The Prompt –

"The choice is yours, {Solo/Kuryakin}" stated the agent's latest captor. "Either you kill your partner quickly, or I kill him slowly. I'll give you both five minutes to talk it over."

The Theme –

Your theme this time is - Thankfulness

.

"The choice is yours Solo and Kuryakin," stated the agent's latest captor."Either you kill your partner quickly, or I kill him slowly. I'll give you both five minutes to talk it over."

Louis Flammia, a dark haired man in tailored grey suit, looking quite stylish, stared at the U.N.C.L.E. agents through the bars of their cell that reeked of urine and other things.

The agents stood there, motionless and not responding to the threat. They'd never been in quite this position before, well similar accommodations, but the ultimatum was new.

It was usually a threat against someone, a demand they surrender or an innocent would be killed. Of course they'd obey, and be taken prisoner, but this time...

Illya winked before finally speaking up. "I will not kill you."

"I'm not going to kill you either," Napoleon shot back.

"You must. You need to live," Kuryakin said.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Flammia called out."Time's wasting. If you don't decide, then I will. As I said, if I choose, one of you will suffer slowly while the other watches, knowing it was your fault. You could have chosen to save your partner."

"Napoleon I must be the one to die, not you!" Illya hissed.

The American turned to his partner, snarling at him. "My God, you have to play the stoic to the bitter end. Always the melodramatic martyr."

"What?" The look on Kuryakin's face was one of utter bewilderment. "Why are you speaking to me like this? I am trying to save your life!"

Solo took a step closer," Are you that stupid?"

"Napoleon...why?"

"Don't you think he's just going to kill who's ever left standing?"

"At least you will have a chance," Illya whispered. His voice sounded small, like a wounded child."

"You know what, maybe you're right," Napoleon said."Why should I die for the likes of you, you gluttonous little Commie."

"Napoleon, please do not call me that. We are friends...are we not?"

"Friends? Is that what you thought? No way would I have someone like you for a friend; bad enough I've had to work with you!"

It was now Kuryakin's turn to snarl and he cursed in Russian,"Grebanaya svin'ya! You male whore! You think with nothing but what is between your legs."

"Ahhh, that's much better." Flammia laughed as he tossed a knife into the cell.

"Now fight for your lives, and may the best U.N.C.L.E. agent win. Just a note; I will not kill the winner and will set him free. No torture, no interrogation, only freedom to the winner."

The two men eyed the knife laying on the floor and began circling it, their posture having changed. They were both hunched over, their arms held out and their hands ready.

Illya was the better one with a knife, and Solo knew it.

"Oh no, that's too good for you," he said. "I'm going to kill you with my own two hands!" Napoleon said. His voice was cold and emotionless.

He swept the knife out of the way with his foot, sending it to a back corner of the cell.

As soon as it was out of reach he dove at Illya, slamming him against the cell wall and grabbing him by the throat; somehow the blond managed to free himself from Solo's grip.

The two men wrestled, rolling back and forth across as the fell to the floor as they each struggling to gain the upper hand.

Flammia stood there, close to the bars, clapping his hands together like a gleeful child.

Finally Solo, out weighing his partner, managed to pin him down. Straddling the Russian's chest, he again wrapped his hands around Kuryakin's throat.

Illya tried hitting Napoleon's arms with his fists, and grabbed at the fingers digging into his throat, he tried to loosen the American's vice like grip, but failed.

Little by little Illya's movements lessened as he weakened.

Finally, his eyes widened and his mouth opened, gasping for air until he took his final breath.

Napoleon rose to his feet, brushing his hands together as if he could remove the feeling of just having murdered his partner from them.

"Well done Mister Solo, well done! I must say that I was rooting for you. I didn't relish the idea of having to take that insipid little Russian under my wing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Napoleon dusted off his suit.

"Face it Mister Solo, you just killed your partner; you can never return to being an U.N.C.L.E. agent again. I however can use a new right hand man, and an American was far more preferable than a Russian to fill the position."

Napoleon cocked his head to one side. "Well I guess that's an offer I can't refuse, can I? Still I need to think on it. Who's your tailor by the way?"

"Oh you like my suit? Well best custom made clothing is just one amenity I can offer you as my second in command. I know you like the ladies and you'll have all the tail you want; lots of money as well."

Napoleon rubbed his chin with his hand. "On second thought, I'll have to decline, but thanks for asking."

"What?" Now it was Flammia's turn to look bewildered.

Solo quickly sidestepped as he'd been blocking the man's view of Kuryakin's body.

Illya suddenly sprang to life, reaching over and grabbing the nearby the knife; he threw it with deadly accuracy.

The blade hit its mark, right in the middle of Louis Flammia's throat. He stood stood there, hanging onto the bars as he gasped his last gurgling breath.

Napoleon grabbed the man before he fell, and retrieved the cell keys from his suit pocket.

Illya was already on his feet, dusting off his clothes and he stiffed the air.

"I think we will both need our suits dry cleaned."

Solo checked his sleeve, wrinkling his nose at what he smelled. "I think you're right."

He opened the cell door, allowing he and Illya to quickly escape.

Flammia never saw them using the special sign language they'd developed over the years. As their fingers flew, they quickly set their plan into motion.

"Male whore?" Napoleon asked."Really?"

"Gluttonous little Commie?" Illya retorted.

"Yeah,"Solo laughed."We need to come up with better names to call each other."

"Perhaps," the Russian flashed a brief crooked smile. "I for one am thankful that we came up with our secret sign language."

"Amen to that partner; let's hope the bad guys never catch on to that little trick."

Kuryakin started the black sedan parked out in front of the Hoboken brownstone where'd they'd been held.

The engine purred quietly as the car headed down the street; their destination U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York. They just had to take the Holland tunnel under the Hudson river and they'd be there in a half hour...traffic permitting.

"I've come up with a plan regarding our suits," Napoleon finally smiled.

"And what praytell is that?" Illya hit the car horn as a taxi cut him off.

"We stop at a pay phone and say we're on our way in but our clothing has been contaminated by chemicals and need to be burned immediately. We can do a quick run up to the Medical Suite, get a clean bill of health and in the meantime someone can bring up the clothing we keep in our office closet. Since both of us will have to put in for the replacements of our suits and so forth, Mister Waverly will have to approve it. Kuryakin's request for a suit replacement would serve to validate Napoleon's requsition as well.

Illya sighed; he didn't like lying but Napoleon's plan would only work if the two of them were in on it together.

"Why you cannot have you suit dry cleaned is beyond me," Kuryakin paused."Fine, so be it, but I will not lie again to suit your...suits, I mean the damage...well you know what I mean."

"Fair enough," Napoleon smiled.

Louis Flammia was typical of the men they'd dealt with in the past, self-serving, egomaniacal, and over confident. Only one of his ilk would think two of U.N.C.L.E.'s best could be duped into killing their partner.

The bond between Solo and Kuryakin was unbreakable. It gave them the strength to endure whatever was thrown their way time and again.

And no one, not all the Louis Flammias in the world could ever change that fact.