A Man from UNCLE adventure as seen from the outside by special guest stars, by Brenda Antrim. Rated PG13. No copyright infringement intended to any of the universes used herein.

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PROLOGUE 1968: It's Just a Step to the Left

The hall was suitably murky. Bats nested in the rafters. The hard-bodied young man in the gold lame loincloth was a little out of place, and the cavernous butler could get his hands off the wild-haired maid, but Thrush agents were tough. They'd lived through worse. Why, just that one trip to Transylvania ...

What passed for thought among the minions of Chaos crashed to a halt as the Master of the House sashayed into the room. They almost missed the small silver box under his arm. They were too busy staring at the torn fishnets, the black corset cinching his waist, and the wild makeup adorning his face.

"D-d-d-doc?" the lead bird stammered. Bright red lips smiled broadly at him, and a tongue that had to be at least six inches long swiped around them.

"Are you ready to do the time warp?" the apparition asked. All three Thrushies nodded dumbly. It wasn't difficult, since none of them could say a word to save their lives.

"It's just a step to the left," the ... man? said, setting the box on a nearby counter and winking lasciviously at the boy in the loincloth. The boy reacted like a well-trained hound, bouncing over and falling at the doctor's feet.

Which were strapped into six inch stilettos.

"And a step to the ri-i-i-i-ight," the, well, they might as well call him a man, if the bulge under the lower edge of the corset was anything to go by, sang merrily. The boy at his feet began licking his knees. The Thrushies squirmed. The box hummed.

Flashed.

Disappeared.

Abruptly, the doctor stopped singing. He looked over at the Thrushies. Looked down at the boy working dangerously close to his crotch. Smirked. Looked back at the Thrushies and waved a hand languidly at the strange whirlpool of air that had formed next to the table.

"Oops," he shrugged one shoulder. "You'd better hurry if you're going to get it back." He paused for a moan as the boy's mouth started working on the leather between his thighs. His eyes closed. "I'll, oooooh, catch up, aaaaaaaahh, later. Mmmmmmm."

The Thrushies looked at the boy, looked at the teeth showing between those bright red lips, looked at the rapidly shrinking hole in space, and threw themselves through it. It had to be better than the alternative.

None of the writhing bodies in the room noticed when two men, one tall and dark, the other short and fair, burst into the room. The men stopped dead, stared wildly at one another, then threw themselves past the gasping doctor, preoccupied muscleman, and completely self-involved servants to follow the Thrushies through the rip in space and time.

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ACT ONE 1998: Corporal Punishment of a Small Primate

Doctor Daniel Jackson stared at the unassuming rock he was convinced could pose a mortal danger to the entire Stargate command, and wondered if he'd ever get another date. It wasn't like he was still married. He was open to suggestion. It also wasn't like he had a lot of options. Jack was terminally straight. Sam was covertly interested in Janet. Janet was oblivious. And Teal'c ... Daniel swallowed. Oh, yeah, there was always Teal'c.

The main problem with Teal'c was that he came along with Junior. And Daniel wasn't the slightest bit sure he wanted to attempt to pursue a relationship of the sexual kind with a guy with a Goa'uld in his belly.

The artifact room shook around him, and he grabbed for the table, ears perked for the sound of alarms. When the air remained silent, he shrugged. It must not have rumbled the Gate, then. Reaching out to place the rock carefully back in its niche, he froze.

The light was melting. Daniel tried to call out a greeting, or a warning, or yell for help. It came out closer to a squeak.

Behind him, the door opened. "DanielJackson," Teal'c's voice floated over to him through the haze of unreality. "I am having some difficulty with the translation of this cultural reference. How does inflicting corporal punishment upon a small primate equate to--"

Daniel cut him off. "We can spank your monkey later, Teal'c." He pointed at the bodies now catapulting through the odd whirlpool of light in the corner of the room. "Think we should call security?" he asked mildly.

Before he had the chance, it became a moot point. The first few men through the ring of bent light had turned and were firing rifles, odd looking things with huge red sights, at the two men who were obviously chasing them. Daniel ducked behind Teal'c, attempting to pull him out of the line of fire.

He might as well have been trying to move a granite wall.

"Teal'c!" he hissed. "Down!" Teal'c looked over his shoulder at him curiously.

"How can we assist if we are hiding?" He sounded perfectly reasonable. Daniel was working out a way to ask him who they were supposed to assist when Teal'c reached out with his massive paws and clonked together the skulls of the two men who were firing their weapons. Hard.

The men dropped like rocks, then bounced back up again like cartoon characters. Reminded of the possible volatile nature of the artifact he'd been studying, Daniel scooted around Teal'c and reached out to scoop it off the table. The move put him in the middle of a tangle of fighting men as the battle veered to the side unexpectedly. A short guy with bright blond hair and brighter blue eyes threw a brilliant full body block that took him out of the way of a pile-driver from one of the guys in the bad suits.

He ended up under the table, wrapped around the little blond guy. Who was damned cute. Unable to help himself, Daniel reached down and kissed him.

The blond kissed him back involuntarily. Hungrily. Daniel was caught between a moan and a giggle. Looked like he wasn't the only one who'd been going through a dry spell. A long dry spell, from the way the man was going to town on Daniel's mouth. Not that he was complaining.

A big hand came out of nowhere and plucked the blond away. Daniel whined. It had just been getting good. He looked up to find two surprisingly similar pairs of pissed off dark brown eyes staring at them. The pale guy with the brown eyes was glaring at him ... and Teal'c was glaring at the blond. Daniel perked up.

This had possibilities.

The blond squirmed out of Teal'c's hold and put his nose in the air. The other stranger gave him a disgruntled look and made a sweeping gesture toward the bending light.

"Shall we? Before we get stuck whenever the hell we are and fail on this mission?"

The blond glared right back at him. "After you, Napoleon."

Daniel blinked. Whenever? Napoleon? The guy was too tall to be Napoleon. And he had way too much hair. While he was still puzzling, the brunet dove through the portal, and the blond threw a wicked grin over his shoulder at Daniel before he followed. Daniel swallowed.

A large warm mass moved behind him. Big hands settled on his shoulders. Hot breath ghosted across his neck. "We should call security," Teal'c said, not making any move toward the alarm.

"Yeah," Daniel breathed, stepping back. Yup. Teal'c was as turned on as he was. He'd worry about ramifications later. "As soon as we take care of your monkey."

He got no argument from Teal'c.

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ACT TWO 1978: The Sky is Falling

Ray Doyle squinted along the barrel of his gun and snapped off a shot, taking out another terrorist. He hated the country. He was a city boy. You never knew what was going to jump out of the lane at you in the country. It had been a simple courier job. Now it was a hostage situation. He glanced over at Bodie, started to signal to move forward around another bloody tree, and a lorry hit him from behind.

He heard the gunshots over the top of his head, and thanked Bodie silently for watching his arse yet again. Bucking against the weight of the dead body, he started to rise, trying to look every direction at once. He missed the second lorry.

"Bloody hell!" he whined. This was getting tiresome. He glared up at Bodie, then took a second look. His partner was white about the mouth, blue eyes round as saucers, totally spooked. Ray carefully looked over his shoulder.

Just in time to roll out of the way as a third body tumbled down out of nowhere and landed where he'd just been.

A gunshot kicked up the dirt next to him, and he dropped and rolled over to Bodie's side, cursing himself for forgetting the terrorists they'd initially been fighting. It was just too bloody bizarre to have villains falling out of the sky on top of him. He couldn't get his head around it.

Two more men fell out of the hole in the middle of nothing, and one landed atop the third. The man on the bottom was wearing a suit any KGB muscle would be proud to own and clutching a little silver box. Bodie turned his back to the fight and returned fire to the house. Doyle set himself in the opposite direction and trained his gun on the new combatants. They'd fought battles on two fronts before. They'd watch one another's backs, always.

Except the new guys didn't appear the least interested in the CI5 agents. Doyle scowled down at them.

The last bloke through the hole was watching the little blond lad rolling around on the grass with the one in the bad suit. Doyle greeted him. "Oi."

The bloke looked over. He was dressed to the nines, looked like a snappier version of Bodie, with less weight on him. Doyle grinned in spite of himself. The man grinned back. Things were looking up.

Then the bloke pulled a gun out of his jacket, aimed over Doyle's head, and fired. Bodie grunted approval. Doyle swiveled, looking over at his partner, who was enjoying himself, looking back at the new man, who was also enjoying himself.

"Let's mop 'em up, Doyle," Bodie said. Doyle sighed. The blond and the suit were still slugging it out. Doyle followed Bodie toward the house with one last glance at the pretty man.

"Damned good thing you're taken, mate," Bodie growled low in his ear. "Or I'd be the green-eyed one round here."

Doyle grinned, watching with interest as the suit evaded both the men and dove back into the nothingness from which they'd come. The blond followed like a terrier and the dark haired man followed the blond, with one last lingering look at Doyle's arse.

"No contest, Bodie," he sighed. "He's cute, but you're here."

He left Bodie trying to figure out whether to be complimented or insulted, and went to clean up the mess.

Behind them on the lawn, the two dead men shimmered, then disappeared.

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ACT THREE 1998 (again): Twilight Zone (in the middle of the day)

It was a slow day in Cascade, and Jim Ellison was taking advantage of it. He leaned against the stone bench, munching his hot dog, sniffing his partner, thinking wistful lustful thoughts of low probability and letting his senses wander.

Something twanged. His ears hurt. His skin itched. He dropped his dog, pulled his gun and threw himself in front of Blair, aiming instinctively at a spot in the middle of absolutely nothing.

From which a body stumbled.

Ignoring thoughts of ghosts and insanity and other sentinel-inspired weirdness, he barked, "Cascade police! Freeze!"

The man did. He was a thug, in a bad, old-fashioned suit, with a hat crammed on his head and what looked like a toy rifle in his hands. Jim could see him, and smell him, and it was obvious he was there, but something was very, very wrong with him. He was smeared at the edges, like he was in two places at once. It made Jim sick to his stomach.

The rifle rose, and Jim growled. "Drop it." The man wasn't as stupid as he looked, because he did.

Then two more men tumbled into existence where they hadn't been before. They were wavy around the edges too, and Jim felt the world start to slip away.

It wasn't the usual zone. Whatever he was zoning on was somehow there and not there at the same time, and he could see and hear what was going on. He just couldn't pull himself away from the edges of the men, wavering and blending into the nothingness behind them.

Blair stepped out from behind him. He tried to call warning, but nothing came out. A short blond guy with a Russian accent said, "It's your turn this time, Napoleon." A tall guy in a suit, as out-dated as the thug's but much better tailored, shrugged and swung at the thug. The blond man had a gun out as well, and was holding it on Blair.

"It's okay, man, what's going on? Where did you come from? This is like some kind of Star Trek episode, man, or the Twilight Zone or something."

The blond didn't lower his weapon, but he did nod at Sandburg. "The Twilight Zone analogy is apt," he said. He stepped a little closer to Jim's partner, and a panther growled. Nobody noticed but Jim.

As blondie and Blair were eyeing one another, the thug got the upper hand on the dandy, and all four were suddenly embroiled in the fight. The sight of his partner surrounded by all those weirdoes and probably in danger from something, if he had the faintest clue what, snapped Jim out of his zone. In the ensuing confusion, the thug slipped away. Jim tried to regain control of the situation.

"You're under arrest!" he told the tall guy and blondie, who was still eyeing his partner in a way Jim really didn't like. The tall guy leaped at him, Blair yelled, blondie grabbed Blair, and Jim lost his gun.

As he fought the tall guy, Jim heard blondie talking rapidly to Blair. Something about terrorists, and time machines, and birds, and great danger to all of mankind. Blair was lapping it up. The tall guy was beating the snot out of Jim. Things were not going well.

Then reality took a sharp turn to the left as he heard his partner say, "Hey, it looks like this is the only chance I'll get. Might as well make the most of it!"

Then Blair reached over -- he was about the same height as blondie -- and kissed him. On the lips. With gusto. And tongue. Jim stopped. The tall guy caught back a swing, and looked over to see what Jim was staring at. He growled.

Nobody noticed but the panther, and the panther agreed.

"Illya!" the tall guy barked. Blondie broke off the kiss with enough reluctance to really piss Jim off. "No time!" He gestured wildly at the patch of swirly air that looked like it was shrinking. Blondie patted Blair's face, then turned and leapt into the swirl. He disappeared. The tall guy glared at Jim, glared harder at Blair, then jumped in after blondie.

Jim stared at the spot where they'd disappeared. The air was funny colored, but the tunnel or gate or hole or whatever the hell it had been was collapsing in on itself. He shook himself out of another near zone to find Blair standing beside him. One hand was tugging at Jim's shirt. The other was fingering his mouth.

The panther gave up on growling and started meowing. Loudly. Grumpily.

"We have to talk, Chief," Jim said. Blair looked at him.

Jim gave up the fight and dragged Blair into the bushes, plugging the kid's mouth with his own, not giving him a chance to argue. Not that Blair did.

Just another day in Cascade, weirdness capital of northern America.

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ACT FOUR 1988: I Want to Believe

The socks in the wash go 'round and 'round, round' and round', 'round and 'round. The socks in the wash go 'round and 'round ... a lot like his thoughts. Fox Mulder stared at the suds and the socks chasing themselves around in the washing machine and wondered if he was out of his mind. True, profiling had begun to make him crazier than usual, but the X Files? What kind of division was that?

The washing machine blurred. The air moved like a riptide, and a man appeared out of nowhere.

Perhaps it was a sign?

Two more men appeared on the heels of the first, and they started to fight. It looked like something out of the Batman television series he'd loved as a kid, only without the Bap! Bop! Wham! sound effects. He watched with interest.

Perhaps he'd really just lost his marbles.

A tall brunet and a short blond had cornered a heavily-perspiring man in a badly-fitted suit. The man waved a small silver box around, ranting something about a trigger. He pressed a button. The other two flinched. The washing machine switched from rinse to spin. Nothing happened for a moment. Mulder leaned forward.

The air rippled again, and a figure from one of Mulder's best secret wet dreams, the one with the Sasquatch, the Swedish triplets and the midget, stepped from nowhere into the laundry room. Legs a mile long in ripped fishnets, an ass to kill for, and long white arms in black fingerless gloves riveted Mulder's attention. The face wasn't bad either.

Doctor Frank-N-Furter plucked the tiny silver box from the now-gibbering thug. The tall guy was appraising his legs. The short guy was pouting up at him, a surprisingly menacing expression on such a cute face.

"Ever so sorry, dears," he sighed, tossing the tall man a flirtatious glance and chucking the blond man under the chin. "I'll just take care of this little blunder."

"How'll we get home?" the blond asked crossly. He was eyeing the silver box covetously.

Frankie stepped between the men and threw his arm around them, one heeled foot on the back of the thug who was now blubbering on his knees. He looked directly into Mulder's eyes and winked, an appreciative and lascivious expression on his face.

"Do you believe?" he asked archly, then tossed his head. All four men disappeared as the air rippled.

Mulder found himself staring at his socks again.

Visions of fishnets dancing in his head, Mulder grinned. "I want to," he admitted. Perhaps the X Files weren't so far out there after all.

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EPILOGUE 1968: Getting In on the Fun

Alexander Waverly had seen it all. So when a transvestite in black lingerie appeared in the middle of his office, each long arm wrapped around one of his top agents, a Thrush enforcer under his six-inch heel, then blew him a kiss, he simply puffed on his pipe and raised one eyebrow.

"I take it you've retrieved your stolen device, then, Dr. Furter?" he asked politely. The transvestite smiled brightly at him.

"Thank you, yes! We'll be taking this back home now." He waved the little silver box. One toe nudged the quivering mass of Thrush thug delicately. "It has been fun." The good doctor then tapped Mr. Solo on the cheek, turned toward Mr. Kuryakin, and sighed. "Might as well. Why should everyone else get all the fun?" He leaned down, brushing his behind against Mr. Solo's trouser leg, and gave Mr. Kuryakin a truly indecent good-bye kiss. Mr. Solo had one fist drawn back to clout the doctor when the man disappeared.

Mr. Kuryakin looked at Mr. Solo's fist. Mr. Solo blushed, an unusual expression for him, and dropped his hand. Mr. Kuryakin looked rather smug. Mr. Waverly sighed.

He turned his back on his agents and pressed the button for security to come take the Thrush thug away. Behind him he heard precisely what he had expected to hear -- Mr. Solo losing patience and wiping the lipstick smears from Mr. Kuryakin's face. With his mouth. He spoke without turning around.

"Three days off, starting now, to, er, recuperate from your exertions, gentlemen."

He smiled to himself as the door closed behind them. Now perhaps he could stop wasting his energy wondering when some Thrush siren was going to lure Mr. Solo into one final trap. It was about time.

-- THE END --

We're all voyeurs, after all ...