Two Hours
by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel
Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
Timeline: AU. Anytime during the series will do. Be free, little fanfic!
Author's Note: Erm, I'm a little ashamed to admit I sort of half-forgot I'd started posting this. Too much focus elsewhere on the fic front, but I'm not going to let that happen again.
You're going to get two updates this time around. The purpose of this fic was to write something in "real time" as it were, with each scene occurring a mesaurable number of minutes from the last, and from the start of the fic, following the characters over a shorter period than is usual for a story. That means more updates, some of which will be quite brief, others notably longer. We'll see how it works. This is one of those experimental fics, and I'm figuring it out as I go. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
Her head hurt. That was the first thing she was aware of upon regaining consciousness. A pounding emanating from the back of her skull and circling round up into her eyes. She didn't want to open them, because even a tiny sliver of light made the pounding worse. Instead, she lifted one arm and sent a hand to the back of her neck to investigate. It discovered a bump and a small patch of stickiness. Purdey groaned and winced as she investigated further. Something had hit her. Hard. Maybe not hard enough to cause major damage, but hard enough to knock her out. She was sprawled on her front, and she could vaguely remember the ground approaching her face much too fast before she lost consciousness, but she didn't think falling had done it. The hand went exploring again, this time groping blindly in the immediate area around her head. She found a medium-sized chunk of rock with a patch on it that was suspiciously damp to the touch and indulged herself with another groan. That was the culprit. Bloody rock—literally. She bit her lip and tried to roll over on to her side, her position on her stomach not doing her neck much good. As she braced herself against the ground with one hand to push herself on to her side, it came in contact with another puddle of wet, sticky stuff. Purdey cracked an eye open and tried to look at it. It was blood, all right, but not hers—much too far away to be from her head, and her torso felt only bruised and battered, not damaged enough to bleed. It was then that her vision expanded to take in the background, beyond the crimson stain. Her eyes widened despite the stabbing brightness. The blood wasn't hers. It was Gambit's.
Purdey screamed.
