The VW van was ambling along the coastal highway identified with a single numeral: 1. It was strewn with the remains of a storm from the previous day. Broken branches, rocks and the odd bit of trash made for a bumpy ride, something that aggravated the passenger's aching body.

"Are you going to aim for every pothole in this rotten road? My back won't take much more of your erratic driving." Napoleon Solo was beat up. There was no other term for it, he was pathetic in his current state, no longer the suave and well kept agent who regularly swept women off their feet and courted danger with style.

"I apologize Napoleon, but as you can easily see our road is rutted and littered with a good portion of the forest to our west. The storm did considerable damage it seems."

Illya understood his partner's discomfort, had endured a good deal of it himself at the hands of their THRUSH tormentors. It was a turn of events, of sorts, that Napoleon was the one in worse shape this time. Fortunately for the Russian, his only injury was a sprained wrist that had the misfortune of karate chopping a man with a metal plate in his neck.

"Perhaps we will reach a place where we can stop for a few hours, possibly eat a meal. I am famished and my concentration is wavering somewhat. I do believe we have left our pursuers far behind."

Napoleon smiled at that, he had enjoyed seeing the satrapy near Monterey go up in a giant explosion. It was a sobering realization that he had lost all concern for the wellbeing of whoever might have been left in that hell hole.

"Something to eat would be great.. arghh… Oh god, I hurt everywhere. I'm really glad you blew up that place Illya. Thank you."

"You are quite welcome my friend. I only wish I had gotten there sooner, perhaps before they …"

"You did fine tovarisch. You had to follow the lead we were given, it's just how it turned out." Napoleon thought about the two days he had spent inside the THRUSH compound, the beatings he had taken and the brutality of the men as they hammered down on his body with their fists and other, worse implements.

"You know, sometimes I think maybe it isn't all worth it. That, just maybe, getting beat up for a living and almost saving the world isn't quite the same as actually doing the job once and for all."

Illya thought about his partner's lament, the typical response to what they endured on a too frequent basis. He had moments of doubt as well, a person would be crazy to not doubt the effectiveness of a life such as theirs.

"I think… ' What did he think?

"What if we just don't go back Napoleon. Could you do that? Could you simply walk away and never return to Headquarters?"

Napoleon let that sink in, mingle with the pain in his body and the emotional trauma of the last few days. He had believed that Illya would find him and rescue him. He had. But the fear of it not happening was almost as strong as his absolute trust in his partner.

"I'm just tired, Illya. Bone tired, and my mind wants to just be free of other people's problems. Just for a few days, or maybe… maybe a few weeks." A huge sigh punctuated that confession, causing the blond driving the van to echo the sentiments with a sigh of his own.

"I remember a motel situated on the coast, in Cambria. The town is small and quiet, we could slip in there and stay a few days. I shall contact Mr. Waverly and let him know we are laying low, so to speak, until we are sure the THRUSH we left behind are entirely off of our grid.' Illya cut his eyes to see if Napoleon was reacting at all to the suggestion.

"What do you think? A little time off for good behavior?"

A smile spread across the American's face, his head nodding in agreement.

"Yes, I am absolutely, as agent in charge, recommending that we do just that. How far to Cambria?"

At that moment Illya caught sight of a sign …

"I believe we are nearly there."

Following the signs and the gravel road that led from the highway to a lighted building that turned out to be the office for the little collections of cottages, Illya ascertained quickly that this would be the perfect spot for their escape from life back in New York. There seemed to be a few other cars, not too many. A small cafe was visible as was a vintage looking gas pump. All in all, it was just what they needed.

Pulling into the covered portico that fronted the office, Illya set the brake and turned off the ignition.

"I'll go in and get a room. I have cash and a credit card…"

"Use the cash. I don't want a way for anyone to trace us here, just in case."

Illya agreed. THRUSH might still be a factor, better to not have anything on record. As it was he had obtained the van by bartering with a hippie who willing accepted a bag of magic beans from the Russian, believing every word of the heavily accented account of their origin and the wonderful things that would happen when they were planted. Illya intended to make every effort to ensure the vehicle was returned to the hapless hippie, but at least he hadn't been living in his van and could enjoy a few moments of anticipation as he waited for the magic to begin.

Napoleon leaned his head back and closed his eyes, glad for the opportunity to lie down in a bed and sleep, without being accosted by brutes with iron fists…

When Illya returned from checking in he found his friend asleep, possibly for the first time in a day or so. This rest would do them both good, and two separate beds would assure them each of a good night's sleep.

The van turned and headed back towards the row of cabins, and in a stroke of great luck (perhaps Solo's, perhaps not), the cabin awarded to the good looking blond with the charming accent was nearest the edge of this property, overlooking the ocean view. Illya was not averse to charming the occasional young woman, cared not that someone else would be deprived of the reserved cottage they had paid for. He and Napoleon deserved this, and he was determined that they should have it.

"Napoleon, wake up… Napoleon…" He nudged the sleeping agent, waking him as unobtrusively as possible. Solo opened his eyes and looked around, confused at first by the darkness that encroached on the scene around him.

"Wh… oh… Illya? For a minute I was back there. This is our cabin, with this view? What did you do, bribe someone?" He knew his partner was capable of charming a snake if necessary, and most probably there had been a sweet young thing behind the counter who only too willingly gave the handsome blond the best cabin on the grounds. Napoleon thanked God for it now, grateful for the solitude and the sound of the ocean lapping on the beach beyond.

"Let's get inside and you can lie down for a bit. I already ordered something from the cafe, so I shall go and bring it back for us to eat here. It's going to be all right Napoleon. We're safe, we have a few days to just … decompress."

Napoleon cocked his head at the word used by his erudite friend.

"Decompress? I don't think I've heard it phrased like that, but it seems appropriate. I'm going to take a quick shower. I don't suppose…" Illya handed him the bag he had brought inside. He also had a small satchel with his belongings.

"Yes, clean clothes. I figured you might need something. It isn't your usual but…" He shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'it will do'.

"Thank you, it's fine, whatever it is. Did you buy them or… No, don't tell me. Thanks."

Illya went to pick up their meal then, confident that their stay here would be a satisfying break, a necessary respite from being on duty. When he returned to the cabin Napoleon was dressed in his new clothes, a pair of jeans and a tee shirt emblazoned with a band logo. It was decidedly West Coast, a complete departure from the predictably urbane that was Solo's sartorial signature.

The meal was laid out on a little table between two adirondack chairs that faced the ocean on their little porch. It was ideal, evocative of something almost unknown to men like these two; downtime in a setting reserved for tourists and families. They weren't family, and yet they were brothers who would tackle any opponent who dared deprive one of the other. As they watched the sun setting over the Pacific, each man felt the tension of the past week fading away.

"Thank you for the rescue Illya. And for this, it will help me want to go back."

"You are most welcome, as always." The smile was one of knowing that, in the near or distant future, they would do this again.

This business of saving the world, of saving each other.