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section7mfuFinally got warmed up enough to start the follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair from this past summer. As with that fic, some chapters may use prompts here, if they plunnie me for the story. :)
Title: The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair, chapter one
Summary: Follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair. Napoleon, Illya, and company have been sent to Los Angeles in search of Ms. Cue. The last thing they expected to find was that Illya has a double living in the city.
The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: The characters from shows are not mine. The other characters and the story are! This is, finally, the follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair from earlier this year. I will try to briefly summarize Peaceful Meadows in the first chapter as a refresher for those who read it and as a guide for those who didn’t. As the title implies for those in the know, David McCallum’s Perry Mason character will be involved in the plot. Chaos will ensue!
Chapter One
“Kuryakin?”
Illya looked up with a frown and a start from the book he was reading in his cozy apartment’s best chair. “So now you’re coming around when I am not trying to sleep?” he said dryly.
The ghostly form of Mr. Ecks smirked at him from the center of the room. “Then this time you believe I’m really here?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what I believe,” Illya retorted. “I could have fallen asleep reading, although I do not remember it.”
“Let’s say that you didn’t,” said Ecks, and he pulled his coat closer around him as he perched on the edge of Illya’s coffee table. “You said that there would have to be a reason why I can’t rest in peace for me to really be here, bothering you.”
“I also said that would be your problem, not mine,” Illya said in irritation. “If you are hoping I can tell you what’s wrong in your afterlife, I cannot.”
“Well, I would say that you must be the reason why I can’t rest in peace, since I keep coming to you,” Ecks remarked. “You did kill me, you know.”
“Yes, and had I known then that I would be unable to escape you, I might have let you live,” Illya said dryly. “That would have been better for both of us.”
“Unfortunately, it’s too late for that now.”
Too late . . .
Too late . . .
“Illya?”
Illya Kuryakin started awake, his eyes snapping open while he remained reclined in the airplane seat. In the seat next to him, Napoleon Solo frowned in concerned confusion at his partner and friend.
“What is it?” Illya asked, frowning now as well. He sat up straight, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You were moaning in your sleep,” Napoleon said. “I believe you’re making some of the other passengers somewhat nervous.”
Now Illya turned to look at the other passengers. Most who were awake were occupied with the in-flight movie or their music or even their work, but a few had twisted around in their seats and were eyeing him uncertainly. Illya merely fixed each with an unimpressed stare and looked away again.
“Care to enlighten me as to what the fuss was all about?” Napoleon asked.
Illya sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was strange,” he admitted. “It was a sort of dream-memory; I was dreaming about something that for a while, I thought had actually happened.”
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s quite an ominous statement.”
“Quite.”
“What made you think it couldn’t have happened?”
Illya looked across the aisle to where Mr. Ecks had fallen asleep in a window seat, half-slumped against his friend and partner Mr. Wye. Not really minding, Wye had an arm around the younger man to support him. He was alternately staring into the distance and looking down at Ecks.
Illya kept watching them as he replied. “He’s alive.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Neither do I.” Illya watched them for a moment and then turned back to face Napoleon. “I never told you, Napoleon, but after we returned home following the . . . incident with Albert Sully in London, I had a succession of odd experiences wherein I was visited by what appeared to be the ghost of Mr. Ecks.”
Illya certainly had Napoleon’s complete attention. “And what happened during these experiences?” he asked.
“Mostly we talked. He was a nuisance and seemed to enjoy pestering me, much as he does in the here and now.” Illya looked troubled. “I was certain the first experience was only a dream. He came to me when I had been sleeping, and of course, you know I don’t tend to believe in the supernatural.”
“Of course.” Napoleon watched and waited for more.
“Then he started visiting me when I knew I wasn’t sleeping—in the living room when I was reading, in the kitchen where I was preparing dinner, even once in the bathroom when I was in the shower.”
Napoleon’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“I had to wonder if I was going mad,” Illya admitted. “But I didn’t think stabbing an enemy agent could have possibly upset me that much. It never has before or since. So I decided I would rather believe I actually was being visited by a ghost. I stuck it out and hoped it would stop. Eventually, it did. I quite forgot it in time. Then Mr. Ecks presented himself to me, alive and well, and I had to start wondering again what I had seen.”
Napoleon leaned back, pondering on the problem. “Hmm.”
Illya wasn’t sure he liked that response. “Napoleon,” he demanded. “What is it?”
“Well,” Napoleon said, “there are several possible explanations for what happened to you. One, that you were simply hallucinating out of madness, we’ll set aside for the time being.”
“What are the others?” Illya asked warily.
“You may not like the main one I’m thinking of.” Napoleon spoke slowly, glancing over at the seats across the aisle. “Mr. Ecks was very sick for some time. Perhaps he repeatedly left his body during times when it was particularly bad and for some reason, he wandered to you.”
“You’re right,” Illya said, after taking a moment to process that. “I don’t like it.”
“You also won’t like the best way to find out whether it was all real or imagined,” Napoleon went on. “Simply ask him if he remembers those encounters.”
Illya scowled. “How would I even go about such a thing? It isn’t really casual conversation. And we are not close enough to share personal conversation.”
“It’s your choice,” Napoleon shrugged. “But you did save his life. Perhaps that would entitle you to ask at least one question.”
“I saved his life.” Illya stared across the aisle, the memories of the past couple of days swirling through his mind. It had been such a bizarre series of events that had landed both pairs of spies in the Peaceful Meadows gated community to investigate a string of outlandish disappearances. Before the case had been solved, they had entered a huge fight with the leaders of the community and had discovered firsthand what the group’s strange, heart-stopping weapons were like. Ecks had saved Napoleon from being struck by a beam from one and had been shot himself seconds later.
From the haunted look in Mr. Wye’s eyes, he was probably remembering too. He had refused to believe Ecks was beyond hope and had struggled unceasingly to perform CPR while Illya had examined the blaster gun. He had realized that if he could rewire it to work in reverse, he might be able to jumpstart Ecks’ heart again. Miraculously, it had worked.
“I killed him in the past,” Illya spoke again, his voice and thoughts far away. “Yesterday I helped him live. I was repaying him for saving you, Napoleon.”
“And you wouldn’t have done it otherwise?” Napoleon queried.
“I don’t know,” Illya mused. “Under the circumstances, I probably would have.”
“Yes,” Napoleon nodded. “I think you would have.”
“And now Mr. Waverly has sent all of us here in search of a rogue agent from their old extremist organization,” Illya frowned. “There won’t be time for ridiculous conversations about astral projections or out of body experiences or whatever they’re called.”
“No, I suppose not,” Napoleon calmly agreed. “But you know, Illya, you did that yourself once, on a case in Italy. You nearly scared me half to death popping up in my car like you did and vanishing just as suddenly.”
Illya frowned. It was not an adventure he and Napoleon tended to talk about. It wasn’t something he could easily explain and he was content to sweep it under the carpet. He regretfully knew, however, that Napoleon had suffered during that escapade far more than he would ever admit. Until Napoleon had found Illya alive and comatose in a Rome hospital, he had believed Illya was dead and had come to say Goodbye.
“Yes,” Illya said at last. “I know. I cannot explain it, but I know it happened.”
The seat belt light came on and the flight attendant stood up to announce that they would be landing in Los Angeles within a few minutes. Illya sat up straight, clicking the seat belt shut.
Across the aisle, Wye gently nudged the still-sleeping Ecks. “We’re about there, Duck,” he said.
Ecks grunted and moved away from him, half-asleep as he fumbled with the seat belt.
“He certainly doesn’t seem very dangerous now,” Napoleon remarked.
Wye smirked at him. “Just you wait and see. If a threat was presented to him right now, he’d be fully awake faster than you could draw that special U.N.C.L.E.-issue gun of yours.”
“Oh, I believe it,” Napoleon nodded. “I’ve seen Illya come awake similarly quickly.”
The plane had only been about half-full, but when it safely landed and it was time to disembark, it was all too easy for the group to end up lost in the crowd. Other planes had come down around the same time, and inside LAX, there were throngs everywhere.
Mr. Ecks was definitely fully awake by now, and to his annoyance, he was indeed becoming lost as the people pushed him about. He was not a big man; apparently the crowds either didn’t notice him at all or didn’t think cutting in front of him was of any consequence. Naturally he wouldn’t do anything to them, but he had to smirk darkly as he thought of how they had no idea that he was a dangerous person and not someone to be crossed.
As he finally emerged into the baggage area and at last found a bit of room to move about, someone else crashed into him from the side and they both went down.
Immediately he looked to the other party in aggravation. “Kuryakin . . . !”
The other blond quickly pushed himself up, confused and guilt-stricken. “Oh, I am sorry,” he gasped. “It was all my fault. Please accept my apologies.” His glasses had slipped down his nose in the fall and he reached to push them up.
Ecks stared at him, not sure what surprised him more. “What is this?” he frowned. “Some new disguise? It’s a little early to decide you need one, isn’t it?”
The bespectacled man blinked at him, baffled. “I am not wearing a disguise.” He started to get up. “May I help you up?”
Ecks got up on his own, looking the stranger up and down. “You’re not Kuryakin?” How was that possible? This man was an exact double save for the glasses, and he knew from stalking Illya in the past that sometimes Illya wore them.
“My name is Phillipe Bertain,” was the reply. “I just got back from Paris. Oh, there is my luggage. Excuse me. And again, I am sorry.” He rushed to the merry-go-round to grab a suitcase.
Ecks stared after him for a long moment. Finally, deciding he wasn’t hallucinating, he approached the machine as well and searched for his and Wye’s luggage.
“There you are,” came Wye’s distinctive voice moments later. “I was wonderin’ where you’d got yourself off to.”
Ecks turned to look at him. “Did you see that man?” he demanded.
“Eh? Which one?” Wye blinked.
“The one that looked like Kuryakin’s long-lost twin brother!” Ecks exclaimed.
Napoleon, who was right behind Wye, quirked an eyebrow. “We most definitely did not see that.”
Illya wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it, either. “Are you sure?” he frowned at Ecks. “You’re not simply trying to get me annoyed?”
“Believe me, Kuryakin, a second you wasn’t exactly the discovery I wanted to make,” Ecks said flatly.
Illya lifted his suitcase off the merry-go-round. “He really was exactly like me?”
“In looks, yes. Except he wore glasses. And his hair may have been slightly shorter, when I think of it. He didn’t act like you, though.” Finally locating his suitcase, Ecks took it down.
“How do you mean?” Illya asked, wary now.
“He was very milquetoast,” Ecks said, smirking a bit to see Illya’s reaction to that. “He even apologized for the collision we had and said it was his fault. He said his name was Phillipe Bertain.”
“How interesting,” Napoleon said when Illya just stared.
Wye laughed. “That really must’ve been somethin’ to see! I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Yes. Well.” Abruptly Illya turned, looking for the nearest exit. “It may have been momentarily amusing, but it’s thankfully inconsequential. Let’s find our hotel and get settled. Then we can begin searching for Ms. Cue and hopefully end this alliance as soon as possible.” With that he walked past.
Napoleon winced. He had to wonder if Illya’s reaction was more from discomfort over the dream-memory he had woke up from on the plane rather than his distaste over the task at hand. Naturally working with these two characters would be somewhat awkward, but they had managed alright at Peaceful Meadows once they had decided to work with and not against each other. Napoleon was sure they could handle it again.
“Your chum seems a little edgy tonight,” Wye remarked. “Does it really bother him that much if there’s some mild-mannered French double of his running around the city?”
“I don’t think so,” Napoleon said vaguely. “But he has the right idea about finding our hotel. Shall we?” He took down his suitcase and moved to follow Illya.
Wye shrugged. “Lead on, Mr. Solo.”
Title: The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair, chapter one
Summary: Follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair. Napoleon, Illya, and company have been sent to Los Angeles in search of Ms. Cue. The last thing they expected to find was that Illya has a double living in the city.
The Fifty-Millionth Frenchman Affair
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: The characters from shows are not mine. The other characters and the story are! This is, finally, the follow-up to The Peaceful Meadows Affair from earlier this year. I will try to briefly summarize Peaceful Meadows in the first chapter as a refresher for those who read it and as a guide for those who didn’t. As the title implies for those in the know, David McCallum’s Perry Mason character will be involved in the plot. Chaos will ensue!
Chapter One
“Kuryakin?”
Illya looked up with a frown and a start from the book he was reading in his cozy apartment’s best chair. “So now you’re coming around when I am not trying to sleep?” he said dryly.
The ghostly form of Mr. Ecks smirked at him from the center of the room. “Then this time you believe I’m really here?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what I believe,” Illya retorted. “I could have fallen asleep reading, although I do not remember it.”
“Let’s say that you didn’t,” said Ecks, and he pulled his coat closer around him as he perched on the edge of Illya’s coffee table. “You said that there would have to be a reason why I can’t rest in peace for me to really be here, bothering you.”
“I also said that would be your problem, not mine,” Illya said in irritation. “If you are hoping I can tell you what’s wrong in your afterlife, I cannot.”
“Well, I would say that you must be the reason why I can’t rest in peace, since I keep coming to you,” Ecks remarked. “You did kill me, you know.”
“Yes, and had I known then that I would be unable to escape you, I might have let you live,” Illya said dryly. “That would have been better for both of us.”
“Unfortunately, it’s too late for that now.”
Too late . . .
Too late . . .
“Illya?”
Illya Kuryakin started awake, his eyes snapping open while he remained reclined in the airplane seat. In the seat next to him, Napoleon Solo frowned in concerned confusion at his partner and friend.
“What is it?” Illya asked, frowning now as well. He sat up straight, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You were moaning in your sleep,” Napoleon said. “I believe you’re making some of the other passengers somewhat nervous.”
Now Illya turned to look at the other passengers. Most who were awake were occupied with the in-flight movie or their music or even their work, but a few had twisted around in their seats and were eyeing him uncertainly. Illya merely fixed each with an unimpressed stare and looked away again.
“Care to enlighten me as to what the fuss was all about?” Napoleon asked.
Illya sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was strange,” he admitted. “It was a sort of dream-memory; I was dreaming about something that for a while, I thought had actually happened.”
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s quite an ominous statement.”
“Quite.”
“What made you think it couldn’t have happened?”
Illya looked across the aisle to where Mr. Ecks had fallen asleep in a window seat, half-slumped against his friend and partner Mr. Wye. Not really minding, Wye had an arm around the younger man to support him. He was alternately staring into the distance and looking down at Ecks.
Illya kept watching them as he replied. “He’s alive.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Neither do I.” Illya watched them for a moment and then turned back to face Napoleon. “I never told you, Napoleon, but after we returned home following the . . . incident with Albert Sully in London, I had a succession of odd experiences wherein I was visited by what appeared to be the ghost of Mr. Ecks.”
Illya certainly had Napoleon’s complete attention. “And what happened during these experiences?” he asked.
“Mostly we talked. He was a nuisance and seemed to enjoy pestering me, much as he does in the here and now.” Illya looked troubled. “I was certain the first experience was only a dream. He came to me when I had been sleeping, and of course, you know I don’t tend to believe in the supernatural.”
“Of course.” Napoleon watched and waited for more.
“Then he started visiting me when I knew I wasn’t sleeping—in the living room when I was reading, in the kitchen where I was preparing dinner, even once in the bathroom when I was in the shower.”
Napoleon’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“I had to wonder if I was going mad,” Illya admitted. “But I didn’t think stabbing an enemy agent could have possibly upset me that much. It never has before or since. So I decided I would rather believe I actually was being visited by a ghost. I stuck it out and hoped it would stop. Eventually, it did. I quite forgot it in time. Then Mr. Ecks presented himself to me, alive and well, and I had to start wondering again what I had seen.”
Napoleon leaned back, pondering on the problem. “Hmm.”
Illya wasn’t sure he liked that response. “Napoleon,” he demanded. “What is it?”
“Well,” Napoleon said, “there are several possible explanations for what happened to you. One, that you were simply hallucinating out of madness, we’ll set aside for the time being.”
“What are the others?” Illya asked warily.
“You may not like the main one I’m thinking of.” Napoleon spoke slowly, glancing over at the seats across the aisle. “Mr. Ecks was very sick for some time. Perhaps he repeatedly left his body during times when it was particularly bad and for some reason, he wandered to you.”
“You’re right,” Illya said, after taking a moment to process that. “I don’t like it.”
“You also won’t like the best way to find out whether it was all real or imagined,” Napoleon went on. “Simply ask him if he remembers those encounters.”
Illya scowled. “How would I even go about such a thing? It isn’t really casual conversation. And we are not close enough to share personal conversation.”
“It’s your choice,” Napoleon shrugged. “But you did save his life. Perhaps that would entitle you to ask at least one question.”
“I saved his life.” Illya stared across the aisle, the memories of the past couple of days swirling through his mind. It had been such a bizarre series of events that had landed both pairs of spies in the Peaceful Meadows gated community to investigate a string of outlandish disappearances. Before the case had been solved, they had entered a huge fight with the leaders of the community and had discovered firsthand what the group’s strange, heart-stopping weapons were like. Ecks had saved Napoleon from being struck by a beam from one and had been shot himself seconds later.
From the haunted look in Mr. Wye’s eyes, he was probably remembering too. He had refused to believe Ecks was beyond hope and had struggled unceasingly to perform CPR while Illya had examined the blaster gun. He had realized that if he could rewire it to work in reverse, he might be able to jumpstart Ecks’ heart again. Miraculously, it had worked.
“I killed him in the past,” Illya spoke again, his voice and thoughts far away. “Yesterday I helped him live. I was repaying him for saving you, Napoleon.”
“And you wouldn’t have done it otherwise?” Napoleon queried.
“I don’t know,” Illya mused. “Under the circumstances, I probably would have.”
“Yes,” Napoleon nodded. “I think you would have.”
“And now Mr. Waverly has sent all of us here in search of a rogue agent from their old extremist organization,” Illya frowned. “There won’t be time for ridiculous conversations about astral projections or out of body experiences or whatever they’re called.”
“No, I suppose not,” Napoleon calmly agreed. “But you know, Illya, you did that yourself once, on a case in Italy. You nearly scared me half to death popping up in my car like you did and vanishing just as suddenly.”
Illya frowned. It was not an adventure he and Napoleon tended to talk about. It wasn’t something he could easily explain and he was content to sweep it under the carpet. He regretfully knew, however, that Napoleon had suffered during that escapade far more than he would ever admit. Until Napoleon had found Illya alive and comatose in a Rome hospital, he had believed Illya was dead and had come to say Goodbye.
“Yes,” Illya said at last. “I know. I cannot explain it, but I know it happened.”
The seat belt light came on and the flight attendant stood up to announce that they would be landing in Los Angeles within a few minutes. Illya sat up straight, clicking the seat belt shut.
Across the aisle, Wye gently nudged the still-sleeping Ecks. “We’re about there, Duck,” he said.
Ecks grunted and moved away from him, half-asleep as he fumbled with the seat belt.
“He certainly doesn’t seem very dangerous now,” Napoleon remarked.
Wye smirked at him. “Just you wait and see. If a threat was presented to him right now, he’d be fully awake faster than you could draw that special U.N.C.L.E.-issue gun of yours.”
“Oh, I believe it,” Napoleon nodded. “I’ve seen Illya come awake similarly quickly.”
The plane had only been about half-full, but when it safely landed and it was time to disembark, it was all too easy for the group to end up lost in the crowd. Other planes had come down around the same time, and inside LAX, there were throngs everywhere.
Mr. Ecks was definitely fully awake by now, and to his annoyance, he was indeed becoming lost as the people pushed him about. He was not a big man; apparently the crowds either didn’t notice him at all or didn’t think cutting in front of him was of any consequence. Naturally he wouldn’t do anything to them, but he had to smirk darkly as he thought of how they had no idea that he was a dangerous person and not someone to be crossed.
As he finally emerged into the baggage area and at last found a bit of room to move about, someone else crashed into him from the side and they both went down.
Immediately he looked to the other party in aggravation. “Kuryakin . . . !”
The other blond quickly pushed himself up, confused and guilt-stricken. “Oh, I am sorry,” he gasped. “It was all my fault. Please accept my apologies.” His glasses had slipped down his nose in the fall and he reached to push them up.
Ecks stared at him, not sure what surprised him more. “What is this?” he frowned. “Some new disguise? It’s a little early to decide you need one, isn’t it?”
The bespectacled man blinked at him, baffled. “I am not wearing a disguise.” He started to get up. “May I help you up?”
Ecks got up on his own, looking the stranger up and down. “You’re not Kuryakin?” How was that possible? This man was an exact double save for the glasses, and he knew from stalking Illya in the past that sometimes Illya wore them.
“My name is Phillipe Bertain,” was the reply. “I just got back from Paris. Oh, there is my luggage. Excuse me. And again, I am sorry.” He rushed to the merry-go-round to grab a suitcase.
Ecks stared after him for a long moment. Finally, deciding he wasn’t hallucinating, he approached the machine as well and searched for his and Wye’s luggage.
“There you are,” came Wye’s distinctive voice moments later. “I was wonderin’ where you’d got yourself off to.”
Ecks turned to look at him. “Did you see that man?” he demanded.
“Eh? Which one?” Wye blinked.
“The one that looked like Kuryakin’s long-lost twin brother!” Ecks exclaimed.
Napoleon, who was right behind Wye, quirked an eyebrow. “We most definitely did not see that.”
Illya wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it, either. “Are you sure?” he frowned at Ecks. “You’re not simply trying to get me annoyed?”
“Believe me, Kuryakin, a second you wasn’t exactly the discovery I wanted to make,” Ecks said flatly.
Illya lifted his suitcase off the merry-go-round. “He really was exactly like me?”
“In looks, yes. Except he wore glasses. And his hair may have been slightly shorter, when I think of it. He didn’t act like you, though.” Finally locating his suitcase, Ecks took it down.
“How do you mean?” Illya asked, wary now.
“He was very milquetoast,” Ecks said, smirking a bit to see Illya’s reaction to that. “He even apologized for the collision we had and said it was his fault. He said his name was Phillipe Bertain.”
“How interesting,” Napoleon said when Illya just stared.
Wye laughed. “That really must’ve been somethin’ to see! I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Yes. Well.” Abruptly Illya turned, looking for the nearest exit. “It may have been momentarily amusing, but it’s thankfully inconsequential. Let’s find our hotel and get settled. Then we can begin searching for Ms. Cue and hopefully end this alliance as soon as possible.” With that he walked past.
Napoleon winced. He had to wonder if Illya’s reaction was more from discomfort over the dream-memory he had woke up from on the plane rather than his distaste over the task at hand. Naturally working with these two characters would be somewhat awkward, but they had managed alright at Peaceful Meadows once they had decided to work with and not against each other. Napoleon was sure they could handle it again.
“Your chum seems a little edgy tonight,” Wye remarked. “Does it really bother him that much if there’s some mild-mannered French double of his running around the city?”
“I don’t think so,” Napoleon said vaguely. “But he has the right idea about finding our hotel. Shall we?” He took down his suitcase and moved to follow Illya.
Wye shrugged. “Lead on, Mr. Solo.”
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