Man from U.N.C.L.E. Section VII

Unfair Competition

Illya Kuryakin gazed at the woman sitting across the table from him and wondered, not for the first time, if she was ever going to shut up.

This wasn’t how he had envisioned the evening. By now he had rather hoped to be heading back to her place. She was supposed to be enthralled by his conversation. He had been piling on the charm all night. According to his plans they were to go to her rooms after dinner and...

He sighed. She didn’t notice.

Thanks spikesgirl, for beta-ing for me.

November, 1960......

Different Worlds

Immediately his shift had been over, Illya had headed for the agents’ common room. Since then he had been glued to the television.

Over the past few months he had become increasingly interested in the election campaign. He’d watched often at work and had even contemplated buying a television, but had dismissed that thought as excessively frivolous. Instead he had listened to his radio.

This was, in fact, the first place he’d been made aware of what was going on. He had initially thought that Sinatra’s ‘High Hopes’ was playing until he’d listened more carefully to the words. Something about a man named Kennedy and ‘the opposition’ going ‘ker-plop’. He’d paid more attention than usual to the piece broadcast immediately afterwards. Apparently this Kennedy was in a race with another man called Hubert Humphrey, and he had a song, too.

Note:

I know that Illya’s second name causes some controversy. Please rest assured that I believe that by Season 1 Episode 1 his name is ‘Nicovech’, but I do not think it would have started out like that. Hence, I have used ‘Nicolayevich’ here.

Set in the same universe as Small Steps (http://rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com/1415.html) and Two Stars (http://rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com/3317.html) but quite a long time before!

One Evening In Early June

By

Rachael Jurassic

“Papa?”

The child’s father turned his head. His son was in the doorway of the kitchen they shared with the other families on the third floor.

“What are you doing out of bed?” the man asked.

“I’ve lost my truck,” the boy replied.

Two stars

He should get up and do something. Anything. No use just sitting here wallowing. He sighed loudly. This was ridiculous.

Illya continued to stare at the floor thinking, not for the first time, that he should have bought a more comfortable sofa. But even the springs playing havoc with his rear end couldn’t rouse him to action.

He could read a book – he had a pile borrowed from the library. He could eat – there must be something in the fridge. He could drink, listen to music.

He wanted to do none of these things...except perhaps drink.