The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

The Peaceful Meadows Affair

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This idea came to me a few weeks ago and it amused me. Now I'm finally getting around to starting it. Characters from The Odd Man Affair are present, and of course, references to The Suburbia Affair will abound.

Chapter One

Napoleon was tense as he drove through the gate of Peaceful Meadows, a closed housing community. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," he muttered under his breath. The gate clanged shut behind the car, locking them inside and everyone else outside.

"Really, Napoleon, I do not see anything so terrible about the idea of this place," Illya huffed. "It's for people who wish to have a little order in their lives and a few less disorganized and noisy neighbors."

"I suppose I can see some sense in that," Napoleon said, keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel. "But some of the specific rules and regulations for this place are bizarre. You're not even allowed to have a plastic flamingo in your front yard?"

"Why would you want to?" Illya grunted.

"I'm not saying I personally would, necessarily," Napoleon replied. "I just don't like being told I can't." He stared at the yards. "All of these lots look exactly the same. There's no individuality!"

Illya frowned a bit. "I did some research on these types of communities in preparation for our assignment," he said. "Some of them do allow for different types of houses and grounds. I must admit, I wasn't entirely expecting this."

"Aha, so even you don't like the thought of everything being in perfect little patterns, my Russian-born friend." Napoleon stared in dismay as he pulled up in front of what was to be their house. "Just like all the rest," he sighed.

"It won't be pleasant, but we'll have to weather it for at least a while," Illya said, moving to get out of the car. "Mr. Waverly seemed very concerned that something wasn't peaceful in Peaceful Meadows."

Napoleon nodded. "People who have committed the slightest infraction of the rules have been disappearing. Yes, I know; I was listening to our briefing." He stepped out of the car, locking it after him and heading for the porch.

Illya followed alongside. "What I don't understand is, this doesn't exactly seem like a THRUSH plot. Since when would THRUSH care about plastic flamingos?"

"Mmm. They wouldn't care about plastic flamingos specifically, but they do like being in control and forcing everyone else to bend to their will. In that respect, it sounds very much like a THRUSH plot. Perhaps they're planning to develop communities like this all over the world. It may be how they plan to keep people in line after their takeover."

"That's possible," Illya said upon reflection.

"On the other hand, our enemy isn't always THRUSH," Napoleon pointed out. "Perhaps this is something new."

"The Anti-Pink Flamingo Society, perhaps?"

Napoleon glanced over his shoulder at Illya in bemusement. "You really have grasped on to that aspect of this case, haven't you?"

Illya shrugged. "It sounds particularly ridiculous."

"True, but there's a lot more to this than a few banned long-legged birds." Finally locating the right key, Napoleon moved to the front door to unlock it.

"And what about our neighbors?" Illya nodded to the house next-door. "The man in the front office told us that they are also new residents here, two bachelors looking to settle down in a quiet community. An odd coincidence, is it not?"

"He thought so." Napoleon turned the key and pushed the door open. "Mr. Waverly didn't mention anything about them. They might be part of the problem, but then again, they might really be innocently settling down."

"Somehow I do not think so."

Napoleon spun around in surprise, hearing the sudden venom in Illya's voice. His partner was glaring across the way at the window of the other house. Obviously he had seen something. The curtains fluttered, but the occupant was not currently visible inside.

Or at least, he wasn't until he threw up the sash and leaned out, glaring right back. "What are you doing here, Kuryakin?"

Illya walked to the edge of the wooden, railed porch, followed quickly by Napoleon. "I believe I should be asking that question of you, Mr. Ecks," he retorted, his voice clipped. "Or whatever you are calling yourself here."

Mr. Ecks, former enemy agent and current living person, even after Illya's attempt to kill him in Hyde Park during The Odd Man Affair, leaned on the windowsill with one arm and sneered. "Luther will do," he said crisply. "Don't tell me your Mr. Waverly sent the both of you out here just to spy on us."

"No, but only because he did not know," Illya snapped. "Had he been aware, that would have been another reason for our presence."

Hoping to diffuse the understandable tension between the two blonds, Napoleon stepped forward. "I assume that the fellow with you is Mr. Wye, of course."

"Of course." Ecks straightened up. "I hope you'll be quiet neighbors."

"Oh, you never can tell, with us," Napoleon said calmly. "Someone could always send us an exploding bottle of milk or loaf of raisin rye bread. That tends to increase the volume by quite a bit."

"Raisin rye bread?" Ecks looked repulsed. "Well, nevermind. Leave us alone and we'll leave you alone."

"Leave who alone?" echoed a Cockney voice from inside the house. Mr. Wye appeared in the window in the next moment. "Well, ain't that a coincidence. Our friendly neighborhood spies are here. Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. Welcome to Peaceful Meadows!" He gave a mock bow.

"Thank you," Napoleon said, still calm but staying on guard. "And now might I ask what our unfriendly neighborhood spies are doing here?"

"You might ask, but you'll get no answer," Wye quipped. "Not anything other than what the bloke at the front desk probably told you. They always seem to be chin-waggin' about their newest members."

Ecks nodded. "And just like he must have said, we're here to settle into the community. Nothing more than that. No dark secrets here."

"We'll see," Napoleon said.

"Yes," Illya added coolly. "We will. And I, for one, most certainly do not believe your story."

"And why's that, Kuryakin?" Ecks grunted. "You think we can't live normal lives?"

"I don't, but that isn't the point. You are both mavericks. I really don't think either of you would be happy living in a community with so many rules and restrictions." Illya folded his arms.

"Like your chum said, we'll see," Wye retorted. "But speaking of restrictions, I wonder how well the both of you will do livin' under one roof."

"And why wouldn't we do just fine?" Napoleon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We know about the last time you tried to do that," Ecks said with delight.

"That was a long time ago now," Illya snapped. "Anyway, Napoleon and I are both professionals. We will do whatever we have to in order to get the job done."

"Right, then. We'll see you later, old chaps." Wye moved to close the window as Ecks backed out of the way. "Don't be too loud if you have a row. Ecks is a light sleeper, he is. And he'll wake up bearin' a dagger if he's disturbed."

Ecks smirked at Illya through the descending glass.

Illya's eyes burned as he turned away. "That Ecks! He must have researched all of our cases when he was stalking me! And of course he told it all to Wye." He stormed past Napoleon to the front door. "I don't imagine anything is secret to them now!"

"That isn't pleasant, but I'm sure we'll make do," Napoleon replied as he followed. "As you said, we're professionals."

"It isn't hard to understand how they can stand to live under the same roof," Illya grumbled. "They are both insufferable."

"Well, there's one thing you and Mr. Ecks have in common. Besides your profession and the color of your hair and eyes, that is." Napoleon strolled ahead to the kitchen. "Neither of you appreciate the wonder that is raisin rye bread."

"Even a twisted soul like Mr. Ecks couldn't appreciate that," Illya declared.

Napoleon ignored that, opening the bare cupboards and the refrigerator. "It's almost dinnertime," he said. "What do you say we try out the restaurant in this place?"

Illya looked ruffled. "I was planning on making dinner."

"There'll be plenty of time for that," Napoleon said easily, straightening as he turned away from the cupboards under the sink. "We'd have to go shopping before you could do that anyway."

"You are not just simply stalling because you are still afraid of my cooking?" Illya retorted.

"Not at all," Napoleon half-fibbed. "I'm hungry right now and don't really feel like shopping on top of waiting for dinner to cook. We'll shop tomorrow."

"Very well," Illya said slowly, still suspicious. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Napoleon nodded firmly.

Behind his back, he crossed his fingers.

xxxx

Ecks' smirking, smart aleck demeanor disappeared as Wye shut the window and they both stepped away. Ecks leaned on the wall, folding his arms. "I don't like this," he frowned. "It's going to be a lot harder to get our job done with them moving around."

Wye nodded. "We'll be their number-one suspects in the mess. But they are professionals. I'm sure they'll investigate everybody here."

Ecks pushed away from the wall and started to pace. "Maybe the money wasn't worth this assignment. Kuryakin was right, at least about the rules and restrictions. This place seems like a prison."

"Eh, they're probably not usually as bad as this place is," Wye replied. "A lot of people are very happy livin' in places like this. They say it keeps out the riffraff."

"Yes, but research has shown that people in gated communities really aren't safer than people out of them," Ecks pointed out. "It's all in their minds."

"And the mind is everything, ain't it?" Wye smirked. "People can trick themselves into believing whatever they want to. That's the way it's always been and the way it always will be."

"I suppose," Ecks said uneasily. "But I still don't like it here. I also read that gated community residents can become filled with paranoia and band together in it. They might turn into a lynch mob against us, if the truth gets out."

"Not everything you read is the way things are," Wye said. "Who knows, maybe they'll be grateful to us."

"That's a strange thought," Ecks said wryly.

"Chin up, Duck," Wye encouraged. "We probably won't be here long. We'll watch the other residents for a little while, see if anybody else disappears, and if they don't, well, we'll just have to start defying the rules ourselves to see where everybody goes."

"They're probably dead. We both know that." Ecks went to another window and peered out at the garden. "For all we know, Martin Jensen's body is buried under the petunias."

Wye chuckled. "And you say I'm morbid."

Ecks turned back to face him. "So where do you think they are?"

Wye shrugged. "Who knows. You could be right, Ecks." He sobered. "But we've been in tight spots before and come out alright. We will this time, too." He would see to that. He had almost lost that boy once, when Kuryakin had stabbed him. That had tipped Wye over the edge and had nearly got him killed too. He wasn't going to let any of it happen again.

Ecks took his umbrella and drew his dagger out of it, studying it. He certainly wouldn't go down without a fight. But he still wondered if they were getting in over their heads.

"This is the first big thing we've been into since we got out of the organization," he said. "I don't even know that I've got what it takes anymore. Being gutted by the enemy sort of makes you doubt."

"You stalked Kuryakin for weeks without him finding you," Wye reminded him. "You said that helped you feel like you could still cut it."

"I know, but a stalking mission isn't the same as something like this." Ecks snapped the dagger back into place. "Well, nevermind. What's for dinner?"

"I think this community is big enough that it comes with its own restaurant," Wye said. "Let's try that, shall we? It'll give us a good chance to look over the rest of this sorry crew."

Ecks smirked a bit. Wye hated to cook. So did he. "Alright," he said agreeably. "Let's go."