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 leaned back on the perilously high chair in front of Gambit's drafting board, and surveyed her work with a critical eye. Gambit used the board to sketch things that were rather more artistic than plans and diagrams, although he did dabble in that as well. She cast her mind to the well-worn, leather-bound portfolio stashed off to her right, just bursting at its fraying stitched seams with ideas for architecture, floor plans, and paint colours, amongst other things. He really was quite artistically talented, although he was also his own worst critic, always determined to do better.

Purdey was equally determined to give him the chance to do better, hence her now sitting at the drafting board with the list of dates and times Steed had given her pinned near the top, and notes and other pieces of evidence—receipts, photos, letters, and the like-she'd managed to collect arranged around it. Purdey tapped a pen against her lips and eyed the remaining mystery dates with a mixture of frustration and annoyance. She shifted uncomfortably on the chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs in an effort to find a pose that didn't make her feel like the leaning tower of Pisa. The chair was set for Gambit's height, and Purdey had given up trying to work out how to readjust it. That meant she couldn't touch the floor while remaining in her seat, but the chair was now so top-heavy that it was perilous to perch on it without any way to brace herself. She reconsidered her decision to use the drafting board instead of the dining room table, but the slant on the board meant she could view the whole picture without flattening herself across the surface or forever circling around to the other side. She sighed and felt the chair wobble dangerously, decided to cut her losses and slid off the seat before it did the job for her. It didn't matter. She'd looked at the pages for so long now their contents were practically seared into her brain. Maybe she'd think better if she stretched her legs and quit battling gravity. She clattered down the few steps that led to the board's elevated corner of the flat. She'd have to get Gambit to show her how to readjust the chair when he returned. It was another in the seemingly-endless list of reasons to get him back that was constantly compiling in her mind.

She'd had a lot of initial success with the list. Steed had given her a start, after all, and she'd been able to flesh it out with proof that she'd been with Gambit on other occasions. That still left some worrying gaps, and Purdey was trying to work out how to find information to fill them. She'd already settled on Sara as a good source of information. Even if the woman didn't know where Gambit had been herself, Purdey hypothesised that Sara might be able to point Purdey in the direction of someone who did. But that didn't mean Purdey was content to rest on her laurels, especially since there was no guarantee Sara would be able to help. Which meant thinking up other possibilities that could explain Gambit's mysterious absences. And one had instantly sprung to mind.

Emma.

It still irked Purdey to think that Gambit had a history with the one-time Mrs. Peel, no matter how platonic. And Gambit had assured her that it was platonic, but then he'd also waxed lyrical about the woman's attributes in the past. Purdey had always treated it as the equivalent of a schoolboy crush: starry-eyed adoration of an older woman, although Emma wasn't strictly that much older than Gambit, not that Purdey dwelled on that particular fact. But at least Emma had seemed unattainable, in availability if not age. To discover that the auburn-haired dream girl was, in fact, very available indeed, and furthermore, had been out gallivanting with Gambit before Purdey was even in the picture, was a very big blow to Purdey's ego indeed. Purdey had recovered, of course, and now that she was with Gambit, there wasn't much to worry about in terms of who held the prized place in his affections. But that didn't mean there wasn't a sliver of anxiety and jealousy that flared up at the mere thought of the woman's name. Purdey sighed. Gambit's life and reputation were on the line, so Purdey could stomach a little discomfort on his behalf. She'd have to. Which meant she had to find a way of contacting Emma, preferably one that didn't involve asking Steed. Purdey's pride was taking enough blows as it was; she didn't think she could take Steed's knowing smile as well. Silently cursing Gambit for his way with women, she set out to locate her predecessor, once removed.

vvv

Emma Knight answered her flat door and was amazed at who she found on the other side. "Purdey! What a pleasant surprise."

"Hello, Emma." The singular name, without honorific, felt alien in Purdey's mouth, ironically so given Purdey's own preferred mode of address, and the painful history she chose to forget by eliding the use of a second name. Emma had insisted she call her by it to avoid the whole confusing mess thrown up by her divorce and change of surname. Purdey supposed it was exasperating having everyone open their conversations with, "Mrs. Pe—I mean, Ms. Knight," so it saved time and discomfort for all involved. Only Steed was still allowed to call her 'Mrs. Peel', which, coming from his mouth, had become more of a term of endearment than a name. Gambit called her 'Emma' with ease, as though she'd never been called anything else. Although he'd had a lot more opportunity to practice, which was why Purdey found herself on the woman's doorstep…

"Do you mind if I come in?" Purdey continued, willing herself not to appear uncomfortable. "It's important."

"Of course." Emma stood aside to allow her entry.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Purdey apologised belatedly, even as Emma closed the door behind her. "I would have called, but I'm trying to keep a low profile."

"Not at all. You're always welcome." Emma's friendly smile only served to make Purdey feel more uncomfortable. "Would you like a drink? Mike always has Scotch, but I'm afraid he's never mentioned your tipple."

"Gin, please. If you have it." Purdey watched Emma depart for the drinks cabinet with a certain amount of relief. She'd always had a bit of a complex where Emma Peel, or Knight, or whatever she was called, was concerned. She'd been the gold standard of Steed's partners, held up as the paragon of espionage in Purdey's training classes—beautiful, multi-talented, accomplished, poised, confident, elegant, intelligent. Purdey's competitive nature meant that she was always wondering how she measured up—as an agent and as a woman. It was also whispered in the halls—although, tellingly, never when Steed was around—about the true nature of Steed's relationship with Emma Peel, how special it was. That was bad enough, but she'd at least thought Gambit was her own discovery, that she'd been the first of Steed's female compatriots to meet him. So it had irked her rather a lot when Steed and Gambit had turned up in Brazil with Emma in tow, and she'd been informed that Emma had pipped Purdey to the post by a week or two. Purdey had actually come around to Emma—the woman was friendly and amiable and didn't seem remotely threatened by Purdey at all, which somehow only dented Purdey's ego more. But in spite of herself, she'd found she got along with Emma quite well, and they'd drummed up quite the rapport by the end of their Brazilian adventure. But that comfort level had been slowly built and extremely fragile where Purdey was concerned. As she stood there, waiting for her drink, all the old insecurities were resurfacing, and coupled with her anxiety about Gambit's fate, it was making her quite uncomfortable indeed.

"Here we are." Emma handed Purdey a glass of gin before turning back to fix something for herself. "Have a seat wherever you like."

Purdey settled herself into a beautiful, ornate white armchair, suddenly conscious of what the gin would do to it if it spilled. Feeling rather like a child at a grown-up dinner party, she surveyed the flat. Emma's home was a mix of traditional and modern, not quite to Purdey's taste, but she couldn't deny Emma had a good eye, and had knit the contrasting eras together beautifully. It reminded her of Gambit's flat in some ways—the bookshelf filled with tomes on an eclectic array of topics; the penchant for abstract art; the love of modernity revealed by the automation and gadgets dotted about the place; the mat rolled up in the corner that would be used for a karate workout. Purdey had always wondered what on earth two people seemingly as unalike as Emma and Gambit could have to talk about—an ex-sailor, ex-racing driver born on the wrong side of the Thames, and a well-educated, independently wealthy business heiress. But the more she looked at the flat, the more she realised that they shared quite a few interests. Purdey wondered if Gambit ever felt her own company was somehow lacking because she didn't share some of those interests to the same degree. She hoped not. She suddenly felt woefully inadequate in the kingdom of the one and only Emma Peel—er, Knight.

"Not that I mind, but how did you find me?" Emma inquired as she settled onto the couch. "I'm not in the book."

"Gambit has your address," Purdey told her. She'd been almost afraid to look for it where she had wound up finding it—in Gambit's infamous little black book of telephone numbers. Gambit had gifted it to her after their first night together, a symbolic gesture to reaffirm how serious he was about their relationship. Purdey had put it in a drawer in his flat, not needing proof of his fidelity, but when she'd pulled it out again that morning, she wasn't sure what to think about the fact that Gambit had hidden Emma in among his other conquests as the oblique 'E.K.' "He must have been here before," Purdey realised belatedly, suddenly catching up on Emma's remark about Gambit usually having Scotch.

"A few times," Emma confirmed, crossing her legs so her trouser cuff rode up to reveal black ankle boots. Another thing in common with Gambit. "But more often than not we have other places to be."

"Yes. Gambit told me," Purdey said, a little too quickly. He had, too. Purdey had probed during their time in Brazil, when her insecurities had gotten the better of her. Gambit had flat out denied that he and Emma had ever been romantically involved, reassuring her that Emma had only ever been a friend. That had soothed Purdey's fears, but there was something about being here, now, in Emma's presence, to ask her about things that she'd done with Gambit off the record that made all the old insecurities and jealousies resurface. Purdey had always been jealous about Gambit's involvement with other women in a way that she hadn't where any other man was concerned, before they'd even struck up a romance. Even Larry hadn't aroused that sort of passion at the height of their romance. Then again, she'd never been in love with anyone but Gambit, not properly, so she supposed that made sense.

Emma cocked her head inquisitively. "Purdey, I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here? I don't imagine that you came all this way to ask me questions that you could have asked Gambit for yourself." She leaned forward intently. "What is it? What's happened?"

"It's Gambit. He's in trouble," Purdey said finally, then took a long pull of her gin, as though the admission alone had cost her precious strength.

Emma's kitten-like eyes widened. "You should have said so in the first place! Where is he?"

"I don't know," Purdey said bitterly. "No one does. He's gone on the run."

Emma sat back heavily, clearly perturbed. "Does Steed know? No, never mind. Of course he does. He'll be following his own leads." A thought occurred to her and she looked meaningfully at Purdey. "Did he send you here?"

"No. Not exactly." Purdey set the gin on the side table and reached for her purse, extracted the piece of paper Steed had given her. "Gambit is being accused of being a traitor."

Emma laughed exuberantly. "Mike, a traitor! That's about as likely as Steed selling secrets in exchange for a beach house in California."

"You're not the only one who thinks that," Purdey said wryly, delighted to have someone else vocalise her own feelings. "But it's true, as ridiculous as it sounds. You see he was—he was captured whilst stealing some papers when he was in the army." Purdey chose her words carefully, knowing Gambit wouldn't necessarily want the details of his story spread far and wide, even to someone he regarded as highly as Emma. "The woman who held him is in the country, and she wants the papers, and now she's managed to frame Gambit as being her co-conspirator." She handed Emma the page and the auburn-haired woman examined it with interest. "One of the things they're using to condemn him is the times when he went on leave unexpectedly. Usually it's hard to get him to take time off, but on these occasions he went of his own volition. This woman has fixed it so it looks as though every time Gambit disappeared, he got a payoff, ostensibly from her. I—we—Steed and I, we thought we might be able to help his cause if we could work out where he was during those times, and prove that he was doing something other than selling off state secrets."

"And you think that on some of those occasions he was with me?" Emma inferred, eyes skimming the page.

"Well, yes," Purdey admitted, feeling awkward again. "I mean, Mike did say that he'd spent time with you in the past, but not what you'd done together or when it happened."

"Of course he wouldn't," Emma sighed, pursing her lips as her eyes alighted on some pertinent dates. "I swore him to secrecy, and you know Mike never breaks a promise." Purdey smiled a little at that, a common refrain that Gambit himself often used to reassure her. "And you're right. On some of these dates he was with me. I'll mark them off for you." She rose and crossed to the black lacquered desk, found a pen and started to make notes on the page.

"You do realise that you might have to go on the record and tell them where you were and what you were doing?" Purdey pointed out, biting her lip in anticipation of Emma's negative reaction.

"Then I'll answer those questions, if it comes to it," Emma said simply, crossing the room to where Purdey sat and handing her the page. "I'm not about to let Mike sacrifice himself for a few of my secrets."

Purdey took the paper disbelievingly. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. He helped me without asking for anything in return. It's high time I returned the favour." Emma crossed her arms and considered. "In anticipation, I'll start drawing up an affidavit detailing what went on—in the least contentious terms possible, of course." She shot Purdey a cheeky smile. Purdey rather suspected that Emma liked being embroiled in the world of espionage again, no matter how tangentially. "I'll send it to Steed, shall I?"

"Yes, that'll be fine." Purdey bit back the urge to ask how much Emma was in contact with Steed now that they'd gotten past their initial awkwardness at being reunited in Brazil, but knew Emma was likely to play it as coy as Steed had when she'd made the same inquiry of him. "I'm sure Gambit will be very grateful."

Emma arched a sceptical eyebrow. "Only Gambit?"

"Well, I am, too, of course," Purdey sputtered. "And Steed. We all are."

"Yes, but you're the one who came here," Emma pointed out, sliding back into her seat with catlike grace. "I don't know what Mike told you about me, Purdey, but what he told me about you made it abundantly clear that he was completely besotted with you. And I know that our acquaintance in Brazil was extremely brief, but you seem different to me. As though something's changed between you and Gambit."

Purdey opened her mouth to protest, but Emma held up a hand to silence her. "It's none of my business," she said firmly. "All I'll say is that, if you did have any reservations about coming here today, for any reason, I want you to know that I consider Mike to be a friend. A good friend. And if something has happened between you, I want you to know that I'm happy for you both. I've seen the way he looks at you." Her gaze took on a wistful tinge. "When someone looks at you like that, it's very important not to take it for granted."

Purdey suddenly felt a wash of relief, as though an imaginary weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "I did take it for granted. For a very long time," she admitted. "But I'm doing things differently now." She left it to Emma to read between the lines, knowing that Emma was canny enough to work it out for herself. The kittenish eyes were dancing as Emma's lopsided smile made a reappearance.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Emma said lightly. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Possibly." Purdey rose and moved to Emma's window. She twitched the curtain aside briefly and looked down at the car parked opposite Emma's block of flats. A wicked smile crossed her face. "Quite possibly."

vvv

The surveillance men outside Emma's flat caught sight of Purdey just as she stepped into her car. They scrabbled to turn the key in the ignition but were brought to a screeching halt by a knock on their window.

They whirled around to find Emma standing on the pavement beside them, one hand on her hip. They rolled down the passenger side window with trepidation.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Emma greeted. "I'm flattered by the attention, but I have been out of the game for rather a long time. Or are you here to invite me to the department's tea dance?"

"Mrs. Peel," one of the clearly gobsmacked agents sputtered, less a greeting than a disbelieving identification. "We were, that is, it's nothing personal. We're only here to watch—ow!" His colleague nudged him in the ribs just before he revealed that Purdey was their quarry.

Emma shook her head in reprimand. "Very naughty, following one woman and being distracted by another. And I've changed my name, gentlemen. That's ten demerits for working off outdated information."

"Uh…" came the eloquent reply, as both men found themselves torn between catching up with Purdey and not wanting to annoy Emma. "Apologies, Mrs. P—Ms. Knight. No offence intended."

"Well, I suppose I could let it go this time," Emma said lightly. "But I'll be very cross if I find I'm under surveillance again without prior notice. It's very difficult to find somewhere to park on this street without it being clogged up by men with binoculars." She tapped the car's roof gently and straightened up. "As you were, gentlemen."

It was only when Emma had crossed the street back to her building that the agents realised they had well and truly lost Purdey.

vvv

Purdey, for her part, was currently ensconced in a phone box, surveillance-free for the first time in much too long. She dialled the number on the card Sara had given her, waited impatiently while it rang. There was a moment where she feared the woman wouldn't be in, and Purdey knew she couldn't risk leaving a message. The idea of losing her opportunity to contact Sara when she wasn't being monitored seemed a frustrating waste. But just when she was about to give up and ring off, there was a click and the receiver was picked up. "Lynley," came the brisk greeting, so like Gambit that Purdey momentarily froze as the idea of never hearing him answer the phone again flitted across her mind. But she had no time to dawdle, and knew Sara likely didn't either.

"Sara, it's me. Purdey," she added, just in case it wasn't apparent. Sara hadn't exactly been bombarded with calls from Purdey over the years. "Listen, I need your help with something. Can you meet me at Gambit's flat in an hour or so?"

"Of course," Sara agreed immediately. "I'll see you then." There was a pause and then a suspicious note crept in her voice, the agent in her kicking in. "Are you all right?"

Purdey smiled tightly in appreciation of the woman's sixth sense and inherent concern. "I'm fine. I'm on my own for once, but I doubt it'll last long." She thought for a moment, then added, "You might want to take the back way in."

"Right," Sara said briskly, sounding relieved that Purdey was currently free from prying eyes and ears. "I'll see you soon."

vvv

Purdey luxuriated in her surveillance-free drive to Gambit's flat. Muscles she hadn't even known she had been tensing had relaxed, and she caught herself humming along to the radio as though she hadn't a care in the world. Being watched and under suspicion, coupled with worrying about Gambit, was unquestionably taking its toll on her, she realised. The sooner they could clear Gambit, get rid of Vanessa, and bring him home, the better for all concerned.

Purdey knew from her own time in surveillance that the first move her tail would make would be to lurk outside places she was likely to return to in hopes of getting eyes on her again. She knew for a fact that there would be someone in front of her flat, and it was a given that Gambit's place would be given the same treatment. All the same, she still experienced a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she turned onto Gambit's street and saw the familiar car parked out front. She tried her best to ignore her watchers as she pulled into a spot across the street, wondering idly if they'd get out and accost her for giving them the slip earlier, but to her delight they seemed disinclined. Emma had undoubtedly cowed them once already. Their appetite for confronting two annoyed women in one day was likely at an all-time low.

Sara was already on the couch, making herself at home with a cup of coffee and a record playing when Purdey entered. Sara put a finger to her lips before Purdey could utter a word, then pointed at Gambit's side table. Purdey nodded in understating at the universal warning for a listening device. Obviously, Sara had had the time to sweep the flat before her arrival. Wordlessly, Purdey moved and turned up Gambit's stereo system as far as it could without deafening them both, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the soundproofing Gambit had installed to keep his neighbours from banging on his door late at night.

They retreated to a corner of the room where they could just about hear one another with loud whispers. "This is a list of the times when Gambit uncharacteristically took leave and was unaccounted for," Purdey told Sara as she unfolded the piece of paper she'd shown Emma. "They're the ones being used to damn him. Steed says he can explain some of it, and I've also been to see Emma Knight." That earned a surprised look from Sara, but Purdey had neither the time nor the inclination to explain the whole debacle. She was secretly pleased that Sara had been kept in the dark about Emma as much as she had. It was getting tiresome, being the last one to find out about Gambit's secrets. "And some—some of these times he was with me." Purdey tried not to blush, but she had a sinking feeling she was failing miserably. "I was hoping that you might know where he was during the ones left over. That is, if you don't mind going on record about them if you do."

Sara surveyed the list with a knowing expression, shaking her head in mild exasperation. "Just like Michael. He sits there with that damned unreadable, neutral expression, not saying a word, and then you find out he's secretly been divining the equation for the meaning of life or something." Purdey allowed herself a small smile in agreement. Gambit's poker face was unparalleled when he didn't want someone to work out what he was thinking. There was something unfathomable about the man when he wanted to keep people guessing. "That boy takes on far too many secrets at this own expense for the sake of other people."

"I won't argue with you," Purdey agreed wryly. "Can you cast any light on any of the times?"

"Hmmm?" Sara looked up distractedly from pondering Gambit's ability to keep schtum. "Oh, yes, some of these are me. I need someone outside the department to help me sometimes, you see, but it's not the sort of thing you broadcast. Everyone gets snippy about the merry hell it plays with the budgets and the allocation of resources. But if it pulls Michael's fat out of the fire, of course I'll admit it." She paused, then added. "Some of these were for family emergencies. Not that Michael would admit that to anyone if he could help it."

Purdey felt the corners of her mouth tug downward. "What sort of emergencies?"

"Best to let Michael tell you, if he's inclined," Sara said quickly, clearly as unwilling to talk about them as Gambit.

Purdey saw the tears well up before Sara could blink them away, but chose not to press the woman further on what was clearly an upsetting topic.

"What about the rest?" she asked instead, as Sara took a pen from the inside breast pocket of her coat and marked some of the dates off. "Do you have any idea what those could be about?"

Sara shook her head. "Sorry, I don't, and I have no idea who you could ask. You might have to wait for Michael to make contact and ask him yourself."

Purdey pulled a face. "He won't like that, even if I do get a chance to talk to him."

"No, he won't," Sara agreed with a laugh that contained just the edges of a sob. "But such is life. I'll leave that with you. I'm still working on debunking the bank accounts and the tickets. I'll let you know when I've got something."

Purdey took the paper and said, straining to be heard over the otherworldly voice of Bryan Ferry crooning over the speakers, "Thanks, Sara."

"My pleasure."