Man From U.N.C.L.E: Climate of Negatives, Finished in a Tie

[Strange Elf]

David McCallum would have been 50 when it was filmed, my age now. Robert Vaughn 51. Certainly David aged better than Robert.

And I actually saw some blood. There was never any blood in the four years it was on telly.

Anyway, I loved it, and I'm glad I bought it.

[Lithilien Quicksilver]

This last vignette was wonderful, Loth! Now I want an entire fic written to flesh out the entire affair!

[Strange Elf]

Certainly David aged better than Robert.

No, let me rephrase that. Robert aged ruggedly while David kept a somewhat boyish look.

[Lothithil]

This last vignette was wonderful, Loth! Now I want an entire fic written to flesh out the entire affair!

As a matter of fact.... *conspiratorial winks* ... I've started an outline... Shhhhh!

Certainly David aged better than Robert.

No, let me rephrase that. Robert aged ruggedly while David kept a somewhat boyish look.

Very nicely rephrased.
They're both extremely handsome men, but in different ways. Which fits perfectly into their characters.

I did get a chuckle at learning Kuryakin's alternate career choice.

[Lithilien Quicksilver]

I've started an outline... Shhhhh!

That sound you don't hear is the sound of one hand clapping... the better to maintain your secrecy.

[Strange Elf]

*conspiratorial winks* ... I've started an outline... Shhhhh!

..o.
- I -
./\.

That's a secret coded dancing man, to show that I too am happy with your news.

[Lothithil]

Climate of Negatives
Fire Drill

Napoleon glanced at his watch as he ran, nearly falling down the steps. He chivvied the sleepy and confused servants who were congregating outside, looking fearfully back at the house with plumes of smoke climbing from every window and doorway.

“Go!” They scattered like leaves when he shouted at them. He paused at the bottom of the stair and turned back, forehead creased, to regard the watch again. Flames were licking at the threshold of the wide door. “Illya! Time to GO!”

The smoke swirled in the doorway and spat out a figure, soot-covered and slightly singed, just as the whole edifice seemed to jump and roar. The roof flew off, and everyone hit the deck.

Solo looked up from his place on the ground just as Kuryakin rolled down the steps to sprawl beside him. The Russian was laughing like a maniac.

“Sure you used enough explosive?” Solo asked dryly, sitting up and slapping at the dust on his jacket.

“Only as much as I had,” Kuryakin didn’t even try to get up; he lay on the ground and watched the fire work on the ruins, as an artist might evaluate his latest opus.



“Remind me not to consult you for ideas to redecorate my apartment.” Solo offered his hand to Kuryakin.

“I told you, Napoleon—I used all my explosives.” Kuryakin grinned brightly through the dirt on his face.

“You know, Illya, it disturbs me how much fun you find doing this kind of stuff.”

“A man needs a hobby.”

“You should try dating redheads. Just as much fire—but not so much damage.”

“Obviously, we don’t know the same red-heads.”

[Lithilien Quicksilver]

LOL! How cute! I like this one.

[Lothithil]

Pantsed

“Psst! Napoleon!”

Solo looked around. He didn’t see anything right away, but after a moment he noticed the mop of fair hair bobbing up from behind a stack of crates.

“Illya? Waverly’s been trying to contact you for an hour!”

“I’ve been busy,” Illya Kuryakin growled. “Regarding astronomical anomalies.”

“What?”

“I’ve been seeing stars.” He rubbed his scalp.

“I guess your cover wasn't as deep as we thought.”

“Speaking of cover,” Illya peeked out again, his face gloriously red, “you haven't seen my trousers, have you?”

[HobbitNaga]

heehee! I love this one

[Strange Elf]

'...his face gloriously red' You have a way with words, Loth. Keep them coming.

[Lithilien Quicksilver]

[Lothithil]

Climate of Negatives
Out of Service

He sat with his cap tilted forward, casting a useful shadow over his eyes. A humid wind reached through the rolled down window and ruffled the straw-colored hair that stuck out behind; Illya Kuryakin feigned drowsiness as his cab idled at the corner taxi stop. There were several yellow cabs ahead of him and it was a slow time—there would be no danger of being interrupted while he waited for Solo to call—

The rear door popped open and a slim woman burdened with a half-dozen packages slipped onto the sweating vinyl seat. “Canal Street, please.” She wore a vast hat that hid her face entirely.

“Madam,” Illya kept his voice pitched low, using his coarsest broken-English, “Please to take taxi at head of line...”

“Nonsense,” she huffed, slinging her bags aside and digging in her purse. She came up with a gold-plated compact and began to repair her make-up. “Drive on.”



Kuryakin sighed. This was not part of the plan. Solo might signal for help any second. He dipped his arm over the back of his seat and turned to speak to her directly, “No drive, madam... taxi queue begins at corner of street. You—”

He lost track of his argument as the woman blew a puff of powder into his face. He choked, eyes crossing as he slouched down onto the seat, his arm still dangling over the back. A man yanked open the driver's door and shoved the unconscious Uncle agent aside so that he could slide into the seat and shift the car into gear. The cab whipped out of the queue and plunged recklessly into traffic.

After patting her nose delicately with a puff, the woman snapped her compact closed. She hoped Napoleon wouldn't be too cross with her for abducting his little Russian friend. All is fair in love and war... and a little war sometimes made love all the more fair.

[Lothithil]

Climate of Negatives
Piece of Cake

“It’s very frustrating, Napoleon.” Illya said as he swung in the gloom.

“What do you want me to say, Illya? I agree.”

“Trussed up like two sides of beef! Why do it, when a bullet and a body bag would be a more lasting diversion?”

“Do you want them to shoot us?”

“Of course not. But I don’t know if my dignity can take this.”

“So let’s get out of it. I won’t tell anyone about it if you don’t.”

“Thank you. It is I who will know.”

“Then we’ll get even. That will make you feel better. “

“Ah, revenge; the great equipoise of self-esteem.”

“Don’t be so cynical. Harry Houdini has got nothing on you.”

Illya took a few deep breaths as he began to concentrate. Slowly, he bent his lean body, bringing his torso up until his nose nearly touched his knees. At the same time, he worked his wrist-bound hands behind his back, down—or rather up—over his slim hips until they were behind his knees. There he paused, gulping for air while he eased the strain on his quivering muscles by hugging his legs tightly.

After a moment he began to work his hands closer to his ankles. He couldn’t reach the knots on the rope that tied his wrists together, but he might be able to worry his feet free.

“See?” The tone of Solo’s voice suggested that he’d never harbored a single doubt in his partner’s ability. “Piece of cake.”

“If I ate cake,” Illya groaned, trying to ignore the burning in his tortured body, “I wouldn’t be… able… to do… this!” The agent’s body dropped several inches as one of the ends of the rope came free. He began to twist in midair, pulling himself back up by the rope to reach the other knot.

“You realize,” Illya gritted tightly as he tugged at the line, “if I succeed, I’ll at least earn myself a broken arm. Unless I land on my head.”

“Try not to do that,” Napoleon suggested helpfully.

[Strange Elf]

This wonderfully, descriptive story deserves a picture. I'll go a hunting unless you come up with one first.