Title: "A Private Manuscript"

Author: Chris Skoda

Email address: chrisskoda@popmail.com - I prefer to receive feedback at the list, though (popmail can be a beast, sometimes!).

Rating: G

Fandom: "The Man From U.N.C.L.E."

Pairing: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin

Date: December 31, 2000

Archive: Please!

Status: Complete

Category: Slash

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, and I mean no infringement.

Summary: This story takes place in 1997. This is a special manuscript written by a member of our intrepid MUNCLE team.

Warnings: This is full of angst - I couldn't even read it aloud when I finished it without being choked up and starting to cry. Consider yourself warned! I'd rather not go into more details, but some may find if difficult to read. I consider it a devoted love story.

Beta: Thanks to my friend Joey for his support and suggestions.

Dedication: To Karen. Sorry you've had such a lousy holiday season!


A PRIVATE MANUSCRIPT
By Chris Skoda

If I worked for your average corporation, I suppose I'd be considering retirement around now. I turned 65 last month, and will probably remain in my current position until my death - or until such time as I am mentally or physically incapable of meeting my responsibilities.

I have worked for U.N.C.L.E. - the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement - since the late fifties, but my active field work took place during the 60's and 70's. I still pride myself on being one half of one of the finest field teams in the history of our organization. But I am not writing this manuscript as a record of my accomplishments as an U.N.C.L.E. agent.

When you read this document, I hope you will do so with an open mind. Perhaps you will be tempted to destroy it after reading it - or perhaps you will not even bother to finish reading it at all. I suppose this is the chance I take, leaving this to you, my 'field successor' - a man I know and respect, but a man who couldn't possibly guess my closest secret.

My personal inclinations are my own, and in no way reflect on *you* as my protege. I was prompted to encourage you out of admiration for your natural talent as an agent, and the skill you displayed - not because you reminded me of myself, as has so often been suggested. I never believed you would be like me - finding yourself and *completing* yourself in the way I did. This is what my manuscript is about. It is about what finally made me a whole man, if you will.

I am more than honored by my current role with the agency. I never aspired to head any branch of U.N.C.L.E. - least of all the New York headquarters office. I never aspired to the council, and never imagined I'd be involved with decisions which would have international repercussions. I remember Alexander Waverly well - can still see him sitting where I now sit almost daily. Waverly tried more than once to hint at how difficult a 'mere' desk job could be ...

I'm rambling - which I suppose I can chalk up to my advancing age. A man should be allowed to ramble a little after he reaches 60 plus. Especially managing to reach such a ripe age in such a dangerous business ...

You are probably still wondering why I'm bothering to write this at all - and why I'm addressing it to you. If this were a standard manuscript, I would probably consign my 'memoirs' to the U.N.C.L.E. library, at the very least. But it is not a standard document at all. What I am actually sitting down to write is a love story - my love story. And as much as I would like to share it with the entire world, I know I can only share it with you. Perhaps after reading it, you will decide it can be shared with others, after all. I guess I'll leave that choice to your better discretion.

You will have heard the stories, of course, about what a 'ladies man' I used to be. Even Thrush knew my reputation - and used some of their finest and loveliest female agents to lure me over the years. You won't wonder that I never married - everyone assumed I was a permanent bachelor. Or that I was 'married' to my work. Very natural assumptions. The truth is much harder to understand, I know.

Perhaps you've read over the old reports from the 60's and 70's - seen the photographs of the outstanding agents of those times. You might have deliberately done so when I singled you out and began to encourage your work. If so, you may recall my partner, Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin. He was slight and small and blonde, with blue eyes. If you don't remember him, just look at the envelope of photos I've enclosed with this manuscript. They are my personal pictures, and very dear to me.

Illya and I were quite possibly the best team in U.N.C.L.E. history. You might think I say this from personal ego - and perhaps I do. But our record supports my claim. Our field work is outstanding by any standards - even the standards of today. You can't say the same for athletes of our time, compared to the current crop - and much of what we did was like competing in some athletic competition.

I hardly know where to begin when writing about Illya. I could tell you he was a Russian, through and through. His accent was a constant charming reminder, I will say. He had that Slavic look - very fair, very blonde, with blue, blue eyes. His features were sharp and classic - to me, he looked like he should be posing for some classic Greek statue.

I never did find out why he left the Soviet Union to work in the States for U.N.C.L.E. It was something I wondered about for years, but which I never felt comfortable bringing up with him. Even after we became lovers.

Oh. I guess I forgot to mention before that Illya was my lover. We were in love for many, many years. I guess you could say he was the one and only true love of my life.

Please take a moment and glance at some of the pictures I've enclosed. You will actually find several pictures which show a smiling Illya, as well as many which display a very casual - and relaxed - Napoleon Solo. That's not something you'll see in most photographs of us, believe me.

We didn't actually take to one another right away. It took us some time to develop as a team, and longer still to become friends. Illya once told me, though, that he had known from the first that I would be the 'true love' of his life. I used to tease him about hindsight, but he'd smile that tiny grin of his, shake his head and press a finger against my lips to stop my words. "You're only sorry that you didn't know sooner," he'd say - and of course he was right.

We were together, as you know, for many years as a team -- and proudly did our part to assist the agency we served and to promote world peace. Actually we were only another breed of policemen, albeit on a different level than the average beat cop. What drives men to do this work? Well, I'm hopeful you have personally questioned your own devotion to this profession from time to time. It bears thinking about on occasion.

In those days there were many who would have believed I was personally drawn by the glamour of this work. And perhaps they were right to some degree. And I regret that I never *really* knew what brought Illya into U.N.C.L.E. Though he was closer to me than any other person in my entire life, there were still things we failed to share with one another. I could let myself regret it more, I suppose, but I prefer to dwell in those moments that made two men into one unit.

I remember how uncomfortable I was in my youth about the concept of two men loving one another. We were less accepting of differences then than you young people are today. I won't relate the terrible labels we put on such men, but trust me that I regret my own participation in such ignorance. I'd like to believe that I'd feel this regret even if I hadn't ended up in love with Illya.

It was no easy thing for me to finally realize that my feelings for Illya were more than the love of an U.N.C.L.E. team partner, or the love of a close friend. I had many, many missed opportunities along the way. Illya was rather fond of reminding me of my stubborn resistance to his frequent advances - or my own attractions. I guess he was proud of the fact that he loved me longer and more honestly - and I was glad to acknowledge his devotion. I wish I'd gone to him sooner - wish I hadn't wasted so many years. Let me hope for you that when the right person - man or woman - enters your life, you'll know it and begin to enjoy it right away. My only real regret in this life is the time I could have loved my dear Illya, and didn't.

We actually never lived together - at least not in the traditional sense. We would take turns living at either my brownstone or his loft, when our assignments didn't have us running all around the globe. Many is the time I've sat and almost allowed myself to actually reason out the approximate days and nights we were able to share, but I've fought this compulsion. It was the quality of our relationship that mattered, after all - and not the length of the days.

But it is good at any age to remember that we are each only allotted a certain amount of time to know ourselves - and others. I remind you here so that you may do better with this than I did. I could wish for less days in my life, and more days in my relationship with Illya, no matter how wonderful this love.

I wish I could find words to express the joy in simple acts that we two shared. The picnic on an odd, woven rug that covered the stark floor of Illya's loft. Or the warmth of the bed in my brownstone when we huddled together under the blankets and listened to the rain pounding against my large windows. So many shared glances and secret smiles and gentle elbow nudges over the span of our life together. Illya's silky soft hair under my fingers, or his sweet mouth pressed against mine.

It would be a simple thing to write reams of erotic lines, as ours was a relationship filled with physical passion. I suppose I must seem too old to remember such things to a young man like you, in the prime of manhood. But at night, when I am alone with my memories, this passion fills my aging body and makes me almost young again. I can recall Illya's strong, sensitive fingers tracing over my flesh as if he were here right now touching me. Thank god for a strong mind and good memories!

Illya saved my life more times than I can even remember these days. But he truly saved me when he held me in his arms for the first time. I became the man I was always meant to be - a finer, better man than I could have ever been without him.

Yes, I have had the great pleasure of being honored by Heads of State around the world - of being an intimate of more than one President of my own country. I have known the joy and anguish of serving the council and making decisions which saved lives - and brought about deaths. I have always known that I would never have risen to such 'greatness' had it not been for a greater man than I, my dear love, Illya. His goodness was intrinsic to his personality, though it was never merely sentimental or ever cloying. Most people believed him caustic and unemotional, but he was never that. I only wish he could have been known by others in the way I was lucky enough to know him.

I normally don't waste time shedding tears over his death. It was not a meaningless end, quite the contrary. He died saving a dozen other lives - and potentially many more besides - and one of the dozen he saved was me. Yes, he suffered terrible pain - and I was forced to see the life drain slowly from his maimed body as I held him cradled in my arms. I guess it's ridiculous that I was never able to part with the clothing I wore that day. I still have the suit, drenched with his dear blood, carefully packaged and packed away in my home.

But I did not cry while Illya spoke his last difficult words to me - as I glanced in horror at the red trickle which ran from the corner of his sweet lips - and I have not cried for him until this moment.

You will forgive me if this manuscript is, therefore, a bit tear-stained. I will put these papers safely away for the day when I finally join my lost love, and you will have been informed where to find it. You will also be given the choice of what to do with this. After I finish recording my memories, I will turn away from tears and regrets and go back to the life I chose to live after Illya was gone from me.

We always knew that ours was a difficult and dangerous profession. We both knew the odds of success - and of survival. We beat these odds time and again - right up until the day Illya both succeeded and yet failed. And, then, he only failed our future together, so who could ever fault him?

I remember the one time we discussed what we should do if one of us did die in the line of duty. It was a painful discussion, and I angrily tried not to have it. Illya - stoic as he often was - was insistent. You might not believe me when I say this, but if there was a 'boss' in our relationship, it was assuredly Illya! He wanted to know that I would go on without him if the time ever came. He wanted assurances that I would love again - and perhaps even marry and have a family.

We made promises to one another that dreary night - but not the only promises we ever made. I have fulfilled my promise to continue the work we both believed in to the full extent of my abilities. Little did I know how far I was destined to rise in U.N.C.L.E. when I made that small promise! And I have a vibrant life, full of friends and people I care about. But I did break the promise to love again when he was gone. I must also admit that I didn't even try to find another man or woman to bring into my life in this fashion. I was not - and am not - heartbroken or beaten in any way. But I gave myself completely to Illya, and it has simply been unthinkable to me to give up my one true love - even if it's meant being alone these many years.

Illya waits for me - I do believe this. And I have often had the strongest feeling that he is with me at times - so I do believe he watches over me. I know we will be together again - I have *never* doubted this. I don't know what form we will exist in, but I like to think of his strong, thin pale form, with his long, cornsilk hair and pale eyes peering into my own. How lovely that he never grew old - never suffered the indignities and ravages of aging, as I have.

I went with friends to see the movie, "Titanic" not long ago. I found I could barely keep my composure while leaving the theater and bidding adieu to my companions. I went home and wept remembering the final scene of reunion - where a once-again youthful Rose embraces her lost love Jack who died so young and beautiful. It is one of the very few times in my life I've ever cried, much less cried so passionately.

I suppose it would be silly to believe those tears were not tears of pity for myself, rather than tears of joy for the united Rose and Jack. I believe I have successfully fought off pity and sorrow in my life and am not a broken man who is removed from life and people. You, of all people, will be able to recall the many times I've dined with friends or had friends into my home. I am a part of the world I live in, and have gladly shared myself with my fellow agents and my blessedly large circle of friends.

Still, I do not dread the approaching end of my own life. I'm still young, perhaps, to be discussing my eventual demise, but I've known since the day I lost Illya that death would never be a thing for me to fear. I know how the thought of death will shake most men - how people struggle so hard to survive. I, too, have been in that struggle many times. And I have never considered making an early end to my own life. That would make light of the great gift my beloved gave me when he perished that I might live.

I guess these days I sometimes feel like the frail and yet very strong woman Rose was at the end of her long life. I recall her saying that line - which I can only half remember - about how there was a man named Jack and how he saved her life in every way a person could be saved.

I guess I'll end this by saying that there was a man named Illya Kuryakin. I loved him - deeply. He returned my love. And he *did* save me in every way I could be saved. I think of him every day, and I thank him with all my heart for loving me. I hope I've lived up to his expectations and truly earned his love, at long last.

When you read this, I will be with him again. I hope you will rejoice for me. Thank you for agreeing to settle my estate at my death. I know it was a lot to ask, but I couldn't think of anyone I've been closer to since Illya.

Napoleon Solo

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^

"Perry? You're crying..."

Perry Sanders set the manuscript carefully aside, and wiped his eyes. He looked up into the face of his love, and managed a smile. "It's okay, Ted. I'll tell you all about it later."

The agent rose and put his arms around the smaller man, hugging him. "Right now I just need to hold you and make love to you."

Ted leaned in and kissed him. "Well, I hope we don't get a call to duty, then."

Perry pulled back and directed Ted toward the bedroom. "Let's just say this is in honor of a great man. Better yet," he said, looking into his lover's eyes, "in honor of *two* great men."

They moved into the room, closing the door softly behind them. It was as good a way as any to celebrate the beginning of the new Millenium.



THE END