New chapter! Sorry for the long wait. I hope you enjoy this one :)

Blake's p.o.v.

Get Marshall out of harm's way. Dive behind the nearest cover. Breathe. Spot the bastard.

Blake backpedaled frantically and pushed Marshall behind the angle of wall at the end of the corridor. After lowering the younger agent to the floor, he remained crouched low and tentatively stuck his head out to scan the hallway.

I see you, my little friend…

Blake retreated behind the cover of the wall just before the gun barked again. The bullet hit the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. The guard was blind firing. Blake had just been able to catch a glimpse of the hand holding the weapon. He felt the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. The thought that the obviously undertrained security guard could very well have been shooting at his own, escaping employers amused him. His smile did not linger long. Even if the guard was blind and unable to pinpoint their position, he was blocking their progression and represented a threat which needed to be eliminated. Blake quickly assessed the situation. He knew that the guard's position mirrored theirs; the man was hiding behind the wall at the other end of the corridor, so shooting at him was useless. Besides, Blake did not have an unlimited stock of ammunition and they would probably need the gun once they got to the upper level. The best way to neutralize the guard was to use the complete darkness to his advantage and either sneak up on him or lure him out. But in order to do that, he would need a diversion. Quickly setting his backpack down, he leaned close to Marshall's ear.

"Next time he shoots, pretend you've been hit."

"What?"

"Trust me. Pretend you're wounded. Make it sound like it's bad."

Marshall's heat signature seemed to hesitate for a second, then nodded. Blake hastily unstrapped his tactical vest and removed his belt and leg sheath, keeping only the gun in one hand and his combat knife in the other. He then stuck his hand out and fired a single round in the general direction of the guard. He wasn't really trying to hit the man. He was simply giving away their position. Or rather Marshall's position. He quickly put the gun in Marshall's hands and gave him a light tap on the shoulder before lying down flat on the floor and waiting for the next gunshot. He didn't have to wait long, the guard fired again, closer to their position this time. Immediately, Marshall let out a loud, sharp cry of pain with a nice hint of surprise.

Now…

Keeping low, Blake started crawling as silently as possible toward the end of the corridor. Marshall was now gasping and whimpering loudly. Blake was hoping that the guard would get a confidence boost from knowing that his target was badly hurt and that the man would step out of cover and rush down the corridor to finish off his wounded prey. He had to admit that so far, the younger agent's performance was pretty convincing.

I shouldn't be surprised, dear Asher has had some practice…

A sudden deafening sound had him drop flat against the floor. The guard was shooting again, probably making sure that his target was in no condition to retaliate. Reassured that no one was shooting back and hearing that his opponent was still whimpering, the guard finally decided to leave the cover of the wall. He did not rush down the corridor as Blake had hoped, however. The agent watched the man-shaped heat source tentatively step forward, using the wall as a guide. He held his breath.

Absolute silence…

Marshall's gasps were getting softer, weaker, which made for an even more authentic performance but also covered Blake's approach less efficiently. Thankfully, he didn't need to crawl any further; the guard, probably eager to end Marshall's life, had started moving faster, holding the gun up with one hand, feeling the wall with the other. His torso completely exposed. Perfect. Blake adjusted his grip on his combat knife. The guard was only a few inches away from him when he seemed to sense that something was not right and suddenly froze. Too late. Before he had a chance to voice his concerns, Blake had already made his move. In went the knife, below the ribs. Then up, next stop: the heart.

Blake caught the man as he collapsed to make sure that he would keep a grip on the knife. The unfortunate fellow wasn't dead and was making a rather peculiar, low, gurgling sound. Blake noticed that the dying man was clawing convulsively at his chest and, for the second time, he felt his mouth curl up into a smile.

Sorry pal, but I don't think that's going to fix your heart…

After a few seconds, the man fell silent and stopped moving. Blake pulled his knife out and quickly wiped the blade clean on the dead man's leg. Then, wasting no time, he picked up the guard's gun and started feeling his pockets for ammunition. A second gun would be useful, especially once Marshall and him left the underground level. He was just about to check the man's belt when he heard it.

Footstep…

His head snapped up and suddenly the corridor looked considerably warmer than it had a minute earlier. That heat source was way too close to him. And had fists. The blow caught him in the throat. It was an awkward, tentative punch. His opponent – obviously much better at stealth walking than the scout/diversion Blake had just killed – was still trying to figure out his exact position. Most people, when they get punched in the throat, will gasp and instinctively clutch their windpipe with bulging eyes, wondering for a second if that's how they die. And Blake was no exception to the rule. As he struggled to breathe normally, he felt a hand grab a fistful of his hair. Then the thermal goggles were yanked off, along with the makeshift bandage on the back of his head.

Dammit…

Now he was blind. And he was probably going to have a nasty scar. His eyes watered automatically as the hand gripping his hair pulled hard, forcing him to stumble forward on his knees. He had dropped the gun and couldn't find his knife. He would have to take care of this one with his bare hands. Before he could plan his next move, he suddenly felt a rush of displaced air as someone ran past him.

There's two of them…shit, Asher!..

"Marsh…", he started shouting but was interrupted by the barrel of a gun being painfully shoved against his nose. The man was about to shoot him in the face. A gun did go off but not the one he had been expecting. This one had the distinctive sound of a gun fitted with a sound suppressor. One sharp click – eerily loud in the confined space. He felt the guard who had been holding him drop to the floor. Headshot. A second gunshot and Blake heard another body drop. A faint chuckle. Casual footsteps, receding in the darkness. Then silence. Blake spent a minute feeling the floor around him for his goggles before finally finding them around the second guard's forehead. Slipping them on again, he peered at the darkness before him for a few seconds. Then he retrieved his knife, the guard's gun and the ammo and quickly walked back to the other end of the corridor, stepping past the still warm body of the man who had just rushed past him to kill Marshall.

Asher's p.o.v.

After the episode in the basement corridor, they had managed to get to the ground floor quickly, without encountering more guards. That confrontation in the pitch-dark corridor had been intense. Asher had nearly jumped out of his skin and involuntarily squeezed off a round when he had finally felt Blake's hand on his shoulder. The man really did know how to creep up on someone. Asher usually wasn't that jumpy but he had had a rough couple of weeks, to say the least. Between his capture, the less than pleasant little sessions with Mr. Asshole Cult master, and almost being the victim of Solo's very first attempt at human sacrifice… Nah, he was almost certain that Solo would have stopped before sticking the blade into his body. Almost. Still he was thankful for Blake's impeccable sense of timing. Blake. Asher didn't know the man that well but he had heard his name mentioned on several occasions and had talked to him a couple of times. He had been relieved when, thanks to the moonlight filtering through the windows, he had finally been able to identify his savior. He knew it was silly but that moment when he had felt a hand come to rest on his chest as he was lying on that table, tied up and completely helpless, had reminded him of another rather unpleasant experience. He chased the thought away and tried to concentrate on not being too much of a burden for the other agent. Easier said than done, he could feel his strength fading with each step and he had to make a conscious effort to hold up the gun Blake had given him. Every inch of his body hurt, his throat was sore from too much screaming and he was incredibly thirsty. His mind started to wander again. Maybe a helicopter would come to pick them up once they were out…

You're dreaming, Asher. Sanders would never send a helicopter just for you. Come to think of it, Sanders would never send a team to rescue you in the first place…

But if Owen Blake was here, Sanders had to be involved somehow. His thoughts were interrupted as Blake abruptly stopped walking and pushed him against the wall of the narrow hallway they had just entered. That meant company. He watched as Blake soundlessly made his way toward the end of the corridor. Right after he had disappeared around the corner, Asher heard a faint gasp of surprise immediately followed by what sounded like a scuffle. He rushed – or rather staggered – forward, holding the gun up unsteadily. As he rounded the corner, he instinctively pointed the gun at the other man. The tall, blond man. Blake quickly forced his arm down, redirecting his aim toward the floor.

Kuryakin…

The Russian was apparently very surprised to see him.

So this really wasn't supposed to be a rescue mission…

"I heard the explosions and saw the lights go out. I figured you would need help so I did some cleaning up on this floor."

He paused and stifled a cough. Even in the semi-obscurity, Asher could tell that he was sick.

"Where's Solo?", the Russian went on urgently.

"Downstairs with the nutcases. He's not coming with us."

For a second, Asher thought that Kuryakin was going to destroy Blake.

"He's fine.", Blake added placatingly. "His cover hasn't been compromised. It was his decision to get on with the mission."

Kuryakin still looked like he was going to destroy Blake but he hadn't done it yet, which was encouraging. He coughed again.

"Listen Kuryakin, once we get Marshall to the exit, I'll come back here with the listening device to make sure Solo is okay."

"I'll do it.", the Russian replied, raising his voice slightly.

He stifled another coughing fit. Asher saw Blake look around nervously.

"Be reasonable, Kuryakin. I don't think…" He paused and frowned. "What's wrong with your chest?"

The Russian, who had been rubbing his chest, quickly let his hand drop. He shot Blake a guilty glance.

"It feels tight, like I'm breathing syrup." He hesitated. "And it hurts."

"I told you to let me know immediately if you experienced chest pain. This is serious, Kuryakin, you could die."

Yeah well, all three of us are going to die if we don't get a move on…

Asher was about to voice his concerns when a dizzy spell forced him to lean heavily against the wall. The two men turned to look at him.

"Let's go.", Blake decided, slipping his arm around the younger agent's back. Asher bit back a gasp of pain. Hopefully his back wouldn't take too long to heal.

Illya's p.o.v

As they progressed toward the exit, Illya tried his best to contain his irritation. It bothered him that he had been unable to hit Blake earlier when the American had bumped into him. Not because he wanted to hurt Blake, not really. But even with the element of surprise on Illya's side, the CIA agent had been able to dodge his attack easily.

"Your labored breathing gave you away, you know.", Blake had whispered, as if he could read Illya's mind.

Of course Illya had been glad to discover that Asher Marshall was alive. He had recognized him easily, the agent didn't look much different from the last time Illya had seen him: shirtless, battered, and bleeding. He glanced at Blake and Marshall over his shoulder and sighed inwardly. He just wished Cowboy had decided to follow them. He knew his partner could take care of himself but he had a bad feeling about leaving him behind. They had finally agreed that Blake would stay with him. Marshall and Illya would head back to the cottage with Gaby. If they made it out alive, of course. They were getting close to the exit.

Time to call Gaby…

Without stopping, he holstered his Makarov, pulled the flare gun out of his leg holster and loaded it. He had left the door open to facilitate their escape. He turned to check that Blake and Marshall were still following. Marshall was weak and Blake had to support most of his weight. He turned back to the door and was about to step outside when a man appeared right in front of him. The guard looked as surprised as Illya felt but he also had a gun in his hand and it was pointed at Illya's chest. So Illya used the only weapon he had. The flare hit the man in the stomach before he had the chance to pull the trigger. His mouth opened in a silent "oh". Then not so silent. Illya grabbed the screaming man, making him pivot and pulled him close. He swiftly snapped his neck and let him drop to the ground. He turned around to find Blake and Marshall staring at him.

"I have a spare.", he grumbled, fishing another flare out of his pocket.

Wasting no more time, he shot the flare into the night sky. By the time they got to the far end of the courtyard, Gaby would be there to pick them up. Illya discarded the flare gun and Blake handed Marshall over to him.

"He's dehydrated, make sure he drinks a lot of water. And give him one of these, it'll help him sleep. The rest can wait until I get back. And Kuryakin, get some rest. I mean it."

Illya nodded, accepting the small bottle of pills. He watched as Blake's silent shadow disappeared inside the building.

Let's go, fragile American number 2…

They had made good progress when Illya heard a loud noise and something whistled past his ear. Gunshots. Someone was shooting at them. There were being chased. He exchanged a rapid glance with Marshall, then hauled the protesting agent up over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and started running. More gunshots, closer. Illya concentrated on running faster. Marshall had fallen silent and was hanging limply across his shoulders. He suddenly found himself wondering if the American had been hit by one of the flying bullets. Then he realized that he could feel Marshall's heartbeat against his upper back. The courtyard. He could see the car. They were going to make it. He wondered if he would ever be able to catch his breath. It felt like a colony of jellyfish had taken up residence inside his lungs. As they finally reached the car, Illya set the CIA agent down and fired a few rounds at their pursuers to buy some time. He then flung open the car door and shoved Marshall inside.

"Drive!", he said urgently as he got in and slammed the car door shut.

"Asher? You're alive! Where are Solo and Blake?"

"DRIVE!", Marshall and him shouted in perfect unison.

"Alright, alright!"

Gaby reversed aggressively out of the courtyard and they disappeared into the night.

Several hours later, unknown location

"I think we should kill Carlyle."

"We are not killing Carlyle."

"It has to be him. The attack, the agent getting rescued, and on the night of his initiation…"

"I'll admit that it's odd but it's just an unfortunate coincidence."

"Come on, Cleary, I don't believe in coincidences, neither do you. Just let me interrogate him, I'll make him talk."

"You mean you'll make him scream? Like the young agent? You didn't have much luck making that one talk, now, did you? We both know where that information came from… Admit it, you just hate Carlyle because he turned your ceremony into a parody."

"I'm telling you Carlyle shouldn't be trusted. I know he was involved, somehow…"

"You know as well as I do that it can't be Carlyle."

"Well, I'm not so sure. Maybe you've been trusting the wrong people."

"Enough! No harm will come to Carlyle until I decide otherwise. Is that clear?"

"As you wish. But when you do decide otherwise, I want to be the one who kills him."

End of chapter 6. Chapter 7 is coming soon :)