Same Time Next Year
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: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
For more information about the series, please see my profile.
Purdey wasn't sure how long they stayed in the shower, but eventually Gambit stopped shaking and she could feel some of the tension leave his muscles. She looked up from where her face was buried in Gambit's chest to find his eyes shut tight, but the little crease between his eyebrows had faded considerably, suggesting a level of relaxation, or at the very least semi-consciousness, which at that point was a blessing.
Purdey gently disentangled herself from Gambit, and switched off the tap. She looked to Gambit, but he didn't react, just sat there, water dripping out of his sodden hair. She squeezed some of the liquid out of her own blonde strands and carefully climbed out of the tub, retrieved two towels off the rack. She wrapped one around herself and draped the other over her shoulder. It was only then that she bent and touched Gambit's shoulder.
He wasn't quite as relaxed as she'd hoped, as evidenced by the way his eyes snapped open and his body jerked upright. "It's all right," she soothed, meeting his eyes, trying to quiet the pulse skipping along under her fingertips. "It's only me. I thought we could try going to bed."
Gambit looked uncertain. "Bed means sleep. Sleep means nightmares."
"We don't have to sleep," Purdey pointed out. "We can sit up with the lights on all night, if you want. But you must admit it'll be more comfortable than sitting in here all night." She took his hand, squeezed it reassuringly. "I'll be there the whole time, I promise. You won't be alone."
Gambit thought about this for a moment, but Purdey could feel by the way that he gripped her hand that her presence was an anchor in his otherwise-swirling mind. Eventually, he managed a small nod. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. I'll try."
Purdey smiled encouragingly, and helped him stand, his trembling limbs sapped of his usual strength. She guided him carefully out of the bath, making sure he didn't trip as he stepped over the side, and wrapped the towel around him as if he were only a small child. Which, at that moment, he practically was.
She guided him out into the living area, never breaking eye contact, certain that if she did he'd see something horrible in her place. She felt blindly behind her for the bed, not looking away from him for a moment. Eventually she found the sheet, drew it back. "You can sit down. I'll take care of everything else."
He swallowed hard at the sight of the bed, but she beckoned to him, trying to convince him there was nothing sinister hiding under the covers, and eventually managed to manoeuvre him between the sheets. But when she moved to step away, his hand was suddenly on her arm, eyes begging her not to go. "You said you wouldn't leave," he said in a panicked rush, the words tumbling out one after another.
"I'm just going to find something to wear," she explained patiently. "I can't very well sit in this towel all night. Much as you might want me to."
That got a small smile out of him, much to her relief. If he responded even a little bit to flirting, that meant some of the ghosts were being held at bay. "I'll just be in the next room, and only for a moment. And I'll leave all the lights on. Do you think you can handle that?" She was starting to wonder if leaving him alone at all, even for something as simple as getting clothes, was wise. She could see Gambit's uncertainty, too, but then he seemed to strengthen his resolve. The muscles in his jaw tightened stubbornly, and he nodded.
"I'll be okay," he vowed, and released her arm. It was a promise to her, and Gambit prided himself on never breaking a promise, especially to her. He was promising to make an effort to be strong, for her. Purdey nodded once to show him she understood, even if his making the gesture broke her heart a little, but hurried to the closet nonetheless. She surveyed the small selection of clothes she kept at Gambit's flat, briefly considered choosing a pair of pajamas from the multitude sent to him by his aunt, but in the end opted for a short nightgown. Something told her that of Gambit was able to feel her skin against his, it might be a comfort, a sign that there was someone nearby, that he wasn't alone.
She slipped the nightgown on, then retreated to the bathroom to hang up her towel, clean her teeth, and comb her damp hair into something resembling a hairstyle. Then she almost dashed for the living room, suddenly conscious of how long she was taking. It had probably been only a few minutes, but to Gambit she knew it could easily feel like an eternity, and in his state of mind that was much too long for him to do something unwise.
Her heart was in her mouth when she entered the living room, but to her relief Gambit was all right, sitting up in bed with the sheet pooled around his waist, looking pale but still physically intact. Purdey sighed in relief and moved to lay her hand on his shoulder. He started a little in surprise, but when he saw it was her, he grasped her arm like the lifeline it was. "You're back." He didn't bother trying to hide the relief in his voice, or to make a joke about his dependence on her, which told her how frightened he really was. This was Gambit stripped of all his defences, not because he chose to be vulnerable, or because the situation warranted it. This was out of his control, which was devastating for a man who put so much stock in his own self-discipline. He was relying on her entirely, and Purdey was determined not to let him down.
"Yes," she confirmed. "I said I would be."
Gambit bit his lip and nodded a little. "Yes. Sorry. I…I don't know what I thought would happen."
"You thought I might disappear," Purdey supplied, not unkindly. "Or that I was never real to begin with. But I didn't and I am. And I'm not going to leave you again. I'm just going to get some things from the kitchen, but you can watch me so you know I've not disappeared into thin air."
Gambit nodded again, eyes unbelievably wide, almost childlike. "Okay."
"Good." Purdey kissed his temple, then moved to the open concept kitchen that backed onto the living room. She cast around for what she might need during the night, collecting items as she went, welcoming the distraction of slipping into brisk, businesslike efficiency mode. A bowl of water, with ice, and a tea towel, to cool his brow, since he had a habit of overheating when he was dreaming or having flashbacks. A glass of water to make up for everything he sweated out. Some sleeping pills, though she wasn't sure she could convince him to take them. Gambit hated any kind of medication—it dulled his senses and his reflexes, two things he relied on to keep himself—and his partners-safe. But if he was desperate enough, and she was there to keep watch over him, then maybe he could persuade him to take them. She carried her bag of tricks to the side table in stages, then paused and moved to readjust the television so it could be seen from the now-extended bed. It might be a good distraction, she thought, though she wasn't sure how much Gambit would be able to appreciate anything he might watch. After much debate, she also poured a small measure of scotch into a glass, and added it to the table. Gambit had already quaffed a certain amount while he told his story, and she wasn't certain getting him drunk would help his already frazzled mind, but maybe it would be useful later on, if she was desperate. Finally, she found his Mozart record and put it on the turntable, needle down, but didn't switch it on. Music was a common stress-reliever for her, and because Gambit's flat was automated she could activate the player without having to leave the bed, just as she could switch on the television or the lights at will. She sometimes teased Gambit about his love of gadgets, but she knew they might prove a lifesaver that night, perhaps literally, even if she was hoping it wouldn't come to that.
Her preparations finished, she went back to the bed, where Gambit was still sitting, cross-legged, beneath the sheets, staring off into space with a haunted look in his eye that made her want to cry. She forced herself to remain impassive. If Gambit thought he was upsetting her, it'd only upset him more, and that was the opposite of what she wanted to do. So she braced herself and got into bed beside him, forced her tone to be breezy rather than overwrought. She laid her hands flat on the mattress behind her for support and leaned back. "So," she said gently to Gambit, who flinched a little at the sound of her voice. "What happens now?"
Gambit blinked at her for a moment, disoriented, clearly lost in unpleasant memories of the past. "Uh, I don't know to be honest. It doesn't really follow a schedule."
Purdey nodded, as if that made sense to her. "All right. What do you want to do next?"
"Not go through the rest of tonight," Gambit answered bluntly, and Purdey could see how frightened he was. It was disconcerting to say the least. Gambit wasn't one to show fear easily—he knew how to slip the mask into place, knew how to trust his training and instincts to see him through, had the discipline to fight panic and doubt and uncertainty. Even when he was scared, he still managed to suppress the worst of it long enough to make sure everyone made it through the crisis intact, or as much as that was possible. But to see Gambit this frightened, completely at the mercy of whatever he was facing and unable to resist it, let alone fight back, was a new and unwelcome sight. She was so used to leaning on Gambit when things turned serious, so certain that she could trust him as both friend and partner to lend his strength to her cause and help her through whatever troubles she might encounter. She'd done the same for him both professionally and personally before, of course. But never like this. Never had he been quite so raw, so vulnerable, so completely dependent on her to hold him together mentally and emotionally. She was strong, but she was going to have to be doubly strong tonight, to see them both through the long, lonely hours to come, with not even him recounting his horror story to distract them. But she was determined to do everything she could to help him on a minute-by-minute basis. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she let Gambit down.
"If I had a time machine," Purdey opined, watching Gambit's forehead crinkle slightly in puzzlement, "I'd take you into the middle of next week, and you could skip all this." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "But since mine's still in the planning stages, tell me, what can I do tonight?"
Gambit bit his lip, and she couldn't help but be disappointed that her joke failed to raise a smile. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never had anyone to help me through before. Never let anyone." He cast his eyes downward. "I don't know what to say, other than just be here. With me."
"I think I've already made it quite clear that I plan to do that," Purdey pointed out. "Why don't we try lying down?"
She felt Gambit tense up immediately, the muscles in his arms turning wiry. "Lying down means sleep. I don't want to sleep. Please." He was pleading with her again, helpless with fear.
"Shh." Purdey placed her hands on either side of his head, turned it so he had to look at her. "We don't have to sleep. Just lie down. We'll leave the light on and we can look at each other. You don't have to close your eyes. But you'll get awfully tired if you sit like this all night, and I don't think wearing yourself out will help. And if you do get frightened, we can always sit up again."
Gambit thought about this for a moment, then sighed. "Okay. I'll try."
Purdey smiled encouragingly, and supported his form so he could settle down onto the mattress on his left side. When she thought he looked comfortable enough, she did the same, stretching out on her right side so they were face to face. She met his eyes, reassuring him that she was here, unwilling to let that distant expression he'd been wearing throughout the night re-emerge. Gambit was looking back at her uncertainly, but at least he was looking at her.
"Would talking distract you?" she asked him. "Or does that only make it worse?"
Gambit considered. "Anything's better than thinking about it," he decided. "If we can think of something to talk about."
"Mike Gambit, you ought to know by now that I always have something to talk about," Purdey scolded gently, and Gambit laughed a little in spite of his current misery, which told Purdey that whatever she was doing, it was working.
"All right, I'll leave the topic up to you," he relented, happy to surrender to Purdey's irrepressible will. "Just nothing too strenuous. I'm not at my best."
"Well, all right, but a little healthy mental exertion might be just what you need." She considered for a moment. "For example, have you ever wondered which one Steed would choose if he was only allowed to have either his bowler or his brolly?"
That made Gambit chuckle again, and Purdey carried out both sides of the debate, admirably, all on her own, until he fell asleep.
vvv
It was hot and dark. Gambit couldn't see his hand in front of his face, but he could feel the sweat trickling down his back, stinging open wounds he hoped weren't as bad as he imagined. He was so tired, desperately needed to sleep. He'd lost track of time awhile ago, shortly after the last time they'd dragged him out of the room to force his head into a trough of water until he almost passed out. He didn't exactly look forward to that ordeal, but at least it was better than being in the dark, cramped room with the bucket that no one emptied often enough. Being out of his cell reminded him of the existence of things like sun and breeze and sky, even if they were only glimpsed briefly.
But that didn't stop him from starting at the sound of footsteps outside his door, his body trained to associate them with pain and questions and the effort required to keep from giving in. He was tired, so tired, but as the steps got nearer the adrenaline kicked in, and he was wired, eyes opening wide, even as the door creaked and the light streamed in, blinding him. His heart raced, sweat broke out across his body, drenching him even more. It was so hot, so stuffy. He was suffocating, drowning, and yet they were still somehow going to take him and make him suffer more. He didn't want to, couldn't take any more. Not again!
vvv
Gambit sat bolt upright with a cry, body drenched with sweat, scrabbling around frantically in the dark for something to hang onto, to make it harder for them to take him away, even if it only bought him a second or two. And then there was light-from the door! It had to be from the door!
"Mike!" The voice came from over his left shoulder, and there were hands on his arms, holding him tight, the touch tender, not rough. "Mike, it's me. It's Purdey."
Gambit swung around in surprise, came face to face with a pair of familiar blue eyes worriedly meeting his. He looked below them and saw the rest of Purdey's face. Purdey's. Not anyone else's. Just Purdey's. "Are you real?" he asked, voice shaking.
"I'm very real," Purdey assured, rubbing his back. "You were having a nightmare. Wherever you thought you were, you aren't there anymore."
Gambit looked hard at Purdey, expecting her to dissolve into nothing at any moment. "Purdey."
She nodded in confirmation. "Purdey."
He swallowed hard, then looked beyond her. The light that he had been so sure was an opening cell door was, in fact, the lamp on his side table, which Purdey had undoubtedly turned on the moment he'd begun thrashing about. He started to feel himself relax.
"Purdey," he repeated, sagging against her. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise," she chastised gently. "You had a nightmare, that's all, but it's all right now."
He wanted to cry in relief at her words, and in spite of himself, he did. A little. "Right, right."
"Shh," she soothed, wrapping her arms around him and holding him until the sobs subsided.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked eventually, when he could trust his voice to stay steady enough to speak.
"A little over an hour and a half," she told him. "Maybe closer to two. How long does it usually take the nightmares to start?"
"They usually come on sooner than that," Gambit replied, taking the glass of water she offered him. It was blessedly cool, passing over his parched lips like a soothing balm. He handed it back to her when he was finished, and she quickly swapped it for a cloth dipped in ice water, applied it to his brow to try to staunch the sweat that was trickling down his temples. Gambit sighed in relief as he felt his body begin to cool and calm.
"What does that mean?" Purdey wanted to know, and Gambit looked at her in confusion for a moment, until she clarified what she meant. "That it took longer than usual. Is that a good sign?"
Gambit took the hand not currently occupied with the cloth and squeezed it gratefully. "I've never slept that long before the nightmares started. Not once. So yes, I think it's a good sign. And it's all down to you."
"Well, it's not all me," Purdey demurred, but looked quite pleased with herself nonetheless. "If you hadn't quit paying attention to my scintillating line of reasoning about why Steed would definitely choose his bowler over his brolly, you wouldn't have fallen asleep."
"You'll have to catch me up some other time, when I'm in better shape to appreciate it."
"I intend to," Purdey assured, removing the cloth. "Better?"
"Much. Thanks, Purdey-girl." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. The nightmares were still there, lurking in the back of his mind, but they felt more distant than they had a few moments ago. "I think I might try going back to sleep."
Purdey looked surprised. "Already? I thought you'd take some time to calm down after that."
"So did I. But it seems like I've found the best way to recover from nightmares is a chat with you." Gambit settled back down under the covers. "So long as you don't abandon me, I think I'll be all right."
"Well, I was planning on going out to dinner later, but if you insist." Purdey rearranged the cloth so that it would drape over his forehead without her assistance. "Just wait a moment while I pay a visit to the facilities."
vvv
Gambit slumped forward as far as his bindings would let him. The chair was bolted to the floor and kept him from tipping over, not that he would have felt much if he hit the concrete. Parts of him had gone blessedly numb from the bindings, his wrists where they were restrained to hold his arms in place behind his back. The pins and needles were almost a relief after the pain that had been doled out for the past three hours.
His mouth was bone dry—he couldn't remember the last time he'd had any water—and tasted terrible, a mixture of blood and vomit and the aftertaste of whatever truth serum drug they'd pumped him full of this time. He'd been surprised by that, the recourse to drugs. They didn't seem like Thyme's style. In their brief but intense acquaintance, he'd pegged her as a far more psychological adversary, one more likely to play with your mind to get what she wanted, leavened with the odd bit of pain for good measure. Gambit knew how to fight the drugs, had been trained in it before he was deployed, but he still found it rather odd that they were only being used now, after something like two to three months—by his count; it was hard to keep track of time in the cell—into his interrogation. Still, whatever reason was behind it, Gambit knew it couldn't be good. Which was why he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor as he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled closer and saw a pair of army boots enter his field of vision.
"Well, Major?" The voice still made his blood run cold, even after all this time. But he didn't let on, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, and the dark curls that were littering it. They'd obviously cut his hair again a few hours earlier. He felt his brow crease in minor bemusement. How had he forgotten that? He knew intuitively that that couldn't be a good sign. His mind was starting to go. Who knew how long it would be before he lost any semblance of sanity?
"You know that waiting me out is never going to work," came the voice again.
"I don't believe that," Gambit said flatly, with just a touch of sarcasm. "I'm bound to make you late for a meeting or something at some point. May as well keep at it. I've got time to kill."
There was a rustle of clothes as the feet rearranged themselves, and Gambit could tell she'd leaned forward. "I have things to kill, too."
"I'm sure you do, but could you start with the rats in my cell? It's getting a bit crowded in there."
He heard a short, sharp intake of breath that he recognised as the infuriated inhalation of someone whose temper was wearing thin, followed by deep breaths that revealed a brave attempt to calm oneself. "All right. Have it your way, Major," she growled, rising from her chair and walking past him toward the door. In spite of himself, Gambit relaxed the tiniest fraction of an inch. Another round of inquisition over for the day. Another hurdle surmounted, however small, however insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
But he should have known better. He should have known Vanessa wouldn't leave him alone that easily. Without warning, hands were gripping his shorn scalp, fingernails digging sharply into his flesh newly-revealed flesh. His head was forced back, tipping over the back of the chair, eyes meeting Vanessa's own as she bent over him, lips parted in a snarl. She looked half-crazed, and Gambit wondered seriously, for the first time, if she was going to kill him. If he'd finally worn her patience too thin. Dully, he realised that this intelligence didn't do much for him, that he was somehow, not suicidal, not resigned, but accepting. If this was how it ended, so be it. He'd had so much of his autonomy taken from him long before he'd found himself in Vanessa's cell. One thing he could choose was to not be forced to give up on something he believed in so strongly. And if, by some miracle, he ever did find a way out of there, he was going to hold out just as much with his so-called commanding officers about the whereabout as he was with his torturer. A manipulator was a manipulator, and Gambit had had his fill of them for life.
"You can hold out as long as you like, Major," Vanessa was snarling into his upturned features. "But no one's coming for you. Everyone thinks you're dead. And no one cares. One day you'll beg to give me the papers, just so I'll put you out of your misery."
"We'll see about that," Gambit shot back. "But you shouldn't try to take away all my hope. Give me only my principles and convictions to hang onto, and I'll cling to them twice as hard. And then we'll both be in for a battle." He matched Vanessa's feral grin with one of his own. "So I'm up for outlasting you out of sheer grit, or stubbornness. But I'm not going to be your puppet. And if my people do happen to come for me, you can tell them the same thing. I've had my fill of the lot of you." With that, he wrenched his head from her grasp, and commenced glowering at the nearest wall. Much to his satisfied surprise, he thought he caught a glimpse of a disgruntled Vanessa just before he did so. He was going to need every victory he could get in the days to come, and heaven knew they were going to be few and far between. May as well savour them.
vvv
Purdey awoke with a start, and instantly knew something was wrong. Turning on the light and sitting up only confirmed it. Gambit was gone, the sheet pushed aside, the cloth she'd put on his forehead lying limp and forlorn on the side table. "Mike?" Purdey called, throwing back the bedclothes in a frenzy of long legs and nightdress. She quickly registered that Gambit's trousers were missing from the pile of clothes she'd laid carefully on a chair. She'd gotten up for a glass of water not an hour ago. Gambit had been sleeping soundly then. Had she woken him up when she'd gone back to bed? She cursed herself for falling asleep. She should have stayed awake, kept a vigil. One night without her beauty sleep was a small price to pay for Gambit's well-being and her peace of mind. The idea of Gambit getting up in the night and wandering off half-clothed and not in his right mind made her stomach twist into the most diabolical of knots. "Mike?" she cried again, a little more desperately this time, padding around the flat to search for any other clues of where he'd gone. She checked that the front door was still closed and locked, and felt a brief flutter of relief, then set about searching the flat, heading toward the guest room, bare feet slapping against the tile near the closet. "Mike?" On instinct she tried the bathroom door, flung it open just in time to catch the full effect of Gambit being loudly sick in the loo, muscles in his naked back straining violently as he emptied his already-hollow stomach into the basin.
"Mike," Purdey repeated, softer this time, voice laced with sympathy, felt her legs go rubbery with relief. She snagged a towel off the rack, one that hadn't been used to dry them off after their shared shower, and knelt down beside him as he half-sat, half-fell, back onto the tiles, the strength of throwing up costing more than he could afford. "Here," she said gently, draping the towel over his bare shoulders before stretching to pick up the glass he kept in the medicine cabinet. She filled it at the sink, a difficult stretch on her knees, but she managed it. She didn't want to stand lest Gambit think he was being abandoned. She settled back on her knees with the full glass and handed it to Gambit, keeping one hand on it as she did so. "Rinse your mouth," she instructed, like a mother to a sick child. "You'll feel better." Gambit drank without comment, swirled and spat it in the bath before settling back against her. Purdey left the half-full glass on the tiles beside her in case she needed it again, then set about cradling Gambit's shaking form against her. She felt his forehead and found he was burning up again, her palm coming away slick with sweat, and there was a deep line between his eyes and a general pallor to his skin that made him look more ill than traumatised. "Sick with trauma," she remembered her Uncle Elly saying on those few occasions he'd been serious about his time in service, and the men he'd seen suffer in the aftermath. Gambit was among their number that night, unquestionably.
"Do you want to go back in the shower?" she asked after a moment, as she stroked his hair absently. "Cool down again?"
"No," Gambit croaked, eyes still shut tight, whether from pain or nausea or bad memories she didn't know. "I just—can we just sit here for awhile?"
"Of course we can," Purdey assured. "What did you do when you were alone, and didn't have anyone to care for you?"
"Sat here on my own," Gambit said simply, blearily. "I've been here before, lots of times, but not with good company." Purdey felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the compliment, a bright spot in this awful night, and kept up stroking his hair. Gambit shifted suddenly, uneasily, pulling away from her. "What's wrong?" she wanted to know, even as he fell forward onto his hands and knees, crawling away from her. "What happened?"
"I need to lie down," he croaked, settling down on his side against the tiles. He noticed her looking at him with alarm, and smiled crookedly, apologetically. "I'm feeling sick again. Probably all that scotch from earlier coming back to haunt me. Besides, I can't relax if I can feel you but can't see you. Knowing that there's someone behind me, someone I can't see, it's—"
"Too much like the cell," Purdey finished, mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. "I'm sorry. I didn't think of that."
"You couldn't have known," Gambit murmured tiredly, curling up on the tiles, towel sliding off his bare shoulders. "You can go back to bed, if you like. I know it's not comfortable, but the tile's cool at least. It feels better than the bed."
"I'd rather keep you company," Purdey asserted, pulling the towel back over his shoulders before taking another one off the rack for herself. She spread it over her body like a blanket, lay down facing him. "Is this okay?"
"Everything about you is okay," Gambit murmured thickly. "Sure you don't want to get a pillow or something? I know it's not exactly the Ritz down here."
"And leave you alone? No, thank you. You gave me the fright of my life when I woke up and found you missing," Purdey said with feeling. "Anyway, I've slept in my share of uncomfortable places. When we were rehearsing a show at the ballet, I used to sleep on the floor backstage all the time."
Gambit was watching her with slightly-glazed eyes, and she could tell he was torn between a nightmare from the past and the reality of the here and now. He was desperately trying to focus on the latter, and Purdey made it her personal mission to help his cause as much as possible. "Couldn't the Royal Ballet spring for a couch?" he wanted to know, a question stretching across the expanse of space and time between them.
"One or two," Purdey acknowledged. "But we had a whole troupe to accommodate and the hours were long. Everyone was competing for the good napping spots. It was all I could do to curl up on a sandbag under a shawl in a corner somewhere."
Gambit slanted a sceptical eyebrow at her. "You're sure this was the ballet? Not a scene out of 'The Little Match Girl'?"
"Gambit!" It was an automatic cry of outrage, one without much force behind it. She was more grateful that he was talking. "It's not all glamour in the arts, you know. It's mostly hard work—blood, sweat, and tears, and lots of competition to be at the top. It only looks pretty and fairylike when we're onstage. We worked long hours for very little pay, and we were always bruised, our toes were always bleeding, and everyone was always exhausted."
"But you loved it." Gambit's lips were tense, but somehow he managed a smile.
"But I loved it," Purdey confirmed with a wistful sigh. "I do wish that I'd been able to stay a little longer. Sometimes."
"Only sometimes?" Gambit sounded surprised.
Purdey shrugged. "Well, if I had stayed, I might never have ended up at the Ministry. Might never have met you." She reached out and stroked the curve of his jaw. "And that would have been much, much worse than never dancing Odette."
Gambit laughed softly. "You're sure about that? Lying here on a bathroom floor with a man having a nervous breakdown?"
"Very sure," Purdey said sincerely, smiling away his fears.
"I always knew you were mad," Gambit quipped, but she could tell he was barely fending off tears of gratitude and love at her devotion, here and now, in the depths of his despair.
"Then we make a good pair," she pointed out, shifting closer to him so she could curl her arm around his waist, maintaining physical contact.
He nodded almost too earnestly, eyes still flickering with ghosts. "Tell me more about the ballet," he almost pleaded.
"What, now?"
"I've always wanted to know more about your dancing days. Now seems as good a time as any."
"What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything."
So she told him. Told him about rehearsals and classes and costume fittings, about the smell of the theatre and the thrill of applause, about friendships that had since drifted into Christmas cards and the odd telegram from overseas. About how dance had always been the one thing she could hold onto in good times and bad. Very bad.
He didn't fall asleep, but he did drift into a half-somnolent state, just when her throat had gone raw from talking, and then she was finally able to pull him to his feet and sleepwalk him to bed, where he collapsed without comment into a deep slumber.
