I was on vacation, but now I'm back!

Illya

.

Illya blinked and shook his head to clear the grogginess.

He wasn't dead. What a nice development.

Illya looked around. There had been no noise as he had struggled to the surface of consciousness. He was alone now, in what looked like an unfinished basement.

Fantastic.

Nothing good ever happened in basements.

There was no door on the entrance to the room behind him, and he could see cement steps leading up to the main floor. He appeared to be strapped to a sturdy metal chair with no obvious weak points. His chest was wrapped with duct tape, but it wasn't difficult to push against the material until he could twist enough to see behind him. The restraints that secured his arms and legs to the chair were different. When he pulled against the arms of the chair he could feel plastic cutting into his wrists. Zip ties. Not easy to break on a good day, and much worse when they were covered in sticky duct tape.

Illya stretched as much as he could and realised he had new bruises. Not serious ones, but he was sore. His neck ached when he rolled it from side to side, and his left shoulder wasn't responding properly. From what he could see, it was pretty badly swollen.

Most of his clothes and belongings were piled on a table in the corner of the room, but thankfully he'd been left with his undershirt and pants intact. Although actually, his pants were now grass stained, and covered in small tears. Odd.

Illya looked to the door. There was a faint track on the floor from the doorway to his chair. Interesting. He had literally been dragged down the stairs and over to his current position. No wonder he was sore.

A distant creak sounded behind him, and Illya froze. There were light footsteps on the stairs, and he saw the small pair of loafers and jean clad legs before his captor appeared in the doorway. It was Gaby, now dressed down in casual clothes, with her long brown hair swept up in a tangled bun.

"I really, really hope you haven't found some way of undoing those, because then I'd have to shoot you, and that would defeat the whole purpose of bringing you here in the first place."

Illya waited, jaw clenched tight, as she slowly made her way around in front of him, carefully keeping far out of his reach. She did have a gun in one hand, although the safety was on, and she had it pointed at the floor. He threw her a fierce frown, and felt hot blood trickle down the side of his face as a cut broke open on his forehead again.

Her dark brown eyes flickered over him, taking in everything, and then settling on his face. She winced. "Sorry about your head. I had a bit of difficulty getting you down the stairs. You're really, very heavy."

"I hope you pulled a muscle," Illya snapped. As comebacks went, Napoleon would have been disappointed in him, but Illya was still working off the drugs, and couldn't even see entirely straight. He was allowed a few weak lines.

Gaby sat down on the stool against the far wall, perching like a weightless bird. Illya's heart beat a painful rhythm within him.

"So you are probably under the impression that you've been kidnapped, which, yes, you have been. But not for any of the reasons you've been thinking."

Illya hadn't been thinking about her reasons at all, really. He was still too shocked, and although he didn't want to admit it, hurt, that she'd turned on him.

"I've been watching you." She saw his eyebrows press together and clarified. "Not just at the bar. For a couple weeks now. But I've been watching you, and you're very stubborn."

Illya stiffened. "And this concerns you, how?"

Gabby folded her arms across her chest and considered him seriously. "Do you remember when that docks worker went missing in New Jersey last year?"

Illya nodded slowly, his expression tight with suspicion.

"And the chemist from Queens, the year before?"

"Yes."

"And the cop from Maryland, where they never found the body?"

"Yes, I remember!" Illya snapped. "What about them?"

Gabby stood up and walked a little closer. Her tiny shoes made barely any noise on the concrete floor. "I found some… evidence that they were all killed by the same person. I think my uncle is a serial killer, and you're his next target."

Oh.

Oh.

This was absolutely nowhere in the realm of things he'd been expecting her to say.

"Me? But… Why?"

"I'm not sure why, yet. But I found dozens and dozens of pictures of you in his office. He's been watching you for months. He even has a clump of your hair."

Illya made an abortive attempt to reach up and touch his hair, and then glanced down in absent surprise when his hand wouldn't move. "This does not make the sense. Why… I do not believe you."

He strained against the ropes again, baring his teeth at her. "You say this only as an excuse for yourself."

"I'm not making excuses!" she retorted, a scowl taking over her face. "I'm trying to save your life!"

"You kidnapped me!"

Gabby let out a little rumble at the back of her throat that sounded almost like a growl. Illya couldn't keep the heat from flooding the back of his neck.

"I know I kidnapped you! That is super, obviously, clear to me! But if I had come up to you and told you that you were in danger and you needed to go into hiding, would you have listened?"

"Of course not," Illya sneered, "I'm not a coward. I would find this uncle of yours and face him, myself."

Throwing her hands up in the air, in frustration, Gabby' voice rose further in volume. "See? And then you would die, and it would be all my fault."

"I am a trained police officer. I would not die."

"Yes you would! He's a sadist, Illya. He loves a challenge. He wants someone strong-willed and-" she gestured at his body, cheeks flushing as she continued yelling at him. "And- physically fit. He would take you, and hurt you, and, and, never stop!"

The gun in her right hand was visibly trembling and Illya eyed her warily.

"So this now. You mean to take me and keep me hidden and safe?"

"Yes." Gabby glared at him.

"For how long? I am not a little animal, a pet you can keep on a leash."

"Not for long." Gabby turned and retreated back to her stool. "I just need some solid evidence. I know Uncle Rudi. I know he will have kept… prizes. Photos, evidence, something to remind him of his – of what he did. He wouldn't be able to help it. He just loves to cause pain. He's always enjoyed being casually cruel: pressing people and insulting them in just the way that he knows will hurt the worst."

Illya frowned, and wiggled in his seat. "That is not evidence that he is a killer."

"I know. But after the dock worker went missing he was following the news like it was a soap opera, and he never watches the news. He thought it was funny! I've worked out that his last six vacations have all coincided with an unsolved murder. When he went back to Germany to visit my family, someone disappeared there, too. And that's only as far as I've managed to track it. For all I know he's been killing people his whole life."

Swallowing back a surge of empathy, Illya steeled himself to hold onto his anger. "You told me you moved here five years ago, if that wasn't all a lie. What is different now, that you have to take me against my will, not even try to see if I will listen? Did it take you this long to figure it out?"

Gabby flushed a deep red, the colour lighting up under her copper skin till it glowed like a setting sun on the desert. 'A Firebird', was the absurd notion that crossed Illya's thoughts, before he shook it away.

"It did take me a long time to figure it out." She was angry now, as angry as he was. "To figure out Uncle Rudi wasn't right in the head. But I tried before. I was getting suspicious before Mr. Carroll was killed."

"The dock worker?"

"Yes, the docks worker. I called him. I went to a lot of trouble to get in contact with him without my uncle finding out and I told him what I suspected and he didn't believe me at all! He wouldn't listen. Just laughed!"

"Did you go to the police?"

Gaby jumped back down from her chair, pacing the floor furiously. "Of course I went to the police! But they didn't take me seriously. At that point I didn't have any photos. They told me I had no real evidence, which I don't."

"But you saw the photos of me," Illya shook his head, confused.

"Yes, but that doesn't prove anything, except that he's been following you. Stalking isn't the same thing as murder."

"Well it's a start."

Gaby stopped her pacing to stare at him. "It's not enough. I broke into his safe at work to take the album of your pictures. I'd started to worry that he'd take you before I could stop him. I thought maybe there would be a clue to when he'd act. Where he'd take you. But there wasn't, and even though he doesn't know for sure, I think he suspects me, and now he's aware somebody knows about his… obsession. He won't let this go, that I'm sure of."

"Do you think he's dangerous?" Illya demanded.

Gaby raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous.

"To you. Would your uncle hurt you?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" Gaby frowned, frustrated. "It's not me that's in danger."

"Gabby, you need to let me go."

"Why? We just had an entire conversation covering why I can't let you go."

Illya shook his head, focussing on her with all the earnest attention he could muster. "Those still are not good reasons. I do no accept your logic. But other reason is the Cowboy. He-"

"Solo?"

"Yes. He will come for me, and thinking you are evil, he may hurt you."

Gabby fisted her hands on her hips. "How exactly do you think he's going to do that, Illya?"

"Hurt you?"

"No. Come find you. I'm hiding from my uncle, who knows me. How on earth is your partner, who doesn't know me at all?"

"He will," said Illya, stubbornly.

"You are impossible!"

This was probably meant to be an insult, but Illya didn't see it that way. "Let me go."

"No."

"I will help you find your evidence. Then we will both be safe."

Gaby narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you. The first moment you think my uncle's a danger to someone else, you're going to throw yourself in front of a bullet and get yourself killed."

"Let. Me. Go."

"No!"

Gritting his teeth, Illya locked eyes with her, and started yanking at his restraints, rocking back and forth and pulling at the bindings violently.

"Stop it!" Gaby cried, rushing forward. "You're going to hurt yourself."

They always underestimated him. Everyone thought they could overcome his strength with enough violence or effort. But it wasn't Illya's height and size that lent him his real power. It was his sheer, inflexible, headstrong determination. They didn't call him stubborn for nothing.

The zip ties around his wrists bit deep into the skin, drawing blood, so he put all his focus into his legs where his slacks protected him from the cut of the plastic. Illya took a deep breath and exerted every bit of force he could.

Snap!

The locking mechanism snapped clear off the strap around his right ankle, and Gaby jumped in shock. "Stop!"

She raised the gun in her right hand and aimed it at him.

"Are you going to shoot me?" he asked, head cocked to one side.

She froze.

Illya blinked, waiting. He didn't want her to shoot him. Not because it would hurt, but because he wanted her to like him. Wanted her to like him too much to cause him pain. Please. He didn't want to be a means to an end, or a way to assuage her guilt. He didn't want Gaby to be another person that used him and didn't care.

Gaby turned the gun in her hand slowly, prying her eyes away from him to consider the weapon. It was a long minute before she lowered it. "It's not even loaded. I can't shoot you. Won't."

Illya sagged against his bonds. "Just let me go. We can do this together."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm not a police officer, Illya. I'm a mechanical engineer. I don't even know if I can do this. I've only been able to think of one other place Rudi might hide his 'souvenirs'."

"Where?"

Gaby opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when she saw Illya go completely still.

"Illya?"

"Shhhh."

Illya was sure he'd heard something.

He had definitely heard something.

"It's Napoleon! Gaby, cut me loose. Quickly!"

Gaby drew back, affronted. "What? You're crazy. How would he find us?"

"Gaby!"

"No. It can't be your partner."

"It is. Napoleon always finds me."

She shook her head, and then startled when they heard a door above them slam, and a smooth male called out. "Knock, knock. Anybody home?"

Gaby backed away to the corner of the room, raising her empty weapon to point at the door.

Illya twisted as far as he could, looking towards the stairs. Somehow, Napoleon avoided every single creak in the stairs, and his shiny designer shoes appeared in their view without making a sound.

Illya glanced at Gaby. She was shaking, her face a tight mask, but her eyes frightened.

His partner emerged in the basement doorway, his gun drawn and the safety off. He was in plainclothes, but Napoleon's love of fitted dress clothes always had the effect of rendering him more intimidating than a uniform ever could. He looked like James Bond: lethal, but less restrained by the law than any cop.

"Napoleon, stop!" Illya yelled, straining against his bindings. "She's okay! Gaby's on our side."

Napoleon spared him a sideways glance. "I know."

"You do?"

"I found the photo album in your apartment," he directed at Gaby. "The handwriting is completely different from everything else in your room. It obviously wasn't yours."

Illya's train of thought stuttered. It always surprised him when Napoleon actually deigned to use his brain for something other than flirting and causing mischief.

Napoleon was smiling at him now, that small twitch of his lips that showed he was distinctly amused. Illya scowled.

"Somebody's looking a little worse for wear," Napoleon commented, assessing every inch of his partner that was visible. Then he lowered his weapon and flicked on the safety, turning his attention to Gaby. "It's your Uncle Rudi, isn't it?"

Gaby nodded, speechless.

"He's got his eye on Illya as his next victim?"

She nodded again, and then swallowed. "How did you find us?"

Napoleon strolled over to the table in the corner and prodded at the pile of his partner's clothing, "Well first I did a bit of research to find out what I was heading into. But I'm afraid it was as simple as following Illya's jacket."

"What?"

Illya's jaw jutted out as he caught the reference. "Did you put a tracker on me?"

"Of course not, partner mine. The tracker was yours. Don't you remember the equipment you've been carrying around in your pocket all week, messing with the receiver input? I simply had Rob at work set up another receiver set to follow the same signal."

Napoleon turned to face them and displayed his hand, palm up. A small pile of electronics glistened at them cheerily.

Illya dropped his head and groaned aloud.

Napoleon winked at Gaby, his gleaming smile disturbingly wolfish.