Frozen Out
Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
Timeline: Midway through season 2 of the original series, circa December, 1962-January, 1963.
Author's Note: A bit of fun that came to mind after seeing the latest season of Call the Midwife, which was set partly during the Big Freeze of 1963, and wondering what Steed and Cathy might have been up to when it was all going on. Hope you enjoy!
Cathy Gale surveyed the snow-covered streets of London from the warmth and security of her flat, and took a sip of her coffee. The winter of 1962-1963 was being billed as a doozy, and thus far it hadn't disappointed. Cathy struggled to recall the last time she'd seen so much of the white stuff. She'd foregone winter, and the concept of radically shifting seasons, during her time in Africa. There had been seasons there as well, of course, but nothing like this. The anthropologist in Cathy knew very well that climate went a long way toward shaping a people's culture, identity, and way of life, and she herself had experienced it firsthand by living in two very different parts of the world. Without the benefit of neat markers in the form of transitions from hot to cold and back again, her years in Africa had taken on a strange, amorphous quality in her memory, unshaped and undelineated. She often mused that the lack of weather-based cues was behind her difficulty in recalling exactly how long she'd been married. People always assumed it was because it upset her to think about how tragically short her marriage had been, cut off as it was in its prime. But to Cathy, it had felt sort of endless—a long, sun-kissed idyll that existed outside of time, a world of excitement and discovery and love, just for the pair of them. She still missed her husband dearly, but somehow, part of her still believed that if she went back to their farm in Africa, she'd find him there, existing in that same bubble outside of time, just waiting for her to join him.
Cathy was drawn away from the window by a knock on the door. Frowning slightly, Cathy moved across the flat, setting her cup and saucer on the coffee table as she went. She opened the front door and was met with a puff of frigid air, which was rather incongruous given that Cathy's front door led out into a corridor, not onto the snow-covered streets of London. Even stranger, her visitor appeared to be a hulking, rotund abominable snowman.
"Mrs. Gale!" the creature greeted, somewhat muffled due to the swathes of fabric wrapped tightly around where its mouth should have been. "I'm relieved to find you at home."
"You are?" Cathy was non-plussed, eyes wide with surprise at suddenly being confronted by what appeared to be a tourist from the Arctic. "I suppose I should be happy one of us is."
"The conditions outside are deplorable," the snowman continued, but Cathy was distracted by a blur of movement around its knees. Her hand shot out just in time to seize the collar of a snow-covered whippet before it could track its soaking wet paws around her pristine flat. "I tried driving over, and wound up stuck a few blocks from Queen Anne's Court. It'll wind the traffic wardens up no end, I'm sure, but I'm not the only weary traveller forced to strike out on foot."
"Steed," Cathy identified, lips pressing into a thin line as she attempted to keep her balance. The whippet was proving rather eager to deposit its accumulated snowpack onto her furniture.
"Whatever's left of me, yes. I fear I might have wasted away under the strain of slogging through the snowbanks." The scarves around the agent's mouth somehow managed to turn upward in a smile. "Can I come in?"
"I suppose you'll have to," Cathy said resignedly. "But stay on the mat until you get rid of those boots. Otherwise my rugs will never be the same." She handed the whippet's collar over to its owner. "The same goes for your four-legged friend until I can find something to dry her off."
"You're an angel of mercy," Steed praised, as Cathy made a beeline for the bathroom in search of a towel big enough to be equal to the task of drying Sheba. "Normally I wouldn't dream of imposing upon you."
"You wouldn't?" Cathy's distant voice carried a definite note of scepticism.
"I wouldn't!" Steed protested, a little beleaguered, as Cathy charged back in with a towel in hand that was more akin to a small blanket. "The power cut out completely in my building. Whole block left in the dark."
"I know the feeling." Cathy relieved Steed of the straining dog and commenced drying the creature's paws.
"I thought it might just be my area," Steed went on, ignoring Cathy's subtle jab at his modus operandi, turning his now free hands to the considerable task of shedding some of his many layers. "But I've asked around, and the whole city's struggling, to say nothing of other parts of the country."
Cathy nodded sagely, Steed's reports tallying with her own intelligence on the country's horrific weather. "They're calling it the Big Freeze," she told Steed, giving Sheba a rapid rub down to sop the worst of the water from her coat.
"Big and deep," Steed opined, hanging a third scarf and a second coat on Cathy's now-over-burdened coat rack. "Very dramatic, and very inconvenient. I prefer my snowfalls more picturesque, and less apocalyptic."
Cathy arched a sceptical eyebrow up at Steed, whose face was now, mercifully, visible. "Are you entirely certain it's down to natural causes?" she asked, carefully gauging Steed's reaction for any of his usual tells that indicated he was setting her up for another impromptu adventure.
But Steed seemed not to have anything up his sleeve for once, except the edge of a warm knitted undergarment Cathy could just glimpse peeking out from beneath his cuffs. "A mad scientist with a weather machine?" Steed emitted one of his trademark short, staccato laughs. "Your imagination's running away with you, my dear. Even our people haven't come across anything quite that absurd."
"Hmm." Cathy didn't sound convinced. She released the jittering Sheba, and the animal immediately proceeded to dash about the flat excitedly, narrowly missing one of Cathy's ancient vases, but mercifully not turning her rugs into slush in the process. She regarded Steed's heaping pile of discarded clothes with a critical eye. "Did you leave any clothes at your flat, or is the brown wool topcoat at the tailor's?"
"You may scoff at my layering," Steed sniffed, straightening his suit jacket, "but not all of us have the luxury of waiting the weather out in our flats, all warm and toasty. Nor do we all have the option of wonderfully insulating casual dress." He gestured vaguely at Cathy's leather pants and boots, topped by a knit sweater. "And anyway, I didn't come empty-handed." Steed lifted a hamper that was nearly obscured by the mass of clothes skimming the floor. "Before I set out on my perilous journey, I had a look in my pantry." He flipped it open to reveal a cornucopia of delights. "Coffee from the continent, some rather fine biscuits, brandy to ward off the cold, and some jellied bumblebees. And there's more besides." He beamed hopefully at her. "I thought we might have a winter picnic."
Cathy felt herself relax a little at the gesture of goodwill. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Steed. I admit my provisions have been running low. Most of the shops are closed."
"I noticed that on my trek here," Steed informed. "Venturing out of doors is definitely not recommended."
Cathy swept an arm into her living area. "You can spread them out in there, provided your dog hasn't destroyed everything in sight. Coffee?"
"Please." Steed strode into the living area, hamper in hand, and proceeded to unpack its contents onto Cathy's leather benches.
"I'm surprised that your people haven't called you in," Cathy mused as she poured the coffee and walked the cup back over to Steed's spread. "Shouldn't you be out coordinating the National Guard or ensuring we don't all fall prey to malevolent snow clearers?"
Steed chuckled at the image. "I haven't been on malevolent snow clearer duty since the war. Biscuit?"
"Thank you." Cathy took one from the proffered packet and sat down next to Sheba with a crunch.
"The department's mostly shut down, along with everything else," Steed told her, sipping his coffee. "Only skeleton staff. It's too difficult to get into the car park, and rumour has it the only reason anyone's still left inside is that there's too much snow piled in front of the doors for them to get out."
Cathy chewed her biscuit sceptically, if such a thing were possible. "So the whole department's been given a holiday? You included? Doesn't that leave us rather vulnerable?"
"Oh, they've thought of that." Steed reached into the hamper and withdrew a black box that definitely wasn't a packet of biscuits. "And I'm not on holiday. They're having us all stay in touch by radio. In case the phone lines go, you know, and we're needed. Which reminds me." He held up the radio's plug in illustration. "Do you mind?"
"Help yourself." Cathy reached for the jar of jellied bumblebees and studied it with wary curiousity.
"I see you already have," Steed murmured slightly peevishly, as Cathy turned the jar to peruse the list of ingredients, then untwisted the lid and tossed one of the jellied insects to Sheba. The dog caught it in mid-air, chewed, and let out a displeased 'ruff'. Cathy put the jar aside and went back to the biscuits. Steed was starting to wonder if Cathy was somehow trying to get his goat with her critique of his culinary offerings, but her poker face in these situations was impeccable. Unless she uncharacteristically burst out laughing at her presumed jape, she'd remain infuriatingly inscrutable.
Keen to get back to his provisions while he still had some left, Steed moved quickly to Cathy's nearest plug-in and set up the radio before pushing the prongs home.
The flat instantly went dark.
Cathy froze, biscuit halfway to her lips. "Steed…" she said carefully, in that stern, headmistress-way that suggested she suspected guilt but was fair enough to wait for confirmation before the heads started to roll.
"Another outage," Steed fumed, stalking to the window to check the status of the neighbouring buildings. They were all dark. "The entire block. Just like at mine."
"Steed…" Cathy repeated, a little terser this time. "Did you use that radio at your flat?"
"I never had the chance," Steed grumbled, turning away from the window in disgust. "I lost power before I could make a test transmission."
"When, exactly, did you lose power?" Cathy pressed, each word pronounced with clipped precision.
"Oh, around when I plugged it in," came the distracted reply.
"Around when you plugged it in?" Cathy rose angrily to her feet. "Or exactly when you plugged it in?"
Steed's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh, come now, Mrs. Gale, you can't possibly think that I—that it was my little radio that took out the entire block? It's a coincidence!"
"Once is a coincidence!" Cathy exclaimed. "Twice is grounds for prosecution!"
Steed's hands were raised defensively. "My dear, I don't claim to be a technological wizard, but I really don't think—"
"That's par for the course. No reason to change now," Cathy snapped, striding over to the coat rack and yanking large piles of clothes off of it, throwing them at Steed. "Out! Out!"
"Mrs. Gale!" Steed narrowly ducked an oncoming top coat. "I told you, my car is stranded, and my flat has no power. Where am I meant to go?"
"That's none of my concern," Cathy declared, continuing her sartorial onslaught. "Why don't you visit your employers, and ask them about that marvellous radio of yours?"
"I told you, they're snowed in!"
"Then they'll appreciate someone digging them out." Cathy yanked the radio from the wall and dumped it unceremoniously into the hamper.
"Mrs. Gale." Steed's expression was beseeching. "Think this through. We'll stand a much better chance of waiting this out if we can huddle together for warmth."
"I'll put an extra jumper on and take my chances."
Steed realised he was getting nowhere, and changed tack. "Would you really turn a man and his dog out in this weather?"
Cathy paused and considered. Her expression softened. "You're right."
Steed sighed in relief. "Thank you."
"The dog can stay." Cathy's mouth twitched into a wicked little smile. "We'll huddle together for warmth."
Steed's jaw dropped. "Mrs. Gale—"
"Good-bye, Steed. And I'm keeping the biscuits."
John Steed knew when he was beaten. He bent to pick up the discarded clothes from the floor, muttering dark words about taking a tropical vacation as soon as the airports had cleared. And Mrs. Gale was definitely not getting a postcard.
End