Summary: Napoleon and a head injury. What more can I say?

"Oh my God! Is he…? He looks…"

"No. No, I've got a pulse."

"He's barely breathing! Illya, look at him!"

"I know! Gabby, I know."

Sound. The vibration of each word beat mercilessly against his ear drums. He wanted to scream at the pain, but somehow his muddled brain understood the lack of wisdom in that action. God, what was that sound? After a moment, he realized that what he was hearing were voices. Two of them. A man, with something off about his speech, something that thickened his words. And a woman. Her voice was strange too, but not nearly as much.

"We need to get out of here." That was the woman. "Can you lift him?"

"I don't want to move him yet if I don't have to. Head injuries are tricky." The man's voice replied. Solo moaned in protest. He wanted them to just shut up.

"Napoleon?" the woman's voice asked tentatively. Suddenly, there were hands on either side of his face.

"Cowboy, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes." Solo moaned again, tossing his head from side to side in agitation. "That's it, come on. Little more." The man's voice instructed gently. Solo winced at the sound, finally fluttering his leaden lids open. The world that waited beyond was far too bright, despite the darkness of the night. A hazy figure of a man leaned over him.

"Nghhh…" Solo murmured incoherently. The man above him smiled at that, but in truth, it was more of a grimace, filled with stress and worry.

"Solo? I need you to look at me. Can you do that?" the man asked slowly. Solo frowned. The task sounded so manageable. Gradually, he dragged his gaze up to meet the man's. "Good. You're doing good, Cowboy. Now, I need you answer some questions. Think you can do that?" The man spoke very slowly, his voice clear. Solo nodded, regretting it instantly as pain shot through his head.

"Okay. What is my name?" the man asked. The answer came slowly, and from the wrong closet in his broken head.

"I-Illya." He slurred.

"Good. Do you remember what year it is?" Solo had to think about that one.

"I…stationed in Paris. Tommy and Jimmy too." Solo mumbled. Illya frowned.

"I think you're confused, Cowboy." He said carefully. Solo let his eyes drift and noticed, for the first time, the woman kneeling beside him.

"Gaby." He whispered. Gaby squeezed his hand, tears running down her cheeks. The confusion was growing now. The pain in his head was increasing, but it throbbed the worst at his temple. Slowly, he brought his hand up to it in a jerky, uncoordinated arc. It felt wet and sticky and his fingers came away bright red. Illya's hand closed over his own and guided it down to his chest.

"Leave that alone, Cowboy."

"What…what h-happened?" he asked, unaware of how slurred and choppy his speech sounded. Gaby and Illya shared a worried glance.

"You got hit in the head. With pipe." Illya explained.

"What?" Solo asked, still totally at a loss.

"We're in London." Gaby explained softly, for which Napoleon was grateful. "Waverly asked us to find and secure a computer disc, remember?"

"No…I…what?" Solo's memory seemed to be one huge blank and the more he tried to remember, the more afraid he became.

"Shhh, it's alright. Everything's okay now. We're going to get you to the car, okay? Here, I'll help you sit up." Illya carefully eased him upright. The world swam sickeningly before him and he had to close his eyes and swallow hard against the rising nausea. After a moment, he blinked back up at his teammates. "You good?" Illya asked. Napoleon made a small affirmative noise. "Okay, Gaby, get on his left and help me lift him. We're going to go nice and slow, yes? Just lean on us." The journey to a standing position was awful and Solo was certain that his head was going to pop. The pain and dizziness and nausea consumed him. He didn't realize they had been moving until Gaby and Illya deposited him in the back of their car.

"Wha'?" he asked, his usual eloquence forgotten.

"It's alright. We're heading back to safehouse now. Waverly will have medics meet us there." Illya explained.

"Oh." Solo could feel his eyes falling shut. He was just so tired…

"In the meantime," Illya said, shaking him gently, "you have to stay awake."

"Nnnnnggggmmmffff…"

"Nuh uh uh. You are not going to slip into happy little coma on my watch."

"…'s your father's watch." Napoleon mumbled softly. Illya smiled.

"Yes, it is, Cowboy. You found it for me, remember? Back in Italy."

"Found it…" Solo repeated. He was fading fast. Gaby stamped down harder on the gas pedal. Illya shook him again.

"Come on, eyes open. You have to stay awake." Illya implored. In the light from the street lamps, he could see just how awful his partner looked. Bright red blood covered half of his pale face. His pallor was nearly grey. And his eyes…the pupils were both blown wide, the right slightly bigger than the left. "Stay awake."

"Can't." Solo said, sagging in his seat.

"Yes, you can." Illya retorted, pulling him onto his chest. "Talk to me."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything."

"Just…wanna sleep."

"I know, but you can't, bratishka. Not yet." The rest of the drive passed in a blur. Illya managed to keep Solo in a state of semi-consciousness for the duration, but he had lost the battle by the time they had reached their destination. Between he and Gaby, they hauled him into the safehouse. Waverly and his team of medics were waiting for them and Solo was immediately laid out on the bed.

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In the end, Solo was lucky. A nasty concussion, to be sure, but no lasting damage. The medic assured them that shock from blood loss had contributed to much of Solo's confusion. Nonetheless, Illya was relieved when Waverly instructed the medic to remain there for a few days to "ensure Agent Solo's complete recovery."

"He'll be alright, Kuryakin." Waverly said softly as he left that night. Illya nodded, but both he and Gaby found themselves nodding off in the chairs beside their teammate's bed.

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"Mmmmffff…What the hell?" Solo grumbled as consciousness, and with it pain, returned. Illya's eyes shot open just in time to see Solo confusedly touching the bandage around his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He said, gently guiding Napoleon's hand away.

"Peril? Mind telling me what's going on here?" Illya seemed to brighten at the use of his nickname.

"What do you remember?" he asked. Solo thought for a moment.

"Not a damn thing since Cairo." Illya's eyebrows furrowed.

"That was five days ago, Cowboy." Solo gaped.

"What?" Illya could see the rising agitation in his partner.

"We've been on a mission here in London since Tuesday. You took a nasty bump to the head. We brought you here. Doctor says you need to rest, but should be fine after a while." Illya summarized. Solo let out a breath.

"Huh…well how 'bout that." Illya laughed, all of stress from the previous night pouring out.

"You Americans and your understatements."

And so ends chapter three! A bit short, but it's late and I'm tired. I hope you all enjoyed! Leave me a review and let me know what ya'll are lovin', hatin', and what ya'll wanna see next!