Inktober for Writers, h/c edition, Day 2

Prompt: Bag over head

Summary: Illya was just in the wrong place at the wrong time…

Cross-posted to AO3

Illya had been bound hand and foot, dragged around the
countryside—not by THRUSH, shockingly enough, but by a group of bank
robbers.  It was a vexing case of being
in the wrong place at the wrong time—accompanying Napoleon to the bank for an
errand was something that the two of them did all the time.

It was just bad luck that the bank robbers had chosen that
day to commit their crime—and it was also bad luck that, upon seizing as much
money as they could carry, decided that they wanted to take a hostage for
insurance.  And it was further ill luck
that they wanted to take “that weird blond guy” as their hostage.

And so, to protect the innocents still in the bank, Illya
went with them without a fuss—despite his cooperation, they covered his head
with a money bag and threw him into the back of a getaway car.

This sort of thing
would
happen to me, he thought semi-furiously.
He winced as he was bounced and jostled around in the back of the
car.  He could feel the bruises forming
on his face; he certainly wasn’t going to look like a prize by the time this
was over.  But, with any luck, the
bruises would mean that Napoleon’s retribution would be all the more satisfying
to watch—it took a lot to get Napoleon Solo angry, but bringing harm upon Illya
was a surefire way to succeed.

Indeed, his captors soon started complaining about a car
following them, and then, a moment later, noticing that all four tires had been
shot out in a blink of an eye, for even though THRUSH had been co-founded by a
marksman, Napoleon, when sufficiently angered, could have a razor-sharp aim
that would have sent Sebastian Moran himself running for cover, had they ever
met.

The thieves complained loudly—there were no police cars
following them, so how had their tires been shot out?

They then decided to use Illya as a shield to get away;
they dragged him out of the car, and one of them removed the bag that was
covering his head.  Illya greedily drew
the fresh air in for a moment.

“Shut up and just come along quietly,” one of them hissed.

Illya rolled his eyes; it was almost comical, how these
four bank robbers were trying to hide behind him.

“I don’t understand how someone managed to follow us!”

“Because you took an international police agent as a
hostage, you fool!” Illya finally snapped at them.

The moment of sheer, abject horror on the robbers’ faces
was worth it as, one by one, they were tranquilized and dropped to the ground,
leaving Illya standing, still bound.

Napoleon appeared a moment later, cutting him free and
looking at him with a tender expression before turning his wrath on the fallen
robbers—as Illya looked on in satisfaction.