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.


Two days later, Gambit arrived in an unsavoury establishment, a pub filled with patrons who had reached a point in their lives where drinking before noon wasn't the sin it was in polite society. He'd made a gamble and contacted the sort of people who could get a message to Thyme, or at least get a message to someone else who could contact her. It was the most direct way he'd attempted to draw a bead on the woman, after over a week of sneaking around and trying to catch her unawares. He wasn't convinced she was clever enough to know where he was at all times, but he was certain she knew he was looking for her, and was covering her tracks with ease. Gambit would have preferred to catch her by surprise, but he was running out of both time and patience—the longer the whole situation dragged on, the harder it would be for everyone involved, including Steed and Purdey, and Gambit was determined not to make them suffer unduly while he spun his wheels on a futile quest. So he'd put the word out that he wanted to meet Thyme, plain and simple. In a way, the straightforwardness of this strategy suited him more than sneaking around. The direct approach had always been his preferred method of doing things. He only hoped it would pay off.

The person he'd selected as courier was the man behind the bar, a lowlife named Oliver who ran in unsavoury circles at a paygrade higher than one might assume from first looking at him. Gambit didn't trust the man farther than he could throw him, but he'd given him the message and paid him for his trouble. Oliver knew there was always the chance of him getting something at the other end for completing his task, so Gambit figured there was a good chance that he'd done his job. That didn't mean that Gambit relished dealing with the man. He sometimes wondered how Steed managed to swallow however many encounters with the most unsavoury examples of the criminal element he'd had over the years and still feel clean, still be able to rinse the feeling of grime from the inside of his soul. Then again, Gambit himself had a fair bit of experience on that front, and seemed to be coping, so he supposed it was all down to practice.

Oliver grinned a greasy smile at Gambit as he approached the bar, causing the agent to tamp down the desire to punch the smarmy git full in the face. He needed Oliver, at least for the time being. There would be time to put him in his place if need be after he'd heard what he had to say.

"Hello, Mr. Gambit. What'll it be, eh?" The greeting was smug and taunting, and Gambit resisted the urge to grind his teeth violently.

"Stow the pleasantries, Oliver. You know why I'm here."

Oliver raised his hands, one clutching a filthy rag that had no business being anywhere near any glass, dirty or clean, in surrender, face the picture of innocence. "Easy, Mr. Gambit. Just saying hello, wasn't I? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"My mother never knew the likes of you," Gambit snapped back. "Thankfully."

Oliver smiled lasciviously. "You sure about that?"

Without warning, Gambit's right hand shot out and grabbed a handful of Oliver's shirt, pulled the man forward so that his chest slammed bodily against the surface of the bar. The sound of the impact echoed throughout the pub, causing some of the clientele to glance up from their pints or nefarious deeds to see what the fuss was about. It was indicative of the reputation of the pub that they were not distracted for long, and soon returned to their own business. Given the sorts of events the establishment had borne witness to in the past, a bit of rough and tumble was barely worth acknowledging.

Oliver was slumped over the bar gasping, lungs desperately trying to refill after being unceremoniously emptied, chest aching, hands scrabbling for purchase on the worn wood. Gambit, for his part, didn't even bother to secure the man with his other hand, simply keeping an iron grip on his quarry. He leaned down so he could speak directly in Oliver's ear.

"I don't have a lot of time," he growled, "but I have even less patience, and the person I'm dealing with has none. I won't kill you, if only because you aren't worth the effort, but if you muck around much more, I can't promise you won't wind up collateral damage at her end. So you can keep trying to push my buttons, or you can cut to the chase. Understand?"

Oliver, to his credit, seemed to have dropped all pretence of being in control, genuinely frightened of Gambit and what he might do if pushed. Satisfied, Gambit released Oliver's shirt, and the barman shot up gasping, pressing a hand to his bruised chest. Gambit gave him a second to recover his wits, but only a second. It didn't do to let men like Oliver get too comfortable. "Any messages for me?" he inquired, almost conversationally.

Oliver swallowed with difficulty. "Yeah. Yeah there is. It's in the back." Oliver raised part of the bar, wincing as he did so, and indicated that Gambit should come through. "Follow me."

Gambit did, but with trepidation, eyes constantly scanning the room, ever-vigilant for some sort of trap. But Oliver genuinely appeared to have nothing more up his sleeve. He led Gambit into a grotty back room that was probably supposed to be some sort of office, but had long since deteriorated into a storage room borderlining on a rubbish heap and, if the cot in the corner was any indication, the adhoc digs of the pub's employees. It occurred to Gambit that Oliver himself was probably dossing here, and he filed the information away in case he needed to pay the man another visit. People were always easier to deal with when they were half asleep.

There were many stacks of paper in the office, most of which hadn't been disturbed in some time if the layers of dust on them were any indication, but Oliver, to his credit, seemed to know his way around. He made a beeline for a set of cubbyholes on the far wall, now covered with cobwebs that housed a healthy community of spiders, but a few of the holes had been cleared out. Oliver withdrew an envelope from one of these and handed it to Gambit, who snatched it away impatiently.

"Only came a couple of hours ago," Oliver explained, as Gambit tore the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of paper, perused it quickly. "Is it what you were looking for?"

Gambit looked up grimly, but his eyes didn't meet Oliver's. "No," he said simply. "And yes." He glanced at Oliver, all anger gone. "Looks like you're off the hook, Oliver. No more playing messenger boy for you."

"That mean no more payments, then?" Oliver seemed to have recovered sufficiently from his close encounter with the bar to actually look disappointed at the prospect of having no further dealings with the man who had just threatened him with grievous bodily harm.

"Looks that way," Gambit confirmed, returning the paper to the envelope and shoving it in his pocket. "But you'll have to ask the lady."

Oliver shuddered involuntarily. "I'd rather deal with you than her, mate. She gives me the creeps."

"That makes two of us," Gambit muttered.

vvv

Less than an hour later, Gambit was standing in a phonebox, jaw working idly as he pondered the receiver that sat, innocently, waiting for him to pick it up and make the call. The prospect of making it felt too much like giving up for his liking. He'd held out hope throughout this whole ordeal that Thyme could be reasoned with, despite every encounter he'd had with her over his three month imprisonment indicating the contrary. But he'd held onto a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, if he could meet with her face to face, he could work out some sort of deal that'd keep Purdey, Steed, and yes, maybe even Gambit himself safe from her and her machinations, without handing over the papers and potentially dooming most of the planet to the whims of whoever got their hands on them. He'd sat in his flat for days waiting for her to do something, but other than the threatening photos, there had been no attempt to contact him. Since he'd gone on the run, he'd spent every waking minute trying to track her down, but as he'd told Purdey, every time he thought he was on the brink of catching her, she'd slipped away, passing through his fingers like so much sand in an hourglass. He'd baited her, dropped clues on the whereabouts of the papers, set traps in the hope of luring her to a location where he could catch her and bring her in. But there was a reason Vanessa Thyme had the reputation she did, and it wasn't earned by being stupid. She was a master of the game, knew her opponent's every move three turns in advance. She knew Gambit was tracking her, and the fact that he'd managed to get close to her, even by proxy, was because she had let him. So, unable to catch her, track her, or bait her, Gambit had gone with the last move in his playbook: a straight request to meet, face to face, passed along through another party who he knew Vanessa would allow some sort of audience. That was Oliver, and despite being a scumbucket in his own right, he'd served his purpose. It wasn't his fault that the response was so disappointing. But Vanessa's message had been clear. She would meet Gambit face to face all right, but on her terms: at a location of her choosing, with Gambit alone, and only if he had the papers in hand. It was exactly the scenario Gambit had been fearing, but there it was, laid out in black and white. He'd read it enough times that every word was committed to memory. Nothing was going to change what it said.

That left Gambit with one card left to play, and there was no choice but to play it, no matter how long he dallied in this phonebox. He could only do what he could, and trust that everything—and everyone—would fall into place.

He snatched up the receiver, inserted the coins, and dialled the number before he could second-guess himself.

vvv

The call was unexpected and came early in the morning, rousing Purdey from her troubled slumber. She hadn't slept properly since Gambit had gone on the run, and doubted she would again until he was back in the bed beside her. She scrabbled sleepily for the receiver on her bedside table, managed to get a grip on it, and pulled it under the covers with her. "Hello?" she answered groggily.

"Purdey. It's me."

It was Gambit's voice.

Purdey sat upright immediately, wide awake and worried. "Mike, what is it?" She felt panic flood into her previously-somnambulant brain as the full implications of the scenario currently unfolding dawned on her. "You shouldn't be calling me. Someone might be listening."

"I need you to meet me," Gambit interrupted, ignoring her warning. "This morning. In half an hour. That old building near where we caught Collins. You remember where it is?"

"Yes, but why?" Purdey asked desperately. "Mike, this is mad."

Gambit's voice lost its serious tone and softened. "Just trust me, Purdey. Please." Then he rang off.

Purdey was left gaping at the receiver, desperately trying to process what had just happened. Then her training kicked in. She slammed the receiver down and leapt from the bed, dashing to the bathroom. She was going to make Gambit's rendezvous with time to spare. She didn't want to risk anyone else getting to him before she did. The fact that there was a very real possibility someone would sent chills down her spine.

vvv

Purdey drove to the rendezvous in a state of considerable consternation. Something was definitely wrong. Gambit knew, without having to be told, that there was a good chance her phoned was bugged. The precautions he'd taken in setting up their last meeting spoke to his dedication to ensuring that no one knew they were in contact. So why on earth would he throw it all away in a phone call that not only advertised to the whole world that he was contacting her, but a time and place where he could be found? It was as if he wanted to be caught, but that didn't make sense to Purdey, and not for the obvious reasons. If Gambit was tired of running, all he had to do was walk into the Ministry, hands held high, and give himself up. He'd be arrested, of course, but at least his chances of being shot would be minimal. Probably. Purdey bit her lip. This train of thought was proving to be less comforting than she'd originally assumed, and she hadn't exactly been optimistic when she started out. She shook her head and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. She had to keep thinking clearly, reason it out.

If Gambit knew he was setting himself up to be captured, rather than turning himself in, that meant he wanted to be caught. Why would he want that? Could it be something as vapid as ego? Male pride making him unwilling to give himself up, forcing his pursuers to take him down instead? Purdey shook her head again. No, too shallow. She'd always told Gambit he had an ego, but she knew he would never let it get in the way of self-preservation, or anyone else's preservation for that matter. The situation was much too serious for Gambit to play trifling games. He had put his freedom in jeopardy, after going to such great lengths to preserve it. There had to be some sort of strategic advantage for him to take a calculated risk and potentially throw it all away. Purdey just wished she could work out what it was. There had to be something she was missing, some play she hadn't anticipated, a move on the board she hadn't considered.

She started from square one. No assumptions, nothing taken for granted. What did she know? Gambit had called her. He had set a rendezvous. Other agents would be swarming to the same location. Why would he contact her this way when he had the means to do so covertly? A thought occurred to her. What if Gambit needed to contact her quickly? The letter in the mail sent her to her mother's had worked, but it had been time-consuming, taking almost half a day to bring to fruition. She knew Gambit might not have that kind of time. If he needed her to meet him quickly, he might think the risk of being caught was worth it. He could be hoping they could meet, and he could pass on the message before the others arrived, escaping just before they closed in. Purdey chanced a glance at her watch. If that was his plan, they didn't have much time, and Purdey would have to buy him every second she could. She put her foot down hard on the accelerator.

Much to her consternation, she arrived to find that she had been beaten to the punch. There were already several cars at the warehouse, evidence that other agents were on the scene. One saving grace was that Steed had presumably heard about Gambit's call as well, as he was in the midst of the action. Purdey leapt from her car and dashed to where Steed was standing, watching events unfold with an air of authority. A few feet away, Larry and a band of not-so-merry men were discussing strategy while keeping an eye on the derelict warehouse's exit points. She reached Steed and skipped the preliminaries, going straight to the heart of the matter. "What's happening?"

Steed answered without taking his eyes off the scene for a moment. "As I'm sure you've worked out, they traced the call that Gambit made to your flat this morning. We already have an eyewitness placing Gambit inside. They're currently trying to work out whether or not to risk going in, or if they ought to ask him to come out."

Purdey looked at him expectantly, panic in her eyes. "They'll catch him. Can't you do something?"

"I've offered my services as an intermediary," Steed replied, finally looking to her. "They were rejected, none-too-kindly I might add."

Purdey was fuming. "That doesn't mean you have to listen! What happened to breaking all the rules?"

"Nothing," Steed said flatly. "But you're overlooking one very important thing, and that's whether Gambit wants to be caught."

Purdey frowned. "I've thought of that, but it seems ridiculous! He's been doing everything he can to stay free. Why would he throw it all away now?"

Steed regarded her knowingly. "Things change. Rules, people, stakes. There's no reason Gambit should be here, now, somewhere he knows he might be spotted. He's trained to evade us, and he has thus far. Now that he's suddenly surfaced, we ought to consider that he might not want us to interfere."

Purdey shook her head. "He wouldn't have called me if he wanted me to stay out of it. I'd be at the other end of the city otherwise. It makes no sense that he called me here just to watch him get arrested. I won't believe it."

"Purdey, I know your first instinct is to help. I feel the same. But at the end of the day, this is Gambit's problem, his decision to make. We can offer him help, but ultimately it's his choice to take it, and we have to respect those choices." He smiled encouragingly at her. "Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is to do nothing."

"Maybe that's true," Purdey said tightly. "But until I hear it from him, I'm not going to give up on him. Definitely not now." And with that, she darted away, long legs eating up the ground.

"Purdey!" Steed called urgently after her, but she was already away, her enviable speed carrying her far out of reach. Larry had noticed her making a break for it, and tried to intercept her, but no one was a match for Purdey when she was in full gallop, and he soon gave up the chase, shoulders heaving, forced to watch her disappear through the door.

"Mike!" Purdey called, the second she set foot inside, dashing across the empty ground floor, making for a small stairway. "Mike, where are you?"

"Purdey?" Gambit's voice sounded surprised, and Purdey followed it, clamouring up the stairway. She found herself in a hallway, branching off into several rooms.

"Mike, where are you?" she called again, whirling around, disoriented.

"In here," came the response, and Purdey took off again, following his voice and dashing into one of the rooms. She found Gambit inside, looking out the window at the scene below, at the Ministry men assembled to bring him in. He turned as she burst into the room, nearly bowled over as she ran bodily into him, grabbing his arm and pulling with all her might.

"Mike, they're here to bring you in," she panted urgently. "You need to leave, now. I can stall them, but not for long. They know I'm here—"

"Purdey," Gambit cut in, resting a hand on hers as it gripped his sleeve. "It's all right. I'm not running any more. I want them to bring me in."

A line formed between Purdey's eyes. "What are you talking about? You can't let them catch you. They'll lock you up and throw away the key."

Gambit smiled encouragingly. "It'll be all right."

"All right? How can you say that?" Purdey exclaimed. "If Larry had his way, he'd probably have you shot. You can't let them take you, not without a fight."

"Purdey, please." Gambit was begging now, eyes beseeching. "I need to do this. I can't find Vanessa. She's not going to meet me unless I have the papers in my hand. But if I'm in custody, she can't threaten me, or you, or anyone to get the papers, because I can't get them. And she knows that if I tell the Ministry where they are, they're more likely to keep than let them go to her, no matter how many people she threatens. This way, any exchange is going to have to be at the Ministry's behest, with back-up." He looked at her hard. "This is our best chance. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to need you to keep your eyes open and pay attention to what I do and say once they've grabbed me."

"But we have so much evidence now! We can prove you're not working in league with Vanessa," Purdey said breathlessly. "Why not let me show Larry what we've found? Then you can be put in protective custody, not a cell."

Gambit shook his head. "I don't want Vanessa to know we have that edge yet. Or Larry. I need everyone to think I'm well and truly stuck. Vanessa won't leave me alone if she knows I have options, and even if Larry thinks I haven't done anything else, he's still going to want to know about the papers, and I don't want to hand them over to him any more than Vanessa." He looked pleadingly at Purdey. "I need you to trust me. Do you?"

Purdey searched his face. "Of course I do. Why would you even need to ask?"

"Good." Gambit pulled his gun from his holster, pressed it into her hand. "Here. Take this."

Purdey blanched. "Mike—"

"Please, Purdey," Gambit pleaded. "Take it. Tell them you took it off me. Tell them you came here to talk me into giving myself up."

"I will not!" Purdey shot back. "I'm not going to pretend to arrest you to save my own skin. Mike, you can't ask me to do this. I want to help you."

"And you will be helping me." Gambit pressed a hand to her cheek. "I promise."

Purdey looked uncertain. "This isn't you being a self-sacrificing idiot, is it? Because if it is, I'll never forgive you."

Gambit grinned, and for a moment everything was all right. "Not this time, although I'm sure you'll tell me otherwise later." He sobered up suddenly. "But I need you to do this for me. If you want to help me, I need you to be free, not thrown in a cell with me . Please."

Purdey bit back tears, squared her shoulders and met his eyes. "All right. But I won't pretend to like it."

"Thank you." The words came out in a rush of relief, and before she knew it Gambit was kissing her quickly but passionately. Purdey closed her eyes, kissed back, and counted the seconds until the hammer fell.

They'd barely had a chance to break apart when Larry and two other men barged in, guns at ready. Gambit immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Purdey has my gun," he told them, even as they swarmed around. "I'll come quietly. I don't want trouble."

"Bit late for that, Gambit," Larry shot back, eyeing him down the barrel of his gun. "They'll lock you up and throw away the key. And that's if they're feeling generous." He glanced at Purdey. "And you're not doing yourself any favours."

"She was trying to talk me in to coming in," Gambit said in her defence, and Larry snorted derisively.

"More like trying to talk you into making a break for it and taking her with you. If you keep up like this, Purdey, you'll get your wish and they'll throw you in a cell with him."

"Why would I, when I have such charming company out here?" Purdey shot back. "And I do have his gun." She waved it casually, pointedly ignoring the way the other armed men turned their sights to her. "He isn't lying. But you're not interested in the truth, are you? Not if it isn't what you want to hear."

"You've got it all wrong. I'm looking forward to hearing what Gambit has to say for himself. But let's start with what we've heard so far, eh? See if you're really unarmed." He grabbed Gambit roughly by the shoulder and turned him around, shoving him unceremoniously against the wall. Purdey stepped forward automatically to protest, but one of the other men blocked her path. Larry frisked Gambit, slight surprise passing over his features when he discovered the man was, in fact, telling the truth. "Take the gun," he ordered his assistant, who liberated it from Purdey's grasp, though not without the blonde treating him to fiery eyes and a defiantly upturned chin. Larry reached into his pocket for some cuffs and snapped them so tightly onto Gambit's wrists that they bit into the skin. "Clever of you to tell the truth for once. It might help you a bit with McKay, but I wouldn't count on it. If there's any justice in the world, you'll go away for a long time."

"You'll have to find a new hobby then. Can't persecute me if I'm not around," Gambit quipped back, and Larry slammed him against the wall for effect, ignoring Purdey's outraged cry.

"Don't flatter yourself, Gambit. No one will remember you when you're gone. You'll just fade into the files, another agent who went over to the other side and paid for it. And no one will spare a thought for you, especially not me. Now come on."

He dragged Gambit off, and Purdey was left trailing in their wake, fuming and hoping fervently that Gambit had more up his sleeve than he was letting on.

vvv

Larry Carrington eyed Gambit suspiciously in the rearview mirror of his car as he drove. Gambit was sitting impassively in the back seat, cuffed hands laced and hanging languidly between his long legs, arranged as best he could in the cramped confines of the space. "You look awfully relaxed," he commented with affected casualness, "for a traitor who's just been captured."

Gambit's eyes, very blue and very hard, turned away from the window and met Larry's in the mirror. "You look awfully tense," he observed, "for someone who's just captured their quarry and has him chained up in the back seat." A flash of humour flickered across his stoic face. "Afraid I'm going to throw myself out the door when we go over the next bridge, make a daring break for it? Swim for safety?"

Larry changed gear without taking his eye off the mirror. "I wouldn't put it past you," he said suspiciously.

Gambit made a moue and considered. "Too cold this time of year for a swim," he decided, as though that had been his plan all along. "Anyway, there isn't a bridge along this route."

"You think you're so slick," Larry growled flintily. "Leading us all on a merry dance, getting the gullible to cover for you."

Gambit raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Gullible? Purdey and Steed will take exception to that. Especially Purdey."

Larry seemed to realise that he'd put his foot in it, started to backpedal. "Manipulated, then. You played on their emotions, and now they're guilty by association."

"The only one of us that's been manipulated is you, Larry," Gambit said flatly. "By your own emotions, and whatever problem you have with me."

Larry bared his teeth. "I have a problem with traitors."

Gambit shook his head. "I'm not a traitor," he said, quite calmly.

Larry snorted. "Oh, come on. You did a runner, resisted arrest..." His eyes narrowed in the mirror. "Collaborated with the enemy."

Gambit's own eyes flashed dangerously. "I am not in league with Vanessa Thyme." He bit off each word in turn. Cold. Clipped. Unwavering.

"We'll see about that," Larry growled, cranking the wheel with a bit too much force. "Just as we'll see about Purdey, poor girl. I only hope they'll go easy on her. After all, it's not entirely her fault you got in her head."

Gambit actually chuckled. "I think Purdey's always been much more successful at getting into my head than I've ever been at getting into hers."

"Maybe," Larry countered, "but that's not the only part of her you got into, is it?"

All the humour drained out of Gambit's face, so quickly it was frightening to behold. "I don't care what you think I've done," he said, voice low and menacing, "but whatever else has happened, whatever I've done, Purdey is a damn good agent, and your colleague. She deserves your respect and if you don't stop making those kinds of comments, she'll take care of you long before I'm out of these cuffs."

Larry looked chastened in spite of himself, but his jaw still jutted forward defiantly. "I only hope you haven't ruined her career as well as your own," he snapped defensively.

"Purdey can look after herself," Gambit said flatly, turning his attention back to the window. "And she'll act on her own terms. Definitely not because you or me or anyone else told her what to do."

"Yes, she's stubborn that way," Larry observed, and felt his frown deepen as a knowing grin spread across Gambit's features. "So are you, if it comes to it."

"Yes," Gambit agreed, grinning at his reflection. "Between the two of us, it keeps things interesting."

Larry's frown became a scowl, and remained so for the rest of the drive.