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(The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 2015)
@themerrywhumpofmay
“You should not be here.”
This was the first thing that Solo said to Illya in two weeks.
“Too bad.” Illya whispered and finished uncuffing Solo from the metal chair. The dim bulb above made it hard to parse Solo’s expression, as did the bruises.
“You should have left.” Solo stood slowly, arm wrapped around his chest. He leaned over and spat dark blood on the floor before speaking again. “Why didn’t they bring you in?”
Illya jerked his head towards the door, holding out a pistol.
Solo took it.
Illya took the lead and left the room. “They tried.”
He heard Solo wheeze out a laugh softly behind him.
They finally got outside and Illya led the way to the first car he spotted, halfway down the street from the warehouse. It was unlocked. But no keys.
While Illya hotwired the vehicle, Solo eased himself into the passenger seat, groaning in pain.
The engine rumbled into life.
Illya slammed the door closed and caught sight of Solo’s face. His head was back against the headrest and his brows were furrowed. The harsh light of day brought the bruises into sharp relief. Yellowing greenish contusions that were healing. And darker, reddish purple for newer ones.
Illya gripped the steering wheel hard and set his foot against the gas. “Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They sped off into the sunset.
An hour later, sun down and surrounded by dark trees, Illya pulled the car to the side of the road.
“We have arrived at milepost-” Illya turned and noticed his companion was asleep. “Solo.”
No answer.
Illya reached out and just barely touched his shoulder when Solo gasped awake. He pressed as far away from Illya as the car door would allow.
“Solo.” Illya retracted his hand and filed that reaction away for later.
“Y-yes.” Solo relaxed a little. “What?”
“We have arrived at milepost 8. This is where we start walking.”
Solo sighed. “That sounds like the last thing I want to do.” His voice was hoarse.
Illya left the car and circled around to Solo’s door and opened it. “Too bad.”
Solo unfolded himself gingerly from the car. “Where-” He stopped to breathe. “Are we going?”
“Remote cabin.” Illya retrieved two bags from the side of the road from underneath some bushes, damp with dusk dew.
Solo limped over and took the map, compass, and bag Illya held out to him. “How remote?”
“We will arrive by dawn if we make good time.”
Solo swore, coughed, and swore again as he slung the bag over his shoulders.
Illya paused for a moment and looked his partner up and down.
“What?” Solo asked. Hunched over. Already panting.
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Make good time?”
Solo straightened up immediately. Even in the darkness of night, Illya could see his jaw was set. Eyes gleaming.
“No pain, no gain.” Solo grated out.
“That does not make any sense. Follow me.” Illya led the way into the dark trees.
A few hours later, Illya stopped and waited for Solo to catch up. “Water.”
Panting, Solo nodded.
They both drank from the canteens in the bags and caught their breath. The forest was thick with trees and brush and the hillsides were steep with slippery pine needles and rocks. It was slow going. Slower than Illya had hoped. But it could not be helped.
He watched his partner take out the map and compass.
“Flashlight?” Solo wheezed.
Illya stepped over and flicked on his flashlight.
Solo took a small step back, map shaking in his hands.
“Th-this is the location?” He pointed at a small pen mark in the middle of the map.
Illya stopped where he was. “Yes.”
“Right.” Solo sighed, held the compass into the flashlight’s beam, turned a pace or two to the right. “We need to be going this way.”
“We should take a break.” Illya did not want to push Solo too hard. The way he was favoring his chest suggested a broken rib. Or more. And that could not be all. The point of rescuing Solo was not to kill him in the process.
“Sit down.” Illya urged his partner.
“No.” Solo pocketed the compass and map again. “Sorry, but if I do that, I won’t get up again. We keep moving. Unless, you need a break?”
It was dark but Illya could hear a little smile in Solo’s last words. At least he felt well enough to needle Illya.
“We keep moving.” Illya agreed.
The first tatters of dawn were showing when they reached the cabin. They were cold and damp from a mist that had settled into hills. Feet wet from fording a few streams. They trudged inside. It was bare bones. Cool and musty. A fireplace. A table. Kitchen sink. Bed in the corner.
“This is honestly worse than the warehouse.” Solo drawled, panting. He dropped his bag to the creaking wooden floor planks.
“Be grateful.” Illya sniffed and set down his pack on the rough table. “You are safe here.”
“Yes, safe from a hot bath.”
“There is a gas generator and well-water. This is better than most hotels.” Illya dryly said.
Solo edged closer to the kitchen windows and stripped off his jacket and damp shirt slowly and painfully.
Illya stayed across the cabin, despite how much he wanted to help.
Finally free of the shirt, Solo let it drop to the floor and looked down at his torso. In the dim dawn light from the grimy windows, Illya could see a mess of mottled bruises, the worst of it dark like thunderclouds over Solo’s ribs.
Illya realized Solo was falling before Solo did.
A brief moment. A sway. Eyes glazed. Eyelids fluttering.
Illya strode across the cabin and caught Solo as he went down, head hanging limply. The heat coming off Solo’s body was concerning. And he was slick with sweat.
Solo’s faint only lasted a moment.
He began to thrash in Illya’s arms, pushing away. Frantic. A rough sob tore from his throat.
“Stop.” Solo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.”
Illya did not drop Solo to the floor but lowered him as carefully as he could as Solo struggled. And then he backed away.
“Sorry.” He muttered.
Solo propped himself against the kitchen cabinets, panting, eyes wide and wet. Tears threatened to fall.
“Sorry.” Solo coughed. “I don’t-”
“It is fine.” Illya cut him off. “They beat you. I know. I am sorry.”
Solo just breathed and shook then closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“You are safe now.” Illya knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would fix this. But he tried. “You rest. I keep watch. I will keep you safe.”
A few tears hit the wood floor, soft sounds, the only sound.
“Thanks, Peril.”