This is a bit of a quiet, slow chapter, but the next one will be very loud!
Gabby
.
It took him a really, really, long time to pass out.
Gabby had to admire his force of will, if nothing else.
He fumbled for a few more minutes, trying to knock away her hand, making a valiant attempt to crawl about foot away before he was too weak to hold himself up. Eventually his body stilled, and he lay at her feet, eyes drooping closed, blinking desperately back open, and then beginning to droop again.
It was both pathetic and inspiring at the same time. He just Would. Not. Give. Up.
She felt a twinge of guilt shift in her stomach.
Gabby hadn't planned on doing this tonight. She hadn't even been sure he'd come by the bar tonight. She wasn't ready.
For one thing, he was way bigger in real life. She'd known he was tall. But this tall? He had to be over two hundred pounds of solid muscle. How was she going to move him?
The thing was, she hadn't planned on liking him so much. He was just a picture taken from afar, a list of personal statistics, an interesting name on paper, until he'd come looming up behind her, nearly making her spit out her drink. It turned out Illya Kuryakin was funny. He played with the watch on his wrist when he was nervous. He was insatiably curious and actually listened when she spoke. Illya was quick to anger, but also painfully careful not to break the barstool when he sat on it, not to accidentally snap the pencil he was using to doodle on a napkin, not to bruise her wrist when he helped her down from her chair. He had absurdly long eyelashes, and blushed a deep pink every time he'd made her laugh.
She liked him, so she couldn't risk it. There might never be a better opportunity. She had to take him tonight.
Which was why Gabby was here in a dark parking lot with a giant at her feet.
"I can't believe I'm doing this."
This was the part the movies never showed. The scene faded to black, and the protagonist woke up in the kidnapper's lair. But getting him from A to B? That was going to be the hardest part.
Gabby crouched down and reached out to press two fingers against Illya's throat. His eyes had finally closed. She'd given him the absolute maximum suggested dose of the sedative, and was hoping very much that she hadn't accidentally killed him. There was no pulse, but that didn't say much. She could never find her own, either. Leaning forward, she set her ear to his chest.
Good, a strong heartbeat.
She couldn't help lingering another second. His chest was firm, and surprisingly warm, considering how icy his hands had been.
Scrambling to her feet, Gabby turned to look at her truck. So much for getting Illya to sit down inside for a minute to 'rest'. That would have made this whole thing miraculously easy.
First things first. If she dragged him down to the parking lot level, she'd never get him back up into the truck. Gabby grabbed the keys from her purse and jumped down to the pavement. When she climbed into the cab of her truck and turned the ignition, she was almost tempted to just drive away and forget this.
"Deep breath. You can do this," she reminded herself. Another couple hours and he'd been hidden away her basement, where no one could find him.
She backed her pickup all the way until the bumper was just touching the retaining wall, and then jumped out to look. The bed of the pickup was about a foot higher than the level of the grass, which was not ideal, but still manageable.
Gabby grabbed a heavy-duty tarp from the back of her truck, set aside for exactly this occasion. First she anchored two ends to the tie-down rings at the back of the truck, and then climbed back up to the grass beside Illya.
"Just a minute and we'll have you moving."
She was talking to an unconscious man.
He of course didn't respond, which was a relief, but also really boring. She kind of wanted to know what Illya's response would have been to all this.
Unrolling the rest of the tarp, Gabby stopped to eye the distance. Illya had fallen right beside the fence. Thank goodness they'd made it as far as they had. She didn't know how she could have moved him if he'd passed out on the other side of the fence. She could probably roll him the fifteen or so feet, to the back of the pickup, but this method would be faster.
Gabby dropped to her knees beside Illya's body, taking a moment to look him over.
He'd ended up on his stomach, with one arm folded underneath him, his left cheek pressed against the grass. It looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to be breathing easily.
She pushed the tarp as far underneath his body as she could, and then pushed him over so he was lying on his back, fully on the tarp. His legs tangled as she moved him, so she took a moment to straighten them out. Then Gabby returned to the cab, put the pickup into gear and rolled down the window. Setting one elbow on the sill, she leaned out, twisting to see behind her.
"Slowly," Gabby muttered, as she edged the pickup forwards. She wanted to pull Illya right up to the end of the grass, but not yank him over the edge where he'd possibly fall and crack his head open on the pavement below.
When she was sure he was as close to the edge as was safe, she put the pickup in park, and climbed out to inspect her work.
Perfect.
Exactly where she wanted him.
His left arm had slipped over the edge of the retaining wall, so she folded it up over his chest.
She backed the truck up again, and then considered the next step: getting Illya up that foot of height into the flatbed. She could lift his upper body off the ground, but couldn't pull hard enough to move him. She could drag his legs up into the bed, but as soon as she moved his torso they just slipped back onto the grass.
In the end, she dragged his legs into the pickup bed, tied them in place, and used an aluminum baseball bat from the backseat to sort of lever him the rest of the way up.
Gabby crawled into the back of the pickup and pulled the tailgate closed behind her.
Illya was facing away from her, his face obscured, but his short blonde hair bright, even in the darkness. With his ankles secured to one end of the pickup, she pushed him until he was stretched the length of the vehicle. His head rolled a little as she lifted his shoulder. He really had the most amazing, long eyelashes. She reached out to touch them where they lay feathered across his cheek. They were soft and shifted under her touch, not stiff with mascara like her own were at the moment.
She brushed back a tuft of hair that had fallen in his face. "We're almost done here."
Grabbing both his wrists, she tied them to the closest tether point. It was more to make sure that he didn't slide around in the back of the truck than anything else. He was still going to be unconscious for a very long time. Finally, she tucked the tarp around him so he was hidden from view.
Before she left, she took a minute to sit with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel of her truck. It had been a long night, and it was just going to get longer from here on in.
"Suck it up, Gabby," she told herself. "You wanted this, so you deal with the consequences."
She put the truck into drive and pulled out onto the empty road.
They weren't returning to her apartment. Her uncle hadn't said anything, but she was sure he was suspicious of what she was up to. If he was watching her apartment, she couldn't let him follow her from there to her current destination. No one else knew about her old penpal, so they wouldn't be able to find the connection between her, and the empty house her friend was letting her use. She'd be completely off the radar, and Illya with her.
The rumble of the pickup reverberated pleasantly through her bones as she drove down the dark city roads. There were still many hours till sunlight, and once she got close to her destination it wouldn't matter anyways. The house was set far back from the road, so there would be no one to see, or hear, anything
When she arrived, she backed the truck as close to the front door as she could. Then she dragged every single pillow, couch cushion and blanket in the house outside, and dumped them behind the back of the truck.
When she untied Illya he didn't make a sound. Gabby winced when she realised his wrists and ankles were red where the ropes had bit into him. At least he hadn't been tossed from the back of the truck?
"Fingers crossed, Illya. Don't die."
There was really no way to get him down from the truck without pushing him.
"&# %!"
He did land safely on the pile of cushions, but sort bounced right off again and hit the concrete walkway.
Gabby hopped down and scrambled to turn Illya over. He'd come down hard on his shoulder, which turned in towards his chest at an awkward angle, and his forehead was awash with blood.
"Damnit!"
This was lining up to be the most awkward kidnapping, ever.
When she pressed the palm of her hand hard against his shoulder, it moved back into place with a muted thump.
"I am so sorry for that. It's not really fair to hurt you when you're not even aware of it."
The cut on his forehead didn't appear to be very deep, so she left it alone. There wasn't time to get out a first aid kit now.
The next part was so awkward she was embarrassed even though there was no one else to see. She'd rented a hand-truck. The kind you used for moving refrigerators, and other large appliances. It was awkward, but she did manage to get him in the front door, through the house, and all the way to the basements stairs. Then there was nothing for it but to very slowly drag him down the steps, hoping he didn't end up with a concussion out of small, accumulated, head bumps.
She was sweating by the time they made it to the bottom, and had to sit and take a break. The sky was finally lightening outside, so eventually she hauled herself back up the stairs to collect the pillows from the walkway.
Bzzzz.
Her phone went off as she was carrying in the last armful.
She dropped the cushions and checked the time. Six fifteen? Who was calling her this early? The number wasn't one she recognized.
Bzzz.
She pressed her eyes tight shut, and answered the call. "Hello?"
With the first syllable of the crisply accented voice, she relaxed, opening her eyes.
"Ms. Teller? It's Alexander Waverly."
"Of course. Mr. Waverly. What can I help you with?"
One of her newest clients, Alexander Waverly was a bit eccentric. He was always hopping around the globe, and never seemed to be aware of what time zone he was calling into. She wasn't entirely sure what he did for a living, but he'd hired her, as a free-lance mechanical engineer, to work on a one-of-a-kind vehicle for him. Sort of a James Bond car, with hidden special features.
"I just got a look at the latest blueprints you sent me, and I think they're coming along nicely, but I've changed my mind about the inside of the car."
She frowned. Again?
"Yes?"
"Indeed. Two seats won't be enough. I need at least three, possibly four would be better, and plenty of leg room."
"Leg room?"
"Lots and lots of leg room."
Gabby kicked the pillows the rest of the way into the house, and closed the door behind her as she talked. "Well I'm working on a different project at the moment, but I should be able draw up another set of sketches and send them over, as soon as this is finished."
"It's a specially big project, is it Ms. Teller?"
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Wha- No. Just a simple job. It won't take long."
There was an edge of humour to his voice that made her nervous, but she could never tell when Waverly was being serious or just oddly amused with himself.
A funny pop on the other end of the line made her draw back and stare at the phone for a second before she spoke again. "Hello?"
"Ah. My apologies, Ms. Teller. Just found a piece of information I'd been waiting for. Well, I imagine I've taken up quite enough of your time."
"That's alright," Gabby said, before she realised she was already talking to a dial tone.
Shrugging, she hung up, and looked towards the stairs.
Time to finish what she came here for.
The basement was unfinished, and had no windows. There was a separate bathroom at one end, also with no windows, and no furnishings except for what she'd brought in. She'd purchased a chair just for the occasion. It was an art deco piece, brushed steel with no obvious joints. It would take a soldering iron to break that chair apart. She had to lay it back onto the floor to get Illya into it, and then sit it back up by wedging consecutively bigger blocks of wood under its back until she could lift it upright.
Once she had him where she wanted him, Gabby nudged Illya's knees apart, stepping forward to stand between his long, sprawling legs. She put one hand on the back of his neck, and let him tip forward until he was slumped against her chest. Tugging the shoulders of his bomber jacket down, Gabby had to lift his arms one by one to strip off the piece of clothing. Underneath, he was wearing a turtleneck sweater, of all things. Somehow, he actually made it look good.
"Are you wearing anything else?" She lifted the bottom of his sweater and found he had an undershirt on, so she stripped off the turtleneck as well. She didn't know if real-life cops carried hidden knifes, or lock picks, but she wasn't going to risk it. Seeing his bare arms would also make her feel better. No tricks up his sleeves. She couldn't help wincing a little when his shoulder was revealed to be blooming with purple and blue bruises.
She pushed Illya upright again, watching when his head flopped over the back of the chair. He was so tall. She possibly should have bought a chair with a headrest.
Gabby took his belt, his socks and shoes, and then emptied out his pockets, dumping everything on the table in a corner of the basement. Grabbing a role of duct tape, she wrapped it a couple times around his chest to keep him upright. "I guess this is sort of going to ruin your clothes," she said softly. "But I think it will probably be the last thing on your mind once you wake up."
His wrists had also begun to bruise, but she still zip tied them to the arms of the chair, and then wrapped them in duct tape as well. She repeated the process for his elbows and ankles, and then used the tape to secure his legs to the chair, just below the knee, because she'd run out of zip ties.
"There you go." Gabby took a step back and looked him over. There was no way he was moving an inch, if she didn't want him to. She wasn't unaware that he outweighed her by nearly a hundred pounds, was over a foot taller than her, and could probably break her bones without effort. But right now she had all the power.
There was a gun on the table in the corner as well as several doses of injectable sedative, there was not a single other person in hearing distance, and no one else knew the current location of Illya Kuryakin.
Now she just had to wait for him to wake up.