"I think I've almost got my hands free Illya."
"Good, because the circulation has been cut off to my hands. The blood rushing to my head from hanging upside down is making me feel as if... is going to explode."
Solo stopped his struggling and suddenly looked at his partner.
Kuryakin's hair on the top of his head was hanging straight down making it look a bit strange.
Illya was just about crossing his eyes at this point
"You know tovarisch you really need to get a haircut, hanging upside down makes it look like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket and it's standing on end. I have to say you look pretty funny." Solo chuckled.
"Really Napoleon?" Kuryakin hit him with a sarcastic tone of voice.
"Then again, it sort of looks like Albert Einstein's hair."
Illya daren't shake his head as it was pounding now. He had a feeling he was going to be hit with a bout of vertigo.
"I will take that remark as a compliment, now will you please continue freeing your hands so we can get out of this ridiculous state?"
"All right all right. As Mark Slate would say, 'don't get your knickers in a twist."
Illya was losing his patience and perhaps consciousness.
"Napoleon! Please, before our captors return?"
He laughed at Illya's exasperation as it made him look even more comical.
After wiggling his wrists until they were bloodied, Solo was able to slip free of his bonds as it acted like a lubricant.
"Et voila! Illya.. Illya?"
There was no answer from the Russian as he had indeed passed out; his face was beet red.
Napoleon quickly pulled himself up, undoing his feet and freeing himself; he set about lowering his partner.
Once Illya was on the floor, he gently slapped him on the face a few times.
"Come on, wake up Prince Charming."
Kuryakin sputtered as he came to, looking at Napoleon a bit cross-eyed.
"About time," he muttered.
"Hey, I could retie you and hand you up like a side of beef again if you don't you appreciate my efforts tovarisch."
"Of course I do Napoleon, it is just sometimes you pick the oddest moments to let your sense of humor get the better of me."
"I wasn't being funny Illya, I was just making some astute observations as to your appearance, that's all."
"I say again Napoleon...really?"
Illya hiked himself up from the floor but staggered, and latched onto his partner for dear life as the room began to spin.
"What's wrong?"
"Vertigo. Someone is inside my head playing a game of ping pong with my brain. Give me a minute for it to subside."
"No time, just hang onto me."
Napoleon pulled Illya's arm over his shoulders and held onto it. Wrapping his other arm around the Russian's waist, he kept him steady.
The room moving was all in Illya's head of course. Vertigo makes you feel as if everything around you, as well as yourself is moving, even when they aren't. Of course on top of it all he felt nauseous and had broken out in a cold sweat.
Practically dragging Illya up the basement stairs, they found their way out of the building where they'd been held.
A block away they located the silver convertible still parked where they'd left it one day prior.
Napoleon shoved his partner in the passenger seat, and without a another word he slipped in the driver's side. Grabbing the spare set of keys hidden behind the sun visor, he started the car, floored the gas pedal, making their getaway a successful one.
As they became lost among the late afternoon traffic, Napoleon finally spoke up.
"You know tovarisch, we need to work on your appreciation of humor."
"Making fun of my hair while hanging upside down in a THRUSH satrapy, waiting for them to most likely return to kill us is not what I would call funny, Napoleon."
Solo shook his head. "We made it out didn't we, and we're not dead, correct?"
"But we could have been killed."
"Always the fatalist," Napoleon groused.
Illya actually smiled "It is one of my stronger points… now please pull over. I am going to be sick."
"Oh joy…" Napoleon refrained from slapping his forehead as quickly pulled into a parking spot, just in time for Illya to open the door and vomit into the gutter.
Once he was finished, Kuryakin sat back, leaning his head on the rest as he closed his eyes."
"Better?"
"I will be once the ping pong match is over."
"Who's winning?"Napoleon asked.
One blue eye opened, giving Solo a cold eyed stare. If looks could kill…
"Always the funny man," Illya closed his eye again. "Just drive carefully please, and do not get us lost."
"Me, get us lost?" Solo laughed.
"Tsk," Illya clicked his tongue. If he felt able to open his lids, he would have given his usual eye roll.
"Okay, I'll be careful. Scout's honor."
"If you are not, I promise you I will be sick not only inside the car, but on your suit as well."
That seemed to shut Napoleon up, and the smug look on the Russian's face didn't help matters…
The American agent didn't take well to threats, but given Kuryakin was a man of his word, Napoleon decided to cool it.
It was time to get down to business and get back to Waverly with the information they'd gleaned before being captured in the satrapy.
Their communicators and guns had been confiscated, and the intel was too sensitive to talk about over an unsecure telephone line. Operators often listened in on collect calls...
The intelligence Napoleon and Illya had was a doozie; the Hierarchy intended to steal paintings from the Louvre in Paris and hold them for ransom.
Napoleon was already convinced the old man would give them the assignment to prevent the theft. It was scheduled to happen in the next twenty-four hours.
Napoleon hoped, hoped his partner would be well enough to join him...