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.

It was early in the afternoon two days later when Purdey answered the knock at her door and found a deliveryman waiting on the other side. He looked up from his clipboard and stared at her expectantly. "Miss Bryde?"

"Yes?" Purdey regarded him with a touch of suspicion. She wouldn't put it past Larry and co. to use any kind of deception to get her to talk.

But the deliveryman looked decidedly uninterested in her plight. "Package for you," he explained, hefting a small box. "You need to sign for it."

Purdey took the proffered clipboard and signed her name, trying to think what she might have ordered and forgotten about, but nothing came to mind.

The deliveryman, satisfied with her handiwork, handed over the box and bid her good day. Purdey's puzzled frown increased at the box's lightness. Whoever it was had clearly shipped her air. It was only when she looked at the address scrawled on the top of the box that she froze.

It was Gambit's handwriting.

She hurriedly closed the front door and pulled a knife from the kitchen drawer, set about cutting through the packing tape, taking care that she didn't tear anything unduly, in case something was hidden underneath. It came away easily, and she was rewarded with a single, plain piece of card peering up at her from inside. She snatched it up and read the scrawl, also in Gambit's handwriting:

Go to your mother's. Today.

You'll need an escape route.

It was unsigned and undated, but the postmark told Purdey it had been sent that morning, and the handwriting was unambiguously Gambit's. Purdey reread the message, then promptly took it, and a lighter, to the bathroom, where she burned it and flushed the remains down the loo. Larry, McKay, or anyone else was definitely not going to get his hands on it.

After making sure her bathroom was appropriately aired out, Purdey returned to the living room and pondered her next move. She wouldn't be able to pull off her escape single-handed without attracting attention. She needed help, and she had a fairly shrewd idea about where she could get it. A plan slotted together in her quicksilver mind.

First things first. She went to the phone and dialled a number by heart. "Hullo, mum. It's me…"

vvv

Carver was looking forward to a nice afternoon, a quiet afternoon. With no one bellowing for this and that or hurling the occasional bit of abuse. He had a nice, soothing cup of chamomile tea on hand, and the latest copy of the racing forms to enjoy. He was going to savour the silence and try not to think about how it was only a temporary reprieve from the great, huffing windbag that would, in a few short hours, be gracing him with his reddened face and ice phobia.

As Carver moved to sit down at his pantry's table, pondering the hard, uncomfortable chair that was the only type of seating available, a thought struck him. The Colonel's office, complete with large, plush leather chair, was waiting, unoccupied, for someone to fill its uncharacteristically silent walls. Carver debated inwardly. Technically it was an act of insubordination to even consider parking his sub-ranked posterior in that chair. But then again, it was meant for the highest ranking officer, and when he was the only person there, that made him the highest, surely? Carver smiled a self-satisfied smile. Yes, that reasoning would do. Besides, Carver deserved to occupy the chair that so often contained the bane of his existence. No one would ever know, and it would make the Colonel's return that much more bearable when the man reminded him that it was he who sat behind the desk and gave the orders. Balancing his tea in one hand and tucking the racing form under one arm, Carver opened the door connecting the pantry to the office and stepped inside.

The office was so quiet, so peaceful, serene. Sunlight filtered through the window and spilled over the garish desk and the animal head trophies, small motes of dust floating in the yellow rays. Carver sighed contentedly. Perfect. Only swapping his tea for the iced variety could make his small act of rebellion more complete.

The chair was facing away from Carver, toward the window, but this was not of particular concern to him as he strode toward the desk. However, as he neared his destination, there was a slow, but deliberate, movement from behind the desk. It took him a moment to realise that the chair was turning, very, very slowly, but inexorably, to face him.

Carver lurched to a stop in surprise, slopping some of his tea over the rim of the cup and onto his hand in the process. He yelped as the piping hot water burnt his skin, and the racing form slipped from under his arm, splatting unceremoniously onto the floor face down. As Carver nursed his burned hand, the chair continued its slow journey, and when he looked back up, he found himself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"You!" Carver exclaimed, recognizing the short blonde hair and slim figure immediately. Her legs were crossed casually, and one hand reached up behind her head, clutching the chair back with a relaxed grip. He was quite familiar with this girl, the one who had insisted on being admitted to the base and playing a prank on the Colonel. She had made a few more appearances since that unpleasant first meeting. She took after her uncle, Carver mused ruefully, and now she was having a bit of fun at his expense again.

If only he didn't find her so attractive…

"Me," Purdey confirmed brightly. "Sorry, did I startle you?"

Carver tried to wipe the surprise off his face in favour of a stoic soldier's expression. He was obviously only partially successful, judging from the smile tugging at the girl's lips as she watched him. "It's all right, miss. It's just that no one's scheduled to meet the Colonel today, and his chair is definitely off-limits."

"Oh, Uncle Elly won't mind," Purdey said casually. "Do you?"

"Why should I, miss?"

"Well, it seems to me that you were planning on having a seat here yourself when you came in…"

Carver blanched. If the girl told the Colonel, he'd never hear the end of it. "No, miss, I would never—that's against regulations," he sputtered. "Really, I just came to make sure everything was in order before I left for the canteen."

Purdey smiled a friendly smile. "Don't worry, Uncle Elly won't hear a thing from me. I promise." She looked vaguely around the office. "I need to see him. It's urgent."

Carver drew himself up to his full height. "The Colonel has gone to lunch," he announced in his best officious voice.

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "I pieced that much together myself. You wouldn't be willing to tell me where?"

Carver shook his head. "Colonel Foster was quite explicit when he told me that he didn't want to be disturbed."

"I can imagine," Purdey said dryly, quite aware of her uncle's colourful vocabulary. "But I don't think he meant it to apply in emergencies, particularly those related to his favourite niece…"

Carver shook his head, tight-lipped. "Sorry, miss, orders are orders."

Purdey sighed. "Oh, well. I'll have to call on him when he returns. And I'm sure he's having such a lovely day, too. It'll spoil his mood when I tell him about what his batman gets up to on lazy afternoons."

Carver gaped at her in horror. "But miss, you said you wouldn't!"

"I did say it was an emergency. I don't have time to waste. Someone's life is on the line. Someone important." All the humour was gone from her voice. "Please, Carver."

Carver swallowed. She had him there, and for once she looked deadly serious, all suggestions of teasing gone. "All right," he said resignedly. "He's at the Arrow Club, having lunch with some of the other commanding officers. He's meant to be back by 1400h, but he's usually at least—"

"Half an hour late," Purdey finished. "I know. Thank you." She stood, made her way across the office, turned at the door. She nodded at Carver's burnt hand. "Do you know, if I were you, I'd put some ice on that. If you can find any." She treated him to a quick wink before disappearing out the door.

Carver rolled his eyes expansively and set off to find some ice.

vvv

Colonel Elroyd Foster was sipping a nice brandy. He quite enjoyed these monthly meetings with his fellow commanding officers—even if some of the misguided buggers did insist on icing their drinks.

Officially, they were meant to be discussing strategy, regulations, budgets, that sort of thing. And they did, to be fair—for about the first half an hour while they waited for the food to come. After that, they came up with their decisions for the reports, tucked into one of the club's excellent steaks, and moved onto the cricket scores. They weren't picking up the tab, but that didn't mean they weren't entitled to enjoy themselves a bit.

The club wasn't officially "gentlemen only"—women had been allowed in recent years after some particularly vocal wife of one of the members had rallied her fellow military spouses and gotten the rules changed, and the occasional wife or daughter was now seen within the confines of the dining room. But old habits died hard, and it was still a bit of a shock to see a young woman, unaccompanied, stride into the dining area. That was why all conversation ceased at the Colonel's table as Purdey's shapely figure stopped in the doorway and began scanning the area.

Foster had his back to the entrance, and as such eyed his fellow officers with bemusement. "What the devil is it?" he asked Colonel Andrews, who was seated to his immediate left.

Andrews blinked as though coming out of a daze. "Young woman, old boy. Easy on the eyes, too—what's this? She's coming this way!"

Elroyd twisted to get a better look at this wonderful creature, nearly dropped his brandy when he saw that it was his niece. She smiled when she saw that he was turned her way, and waved cheerily. All eyes at the table immediately swiveled to Foster, who felt a swell of pride. Good for my image, yes indeed, very good….

"Uncle Elly!" Purdey greeted, finally reaching the table and bending to give her uncle a kiss on the cheek. He was the only one still seated—all the others had stood as a courtesy to the female of the species. "Sorry to interrupt your lunch date, but I need your help." She nodded to the other men at the table. "I apologise for the intrusion."

"Not at all, not at all," Andrews demurred. "Foster, old boy, aren't you going to introduce us to this charming young lady?"

"Of course, of course," Foster agreed gleefully, happy to show off his favourite niece to an appreciative audience. "This is Purdey, Acacia's daughter—my niece."

"Ah, I remember Cacy," one of the other officers put in. "You take after your mother, my dear. Very much so." There was unanimous agreement around the table. Everyone remembered Acacia Foster, Elroyd's twin sister, and they'd all hoped to have a chance to take her out, too, until a handsome young man by the name of Jonathan Bryde had appeared on the scene, and everyone else had been left out in the cold. Not that they were happy when he passed on, but there had been a good deal of disappointment when that bishop she ultimately remarried had shown up.

"Better Cacy than you, Foster," Colonel Sommers, seated on Foster's other side, quipped.

Purdey grinned. "Do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?"

"Not at all. Give us a moment to clear the air, eh?" Andrews nudged the officer on the other side of him in the ribs conspiratorially.

Foster harrumphed, and Purdey could see by his reddening face that a retort was bubbling to the surface. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and pulled her uncle to his feet, gently yet firmly. "Back in a moment," she told the other officers, dragging the sputtering Elroyd to a nearby booth. He stewed for a moment after he sat down, took a few deep breaths. Purdey waited patiently for him to calm himself, knowing that he wouldn't be any use to anyone while he was fuming. Eventually, her uncle reined in his temper to the point of forming sentences that were suitable for indoor speech and didn't blow out the eardrums.

"Would you like a drink?" was his first question. Purdey accepted happily—her nerves were raw and her adrenaline had been pumping ever since she received Gambit's message.

Elroyd grinned happily. "Waiter!" he bellowed, blowing off a good deal of steam in the process. Purdey winced, tugging the sides of her mouth back and suppressing a slight smile as a man scurried toward their booth.

"Do you come here often?" she asked conversationally.

"Home away from home," Foster replied as the man arrived at their table. The Colonel eyed him up appraisingly. "New here, aren't you?"

The young man nodded nervously. "Yes, sir. First day, sir. What can I get for you, Colonel?"

Purdey's heart went out to the boy. He couldn't have been much past twenty-two, and first day on the job he had to deal with Elroyd Foster. She hoped her uncle would be kind.

"Heard of me, have you?" Foster inquired, raising one bushy eyebrow.

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir. The staff had a lot to say about you sir, and I've been informed as to your, uh, particular tastes."

Purdey snickered under her breath. She could imagine the sort of words used by the club staff to describe Colonel Foster, none of which would pass muster in the company of their betters.

"Tastes?"

"No ice, sir."

Foster nodded in approval. "Capital, capital. I'll have a Scotch, and my niece will have a gin, splash of bitters, and a ginger ale. And she will have ice, do you hear?"

The waiter bobbed. "Very good, Colonel."

Purdey was impressed as the boy scuttled off again—her uncle had been known to make better men cry. Either her uncle was softening, or the boy was made of sterner stuff.

"Now then, Purdey. What can I do for you? Always a pleasure to help out my favourite niece, especially when she's as deucey pretty as you."

Purdey smiled at the compliment. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I know you're here on business."

Foster snorted. "What is the world coming to, if a man can't make time for his niece?" He glanced around the club, caught the eye of more than one of his colleagues and their expressions of interest as they eyed up Purdey. "And there aren't many disadvantages to being seen with a pretty girl like you, let me tell you."

Purdey grinned. "I'm always happy to burnish your reputation, Uncle Elly, but I do have a favour to ask."

The colonel pretended to huff. "Couldn't be bothered to visit your dear old uncle for his own sake, eh?" He caught sight of Purdey's pained expression, and immediately turned serious. "What is it, my girl? Something troubling you?"

Purdey leaned in and spoke softly, well-aware that not everyone watching and listening would necessarily be as harmless as her uncle's curious colleagues. "Something's happened," she said carefully. "I can't tell you very much, because it's to do with work. I can trust you not to pass on what I say, can't I?"

Foster looked properly concerned now. "Of course, Purdey, but you have me worried now. You do know that if you're in trouble, I can put a word in with some of the right people."

Purdey shook her head rapidly. "No, no, no one else can know about what I'm asking you do, or why. And no, it's not me that's in trouble. But I do need help." She looked down at her hands, resting her palms flat on the tabletop. "Or rather, one of my colleagues does."

"That Steed fellow?"

Purdey shook her head. "No, the other one. Gambit. I've mentioned him to you before."

Foster thought about this for a moment, then she saw the recognition dawn in his eyes. "Ah, yes, the young chap. The one I met while we were rounding up 'Mad Jack' Miller's mob? Walks like a seaman?"

Purdey nodded, smiled slightly. Leave it to an army man to recognize the competition. "That's him. He was in the navy when he was younger."

Foster's face suddenly clouded in realisation. "I heard something down the grapevine about him being on the lam." He cocked his head inquisitively, voice taking on a warning tone. "He hasn't got you into some sort of trouble, has he?"

"He hasn't done anything wrong," Purdey hissed back fervently. "Not a thing. I need you to trust me on that, and I need you to help me."

"So that you can help him?" Purdey was tight-lipped. Foster sighed. "Purdey, I don't know if I can do that in good conscience. If you wind up behind bars, it'll kill your mother. You know that."

"It won't come to that," Purdey said firmly. "I won't let it. But if you want me to succeed without being thrown in a cell, you'll need to help me. That's the best way to keep me safe."

Foster looked unconvinced. "You're deucy loyal to this fellow."

"He's my partner. And he's in trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Life and death," Purdey said grimly, and her eyes clouded briefly.

"Sorry to hear that, but I don't see what I can do, particularly for one of the boys from one of the other services."

"He was in the army, too," Purdey informed. "In case you need any more motivation."

"Well, if you insist!" Foster said boistrously, just as the young waiter returned with their drinks. By some miracle, he managed to keep his tray balanced, despite the shockwaves from Elroyd's outburst. He gave them their drinks and departed without a word. Foster watched him go. "Good lad," he murmured. "Steady hand and all that." He turned back to Purdey. "I won't say I don't have reservations, but what can I do?"

"I need two things," Purdey began, turning to the task at hand. "First, a motorbike, hidden in that derelict farmhouse two fields away from mum's."

"I know the one," Foster confirmed. "Simple enough. What's the other?"

"I need you to leave your cellar window open tonight," Purdey told him. "So I can get inside without being seen. Then I need you to drive me to mum's in the morning." She bit her lip. "I realize it's all very mysterious, but Gambit really does need my help, and I can't risk anyone knowing I'm giving it."

Foster arched an eyebrow. "Goodness me, cloak and dagger doings. I thought I was past all that at my age."

"Oh, Uncle Elly, you're not past anything," Purdey assured, patting his arm. "You've just been waiting for the right opportunity to dive back into the fray."

Foster laughed. "You're a flatterer like your mother," he observed, then added with uncharacteristic softness, dropping his gaze and staring into his drink, "Purdey, tell me something. This Gambit fellow—how close are you two?"

Purdey blinked in surprise, the rug well and truly pulled out from under her. She hadn't told her family about her involvement with Gambit, hadn't wanted to until she knew the answers to some of the questions her mother would surely ask. She also didn't want the pressure—her mother wanted Purdey to settle down, to have a normal family before it was too late, and her daughter was too old to give her the grandchildren she desired. And then there was the Larry factor, what had happened the last time she had been this serious with a man. But Purdey didn't want any pressure, any reminders, anyone looking over her shoulder and pointing out her ticking biological clock and past mistakes. She just wanted Gambit, wanted to take things as they came, waking up to the small pleasures of his smile and his kiss. It was so nice to be loved, unconditionally, without worrying about the future. But her mother was very concerned about the future—Acacia had mentioned on more than one occasion that she didn't want Purdey left alone when she was gone. Purdey knew that, if her mother approved of Gambit, the first thing she would ask was when they were going to make the relationship permanent. And that was too fast. Gambit hadn't even proposed. And she didn't want him to.

Did she?

She looked into her uncle's eyes. If she told him all the details, he'd tell her mother, and that would be the end of the pressure-free aspect of the relationship as far as she was concerned. She tried her best to answer the question without lying—Uncle Elly could always see through her when she was being deceptive.

"We're quite close, obviously," she said in her best no-nonsense tone. "You have to be in our line of work, saving each other's lives." Elroyd raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Just colleagues, then?"

"And friends," Purdey added defensively, knowing her poker face was wavering.

"And that's as far as it goes?" Foster pushed.

"What makes you think it goes any farther?" Purdey wanted to know.

Foster shook his head and smiled. "I may be old, Purdey, but I'm not stupid. I remember your mother when she was young, when she first met your father. That gel had the same look in her eyes as you do now. I may be an old fool, but I've still got eyes in my head."

"That's very observant, Uncle Elly, and you're no fool, but that's not much to base a case on," Purdey pointed out, even as she fought back images of her mother and father, the way they looked at each other, right up until he died. She didn't want to be in the same position as her mother, losing someone so dear.

"Isn't it?" Elroyd said knowingly. "I don't claim to know everything about women, Purdey, but I like to think I know a bit about you. And if this Gambit fellow was nothing more than a friend, you'd be teasing me relentlessly about how silly I was to have such a notion." He arched a bushy eyebrow at his niece. "Am I wrong?"

Purdey thought about protesting, but quickly realized it would be futile. There was hardly any point in denying it at this stage. "Yes," she admitted softly. "He's more than a friend. And I'm worried about him."

Foster sighed. "Purdey, you've been through this before. I don't want you to get hurt. I couldn't watch your pretty face fall again."

"It's different this time," Purdey said quietly. "Believe me, I've been telling myself the same story since I met him, but…" She shrugged, gave him a half-smile. "I love him. And if he…if you don't help, then I'm going to wind up like my mother after my father died."

Foster whistled. "That serious?"

"That serious."

Foster sighed and shook his head, and Purdey felt her heart sink. "All the men and woman in our family are the same," he pronounced. "Stubborn and loyal to the end when it comes to fighting for the people they care about. Myself included." He smiled. "If what you say is true, then I'm happy for you, in spite of the circumstances."

Purdey's face broke into a grateful smile, and she threw herself across the table to hug him.

"Steady on, my girl. The others are watching," Foster muttered, face reddening in a blush.

Purdey released him and returned to her drink with a little hope in her heart. "Thank you, Uncle Elly."

"My pleasure, my dear, my pleasure. I hope it helps bring your young man back. If he's going to be tangling with my niece, I'd like an opportunity to set him straight before he meets your mother."

Purdey's smile faded. "You're not going to tell her, are you?" When she saw her uncle's questioning look, she elaborated. "Well, you know how she is, and I was hoping to keep her in the dark for as long as possible. It's easier that way."

Foster took a sip of his drink. "She already knows, Purdey. Has for weeks, just from your telephone calls. How she divined it from your voice alone, I haven't the foggiest. But she knows you're keeping someone under wraps."

Purdey's jaw dropped. "She told you? She didn't say a word to me! And here I thought I was doing a good job of throwing her off the trail." She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the tabletop, pouting slightly.

"She is your mother, Purdey, and she was married to an agent herself. She likely knows just what to listen for whenever you mention this Gambit fellow." He grinned. "You do know where you got your powers of observation, don't you?"

Purdey sighed. "She hasn't been pushing, though. That's something at least."

He waved her off. "It'll all work out for the best, my dear. Just straighten out this nasty business first. Now, do you have time for lunch before you scurry off? You can't starve yourself. That job's not easy on lovely young things."

"Lunch would be lovely. I'm positively ravenous," Purdey admitted. "But shouldn't you be getting back to your friends?"

"Oh, they'll be all right." Foster signaled for the waiter to bring Purdey a menu. "By the by, just how did you find me here?"

"Carver," Purdey supplied.

Foster scowled. "I thought I told him I didn't want to be disturbed."

"Ah, but I had something important—leverage."

Foster looked intrigued. "I see."

"You may want to check your desk when you get back," she added, with one side of her mouth quirked up.

"What for?"

"Tea stains. Or ice packs."

"Ice?!" Foster stewed grumpily. "Ice. I knew I shouldn't have left my office door unlocked."

vvv

Lunch with Uncle Elly proved the most effective distraction from the whole sorry business that Purdey had experienced thus far, and she was almost feeling optimistic about the state of affairs when she returned to her flat. Almost. The sight of the car tailing her in her rearview mirror put a damper on things, reminding her that she was being spied on by her own people. Purdey bit down hard on the impulse to slam on the brakes and get out to confront whoever it was, but reminded herself that it could just as easily have been her doing the following in different circumstances. She kept driving and contented herself with thoughts about how she would give her pursuers the slip later that night.

She parked at the curb and clattered down the twenty-one steps to her flat as casually she could, desperately hoping that she hadn't tipped her hand. She packed her case as leisurely as she could to disguise what might be construed as a suspiciously hasty exit. The last thing she needed was to be dragged in for questioning at this point. She knew Gambit might not have another chance to make contact for some time.