Prompt: Thrown Against Something

Summary: Part 2 of 2.  Illya gets a chance at some trickery and subterfuge to avenge Napoleon.

Cross-posted to AO3

Sometimes, Illya’s own deviousness surprised even him.  Technician George Dennell owned him a
favor—and Illya was ready to cash it in, asking him to get Waverly down to the
lab and keep him occupied before the meeting with the applicant for the new
Berlin head could go underway.

George was true to his word; the moment Waverly had left
his office, thinking it would only take five minutes to see what important
developments George had asked him to take a look at, Illya took his place,
explaining to Lisa that he would explain to the applicant that Waverly would be
only slightly delayed.

He sat at the circular table; Baba Yaga the office cat
wandered into the room and leaped onto his lap, sensing something afoot.  Illya gently gave the cat a few skritches
behind the ears, causing her to purr loudly—at least until the door opened and
the job applicant walked in.  her purring
ceased almost immediately as he walked in, and her ears flattened with intense
dislike for the man.

“I was supposed to meet Mr. Waverly here,” the man
said.  “We were to have an interview to
decide my taking over as section head of Berlin.”

“Mr. Waverly has been called away on an important
emergency,” Illya said, calmly, as Baba Yaga’s tail twitched.  “I will be handling this interview in his
stead.”

“I see…” the man said.
He frowned.  “Do I know you?”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not,”
Illya said, without any emotion.  “Shall
we begin?”

“Er, yes…” the man said.
“You’ve already seen my CV, I presume.”

“Yes, I have,” Illya said.
“A move impressive amount of experience, I must agree.  However…  There was one thing that left me rather
concerned.”

“What’s that?”

“You were in very close association with one Gerald Strothers
for a great many years,” Illya pointed out.

“Well, yes, we were assigned as partners and worked very
closely together as a result,” the man admitted.

“Hmm,” Illya said, pretending to rub his chin in thoughtfulness.  “Then my concerns are not unfounded.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand…”

“Gerald Strothers was recently dishonorably removed from
his position—using unauthorized torture methods against an innocent U.N.C.L.E.
agent and failing to notice that Beldon was a traitor in his zeal to prove this
innocent man as guilty.”

“No one suspected Beldon!” the man countered.  “And as for Strothers, I believe that he wasn’t
wrong about that American!  And even if
he was wrong, why must I suffer for something that I did not do?”

“So you, an innocent man, does not want to be held accountable
for misdeeds that you were not responsible for,” Illya said.  “And yet, you have no qualms about seeing an
innocent suffer for something he was not responsible for?”

“I believe him to be guilty,” the man insisted.  “And given the opportunity, I will prove it!”

Wordlessly, Illya played back the footage from the autopsy
security cameras.

“We had these installed after it became a hazing ritual
among the new probationary agents to sneak into the autopsy room and take
Polaroids of a corpse.  It also serves as
a nice method of capturing threats given to our personnel.”

The threat to Napoleon played back in full picture and
sound.  The man sat flabbergasted for a
moment before scowling at Illya.

“Give me that tape!” he hissed.

“I think not,” he said.
“This interview is over—you will not get the position.”

The next thing Illya knew, the man had seized him and had
hurled him against the wall.  Baba Yaga
screeched, attacking the man with claws and teeth.  The man ignored her, going for Illya again.

Waverly soon returned, followed by Napoleon, who had been
alerted by Lisa to the noise.  Waverly
stared, stunned, while Napoleon leaped into action, pulling the man off of
Illya, who rubbed his neck where he had been seized.

“You can threaten me all you want,” Napoleon hissed.  “But you will not lay a hand on my partner.”

The man glared at them, and then turned to Waverly.

“You, see, Sir?  They
are in this together to discredit me!”

“I think it was very clear that you were the one who
attacked Mr. Kuryakin; he made no effort to defend himself—no doubt because you
would accuse him of instigating it.”

Baba Yaga hissed loudly at the man, her back arched
angrily.

“A temperament and immense moral blindness such as yours is
not one we like to encourage at U.N.C.L.E.,” Waverly continued.  “You will be discharged from your position
post haste.”

“You can join your friend and former partner Strothers in a
search for a new job,” Illya said, coldly.

“…So that’s why you had it in for me,” Napoleon said, eyes
arching in realization.  “You wanted to
get me out to avenge Strothers.”

The man merely cursed at Napoleon as other agents came in
to apprehend him.

“Well, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, I’m sorry you had to go through
that,” Waverly said.  “But I thank the
both of you for using such a clever way of bringing this to my attention.  Well done.”

“I don’t deserve any praise,” Napoleon said.  “This was all Illya’s doing.  …How did you know?”

“The room where he made his threat to you was the autopsy
room,” Illya said.  “Neither of you
noticed that I was in there.  So I saw to
it that I would give him a swift and humiliating exit.”

Napoleon smiled.

“Thanks, Tovarisch.  I
owe you one.”

“Believe me, Napoleon…  The pleasure was mine.”

Prompt: Threats

Summary: Part 1 of 2.  Though the Summit Five Affair is behind them, Strothers’s former partner, aiming to replace Beldon, is determined to make Napoleon pay for discrediting Strothers.

Cross-posted to AO3

Napoleon was charismatic and charming—being able to get
people to like him was second nature to him.
While people would be wary of Illya, who presented himself deliberately
as cold and aloof, Napoleon never faced any of that.

But the Summit Five Affair had changed things—changed how
people looked at Napoleon.  Accused of
being a traitor—and tortured until he confessed, the fair-weathered crowd had
begun to see Napoleon in a different light.
Even when the true traitor had been eliminated and Napoleon’s name
cleared, it only slightly reduced the whispers and pointing when he and Illya
had returned to New York.

That was the extent of most of it, however; Napoleon didn’t
pay much attention to that, anyway, just like how Illya had been ignoring his
detractors all this time, as well.  And,
overall, it didn’t seem to bother him; he had Illya’s support through the whole
thing, and that was all that mattered.

But old wounds were reopened, however, several weeks later,
when a visitor from U.N.C.L.E. Berlin had arrived for a meeting with Waverly,
as he had applied to take over Harry Beldon’s position as the head of the
Berlin branch, and had to meet with the other four U.N.C.L.E. heads
individually for an interview, who would then discuss on whether or not he
would be accepted as the fifth member of the Summit Five.  He had passed his other three interviews, and
only needed to complete the one with Waverly.

What no one had realized at the time was that the man had
been Strothers’s partner, and subsequently his very close friend—he had been
out of town during the entire fiasco with Strothers and Beldon, and had only
come back for the figurative (and literal, in the case of Beldon)
post-mortem—that his partner had been unceremoniously sacked after allegedly
torturing an apparently innocent agent from the American branch.

He didn’t buy this—as far as he was concerned, Strothers
had been innocent, and the smug American agent had to have been guilty after
all, but succeeded in worming his way out of things.  He got the name he had been searching
for—Napoleon Solo—and kept this information to himself as he headed to New York
for his final interview.

Strothers’s former partner was more than a bit confident
about getting accepted as Beldon’s replacement, and so, on his way to meet with
Waverly, found Napoleon in the hall and dragged him to the nearest dimly-lit
room.

“Just listen to me now, Solo,” he hissed.  “I don’t care if you were found innocent or
not; when I become head of U.N.C.L.E. Berlin, I will see to it that you are ousted
from your position with as much pain and humiliation as I can see you get!”

He left immediately, and Napoleon stood in stunned
confusion—so stunned, that he was completely unaware that the dimly-lit room
that the unpleasant fellow had dragged him to was none other than the
U.N.C.L.E. autopsy room, and that Illya had been putting things away in a
darkened corner of the room—and had heard and seen the entire thing.

As Napoleon left the room, still looking stunned, it was
clear to Illya that Napoleon would not be likely to inform Waverly.

He would take it upon himself, for no one—but no
one–threatened Napoleon Solo in his presence and got away with it.

Prompt: Panic Attack

Summary: [Early days] In which Napoleon learns the hard way that falling off of a waterfall has repercussions, even if you think you’ve recovered.

Cross-posted to AO3

As much as Napoleon wanted to admit that falling off
Niagara Falls was something that he had easily moved on from, it simply wasn’t
the case.  It had been embarrassing
enough when, just a couple of months later, he had fainted at the sight of
Angel Falls in Venezuela.  And it had
been frustrating as well to know that this was a weakness now.  He could only hope that THRUSH would never
find out about it.

Illya was calm and understanding through all of it,
reassuring him that it was to be expected that he have this aversion towards
waterfalls after what he had been through.
He thought nothing less of him.

However, the slow road to recovery from this ordeal soon
had to be abandoned as THRUSH gave chase while they were running through the
jungle.

“There is a cave behind these particular falls—we can use
it to hide from THRUSH,” Illya said.
“The tunnel goes deep enough that we can escape through the side of the
mountain.  We can outdistance them if we
hurry!”

And Napoleon had stopped as they approached, his breathing
tight and sweat pouring down his face as he stared at the cascade of water.

“Napoleon…” Illya said, gently but firmly.  “I would not insist upon it if we had no
other choice.  THRUSH grunts are coming
at us from all sides—there is no other way of escape but through the water.”

“…Go without me,” Napoleon said, after a moment.

“…What…?”

“I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger because of my
cowardice,” Napoleon said.  “You go on
ahead through the falls; I’ll try to hide out here.”

Illya’s expression softened—but only slightly, given the
dire circumstances.

“I have known you for over a year now, Napoleon.  Trust me when I say that you are not a
coward.  You do have a phobia, brought
about by your trauma—and it is a fear you must face, for THRUSH will not be
merciful after you dispatched of their leader last year.  And I will not abandon you to their
wrath.  Either we go through the water
together, or we both take our chances out here together.”

“I can’t let you do that!”

“And I cannot let you face THRUSH alone,” Illya
responded.  “I will go with your
decision, whatever it may be—but we will face it together.  It is how we defeated the Baron of THRUSH
last year, after all—and why our partnership worked out so well, in spite of
our being so different.”

Napoleon considered this and nodded; he looked back at the
falls, trying to unlock the knot forming in his chest.  And gunshot rang out from the opposite
direction, and then another—THRUSH was coming.

Napoleon stared at the water once more, looked back to
Illya, and gave a shaky—but determined—nod.

“We’ll take the falls.”

Illya nodded back in approval; he seized Napoleon’s hand,
and the two of them jumped through the veil of water and into the cave.

Napoleon exhaled the breath he’d been holding,
relieved.  He looked back at Illya with a
smile.

“Well done, Napoleon,” Illya said.  “But we cannot stay; we need to keep going
down these tunnels.”

Napoleon nodded and led the way, the two of them heading onward
together.

Prompt: Flashback

Summary: A THRUSH onslaught brings back memories of Illya’s war-torn childhood that he’d rather forget.

Cross-posted to AO3

Illya gripped Napoleon’s arm, cringing as the sounds of
explosions continued to echo overhead.
THRUSH had caught up with them, and promptly attacked with nothing less
than rocket launchers.  The nearest
“safehouse” wasn’t very safe after THRUSH opened fire with those, and the duo
were now seeking shelter in the cellar as the place began to crumble around
them.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked, realizing that his partner’s
usually calm resolve had given way to trembling.  Illya usually didn’t lose his cool like this,
even in dire situations—they’d been through far worse, after all.  Something about this situation was affecting
him very deeply, and Napoleon could only hope that it wouldn’t be too much.

He drew an arm around Illya, and Illya’s grip tightened.

“What is it?” Napoleon asked, as there finally appeared to
be a break in the THRUSH onslaught.

“…I was just remembering the night my home in Kiev had been
attacked, when I was a boy,” Illya said.
“It began like this, incessant attacks on houses, with no regard for
civilians who might be inside.  There was
a gap like this, too—a gap in the fire…
That was when my mother told me to run, and I did.”

Napoleon’s heart gave a twist.

“I hid where I could, also in houses that eventually came
down.  I usually hid with other
children—war children, as we would later be known.”  He sighed.
“We didn’t dare to seek help from adults; our families were gone, and
we’d heard about people disappearing, and we didn’t know which ones were behind
it, or who they were looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” Napoleon said, quietly.

Illya gave a shuddering nod.

“It was absolutely terrifying when I was a child,” he
said.  “But I don’t know what’s worse—the
terror I felt then, or growing up and finding out the truth about the missing
people—that they were massacred because of who they were, no other reason than
that…”

He trailed off, cringing as the THRUSH rockets resumed
flying, but then he scowled.  There were
THRUSHies coming closer, as though waiting to nab them the moment they
succeeded in flushing the U.N.C.L.E. agents out.

“And that is why we cannot let them win—for they will do
the same.  Napoleon, do you have the rest
of that wine we had at lunch?”

Napoleon’s eyes widened.

“…Yes,” he said, grabbing the bottle.  He soaked a handkerchief with some of it and
slipped the handkerchief in as a fuse.

Illya waited for the THRUSHies to approach closer before
igniting the handkerchief and hurling it at their pursuers.  The THRUSHies fled upon seeing that they were
being attacked by a makeshift weapon; it wasn’t until there was complete and
utter silence for an extended period of time that the two partners emerged from
the trapdoor, relived at having made it.

“They’ll be back with reinforcements,” Napoleon said.  “I’d like to be out of here when they do.”

“Me too,” Illya said, and, once again suppressing the ghosts
of his past, he ran alongside his partner, who still had a hand on his wrist as
they ran, silently reassuring him that they would get through this together.

Prompt: Withdrawal

Summary: Staying on the wagon is difficult enough without temptation aiming to sabotage accomplishments thus far.

Cross-posted to AO3

It wasn’t often that Napoleon and Illya got a weekend off;
sometimes, trying to figure out what to do with their time was a
challenge.  The duo eventually decided to
go out to eat, enjoying a full-course meal.

Illya was on his third dessert when the two were surprised
by someone calling Napoleon’s name.  It
was another old acquaintance of Napoleon who hadn’t seen him in a while.  Napoleon awkwardly said hello, not having
planned on their evening out being interrupted.
Illya was just relieved that the old friend had no reaction to Illya’s
name, like some of Napoleon’s old acquaintances had in the past when realizing
that he was a Russian.

“I have to get running soon,” the old acquaintance
said.  “Didn’t mean to interrupt you
two—but I just had to say hello to my old buddy!”

“That’s alright,” Napoleon said, managing a slightly forced
smile.  “It was good to see you again
after all this time.”

Illya bit back a smirk; Napoleon was a great liar when he
needed to be.

“Oh, and here…” the friend added, opening a cigarette case
in front of Napoleon.  “One of my imported
blends—you always used to love these, remember?
You said they were your favorite!
Just smell it!”

Napoleon blinked, staring at the cigarettes and then
sniffing the one that was held under his nose, and Illya paled slightly.  This was the worst possible timing for this,
seeing that Napoleon had been trying to quit smoking cold turkey a few weeks
ago—the first days had been the hardest, but Napoleon had gone for almost four weeks
without a cigarette.  And now this shadow
from the past was offering the ultimate temptation—and judging by the look on
Napoleon’s face, he was weakening.

“Napoleon…” Illya began, but he trailed off.  He knew how powerful the cravings of
withdrawal could be—and Napoleon had made it four weeks.  He couldn’t ask him to do any ore when
temptation was quite literally right under his nose.

Illya sighed.  Well,
they’d just have to start from square one this weekend—assuming Napoleon didn’t
decide to stay off the wagon completely–and who could blame him?  Illya had helped him through the worst days
in the beginning—the cramps, the insomnia, the headaches, the upset stomach…
all things that had nearly caused Napoleon to abandon the whole thing.  Illya had resolved that while he would refuse
to hand Napoleon a cigarette personally, he would not stop him from getting
them if he felt that he could no longer hold out.

He had, also, resolved to encourage his partner not to give
up, and after much wheedling and coaxing, they had made it this far…  Only for this to happen now.

Illya exhaled, mentally preparing another round of this; he
could only hope that, this time, Napoleon would be able to go for longer–

“Actually, I’m fine,” Napoleon suddenly said.  “But thanks for offering.”

The old acquaintance blinked, surprised; clearly, Napoleon
had never refused a cigarette from him before.
He then shrugged.

“Well, if you’re sure…. Your loss…” he said, and he headed
on his way.  “See you around, Solo!”

Napoleon gave him a half-hearted wave and looked back to
Illya with a sigh and look of relief.

“Well, that was close,” he said.

“You aren’t kidding,” Illya said, wiping sweat from his own
brow.  “I didn’t think you’d be able to
hold out.”

“…Honestly, neither did I,” Napoleon admitted.  “Especially when I smelled that imported
blend and remembered how much I always enjoyed those.  But I got to thinking about something you
said when we started this whole thing—that I was able to resist all forms of
THRUSH mind control, and that was how you knew I had this in me.  So, I just… tapped into that.

“Well, I am very glad you did,” Illya said, with a
smile.  “The war isn’t over yet, but you
won a very important battle.”  He raised
his glass.  “To your victory.”

Napoleon smiled and brought his glass to Illya’s.

“Well… I’ve got a great ally on my side,” he reminded
him.  “…Thanks, Illya.”

“Of course, Napoleon.”

Illya was more than happy to help.

Prompt: Sensory Deprivation Disoriented in the Dark (was kinda “ehh” about the original prompt, tweaked it a little…)

Summary: The first thing to do upon waking up in a dark, unfamiliar place is to get your bearings.  That can be easier said than done…

Cross-posted to AO3

Waking up in pitch darkness was always a bizarre
experience—it was deliberately disorienting, something that THRUSH was counting
on whenever they did it.  Illya grumbled
and cursed under his breath as he struggled to his feet—and promptly bumped his
head on the low ceiling.

He cursed THRUSH again, and then focused on trying to get
his bearings.  He could feel air coming
from a ventilator; judging from the intensity of the air flow, the vent was a
tiny one, so trying to remove the grate and traveling through it was out of the
question—not that the old chestnut ever really worked, anyway.

He could also smell mildew and feel damp dirt under his
hands.  He was in an old cellar—the low
ceiling had been put in to disorient anyone behind held down here.  Well, that solved one mystery—but it didn’t solve
how to get out of here…

Illya’s thoughts trailed off as another smell reached his
consciousness—a very familiar scent.

“…Bay rum,” he murmured.

Napoleon was here with him—most likely still unconscious,
given by the lack of response to Illya’s mutterings and curses against their
captors.

The Russian followed his nose until he found his partner;
gently, he clapped him on the side of the face to bring him around.

The sound of Napoleon’s grumbling had never sounded more
welcome.

“Urgh…  Illya?”

“I am here,” Illya reassured him.  He paused as he heard Napoleon scrambled to
sit up.  “Careful, Napoleon; mind your–”

“Ow!”

“…Head on the low ceiling.”
Illya rolled his eyes.

Napoleon growled in frustration as he rubbed his head.

“My patience with THRUSH grows thinner by the day,” he
muttered.

“Well, we have been divested of all of our weapons and
devices, so if you wish to vent your frustrations upon them, we shall have to
be clever with how we go about it.”

“Well, there has to be a door,” Napoleon said.  “We didn’t just teleport in here, after
all.  And sooner or later, they’ll have
to send someone to check on us.  I say we
try to find where the door is, and get ready to waylay whoever they send to
check up on us.”

“Fine by me,” Illya agreed.

As far as they were concerned, this was just a
setback to their mission—and soon, they would be back on track.

And with this, I am caught up/current!  As with yesterday, I’m posting them all here in one entry so as to not clutter
up tags/dashes, but they are posted individually on AO3.

Summary 9 (prompt: “Self-Inflicted”): An encounter with renegade feds seeking Soviet launch codes harshly reminds Illya of a time when THRUSH had been after the same.

Summary 10 (prompt: “Held at Gunpoint”): Part 1 of 2.  What should have been a simple mission ends up being anything but.

Summary 11 (prompt: “Self-Sacrifice”): Part 2 of 2.  Napoleon won’t regret what he did to save Illya–even if Illya does regret it.

Summary 12 (prompt: “Starvation”): Part 1 of 3.  Napoleon finds himself in the center of a new THRUSH plot as Illya struggles to find him.

Summary 13 (prompt: “Sleep Deprivation”): Part 2 of 3.  Napoleon
continues to be a “guest” of THRUSH, and Illya decides that, for once, it’s time for logic to be cast aside.

Summary 14 (prompt: “Conditioning/Brainwashing”): Part 3 of 3.  Illya rescues Napoleon in mid-experiment, and wonders if he will be the same Napoleon he knows and loves when he awakens.  Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth

Summary 15 (prompt: “Drugged”): In which Illya is high as a kite once again and Napoleon is just used to this by now.  Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth

9. An Act of Desperation

It had been a long time since Illya knowing part of the
Soviet launch codes had ever been an issue—in fact, it had been so long, that both he and his partner had considered the matter closed.  After all, the codes would have been changed
by now; there was no point in coming after Illya—or so they had thought.

Evidently, certain scheming, underhanded folks in places of
power thought that, with Illya’s piece of old code, they could infer the new
code.  And so, without orders or warrant
or anything that would have given them legal right to do so, a handful of
renegade agents sought the Russian out.

He managed to activate his distress signal as he fled and
proceeded to send a frantic message to Napoleon.  But as his pursuers closed in, memories of
the interrogations he’d experienced with THRUSH over this same issue—being
chained to a saltire and brutally beaten for the information that he could not
dare to give.

He could not go through that again.

He pulled one of the tranquilizer darts from his Special
and hesitated for a moment, but then he braced himself and stuck the needle
into his neck.

He dropped like a stone in seconds, his pursuers crowding
around him, wondering just how to deal with this.

“We were supposed to interrogate him in the car and dump
him by the side of the road!” one chided.

“We’ll have to take him somewhere until he wakes up,”
another muttered, moving to pick him up.

He never reached Illya, for Napoleon had come in from the
left, his full weight behind the left hook that he slammed into the man’s chin,
knocking him out cold.

In his right hand, he held his Special, aimed at the
others.

“So, which one of you wants to test whether my Special has
sleeping darts or bullets?” he challenged.

The men, momentarily frozen in fear, suddenly turned tail
and bolted.  Napoleon silently planted a
sleeping dart in the back of each one as the fled, dropping one by one.

“I wanted to use bullets…
Lucky for you, I didn’t,” he hissed at them.

As Mark and April and others arrived to take the pursuers
into custody, Napoleon set about to tending to his partner, trying to help him
revive faster.

Illya blinked as he finally came out of the tranquilizer.

“Napoleon…?” he murmured.
“Are they…?”

“They are in custody,” Napoleon assured him.  “I’m only sorry I couldn’t do more than
that.”

Illya managed a wan smile; he found it oddly fascinating,
how someone who was normally so kind and merciful could be pushed to such
extreme anger.  Illya was Napoleon’s
weakness, but it was a weakness that only the very foolish would dare to try to
take advantage of.  These men had been
lucky—others, who had dared to inflict harm upon Illya had not been so lucky.

“You did enough,” Illya assured him.

“Not enough,” Napoleon said.  “Enough would have given you the confidence
not to tranquilize yourself.”

“Napoleon, it wasn’t that I didn’t have confidence in you,”
he assured him.  “…I lacked the
confidence in myself.  After being
interrogated so brutally by THRUSH over this very thing, I could not…”  He trailed off, and Napoleon gripped his
arm.  “Forgive me, Napoleon, but my
emotions—my fears—got the better of me today.
Had I been in a better state of mind, I would have been more defiant and
not so quick to try to escape potential questioning.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Napoleon said.  “You had a terrible experience that still has
some scars on you—visible and invisible.
Old wounds were reopened tonight—but, perhaps, I can help you heal.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Illya replied.

He had never lost his faith in his partner; if anything, it
was stronger than ever before.

10. Should’ve

It was supposed to have been a routine mission—a simple
raid of a THRUSH facility.  Since being
permanently partnered together a few months ago after a year chasing down the
Baron of THRUSH, Napoleon and Illya had been clearing mission after mission
with great efficiency and success.

This mission should have been nothing more than a milk
run.  Other agents had cleared out the
facility, taking prisoners and chasing after THRUSHies who had tried to
escape.  All that had been left to do was
to get ahold of any evidence that remained—one last task to do before the duo
could get some time off.

“I can make any head or tail of this,” Napoleon said,
looking at some pages of scientific formulae.
“Does this mean anything to you?”

Illya’s eyes widened.

“Huh, guess so,” Napoleon observed.

“Neutrinos!” Illya exclaimed.

“…Is that good or bad?
I have no frame of reference here…” Napoleon said, with a smirk.  He had street smarts, but when it came to
sciency stuff like this, he would always let his double-doctor partner (holding
a PhD in quantum physics and a medical degree in pathology) take the lead.

“They are trying to isolate dark matter!”

“…I’m guessing that’s bad?”

“Well… we do not know,” Illya said.  “Dark matter is a theory—but it is believed
that most of the universe is comprised of it.
We simply do not know what could occur if it was isolated—but we cannot
allow THRUSH to be the first to do so!”

Napoleon made a sweeping motion over his head to indicate
that he didn’t understand any of the technical details, but understood the
importance.

“Just tell me what to do,” he said.

“Comb over every inch of this room to get all the research
information you can,” Illya said.
“Search in places that might not be obvious—under tables, in cubbyholes,
anything that might hide top-secret research.”

“Right,” Napoleon said, and began to comb the room.  There appeared to be a panel in the bottom of
the wall beneath a table, as Illya had suggested.  He crawled under, trying to reach it.

It was as he was trying to pry the panel open that he heard
footsteps heading for the lab, and a horrified gasp.

“You…!” a voice sputtered.
“What have you done!?”

Napoleon peeked out from under the table, his blood
freezing as he saw a THRUSH scientist—one who had obviously been out during the
raid, drawing a gun on Illya.

“My research!  You’ve
ruined my research!” he screamed.

Napoleon calmly seized his Special, aiming it at the THRUSH
scientist… and only a “click” emitted from it.
At the worst possible moment, the Special had jammed.

He had no weapon.  But he was not about to lose his partner to a
vengeful THRUSH scientist—he would find a way to save him, just as he always
did.

11. Could’ve

Illya didn’t move or speak; he didn’t want to risk angering
the THRUSH scientist further.  He could
only wait, hoping that Napoleon would be able to get a good aim at the
scientist before anything happened.

Concern grew as the attack he’d been expecting from Napoleon
didn’t come.  Something had gone wrong,
but what?

The THRUSH scientist, however, was oblivious.

“You will pay for this,” the scientist said.  “You may have ruined my research, but I will
not let you enjoy your victory.”

Illya backed away for a moment as the scientist began to
squeeze the trigger.

“No!” Napoleon
yelled.

Illya stood stoically as the scientist fired, but then let
out a cry as Napoleon tackled him out of the way; they both hit the floor, and
Illya quickly took advantage of the scientist’s momentary confusion to
tranquilize him with his Special before turning his attention back to Napoleon.

“Thank you, Napoleon,” he sighed.  “You saved me…”

He trailed off, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the
blood blossoming from Napoleon’s shoulder.
Napoleon lay there, stunned, not fully registering what had happened to
him.

“Nyet…!” Illya
exclaimed, gently touching the side of Napoleon’s face.

“Wh… What happened…?” Napoleon asked.

“You’ve been shot!” Illya exclaimed.  “Napoleon, why did you do that!?”

“My Special jammed…” Napoleon murmured, growing weaker as
the wound continued to bleed—it seemed to have gone right through his shoulder,
causing the blood to flow unimpeded.
“Had to make sure… you were… alright…”

A chill gripped at Illya’s heart as Napoleon trailed off.

“Napoleon!  Napoleon,
you must stay awake!”

“I just… need to rest… a moment…”

“Nyet!  You cannot!
I cannot lose you now!”  A lump
was forming in his throat.  “Please…  Stay with me, Napoleon.”

Napoleon exhaled quietly, but weakly gripped Illya’s hand
with his own; Illya stopped the bleeding as best as he could until backup
arrived.

After what seemed like an age, Napoleon was recovering in
Medical, still weak but assured that he would live after his ordeal.  He rested now, trying to conserve and regain
his strength as Illya watched over him.

“Napoleon,” Illya said, as he kept his vigil.  “I can never forget what you did today—when
the logical course of action failed, you were then willing to sacrifice your
life for mine.  I know I should be
eternally grateful for this, and yet…
You have no idea how much I worried, thinking that I would lose you because
of this…!”

“Didn’t… want to lose… you…”

“You must conserve your strength,” Illya chided.  His expression softened.  “But I understand; I would not have wanted to
die and leave you that way, either.  And
I know not to tell you to never do this again, for I know you would trade your
life for mine in a heartbeat again…  Just as I
would for you.”

Napoleon gave a weak nod.

“Then, perhaps, let us just settle for promising to do our
best to survive and get through things together,” Illya said.

“I can… live with that…”

“…I do not know if you intended that as a pun or not, and
right now, I am just too relieved at your survival to care,” Illya
admitted.  He had to bite back a chuckle
as Napoleon managed a smirk.

Indeed, if it meant dealing with Napoleon’s puns for years
upon years, he would welcome them—for it was far, far better than the
alternative.

12. Body

Napoleon’s head was so light.  When was the last time he had eaten
anything?  A week?  Two?
It was part of a grand THRUSH experiment—since Napoleon had proven
immune to hypnosis and other kinds of brainwashing, THRUSH was determined to
find a way to control him—even if it meant weakening him to a shell of his
former self.

His captors had instructed that he receive absolutely no
food—just water, and the underlings gleefully obeyed orders, eager to see the
famously strong-willed Napoleon Solo crumble at last.

But Napoleon wasn’t about to give them the
satisfaction.  He refused to beg for
food; he laid on his cot defiantly, in spite of how hungry and weak he was
becoming.

I probably look
like a skinny wreck of a string bean.  I
wonder what Illya would say if he saw me now…

Thinking about Illya caused his heart to twist.  Napoleon’s capture had been orchestrated from
the inside, which was why all trackers and distress signals had been removed
from him before being carried off to the THRUSH lab.  There was no way to contact Illya—and, anyway
was Illya even alive after the mole had gotten through with him?

What happened to
you, Tovarisch?  I need you…

He sunk into despair.
Even if Illya was alive, there was no way he’d able to find him in time
to stop the experiment.  The idea that
Napoleon would be fully brainwashed by the time Illya arrived—assuming he was
even going to arrive—was one that the American could not stand.

He had no idea, of course, that Illya was alive, and
desperately trying to find him.  There
were no clues and nothing to go on—this particular batch of THRUSHies had been
clever and methodical about covering their tracks.

But that wasn’t about to dissuade Illya.  He scoured every corner of where Napoleon had
been last seen, and had the top forensics experts in U.N.C.L.E. to do the
same.  But not even they could come up
with an answer.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Kuryakin,” one of them said.  “But there is no feasible way to determine
where they took Mr. Solo.  If it’s true
what the rumors say that Mr. Solo was taken for an experiment in brainwashing,
well…  We might as well write him off as
a loss, then, if you ask me.”

“I did not ask
you!” Illya quipped.

He shooed the so-called “experts” off, being left alone
with his thoughts.

Napoleon, forgive
me for not stopping this from happening.
But, I vow to you, I will not rest until I find you.

He would find Napoleon—no matter what.

13. Mind

Starvation was only the first phase of THRUSH’s
pre-brainwashing treatment to thoroughly weaken Napoleon.  To his dismay, after a week, they proceeded
to remove the cot from his cell, for the captors had instructed that Napoleon
was to no longer be able to sleep in preparation for the experiment.

As with the starvation, the flunkies agreed to do this with
great enthusiasm.  They poked and prodded
him with pointed sticks and blunt spears through the bars of the cell to make
sure that, even on the cold, uncomfortable stone floor of the cell.

Illya, he silently transmitted.
I don’t know how you’d be able
to…  But if you’re alive and you can hear
me, I hope there’s some way you can find me…

He shuddered as they continued to poke and prod him, not
even letting him rest for a moment.

If you are okay,
then I know you’ll find me eventually, but I don’t know if it’ll be in
time…  I just… want you to remember me as
I was—in case you’re too late and they succeed in making me a willing servant
of THRUSH.  Just know that it was against
my will, and I tried to resist until the very end…

And Illya Kuryakin, pouring over maps and reports, suddenly
jerked to attention as he heard Napoleon’s voice, as though echoing in his
mind.

“Oh, Napoleon…” he whispered.

He stared back at the papers and maps in his hand.  They had proven to be useless in his quest
for finding his partner—logic had failed him.
So, then, perhaps… the mysterious and unexplained was, in fact, the way
to go?

Very well, he thought, concentrating on Napoleon’s voice.  I will
let my heart lead me.  hold on,
Napoleon.  I will find you!

14. Spirit

Three weeks had gone by since his capture, and after being
denied food and sleep for most of that time, the THRUSHies announced that the
brainwashing experiment was ready to begin.

He was too weak to resist as they dragged him to their lab
and strapped him to the table.  They
placed electrodes all over his face and head, and they began.  It was electroshock treatments, coupled with
auditory and visual stimuli—audio and video of THRUSH founders and leaders
reciting their cruel doctrines as the electric pulses coursed through
Napoleon’s body, as though trying to rewire him…

And then, a loud explosion shook the building, and the
power went out, stopping it all.  Napoleon
was out cold, not having slept in two weeks.

As the THRUSHies scrambled to get things working again,
they neglected to notice Illya having breached their security, striking all of
them down with a vengeance before unhooking Napoleon from the machines and
taking him back to U.N.C.L.E. HQ.

It was after arriving at Medical that they gave him the bad
news.

“There is no telling if and how much the THRUSH conditioning
affected him,” the head doctor said.  “We
cannot release him, especially since you say you didn’t arrive in time to
prevent the process from starting…”

Illya protested loudly as the Medical staff shackled
Napoleon’s arms to the bed, and then his ankles.

“This is absolutely unnecessary!” he insisted.  “Napoleon has resisted all forms of THRUSH
control before—why should this be any different!?”

“Because he was starved and sleep-deprived prior to the
conditioning, and severely weakened as a result,” the doctor explained.  “It is very unlikely that he had the strength
to resist this time.  You must be prepared
for the worst, Mr. Kuryakin—he might awaken completely with no knowledge of you
or U.N.C.L.E—or worse, he may awaken thinking he is a member of THRUSH.”

“…Any conditioning can be reversed, can’t it?” Illya asked.

“If the psychological and physical trauma from the
pre-conditioning treatment was severe enough… it might change him—permanently.”

The doctor then walked off, leaving a devastated Illya
behind.

“This cannot be happening,” he said to the unconscious
Napoleon.  “Not after everything I went through
to find you…!”

But the more he looked at his partner, stick-thin and with
his features sunken, the more his heart broke.

“I should never have let them take you,” he said,
softly.  “And I should have found you
sooner—relied on our bond sooner rather than facts and figures and logic…”  He stopped, his voice beginning to
crack.  “Napoleon…. I love you.  Please, please wake up as your real self…  Please don’t change from that person I love
so much…”

He gently kissed Napoleon on the forehead, and then proceeded
to sit and wait, continuing to talk softly to him.

At last, Napoleon stirred; Illya watched with a pounding
heart as Napoleon’s eyes opened.
Napoleon grunted in confusion as he tried to move his arms and legs and
found that he couldn’t do so.

“Napoleon…?” Illya asked.

Napoleon turned to the sound of his voice, staring at him
with an unreadable expression at first—an expression that broke Illya’s heart
to see.

Napoleon blinked a few times.

“Illya…?” he murmured at last.  “Why am I… chained to the bed?”

Illya’s relief was so great; he couldn’t even answer at
first—he just swooped down and grabbed his partner in a hug.

“It’s a long story,” he said, practically laughing and
crying at the same time as he then moved to unlock Napoleon’s handcuffs.

“I’m sure I’ve… got time to listen…” Napoleon said, sighing
in relief.  “Just… get me something to
eat first, huh?”

“Of course I will,” Illya promised.  “Something light, however–it has been a while since you’ve eaten, and you don’t want to tax your stomach.”

The story could wait until Napoleon had finally gotten some
food in him after so long—Illya knew from experience that an IV drip, though
necessary, did nothing to aid the pangs of hunger.

More than that, Illya was just glad knowing that
THRUSH had failed again—and that, after it all, at the end of the day… he and
his partner were still together.

15. Support

A drugged Illya was always a challenge for Napoleon,
particularly when the drug was a THRUSH concoction that no one knew what it
would cause.  This time, however, it was
a known medication that was doing a number on the Russian—a painkiller that he
had needed after recovering from a THRUSH attack.  Napoleon therefore knew exactly how Illya
would react to it—by becoming overly clingy and emotional.

Napoleon had convinced Medical to let him take Illya home
and look after him there—confident that the familiar surroundings would help in
Illya getting over his high.

“‘Poleon…” Illya was saying, as Napoleon directed him to
the bedroom.

“Yes?”

“Can’t we stop there?” he asked, pointing him to the
direction of the kitchen.

“What for?” Napoleon asked.

“I want to get the copper kettle and make tea for you,
‘Poleon!” he exclaimed.  “I know you
enjoy my Russian tea!”

“And I do,” Napoleon assured him.  “But this is not the time for you to be
making tea for me or anyone!  Perhaps,
after you have recovered–”

“But I feel fine, ‘Poleon!”

He tried to go to the kitchen while Napoleon continued to
try to lead him to the bedroom; this resulted in an ungainly pirouette session
across the floor.

“We are dancing!” Illya giggled.  “Ah, ‘Poleon, you dance divinely!”

“You’re not doing too badly yourself, for someone who’s
drugged out of his mind,” Napoleon commented, still trying to lead Illya to the
bedroom.

“Ahh, Dorogoy!  You
are too, too kind!”

He threw his arms around Napoleon, hugging him close.  In spite of himself, Napoleon smiled and
hugged Illya back.  After all the times
this had happened in the past, taking care of a drugged Illya was
second-nature.  And it was far easier for
him than if the situation had been reversed; a drugged Napoleon had boundless
energy and usually was very difficult to keep up with, much to Illya’s
exasperation.  A drugged Illya was far
easier to look after.

“Just hang in there, Tovarisch,” he said,
encouragingly.  “You’ll be back to your
old self soon—before you know it!”

“Ahh…  Thank you,
‘Poleon!”

He relaxed in Napoleon’s hold at last, and Napoleon gently
took Illya to the bedroom and placed him in bed.

“Goodnight, Tovarisch,” he said, exhaustedly crawling into
bed with him.  “At least you’ll be normal
again soon.”

Until then, he would hold his partner close and continue to
look after him.

It was what they did best.

Catching up on the Inktober for Writers prompts I missed; here’s the first half…  I’m posting them all here in one entry so as to not clutter up tags/dashes, but they are posted individually on AO3.

Summary 3 (prompt: “Jail Cell”): Illya waits for a rescue; Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth.

Summary
4 (prompt: “Noose”): Based on that scene from “The Maze Affair” episode–Illya knew Napoleon was the bait to trap him, but that didn’t matter.

Summary 5 (prompt: “Explosion”): Part 1 of 3; The aftermath of a mission gone wrong

Summary 6 (prompt: “Broken Bone”): Part 2 of 3; Napoleon’s luck fails at last, and he and Illya are dismayed to hear he’ll be out of commission for two months

Summary 7 (prompt: “Guilt”): Part 3 of 3; as Napoleon continues to recover, Illya still blames himself for allowing it to happen. Light slash; gen version is on dreamwidth.

Summary 8 (prompt: “Scars”): In which Napoleon gets a bit self-conscious over some “mementos” of a previous mission.

3. Waiting

The small window in the cell is the only way for Illya to
measure the time of his captivity; his watch and anything else that could have
concealed a gadget or weapon had been seized from him.  THRUSH wasn’t even risking a chance that he
might find a way to escape or summon help.

He had to give them credit; this THRUSH outpost was in such
a hidden location that Illya had only stumbled upon it by accident.  He had been swarmed by THRUSHies before he
had been able to contact Napoleon.

There is little else to do other than lie on the cot and
watch the sky change from day to night and back again.  THRUSHies come by at all hours of the day and
night to question him, and try to beat the answers out of him.  They starve him, giving him only one small
meal a day—and how he suffers with his metabolism being as rapid as it was!

And yet, Illya still manages to hold on to one spark of
hope: the spark of hope that assures him that Napoleon has ways of finding him
without gadgets and devices—just as he has done in the past for Napoleon, as
well.

It is after the sun rises for the fifteenth time through
that tiny window that things begin to change—that panicked shouts fill the
THRUSH hideout, and people stampede past his cell for the underground exit.

Illya turns his head slightly, and his heart skips a beat
upon seeing Napoleon storming past, pursuing the THRUSHies with righteous
fury.  The movement of Illya’s head
doesn’t escape his partner; Napoleon glances in his direction—and then stops
dead as he registers what he’s seeing.

In a matter of seconds, he abandons his quarry; for him,
revenge is less important than liberating his beloved.

He blasts the lock open and is by his side in an instant,
clearly horrified by how gaunt and injured Illya has become.

“What did they do
to you?” he asks, gently gathering his partner in his arms.

“Nothing I cannot recover from,” Illya assures him, and he
means it.  In Napoleon’s arms, he feels
safe at last, knowing that Napoleon will look after him.  …It almost made the whole ordeal worth
it—almost.

He looks up at his partner as Napoleon carries him out of
the cell; Napoleon is softly talking to him, reassuring him and asking him to
hold on just a little bit longer.  He is more
worried than necessary, but that’s just the way he is—Illya is hungry and a bit
beaten up, but hardly in critical condition.

“Napoleon, I’ll be alright…”

He has to keep repeating those words as Napoleon takes him
to Medical, tucking him in the hospital bed and making sure he gets food down.  Here, when they are both safe, Napoleon lets
more emotions in and out, gently kissing Illya on the lips and forehead.

At last, Illya knows it’s over when Napoleon, satisfied
that Illya is on the mend, manages to lift the burden of worry from his
shoulders and fall asleep in the chair beside Illya’s hospital bed.

And he, too, falls into a peaceful sleep for the first time
in weeks.

4. No Regrets

It was a trap.  How
could it not be a trap!?  Everything about it scream “TRAP” so loudly,
that THRUSH might as well have put up a neon sign declaring that it was a trap
to draw Illya out into the open.

And yet, it was most effective—for how could Illya sit idly
by as THRUSH hung his partner on their makeshift gallows?

Napoleon refused to betray any fear as he was led to the
THRUSH gallows; he even managed a quip about how this seemed to be a far cry
from the advanced weapon that THRUSH had been bragging about.  But Illya could see the fear in his eyes—it
was visible only to someone who knew Napoleon as well as he did.

The fear in his eyes increased as the THRUSHie slipped the
noose over his neck; Napoleon’s entire body tensed—he was bracing himself for
what was he was certain was the end.

And Illya couldn’t stay inactive any longer.

He threw an explosive charge as a smokescreen, waited for
the THRUSHies to run over to check it out, and leaped from his vantage point
above the gallows to tackle the one guard that had been left standing watch
over Napoleon.

The fear that had been in Napoleon’s eyes was replaced by
pure relief as Illya leaped into his line of sight.  His outward expression hadn’t changed at all,
however—not even after Illya removed the noose from his neck.

He didn’t have an opportunity to thank his partner,
alas—the trapdoor opened beneath them, sending them tumbling into the
guardhouse below.

Footsteps were approaching them rapidly; there was no time
to talk, no time to say anything.

Napoleon gave him an apologetic glance.

I’m sorry, he silently transmitted.

Don’t be, Illya returned.  No matter what befalls me, I do not regret
being captured to save you.  I could
never.

Napoleon swallowed the growing lump in his throat.  Of course he wouldn’t—if the situation had
been reversed, Napoleon would have done exactly the same thing.

Thank you.  Illya, no matter what happens…

I know, Illya said, not even needing his partner to finish the
thought.  And I feel the same way.

If this was where it ended, they would lament how short
their time had been, but there would be very little to regret.

But maybe… just maybe… there would be some
miracle that would allow them to survive this together, just as they had done
so many times before.

5. Out of Time

Illya groaned as he awakened, blinking as he found himself
in a pile of rubble that had once been a THRUSH facility.  What had happened?  Ah, yes, that’s right—they had set the
hideout to self-destruct, and Illya had been desperately trying to disable the
computer-controlled charges so that he and Napoleon could collect the evidence…

Napoleon!

His eyes shot open.  Napoleon
had been with him, only feet away when time had run out and the charges had
detonated, bringing the building down on top of them.  And now…

Illya forced himself to sit up, his heart in his throat as
he looked around and saw nothing but piles and piles of rubble.

“No…” he choked out.
“Napoleon!  Napoleon!”

Everything was coming back him now; his terrified cry that
they had run out of time, the entire place shaking from the charges going off,
and Napoleon… Napoleon running to him
instead of trying to run away and save himself…

“NAPOLEON!”

Illya’s voice broke into a coughing fit from all of the
dust.  Taking a moment to think, he used
his communicator to call Napoleon’s.  He
could hear the communicator’s whistle, as he had hoped, taking it as a good sign
that it was still intact and working—but it chilled him to realize that it was
coming from beneath a large pile of rubble.

Illya struggled to move some of the pieces; to his dismay,
it became clear that part of the wall had fallen on his partner; for all of his
efforts, he was only able to reach his partner’s hand—and received no response
after grasping it.

“Napoleon!” he cried, placing his fingers on Napoleon’s
wrist.  For what seemed like an eternity,
he searched for a pulse before finally finding one.  “Napoleon, please wake up!”

He tried to dig further, but stopped in horror as the pile
of rubble shifted and threatned to collapse futher.  He couldn’t dare try anything further;
Napoleon had survived due to ending up in an air bubble—if that collapsed, he
was done for.

He hit the distress signal on his tracker and proceeded to
do the only thing he could do—gently rub Napoleon’s wrist and talk to him,
trying to get him to revive.

After what seemed like another eternity, he heard a groan.

“Napoleon!?” he asked, daring to hope.

“Ugh… what happened…?” Napoleon groaned.  “Where am I…?
Illya…?”

“I am here, Napoleon!
The THRUSH hideout collapsed when the charges went off—I wasn’t able to
stop them…”

“Are you alright!?”

Illya swallowed the lump in his throat.  Napoleon was the one trapped, and yet, he was
more concerned about him?

“I am fine, but you are trapped.  Can you try and see if you can slip out?”

Napoleon groaned again, and then cried out.

“Napoleon!?”

“I can’t…!  My
leg…!  I can’t move my leg…!”

Illya shut his eyes.

“…Are you pinned by the wall…?”

“I… I think so…”

Illya cursed himself multiple times over.  His partner was injured and trapped, and
there was nothing he could to do help him—his failures had been the cause of
this!

“I have already summoned help,” Illya said, quietly.  “You will be out soon.”

“…Don’t go,” Napoleon pleaded, quietly.

Illya gripped his hand tightly.

“I would never,” he promised.

He would stay—of course.  And after Napoleon was extracted, he would
find some way to make it up to him.

6. Out of Commission

Backup arrived at long last to help free Napoleon from the
rubble.  Their backup, having
commandeered construction equipment to get the job done, moved the large
segment of wall that had pinned Napoleon’s leg in place as the rest of the
rubble was cleared from around him, and he greedily gulped the fresh air,
wincing in pain as he tried to move his leg and failed, even after being freed.

Napoleon finally sat up, looking in dismay at his
previously-pinned leg.  Illya’s heart
sunk as he saw it, as well.

“Broken…” he realized, staring at the swollen shin.

“And badly,” Napoleon groaned, slumping against Illya.  “I’m going to be out of commission for two
months—at least!”

Illya looked disdainfully at his partner.

This is my fault, he silently chided himself.

So many things he could have done different—should have done different!  But he had not, and now his partner, the
person he loved most in all the world, was suffering for it.

Napoleon was soon carried off on a stretcher and taken to
Medical; they got to work on his leg, binding the shin and foot in a cast and
sending him home to rest.  Though Waverly
had granted Illya some time off to look after him, they all knew that Illya
would have to return to work before Napoleon would be fully healed.

Nevertheless, Illya was ready to do what he could now.

Once home, he led Napoleon to the bedroom, sitting him down
on the bed and gently taking the crutches from him.

“Now you rest,” he instructed.  “I will get you something to eat, and I am
sure Baba Yaga will want to use her purring abilities to expedite the healing
process.”

“Thanks,” Napoleon said.

There was a frustration evident in Napoleon’s
voice—clearly, he was upset at being bedridden, and Illya couldn’t blame
him.  Two months was no small amount of
time—two months being kept away from something that Napoleon considered his
purpose in life…  It was a cruel twist of
fate…

Illya’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud and a cry
of pain from Napoleon; he dropped everything and ran back to the bedroom, Baba
Yaga right behind him, to see Napoleon collapsed on the floor.

“What happened!?” Illya exclaimed, gently helping him up
and placing him back in the bed.

“I thought I could, at least, make it across the room,”
Napoleon muttered, bitterly.  “But I
can’t even do that.”

Illya gently squeezed Napoleon’s hand.

“You need to give yourself time,” he said, gently, though
his heart ached for his partner.  “If you
push yourself like this, you will take longer to heal—perhaps even cause more
damage.  I know it is a bleak outlook
that will last a while, but we need you to return back to 100%.”  He paused.
“I need you to return to 100%, as well.
I cannot accept being permanently assigned to another partner.”

“I wouldn’t want you do be reassigned, either,” Napoleon
said.

“Then please listen to what I have to say in regards to
your healing,” Illya said, gently brushing a few strands of hair from
Napoleon’s forehead.

Napoleon sighed, but nodded.

“I will,” he promised.

Illya smiled and left Baba Yaga beside Napoleon’s leg,
satisfied as she began to purr loudly.
Napoleon closed his eyes and rested as Illya went back to the kitchen.

Once there, he paused, sighing.

It would be a long road ahead for Napoleon, but
Illya would help him in any way he could.

7. Out of Hiding

Illya was working
on dismantling more THRUSH explosives; time was running out.  Napoleon was somewhere in the building; he
had to hurry…!

But nothing seemed
to be working—the wires, the bits and pieces…
They all seemed to be a jumbled mess, and any and all knowledge that
Illya had about demolitions seemed to be slipping away from him like the sands
in an hourglass.

“I have to help
Napoleon!” he gasped, seeing his partner running down the halls towards
him.  “I have to stop this–”

The timer hit
zero, and explosions went off all around the corridor, enveloping his
partner.  Illya’s heart stopped as
Napoleon vanished into the heart of the blast, screaming in agony until he
screamed no more…

“NO!” Illya cried, bolting awake.

There was a yelp from the cat as she was awakened by
Illya’s cry; Baba Yaga looked at him, her tail twitching for a moment before
she chirruped and sat back down beside Napoleon’s broken leg.

“Illya…?” Napoleon murmured, slowly coming awake.  “What happened?  What time is it?”

“It’s 3:30 in the morning, Napoleon,” Illya sighed.  “Nothing happened; go back to sleep.”

Napoleon wasn’t convinced, and he reached over, touching
Illya’s shoulder.

“You had a bad dream,” he said, knowingly.  “I know the signs—I have them enough times,
after all.”

Illya grumbled under his breath; he wasn’t about to admit
it.  And, anyway, it wasn’t the dream
itself that upset him—it was reality.  He
knew that it was the guilt he had over his failure at stopping the real
explosion in the THRUSH facility—the reason why Napoleon was out of commission
for two months with a broken leg after the explosion had caused part of the
wall to fall on him.  He was fortunate
not to have fared worse, but Illya could not forgive himself for allowing his
partner to be injured so badly.

“Illya,” Napoleon said, drawing an arm around him.  “What happened?”

“You died in the dream,” Illya said.  “That’s all there is to it.”

“I figured that much.
Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“…That’s alright,” Napoleon said.  He said nothing more, but still held Illya
close to him, which didn’t help with the guilt he was feeling—at all.

“How can you forgive me so easily when I am the reason for
your condition!?” Illya blurted out, after a moment.

“My condition–?
Illya, you didn’t break my leg!”

“I might as well have done so,” he replied, bitterly.  “I was not able to stop those explosions from
going off—the wall fell on you, and now your leg is broken.  How is it not
my fault!?”

“Neither of us knew that THRUSH had booby-trapped that
facility with those explosive charges!” Napoleon reminded him.  “By the time we had found out, there were
only five minutes left!”

“Then I should have insisted that you leave while I tried
to deactivate them,” Illya said.  “There
was no excuse for my not insisting upon it.”

“…You think I would have left, even if you had insisted?”
Napoleon asked, softly.

Illya blinked.

“You would not have,” he admitted.

“So we’d have been right back here, like this,” Napoleon
said.

Illya considered this and conceded.

“Yet, I cannot help but feel that I am partly to blame,” he
admitted.  “Two whole months, you have to
be here, bored and recovering.  There
must have been something I could have done to prevent this!”

“You saved my life by making sure I stayed conscious, even
when all I wanted to do was pass out again from the pain,” Napoleon admitted.  “Illya, I love you.  And just as you find it difficult to forgive
yourself, so would I have if I hadn’t stayed behind with you.  I made the choice to stay with you.  A broken leg is worth knowing that you were
alright—I’d never regret that.”

“I love you, too,” Illya said, now drawing his arms around
Napoleon in a hug.

Napoleon responded by hugging Illya with both arms, as
well, and Illya forced himself to try to let go of his guilt.

Napoleon was here, alive, and still loyal and by his
side.  And once he was fully healed, he’d
be running by his side once again.

Illya could live with that—and he knew they both could.

8. Vanity

Napoleon usually never dwells on old cases too much—in
their line of work, they really can’t afford to dwell in the past like that.  But Napoleon is only human—a human who was
trained in Survival School to use all of his charm and good looks as part of
his arsenal.  With that training came a
certain kind of vanity.

Napoleon is undoubtedly vain, but it isn’t a mean-spirited
vanity at all—more of an extreme self-consciousness brought about by his
training.  But, nevertheless, it is
engrained in his mind, and even though he tries to brush off the injuries that
he receives in the course of his duties, sometimes, he can’t help but focus on
the scars they leave behind.

Most of the marks are temporary, and most of the permanent scars
are otherwise unnoticeable.  But there
are large, ugly ones on his back—a memento of his encounter with Captain Shark
and his whip.

They are permanent—Illya had broken the news to him the
moment he had seen them, something that Medical confirmed upon their return.

At the time, Napoleon had tried to shrug it off, claiming
that it merely meant he could no longer walk without a shirt in the summertime.

But as he glances over his shoulder at the reflection of
his back on the mirror, he realizes just how true that statement is.  He has to suppress a cringe at the thought of
the pointing and staring he’d have to face if he did dare to wander without a
shirt on the beach ever again.

Illya walks in now; scars are no stranger to him, either,
though since he is far less concerned with how others see him, it is easy for
him not to dwell on them.

He can sympathize with Napoleon, however—he knows how much
Napoleon’s appearances mean to him.

“Napoleon…” he says.
“You know, they do perform surgeries to cover up scars.  There is that option—though, frankly, I do
not think you need it.”

“You really think–?”

“Yes, I do,” Illya says.
“These scars are not in a very noticeable place for the majority of the
year.”

“But in summer…?”

“I am confident that most people at the beach will have
better things to do than go looking around for scars on people,” Illya says.  “And those who do are busybodies we shouldn’t
pay any mind to, anyway.”

Napoleon does manage a chuckle, in spite of himself.

“But, as I said, it is your decision to make,” Illya
says.  “I can only offer my advice.”

“And I appreciate it,” Napoleon insists.  He glances at the mirror once more.  “Well… Not today, that’s for sure.”

He sighs as he put his shirt back on, but then smiles as he
glances back at Illya.

“How about we go get dinner somewhere?”

Illya smiles back.

“Sounds wonderful.”

And the two of them head out, eager for what
lies next.

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.

Prompt: On their knees

Summary: A THRUSH captor wants to prove that he can break Napoleon Solo.  Napoleon has to figure out why

Cross-posted to AO3.  Light slash; gen version posted at dreamwidth.

Napoleon flinched as the THRUSH interrogators continued to
beat him with sticks.  He struggled to
his knees; it took everything just to stay like that.

“You can end this suffering, Solo,” the THRUSH executive
said, standing in front of him.  “Just
give me what I want.”

“There is nothing I have that could interest you,” Napoleon
said, struggling to focus as everything around him started to go out of
focus.  “You won’t get any U.N.C.L.E.
secrets from me.  Lesser THRUSH agents
than you have tried and failed…”  He trailed
off, his focus lessening.

The THRUSH executive snapped his fingers, and Napoleon
shuddered as a bucket of cold water was dumped on him.

“Information?” he repeated.
“Whoever said anything about information?  There is nothing I need to know about pathetic
U.N.C.L.E.—my inside men have already found out everything I needed to
know.  How else was I able to have you
brought before me with such ease?”

Napoleon blinked, trying to stay conscious.

“Then… why am I here…?” he asked, his voice slightly
slurred.  “What… what do you want… from
me…?”

“I want to prove that Napoleon Solo is breakable,” the
executive said.  “There’s nothing I need to get from you, Solo.  I just need to prove that I can.”

Napoleon winced as the executive’s hand, cold with the
metal from the silver rings he wore, smacked him across the face.  The hand then stopped in front of his face.

“Kiss the ring on my hand,” he ordered.  “A simple show of surrender and fealty is all
I need.”

Even through the cloudy haze of pain and dizziness,
Napoleon hesitated.

“Oh, go on, Solo,” the executive said, waving his flunkies
out of the room.  “There, it is just the
two of us now—no one else will be witness to your humiliation, if that’s what
you’re worried about.”

Napoleon blinked.

“Then why… go through all this…?” he murmured.  “What’s the point…?”

“To prove that I can!” the executive said.  “To prove that I can break the unbreakable
Napoleon Solo!”

“But if no one else will know, then why…?” Napoleon
asked.  “You’re not… doing this for
yourself…”  He trailed off, his glance
falling onto the mirror in the room, taking up most of the wall space on the
far wall.  “…Who’s back there, watching
us through the mirror?”

“What difference does it make?” the executive snarled.  “Do you want this suffering to continue!?  I am asking you to do one simple thing—one
simple thing that will not bring any harm to your precious U.N.C.L.E., so why
do you hesitate!?”

“Because you’re so insistent…” Napoleon murmured.  “Who is watching us?  Other THRUSH executives?  …No.
They wouldn’t sit by and watch you try to do what they’ve been trying;
they’d be in here, trying, too…  The only
benefit to having me do this is to destroy the morale of my…”  He trailed off, his eyes widening.  “…My partner.”

Of course…  THRUSH
somehow had found out about Napoleon breaking during the Summit Five Affair,
and how that had affected Illya.  What
better way to break him than by breaking Napoleon in front of his eyes again?

A fierce fire lit in his eyes as he got off of his knees
and struggled to his feet.

“Do your worst.”

He nearly regretted that statement; the frustrated
executive hit him several more times until he screamed at his underlings to
throw him back into a cell.

Illya was soon thrown in the cell, as well, and after
cursing their captors out in Russian, he tended to Napoleon’s wounds.

“Once you had figured out what was going on, you could have
just done an act and pretended to surrender,” Illya softly said.  “I saw the look in your eyes through the
two-way mirror; I would have understood.”

“Well…” Napoleon said, keeping his eyes closed as he
rested, flinching slightly as Illya disinfected his wounds.  “…You know I’ve got a stubborn streak.”

“…I do, indeed.”

“Besides… I’d rather kiss you anyday.”

Illya paused, looking at him with a tender expression
before gently kissing him.  Napoleon
managed a smile, relaxing as Illya continued to treat his wounds.

And as they were eventually rescued a few hours later by
Mark and April, recovering together in Medical, Illya had to admit that he was,
secretly, glad that Napoleon hadn’t broken and that, if nothing else, his
partner’s pride was still intact.