-Illya, you... you don't have to do that. Please, my friend...
Solo lectured himself. He knew better than to make his friend change his mind. Illya's. To get him not to fullfill his part of the job was a Herculean task. The older man had to tried another thing. He bent forward, and put his chin on his friend's shoulder. The deft hands ran on the device. Vainly. Illya sighed and shoved him away.
-Get out, Napoleon. Immediately. It is no use your staying here. You know that. We can't afford not to succeed. You have to go and assume the mission. You owe me that, my friend.
-It's too high a price to pay. Illya. I can't anymore. Gi...give up !
-We already have had to deal with such a situation, Napoleon. We always knew that one of us might have to ... ! Now, get out, we're wasting time. Think to the world's sake !
Illya was right. Both of them were ... expendable ( Waverly's word. He hated it) ; the mission... the mission overweighed all... The Russian turned toward him. The blue eyes were so worried. That was Illya. He was probably to be blown up, and he was expressing his concern. Solo saw his friend's lips move. He read a word he couldn't hear. « Please. »
This sent him over the edge ; he squeezed his friend's shoulders and stormed out. He was almost blinded by tears, and poorly crashed into the wall. He slid onto the floor and put his fingers in his ears. He refused to hear. He refused to go on. He shut his eyes. The mission could go to hell ! He felt the wall quaking. Oh, my God... Illya...
A hand shook him ruthlessly.
-Napoleon, I had to open this pressure cooker. All YOU had to do was to set the table ! April and Mark are scheduled at 8 pm... Get to work and earn your keep !