Author's Note: Ridiculous AU. My very first New Avenger fic. Not to be taken seriously. Hope you enjoy!
Mike Gambit awoke with a start. He knew something was terribly out of place before he even opened his eyes. The bed was too rough- and too hard- against his back. He felt around with his fingertips. What was this? Concrete? Stone? He jumped up in surprise.
Behind him was a stone bench, and he was standing beside a dusty road, far away from home, in nothing but a pair of shorts.
He looked around helplessly, but there was no one in sight. He vaguely remembered having passed by this road once or twice, and it was nearly always deserted. He would have to wait ages to hitch a ride. He looked back over his shoulder at the stone bench, and sitting there was a filled paper bag. He remembered nothing of last night, but whoever dumped him here must have been very thoughtful. Inside were two bottles of scotch, some loose change and a loaded pistol. Items essential for survival. Rather desperately, he opened the first bottle and guzzled down the drink.
Urgh! What was this?
Within seconds, he was choking violently. He looked at the liquid he had spluttered into his hands, and it was a reddish-brown colour like it was supposed to be. However, it tasted just like water. It was coloured water. Now who in their right mind would take the trouble to dye water the colour of scotch?
He actually would, if he was that desperate.
He slammed the bottle down on the bench, and groaned. He needed to remember what happened last night, but his mind was too messed up to think clearly. The only thing left to do was to get back home. It would take about twenty minutes by car, but it was torturous walking distance. The water was just enough to supply him. He grabbed the paper bag and set off on his journey in the scorching heat, barefooted.
Of all things to recall along the way, he remembered that he'd fixed a lunch date with Amy Robinson at noon. He didn't know what time it was, but the sun was nearly overhead. Never in his life had he stood a girl up without calling beforehand, and he was determined to uphold that reputation. In spite of his aching feet, he sprinted the rest of the distance to town.
He was tired and panting by the time he arrived, and didn't care to notice the passing stares at his half-nude body. He stumbled over to the nearest payphone, inserted some of the loose change and reached for the little black book in his shirt pocket. That was when he realised that he didn't have a shirt. He slammed the receiver back on to its holder and dashed back to his place.
He kicked the front door open without hesitation, and there, lying open on the dining table, was his little black book with all of its used pages torn out.
By now, Gambit was in a state of panic, not just because someone had stolen all the contact information of his dates, but because whoever had broken into his house could have done more than just that. His gun held close to his chest, he checked each and every room and corner for intruders, but found none. He swung his wardrobe door open, and nearly fell over.
All of his clothes had been replaced with women's clothes.
They didn't belong to anyone that he knew of, and that worried and confused him further. Strangely enough, when he went through the rest of the drawers, none of his valuables had been stolen or replaced. So the burglar was not interested in money. Or in his private documents, other than his love life.
He opened the refrigerator, hoping to find some scotch, but only to find that all the snacks, as well as the scotch, had disappeared.
That was the last straw. He grabbed the telephone to call Steed. He didn't know what good that would do, but it was all he could think of.
"Steed!"
"Gambit, what's the matter? We're on holiday!"
"Someone broke into my flat!"
"What? What did they steal?"
"My food and clothes! They're replaced with women's clothes!"
Gambit could have sworn he heard a chuckle over the line.
"Well then, I suppose you'll have to do some grocery shopping, won't you?"
"Naked?"
"Good luck, Mr Gambit." And Steed hung up.
If Steed was so light-hearted about it, this has all got to be some nasty, dirty prank that he was in on. He dialed Purdey's number, though he didn't think she could have been the culprit. Purdey was far too nice compared to some other girls he'd met. The phone rang on and he received no answer. Not like he expected one. They were on holiday after all, she could be out shopping or sleeping in. He headed over to her place, knocked, pounded, peeked through the window, and there was still no sign of her. His situation wasn't urgent enough for him to go bursting through her front door, so he refrained from doing so and returned home.
He thought of calling up Steed again and demanding for an explanation, but he knew he wouldn't be of any help. At last, he decided to cook something with what little food he had left in the refrigerator. He whipped up some scrambled eggs and devoured them ravenously. As he swallowed, images swam back to his mind.
Candlelight.
Chandelier.
Glass.
Purdey.
He was having dinner with Purdey last night. Nothing unusual, but why can't he seem to remember?
Gambit was at a loss. He had no clothes. His contacts were missing. He had lost a girl. And there was nothing he could do.
He decided to take a shower. He stepped in, turned on the tap and began to lather up.
His whole body had turned a deep red.
He shrieked. What was this? He smelt the substance and tasted it.
Ketchup?
Angrily, he rinsed the red slime off his body and stepped out of the shower, shivering. All of his towels had gone, so he proceeded to dry himself with lavatory paper.
That was it. He was not going to touch anything else in his house. He sat down on his couch, shirtless, and stared blankly at the clock on the wall.
A knocking at the door aroused him from his sleep. It was seven-thirty, just in time for dinner. He opened the door wearily, and Purdey's big, innocent smile said it all.
"How was your day, Mike Gambit?"
He groaned.
"I did tell you one of these days."
That same old phrase whenever he crossed the line. What had he done this time? Gambit eyed the blonde. In her hands were two full bags of clothes and toiletries. He realised that they were all his belongings.
Purdey eyed his look of exhaustion. "My my, you have had quite a day."
She walked into his bedroom with the bags and began to replace all the clothes in his wardobe.
"Whose clothes are those?"
"Mine. They're old."
"Purdey..."
"You did say you were looking forward to it, Mike Gambit."
Gambit sat down on his bed. "I thought you meant..."
Purdey turned around sharply. "Meant what?"
"Well, you know..."
Purdey smirked at the implication. "Oh, that? One of these days..."
Gambit hung his head.
"So you set all of this up? To punish me?"
"It didn't take very much work."
"Even the ketchup?
Purdey smiled. "That was the best part."
Gambit shook his head, exasperated.
"And Steed was in on this?"
"I told him I was planning something perfectly harmless."
He held his head in his hands. "What did I do to deserve this?"
Purdey shrugged. "Something you did. Last night. Too far, Mike Gambit. Too far."
Candlelight.
Chandelier.
Glass.
Legs.
"I was drunk!" Gambit protested.
"Precisely."
Gambit stood up. "Is that how you got me onto that road?"
"You were out. Cold."
"That's not fair at all, Purdey."
"I gave you some exercise."
"I had to miss a date because of you," he said gruffly.
"Tell her you saved her from major embarrassment," Purdey quipped.
"And what have you done to the rest of my little black book?"
Purdey giggled. "I've done nothing to it."
Gambit folded his arms. "It's on the dinner table. Go see it."
"Open your drawer," Purdey ordered.
Gambit frowned.
"I said open your drawer. Where you keep it."
Gambit walked over to the drawer and pulled it open. The little black book sat there, right where it was supposed to be.
In disbelief, he flipped through the pages, and all the contact numbers were intact.
"I was out shopping the other day and found a black notebook, exactly like yours. Anyway, what are we having for dinner?"
Gambit scowled.
THE END