And another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII

Summary:
In which Agnes Dabree returns yet again to bring Napoleon over to THRUSH–this time, convinced that Illya won’t be able to help.  She’s wrong.

Not cross-posting this as I’ll be expanding this in the future.

Napoleon wasn’t sure for how long he was unconscious, but
he began to come awake, recognizing the beeps of a heart monitor, registering
his pulse.  At first, he assumed he was
in Medical—but it soon became clear that he was not when he tried to move and found
that he could not move on account of being restrained.  He could not, therefore, be in Medical, in
spite of how many times they’d threatened to tie him and Illya down from trying
to leave the recovery ward prematurely.

He forced his eyes open, wincing as bright lights shone all
around him, directly into his face.  He
attempted to turn his head as best he could and saw that he was strapped to an
operating table.

“Ah, Mr. Solo, we meet yet again,” a familiar voice taunted
him.

Napoleon groaned as he realized Agnes Dabree was speaking
to him.  Years after he and Illya had
thwarted her attempt to perform brain surgery on Waverly, she had captured
Napoleon once before, several months ago, with the intent of using harsh
brainwashing tactics to switch his loyalties to THRUSH.  A combination of his sheer will and Illya’s
great timing had prevented her from being successful, but something was
wrong—they had taken her into custody last time, so how…?

“You’re wondering how I got free, hmm?” she asked, seeing
his confusion.  “I have a friend in
U.N.C.L.E.—a mole who has gone undetected all this time.  This mole knows as well as I do that you are
a threat that needs to be dealt with.
But, for some reason, you seem to be immune to hypnosis and any other
forms of suggestion or mind-control.
Even our attempts to drug you and change your brain chemistry have
failed.”

As she spoke, she was putting on a pair of purple surgery
gloves, and Napoleon had a horrible sense of dread as he began to put the
pieces together.

“You… you’re going to…?”

“Do what I should have done last time,” she said.  “Perform the brain surgery that I had
intended to perform on Waverly on you instead.
In hindsight, you are a better candidate than him—the old man rarely
gets out of that office.  You, on the
other hand, would be a most valuable pawn in THRUSH’s hands.”

Napoleon was now frantically looking around—looking at the
door.

“You’re waiting for your Russian partner to find you and
rescue you like last time?” Dabree mused.
“I have already taken care of that—well, the mole has, at any rate.  Kuryakin was convinced that he was to meet
you.  The mole will have dispatched of
your partner—swiftly, I’m sure.”

The fight left Napoleon in an instant; even though the
anesthesiologist was trying to hold him down, he was no longer attempting to
resist.

“I wouldn’t worry, Solo,” Dabree continued.  “You will not remember being that close to
him by the time we’re through with you.”
She looked to the anesthesiologist and nodded.  “Put him under.”

Again, Napoleon did not resist as the anesthesiologist
placed the mask for the anesthetic gas over his face.  Illya was gone—and, worst of all, every
cherished memory would be gone or altered with the brain surgery.  He would wake up thinking he was always a
THRUSHie, and Illya, the one he cared about most in the world, would be
gone—and Napoleon would have no knowledge of why, or even remember how close
they were.

His body was trying to suppress a sob—and to his surprise,
the anesthesiologist gave his shoulder a quick, comforting squeeze.

As a few more minutes passed, it became clear that Napoleon
wasn’t falling unconscious.  Slowly,
Napoleon glanced back up at the anesthesiologist—the majority of his face was
hidden by a surgical mask and his hair under a scrub cap—but his blue eyes were
still visible, as well as a few blond hairs from beneath the scrub cap.

Napoleon looked away—he daren’t believe it…

“Dr. Dabree,” the anesthesiologist said—in a familiar but
disguised voice.  “The gas doesn’t appear
to be working; I need to use an injectable anesthetic.”

“Fine; it’s in the cabinet there,” she said.

Napoleon watched as the anesthesiologist got a syringe and
loaded it—and then injected it into Dabree’s neck.

She dropped like a stone, and the anesthesiologist removed
the scrub cap and mask briefly to reveal his identity.

“Illya…!”
Napoleon breathed, as Illya resumed his disguise and now freed Napoleon from
the restraints.  “How did you escape the
trap?  How did you know it was a trap!?”

“Simple; I knew that you would never ask me to meet with
you near the riverside; you avoid deep water whenever possible.  I had Mark go for me so that the mole
couldn’t alert Dabree to the fact that I was not dispatched.”

“…Smart Russian,” Napoleon murmured.

“Smart… but worried,” Illya said.

“Well, I was a bit worried myself,” Napoleon said, dryly,
as Illya helped him off of the operating table.
Together, they placed the head electrodes to Dabree, locked her to the
table, and threw a sheet over her.

“Put on those scrubs, and we will take her with us,” Illya
instructed, tossing him a set.  “And yes,
Napoleon, I know you were worried.  I saw
the look in your eyes when she said I was dead.
I was troubled to see that you lost all drive to fight back.  Napoleon, if I am dead, I would expect you to
avenge me, not give up and allow yourself to be used as THRUSH wishes!”

“…Good point,” Napoleon sighed.

“More than that, I was worried—terrified—of losing you to
THRUSH in such a way,” Illya confessed.
“That I would find you completely different from who you are… and that
you would not know me the same way again…”

He trailed off and suddenly hugged him—a very rare display
of emotion for him, but one he felt that he had to get across.   Napoleon tightly returned the hug.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he managed, after a moment.

“And thank you for holding on just long enough for me to
help you,” Illya returned.  “Come,
Napoleon; we must go back—we have to interrogate the mole and Dabree to find
out how deeply this infiltration has gone.”

Napoleon nodded and they headed back towards HQ, together
and ready to face what lurked once again.