Illya looked at Napoleon sitting across from him in the restaurant. He could really understand his friend's perspective, but what he didn't think Napoleon understood was his NEED to have Paige back in his life. Napoleon had loved only once in his life, and lost her at a very young age, but he had had closure, had buried Carolyn and moved on. Since then he had worked his way through romance after romance, never letting his heart become endangered. Sometimes over the past years, it had created more problems for them, but it was just the way of things. Now that Illya had found her, the desire to attempt to put their shattered lives back together was driving him.
"Napoleon, I understand your reluctance. But honestly, tovarich, there are things that we have hidden as well." He argued. Napoleon sighed.
"It's not exactly the same is it?" he countered. His logic said that the things they did in the line of their work didn't count. Whatever Paige was hiding from them, he would lay odds it was illegal. There was just something about that place that had his law enforcement radar pinging like crazy. It was driving him nuts that Illya, usually right on top of things like this, wasn't picking it up. He could understand to a degree but this complacent, I'll believe whatever story she tells me attitude of his, that was what he was having trouble accepting.
Illya knew exactly what was bugging Napoleon, there was no way that he couldn't know it. "Napoleon, why would she feel the need to lie to us?"
"Oh I don't know, Illya. Maybe because she's doing something she shouldn't. I don't know what it is Illya but I do know that whatever she says tomorrow I'm checking it out." Napoleon fixed him with his best I'm the boss and I'm doing this for your own good stare.
Illya sighed and glanced down at his plate. He really didn't have much appetite. "Napoleon, you do what you must. I must trust her, if I am ever to have her in my life." His pale winter ocean eyes looked across the room, despair etching his face for a fleeting moment. "The thought of walking away, knowing she's alive and NOT having her- it is more than even a Russian soul can stand."
"Illya, I really hope it doesn't come to that. To be honest," Napoleon leaned over and covered Illya's hand with his own. "I don't think she has any intention of letting you walk away. She still loves you, you can see it in her eyes." He tried to comfort his friend. Illya pulled his hand away and crumpled his napkin.
"On that note, tovarich, I shall retire for the evening, hopefully to sleep." He stood and moved out of the restaurant slowly, wending his way carefully through the tables.
Napoleon watched the fragile figure until it was out of his sight. Then he poured another glass of wine and stared into it as if it held all the answers to the universe. He could still see the shattered figure he had pulled out of the labor camp eighteen years previous...
Somewhere in Siberia, 1971.
Napoleon crouched behind the small hillock of snow and ice. His breath, despite his best attempts to dispel it, puffed into the air like tiny smoke signals. His only saving grace was the fact that in the gloom of a Russian winter night, it was doubtful that anyone could see him. Plus given the fact that it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear, he really doubted that anyone was out. Except for him. He put the night vision goggles to his eyes once more.
He had been watching the camp in order to time the guards' rounds for a couple days. He had hidden an artic tent half a mile away, in it enough supplies for a week's stay, plus the radio that would have their ride on its way once he got Illya out of that place.
He shivered, then got angry with himself. He thought of the ragged figure that he had tentatively identified as his missing partner, of the thin clothing that had clung to the skeletal frame and cursed under his breath. He had wanted to break him out the moment he had seen him, but caution was called for. A mad dash would only get them killed and he really wasn't ready to die, not yet. Still, watching the limping, half frozen and starved form of his best friend as he attempted to carry out his labors, he had felt rage building in his soul. A quick glance through the goggles and he had his cue that it was time to move. The guards were headed inside for their nightly cup of vodka or tea or whatever they took. That meant he had tops 30 minutes before they would make another round. The only good thing about this location was the fact that there was no where for anyone to run, therefore the guards were fairly lax in their duties. After all, who in their right mind would break into this place?
Napoleon asked himself that question as he made his way carefully through the snow and knelt to cut the wire of the fence. The quiet snips of the nippers was loud in the silent darkness and he flinched, certain that he would be heard. The guard tower was about 30 yards away, and on a night like this, sound would carry. But gratefully, the guards were more interested in a card game that they had going than in what was happening under their noses. He hoped that his infamous luck would hold, he would really need it in order to bring the ill Kuryakin out of here and safely to the pickup point.
As he moved under the wire, he felt his back twinge and his knee, injured the year before on an affair, answered. He really was getting too old for this type of stuff, and to be honest as Number One Section One, he shouldn't be doing this at all. But by damn, Illya was his partner and he was going to get him. Moving as quickly as he could he darted into the shadows alongside one of the small outbuildings, a tool shed he thought. The voices of the guards from inside the guard shack echoed in the night, one of them was proclaiming his girl gave the best... Napoleon grimaced, too much information, he thought. A movement from the tower nearest him, kept him in place, as someone looked over the yard. Once it had turned its back he slinked slowly around toward where he thought he had seen Illya earlier.
This was the hard part, finding him among all the prisoners wasn't going to be a cake walk. He only had a few satellite photos taken earlier in the month, coupled with a very brief glimpse of him going into a building before sunset, to give him a clue. Now as he worked his way there, he could only hope and pray that this was the right building and that it was indeed his partner that he was going after. He only had this one shot, because if he failed, they would make him disappear, this time permanently. Snow crunched coldly under the boots of a guard and Napoleon cringed back against the cold wall of the barracks. He placed his gloved hand over his mouth to dispel any breath and watched as the soldier, bored with whatever passed for entertainment out here, halted just around the corner from him. He heard the snick of a match, saw the flare of light, and then smelled the acrid smoke of the Russian's cigarette. Damn, he thought. He would have to wait until the man moved on.
It took him forever to smoke that one cigarette, meanwhile, Napoleon felt his joints freezing up with the cold. Finally the man moved away and he could continue his careful trek into the depths of the compound. He passed several tiny structures that he knew were used to punish those that didn't cooperate. He had the sick thought of Illya spending hours, days possibly weeks in one, for he knew his partner would have fought with every ounce of strength he had.
A movement at the table caused Napoleon to flinch, spilling a ruby red drop of wine on the white table cloth. It was only someone passing by, and he stared at the drop as it spread slightly, staining the cloth like blood had stained the snow.
At last he made it to the building that he hoped housed Illya. Only the sounds of harsh breathing and the occasional cough floated through the air as he opened the door carefully. He would have gone in through a window, but there were none. He had to grin slightly as the door opened, at least it hadn't been locked and apparently someone had oiled the old hinges recently. Nothing like making a job easier, he thought as he slipped into the darkness. Now for the really hard part.
Holding his glove in his teeth, he carefully removed a small pen light from a pocket, and with a twist had a small bit of illumination to work by. He swept it quickly around the room, counting at least 30 maybe 40 sleeping bodies, piled every which way, some on bunks, some on the floor but none of them, he noticed had more than a single thread bare blanket to keep the cold away. He bent over the first figure, flashing the light quickly into the man's face then away as he identified it as Not-Illya. The man, exhausted didn’t even move. Cold and poor rations would do that to a man, Napoleon knew.
He moved swiftly and carefully through the bodies, looking for that one particular face. He almost missed him, he looked so very different. His face had no flesh on it, the skin, chapped and cracked from the elements. His head had been shaved, so there wasn't the distinctive blond mop that he missed, but when the light shone in his face, his eyes had popped open. Napoleon would know those eyes anywhere, no matter what the condition of the face. Illya, threw a hand over his face and cried softly.
"Nyet," he hissed pleading in his voice. Napoleon's Russian wasn't good enough to follow all that Illya was saying, but he heard enough to know that Illya was terrified.
"Easy, tovarich. Easy." He whispered putting his hand over Illya's mouth to silence him before he woke everyone. "It's me, Illya. Napoleon." He chanted into an ear.
Illya stilled suddenly and Napoleon moved his hand away, ready to replace it if he needed to. "Na-napoleon?" the voice was very weak and hesitant. And Napoleon shone the light into his own face to assure Illya that he wasn't imagining things. The response was shocking and immediate. Tears welled from those blue eyes and ran down Illya's face. "I knew you would come." He kept repeating petting Napoleon's cheek with one very thin hand.
"Yes, Illya I'm here." Napoleon wanted to take a moment to comfort his friend, but they really didn't have the time. "Illya we need to get out of here. Can you walk?" A valid question and one that he had asked many times in their years as partners, for a moment those times ran in his minds eye, all the times he had pulled Illya from someone's clutches, all the times Illya had done the same for him. He could feel the burn of tears as his partner nodded slowly.
"Da, Napoleon, but not very well. Perhaps if you helped me a bit?" he asked suddenly aware of his condition. "I am sorry."
"Don't you dare say it." Napoleon hissed and Illya jerked in reaction. "I am the one who should be sorry but we'll talk about that once I get you out of here, all right?"
Illya stood shaking and Napoleon wrapped his arm around the thin shoulders. He cussed mentally, feeling nothing but bone where there had once been sleek muscle. Slowly and as quietly as they could they moved toward the door. Just as they almost reached it, someone in the depths of the building cried out earning a hissed 'shut up!' from someone else, but they were lucky, Solo's luck on their side, for no one remarked on their exit from the building.
Outside, Illya shivered in the chill wind that had sprung up and Napoleon pulled him closer to shield him.
"I have a pack stashed just beyond the fence, if you can get there, I have a coat and clothes for you." He whispered ultra soft into Illya's ear. The slight Russian nodded and they began their excruciating way through the darkness. Napoleon, although grateful for the lack of moonlight, wished fervently for some illumination, since he had no idea just how long they had been in the building. He didn't know for certain if he still had time before the guards did another round, or if they were already on the circuit. Again his luck held and they made the fence with out incident. Napoleon eased Illya under the fence, following quickly, he repaired it with a few twists of wire from a pocket. It wouldn't do to let them know that someone had gotten away until they did roll call in the morning. That should give him plenty of time to get to the pick up point, even if it meant carrying his partner all the way.
Which is pretty much what he ended up having to do, Illya's strength gave out less that three hundred yards from the gulag, Napoleon managing to catch him as he fell. As he swung Illya into his arms, he cringed at the lack of weight he now held. Illya hadn't been exactly well built, always having been slender, but it had been a muscular slender, but now, there was nothing to his friend but bone and skin. He hurried to the tent he had set up, cradling Illya carefully, not wishing to injure his friend any further, knowing from experience that his skin would tear very easily for a long time to come. The cloud cover parted slightly, allowing just a tiny bit of moonlight to gild the snow they traveled over. It shone enough that Napoleon could see their footsteps being covered by the blowing snow, but it also allowed him to see that blood lay on the snow. It was then that he realized Illya was barefoot. "God damn them all to hell." He swore into the night.
Napoleon shivered at the memory and stood up from the table. This was no place for that particular mind trip, he chastised himself as he headed for their suite of rooms. He knew Illya would still be awake, how could he sleep after all? He had a feeling that none of them would get any sleep this night. And as the elevator deposited him in their hall, he decided that he would get some work done. A handful of 'important' faxes had come for him on his portable fax. Just what the doctor ordered he thought, requisition forms, business expenses, and bull shit. He sighed, the work was never done.
Carefully he let himself into the rooms, knowing that there was a decent chance that Illya had a gun on him, but strangely enough the rooms were empty. At first he panicked, thinking all kinds of things could have happened to his partner- THRUSH, the Consortium, an old enemy. But then he caught sight of a piece of paper taped to the mirror.
He tore it open, reading Illya's note that he had gone for a walk, to think. He looked around the empty suite and knew that he definitely wouldn't be getting any rest. Not until his partner was back. He settled in to wait.