Summary: Solo has been missing for weeks. His team manages to rescue him, but all is not well.
Illya crept silently through the darkened compound. He had maybe twenty minutes before the lights came back on and he intended to use every single one of them. As he ghosted down the corridor he peered into the rooms lining the hall. Most of them were maintenance, storage, or the like. None of them held any sign of Napoleon Solo.
Illya kept his gun in a white knuckled grip. So far, he had managed to keep them from shaking, but as a result, a vein was pulsing madly in his forehead. It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he and Gabby had burst into Solo's hotel room. The American agent had not met them for their debriefing and all phone calls to his room had gone unanswered. Fearing the worst, Illya kicked in the door. Inside, they had found clear evidence of a struggle. Broken furniture lay strewn around the room and shards of glass glittered on the floor. Most frightening, however, was the blood. Bloody hand prints streaked the walls and crimson drag marks led to the open doors of the balcony. From there…nothing. No sign of his partner. From that moment on, they had begun a furious search for Solo that had thus far spanned six countries. Tonight, they were in Latvia at a small shipping warehouse on the Baltic coast. The warehouse belonged to Aleksandras Zelenko, a wealthy business tycoon who had made his money in the eastern European import/export business. It had taken extensive digging (and not a little coercion) on Waverly's part to discover that Solo had been a part of a mission four years ago that had led to the arrest of Zelenko's brother. That, in turn, led them here. Illya wanted desperately to believe that they would find Solo somewhere in this warehouse. If they did not, he knew that the chances of finding the man, alive or otherwise, were slim to none.
When he at last reached the end of the hall, Illya's heart was in his throat. One room left. He and Gaby had already searched the rest of the building. If Solo wasn't here…
Illya took a deep breath, picked the lock, and eased the door open. When he saw what lay before him, he nearly dropped his gun. In the center of the room, chained to the ceiling, hung Napoleon Solo. Illya barely recognized him. Solo was covered head to toe in blood and bruises. Pale grey skin peeked out from beneath it all. His usually perfect hair flopped lank and limp in his face. Hanging there with his toes barely touching the floor, he looked like a corpse.
"Nyet!" Illya gasped. He ran to Solo. "Cowboy? Cowboy!" he whispered desperately, placing his hands on his partner's cheeks. Solo's skin was ice cold beneath his fingers. Illya fearfully pressed two fingers into Solo's throat. He nearly sagged to the floor in relief when he felt the weak, fluttering beat.
"Слава Богу. Cowboy? Can you hear me?" he asked, lightly slapping Solo's cheeks. Solo shifted slightly and scrunched his nose. "That's it. Open your eyes." Illya encouraged. Solo groaned weakly, but remained otherwise unresponsive. Illya wondered if it had something to do with the track marks on his arm. It was then that Illya noticed fresh blood trickling down Solo's arms. His eyes followed it back to where the chains on Solo's wrists had shredded the skin. Illya immediately set to removing them. After a couple minutes, the chains broke and Solo's dead weight fell onto him. With surprising gentleness, Illya lowered him to the floor. Solo was stirring feebly now, wincing and tossing his head from side to side. He was coughing as well, a deep, painful sound. Illya listened carefully to Solo's breathing and frowned when he heard the distinct wheeze in his partner's chest.
"No…" Solo moaned, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. Illya frowned and put his hand to Solo's chest.
"Easy Cowboy. You're safe now." Illya soothed. Solo's eyes fluttered open slowly.
"P-peril?" His voice trembled. "How are…you here?" he asked breathlessly. "How'd you find me?"
"Shhh, another time. You are safe, that is what matters. We're going to get you out now, okay? Gaby is waiting out back with car."
"Gaby? She's…here?" Solo asked in disbelief. He didn't seem to be tracking very well.
"Of course. She was most insistent. She would very much like to see you. Let's not keep her waiting."
"Oh…I d-don't think…don't know if I can…" Solo trailed off.
"Is not a problem." Illya said softly. "If I help you, do you think you can stand?"
"I…maybe?" Solo replied uncertainly. He shook his head. "Yes…yes, I think I can." Illya smiled.
"Good. You're doing good." He quickly pulled out his radio and notified Gaby of the situation. "Ready?" Solo simply nodded. Illya carefully looped one of Solo's arms around his neck and slowly eased him up. Solo leaned heavily on him, panting for breath.
"Doing okay, Cowboy?"
"'m good, Peril." The familiar banter was comfort to both of them. At Solo's assurance, Illya pulled them toward the door. It was slow going and Illya was basically carrying him, but Solo was conscious and that was a good sign. They didn't run into any guards, most likely because Gaby had set a small fire at one of the loading bays. That would keep them occupied for a bit.
They were nearly out when Solo's legs began to buckle.
"Solo?" Illya asked worriedly. Solo was shivering and gasping for breath.
"I don't…f-feel so well." Solo mumbled, sinking to the ground. Illya glanced over his shoulder. He could hear voices. Without another word, Illya hauled Solo over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Solo was coughing again and shaking harder than ever. Illya ran as fast as he could through the door that led to the empty lot behind the building. Gaby was waiting there, the car already running and the door to the backseat open. Illya briefly marveled at her foresight. As soon as he had pulled Solo and himself into the car, he slammed the door shut.
"Go! Drive!" Gaby was already mashing the pedal down and soon they were barreling down the road toward their extraction point. From there, Waverly had promised quick transportation to an MI6-run hospital in Poland.
"Is he okay?" Gaby asked nervously, looking over her shoulder at the two men in the backseat. Illya shook his head.
"Is not good. He needs a doctor." Solo was trembling violently, his head tossing from side to side.
"What's wrong with him?" Gaby's voice filled with fear as she watched her friend shaking and moaning in the back seat.
"I don't know. They've been injecting him with something I think. I don't know what." Illya pulled Solo up so his that his head rested on his chest. Up close, he realized that Solo was whispering under his breath. Illya frowned. Was that…Italian? He wasn't sure.
"No! Non lo so. Per favore, non mi...fermo..." Solo muttered fervently. Illya held him close to his chest.
"Be still, Cowboy. You're safe. You'll be okay." Illya kept up the litany of soothing words until Solo eventually passed out in his arms.
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Two weeks later, Solo was sitting in a lounge chair at a French safe house, enjoying the breeze rolling off the sea. Despite the mild temperatures, he was shivering slightly. He was still recovering from his time with Zelenko. Solo remembered little of his actual rescue, but he was told that after his team extracted him from the warehouse, he'd been taken to the hospital in Poland. There, he'd spent four days unconscious, his body struggling under the stress of the drugs, his injuries, and a rather nasty infection. Eventually, he'd turned the corner and his condition began to improve. He'd awoken to Gaby and Illya's haggard, yet hopeful faces smiling down at him. After another eight days, Waverly thought it best to move him to a safe house to finish his recovery. Gaby and Illya had, of course, followed him here. "To keep you out of trouble." Illya had said.
In truth, Solo was exhausted and still extremely weak. All his body wanted was to sleep, but, after a few days, Solo began to deny it that. It was in his sleep that he was vulnerable to the nightmares. In those horrific dreams, he relieved every burn, bruise, blow, and snap of bone. Most nights, Solo avoided sleeping until he actually passed out from exhaustion. He knew that he was barely holding it together, and the dreams would only serve to tear him apart at the seams.
So, instead of resting, Solo preferred to sit on the deck and watch the ocean. It was peaceful and the gentle rolling of the waves helped to ground him. Every so often, either Gaby or Illya would bring him something to eat. He had lost too much weight during his captivity and it made him look gaunt. Solo would pick at whatever they brought him, but leave most of it on the plate. They tried to talk to him, but Solo was so lost in his own head that he barely said a word. He never noticed the worried looks they exchanged.
As he sat there, staring off into the horizon, he didn't notice the winds picking up or how the temperature was dropping. It wasn't until Illya came and got him that he realized a light rain had begun to fall.
"Come on, Cowboy. Let's get you inside." Illya said softly. Solo glanced up at him as if he didn't understand why. "It's raining. You should not get chilled." Solo threw one last mournful look at the ocean, then nodded. Illya took his arm and helped him stand. He still had to lean heavily on the Russian in order to make it inside. Gaby was waiting for him. She smiled and took his other arm, leading him slowly toward his bedroom.
"You should get some rest." She said, kissing the top of his head. She frowned at the dark circles that ringed his eyes. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked as she and Illya helped him to get comfortable in bed.
"Fine, thank you." Solo replied quietly. She nodded and turned out his lamp.
"I'll bring you some soup in while, okay?" Solo just closed his eyes.
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Despite his best efforts, sleep soon claimed him. Just as before, the nightmares were waiting. Every minute detail flashed before him. He could feel the pain of each strike as if it were happening all over again. He finally tore his eyes open and sat bolt upright, gasping and heaving for breath. Suddenly, it was all too much. He was suffocating. In desperation, Solo tore off his blankets and pulled himself up on unsteady legs. He stumbled almost drunkenly toward the door. Outside, the light rain had turned into a heavy downpour. Thunder rumbled and lightening crackled out over the ocean. Heedless of the weather, Solo staggered out into the storm. Within seconds, he was soaked to the skin. The sky seemed to reflect the turmoil in his own head. His heart was pounding wildly as he shuffled toward the rocky beach. He reached the edge of the water and fell to his knees. All the fear and pain and hopelessness of those three weeks crashed down on him. He held his head in his hands, trying to block it all out. It was too loud…too bright…too much.
He couldn't take it. He was falling into the water. Surely he'd be torn apart by it all…
"Napoleon!" he barely heard the shout over the crashing of the waves. A moment later strong arms were wrapped around him. Instinctively, he fought back, but his attempts were useless. There was nothing left.
"Shhhhh." A voice whispered. "It is me, bratishka." Illya. He'd recognize that Russian voice anywhere. A second, smaller set of arms pulled him into a tight embrace.
"What the hell were you thinking?" A woman's voice. Gaby. She'd been crying. "We've been looking all over for you!"
"He's freezing."
"We need to get him back inside." Solo felt himself lifted. He had the oddest sensation of floating, but he was too out of it to care. The only thing keeping him from flying apart was the strong arms the held him close. Held him together.
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Illya had been reading in the living room when Gaby burst in.
"He's gone!" Tears streamed down her face. Illya stood.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"I went to bring him his dinner and his bed was empty!" Gaby cried. Illya looked over to where the rain was lashing against the window.
"дерьмо, follow me." Pulling on his rain coat as he ran, Illya sprinted outside. Gaby was right behind him.
"You think he's out here? In this?"
"He's not exactly in the most stable mind right now." Gaby's eyes widened.
"Napoleon!" She called. Suddenly, Illya caught a glimpse of movement at the shoreline.
"Cowboy…" he whispered. "Gaby, over there!"
"Oh my God!" As they ran to him, they watched Solo collapse into the water. Illya slid to his knees next to his partner and pulled him up to his chest. Solo struggled weakly.
"Shh, it is me, bratishka." Illya soothed. Gaby knelt beside them and threw her arms around Solo.
"What the hell were you thinking? We've been looking all over for you!" Gaby scolded without any anger.
"He's freezing." Illya said worriedly.
"We need to get him back inside." Illya quickly gathered Napoleon into his arms and ran back to the house. Solo was shivering hard in his arms.
"You'll be okay, Cowboy." He whispered, knowing that Solo was beyond hearing him. Illya himself was starting to shiver in the cold. The blast of heat that greeted him when he entered the house was definitely welcome.
"Here, lay him on the couch, in front of the fire." Gaby instructed. "I'll get him some new clothes." Illya did as Gaby said. He efficiently stripped Solo of the sopping clothes and together he and Gaby managed to get him into dry ones. After that, they wrapped him in as many blankets as they could find.
"This can't go on." Gaby said, sinking down on the couch next to Illya. "If he continues like this…"
"I know. I've tried to be delicate, but enough is enough." Illya agreed. Together, they waited for Solo to wake up.
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Two hours later, Solo opened his eyes to see Gaby and Illya seated across from him. Judging by the looks on their faces, he knew it couldn't mean anything good.
"Cowboy." Illya said evenly. "Gaby and I have been trying to be gentle, tried to let you work through this your own way. Clearly, your way does not work. So now, we are going to try things our way. This starts with you talking to us." Solo blinked at them, his heart pounding.
"Napoleon, please." Gaby begged. "We just got you back. We can't lose you again." She added quietly.
"I…" Solo began. He didn't even know where to start. "I can't." He said finally. Illya fixed him with a look that was equal parts sadness and understanding.
"It feels that way, doesn't it?"Illya asked. "Feels like if you acknowledge what happened that it will swallow you whole, yes?" Solo stared back, wide-eyed and trembling. "I promise you, Cowboy, that the only way that will ever happen is if you hold it in."
"Help us help you." Gaby implored. Solo was breathing hard now.
"W-where do I even start?" he whispered.
"Just start at the beginning and go from there." Illya said gently.
And so he did.
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Four Months Later…
Solo and Illya jumped out of the van. Each man was dressed all in black, a gun secured in a holster at his waist. They stood on a hill overlooking their target's mansion. Illya nudged his partner.
"You ready, Cowboy?" Solo smiled.
"I was born, ready, Peril." Illya grinned and together they jogged down the hill.
And thus ends chapter 2. I hope all was to your liking! Be sure to leave me a review and let me know what ya'll are loving, what ya'll are hating, and what you'd like to see next!
