Chapter 7: last time we left Illya, Napoleon and Gaby in an uncomfortable situation, hopefully things will get better in this chapter… (warning: there might be some minor angst involved…again) ;)

Edit: make that 2 more chapters and the story will be complete ;)

Unknown location, CIA agent's p.o.v.

Things were moving too fast and he wasn't moving fast enough. The necessity for absolute silence and the pain in his chest and back were slowing him down as he crawled behind the chair and towards the table. At least he had the element of surprise on his side. The scientist wouldn't expect one of his henchmen to have been wearing a ballistic vest. Not that he ever took it off when he was on that type of assignment. He might have managed to infiltrate the organization and get close to the scientist but it hardly meant anything in this type of circles. If you weren't the boss, you were expendable to a more or less high degree. He had been lucky that the scientist wasn't a good shot. The man had aimed for the largest target both times, his chest, then his back. A more experienced shooter would probably have aimed for the head – at least for the second shot – and although the agent prided himself on his thick hair, he doubted that it would have been enough to prevent his brain from decorating the floor. The vest had saved his life, at least temporarily. He had no way of precisely assessing the damage; all he knew was that both shots had hurt like hell. The first bullet had caught him dead center in the chest and he had fallen down, completely winded by the impact. The second bullet had been fired at close range and had hit him in the back. The pain had been so intense that he had blacked out. Of course there would be some damage – a couple of broken ribs at the very least – but he couldn't concentrate on that now. He had a job to do. He needed to rescue the MI6 agents because it was what a good guy would do, and he mostly considered himself a good guy. But also because it was the only chance he had of getting out of there alive. From what he had gathered after he regained consciousness, all three agents were alive, even Solo who had been fed one of those damn make-you-look-dead pills. He had never understood how anyone could rely on those. Sure they made you appear dead – and it was pretty convincing – but they also made you unconscious and completely vulnerable. And then what if your enemy decided to shoot you in the face? Or forced your partner to carve your ticker out of your chest?

Damn, I wouldn't want to be in Kuryakin's shoes right now…

Not that he was particularly glad to be in his own shoes either. He had briefly considered trying to take the scientist down when he had stepped behind the chair to threaten Miss Teller with the scalpel. But in his condition, he wasn't sure that he would have had the upper hand in a fight. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could stand up. So he had decided to focus his efforts on freeing the girl instead. And for that he needed the shiny little piece of surgical steel on that bloody Mount Everest of a table. He shot a glance at the screen. Kuryakin had picked up a large knife and was back at Solo's side. He didn't have much time left to make his move.

Dammit, I'm not paid enough for this bullshit…

He resumed his painful, silent crawling and finally reached the table. He bit back a groan of pain as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He risked a glance at the scientist. The man was completely absorbed with what was going on on the screen. The agent felt a small measure of relief as he closed his hand around the scalpel. Now he needed to cut Miss Teller's bonds.

Please don't scream…

He glanced at the scientist again. A cry, even muffled by the tape might attract the man's attention and he wasn't exactly eager to take a third bullet.

Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.

Unable to bear the situation any longer, Gaby suddenly decided to act. She had to get her hands on that scalpel on the table. She kept her eyes on the scientist's back a while longer. He was enjoying his sick revenge and wasn't paying attention to her at all. He hadn't lied when he had said that he wasn't particularly interested in her and she was going to use that to her advantage. An embryo of a plan started to form in her mind. Her ankles were bound but she might still be able to rock her body and use her feet to move the chair closer to the table, little by little. It was a terrible plan and she knew it. But she needed to do something, anything. And even if she failed, it might at least attract the scientist's attention and stop what was happening on the screen. Ready to make her move, she let her gaze shift to her target and her heart missed a beat. The scalpel was gone. Then she felt something tug at her ankles from behind the chair and she barely suppressed a cry of surprise. She strained her neck to identify the source of the tugging and there was the late Mr. CIA agent, definitely not as dead as before but not looking extremely alive either. He put a finger to his lips and showed her the scalpel. Only then did Gaby realize that her ankles were no longer bound.

Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.

Knife in hand, bent over the body of his partner, Illya hesitated. He was tempted to kill Solo by driving the knife through his heart, or breaking his neck, or anything relatively quick that wouldn't involve slicing him open and rummaging around in his chest to remove his heart. Their captor would probably still want him to butcher his friend's corpse but at least Solo would already be dead. He realized his attitude must have given his thoughts away as the voice sounded again.

"I know what you're thinking, Kuryakin! No cheating or you know what will happen to Miss Teller's pretty eyes. Besides, it won't be as much fun if Solo is already dead when you cut him open. No, no, I want him to be alive. Perhaps if you're dexterous enough you will be able to feel his still beating heart inside your hand. Wouldn't that be exciting, Kuryakin?"

Illya winced. He knew that the sole purpose of the man's words was to torment him and that he shouldn't react, still the thought made his stomach churn. He hoped that the drug would be strong enough to keep Solo unconscious. He kept his free hand firmly on the American's upper chest, in case he regained consciousness and Illya needed to hold him down. He could hardly feel Solo's heartbeat under his palm but the fact that he was still able to detect something was probably a sign that the effects of the drug were beginning to wear off. He needed to hurry.

Unknown location, CIA agent's p.o.v.

The second phase of the agent's plan was going smoothly enough – no scream, and no third bullet. He had already cut the bonds around Miss Teller's ankles and was now slicing through the ones around her right forearm. While he worked he kept glancing at the scientist to make sure that he was still too busy to pay attention to them. The freak was torturing Kuryakin with the gruesome notion that he might be able to hold his partner's beating heart in his hand. That scientist guy really was one seriously sick bastard. Okay, the man blamed Solo and Kuryakin for the loss of his life's work and sure, he understood how being turned into a piece of well-done steak could piss someone off, but this was pure sadism. Once he had freed the girl's right arm, he handed her the scalpel; she would work faster and he didn't want to move more than was necessary. He felt guilty that he couldn't do more to help her but, after all, she was a trained agent, so presumably she could take care of herself. He let out an inward sigh of relief as the surgical steel easily cut through the last bonds.

Well done, now go ahead and take this bastard down…wait…what is she doing?

Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.

Finally freed from her bonds, Gaby felt renewed hope bloom within her but she also knew that there was no time to waste if she wanted to save Napoleon. She was now in full agent mode and a mental checklist spontaneously popped up in her mind. One: find an efficient weapon. True, she had the scalpel and her original idea had been to try and stab the scientist, but she wasn't as skilled as Illya when it came to knives and the blade was rather small so it would require more skill to do serious damage. She needed something bigger, something heavy that she could hit him with. She thought for a second then she got up, and, as silently as she could, grabbed the chair she had been tied to – all the while ignoring the disbelieving look on the CIA agent's face. Two: sneak up on her captor. Thankfully, the man was still busy tormenting Illya and his loud, taunting voice would cover her approach. Three: smash the chair down on that freak's head. Four: he's down but still moving, hit him again. Five: and hit him a third time, for good measure.

Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.

Illya tried to focus on keeping his hand steady as he brought the knife down. He placed the blade against his partner's skin and tentatively drove the tip into his flesh. Solo didn't stir. Illya pushed the blade slightly deeper and made a small, hesitant incision. Still no reaction from his partner. He suddenly became aware that his free hand had been pressing down on the American chest much harder than he had intended. Not that it really mattered now. Still he forced himself to relieve the pressure as he glanced guiltily at Solo's face. He let his eyes linger on his partner's lifeless features for a second.

I'm sorry, Cowboy…

Then he quickly looked away and took a deep breath as he prepared to push the knife in deeper and lengthen the incision.

Unknown location, Gaby's p.o.v.

Satisfied that the scientist was no longer moving, Gaby dropped the chair and looked up at the screen, hoping she wasn't too late. What she saw filled her with dread.

No…please, no…

She tripped over the scientist's body as she hurriedly stepped closer to the control panel. She fumbled with the switch, finally managed to activate the microphone and started shouting. Much to her dismay, only a muffled, incomprehensible sound came out of her mouth. Cursing inwardly, she ripped off the piece of tape still covering her mouth and resumed her shouting.

Unknown location, Illya's p.o.v.

"Illya no! Stop!"

Illya had frozen mid-gesture as soon as he had heard the weird muffled sound come out of the speaker. Now he recognized Gaby's voice. What was going on? Was it another of his captor's tricks designed to torture him? Uncertain what to do, he didn't dare move. The tip of his knife was still embedded in Solo's body and he could see it shake inside the small wound, in unison with his hand.

Gaby's voice sounded again, more composed this time.

"Illya it's over, I'm safe now. Please trust me and just drop the knife."

It didn't make any sense. He didn't understand how she could be safe. But he wanted to trust her. He carefully pulled the blade out of Solo's body, sat back, opened his trembling hand and let the knife clatter to the floor. He suddenly felt drained and had to fight back a rising wave of nausea. He had been so close to doing it. He forced himself to look at the incision. The wound was small and not very deep, but of course it was bleeding. Illya retrieved the knife and cut a piece of his partner's shirt which he balled up and pressed against the wound. That simple task, the feeling under his palm of Solo's heartbeat progressively returning to normal, and Gaby's soothing voice helped him relax slightly and he allowed himself to feel some measure of relief. He would deal with the guilt later.

End of chapter 7.

One more chapter left and the story is complete :) (oh, and I forgot to say thanks for the reviews)