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31_days2015-03-03 10:27 pm
insaneladybug.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2015-03-03 10:27 pm
[March 3rd] [The Man From U.N.C.L.E.] Still a Chance
Title: Still a Chance
Day/Theme: March 3rd - One of those small words that means entirely too much
Series: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (specifically, The Odd Man Affair episode)
Character/Pairing: Mr. Wye, Mr. Ecks
Rating: K+/PG
Why can't I ever stick with writing for the good guys? Why, why? Now I'm writing about enemy spies!
By Lucky_Ladybug
Wye was limping as he shuffled back to the park after that ignoble tumble off the autobus thanks to that woman. She had prevented him from getting to the men who had killed Ecks. Obviously she was in with them. He wouldn’t forget that. If he encountered any of them again, they would pay for what they had done.
Perhaps it was illogical, even unfair, to want to kill them for this. After all, this was the spy world and one could expect to get knocked off by the enemy at any time. But this wasn’t just anyone; Ecks had been his partner, his friend, even—but of course they weren’t supposed to have friends.
It didn’t matter. They had never really played by the rules, even of their organization. Ecks was just a young kid, someone the senior agent Wye had been ordered to train. But they had worked well together and had become close.
Ecks was still lying on the sidewalk when Wye made his way over to the bench from which he had fallen. Blood had seeped out from the ghastly wound in his stomach, staining his clothes and dripping onto the concrete.
And still no one had even stopped to do anything. Had they really all believed he was drunk instead of hurt? Had they all been blind?
Wye knelt down next to the lifeless form. No matter how they had delighted in their assignments against their enemies, this was different. Wye took no pleasure in seeing Ecks laying so still . . . knowing the boy would never get up again, or smirk and be cheeky with him, or calmly plot some new woe against their enemies. . . .
Wye reached out, gently touching Ecks’ face and throat, feeling for the pulse he knew he would not find. “Ecks . . .” His voice was sad, regretful.
But suddenly the body gave a weak jerk and the eyes opened halfway. Wye yelped in shock, falling back and toppling against the bench.
“Wye?” Ecks’ voice was rasping, pained, barely there. But it was there. He was still alive, somehow, someway.
Wye swore under his breath in disbelief. “Cor blimey. Ecks, I thought you were dead!”
“I thought I was dead.” Ecks cringed, a hand flying to the insistently bleeding wound. “It feels like a hole’s been torn right through my gut.”
“That’s because that’s exactly what’s happened!” Wye retorted. “Come on, I’ll get you up. Take you somewhere to get help.” He reached down, gently trying to lift the wounded man.
Ecks gasped in pain but fought to steel himself against it. Travel would not be easy; they were almost the same size. He would have to put a lot more effort into movement than he really felt he could right now.
“How . . . how will we explain this?” Ecks wondered. “I wouldn’t have been gutted if it hadn’t been for trying to carry out Zed’s plan to betray the organization.”
“I’ll tell him you’re dead,” Wye determined almost instantly. He struggled to get Ecks on his feet, drawing a strong and supportive arm around his back. “He can figure out what to tell the organization to keep them from pryin’ into the matter.”
Ecks looked to him in bleary-eyed shock. “But I won’t be able to come back, if I get better.”
“You will get better,” Wye growled in furious determination. “But they can’t know it. If they know you’re alive and hurt, the whole truth will come out and you’ll be a dead man. Zed might even use you as a scapegoat, tellin’ them that you were the only traitor to take the heat off himself. And I’m ruddy well not going to let him do that to you.”
Ecks slumped heavily against Wye as the older man tried to lead him down the path to where their car was parked. He was dizzy and ill and on the verge of swooning, but he was aware enough to process what Wye was saying and what he meant. Wye was letting him go to keep him alive.
Ecks tried to find his voice. He was touched, he was grateful. “But . . .” Could he make it without Wye? Wye had always been there since the organization had decided he was ready to be trained. They were a team. Ecks could perform on his own, but where would he even go? He didn’t even know how to do much other than what he had been doing here.
“Now, don’t try to talk, Duck. Keep up your strength.” What’s left of it. “You’ll be alright.”
Wye’s voice was thick; he didn’t want to say goodbye either. And maybe he wondered whether Ecks really had much of a chance to pull through, what with the gaping hole in his stomach.
Ecks wondered that himself as he slumped farther against his friend, sinking out of consciousness.
Day/Theme: March 3rd - One of those small words that means entirely too much
Series: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (specifically, The Odd Man Affair episode)
Character/Pairing: Mr. Wye, Mr. Ecks
Rating: K+/PG
Wye was limping as he shuffled back to the park after that ignoble tumble off the autobus thanks to that woman. She had prevented him from getting to the men who had killed Ecks. Obviously she was in with them. He wouldn’t forget that. If he encountered any of them again, they would pay for what they had done.
Perhaps it was illogical, even unfair, to want to kill them for this. After all, this was the spy world and one could expect to get knocked off by the enemy at any time. But this wasn’t just anyone; Ecks had been his partner, his friend, even—but of course they weren’t supposed to have friends.
It didn’t matter. They had never really played by the rules, even of their organization. Ecks was just a young kid, someone the senior agent Wye had been ordered to train. But they had worked well together and had become close.
Ecks was still lying on the sidewalk when Wye made his way over to the bench from which he had fallen. Blood had seeped out from the ghastly wound in his stomach, staining his clothes and dripping onto the concrete.
And still no one had even stopped to do anything. Had they really all believed he was drunk instead of hurt? Had they all been blind?
Wye knelt down next to the lifeless form. No matter how they had delighted in their assignments against their enemies, this was different. Wye took no pleasure in seeing Ecks laying so still . . . knowing the boy would never get up again, or smirk and be cheeky with him, or calmly plot some new woe against their enemies. . . .
Wye reached out, gently touching Ecks’ face and throat, feeling for the pulse he knew he would not find. “Ecks . . .” His voice was sad, regretful.
But suddenly the body gave a weak jerk and the eyes opened halfway. Wye yelped in shock, falling back and toppling against the bench.
“Wye?” Ecks’ voice was rasping, pained, barely there. But it was there. He was still alive, somehow, someway.
Wye swore under his breath in disbelief. “Cor blimey. Ecks, I thought you were dead!”
“I thought I was dead.” Ecks cringed, a hand flying to the insistently bleeding wound. “It feels like a hole’s been torn right through my gut.”
“That’s because that’s exactly what’s happened!” Wye retorted. “Come on, I’ll get you up. Take you somewhere to get help.” He reached down, gently trying to lift the wounded man.
Ecks gasped in pain but fought to steel himself against it. Travel would not be easy; they were almost the same size. He would have to put a lot more effort into movement than he really felt he could right now.
“How . . . how will we explain this?” Ecks wondered. “I wouldn’t have been gutted if it hadn’t been for trying to carry out Zed’s plan to betray the organization.”
“I’ll tell him you’re dead,” Wye determined almost instantly. He struggled to get Ecks on his feet, drawing a strong and supportive arm around his back. “He can figure out what to tell the organization to keep them from pryin’ into the matter.”
Ecks looked to him in bleary-eyed shock. “But I won’t be able to come back, if I get better.”
“You will get better,” Wye growled in furious determination. “But they can’t know it. If they know you’re alive and hurt, the whole truth will come out and you’ll be a dead man. Zed might even use you as a scapegoat, tellin’ them that you were the only traitor to take the heat off himself. And I’m ruddy well not going to let him do that to you.”
Ecks slumped heavily against Wye as the older man tried to lead him down the path to where their car was parked. He was dizzy and ill and on the verge of swooning, but he was aware enough to process what Wye was saying and what he meant. Wye was letting him go to keep him alive.
Ecks tried to find his voice. He was touched, he was grateful. “But . . .” Could he make it without Wye? Wye had always been there since the organization had decided he was ready to be trained. They were a team. Ecks could perform on his own, but where would he even go? He didn’t even know how to do much other than what he had been doing here.
“Now, don’t try to talk, Duck. Keep up your strength.” What’s left of it. “You’ll be alright.”
Wye’s voice was thick; he didn’t want to say goodbye either. And maybe he wondered whether Ecks really had much of a chance to pull through, what with the gaping hole in his stomach.
Ecks wondered that himself as he slumped farther against his friend, sinking out of consciousness.