Life on Mars

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Larry Doomer. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Seventh in a series. Takes place in July, 1977, immediately after the events of the episode "Obsession." It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, Lost Boys, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, and Brazil.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Another fresh chapter up. Purdey meets someone else this time round, with better results...

Along with this update, I'm also uploading a brand new fic which was responsible for a lack of updates in June. It monopolised my time for a bit, and then I sent it off to be betaed. It's since come back, and I'm taking this opportunity to do a double update--a new chapter and a new fic. Rest assured this will not affect Life on Mars in any way. I'll still be updating it regularly. This is just a little bonus. It's called The Question, and if you're interested have a look and tell me what you think. 'Til next time!


Purdey walked down the Ministry steps in a daze, the events of the past few minutes replaying themselves over and over in her head. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be mad. Upset and disoriented, yes, but then who wouldn't be? But mad? No, that didn't fit at all. There was an explanation for all of this. For Larry. For her father. For Steed, the only one of those three who hadn't matched up to her mental image of the man she knew. Steed didn't know her. More than that, he didn't want to know her, nor have anything to do with her. That was the most galling thing, worse somehow than even her father and Larry coming back from the dead. Steed was supposed to be her ally, her friend. The man she knew would never leave her out in the cold, would never brush her or her problems aside as though they were trifling annoyances. But he'd given her the boot, almost literally. If Steed's reception was frigid, how were other people she 'knew' going to react? If they were all just as hostile, she was better off quitting while she was ahead, while she still had fond memories of those she thought she could trust.

No. That was wrong. She couldn't give up. Things weren't working out quite the way she planned, true, but that was no reason to throw in the towel. Not when she still had other avenues to pursue. She tried to rein in her fevered brain to focus on what she knew. Logic. That was what she needed. Logic. Cold hard logic. Evaluate everything as dispassionately as possible. She took a deep breath and went over what she'd found out so far. Steed. Steed was here, but not as she knew him. Or thought she knew him. If she had ever known him at all. No, she knew him, and that wasn't her Steed. She'd seen her Steed in the lift. She hadn't made him up. So this Steed was either an imposter or some other strange iteration. She'd have to tread carefully and see if she could convince him of who she was, bring him alongside. No matter where she was, John Steed was a valuable ally to have. That brought her to her other companion.

Gambit. If he didn't work at the Ministry, then where was he? His address hadn't changed, but clearly his mode of employment had. That made things difficult. Purdey started running through her options in light of this new information. HiHShe was so distracted she plowed straight into the back of the person in front of her, who had paused on the steps to check the time on the large clock in front of the building. The man—it was a man—stumbled forward a bit before righting himself, and Purdey grabbed the handrail to regain her balance. "Sorry," she apologized as he turned to face her. "It was my fault, I—" The words died on her lips as she finally saw his face. Those eyes…

"Gambit?" she breathed hopefully, moving quickly toward him so she could grab his arm with an iron grip lest he disappear again, the way he had the night before. Gambit's mouth dropped open and he gaped at her, blood draining from his face, his newly-pale countenance throwing the flicker of recognition in the blue-green eyes into sharp relief. He was frozen to the spot, eyes locked with hers as though her face had cast some sort of spell on him.

"How--?" he managed in an awe-filled voice, mouth desperately trying to form sentences. He gave up and finally settled for words. "You," he breathed, and his mouth quirked up at the ends in something like happiness. "It's you!" he repeated, with a little more enthusiasm, and Purdey nearly burst with joy. Gambit knew her! After Steed she'd been terrified he wouldn't, but he did. Purdey stepped in close, until they were face-to-face, grabbed a handful of his jacket, desperate to assure him that his eyes weren't failing him.

"Yes, Mike! It's me! Purdey!" she said urgently. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, ready to weep with joy. "You remember me! I can tell. Oh, I'm so glad. I thought--"

"Purdey…?" Gambit repeated, and frowned. Purdey felt her heart stop, and pulled away quickly. She watched in horror as the glimmer of recognition faded from his eyes, to be replaced with a heartbreaking sadness. He looked her up and down, as though not daring to believe what he was seeing. "Your name is Purdey? Not…." He looked away for a moment, swallowed hard before returning his gaze to her. "Purdey?"

"Yes. Purdey," she told him, but with much less enthusiasm. Her heart sank as she realized her wish hadn't come true. "You don't...you don't know me, do you?" she asked quietly, feeling all the newfound hope drain out of her.

Gambit shook his head. "I'm sorry, miss—" he glanced at her identification, "--sorry, Mrs. Doomer. I've never seen—I mean, I haven't had the pleasure."

"That much hasn't changed," Purdey quipped automatically, angry, but not at him. Now that the moment of delirium had passed, she could look at Gambit—really look at him-- for the first time. He was clad in a uniform—a Naval uniform, all black and gold. And the insignias indicated a high rank. The dark curly hair was cut short, so short that the curls could barely form. He had a scar through his right eyebrow, and the face, while physically the same, was composed, that of an officer who wouldn't tolerate disobedience, not a slightly roguish agent with a mischievous sense of humour. A cigarette was smoldering in his right hand, held loosely between his fingers. Clearly he'd been enjoying it when she'd run into him. As she watched, he frowned, catching up on Purdey's remark.

"What?" The voice was wrong, too. All the working-class tones had been ironed out in favour of a strident officer's clipped delivery. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I don't expect you to," Purdey said sadly. "Even if you're Gambit—"

"Yes, ma'am. Commander Michael Gambit, at your service." He saluted her smartly with the hand not holding the cigarette. "But I don't know where you got your intel. I certainly would've remembered meeting you. My name's been in the paper once or twice, but…"

Purdey shook her head. "No, we haven't met. Not in this life, anyway."

The frown deepened. "You're not one of those reincarnation types, are you?"

"I think that would be easier to accept. At the rate I'm going I should be a Buddhist in a few days." Purdey sighed. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Commander," she said sadly, feeling her legs give out. She sank onto the steps mournfully. Gambit watched her anxiously, clearly concerned for her well-being. The blue-green eyes were gentle. He flicked the cigarette away, all interest in it gone in favour of the girl on the steps.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Doomer?" he asked carefully, hitching up his trouser legs slightly so he could crouch beside her.

Purdey shook her head. "No," she admitted tipping her head back to look at the sky. "I'm lost."

"Ah, well, I can help you there. Where do you need to go?"

Purdey smiled sadly. "Not geographically. In life."

"Aren't we all?" Gambit quipped, mouth turning upwards in a brief smirk. Purdey smiled slightly in spite of herself. Gambit's grin wasn't quite right, but brief as it had been, it was comforting.

"Maybe," she agreed. "But I'm more scattered than others."

"How?" Gambit wanted to know.

"It's not important." Purdey looked down at his feet. No boots. Even the shoes were wrong. She liked the boots, all leather, the smell. She knew they were the current style, but they always made her think of Gambit. The musky smell of leather as they kept pace with her on the dance floor. If there had ever been any dancing. She looked up into the eyes. They, at least, were the same, shifting from blue to green even as she watched. Come on, Mike. Help me. Gambit looked back. Even if he didn't know her, he seemed to be able to read her mind.

"You look like you could use a drink," he observed, straightening up as he did so. "I know a pub down this end. My treat. If you think your husband wouldn't mind."

Purdey snorted angrily at the mention of Larry. "What's he got to do with it?"

Gambit clearly sensed the hostility, but didn't comment. It was just as well. She wasn't interested in explaining her complicated non-marriage at the moment.

"You don't even know me," Purdey pointed out, realizing she had no reason to trust this Gambit. She honestly knew nothing about him. "Why would you ask me, unless you have an ulterior motive?"

"If I wanted that, I'd have asked you to my flat, love," he said kindly, with a friendly twinkle in his eye. "As it is, you look like you could use a friend, and I'm not in the habit of leaving lovely young women to stew in their own juices." He smiled, and he was right for a moment. He reached a hand out to her.

Purdey looked at the hand for a moment, then slowly, hesitantly reached out to take it. The instant she made contact, the world brightened blindingly. Purdey was drowned in a storm of beeps and hisses. And somewhere, in the distance, Gambit's voice.

"Come on, Purdey-girl."

Purdey gasped, and blinked. The sound and light faded away. Gambit was looking at her, concern etched on his features. "What did you say?" she managed.

"I said 'come on, Mrs. Doomer,'" he replied in puzzlement. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Purdey said quickly. "Yes, I am--" She paused. She couldn't call this man Gambit, no matter how much he looked the part. Or didn't. And Mike was even more intimate. "—Commander," she said finally. "And call me Purdey. Please."

Gambit nodded curtly, and helped her up. "Purdey it is."

***

"I had an accident," Purdey told Gambit over the pint of bitter that she'd ordered by seconding Gambit's request. He'd raised an eyebrow at that, but hadn't commented. Purdey took mild pleasure in shocking him in spite of herself. "At least, that's what I'm told."

Gambit frowned as he looked up from lighting another cigarette. "You don't know?" he queried, putting his lighter back in his pocket and exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"Oh, I remember an accident," Purdey clarified, trying not to inhale his fumes. "Quite clearly. I drove into a tree. Not terribly hard, but I did hit it. It wasn't my fault, really—I felt dizzy and I must have passed out."

"Seems straightforward enough," Gambit observed, taking a sip of his beer before following it up with another drag on the cigarette. "What's the problem?

"The accident I'm supposed to have had here—it's not the same one," Purdey revealed, then pressed on when Gambit's features creased in puzzlement. "Look, when I woke up in hospital, they told me I took a fall during practice."

"Practice?"

"Royal Ballet. I'm a member."

"Ah." Gambit with a raise of his eyebrows. He looked impressed. "Very nice. How did you fall?"

"Stepped off the stage, apparently. Hit my head." She sipped the beer and shrugged. "At least, that's what I'm told. As I said, I don't remember any of it. In fact, I don't remember any of the events of my so-called life before the accident. This life I'm meant to be living. Everyone acts as though I've been working at the ballet all this time, that I'm married, and they expect me to know exactly what's going on and how it all works. But I don't. As near as I can tell I don't know anything about this life after 1966."

"Amnesia?" Gambit suggested.

Purdey shook her head, sighed. Here was the tricky bit, the point at which Gambit would either stay on out of curiousity or walk away before the waters got any deeper. "Amnesia means you've lost your memory. But that's not what's happened to me. I have my memories. They just don't match up with this life, starting about ten years ago."

"Hang on," Gambit interrupted, raising a hand to stop her, cigarette smouldering between his fingers. "Are you saying you remember things from some sort of alternate reality? Another life?"

Purdey smiled weakly. "Sounds mad, doesn't it? They've given me some pills. I'm not sure I don't need them."

"Well, you have had a crack on the head. All sorts of things can get mixed up," Gambit reasoned, obviously trying to reassure her. Purdey couldn't help but appreciate the effort. Gambit was much more understanding than Steed had been, and he hadn't dismissed her out of hand. She had one ally for the moment, it seemed. "Look, maybe things would be clearer if you backtracked and laid out all the places where things diverged. You could find out where the breaking point is, and trace what happened to you from there." He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, laced his fingers on the tabletop. "What's different, exactly?"

Purdey smirked. It was all so weird it was almost funny. "Everything. Everything's twisted. Things turned out differently, went the other way—down the other trouser leg, so to speak. People who should be dead are alive. Jobs I lost I'm still working at. People I thought I was close to don't even know who I am." She looked at him pointedly.

"Me?" Gambit asked quietly, studying his glass.

Purdey nodded. "You."

He worked his jaw for a moment, as though debating what to say next. When he finally spoke, his voice was tentative, as though he weren't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "How did I fit, exactly?"

Purdey studied his features, so familiar and yet so different. "It's odd," she murmured. "The same thing seems to have happened to you. I mean, the Navy. Now, my Gambit—if I can call him that—was in the service. But he left, years ago. And now he—you--works with me."

She thought she saw a flash of disappointment flicker across Gambit's features, but he hid it quickly, tried to look pleased with the proposition. "Sounds good."

"Well, we're not in a very good place at the moment," Purdey admitted with a sigh. "Something…happened, and you think I'm holding it against you."

"But you're not?" Gambit inferred.

"No, and I'm to blame for not correcting that misperception. I was going to, but I got interrupted." She pointed to her lump. "It's wreaking havoc with our working relationship."

"What is it you do, exactly?" Gambit wanted to know.

Purdey bit her lip. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"Nonsense. I want to help," Gambit insisted.

Purdey looked at the eyes again, pondering whether to continue. If he was a double, she could easily jeopardize the Ministry's bevy of secrets by telling him anything at all about her work. On the other hand, if he was a double, he would already know where she worked, who she worked for, and who she worked with. So long as she didn't start spilling state secrets or codes, she was still in safe waters. Nothing to lose. "If you really want to help, there is one way. I need some answers," she replied, side-stepping the question. "And I think you may be able to give them to me."

Gambit blinked, clearly unsure of what he could tell her that would be of help, but willing to try anyway. Purdey wondered why he was so interested in her, so keen to come to her aid if he wasn't a double, but she didn't have time to question his motives just now. Just don't tell him anything too important.

"Go on," he offered.

Purdey took a deep breath. "Well, first of all, you were at the Ministry today. I don't think you stopped for a smoke in front of that building randomly, so you must have had a reason for being there. Do you work with a man called Steed?"

Gambit looked shifty. "I've consulted with him once or twice, but only on Naval business," he said carefully, as though he were as unsure of how much he could trust her as she was of him. "But I'm not one of his mob, if that's what you mean."

"I see." She pondered the table top. Steed had lied about Gambit, that much was certain, although he could hardly be blamed considering the circumstances. She was a mad civilian as far as he was concerned, and whatever Gambit had talked to him about was probably top secret. Gambit took a sip of his ale and waited for her to digest this new information.

"So you do at least know each other?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed, looking resigned about the whole scenario. "Is that important?"

"It might be. You see, the three of us working together, but the two of you were partners before I came along. Things seem to be following a similar pattern here.

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Is that good?"

"Well, it means I didn't make it all up. That has to be worth something."

"Yes," Gambit said thoughtfully. "Yes, I guess it would be. But you say I should know you, too?"

"Ideally, but I can't have everything. It's a start," Purdey replied, sipping her beer. "Little things, but I'll take what I can get. If only I could prove to Steed that I'm genuine, that I'm not making this story up, that I actually do know the pair of you, I could get him onside as well. I'd feel so much better if we were three again. Then we'd be able to figure out what was going on." She chewed her lip in thought, then snapped her fingers. "The stud farm."

Gambit, deep in thought, started in surprise, nearly knocking his beer over in the process. "What?"

"Steed's house. If I know my way around too well, he'll have to at least consider what I say." She stood up, suddenly energized with purpose. "Do you have a car?"

Gambit blinked. "Yes, but…"

"Good. We'll need it. Let's go back to the Ministry."

"What for?"

She smiled. "Steed, of course."