section7mfu | Untitled (for now) - Pic fic

Napoleon Solo winced with empathy as another fist drove into the stomach of his partner. As usual, their captor was concentrating most of his persuasion efforts on to Illya. Not that he, himself, had gone unscathed, but the Russian was receiving the brunt of it. For reasons Napoleon had tried and failed to disabuse him of, Illya had taken it into his head that Solo, as CEA, needed to be protected. Ensuring the safety of senior officers seemed to be something he had grown up with.

Napoleon was shackled to one wall of the dungeon, while Illya was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. He grunted against the blows being landed against his bruised torso.

“Where is it?” the large, ugly THRUSH interrogator demanded. “Where have you hidden it?”

Everything the two agents had been carrying was laid out on a small table and had been searched; but nothing could be found.

Illya remained silent. The microdot, that he and Napoleon had stolen, contained details of on-going THRUSH operations in South-east Asia. He would die before he revealed where he’d hidden it. There hadn’t even been time for him to tell Solo before they were captured. In reply to the questioning, Illya spat into the face of the man, which earned him a hard punch to the jaw. He instantly lost consciousness. Watching on, Napoleon closed his eyes in exasperation. He knew Illya wouldn’t talk, but he didn’t need to actively annoy their tormentors.

The man turned his attention to Solo, figuring he’d have a little fun with him while he waited for the other to wake up.

“How about you?” he snarled. “Do you want to tell me what you did with the microdot? Or do you want the same treatment as your friend here?”

“I don’t know where it is,” Napoleon told him, with all honesty. “I can tell you one thing however.”

“And what would that be?” the interrogator asked, leaning close to Solo’s face.

Without warning, Napoleon head-butted the man and released himself from his shackles. While the brute had been concentrating on Illya, Solo had winkled the lock-pick from his cuff and worked the shackles open. Before his captor could do anything about his escape, Napoleon returned the punch Illya had been given. The man went down without a sound.

Solo swiftly chained him in his place, and then gently released his partner. He temporarily laid him on the ground while he pocketed their belongings. With that done, he slung the unconscious Russian over his shoulder and made their escape.

Illya awoke, in the back seat of Napoleon’s car, twenty minutes later. It took him a few seconds to grasp his situation.

“Where’s the aspirin?” he asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.

“We’ll be back at headquarters in half an hour,” Solo told him. “They have much stronger pain medication.”

“I need the aspirin I was carrying,” Kuryakin insisted. “Tell me that you picked it up.”

“I got everything, Tovarisch. Don’t worry.”

Illya visibly relaxed.

“Is the microdot in the aspirin tin?” Napoleon asked, suddenly realising why Illya was so anxious.

“Yes,” Kuryakin confirmed. “I stuck it to the lid.”