit. "For luck, darling," Vianne kissed the corner of his mouth as she bent and slipped off those expensive shoes, and sprinted away between the buildings.
His large hands fumbled with the gun and the bullets, he heard the small shells bounce away. Solo would be so disappointed, and now Gaby would never see him again. He would not last long in a Moroccan jail. French influence was still strong here, and they were no fans of Communists. Illya let his head drop. He rolled himself to his side, overbalanced, and ended up on his stomach, feeling the world blink in and out of focus. His forehead felt cool on the cobbles. A hand gripped his arm, and everything went black.
MFU
Solo heard the crash of tables and the dangerous change in tone of the woman he had been intimately interested in only hours before. There was some shuffling coming through the bug on Illya's collar, and then the distinctive sound of a gun being readied to fire behind Solo. The Russian voice was not as crisp as it should have been, and the unmistakable sounds of grunting breaths filled the mike.
Another gun sound had Solo glancing at Gaby, looking about as pleased as a she-wolf. She placed her own gun in the pocket of the long white coat she wore, and put out a hand to Solo. "Are you coming with me?" She'd been ready to depart in an instant the moment Illya had left the room, not sitting to listen to Illya's transmitter, and had paced, faster the moment he began speaking with Vianne. Solo watched her annoyance with some relief. These two spies of his made an interesting couple. He feared for the mission that called for either of them to be a honey trap, since neither coped particularly well with flirtations from the opposite sex.
Solo wondered if Gaby would be half as riled if he was the one in the casino. He shrugged on Illya's brown leather jacket, and flipped up the collar. Pain bit at him, but more so the uncertainty of what he and Gaby would find. His own damage had been mostly cosmetic, and he'd been beaten up before. He'd watch his urine for blood, and ensure that his abdomen did not bruise too badly. Ideally he would avoid any future confrontations until he had healed, but as he followed Gaby down the stairs, noticing she could run well in shorter heels, this was simply not an option.
The last few words Solo had caught before the door slammed shut had him confused; the redhead, Vianne or Juliana, marked Illya as an agent, but did not seem aware of his connection to Solo. Illya had picked up on that as well, and implied he that he was there to take Solo out. He pounded after Gaby out the side door of the hotel, and across the street. She turned to run into the casino, hesitating at the flood of people leaving. Solo shook his head. Caught in a crush of panicky crowd was not somewhere he wanted to be. "This way. Illya was by the bar." He led her around the corner, and saw the long figure lying in the alley. A flash of green disappeared around the far corner, and he saw Gaby pelt down the alley after Vianne. "Gaby!" Solo shouted, sprinting up the pavement and dropping to his knees to turn Illya on his side.
"Come on, Peril." Solo pulled again, dodging a slow-moving fist. "No time for that." Illya's head lolled on his shoulders. "Gaby!" Solo snapped desperately and tried to sit the Russian up. In the dim light, a stain on Illya's mouth caught Solo's eye. He took a moment to wipe the crimson lipstick from his partner's face, and wondered how the Russian had gotten further than he had. He got Illya's arm around his shoulders, and tried to stand up slowly. Illya's legs remained limp, and Solo was wracked with pain for his efforts. Sooner or later someone was going to burst through that door, or the police were going to come. He did not know if Waverly was going to disavow his agents if he had to choose between that and bailing them out of Moroccan jail, but the Englishman had a peculiar sense of humor. The sound of running made him look up sharply, and Gaby was there, coming up under Illya's other arm.
"Couldn't catch her. She got into a car. I heard sirens," Gaby panted. "Let's go." Between the two of them, they manhandled Illya across the street, dodging into the side door of the hotel before the flashing lights came around the corner. Illya made a token effort to move his feet as they dragged him. It was late, and no bellhop stood at attention so they made it into to the elevators without being seen.
"Solo, do you think he's hurt, shot?" Gaby asked, her face turning red as she struggled to hold up her part of Illya's bulk.
"Have to check in the room, but it sounded like they drugged him." Solo answered, his own voice strained. Sitting quietly listening to the audio, had done a bit to restore his raw throat and Illya's ordered tea and aspirin had done wonders, but running around was quickly destroying its polished edge.
Getting out onto their floor was another dilemma, and less sneakily done. Other residents of the hotel looked at the three of them snootily, as they emerged from the elevator. Gaby was disheveled, Solo bruised, and Illya hanging like a deflated balloon between them. "Good party," Solo commented wryly, as they navigated the door carefully. The bug on Illya's collar buzzed with feedback, and Solo turned off the transmitter.
"This is bigger than I thought," Solo said, as they draped Illya's upper body on the bed. "She had us made. She knew to watch out for me at least, and called Illya as KGB." Solo's thoughts turned over the conversation he had heard. He would have Illya play back the recording later, where they could comb through it.
Gaby undid Illya's suit jacket. "She did not connect us, though. Why? Did she just know you as CIA? I'm not sure she even mentioned that you were a spy." Gaby smoothed her hands through Illya's hair, and wiped the dirt from his face. Solo went to grab a washcloth and crumpled over. His gut clenched in pain. In a moment, small strong arms encircled him, and pushed him back to the davenport. "Solo, sit. Do you need a doctor?" His head swam a bit and he waited to answer until he was sure he could tell the truth.
Gaby's hand skimmed down his face as well. "Okay, let's get your feet up." He felt her grab his legs and plop them down on the coffee table. "Lie back a moment. Close your eyes." Solo felt a measure of warmth and heard Gaby turn away. She came back with a warm towel, and draped it over his forehead.
"I think you almost fainted," she said, and Solo heard the bedsprings bounce.
"That's impossible. I don't faint." Solo answered, and felt the world rock around him. "If you call the doctor tonight, we'll have the police knocking on our door come morning. Check Illya first. If he has any extra holes we may not have a choice."
"He's not bleeding and there's no fresh bruising. His head's not hurt." He heard her sigh in relief, and smiled a small smile that still managed to ache. He felt her kneel in front of him. She untucked his shirt and pushed it up his chest.
"I'm really not up for that tonight…" He was cut off with a withering look.
"You are only brave enough to say this because Illya is drugged unconscious." The heel of her hand pushed none ungently against his stomach as she palpated several spots. "How was that?"
"Better for you, I imagine." Solo said, a grunt in his voice.
"I don't think you're bleeding badly, if at all." Gaby answered with a roll of her eyes. She moved back to Illya. "There was no rigidity, just a little bruising. So what am I supposed to do with you both?"
"As long as I don't bleed to death, and Illya doesn't choke on his own vomit, we'll survive until the morning, and then we get on to the plane Waverly arranged, and have him send a doctor."
"This was all for nothing. Whatever it is they were scared of, we did not find it, and I almost lost you both." Solo turned and saw Gaby settled on the bed, Illya's head in her lap. Solo wished he had a camera in reach, or that Illya was conscious enough to appreciate his circumstances.
"Something larger is going on, for sure. They are watching for us." Solo answered. There was something he was missing from the night's events. He was sure most of the clues were there waiting to be unraveled, but not now.
"That's comforting," Gaby said sarcastically, her fingertips combing Illya's hair.
"I like having a puzzle to crack."
"I like being in one piece."
"It makes things more interesting. I do wish to see Miss Vianne again." Solo said wistfully. Her smoky eyes held passion that could not have been faked. He wondered how the night might have gone if things were different.
"I think they hit you harder in the head than I first thought." Gaby said. Solo closed his eyes.
A low moan rumbled and Solo heard the bedsprings creak. "What is this?" Illya was waking up. Hard to keep a man of that size down for long.
"Gaby's in bed with you," Solo answered, not chancing a look back at the couple. "Did you have a good time?"
"Cowboy. I am in no mood for games." Illya said, and it sounded like he was speaking into the comforter.
"At the casino, Peril, did you have a fun at the casino? I doubt we will ever be allowed back." Solo quipped mournfully, because up until the part where the casino heavies brought him to the back room, he was having a lovely vacation.
"Boys," Gaby said, very quietly. "I'm very tired. And since neither of you are fit to keep watch tonight, I would very much appreciate it if we could get you settled, and then I could continue reading. That is after I wake up Waverly." Gaby came off the bed then, and Solo heard her helping Illya to sit slowly and shuffle up the bed. It seemed to take an inordinately long time of pillow rearranging and hand holding. "Can you breathe?" she asked Illya crisply
"A little breathless." Solo heard the sound of a light kiss. "Much better."
"That's no apology. I heard you flirt with that woman." Gaby said, but lightly. Solo turned a bit to see. The Russian had a goofy, drugged grin on his face; as close to drunk as Solo had ever seen him.
"Woman was too easy to flirt with," Illya answered. "Obvious why Solo went for her."
"And what does that mean?" Gaby's her easy manner quickly evaporating.
"Like my women strong, independent. You gave Solo a hard time, made fun of his important suit," Illya answered, his eyes closed. "Good judge of character."
Solo restrained a chuckle as the mechanic pursed her lips, and stood from where she was perched at the side of the bed. Gaby appeared at his elbow. "Up you come." She held out her hands.
"Where I am I going?" Solo asked. She nodded her head to the queen-sized bed behind them.
"Both of you need to rest, and I would like to sit comfortably for the night." Gaby answered, and helped Solo stand. She walked him to the other side of the bed, and removed off Illya's jacket, and borrowed overlarge shoes. "In you go."
Solo lay down awkwardly. "This is not how I imagined spending my night."
"At least you ended up in bed with someone," Gaby said, a hint of jealousy in her tone. He'd have to contrive a good cover for them next time to make up for this. Something where they were married, and a small hotel that only had one bed per room, a bed and breakfast perhaps. It was his way of saying thank you.
"Solo, if you touch me in my sleep, I may mistake you as assassin, and kill you." Illya said without a hint of teasing.
"Sweet dreams, Peril." Solo curled up onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest for comfort, and listened to Gaby make her way over to the radio, and give their handler the run down on the night. It was a long explanation and their East German teammate did not mince words, but she was fair.
"No, we did not get a name for the organization responsible. Yes we'll keep looking, sir. Over and out."
MFU
Solo's eyes shot open as he leveled his gun at the person who stepped into the hotel room. The fast movement had him cringing, but his gun stayed level until he saw Gaby freeze, her arms bundled with what appeared to be his suitcase. The gun was ripped painfully from his fingers. Solo did not look at Illya, and instead carefully edged out of the bed.
"Good morning, Gaby." Solo nodded. "May I help you?" Solo wondered how she had gotten it. He was surprised any of his things were even intact. The suitcase itself looked undamaged.
Gaby set it down, and looked a little smug. "That's alright, did you get enough beauty sleep."
He heard Illya grunt softly as he pulled himself up to sit. "Not worth risk."
Solo winced as he saw Gaby's eyebrows arch. "No one was watching the room. I broke in, and collected what was left of Solo's things. No one saw me."
"Nice work, Agent Teller," Solo agreed. She bobbed her head at him. Illya sighed, his face radiating thwarted disapproval. "I had some time to think last night. At the blackjack table, my last opponent mentioned to Illya another time where a grand prize winner was accused of cheating and no prizes were paid out. It is too coincidental the lovely casino hostess turned out to be an enemy agent."
"Would have liked a chance to have a talk with her privately." Illya said.
"As would I," Solo continued. "Perhaps it was never about me."
"Waverly should look into the casino's financials," Gaby surmised. "Perhaps they are funding illegal activities."
"It would not be the first time. A lot of money flows through those doors." Solo agreed.
"That hostess had no loyalty or interest in casino," Illya countered. "I saw her shoot two guards with no hesitation to put blame on me. Not that I mind."
"She may be employed higher up in the organization, to ensure dealings go smoothly. You Peril, are anything but smooth," Solo said, "We'll have to be more careful. If she is involved in something bigger, she has our faces, and can connect us."
"Good thing we're spies too," Gaby said. She set down the suitcase on the davenport. Solo picked sadly through the contents of the suitcase, and selected a mismatched jacket and trousers, with a rueful shake of his head. He would need to replace his wardrobe back in New York, but as he looked to where Gaby sat at the head of the bed, Illya's large hands gripping the base of her neck and pressing his thumbs up her spine, Solo felt relief that he did not need to train two new partners after this disastrous affair.
"At least some of us are," Illya countered. "I was a perfect listener. Gaby was a great sneak thief. What do we even need the Cowboy for?"
Solo blinked. Gaby answered before he could defend himself, "Someone to get us into trouble."
"I unraveled the financial underpinnings of a criminal enterprise. Does that grant me no credit?" Solo asked.
"Not after you were the victim of the honeypot," Illya said. "That is basic spy craft. Negative points for this."
"You were poisoned!"
"But I succeeded in exposing your seductress as enemy spy," Illya pointed out. "Now we just need to identify her, and trace her back to an organization."
"Gentlemen, we have a plane to catch, and I have not slept since yesterday morning." Gaby stood at the foot of the bed, rubbing her brow. "I think we all agree you are both terrible spies."
MFU
Thank you to everyone who liked/kudos this story, and those who took the time to leave me a comment!
Please let me know what you thought of the conclusion, as I took the opportunity to introduce a future villain.
The next story is proving a new challenge to write as it very emotional, so please bear with me. It will be up when it's ready.
EDIT: Just got the chance to upload the beta'd second chapter. Any remaining mistakes are my own. She should be thanked for her tireless efforts to rein in my typos, disregard of grammar and whimsical wordiness.
Appendix
Odds Are - Barenaked Ladies
House of the Rising Sun - The Animals
Down Poison – 3 Doors Down