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"Chase The Dragon"
An Avengers Fanfiction
The eleventh in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)
Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed
March 1965
Steed takes up painting. Emma fights like a tiger.
Emma groaned as the rigid edge of the Asian woman's hand smacked her sternum with knife-like sharpness. Her auburn hair flailed wildly as she fired back a solid fist toward her opponent's abdomen, only to have it blocked by a lightning-fast countermove. The beautiful Oriental dropped into a crouch and swung her leg out in a roundhouse kick, sweeping Emma's feet out from under her and slamming her onto her back.
The woman pounced quickly, landing with her knees on Emma's shoulders. She smoothly slid forward and trapped Emma's neck between her powerful thighs, then squeezed them together in a strangulating grip. Emma tried to insert her fingers between her own neck and her adversary's legs, but to no avail.
Spots appeared before her eyes as Emma heaved her body from side to side in an attempt to dislodge her attacker. The jet-black ponytail of the martial arts specialist swung from side to side with the motion, but she did not relinquish her stranglehold. Finally, Emma tapped the palm of her hand flat against the floor twice, and the pressure on her throat was released.
A light spattering of applause erupted from the gathered bystanders at the Kings Road Dojo, most of them male. It could be attributed in equal parts to respect for the skills of the women and to admiration for the two perfectly-toned bodies revealed in anatomical detail by the clinging nylon they wore.
"Tricky as always, Mei-Ling," Emma conceded, rubbing her shoulders gingerly. The attractive instructor offered her hand to help her up from the padded mat.
"Thigh strangulation is a move that women can use freely and with great effect," Mei-Ling explained. "Men can't do it because they would expose too vulnerable a target—or, should I say, targets," she added wryly. The two women walked side by side across the sparring area where the men were practicing judo. One of the male students backed too close and bumped into Mei-Ling; she sent him on his way with a friendly slap on the rump.
"I'm not sure my thighs are strong enough," Emma ventured.
Mei-Ling smiled. "I've seen you do a scissors toss by wrapping your legs around the waist of a fifteen-stone man. Your thighs are strong enough."
A ragged archway in the cinderblock wall marked the entrance to the women's locker room. Since the club had originally been designed for men only, the women's facilities had been added as an afterthought, hastily partitioned off with brick and mortar from the men's real estate. The shower area was small, barely large enough to accommodate two. While Emma searched for towels, Mei-Ling quickly shimmied out of her nylon leotard and turned on the shower taps in the tile-lined bay.
"In a hurry?" Emma asked casually, removing her own nylon body-stocking.
Mei-Ling nodded as she basked in the warm stream. "I have a second job. I'm dancing tonight."
Emma stepped in beside her, their naked bodies almost touching in the cramped space.
"You dance? For money?"
"It pays much better than being a karate instructor," Mei-Ling declared. "You should drop by and watch the show."
"What kind of dancing do you do?"
"Just as you see me now," she said, executing a brief pirouette.
"You dance in the nude?"
"You're not ashamed of the female body, are you, Emma? These are the sixties." Mei-Ling turned around more slowly under the flow, displaying every inch of her athletic frame. Then she swept her eyes up and down her showermate, and Emma became uncomfortably aware that she was being scrutinized.
"Your body is nothing to be ashamed of," Mei-Ling said appraisingly. "You have perfect proportions."
"Er—thank you." Emma instinctively reached up to lather her shoulders.
"The men who come to watch me dance would fall all over themselves to meet a woman like you," Mei-Ling added. "Many of them are quite well-to-do."
Emma avoided eye contact and faced the shower nozzle. "I'm a widow now."
"I thought that with Peter gone, you might need some... comfort."
"I'm not currently looking for any physical gratification."
Mei-Ling arched her eyebrows suggestively. "All women are," she said. "It's that man Steed, isn't it?"
"Excuse me?" Emma almost dropped the soap.
"It's his smile. And his hair, so dark and wavy. I could certainly go for him."
"I've never thought about him in that way," Emma lied. She hoped Mei-Ling didn't notice the tense excitement that had rippled through her body.
"I imagine that he's quite the lover," Mei-ling continued on glibly.
Emma reddened. "I wouldn't know about any such things."
"Then perhaps it's time you found out." Mei-Ling shut off the water and reached for a towel. "Or if you're not interested, bring him down here for a workout and introduce him to me."
-oOo-
Emma found the door unlocked when she arrived at Steed's apartment. Her senses were immediately on alert, but she eased up when she heard him casually address her from somewhere in the living room.
"I'm positive they were over here...," he called out in puzzlement.
Emma glanced at the table next to the door, where she spied a bowler and an umbrella, his trademark talismans. Was he looking for these? Then she noticed a Cardin jacket draped carefully over a chairback, and beyond that, Steed in his vest and shirt-sleeves, the latter of which he had rolled up to his elbows. He was crouched on the floor, facing away from her with his backside up in the air. Emma recalled Mei-Ling's comments from earlier and made an effort to resist staring too long at his physique.
She watched in amusement as he crawled around the sofa on all fours before stopping to look up at her face. She smiled back at him.
"Something wrong, Steed?"
"I've lost my marbles," he said innocently.
"No argument here."
"I had just made a perfect shot knocking out four ducks."
"I don't see any waterfowl," she teased.
"Stationary marbles inside the ring are called ducks, Mrs. Peel." He gestured to a chalk circle that had been carefully drawn on the hardwood portion of the floor.
Emma dropped to one knee to peer beneath the liquor cart while Steed checked the opposite side, continuing his explanation.
"Of course, it was a magnificent shot, scattering the victims to the four corners of the room, as it were." His face lit up. "There they are." He swept an arm beneath an end table, lassoing the errant marbles back into his grasp. Steed sat back on his haunches and comically juggled three of marbles in the air before grinning at her.
"How about it, Mrs. Peel?" he offered. "Keepsies and no quitsies."
She arched an eyebrow. "You want me to play marbles with you?"
"The name of the game is Ringer," Steed announced, handing her a shooter marble. "Knuckle down."
Emma went into a full crouch on her hands and knees, unable to suppress a smile. "I haven't done this for nearly two decades."
"Back when you were Emma 'Cat's-Eye' Knight, Supreme Shooter of the Schoolyard?"
"I was a rope-skipper. Fancy footwork," she explained. "They called me 'Twinkle-Toes'." She watched as Steed arranged thirteen marbles in a cross at the center of the ring.
"Ladies first," he said. "First to reach seven wins."
Emma shot and knocked out a single duck, but she lost her turn as the shooter left the ring. "That's one. Do you do this often?"
"I had to play last year," he explained. "Against a marbles champion, a Cockney bloke named Pitters. Suspected of running a criminal organization down on the waterfront. It turns out, I had to play him for more than ten thousand pounds in order to infiltrate the gang." Steed made a shot, knocking out two marbles, but narrowly losing his turn. "Good thing I brought them down, or I'd have never gotten the money back. That's two."
"You lost to him, then?"
"Don't get your hopes up, Mrs. Peel. I've been practicing on and off for several months since."
Emma ranged around the circle for a better angle, coming to a stop with her shoulder rubbing against Steed's. She was close enough to smell his fragrance, the same one that she had found so comforting on his shirt in Paris. The memory sparked her imagination.
"There's a woman down at the dojo who'd like to meet you," she said carefully as she aimed her next shot. "A martial arts instructor named Mei-Ling."
"I suppose I could always go a few falls with her," he teased. "What's her interest in me?"
"From what I gather, she's smitten with your smile."
Steed grinned. "And indeed, what woman wouldn't be?"
Emma narrowed her eyes. Her shot went wide, making only glancing contact before leaving the ring. She looked directly at Steed. "Mei-Ling also seems to think that I should start dating again."
"I'm sure you'd have no lack of suitors," he replied breezily, feigning disinterest.
"You do think I'm attractive, don't you Steed?" she asked with a playful smirk.
Steed gave her a serious look. "As a jewel in an Ethiop's ear, Mrs. Peel." He launched and knocked four more marbles out of the ring, retrieving them for his pile. "That's six for me. I, of course, am only interested in your mind, and the power and cunning that lies behind your lithe muscles."
Emma wrinkled her mouth. "I bet you say that to all the girls."
"Only the ones who can defeat an enemy like The Ladja in hand-to-hand combat."
"There's a happy memory," she said brightly. "What happened to our diabolical mastermind?"
"Checkers is languishing in Siberia, last I heard."
"At least he has his mask to keep him warm," she offered. Steed effortlessly knocked out his seventh duck.
Emma faced the victoriously grinning Steed as she reclined on an elbow. "Well, things should be pretty quiet around here with him out of the way," she continued. "It's not like evil villains pop up every day."
-oOo-
The trapdoor opened and a wooden platform moved smoothly upward, carrying its occupant into the darkened end of the room. In the dim light, one could just make out his traditional Chinese outfit, a flowing purple robe with black lapels and a tightly-buttoned collar. His features were indistinct, but dominated by a braided Fu Manchu moustache. The Mandarin hat on his head was so heavily jeweled that it resembled a crown. He spoke tonelessly to the solitary figure that faced him.
"I am Lo-Chen." He paused a moment for effect. "And this," he gave a sweeping gesture, "is my Dragon."
A hulking form moved in the shadows adjacent to him. It lumbered forward, heaving its bulk from side to side as it approached.
Mei-Ling stood transfixed in the center of the room, trembling in spite of herself. She was naked except for a thin strip of shiny black fabric tucked between her thighs and held up by a G-string: her dancing costume. It was the only thing she was wearing when the hooded men had abducted her. The darkness made it difficult to discern the face of her captor, but she was certain it was the same Chinese gentleman she had glimpsed in the audience earlier that evening.
Lo-Chen continued. "You believe that you are skilled in the ways of fighting. You may think that you can escape my stronghold. The Dragon is here to show you that it can never be done."
The Dragon stirred in the gloom. There was a metallic click, and a great gout of fire erupted from the silhouette of its head. In the blazing illumination, Mei-Ling saw green, scaly skin as she stepped backward to avoid the heat. She tried to remain calm, but the shape in the shadows filled her with ancestral dread.
A malevolent laugh came from Lo-Chen. "Embrace her, my Dragon. Let her know fear."
The shape moved in closer, into the light cast by the single overhead lamp. Suddenly she realized that it wasn't really a dragon at all, but a man. Every inch of his skin was imprinted with jade green scales, like tattoos. He was completely naked except for a brief cotton loincloth—and two other articles. On his right wrist was a small wooden bottle with a hinged top. On his head, he wore a steel visor with two large, blazing red eyes formed from rubies.
Mei-Ling was paralyzed with fear as the Dragon Man raised his wrist to his lips and tipped back the wooden bottle to fill his mouth. Then, with the mechanical click of an igniter in his left hand, he spewed forth the flaming contents. She screamed in terror as the burning liquid formed a fireball that nearly reached her, stopping inches away from her face.
She lashed out in blind panic as she retreated. Her fists pounded at her adversary's head with every bit of power she could muster. The Dragon Man stood unflinching, heedless of her attacks as he continued to close the distance between them.
Mei-Ling gathered her composure and slammed a rigid fist into her opponent's solar plexus. He shrugged it off with a wave of his hand, as one would swat at a fly. She kicked sideways at his shin with enough force to fracture a tibia. Still, the Dragon Man crept ponderously forward.
She knew she was fighting for her life now, and there could be no holding back. Mei-Ling aimed a crippling strike intended to crush the Dragon Man's throat. Even as her fist made crunching contact, she regretted having to use her skills to kill.
The Dragon Man threw back his head and finally broke his silence. The noise that came from his throat was not a scream or a death-rattle, but a long and hearty laugh. Then he swung his mighty fist around to hit Mei-Ling flush on the temple, and she sank into darkness.
-oOo-