... Really weird, mind.

[ladybug_archive]

So I've had the weirdest urge to watch The Alaskans, something I thought I'd never have the chance to do. It's never been released on DVD and isn't aired on television. Lately I've particularly been bemoaning the fact that I'll never see it. I figured it was nothing spectacular, but I still kind of wanted to see it at least once. Then I found four episodes today and watched one of them then and another right now. Unfortunately, the Simon Oakland episode isn't among them, but I look forward to seeing them all anyway. I've heard the series was notorious for simply recycling other shows' scripts (typical, Warner Brothers, looking for ways to be cheap and greedy and cut corners). The first one I saw was an alright episode, but I don't know if it was a recycled plot or not. The second one definitely was one of the recycled plots (you can always tell because they list the writer as W. Hermanos, heh), but I've never seen the show that originally used it and I loved it. Roger's character was the only one of the main cast in it, so I got to see plenty of him.

I was confused about exactly what the main characters do, as I had originally had the impression they dabbled in a lot of get-rich-quick schemes. Then reading up on the show earlier today, I ended up thinking it sounded more like they were crooks. Actually watching the episodes, it kind of looks like my first impression was closer to the truth. Silky Harris is always coming up with some sort of money-making scheme, but it doesn't seem like he wants to hurt anyone, nor is he a criminal. And he seems to honestly believe his plans will work. He reminds me a little bit of the Maverick boys in his dislike of real work, albeit the Mavericks prefer to quietly gamble rather than to make exhibitions of themselves. In the second episode I saw, where he was on his own, he reminded me tremendously of Beau. (He even got accused of murder, like poor Beau always did. **headdesk.**)

Also, Maverick is now airing weekdays on Cozi again. Yesss! And The Virginian is back as well. They're both starting over, so I'm going to guess it's something new they decided to do for the new year. I'll have to keep close watch and get the other ones I wanted of those shows.

And here is a blurbfic I've been writing based on that latest Ecks and Wye dream I mentioned. It's clearly part of something bigger, but I don't know if I will ever write the rest of the story. This is mostly conversational, character developmental, and shameless hurt/comfort. Napoleon and Illya are in it a lot, but I don't know if I'll post it anywhere other than here, since it's just a homeless scene.


Napoleon wasn't even sure what had gone wrong, exactly.

It had started off as a simple enough plan: Mr. Ecks would pretend to be stabbed and fall to the ground with fake blood spreading. Mr. Wye would go after the one "responsible." During the commotion, Ecks would get up again and help Wye subdue the appropriately shocked bad guys. Instead, Wye had been harmed and was now missing, while Ecks panicked and exclaimed to Napoleon and Illya about the calamity.

"I don't know what happened!" he cried, his blue eyes wide and clearly displaying his fears. "One minute Wye was going after the one who tried to do me in, the next he was crying out in pain and I couldn't see him when I jumped up to help!"

"Alright," Napoleon interjected, not sure what Illya's reaction might be and wanting to beat him to it, "he can't have gotten far. We'll spread out and look for him."

Illya's eyes flickered in concern at the plan, but he said nothing by way of objection. As much as he disliked Ecks, he understood the agony of losing track of one's best friend and fearing the worst about their well-being. And Ecks was usually so calm and collected. Seeing him completely rattled did not give Illya any kind of satisfaction, especially under the circumstances.

"Just try to keep yourself under control," he advised Ecks. "It won't help anything if you become so hysterical your enemies can get the drop on you as well."

"Oh, I'll keep under control, Kuryakin," Ecks retorted, fire and flame coming into his eyes again. "I won't do anything to make the situation possibly worse for Wye."

"Good," Illya said flatly as he turned away.

They turned the area upsidedown looking for the missing agent. At least, they thought they did. When Ecks found a limp hand hanging out from under the bleachers in the spacious indoor stadium, he choked in horror. "Wye?!"

Napoleon and Illya came to attention, spinning about to look. Ecks was kneeling on the artificial grass and bending down to see the person's face.

Napoleon took a cautious step forward. "Well? Is it him?"

Ecks trembled. "Yes," he choked out. He grabbed the hand, searching for a pulse. As he did, a piece of paper fell from Wye's hand into Ecks'. Surprised, he took and opened the crumpled scrap.

"What is it?" Napoleon asked.

"It looks like it's in code," Ecks said in surprise. "Wye must have torn it from his attacker before he was hurt."

"And what about Mr. Wye?" Illya asked. "Is he alive?"

"Yes," Ecks said in relief, "but I'm not sure what's wrong with him." He carefully reached behind Wye's neck to feel for a break. All seemed well, as did Wye's back when Ecks tried to feel there.

"He shouldn't be moved if there is any question about spinal injuries," Illya cautioned.

"Agents in my organization were trained on how to spot such injuries," Ecks told him. "The leaders felt it would be useful for situations like this."

"I suppose I'll have to give them that," Illya grudgingly muttered.

Ecks bent farther under the bleachers, wanting to examine Wye a bit more before trying to move him. "Wye?" he whispered sadly, not really wanting Illya or Napoleon to hear him. "Please . . . please be alright. This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't know you would end up hurt. We've been through so much together. You've always been my strength. I . . . I can't bear to lose you now."

Wye didn't respond, and Ecks sadly finished his examination, relieved at least that Wye didn't seem to have any damaged bones.

Above them, Napoleon sidled up to Illya. "What are we going to do, do you suppose?" he asked quietly. "In our current situation, I doubt it would even be safe to go to a hospital. They'd look for us there."

Illya looked to him. "If Mr. Ecks is quite sure there are no spinal injuries, we don't have much choice except to take Mr. Wye back to the hotel and perhaps have the hotel doctor look him over."

Napoleon nodded. "That's about what I was thinking."

Ecks slowly straightened up. "We'll need to get a stretcher," he said. "I think he's been drugged. I can't carry him; we're almost the same size."

"Well," Napoleon said kindly, "this is an indoor stadium. They must keep stretchers around somewhere."

He and Illya looked while Ecks stayed behind to watch over Wye. By the time they found a stretcher in a storage room and returned, nothing had changed. Ecks had carefully pulled Wye out from under the bleachers, but he was still unconscious. When he realized the U.N.C.L.E. agents were coming, Ecks moved aside to allow the stretcher to be placed on the floor. He carefully helped Napoleon lift his friend onto the canvas and then stood, taking hold of the back bars. Napoleon took the front.

Illya walked alongside. "I am sorry," he said to Ecks. "I know what it's like to have a friend hurt and not know if he will be alright. Both Napoleon and I do."

"I'm sure," Ecks said, rather stunned that Illya would talk to him on the subject. "That's a hazard for all spies."

"But that doesn't make it easier to deal with," Napoleon said.

"No," Ecks agreed. "It doesn't."
****
To their relief, no one stopped them as they fled the stadium and headed for the hotel. When they arrived, they somehow managed to slip up the back stairs and into the suite without being seen. Ecks immediately took up a vigil beside Wye's bed and didn't leave Wye's side while waiting for the hotel doctor. Although he started trying to decipher the strange coded note, he was too worried about his friend to concentrate.

Illya had copied down the note's contents before Ecks had begun his task. Now both U.N.C.L.E. agents sat at a table in the outer room, puzzling over the same problem. But as they struggled, Napoleon could see that Illya was trying too hard to keep his mind on the note.

"You're concerned about them," he said at last.

"Naturally I don't want anything to happen to Mr. Wye," Illya grunted. "He isn't a danger to us now. Perhaps he knows something that will help us figure out this bizarre case."

"And?" Napoleon quietly prompted.

Illya scowled at having been read so soundly. ". . . And it bothers me to see Mr. Ecks so completely devastated and at a loss," he admitted. "One might think I would take great pleasure in seeing someone I do not like so heartbroken, but I do not."

"I would never think that," Napoleon answered. "You care a great deal about people, even though once upon a time I never would have believed that."

Illya did not acknowledge that. Instead he stared at the half-open door into one of the suite's two bedrooms, as though half-expecting or wanting to hear voices from within. But there was nothing except one quiet voice now and then.

"I doubt you and Mr. Ecks could ever be friends, even in other circumstances," Napoleon said. "You're too much alike. Still, you can sympathize with and even understand what he's going through now. That certainly means something."

"What, exactly?" Illya retorted.

"That perhaps if this goes on much longer, he would welcome a bit of conversation, even from you," Napoleon said as he got up from the couch.

A knock came at the door right at that moment and Napoleon headed there, feeling Illya's eyes upon him all the while. "Who is it?" he called at the door.

"Dr. Bradbury," came the reply.

Illya watched as Napoleon unlocked the door and allowed the hotel doctor into the suite. Illya continued to observe as the man was directed to the bedroom and headed inside. When he came out again after several minutes, shaking his head, Illya's stomach turned. "What's going on?" he demanded. "That man is going to be alright, isn't he?!"

Dr. Bradbury looked to him. "Oh yes, he should be fine when he sleeps this off. But what I don't understand is, how did he get like this in the first place?" He stared Illya down and received a stony stare in reply.

"What did his friend tell you?"

Dr. Bradbury adjusted his glasses in irritation as he said, "Absolutely nothing. He said it was a matter not of my or any other outsider's business. I feel like I've wandered into a James Bond picture or something."

"Then take that thought with you and tell it to your wife and anyone else who asks," Illya grunted.

The doctor jerked with a loud "Hmph!" and headed in determination for the door. "You spies never know how to be careful," he snapped.

"If that were fully true, Doctor, there would be a great deal more disasters in the world than there are," Napoleon said calmly.

"Oh . . . you may stop calamities to the world, but you end up causing calamities to yourselves in the process," Dr. Bradbury grumped as he opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Napoleon merely shrugged. "I can't argue with that."

The doctor pulled the door shut after him in reply.

Napoleon was unfazed. "Well, that was interesting," he remarked.

Illya grunted. "He should really be grateful to spies. We bring him a lot of business."

"I think what he's thinking is that we tend to ruin the work he's already done on us," Napoleon deadpanned.

"Perhaps." Illya got up and walked to the open bedroom. Ecks was still sitting next to the bed, again working on the coded paper. He looked up when Illya appeared, relief and joy in his eyes. Still, when he spoke, he kept his voice even.

"Wye's going to be alright, if you didn't know."

"I know. I'm glad for you." Illya stepped farther into the room. "Have you figured that out yet?"

"No," Ecks scowled. "What about you?"

"No," Illya said flatly. "It might not even be important."

Ecks' eyes darkened further. "You only say that because that would make Wye's suffering completely pointless."

"I say it because it might be true," Illya retorted. "We have no proof that this piece of paper isn't some enemy spy's grocery list."

That caused Ecks to sneer. "Do you write your grocery list in code?"

"I do not, because I do not care who knows what I purchase. But I know some spies who are that paranoid." Illya took a step back now, really wanting to leave and certain that Ecks would prefer that as well.

Ecks let him at first, but suddenly called, "Kuryakin."

Illya paused in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Did you really mean what you said, about knowing what it's like to be in my position now?"

"Yes," Illya admitted, after a slight hesitation. "Napoleon and I have both been hurt more times than we would like to remember. I can think of several times when I didn't know if Napoleon would live through our latest calamity." A shadow passed through his eyes. "One in particular was especially painful."

"I see." Ecks frowned. "But it all turned out alright," he stated rather than asked.

"That goes without saying," Illya grunted. "But it could have turned out for the worse."

"Someday it will," Ecks said quietly. "I really wanted to get out of this dirty business."

"Then why didn't you once you were free to do so?" Illya asked.

"What else do I do well?" Ecks retorted, somewhat bitterly.

"Computer hacking," Illya replied, somewhat pointedly.

Ecks gave a weary sigh instead of being cheeky as Illya half-expected. "That's true. But Wye wants to keep adventuring. I won't abandon him to go it alone."

"I doubt he would make you continue if you do not wish to," Illya said.

"Of course he wouldn't. But come off it, Kuryakin. I've been bred to be a spy all my life. It's in my blood. Really, even if I tried to stop, I don't think I could. It's familiar to me." Ecks leaned back in the chair and looked up at his former enemy. "I don't thrive on danger, like you and Solo and even Wye seem to. Or at least, I don't consciously think I do. But I do get a certain rush when I'm on a case and lunging for the attack. In my own way, I probably thrive on it too, after being immersed in it for so long."

"I suppose that's the curse of all spies, everywhere," Illya said.

"Yes, I guess it is." Ecks looked back to Wye, falling silent.

Deciding it was time to end the conversation, Illya backed into the hall. "Napoleon and I will continue working on the code. Let us know if you solve it first."

Ecks grunted. "Of course."

He waited until he was sure he wouldn't be overheard by Illya before speaking again. "Wye, if you heard any of that, you don't have to worry. I don't stay because I feel forced to. I want to stay for as long as you want to. We made a mutual decision to go into our 'consultants and troubleshooters' business. Usually our cases aren't this active. Usually they only seem to be when we get mixed up with U.N.C.L.E." This he muttered in aggravation. Then, sighing, he leaned forward and laid a hand on Wye's shoulder. "Wye . . . I'd be lost without you. You saved me so many times---not just my body, but my spirit. I'd lost the ability to find happiness in life until you came along. I know the doctor said you're going to be alright, and I believe that, but still . . . it's hard to fully accept it until I see you waking up. Please . . . please be alright." He bowed his head, longing for a response yet certain he would not get it.

He jumped a mile when he felt a weak hand reach up and rest over his. "Chin up, Duck," Wye rasped. His grip tightened. "Everything's going to be just fine."

Ecks gazed at his friend and mentor in stunned shock and joy. "Wye . . . !" He bent down farther, quickly embracing Wye around the shoulders before pulling back. "Are you alright?! What did they stab you with?!"

"Now I don't rightly know that," Wye grunted. "But yeah, I'm alright. Got a splitting headache, though." He scowled, slumping deeper into the pillow.

"At least that's all," Ecks said in relief. "I can get you a painkiller if you want."

"Nah, don't bother," Wye grunted. "This is nothing compared to recovering from havin' two pieces of lead drilled into my back. And I wanted to be aware enough to tell you not to stay in this business just for my sake."

"I'm not," Ecks insisted. "I want to stay."

"I hoped so," Wye said gruffly. "But I felt like I had to give you the choice to get out. I know how much you hated being in the old organization."

"Because with them I really didn't have a choice," Ecks said. "And because I never wanted to be an assassin. But with this it is my choice. And we're just investigating . . . even though I have to put my old training to work sometimes."

"I'm right glad you have that training," Wye said. "It comes in handy sometimes."

"I know. I'm glad too, especially when it's saved our lives." Ecks sighed and leaned back. "Wye . . ."

"Yeah?" Wye looked up at his young friend.

"It was horrible . . . when I found you . . . and I didn't know. . . ." Ecks shook his head. "And even after the doctor came, I couldn't fully relax until I saw you awake."

"Hey." Wye weakly gripped Ecks' shoulder. "It'll be alright now. I'll see to that."

Ecks managed a smile. "I know. It is alright now. All I needed was to see you awake and not suffering any serious ill effects."

"Glad I could oblige," Wye grunted. "What about Solo and Kuryakin?"

"They're here," Ecks said. "We all came back to the hotel since we were afraid we'd be too vulnerable in the hospital."

Wye sighed, running a hand over his face. "This case is completely wacked. We've worked with U.N.C.L.E. before, but we've never been so boxed in like this. We don't know who to trust or where to go. We should probably get out of here before long."

"We should," Ecks agreed. "They'll probably come to talk about that now that you're awake." He peered at the older man. "Will you feel like leaving?"

"Probably not, but I'll do it anyway," Wye said wryly. "We'll have to do whatever's going to keep us the safest."

"That's true," Ecks nodded. His voice darkened. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to you."

"Hey." Wye reached up, gripping Ecks' arm. "Don't do anything stupid now. I've done a lot of bloody daft things when you were hurt and I just plum lost it. I don't want to see you fall off the trolley as hard as I've done."

"I won't," Ecks promised. "But I'll still be protective anyway."

"Heh. Of course you will," Wye said. "We're hopeless, ain't we? We both got the lesson in not forming emotional attachments, but neither of us paid a ruddy bit of attention to it."

Ecks gave a half-smirk. "Life would be dull if we had."

"Can't argue with that," Wye mused.

In the outer room, Napoleon was standing near enough to the door that he could hear at least some of the conversation. He observed, "They're certainly having an interesting conversation. They seem to be a couple of old softies, at least around each other."

Illya grunted. Their more open admittance to their caring was certainly different from his interaction with Napoleon, although they also shared heart-to-heart conversations at times. But he didn't really care that much how Ecks and Wye interacted. That was their business.

"Nevermind," he retorted. "Let them have this time. There won't be many other occasions to just rest and recuperate."

"You know, you can be quite a softie too, when you want to be," Napoleon mused.

Illya gave him a withering look. "It has nothing to do with that. In order to perform at their best later, they need this time now."

"If you say so," Napoleon calmly answered.

"I do," Illya said as he turned away.