TITLE: Crossroads
AUTHOR: Ekaterina Parsonov aka Kathryn "Prozac" Parsons
EMAIL: kpoflp@aol.com
CATEGORY: Cross-over MFU/ER Slash m/m
WARNING: Not much sex until the end
PAIRING: Napoleon/Ilya & John Carter/Luka Kovac
RATING: NC-17 (Adult Situations, brief salacious bits)
SPOILERS: Only for other fics, most of `em mine!
ARCHIVE: Yes please, but tell me where so I tell all my friends.
DISCLAIMERs & SUMMARY: See Forward below.
Foreword
I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Natalyia for her "Chicago Affair": a first-time story about Solo and Kuryakin set in the Second City. I make brief references to her marvellous double portrait which I consider SPOILERS. Read her story, archived at http://file40.net/file40s/chic_one.html BEFORE you read mine. You'll be extremely glad you did.
My tale however, is most definitely an AU fic. I have taken the liberty of moving the MFU universe forward in time so all of the characters' ages fall within a decade of each other; somewhere in the late thirty-to-mid-fortyish range. I have also tampered with my (already skewed) ER time line to make things come out even.
Cousins, this story makes references to events I described in my John/Luka ER miniseries: "To Dream, Perchance to Love", Hearts in Darkness", and "For Such as These." For me, ER's principal characters are Dr. John Carter (as enacted by Noah Wyle) and Dr. Luka Kovac (portrayed wonderfully by Goran Visnjic). I have posted a picture in the "Photos" section of our groups so you can see these delicious docs in their "honeymoon" years. All three of these angsty ER epics are now archived at the fanfiction.net website. If you don't want to be SPOILED, cher cousins, check 'em out before reading this work. If you don't care, don't worry. This tale (such as it is) can stand on its own.
The Usual Disclaimers or Suing Double
Desilu Productions under the aegis of MGM, held the original copyright to The Man from UNCLE. Heaven only knows which megalythic conglomerate inherited the rights to these characters. The triumvirate of Warner Brothers, Constant C, and Amblin Entertainment currently hold all rights to ER. I have borrowed their creations and given them some new adventures to keep them out of mischief. Do not archive this story without my permission.
And now with no further delays... it's four years after the events described in "For Such as These". Events which took place in "The Three-Headed Eagle Affair," my second MFU tale, are also in the past, but as I said before, the original MFU series time line has been skewed to keep my agents from being great-uncles!.
Act I - It's an ill wind...
John Truman Kovac-Carter grabbed the chart from Randi and headed up the hall to Exam One. Flipping over the pages as he went, he familiarized himself with the patient's symptoms. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kuryakin?" Chicago was home to a large Slavic population, so John's pronounciation wasn't too bad for a first try.
The patient was a surprisingly young-looking man for someone in his early forties; with startling blue eyes and hair the color of pale gold. He was accompanied by an elegantly attired dark-haired man who held the remains of his companion's suit coat. John pulled up a stool and moved over to examine what was described as a deep laceration on the chart. He looked up at his patient after checking out the damage. "This is a bullet wound." Over twelve years working as a trauma doc had more than prepared him to correctly assess the nature of the deep furrow in the man's side.
"We ran into some old enemies." The dark man said smoothly.
"This will need stitches."
"Please doctor, I know what is required. Get whatever you must have and get started." The patient said flatly.
John scooted his stool over to the supply cabinet and pulled out a suture tray. "You know I'll have to report this to the police?"
"We'd rather you skipped that part." The other man said quietly as he pulled out his wallet. He showed the doctor an ID card featuring a full-figure male silhouette standing next to a stylized globe. The letters "U.N.C.L.E.", his picture, and a serial number were superimposed over the image.
"UNCLE?"
"The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. In other words, we *are* the police."
"And Mr. Kuryakin?"
"My partner." The man who had the unlikely name of Napoleon Solo explained. "We are in somewhat of a hurry, doctor."
"Okay." John went to work after ascertaining his patient had no allergies and was not currently taking any prescription meds. Cleaning and suturing the wound took less than thirty minutes during which the patient never flinched. "All done. Keep the stitches dry. I'm writing you a prescription for an antibiotic ointment to be applied to the wound. At home, it's best if the site remains uncovered. If you need to go out, bandage it lightly. The stitches may be removed in a week to ten days."
"Thank you doctor." The Russian spoke more politely this time. He swung his legs off of the exam table. When he stood up, he swayed. Before John could steady him, Solo had taken control of the situation.
"Easy does it, Ilya. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Somewhat dizzy thanks to that knock-out gas, but otherwise I am quite fit."
"Uh-huh. Let's get you home and into bed, mon vieux. Our friends have surely flown the coop by now." Solo's voice was soft in contrast to the exasperated look he gave his partner.
"Don't be such a mother hen, Napasha. All I need is something to eat. Let's get out of here."
John smiled at the pair as they headed for the door. If he was any judge, they were more than mere "partners." All during the procedure, the one called Napoleon had been holding the Russian's hand. Shaking his head, John disposed of the sharps, removed his gloves, and went off to his next patient. It wasn't everyday he found himself ministering to genuine secret agents.
JC*LK*NS*IK
"Doc Magoo's?" Napoleon sounded dubious. The greasy spoon diner was surrounded by an aroma all its own: stale fat from the deep friers, onion-scented smoke, and a top layer of carbon monoxide from the nearby parking lot. "The food here will be more lethal than bullets, Ilya. Let's go find something a little more upscale."
"This will do fine, Napasha. Every now and then you need to rub elbows with the proletariat." Ilya's voice was censorious but his eyes shone with suppressed mirth.
"Suit yourself. One heart attack on a bun coming up."
JC*LK*NS*IK
"You'll never guess who I wound up treating today." Dr. John Truman Kovac-Carter gave his husband a peck on the cheek.
"Elvis?" Luka Carter-Kovac yawned as he fastened his seatbelt.
"Close. A genuine bona fide secret agent."
"CIA?"
"Nope. You know those guys never carry real IDs. This guy was from UNCLE."
"You're making this up."
"Nope. Shoulder holsters, automatic pistols, the works." John backed out of their parking space and pulled out of the garage into the late afternoon traffic.
"What was wrong with him?" Luka fished a stuffed rabbit and blanket out from under himself.
"Gunshot wound. Couple of inches to the right and we'd have had to admit him. As it was, he got off with a deep graze."
"Some folks will do anything to keep themselves busy." Luka yawned again.
"Tell me about it. I wonder what they were doing here?"
"We'll probably never know."
"Yeah. That's the only problem with our jobs, we rarely get the whole story."
JC*LK*NS*IK
"No sir. Ilya was shot. It wasn't serious but we did have to get treatment. I left two of our Chicago operatives on surveillance." Napoleon Solo was talking into his communicator which looked like an ordinary cell phone. Actually, it was an ordinary cell phone with satellite uplink and several secure channels.** The man seated across from him, stuffing himself with french fries and beet soup had been instrumental in the redesign of their communications equipment. "Sir, it looks as if the nest was recently vacated. We'll continue our bird- watching until somebody sings. Solo out."
The two agents finished eating and retrieved their car. "Any ideas, Napasha?"
"No, but let's head over to their last known address. Maybe we'll get lucky. 1256 Huron."
JC*LK*NS*IK
John pulled his Jeep up in front of 1254 Huron. They'd been delayed by a minor traffic accident less than a block away. Luka got out and headed into the building. It was a private elementary school. Ten minutes later, he came out again with a little girl in his arms. She climbed into the back seat where her father buckled her in. "Here's Robert and his blanket." Luka smiled as Katerina immediately clasped the bunny in her arms. "Next stop, home."
"Blast off!" The little girl said with enthusiam as the car moved back into traffic. No one noticed the car parked across the street with the two agents inside.
"Anything?" Napoleon's voice asked softly.
"There's nothing here. Not even dust. A forensics crew is on the way. If they left anything of importance behind, we'll know by tomorrow. Mendoza out."
The THRUSH agent limped towards the nearest El' station. He was wearing a janitor's uniform and had used the secret exit through the elementary school to make his escape. He noted the car across the street and took ten seconds to secrete a computer disk in a kid's backpack along with a homing device which resembled a loose button. The tall dark-haired man with the little girl in his arms had no idea how complicated his life was about to become. The homing device would activate itself in two hours. A small matter of breaking and entering; retrieval would be a cinch.
By the time the silent signal began transmitting, the Kovac-Carter household was nearly done with the evening routine. Katerina had had her bath and was in her pajamas. The dishes were washed and three dark heads were bent over paperwork on the dining room table. Katerina was drawing a picture of two men riding in an ambulance. Her fathers were grading their med students' work. The large ships clock in the living room chimed eight.
"Come on, Kitten. Bedtime for Robert." John picked up the little girl and paused to admire her drawing.
JC*LK*NS*IK
"John?"
"Wha?" It was four in the morning.
"I think someone's in the apartment." Luka quietly rolled out of bed quickly followed by his husband. A small noise from the living room froze them where they stood. "Give me five seconds, then turn on the light." Luka whispered against John's ear. He edged to the door picking up the softball bat from wall next to the bathroom. Cooke County General's amateur league had played two evenings ago.
Luka silently made his way up the hall towards their daughter's room. He never saw what hit him. John, followed instructions and turned on the light seconds before the front door slammed shut. Abandoning caution, he raced to Katerina's room and fell over Luka's unconcious body. Stumbling to his feet, he switched on the light in Kitten's bedroom. She was gone. Her stuffed bunny was lying on the floor next to the bedraggled blanket that "belonged" to him. John called the police then went to see to Luka.
The sirens were now silent. Lights from police vehicles flashed on the walls as the forensic team went over the apartment with fine- toothed combs. Hair samples and fingerprints were taken from John and Luka to be used as comparisons. The two men sat dazed and tried to answer the officers' questions. A female detective arrived and the questions began all over again.
The concierge and security guard who were in the lobby had been rendered unconcious by some unknown substance. Paramedics took both men to the hospital where blood samples would be taken. John wanted Luka to go with them but he stubbornly refused. Two hours later, the police left after installing surveillance equipment on the phones. Surely the kidnappers would call with ransom demands before too much longer.
John Truman Kovac-Carter was the sole surviving son of a very wealthy man. John's daughter stood to inherit a significant amount of money. John called his father and broke the news of his grandchild's disappearance. After arranging to have a very large sum of money converted to cash, Roland Carter called his private security service.
JC*LK*NS*IK
Napoleon and Ilya had filed their reports and were preparing to leave Chicago when Napoleon's cell phone warbled. He listened for a few minutes then switched off. "Come on, partner. A lead just turned up. Looks as if we'll be staying for a while longer." The two men hastened to UNCLE's Chicago office.
Covered as an employment agency, the Chicago office was located near City Hall. Ilya and Napoleon went straight to the computer center where a technician was waiting. The internet had proved a boon to intelligence gathering. Despite the most sophisticated "firewalls", UNCLE like other intelligence agencies, found it very easy to tap into the billions of e-mail transmissions that flashed around the world wide web. The routine forwarding of the lab reports on the concierge and security guard to the police for their files, set off an UNCLE alarm. Although the mixture of chemicals used to knock out the two men went unremarked by the hospital, the UNCLE technicians recognized them immediately. THRUSH had been involved. A few more clicks of the mouse and the entire police report was printed out and handed to the two New York agents.
They both looked up after reading the name "John Kovac-Carter." "Give me everything you can find on this guy." Napoleon asked. "I want his life's story from conception up until five minutes ago."
The computer technician clicked a few more times then sat back as pages started to slide out of the printer. Ilya grabbed them as they emerged then groaned aloud. "Napoleon look at this." He pointed to an address for Katerina's elementary school.
"Damn." Napoleon sat down. "I hate it when civilians get mixed up in our affairs. These guys must be going nuts." Napoleon pulled out his communicator. "Mendoza? Check out the school at 1254 Huron. I'll bet you'll find an escape hatch that connects the two buildings. Next, arrange for school to be dismissed. A bomb scare aught to do it. Then get a team in there and comb the place. Get the personnel files of the staff including custodians and crossing guards. THRUSH has run off with one of the students, a little girl. Ilya and I are on our way over. Napoleon out."
"Should we contact her fathers?" Ilya had finally finished reading the background files on both doctors. "Judging from what's in here, neither of these physicians are helpless innocents."
"No. I want to be sure the kidnapping was triggered by something other than our brief contact with Dr. Kovac-Carter. Confronting them with the truth will be bad enough without having to admit all of this is our fault."
Ilya nodded as their car raced through the city.
** Okay, cousins. Those communicator pens were awfully cute, but they were also conspicuous as all get out. I mean, secret agents are supposed to be "secret" right? Everyone from ministers of the church to ministers of state carry cell phones plus skillions of other folks. Now, you stand out if *don't* have one. EP