Chapter 11! Sorry about the delay. As always, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter :)

Warning: there is a tiny bit of gore in this chapter. It's really really tiny but I know some people don't like it and I don't want anyone to be grossed out :)

Illya's p.o.v,

Illya was trying hard to concentrate on his driving and on the tracking device. The immobile dot on the tracking device. He really wasn't feeling well. His chest felt tight and it hurt, he felt constantly short of breath, his coughing had not improved and, even though he was trying to convince himself otherwise, he felt completely exhausted. The fight with Blake had taken a toll on him too. He knew perfectly well that he was not in a fit state to execute a rescue mission. Going alone was foolish bordering on suicidal. He didn't even have a gun. But what else could he do. If there was even the slightest chance that his partner was still alive, he had to do something. And he was about 80% sure that Cowboy would do the same for him. He was getting close. He would find a spot to hide the car soon. When he had tried to start the car earlier as he had been about to leave the cottage, they had discovered that Blake had taken the key and tampered with the ignition system. Good thing Gaby had been able to fix it. But it had taken time, and Illya had almost gone crazy as he took care of Marshall while he waited for the car to be fixed, painfully aware of every minute flying by.

You'd better be alive, Cowboy…

Torture room, Solo's p.o.v,

"Nap time is over, Mr. Carlyle."

"Just five more minutes, Mum…", Napoleon mumbled as he opened his eyes to a narrow slit then gave the cult master a "screw you, asshole" smile.

They were alone in the room once again. Cleary had left after a short while. Apparently, the leader of the organization wasn't a fan of torture.

That's at least one thing we have in common…

The cult master, on the contrary, really seemed to be enjoying himself and the fact that he had failed, so far, to extract information from his victim did not seem to discourage him. Napoleon had to hand it to him; the man was good at what he did. He knew exactly when to stop and let his victim rest. Napoleon had only briefly lost consciousness once and even though he was in considerable pain and it felt like his body couldn't take much more, he knew it could, and that thought made his heart race with fear.

"Ready to pick up where we left off?"

Napoleon sighed inwardly as he watched the cult master raise the cattle prod.

Here we go again…

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the wave of agony he knew was coming. It didn't come, though. He opened his eyes as he heard the sound of the door being opened. He couldn't see what was going on behind him so he studied the cult master's reaction. The man had a look of extreme annoyance and contempt on his face.

Not Cleary, then…

"What!", the cult master barked, setting the cattle prod down.

Napoleon exhaled a long breath and allowed his muscles to relax.

Phew…whoever you are, thanks for that…

After a few seconds, a hesitant, submissive voice sounded from behind Napoleon who immediately identified the visitor. Davies.

"Sorry…sorry to bother you, Sir, really…but…well, Mr. Cleary sent me, he wants you to see something…"

The cult master gave an exasperated sigh and stepped past Napoleon, leaving his field of vision.

"See what? Doesn't he know I'm busy?"

"Oh don't worry, Sir…it won't take long…in fact, I've got it right here with me…"

Something Cleary wants him to see, and he has it with him… Please tell me it's not…

Napoleon's heart somersaulted as a deafening sound suddenly filled the room. That definitely did not sound like a stolen book full of coded information. Whether he should be relieved or even more worried, he didn't know yet. For a few seconds he could only hear an unpleasant ringing in his ears, then footsteps. One person.

"Hey! Carlyle, my mate!"

Davies suddenly appeared in his field of vision. He was carrying a shotgun.

"Or should I say Solo? Nap-Nap? Nappy? Anyway, how are you doing? Sorry if I startled you with this, it's extremely loud and the recoil is a bitch but the result is so satisfying."

For a couple of seconds, Napoleon just stared at him with his mouth slightly open, completely dumbfounded. Then he spoke, slowly.

"I don't mean to alarm you, Davies…but your Devon accent is gone."

"Haha, rather convincing, uh? Well, when you've been posted here for as long as I have, you inevitably pick up the accent. Your impression wasn't bad either, by the way, but I'm too good at recognizing fellow Americans. Although I'll admit that having read your file helped too."

"I see...why did you let me infiltrate the organization if you knew who I was. Why didn't you kill me?"

"Simple, I needed you as a diversion."

"So it was you who destroyed the information contained in the safe and triggered the alarm. You're part of the larger American organization."

"Correct, you're a clever guy, Napoleon.", Davies replied, winking at him. "Yeah, unfortunately, I had to do some cleaning up. That branch of our organization was diseased. You know how it is, sometimes the tree needs pruning to thrive."

Davies paused and Napoleon saw the man's gaze travel up and down his body.

"Damn, you're buff!", he said, poking him in the stomach. "I'm jealous, how many times a week do you work out?"

"What about your wife? I suppose she's a part of it, too?"

As Napoleon uttered these words, Davies burst out into sonorous laughter.

"I don't have a wife, Napoleon."

"No, of course you don't, silly me…"

"Ah, don't sound so disappointed, I'm sure that if I did have a wife, she would have been glad to invite you over for Sunday roast."

Davies paused for a second, then a smile slowly spread across his pudgy face.

"Want to see something that will cheer you up?"

Not really, no…

As Davies disappeared behind him, Napoleon took a moment to contemplate just how screwed he was. Of course Davies was going to kill him, it was only a matter of time. The man had probably already killed Cleary and he supposed that most of the guards in the building were dead too. His eyes fell on the shotgun, which Davies had left on the floor, and he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. Shackled as he was, with his arms outstretched above his head, he was the perfect target.

Okay, just stay calm, keep him talking…

He could hear Davies coming back, and some weird sound, as if something was being dragged across the floor. Davies reappeared in front of him and Napoleon was able to identify the source of the dragging sound. The man was holding the cult master's corpse. The shotgun blast had blown off half his face. Napoleon looked at the ruined, bloody, empty eye socket and shuddered.

"What do you think? I've always thought that red was the right color for him, it literally brings out his eyes. Well, one eye at least…"

Napoleon looked away, trying hard not to picture what his own face would look like if Davies decided to shoot him too. He really missed the slow-witted, awkward, submissive Davies.

"Hey, come on, Napoleon. It's just a joke. If you think I'm bad, you have no idea what your colleagues are up against. I might like to blow people's heads off and I do have a very dark sense of humor but I'm no Blake."

What?...

"What?"

"Yeah, Owen, now he's one twisted son of a bitch. The kind even our kind is afraid of. I wouldn't want to be in your partners' shoes, especially that young agent, Asher Marshall. I bet he regretted not dying on the sacrificial table, that would have been a much gentler way to go, believe me. Owen was really obsessed with Marshall", Davies snorted. "Almost got himself killed to keep his target alive, now that's what I call dedication. Good thing I was there to help."

Napoleon remained silent but thoughts were racing through his mind as he tried to wrap his head around what Davies had just told him. CIA agent Owen Blake was an assassin. But how..? and Blake had taken Marshall. He had literally handed Marshall over to his executioner. The young agent was probably dead. Maybe Illya and Gaby were dead too... Davies's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Don't beat yourself up, there was nothing you could have done. I have yet to see one of Owen's targets escape him. But let's change the subject, I can tell it's upsetting you.", he added, picking up the cattle prod.

Napoleon muscles automatically tensed up as Davies stepped closer.

"So that's what he used to torture you?"

Keep him talking…

"Among other things…"

Davies eyed the electrical burns on his chest and shook his head.

"Pathetic. Someone should have taught him how to use it properly. Want me to show you?", he said as his hand reached for Napoleon's belt buckle.

No… please no…

Davies stared at him for a few seconds then burst out laughing again.

"I'm just messing with you, don't worry."

Haha...hilarious...

Davies checked his watch. "Anyway I'll have to get going soon. It's not that I'm not enjoying our little chat but the building is packed full of explosives and I really don't want to be around when it collapses."

Keep him talking or you're dead…

"Why are you using a timer? Why not just trigger the explosion once you're out?"

"Well, that's what I would do if I worked alone but my employers are extremely cautious people and they want to make sure that, should something happen to me on my way out, the job would still be done. I have about forty minutes left but there's a handful of guards upstairs who are still alive and I might need to take care of them, plus I don't like running."

"Who are they, your employers?"

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know. Nosy Napoleon. Sorry but I can't answer that question, even if you're about to die."

Davies set the cattle prod down and picked up the shotgun.

"Well, goodbye Napoleon, it's been nice knowing you."

Napoleon felt his already racing heart start to beat even faster. Two thoughts were playing over and over in his mind; He's going to shoot me, and the image of the dead cult master's ruined face. Then Davies's laugh sounded again. It was seriously starting to get on Napoleon's nerves.

"I bet you thought I was going to shoot you. No, I wouldn't do that to my "mate", I'm just going to leave you here and let the explosion do the rest."

He clapped Napoleon on the back, making him cry out in pain, and disappeared behind him. Napoleon heard the footsteps recede and he was left alone in the room.

Well…that could have gone worse…I suppose…

He was still going to die, blown to bits or crushed under a collapsing building, and if what Davies had said about Blake was true, his partners were either dead or really had their hands full. That probably meant that no one was coming to rescue him. He tugged at the manacles as hard as he could but only managed to hurt his wrists. There really was no escape this time. Napoleon sighed heavily, the next forty minutes were not going to be pleasant. A few moments passed in silence, then…

Footsteps?...

At least two people this time. And heavy, labored breathing. Getting closer. Inside the room now.

"Ah, I'm glad you're still here, Napoleon!"

Davies…

"Davies, you're back, miss me already? Or did you forget something?"

"No. Much better, I have a little surprise for you. Consider it a parting gift."

As he uttered those words, Davies stepped into his field of vision, he had apparently discarded the shotgun and was holding a browning 9mm, the gun was aimed at another man's back, the man was Illya. Napoleon felt a tiny measure of relief as he saw that his partner was still alive, but he also knew that Davies had brought Illya here because he wanted to execute the Russian in front of him.

"I found him coughing up a lung in the corridor upstairs and just couldn't resist."

Napoleon studied his partner worriedly. Illya really looked much worse than the last time he had seen him. He looked like he was about to collapse and his breathing seemed extremely labored.

"Having some trouble catching our breath, are we, Kuryakin?" Davies winked at Napoleon. "Owen was always good with poison. Speaking about Owen, if Kuryakin is here, I suppose it means that my dear colleague is dead. How tragic. And impressive!" He laughed. "Tell me, Kuryakin, did he at least manage to kill his precious Asher before he died? I sincerely hope he did. If not, well...I'll just have to take care of him myself."

Illya remained silent, he was obviously making a conscious effort to remain standing. Davies sighed and kicked him behind the legs, making him fall to his knees. The Russian slowly raised his head and looked directly into Napoleon's eyes.

What were you thinking coming here alone, Peril. And in your condition…

"Since we have a little time left before this place blows up, I figured we could have some fun together. What do you think, Napoleon?"

Davies stepped around Illya and, keeping the gun trained on him, he went to pick up the cattle prod. Then he positioned himself behind Illya with the gun in one hand and the prod in the other.

"Let's find out how tough Kuryakin really is!"

Before Napoleon could say anything, Davies pressed the tip of the cattle prod against his partner's back. He watched and winced in sympathy as Illya screamed and collapsed. Davies pulled back his arm and smiled as Illya tried and failed to get up on his hands and knees. He gently pushed the Russian with his foot to make him roll onto his back. Then he crouched down, looked up at Napoleon and grinned before he forcefully shoved the tip of the cattle prod into the middle of Illya's chest. Again Napoleon could only watch as his partner screamed and writhed in agony on the floor. He gritted his teeth and waited for Davies to stop. He didn't. The man was following Illya's convulsive movements to make sure that the electrodes remained firmly pressed against the thrashing Russian's chest. He wasn't going to stop...

Stop…stop!...

"Stop!"

Napoleon felt his blood boil as Davies smiled at him and kept the prod against his partner's chest a little longer. Then he finally stopped torturing poor Illya who rolled onto his stomach, coughing, choking and wheezing.

"Oh my, you're right, mate, it's time to stop. I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot to check my watch. Good thing I still have some time left, I'm afraid it's time to say goodbye to Kuryakin though."

Davies dropped the cattle prod and grabbed Illya by the hair, pulling his head up so that Napoleon could see his face, the Russian was barely conscious. Davies brought the gun up and pressed it against Illya's temple.

"Wait…"

Napoleon felt his gut twist, he knew that nothing he would say could save his partner.

"On the count of three…"

No…

Before the man could start counting, though, something happened that neither Davies nor Napoleon had been expecting. Illya suddenly grabbed the cattle prod which was lying on the floor and shoved it into Davies's groin area. The man shrieked and fell down, firing a wild round in the process, missing Illya's head by a good three inches.

Ouch, I guess that's what he meant by "using it properly"…

Davies was down and whimpering but he was still holding the gun and was aiming it at his partner again. But Illya had anticipated the man's reaction and was already upon him. Another shot rang out and Napoleon saw Davies's body go slack. Panting, Illya dropped the gun and shakily got to his feet.

"Wow, Peril, remind me never to torture you with a cattle prod…"

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know, twenty minutes, twenty five maybe…", he paused as he noticed that Illya was grimacing and pressing one hand against his chest. "Are you going to be okay, Peril?"

"I'll live... What about you?"

"Well, let's just say I'm awfully glad you're here."

"You're welcome, Cowboy. Where are the keys?"

"See the dead body over there? Not the one you just killed, the other one, missing half his face. He probably has the keys. Nice plan, by the way, but extremely risky."

"What plan?", Illya answered, looking dead serious. Napoleon stared at him for a few seconds then the Russian's lips curled up into a small smile.

"I see you're developing a sense of humor, Peril, is that another symptom of your "illness"? By the way, Gaby and Marshall are alive, right?"

Illya nodded and started searching the cult master's body. After a few seconds, he frowned.

"No keys. He doesn't even have pockets."

"Well, that's problematic, to say the least…what about Davies?"

Napoleon watched as Illya searched Davies's corpse, then the entire room. No keys.

Perfect…

"Do you see some tools that you could use to cut the chains or pry the manacles open?"

"I don't see anything, no."

"Care to look again?"

"We don't have much time."

"In that case, just leave without me, Peril. Save yourself while there's still time. You almost died trying to save me a minute ago and I don't want it to happen again. Have a good life, marry Gaby…"

"Cowboy, I…are you serious?"

"No. Get me out of those manacles."

Illya let out an exasperated groan and walked out of his field of vision.

"You're not leaving, Peril, are you? It was only a joke."

"Don't be stupid.", came the Russian's irritated voice behind him. Then Napoleon heard a dragging sound.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a table behind you I dragged it closer so that I could stand on it. It will make what I'm about to do easier."

"I see…what are you about to do, if you don't mind my asking?"

Napoleon couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was, but something about the Russian's answer was making him nervous.

"I'm going to dislocate your thumbs."

You're going to do what?...

"Peril, no! Wait!..."

End of chapter 11.

Uh-oh :)

I hope you enjoyed the read :)

And thanks for the reviews on chapter 10 :)