Falling. Illya shook his head in the gloom and remembered falling. But why did it hurt so much? His ears hurt, his body ached, what he could feel of it and he squinted as he tried to remember. Not against the light but against the pain that overwhelmed him. Odd, he thought, why had he fallen. He was wearing night vision goggles he could see everything, even the rather stimulating sight of his partner hunkered down on his haunches and his blue overalls stretching taut in all the right places. He sighed then as he shifted on the splintered wood and felt the scrap of bone against concrete and groaned. A small voice sounded in the back of his head a tiny mocking tone that was his own whispered deep into his brain. Too easy, it said over and over again, laughing at him, drowning him in the hopelessness and he shifted. This time the ground beneath him gave away and he was falling again.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Napoleon looked on in horror. Thirty seconds was all it took to shatter his life and his dreams. The small pipe that protruded from the floor looked like dozens of others. Their equipment showed no chemical readings, no thermal devices hidden there to trap the unwary and yet still, as Illya's foot had collided with it, the room went silent. For that brief eternity before the ground opened up and swallowed him, the roar of the explosion drowned out his cries as Illya looked at first astonished and then resigned to his fate as he slipped from Solo's grasp.

He was unable to reach him, unwilling to let him go, yet as the ground pitched and heaved, he found himself clinging desperately to the debris still attached to the wall instead. The sound of the explosions died, as did the sound coming from his lips, a mournful half cry of desperation and despair was torn from him. He called Illya's name over and over again. The words ran into and over themselves to become one long litany. The room groaned around him in sudden and total agony of the rend in the floor and Napoleon fancied that the pain the building felt was a wicked paraphrase of his own.

And then he was silent.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Ray made a grab for Bodie as the ground suddenly shuddered and the building swayed. The floor bucked wildly as they both held on and sank to their knees, sheltering under their arms against the onslaught of falling plaster and broken concrete.

"Bloody hell," Doyle cursed and got no response from his partner.

Bodie laid to the left his body partially covered in fallen timbers and grey dust and Doyle's heart sank.

"Bodie!" the shout echoed around the room causing a tiny downpour of more of the cloying grey dust.

No movement, no sound just his heart thundering murderously in his breast, keeping time to his fears. With almost aching slowness Doyle picked his way through the debris and began to pull the rubble away from his partner.

A dark red gash split the proud forehead and seeped into the dark short-cropped hair. Doyle touched it gently and found that it was already beginning to congeal. He dropped his head to the broad chest and sighed audibly as the heart beat steady and strong. A hand came up and touched his head and he nearly died from sheer joy.

"Hey Sunshine," Bodie's voice was soft as he shook his head against the onslaught of noise that came from within his skull.

Doyle sat back on his heels and wiped the back of his hands across his eyes and nose. "Stupid bastard," He sniffed.

Bodie rolled onto his side and got up unsteadily as he watched Doyle thumb the control on the RT.

"45! 37!" The Scottish accent even more pronounced as he bellowed down the tiny speaker.

"Here sir," Doyle answered as he watched Bodie take a few shaky steps and then sit back down heavily.

"Aye. Report." The tone was unmistakably relieved as Doyle suppressed a grin.

"Look's like Bodie's got a concussion and may need a few stitches."

"Anything serious?"

"Nah, just his head, lucky really, got him at his strongest point."

Bodie glared as he heard the sudden intake of breath as the old man laughed.

"Where was it?"

"The explosion was triggered two floors below you."

"Solo and Illya?" Doyle asked as he narrowed green eyes and peered about the gloom.

"We've been unable to raise them, Mr. Waverly has dispatched an UNCLE squad into the area."

"And Murphy?"

"Retrieved and on his way to hospital, condition is critical but stable. The premises are clean, unless your man is wearing a thermal suit the whole place is cold."

"But wired," Bodie spoke as he came closer to his partner, his gait almost steady.

"Aye Bodie, as far as chemical signatures go the whole place is wired."

"Can the UNCLE boys tell us whether it went off on a delay switch or timer?" Bodie frowned against the mother of all headaches and looked around.

An eerie silence fell as the RT snapped off.

"Sir?" Doyle prompted.

"It was triggered manually," Cowley answered finally.

"And there were only two teams in the building correct sir?" Doyle asked not hopefully.

"Aye lad."

Bodie went pale, and for a moment Doyle wondered if he would pass out. Gratefully he scowled even deeper as he took the RT from his partner.

"Sir. Can you walk us through a safe route to where the explosion was?"

"Wait."

Doyle pondered on the irony that in silence and distress moments took so long to happen. It was as if for him time stood still, and he knew the feeling too well.

"Aye. We have a rough idea of the safest route to take."

"Any of our hot spots warming up sir?" Bodie holstered his gun and brushed dirt from his hair.

"Not at the moment."

"Good. Where do we go from here?"

"Left, there's an opening and a set of stairs leading down to a small walkway that runs parallel to where you are now."

"45 out." Bodie clipped the RT to his belt and reached a hand down to his partner, already moving off towards the stairs.

"Oi! You thinking what I'm thinking?" Doyle asked softly as he pulled a flashlight out from the back of his jeans and shone the beam of light down into the gloom.

"That if it was manually set off then someone had to stand on it?"

"And?" Ray asked.

"Is it possible that the mad bastard has set a delay on the charges so that they will all go off at precise intervals after the first explosion had triggered?"

Ray stopped and looked up and down at a very strong and safe steel door, which barred their way.

"Great." He reached out and twisted the handle, as he closed his eyes and prayed that the Cow had got it right. It gave with a click and swung inwards. "So approximately," he said a little too breathlessly, "How long will we have?'

"Oh I'd say about twelve minutes between each explosion."

Ray blanched.

"But, so long as the old man keeps his eyes on the chemical signatures and tells us if something was warming up we'll be fine."

"Great," Doyle drawled, obviously less than impressed.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Napoleon felt numb, all feeling in his arms and legs along with any strength he might have possessed failed him as he saw the blond head slip beneath the pile of rubble and out of his grasp. Shaking himself and setting his jaw firmly he studied his resolve and called on every shred of hatred he could muster for the man Illya had described as ordinary.

He forced himself to stand against the pain in his left leg and with almost casual abandon he reached down and wrapped a white linen handkerchief above the bleeding and walked forward.

Dark eyes now hard as he scanned the room and looked down into the abyss to the blond body laying crooked and broken. Yet even in the faint light he saw the hand clench and unclench and the luminous eyes look up and blink.

Illya was alive, down and wounded but alive and Napoleon knew now that this game was far from over.

"Open channel D," he said softly into the small pen.

"Ah. Mr. Solo," Waverly spoke, "what is the situation?" The calm of the old voice studied and metered lent him strength with its very normalcy.

"We tripped an explosive sir, which caved the floor in. Illya is down some type of pit and requires an evac team ASAP."

"You have a team coming down from the top and we have sent in another with specialist equipment."

"Ray and Bodie?"

"Fine," was the curt reply. Napoleon felt the room tilt wildly as he clutched at the wall frame for support and knew he had to stay awake and keep talking. "The building is clean," Waverly intoned, "Pakoslav had evacuated it hours ago it would appear. With his recall within the next few hours, we have reasoned he will most likely be on a plane back to the Soviet Union this evening."

"Level four status sir?"

"Level seven Mr. Solo. Do not underestimate our desire to resolve this matter."

Napoleon nodded as he looked down into the pit again and saw Illya move, the hand brushed against his forehead as he rolled onto one side.

"For God's Sake, Illya, lay still," Solo hissed as he crouched by the edge.

"Pasha?" Worrying the voice was shaky and slurred.

"Yes. Now stay still," Solo urged.

"Hurts," Illya moaned softly as he moved again, only a fraction as he tried to feel his legs.

"I know love, I know. We've got teams coming now. Stay still, I will get you out."

"Pasha, others?" Illya struggled for the words, his breathing harsh and irregular.

"They're fine. On the way down."

"Sorry," Illya grew fainter as he shifted again on the pile of rubble and felt it give.

"Please, please, Illya stay still. You must stay very still. Can you do that?" Solo begged.

"Da. Cold."

"I'll make you all warm soon."

"Promise?" the response was hesitant and distant and Napoleon knew that they had very little time before Illya would be beyond their reach.

"Promise."

"He's not here is he?" Illya asked softly, his voice very faint.

"No, he's gone probably hours ago."

"It's getting darker, Napoleon."

Solo swore under his breath and moved closer to the edge. "Not long now Illya. I can hear them coming. Not long now."

"Pasha?"

"Yes."

"I have always loved you," Illya’s voice came from a very long way away as he twisted again the pain overwhelmed him.

"Oh baby, and I you. And just as soon as the teams get here I'll take you home and show you how much. But right now you must stay still."

Illya smiled, his pale features caught in the single beam of light that shone into the pit and he winced.

"I will stay still Pasha, but it’s not steady. It will give soon. I can feel it move."

Solo felt his heart plunge as he looked down into the pit and saw the ground beneath Illya vibrate with the slight movement.

The door on the far side of the room flew open and Ray poked a gun through into the debris, moving with the grace and agility of a cat as Bodie followed and took in the scene.

"Illya?" he called.

"Down here." Said a quiet breathless voice.

"What are you doing down there?" Bodie asked as he looked around the room for something to climb down to the Russian.

"Stupid. Always asking stupid questions." Illya answered, "I fell," he said indignantly.

"I may be stupid but I don't fall down bloody great holes," Bodie found a fire hose attached to the wall and began unravelling it.

"Ah that won't hold your weight," Solo observed as Doyle sat him back and inspected his leg.

"Not going down," Bodie answered.

"Illya can't move, he's on a pile of rubble that threatens to give way if he sneezes. And he's hurt." The dark eyes shadowed with a different pain and Doyle patted the American's shoulder.

"That would mean I'm going down," Doyle said as he peered over the edge. "Not that I doubt you but do you think you can hold my weight and Illya's?"

"Probably not, but..." Bodie looked back to a partially fallen steel girder and wrapped a length of the canvas hose around it, anchoring the other side with his weight. Satisfied he dropped the other end of the hose down into the hole and without thinking hooked his arm around Doyle's waist and kissed him deeply. "Down you go love."

"I expect a decent meal out of this," Doyle grumbled as he disappeared down into the hole.

"Ray?" Bodie called as he strained against the weight on the canvas.

"Yeah I'm down. Shit, Bodie. He's a mess. There is no way I can bring him up."

"Can you tie him onto the end of the hose and we can pull him up?" Solo asked.

"Ray?"

"Yeah yeah. Not bloody Houdini, you know," Ray snapped.

Solo jumped as he heard a moan followed by a crash of falling concrete.

"45, 37." The RT sounded as Bodie unclipped it from his belt and threw it at Solo.

"There a little busy rescuing my partner sir," Solo said softly, wincing again as he heard the distressed cry from the tiny black pit.

"Solo, you have a hot spot warming up. Estimate seven minutes before detonation."

"Where sir?"

"Floor above, your evac team have been recalled. Clear the building," Cowley snapped and closed the connection.

"Not a chance," Bodie gritted his teeth as he felt the strain on the hose and a curly head popped up.

"Pull him up," Doyle yelled as he added his weight to the canvas along with Solo as the precious burden was roughly hauled to the surface.

"Explosion is up, we go down," Bodie commanded as he undid the hose from Illya's body, ignoring as much as possible the damage done to the small frame. "Ray help Napoleon, I've got Illya."

Bodie hefted the smaller man into his arms, feeling the broken bones through the thin layer of skin. Illya was very pale, his breathing ragged and he was cold, ice cold to the touch as Bodie drew him closer to his chest.

"Pasha?" Illya asked so softly Bodie thought perhaps he was dreaming.

"Bodie," he corrected as he watched Ray hoist Solo to his feet and head for the stairs down.

"Used to be in love with someone called Bodie," Illya mumbled and Bodie felt his arms tremble as he pulled him closer. It was the first time Illya freely admitted his feelings and somewhere in the big Brit a cold spot melted and warmed.

"Were you now?" Bodie asked as he shouldered his way through the door and down the too narrow stairs, his own breathing harsh and laboured. All the while he saw auburn curls and followed without question where his partner led him.

"Da," Illya murmured, unaware of his surrounding’s and the pain that coursed through him, mercifully he was almost beyond feeling anything but the cold.

Bodie clutched tighter, "Why?"

Illya frowned.

"Why did you love him?" Bodie demanded as he ran against time, back through the room Solo and Illya had found Murphy in and out into the underground tunnel that connected with the sewer lines.

"Beautiful," Illya answered softly. "Stop my heart from hurting."

"I don't understand," Bodie objected although he knew full well the meaning of the words and hugged the shivering blond body closer still.

"Where's Pasha?"

"Safe, he's up ahead. We're getting out of this place."

"Oh. Please," Illya convulsed in the strong arms, his body wracked with tremors as he moaned softly into the warm chest.

"Soon nearly there." Bodie soothed. The underground stink of sewer and damp almost made him choke. The air burned into his lungs and his knees felt weak.

"Too late. Tell him," Illya said so very softly.

"No. You tell him yourself," Bodie bellowed and Solo stumbled looking back through pain-filled eyes as Doyle dragged him up and out into the streetlight.

"Promise," Illya demanded.

"No," Bodie set his jaw stubbornly as he felt the heat from the first wave of the explosion at his back, and long cool fingers traced the stubborn jaw pulling the blue eyes back to meet his.

"Promise," Illya said softly.

"What?" Bodie conceded with ill grace as he began the long ascent to street level.

"That I love him. Please," Illya begged softly.

"Yes. I'll tell him," Bodie answered finally as he felt the ladder sway with the force of subsequent explosions and the body in his arms went very still.

Frantic, Bodie crawled towards the light. Medics swarmed around the pale, bleeding form and offered blankets and comfort.

Bodie refused to be relieved of the man in his arms, instead he walked painfully to the back of the ambulance and laid the cold pale body on the stretcher. His hand went up to caress the bruised cheek as a tear streaked down his face.

He turned and watched those around him, caught timelessly watching in silent awe. Ray was talking, somewhere he knew that but couldn't make out the sounds. In the back of an ambulance, Solo sat on a stretcher, his face grey and ashen as he fought his way free of the medical staff to hobble over to his partner. Fear and pain etched in every line of his body. His shoulders slumped as he reached for Illya.

Cowley limped towards him and reached out, just as Ray was doing, but neither were in time to catch him as he fell.