Illya felt something very warm prodding his neck. It dug around and finally rested next to his Adam's apple. The pressure was uncomfortable, and he swallowed against it. He wanted to raise his hand to bat it away, but when he tried, his arm was constricted, and the slight movement made it burn and tingle with such ferocity, he let a moan escape.

"How is it?" Illya could hear someone talking, but it made no sense.

"Slow, steady." A female voice answered, still in that garbled speech. He could not understand what they said, but the sound was familiar.

"What else is in that bag? Do we have more gauze? We should pack it between his toes to keep them dry, so the skin doesn't rub. Keep the skin from sloughing off if it's damaged." The male voice said. Illya could feel someone touching his feet, and he kicked, a weak effort, the force of his heel hitting the cushion underneath him shaking him with renewed pain. They were trying to set him on fire, but the voices did not sound malicious, and the touch on his throat had been tender. He could hear them bustling about, and he tried to go back to sleep. It hurt less than before. He was giving up, but he could not move, and the simplest of motions were excruciating.

"What are these?"

"Peril has chemical warmers. Rip the foil off, it might take them twenty minutes to get going. Pack them on his groin, armpits, and the sides of his neck. Did you get enough cushioning under us?" The feeling of the rough fabric scratched at him, and new objects roused him. He opened his eyes to glare at his torturers, but his vision was blurry and the tent was dark.

"Solo, you're shivering badly too, take a couple for yourself. And yes, we're sitting on all our extra dry clothing, and one of the sleeping bags. It was the best I could do." The voice paused, and the tone became higher pitched, syrupy. "Illya, are you there? You told me to keep you awake, and then you went to sleep on me." He heard his name, and deduced he must have been captured. Had his handlers finally cut him loose, exposed him, and orchestrated his removal and torture? Because the pain he was feeling was only getting worse as time passed, and he was sure he would be permanently disfigured. "Solo, here is the gauze. Does the frostbite look serious?"

The man at his feet did something then that made hot waves of pain strike him from his extremities. "Can't tell yet, at least they aren't black, but they may blister. Peril, I know it doesn't feel like it, but I'm trying to help." There was that word again, Peril. It sounded like a name.

"Solo, slow down, take a breath."

He heard something low, a groan. "I'll be fine, Gaby." That name relieved Illya, and twisted his heart all in one. His Gaby was here.

"Solo, lie down. You've done enough. You're too pale." The man moved closer to Illya, far too close for a stranger. It must be the American, Cowboy.

" I should have remembered this before, I don't know what I was thinking." The Cowboy sounded distressed.

"It's hardly your fault, I'm just glad that I didn't have to figure out a way to drag you in here."

"It would have gotten snow everywhere."

"No, when they took you, and I heard them say you were CIA, I was not even sure we'd find you alive."

The English filtered through his brain, translating slowly. It was his team, although he wasn't sure why they were inflicting pain on him, and had him restrained. He wondered if he had lost his temper, and they had knocked him out.

"Well I'm glad you did. For what it's worth, thank you. I'm guessing it wasn't easy." Cowboy said.

"You started yelling during a firefight. Illya Kissed you."

"Excuse me?"

"That KGB move, where one hits someone in the temple and does not allow the head to rebound."

"Doesn't sound so complicated. Take years to master, I'm sure….."

"Do you feel better, Solo? A little color is coming back to your face now that you're lying down."

"Lying down is a vast improvement, and I can't think of much else to do for Illya. At least he was not unconscious. Odd are poor if that happened. Lying here with him is like embracing a slab of refrigerated beef."

"And to think, you spent the better part of the night unconscious." Gaby retorted.

"I think they drugged me."

"You can remember?"

"A little bit, I'm sure more will come back. Gaby, I left you alone with them. I'm sorry for that. Did they hurt you?" The Cowboy's voice was honest, sad.

"No, I'm not hurt. Illya saved me before they could do anything, and they weren't sure who I was." Gaby sounded upset.

"What's wrong?" Solo asked, and Illya strained to move, to look at her, keep his eyes open, but he felt so powerless, and helpless.

"Shush, Illya. We've got you." Her fingers stroked against his forehead. "You're okay, I'm sorry it hurts, but we can't give you anything to swallow yet. We'll get you something later." He could not understand all of her words, but the unhurried stroking of her hand on his face was the one touch that did not shoot spikes of pain to his heart.
"You are going to think I'm being a woman, and weak." Her tone was different now, distressed, and he tried to push against her hand.

"I always think of you as a woman," Solo said, "and you're too beautiful to pretend otherwise, but obviously something's bothering you."

"I shot a man in the back. He did not see me, and I murdered him. I was worried about Illya and you, but I was angry too."

"You were defending your country, and protecting your team."

"I shot him in the back." Gaby wailed.

"And he might have shot Illya in his front, and then we three would have died there together. The Racine group would have put us in shallow graves, if they buried us at all."

"How do you do this, how does Illya do it? I see now why you refused to shoot Illya that night when he was grabbing my car in East Berlin."

"It was a good thing he wanted you alive. And he still wants you alive. So consider it like this; you do what you need do to protect your country, the world, and the three of us."

"Illya's shivering again."

"Tough man, our Peril. I didn't know Russians could even get hypothermia. I believed they had anti-freeze instead of blood." Illya thought he heard fondness in the Cowboy's tone, but he might have hallucinated.

His partners continued to talk about lighter things, lulling him back to sleep.

MFU

The ringing in Illya's ears had all but faded when he woke up. Everything ached, so he did not move at first, and he was somewhere unfamiliar, so he did not open his eyes. Training dictated he wait and observe what was going on before he alerted those around him he was conscious. The only people he could sense were two bodies nearly piled on top of him, one male and one female, and Illya could feel the weight of blankets heavy on his chest.

Solo and Gaby.

It came back to Illya suddenly, his trip through the river, and his gradual descent into lethargy as his frozen blood circulated. He remembered dropping Solo on the ground roughly, and that the CIA operative had been conscious, talking, but perhaps not oriented. Gaby was leading the way, and coaxing him along. He doubted that they would be bundled like this together if they had been caught. Illya doubted he would have ever woken up again, with what he had done to that target. Gaby must have gotten them away.

The sun filtered through his closed eyelids, and the air inside what could only be the emergency kit's tent was hardly balmy, but it was a far cry from the icy blast of the wind. There was a branch digging into his left kidney, and Solo's elbow was jabbing into his side, but countering that was a pleasantly warm feeling of what must have been Gaby's thigh across his hip, her wavy hair brushing his face and the weight of her head on his shoulder. Illya ignored that his hand felt painfully numb.

Illya could tell they were both awake. Gaby was tense as a jackrabbit ready to spring, and Solo's body was pulling back from them. Solo wasn't reaching for the gun that was lying on top of the blankets across both men's shins so they were not in immediate danger. They must have been talking, talking about something that made them both uncomfortable. Illya had a terrible dread, and could only make out a scrap of a memory where Gaby asked about his family, and the horrified, warning look in Solo's eyes. Solo had tried to stop him from telling her. So Illya waited, doing his best not to tense up, or allow his tells to give away what he was feeling. In space this small, he could not afford have an episode. He kept the hand across his chest still, and hoped the nerve impingement on his left by the weight of a soft brunette head kept the other quiet. And he listened.

"Volatile personality disorder." Gaby asked. "What does that mean?" She said flatly, a demand. Illya remembered the moment she walked out of the little shop where they first officially met. She did not sound happy, in fact it was safer to say she was in a spitfire mood.

"A psychiatric diagnosis. I'm not sure it all fits, but he did not hide anything from you, Gaby. What you see with him is what you get. Mood swings, seeing the world rather black and white, and putting the people he cares about on pedestals. His psychotic rage episodes when he is being insulted, his truly remarkable ability to cope with his job, and his compulsive attachment to his father's watch. It's just what it is. But he rose above it, with that diagnosis. Usually the person functions rather poorly, addictions, suicides, other major behavioural issues." Napoleon said, and Illya felt himself starting to shake. He tried to suppress it, but this was getting very far out of his comfort zone. He was listening to his life, his head being so plainly discussed.

"He's shivering again?" Gaby said and stretched, settling farther onto him. "It's been hours."

"I'm sure it takes a while to balance out," Solo said, slowly, carefully. "But from you've said, and what I've seen, other than his temper, he appears to cope rather well. He's clever enough to stay away from anything that's going to feed into it."

"Was there anything else?" Her question so innocent, made Illya's heart seize in his chest. He was well aware of what other detail was written in his psychological profile. He did not acknowledge it, and thought the exploitation of women, including his mother, was beyond reprehensible. He did not envy what his mother had done to survive the political repercussions of his father's arrest. And Solo knew it too. No CIA agents worth their salt would have let that detail slip their attention. Illya had seen the entirety of UNCLE's report on the American.

"No." It was the practised tone of the con man, the thief, that said that. It was natural, no pauses, the answer did not come too quickly. It was perfect. And it was a lie.

"And you think, it was because of what he said. How he was hurt as a boy." Gaby asked softly, her voice speaking in Illya's ear. It would have been intimate, except that she spoke over him, as if he was not lying there.

"The timing fits. Having a privileged life, and then going to having your married mother and gentleman callers indulge, and from what he was rambling about, perhaps they hit him, and it broke a tiny part of his mind. He certainly must have drank back then. But then, anyone as smart as he is; have you seen his chess rating? is a little broken." Solo concluded.

Illya tried to breathe calmly and the faint lingering smell of the perfumed shampoo she always used helped. Playing possum may have fooled Gaby, but Illya felt Solo tense up and back away. It was not very far, more like leaning against the edge of the tent. A mere three inches separated them.

Illya's eyes snapped open, just as Solo spoke softly. "Illya, she asked." It was no apology, said without remorse.

Gaby sat up straight, the blankets falling away from them. She scrambled back, and covered her mouth.

"Illya. I thought… You were…" She trailed off helplessly.

Illya could not say anything with his throat locked up. He saw his finger tapping then. He closed his eyes again, and started shivering for real, not trembling in uncontrolled emotion, but he still felt cold. But all he could hear was Gaby's rapid breathing, and the strictly controlled calm breaths emanating from Solo.

"Peril. Do we need to step outside?" Solo asked, all business. Illya heard the real question, "are we in danger if we stay". And Illya was ashamed it was question that needed asking. He craned his neck back, and wished he was in a hotel room funded by the KGB, where he could break anything and not feel guilty. It was very tight in the tent.

Nothing Solo had said, other than feeding Gaby the name of the diagnosis Illya wore was new information, nothing an observer that had spent as much time as she did with him would not have noticed. It was irrational to feel betrayed. But knowing that she would eventually find out just out how pathetic he was, was different than facing it now. Who would chose to trust a madman?

He internalized any feelings, because he could not be angry with her, not like that. Solo had told the truth. Illya took a long moment to answer, but when he spoke, his teeth started to chatter. "No. I will be fine."

"Oh Illya," Gaby said very quietly, and she placed her hand on his forehead, "You're still cold." She pushed the layers of unzipped sleeping bags and foil emergency blankets back over him. Both she and Solo still sat in the cold, she wearing nothing but a shift, and Solo bare-chested. They both looked uncomfortable.

"Come back before you freeze. We should get moving again by two. Have either of you slept?" Illya said, hating the interruption in his voice from his teeth clacking together. He forced himself to stop tapping his fingers. Solo's face was still pinched, but he lay down, and eased next to Illya, shoulders touching.

Gaby looked at him, and Solo. She closed her eyes, and swallowed, "Illya I'm sorry I asked you about your family. It hurts me to talk about papa Schmidt too. And I'm grateful you're here." She stopped talking.

Illya's mind circled on everything she should have said. "But?"

"No. I'm just grateful. There are no other men that would do what you've done for us." Gaby smiled that cautious smile. And tucked herself back onto him. In her posture and her voice, there was no lie. And if she were scared of what he was, or what he could do to her she would never have fallen asleep so quickly.

Solo seemed to wait until Gaby was deeply asleep before he spoke. "Would you rather I lied?"

Illya wanted to say yes, but, a team like theirs did not function if they kept things from each other. Not knowing if your team respected you enough to be honest or was just using you to get ahead in their own agendas, quickly eroded the camaraderie necessary in operations where agents were responsible for one another's lives. Petty fights dissolved into small decisions that had gotten others killed unnecessarily. Illya had seen those dynamics before and choosing to work alone had been the only defence. So here, now, he knew what his answer had to be.

"She was worried. You said a few revealing things last night, and she had reason to be concerned. You could not have talked about a dog instead, could you?" Solo asked, his tone becoming lighter.

"Mother sold my dog." Illya answered, tone low, staring straight ahead.

"Oh." Solo looked chastised, then his eyes searched Illya's face incredulously. "Russians have a peculiar sense of humour."

"I was joking, Cowboy. I said I would always tell you both the truth. I meant it. Get some rest." Illya watched Solo lie there, eyes open and focused on the highest point in the tent, where their gloves hung from clothespins hooked around the pole. "Sleep often starts with closing eyes."

"When I close my eyes the world starts spinning. I feel drunk, without the benefit of a fine glass of scotch." Solo answered pitifully.

"Head hurt bad?" Illya asked.

"Yes, but I've been here before, worse I believe. Couldn't see for two days last time. Hit the back of my head on a marble floor. Nausea is worse this time." Solo answered.

"Do you know what they gave you?" Illya asked.

"Thorazine and cocaine." Solo answered. "Got a really bad headache, and passed out almost immediately. I imagine they were not pleased."

"Does your chest hurt?" Illya asked, thinking of the effects of Rudi's torture on the American agent's heart.

"No."

"Nausea comes after the thorazine wears off." Illya suggested, his voice small.

"Been through the same routine then?" Solo chuckled.

"No just the thorazine, before I joined Spetsnaz." Illya let the implication hang in the air. "It will go away in hour or two. Try to sleep. I am not carrying you all the way back to town."

"Where'd you hear about the Lone Ranger?" Solo asked.

"What? Oh." Illya paused, and realized that pause was too long for the American to believe the obvious falsehood Illya was about to tell. "Radio program was for educational purposes, to learn English."

"You'd make a good Tonto." Solo answered, and closed his eyes.

MFU

"Okay, we need to get moving." Illya said. He had stayed quietly awake and listened this time to the snores of his comrades. No one had come in and stolen them from him, but he did not let himself fall asleep. Gaby had been exhausted, and she had completely relaxed, and would likely feel much better once she woke. No doubt her back had been sore from lugging around that pack. Solo, on the other hand, appeared to sleep quickly once he stopped talking, but he startled at every movement Illya made, and opened his eyes when a group of coyotes started yelping around noon. Illya also poked him awake twice, just to make sure Solo was okay. Illya was not sure how much of Solo's earlier symptoms were his head, and how much was the influence of the drugs, but Illya was fearful for his partner.

Gaby jumped at the sound of his voice, and Illya's trapped hand immediately moved to stroke her shoulder gently. She yawned, and stretched. "I'm hungry. And I would say I need to powder my nose, but we have been in this tent for hours." She clenched her knees together meaningfully.

"Five more minutes," Solo said dopily. The American squinted his eyes and raised a palm to a lined forehead. "Or never."

"Solo? Will you be okay?" Gaby was on her knees in an instant. "Take some aspirin before it gets worse." She handed him two white pills that Solo took with the tiniest sip of water.

Illya stared at him critically. Solo's skin was dull. "Stick out your tongue."

Solo looked at him in annoyed askance. "Really, Peril."

Illya had seen enough. "You bled, and threw up last night. You are dry, um, dehydrated. Need to drink as much as stomach can handle." Illya took a large gulp himself, and handed Solo back the canteen.

"Nobody has fussed like this since I enlisted and my mother and aunts packed my bag for me." Solo scowled, and took a few more swallows. Illya waited, expectantly. Solo caught Illya's eyes and dropped his gaze.

The American looked towards Gaby, who cleared her throat. "I think you should listen to him." Solo drank again, a little more this time. He stopped suddenly and clenched his teeth.

"Just breathe in through nose. It will pass." Illya rumbled, and looked for something to eat. He grabbed a ration bar, and chewed it less than enthusiastically.

Gaby was pulling on her layers of long underwear and pants, her face turning a bit red. Illya tried not to look at her, but it was a small tent. She practically had to sit in his lap to do it. Gaby threw on her vest, leaving her snowsuit off, unzipped the tent and pulled a tin blanket off their boots putting her feet in boots too large for her feet. She zipped the tent, and both men could hear her trot away. "Stay close," Illya cautioned as loud as he dared.

"I'm not going to get lost!" Came her reply.

"More worried about who else may have gotten lost last night." Illya said to Solo.

"Do you think they know we crossed the river?" Solo asked worriedly, pulling on his clothes and reaching for his gun. "She should have waited for us."

"You wanted to get in her way?" Illya asked dryly. "You shared hotel with her in Istanbul. We're lucky to have two bathrooms in New York."

Solo was dressed, wearing his snowsuit before Illya finished. "She took my boots."

"If we had luck, tracks were snowed in last night." Illya answered Solo's earlier question. "Likely were, otherwise we would have had our door knocked on by now. Besides Ms. Teller can take care of herself."

Solo frowned and tilted his head nodding, at the closed entrance. "About that. She-"

"She can hear you both." Gaby said. "I'm not that far away."

"We were testing you." Solo stated glibly. "Bring back my boots."

"Once your stomach is settled, eat something. Keep energy up." Illya advised, and tied the top of his snowsuit around his waist.

"At least it is warmer today," Gaby said as she walked up, and crawled back inside to put on her snowsuit.

Both men got out of the tent, after rolling up the sleeping bags inside. When Solo stood, his face paled and he swayed. Illya came up under his shoulder, Illya's back bent to hold him up. Illya hissed as his knee started to protest the extra weight, but the American swallowed, and forced his eyes open. He blinked a few times. "Whoa." Illya waited, not saying a word, until Solo pulled away himself. Gaby stepped up to Solo's other side as Illya repacked the backpack with their supplies.

"Be careful, just because its nicer, does not mean you won't freeze if clothes are wet. More dangerous really, can get hypothermia at zero degrees." Illya shouldered the bag, and did not miss the relief on Gaby's face. He smiled and pretended to offer it to her. She giggled, and hid behind Solo, who looked frankly confused.

Solo waited for Gaby to stop laughing, and looked at Illya as if he were stupid. "Of course, that is exceedingly cold."

"Was colder last night, at least minus forty-five with wind chill." Illya retorted adjusting the knife sheath under his sleeve, and his pistol.

"Hey!" Gaby stepped in between the bristling men. "Solo, Celsius. Americans are the only ones to use Imperial anymore."

Solo and Illya took turns to wander off behind the trees themselves.

"Gaby, did you try radio this morning?" Illya asked suddenly as the weight of it hit his leg, when he bent to sling the AR-15 over his shoulder.

Her brown eyes widened dramatically. "No!"

Solo looked confused. "I thought that you said all of Illya's equipment was ruined?"

"Borrowed this from our friends." Illya said. He wiped a dried streak of blood off the radio, and shrugged. When Illya tried to hail Waverly, or any backup, all he heard was static. "Is only short range," He tried not to let the disappointment in his voice show. "Would only work if extraction was already in area."

"So we try again," Solo agreed. The American shielded his eyes from the snow. "How far are we from that town you mentioned?"

"By my guess, about nineteen miles." Illya answered.

"That was Imperial." Solo sniped.

"Canadian map is imperial." Illya answered. "But if you would rather, 30.6 kilometers." He stared at the obvious disturbance in the snow where they had made camp. "Is like neon sign."

"Can't be helped. If we have that far to go, we should get hiking." Solo said and took off at a brisk walk. Gaby rushed up and grabbed his arm.

"No. Slow down, it's more a turtle and rabbit situation, don't you think?" Gaby said one eyebrow raised.

"Fine." Solo relented. "Peril, you planning on leading the way?"

"Of course, Cowboy." Illya answered, feeling pride for Gaby, his smart, strong girl.

Illya set a steady pace, but kept an eye out for not only the guards, but Solo. The man had started strongly, but was slowing down, particularly after he'd eaten his ration bar. His forehead shone with perspiration, but evidently American training meant something, because he had stripped off the upper portion of his snow suit, and tied it around his waist like Illya had, but his skin retained a green cast. The American's head was up at first, and Solo kept watch as dutifully as Illya had, but after an hour, his chin was on his chest, eyes were narrowed to slits. Solo was not complaining, so Illya kept them moving. As long as Solo looked steady, Illya would push them to keep going. If they could walk until midnight, they would likely arrive in town the next day in the afternoon.

Illya had decided to make up a story about finding the two members of UNCLE lost in the storm the night before, and that they had been robbed on the road, maybe by people up at the laboratory in the woods. He would casually ask if they had seen the smoke that still was visible wafting up, a light grey color that afternoon. This would establish that they were victims, knew nothing of the destruction of the building, and capitalize on the town's mistrust of the Racine Operation. If Waverly had not sent help by then, Illya would be able to use a phone in the town to call Waverly's home himself, if he needed to.

Illya stopped suddenly as he heard Solo take a couple steps through the fresh snow, hardened by the wind, crunching it. The American dropped to his knees, pulled off his gloves and raised a hand to his mouth. His back convulsed a few times, and he spat. Solo dropped his hand into undisturbed snow, and took a mouthful, then he spat that too. Solo wiped his reddening hand on his pants, and slipped his glove back on.

Illya was there, and took Solo's elbow as he stood. His nostrils flared, and Illya saw the American's eyes roll. Illya clutched him to his chest, expecting a sudden drop. They hovered, Solo's back leaning on Illya's chest, until the American offered weakly. "I usually offer someone a drink before they get this close to me."

"You missed your opportunity last night, and we both know I don't like champagne." Illya said, and propped Solo up until he tapped Illya on the arm. "We could take break. Are you getting worse?"

"No, just needed to stop, and then I stood up too fast. My fault." Solo replied.

Illya looked at him critically. A certain type of head injury could fluctuate in severity, until the person finally succumbed, a slow bleed, but Solo was not slurring words, and his pupils appeared equal. A concussion was Illya all could confirm for now, though he was not excited to learn Solo had been knocked for a loop before. Head injuries were dangerous, something Illya tried to avoid. Boxing had not been a sport he pursued for a reason. Too many of the soldiers involved in it ended dead, or stupider for it.

"Need help walking, Solo?" Illya asked.

"Don't. You have your hands full." Solo avoided the question. "That rifle and that pack aren't light. I notice you're walking overly carefully."

Gaby, who had been watching both men and keeping her ears open, stepped up. "I, on the other hand, am quite fine." She walked to Solo's side, keeping her fist bunched in the back of his jacket for leverage should he stumble.

Solo sighed, and followed Illya, who eyed the wide trail they were leaving with a critical eye. There was nothing practical to do about it, except move more quickly than their enemies suspected. And the warmer air was kinder to the three, the harsh wind not blowing them backwards as it had done the night before, but that previous wind that made it all the more miserable also hid evidence for them.

Illya pictured the map in his mind. As he was a little foggy on how far east they had moved the night before when Gaby made camp, he was not sure of where they were now. Somewhere, closer to the river than the town, the road out to the research complex angled east, before heading south again, and the trio would have to cross it go to the town.

They had stopped twice for the call of nature, and once more for Solo to have a break. Illya felt the kink in his knee ease up as the muscle warmed with use, and it was a relief. So it was nearly dusk when the trees moved farther apart, and Illya could see a large open area ahead. Illya saw a mink spring across the top of the snow. Illya held up his fist, and crouched. Solo dropped, and pulled Gaby down with him. Illya moved back closer to them. "The road is ahead. I will go scout and make sure no one is coming. Please wait here. I will be back. When we cross road, we will have to cover our tracks coming to and from the trees, otherwise will be easy to spot our trail as they evacuate the compound. They have to know where we are going, would make sense to check road here."

Illya left his partners hiding in the brush, a pair of binoculars in Solo's hands. Illya crept to the edge of the trees. The bushes encroached on the edges of the poorly maintained private road. He looked up and down, hoping to see a patch of thick brush to lead his team through without damaging the branches too badly, as it would make where they crossed invisible, and a quick skiff with a handful of dead branches would suitably erase careful footsteps.

What Illya saw made his blood run cold. Boot prints, along the road and entering the trees fifty meters west, were fresh enough that the tracks looked crisp, and the lines formed by the impression of the heels were mostly unbroken. Illya went very still, and stayed to the east of the tree he was hidden behind. It was not yet night, but his dark snow suit, tied around his waist would stand out among all the white. The white fleece jacket he had on would not help him blend in against the evergreens. What worked as cover at night, betrayed him by the fading light of the day.

Illya turned and waved to signal Solo and Gaby. Gunfire opened up to the north of him. A cacophony of AK's, the whine of a suppressed pistol, and the popping sound of an Uzi. When Illya moved, a line of bullets whizzed in front of him, and he leaped back behind the nearest tree. One of the bullets pulled at the sleeve of his suit, still tied to his waist.

Illya went low, and pulled his AR-15 off his back. He peeked out the other side of the tree, and while he tried to spot his enemies, and another spray of gunfire hit the tree, spraying debris across the field of vision through the scope. They had his number.

"Cowboy, I'm pinned!" Illya shouted.

"Working on it." Gaby shouted back.

Illya stayed low, and while he did not risk his head being shot off, he swept his gaze side to side, looking for the Racine guards trying to flank him or his team. He managed to line up his rifle in time to pick off two men that were foolish enough to run east. Illya felt unsure firing north, unless he had a good sight line and could angle the shot down. Bullets travelled farther than just the man you shot at, and he had no idea where Gaby and Solo had moved to.

"You should be clear," Gaby shouted, after three eternal minutes had passed of exchanged gunfire. Illya unshouldered his bag and waved it back and forth experimentally to draw attention, before he trusted enough to sprint to the next set of trees. The thinner forest near the road was a severe disadvantage. Once more he was stuck, but this time, he blindly fired back as he spotted his target before they shot at him. This tree was much younger, and Illya did not feel safe behind it. He felt the wind of too many bullets.

"Clear." Solo yelled. And the UZI fire went quiet. Illya still did not have eyes on his partners, so he balanced looking for them with spotting the enemy guards. Illya paused behind more cover as he shot two more men with burst of bullets. They fell. Then Illya heard a long drum from the UZI, unlike the crisp bursts Solo had used before. Only amateurs spend ammunition like that on a fully automatic mode. Either an enemy soldier was using the gun, or Gaby.

Illya broke into a run, and shot another man on a mad dash to where he'd heard the gunfire. The continuous noise made it much simpler to locate. Even as he ran, he heard another sound grow louder that he had ignored to focus on the gunfire. There was a distinct and familiar small engine coming up behind him. Something punched Illya in the back, and he fell gracelessly forward into the snow.

Illya was awake, but his diaphragm was locked, and he could not take a breath. His toque pulled up to his forehead, his skin burned with the feeling of snow melting on his face and his neck, and the large bag on his back prevented him from rolling over. So he stayed pinned to the ground, his neck and chest flexing futility. Spots danced in his vision. He tried to relax, not panic. Not panic while his partners were under fire, and he had been shot. He closed his eyes, and thought of the brown hair that had tickled his face that afternoon. Finally he could take a breath, and grunted air into his starving lungs, as his diaphragm ripped down. He forced himself to roll to his side to face the men on the machine, and pulled his rifle quickly up to sight one-handed, and the men veered away. The stability of the rifle in Illya's hand on the semi-automatic mode normally shot through tightly controlled keyhole pattern, but it sprayed wildly as the butt of the rifle slammed back into his side. The men on the snow machine fell off sideways, but the machine itself tipped turning too tightly. Illya put two shots into the machine itself, before he realised, and released the trigger. The engine had ceased to run. He struggled to pull his pistol as his long gun clicked empty, but the men did not get up and start firing.

Illya tried to stand, and surprised, found he could. He flexed his back, and it hurt, but he could not feel the warm trace of blood running down his skin, so he deemed the damage irrelevant, and continued running for where he'd last heard the fire of the Uzi. All of the gunfire had died out.

Illya nearly ran past the silent struggle. One soldier held a gun on Solo, standing unmoving three meters back from the UNCLE agent in the snow. He had the gun trained on the American, and his eyes were on the sight of his partner trying to pin Gaby in the snow. They rolled and Illya heard the man grunt. The click of a switchblade filled the quiet evening air as Gaby cried out. Even as Illya put a bullet in the head of the man holding a gun on Solo, blood sprayed through the air, painting the snow, and Gaby sprang back panting, holding up her blade. The man that had been on top of her clutched one side of his throat, and Illya held him down on forest floor with a foot to the back, and emptied his clip into the man's head.

Illya noticed his hand twitching madly, even as part of him rationalized how stupid wasting his ammunition was. His chest heaved, as he dropped his pistol and switched magazines on his AR-15. Illya went to a knee, and surveyed the rest of the forest. Everything stayed quiet.

As he forced himself to breathe, he noted that his partners were unusually quiet too. Solo still lay on his back in the snow, not saying a word. And Gaby stood, big eyes on him, holding the knife in a bloody hand, red sprayed across her jacket. Her own mouth was bleeding, and her nose dripped down. Illya lowered his gun, and stepped toward her. She stepped back, those brown eyes not seeing him.

"Gaby," he almost sang to her, "Put down the knife." Illya could come and take it from her, like he did the pistol that last night, but she was terrified, and full of adrenaline. He did not want to frighten her more. "Gaby, I'm going to check on Solo." He turned and put his back to her. She need a few moments to clear her head, and Solo's quietness was worrying him.

Illya dropped to his knees beside the sprawled American, and ran a critical glance over his body. Blood was not pooling in the snow, and Illya could not see any obvious extra holes. He forced his gloved hands under the American's back just in case.

Gaby started moving, she walking slowly to their side. "Someone got to the side of us. I pushed Solo down, and he fell and didn't get up. I tried to use his gun, but I couldn't get a solid grip on it, hit myself in the face when it fired." She shook her head. "I am such a fool. Two of them, I guess the last two, got close enough to see Solo on the ground, and me holding my face like a girl. You saw the rest."

Solo was breathing evenly, and was starting to moan, Illya rolled the American to his side, just in case. And he turned to look at Gaby, who did not meet his eyes. "You learned pretty quickly. That was a good move you made with your knife. Very fast."

She flinched back, and Illya felt very stupid. He tried again. "Come here." And she crouched in the snow in front of him. He took off his gloves and ran his thumbs down the bridge of her nose. "It's not broken. Here pinch at the top, and tilt chin down." He offered, but knew by morning she'd be sporting two black eyes. And her jaw would swell. He ran a curious hand down her jaw line, and she flinched over where it had started to bruise. "Does it hurt to talk?" She nodded. "Teeth line up the same." She nodded yes again. "May need x-ray. Hurt anywhere else?" She shook her head. Illya pulled her close to him, and spoke softly in her ear as she stiffened. "I'm sorry, could not be back faster to help. I am very sorry. But you were strong, my little chop shop girl."

"I am sorry to interrupt. But, could someone help me up?" Solo had one eye opened and squinted at the two of them. "I seem to have had a great need to make snow angels."

Gaby let out a noise more sob than laugh. "I pushed you, someone had snuck up on us, and you didn't see them. You fell too hard. I'm sorry." Gaby put out a hand for Solo to use. He remained seated there for a moment, blinking rapidly, throat convulsing and Illya could only watch, as he threw up on Gaby's already stained jacket. He was there to keep Solo upright, as Gaby leaped backward, letting go of her nose and tore the jacket off.

"I hated that jacket." Solo said.

"That's just because I picked it out," Illya replied.

"That wasn't intentional, Gaby. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather you beat me with a tire iron than be shot in the side of the head, so thank you." Solo tried to grin, but just looked sick.

Gaby stood then and pinched her nose as blood continued to drip. Illya looked at her. "Gaby, sit down on that fallen tree, until nose stops bleeding." He looked down at Solo who seemed to be collecting his wits.

"Let's get you up, Cowboy." Illya put his arms underneath Solo's and pulled him slowly to his feet, dancing backwards with his partner, pulling him next to Gaby, and sitting him on the log. He pulled off the jacket Solo had been lying on the ground in, as it was soaked with melting snow, and shook it out the best he could.

He shrugged off the backpack, and did not keep the grimace off his face. Gaby had her eyes closed, and Solo was staring between his feet. Illya moved to a clean patch of snow, and began sorting through the contents of the bag. Two of the sleeping bags were newly ventilated, and the cast iron pot had serendipitously caught the bullet. It tinkled around and dropped in to the snow. Illya was glad to see it disappear. Illya clipped Solo's jacket to the side of the pack, and superstitiously put the pot back flat against the side of the bag. He broke out his roll of duct tape and began patching the bag, as it was insulated to keep the water from freezing. While all the heat had escaped for now, Illya doubted he would be able to convince his partners to walk for another few hours that night. The water would be okay when they stopped. The noise of the tape had both his partners looking up with parallel befuddled expressions, and then Gaby saw what he was taping up and the holes torn through the sleeping bags, still in the snow.

"Illya." Gaby said very softly. "Were you shot?"

"Shot at, not shot." She would have seen it later anyway, when Illya dug a fire pit to hide the light for melting more snow to water. He put the tape down, and pulled the pot out of the bag. Solo's jaw dropped as Illya rotated the heavy pot to show where the metal at the bottom ballooned out.

"Bad luck, Peril."

"Having a bruise instead of hole says differently." Illya shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the movement. "Gaby, if I put two rounds into the engine block of a snowmobile, would you be able to fix it?"

"Do you have any tools, besides the tape and a knife?"

"Ah, no." Illya answered.

"Lock picking set," Solo answered.

"I'll have a look," said Gaby. "And next time, I have a say what's in the bag."

"No, wait for us," Solo said. "Absolutely no more splitting up, unless it's one of us per bathtub at the hotel in Ottawa."

"Agreed." Illya said, and stuffed everything back into the bag, but his tape and Solo's tools of the trade.

Illya pulled Solo up, looked at the bag, and rolled his shoulders with a sigh. Gaby looked at both the men considering and snatched up the bag. "Come on then."

The three shambled back to where Illya left the snowmobile. Two dead men lay beside it. Gaby scrunched up her face. "Can you, please?" Illya grabbed one arm from each and dragged them away. Gaby sat distastefully and looked through the bottom of the toppled machine where Illya had put the holes.

"Waverly is never going to let you buy anything new again," Gaby declared. "All of the oil has leaked out." She pointed to a brown patch in the snow under the machine. "Even if I patched it up, it won't run."

"So we're walking. Joy." Solo grumbled and made a brave attempt at starting out. Illya came back up under his arm as he wove drunkenly.

Gaby tucked everything of value inside the pack and followed them. "How much longer are we going to go tonight?"

Solo shrugged, and looked at Illya. "Thoughts?"

"Far enough from this," Illya answered vaguely when the team crossed the road. Illya did not bother hiding their tracks as planned. He believed there was already enough evidence to place them there, if more people had escaped the explosion at the Racine lab and came looking. Fortunately nothing was visible from the road, because if a curious member of the local population stumbled over that scene before Waverly's cleanup crew could contain it, there would be a media storm.

Illya stayed under Solo's shoulder and Gaby led the way as they made their way a mile south. Solo stopped suddenly, and declared that it was far enough. Illya looked to Gaby, who was breathing hard, and had taken the time to pull her snowsuit back up and zipped it to her chin. Illya nodded. "Three votes yes then."

"A Russian taking votes, that's new." Gaby smiled.

"Funny," Solo snorted. Illya looked at them trying to maintain his stern face. But Gaby was losing the look in her eyes like she was one step away from crying, and declaring she was done with UNCLE. And Solo though unwell, was not disoriented, and was acting himself.

"I'll set up the tent, assuming, it doesn't have holes in it too." Gaby announced.

Illya held up his hand, and pointed, "Over there. Natural depression to hide fire. Though I hope sincerely there is no one left to hide fire from. And this time, Gaby, feel under snow for roots, sticks. Had something poking into my back entire time. Very uncomfortable."

Illya dug out the snow, and broke dead sticks off trees, until he built them a warm fire. It was too dark to see the smoke, and as he searched for deadfall to keep it going, he was satisfied to see the light did not spread, and would be invisible from a distance, as long as he kept it small.

Gaby set up the tent, and Solo peeked through the backpack. "Hot chocolate mix, but no coffee." Illya put his new favourite pot on rocks near the edge of the fire, heaped with snow and waited, as Solo pulled out three tin cups. Illya tried the shortwave radio for one more time that night. He was unsurprised to hear nothing in return.

"Ration bar anyone? I hear they are lovely mixed with burnt cocoa." Solo offered and Illya took one, Gaby more reluctantly.

"Solo, I won't complain about your cooking ever again." Gaby said as she took a bite.

Solo managed to eat half, as they settled on a thicker piece of wood Illya dragged from the trees to next to the fire. The three warmed up their hands and drank cocoa, before Illya dumped potfuls of snow on the coals, to douse the fire stirring with a longer stick, before they shuffled into the tent with their own sleeping bags. Gaby set herself up in the middle with the sleeping bag that did not require repair work. Neither of the men complained.

MFU


The reviews for last chapter were amazing, and inspiring. I really appreciate everyone reading, and liking this story.

Thanks for the patience, I hope the long chapter was worth the wait. I have started working with the generous rebelliousrose to beta for me, and she will be gradually cleaning up my typos. And she even suggested the first scene this chapter.

One more chapter to go, but I have several more adventures planned, so don't fear.

If you have time, let me know what you thought. There was a lot more dialogue this chapter, how was it?