And here is chapter 4. Hopefully chapter 5 is coming soon. Let me know what you think :)
Unknown location, a few hours later, Napoleon's p.o.v.
Napoleon kept replaying the events of the last few hours in his mind, trying to decide when it had gone from bad to worse, and from worse to even worse. They had had no choice but to start fighting as their captor had threatened to hurt Gaby. He and Illya had managed to exchange a few words in Russian before the man had stopped them. And although he hadn't let it show, what Illya had told him then had surprised him, to say the least. Napoleon had asked the obvious question: what are we going to do? The Russian had simply answered that maybe he had a plan and that they needed to buy some time by pretending to fight. Napoleon had been about to express his doubts but he knew that they didn't have much time so he had decided to trust Illya and agreed to put on a believable show. Then their captor had cut him off and forbidden further communication between them.
They had fought hand-to-hand for a while and Napoleon had discovered, much to his dismay, that Illya's version of a fake fight was extremely close to the real thing. He had naively thought that the Russian would pull his punches and had ended up with a bloody nose and a cracked rib. But the moment he was strongly tempted to consider as the shift from worse to even worse was when, thanks to the advice of their ever-helpful captor, the fight had turned into a knife fight. Facing Illya with a knife was like facing a bull in the ring with no knowledge of bullfighting whatsoever, and with bright red targets over all your vital organs. The instant he had seen the steely resolve in his partner's eyes as he adopted a fighting stance, knife in hand, Napoleon had felt the seeds of doubt beginning to sprout in his mind. Had it been a ruse? Could it be that Illya had told him they were pretending so that he could have the upper hand more easily when the time came to kill him?
These thoughts were flashing through his mind as he tried his best to hold his partner at bay. Getting close for an attack, even a fake one, would be foolish. He wouldn't stand a chance. Thankfully he could tell that Illya was still holding back a little, using slashing motions when he could have easily stabbed something vital. Still, Napoleon was already bleeding from various cuts on his arms and he was getting tired, continuously dodging Illya's attacks was getting harder and harder. Suddenly, Illya feinted and a surprised Napoleon lost his balance, holding his arms out to steady himself, leaving his upper body unguarded. Illya seized the opportunity and slashed him across the chest. The American winced and staggered back, instinctively raising his free hand to his chest. He caught his partner's gaze and thought he read some trace of apology in his eyes.
Is that your way of telling me to focus, Peril?
Then Illya did something he was not expecting. He lunged straight at him, knife first, without feinting. Napoleon easily side stepped him and kicked the knife out of his hand. He almost took a moment to congratulate himself on this small victory but at the same time he realized that his partner was now unarmed. What was he supposed to do, fight an unarmed Illya with a knife? Even if it was a small knife, it didn't seem right. This hesitation proved fatal to him as the Russian barreled into him at full speed. What had he been thinking? Illya didn't need his knife to be dangerous. He fell backwards, bumping his head on one of the walls as he went down. Illya fell on top of him knocking the wind out of him. The pressure on his broken rib made his eyes water as he struggled to breathe.
"Back to hand-to-hand fighting I see, Kuryakin. I must admit I am very curious to see how you're going to finish him off."
Napoleon had almost forgotten about their captor.
Dammit, Illya doesn't need a cheerleader!
He had miraculously managed to keep his grip on the knife and started bringing it up in hope that Illya would back off. Another mistake as his partner delivered a forceful open hand chop to his arm, rendering it temporarily numb and useless. Napoleon cursed as the knife clattered to the floor. His partner's attacks were getting more and more violent. Again he began to wonder if the Russian was still acting or if he had been too trusting and had let his guard down one time too many. He didn't have much time to ponder the question though as Illya punched him in the gut. Before he could recover Illya punched him again. And again. He couldn't use his numb arm to protect himself and the Russian had his other arm and his legs pinned down. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the fourth blow. And wasn't disappointed as Illya's fist slammed full force into his temple this time. Pain exploded in his head. He was dazed from the force of the blow, yet still conscious but it felt as if all his strength had been drained from his body. He let Illya grab him by the front of his shirt and prop him up against the wall. He heard the blade scrape against the floor as his partner picked up the knife. Illya' gestures were more gentle now, almost precise. Whatever he was about to do, Napoleon didn't have the strength to fight back. The only thing that was holding him upright was the Russian's hand. Nothing happened for a second and Napoleon closed his eyes, hoping that it meant Illya was allowing him some time to recover. Then he felt the blade slide into his flesh. His eyes shot open and he gasped, the pain and shock momentarily clearing his thoughts. Illya had stabbed him. As he tried to wrap his head around this fact he suddenly became aware of the silence and stillness around him. He looked down at the knife protruding from his body. Then looked up again and met Illya's eyes. He saw pain, and guilt, and remorse, but also the same determination that had been there before. Then suddenly the peaceful silence that had surrounded him was troubled by several overlapping sounds. The sound of his blood beating in his temples, raging in his ears. The sound of his breathing, coming in short gasps. The sound of his voice, a pitiful groan which he hadn't realized had been coming out of his mouth.
Napoleon tried to move but Illya was still holding him firmly against the wall. Slowly, the Russian lifted his hand to Napoleon's face and covered his mouth as if to stifle his groans of pain.
"Shhh," Illya said, softly. "It's over Napoleon."
Napoleon frowned at the mention of his first name and as he felt something being pressed insistently against his mouth.
Illya's p.o.v.
Illya kept his hand pressed against his partner's mouth a bit longer. Then he saw a flash of understanding in Solo's eyes. Removing his hand, he gently pulled the American's body from against the wall and positioned himself behind him. As Solo began to struggle weakly, Illya swiftly slipped the hollow of his elbow under his partner's chin and pulled him close, cutting the blood flow to his brain. After a few seconds, Solo began convulsing and then stopped moving completely.
Forgive me, Cowboy. But this had to be done.
End of chapter 4.