In 26

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

K is for Kill, Part 2: Tiger by the Tail

It was getting on to one in the morning, Paris time, and Purdey, tucked up in bed in her extremely comfortable hotel room, was wide awake. If she'd related to an average member of the public what she'd witnessed over the past few days—corpses aging before her eyes; assassins in clock towers targeting presidents; dummies lying decapitated in bombed out museum displays, as though intentionally laid out in an eerie tableau—they undoubtedly would have chalked up her insomnia to being overtaxed, overworked, and overtired. But Purdey prided herself on not being the fainting kind, the sort of woman who didn't let the sad and the strange and the weird and the wonderful faze her—at least, not for long. In the course of her time working with Gambit and Steed, she had gone to bed and slept soundly after tangling with a giant rat, locking away a man whose very touch could bring death, getting viciously attacked by birds, nearly dying of curare poisoning, and being held hostage. Compared to some of those ordeals, their latest adventure in France was par for the course, if rather more international in scale, and, while disturbing, the plot, now put to bed like herself, failed to rouse any further fear in her. As she stared at the ceiling, the scene that her brain insisted on playing on repeat was only tangentially related to a potential World War III. Rather than the sea of corpses of suddenly-elderly men, laid out in neat rows in a makeshift morgue, it was a very ordinary vision that had rendered her sleepless—Dr. Jeanine Leparge, hand in hand with Gambit, both wreathed in smiles as they trotted up to Purdey and Steed's outdoor café table.

It was that seemingly-innocuous scene, loaded with meaning, that had Purdey lying ramrod straight on her pillowy-soft mattress, beneath sheets with an enviable threadcount, arms welded to her sides like those of a corpse lying stiff and lifeless on the slab in Dr. Leparge's morgue.

The morgue.

Purdey had worked out that that must have been where it all started. By the time she'd met the charming Dr. Leparge, Gambit had already weaved his magic, if the good doctor's enthusiastic reception of her partner had been any indication. The flirtation had probably carried on amongst the surgical tools and scientific bric-a-brac, regardless of how inappropriate the setting was, or how unconducive to romance, but never let it be said that Mike Gambit wasn't up for a challenge. After all, he'd been chasing Purdey for ages now, hadn't he?

Perhaps too long. He definitely wasn't tonight. He hadn't been at dinner, and even though Steed hadn't explained the absence of their party's third member, it didn't take much imagination on Purdey's part to guess where he might be or what he might be doing, but the lack of mystery didn't make her feel any better. Of course, she'd always known about Gambit's reputation with women—hell, she'd heard about his infamous little black book from his own lips. But in all the time she'd known him, she'd never actually seen any of his conquests, or at least, not knowingly, and definitely not when they were with him. There'd been Helen McKay of course, but that had been more a case of artist and subject, especially from Helen's perspective, so it didn't really count. But Purdey had seen Dr. Leparge, seen how happy she'd been to see Gambit, heard her excitedly greet him: "Hello, Mike!" Purdey'd given Gambit a look that had visibly chastened him, and she'd stupidly assumed it would also be enough to deter him. But no, Gambit hadn't let her dampen his enthusiasm. Purdey supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, especially since Gambit had been rhapsodizing about the attributes of French women during their enforced house arrest with the very dead Unicorn. But that had been talk. Just talk. Or so Purdey had thought. Dr. Leparge was very real, and very French, and very female. And very interested in Gambit, if the way she'd looked at him had been any indication. There wasn't any reason for him to hold back, not where Dr. Leparge was concerned, and definitely not on Purdey's account. Not that Purdey expected him to. Not at all.

But that didn't mean she didn't want him to.

An audible "ding!" from the lift in the corridor tore her from her musings, and Purdey sat bolt upright, as if from a waking dream, ears straining. After a moment, the sound of footsteps, muffled by the thickly-piled carpet, reached her. Rocking footsteps.

A sailor's footsteps.

Purdey threw back her bedclothes and tugged on the ballet slippers resting by the bed, grateful for her pajamas, which saved her from the need to cover her modesty with a robe. She dashed for the door and flung it open, only just remembering to grab an overly-sentimental ornament of a young French girl in a frilly dress from the nearby dresser and use it as a makeshift doorstop to save herself from getting locked out. Then she was in the corridor, making a beeline for the familiar tall, broad-shouldered silhouette.

"Purdey!" Gambit exclaimed, turning away from the door, key in hand, having heard her approach. "Are you still up? I didn't wake you, did I?" He looked surprised, Purdey decided, analyzing his features with the vigilance of a hunting hawk, and concerned for her well-being, but neither emotion seemed to be a reflection of guilt or embarrassment at being caught coming back at such a late hour.

Unless he doesn't feel guilty. Or ashamed.

That made it even worse.

"Couldn't sleep," Purdey said simply, flashing him a quick smile that she hoped convinced him that all was well, even if her brain was still whirring away madly, trying to read between the lines. "Anyway, you're one to talk, slinking back at one in the morning."

"Is it one already?" Gambit consulted the watchface on the inside of his wrist and yawned, as if seeing the time alone had reminded him of how tired he was. "Sorry. Steed made breaking down the medical side of this assignment for our reports my responsibility, since I was in the morgue when we found the bugs. Jeanine helped me go over the medical reports." He held up his bandaged hands and added, with a cheeky grin, "And helped me turn the pages."

I'll bet that isn't the only thing she gave a good going over, Purdey thought darkly, searching his hair and attire for any telltale signs that it had been displaced by grasping female hands. "I could have done that," she said instead. Done what? Turned pages? Acted as chaperone? Wrapped him in a passionate embrace and let things go where they may? She could have done all of them, but, as had been the case for the whole of their partnership, when it came to the last act on that list, Purdey wasn't sure she was brave enough to transform thoughts and desires into actions.

Gambit, oblivious to her internal ramblings, rolled his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. "You could have, but there would have been more for you to catch up on than me, and I thought I'd spare you the late night. Besides, Jeanine and I already know each other, so it made it easier."

Yes, but how well? Purdey thought desperately, eyes flicking back to his injured hands. What could Gambit possibly do with Dr. Leparge when he couldn't use his hands properly? Purdey's mind boggled. What could Gambit do to a woman without using his hands? In spite of herself, Purdey found she wanted to find out, though not in the context of him doing them to Dr. Leparge. She hugged herself a little tighter as a shiver ran through her.

"Purdey?" Gambit looked concerned again, head tilted at an evaluative angle. "Are you feeling okay? Should I get a doctor?"

"No, thank you." Purdey had had her fill of doctors, especially French ones. "I'm fine. Just tired." She managed a wan smile. "A lot packed into a few days."

Gambit still looked concerned, not quite buying her explanation, but satisfied that she wasn't desperately ill. "Well, it's over now. We go home tomorrow. It's over."

Purdey treated him to another tight smile. "It's over," she repeated, trying to convince herself that that statement extended to his liaison with Jeanine as well. Gambit didn't do long-distance relationships, surely? Not with a little black book full of prospects in London. "You're right. We should both get some sleep if we're going to make our flight."

"That sounds like good advice," Gambit praised, leaning forward to plant a sleepy kiss on her temple. Purdey closed her eyes, trying to savour the feeling of his lips against her skin even as she wondered who else he'd used them on that evening. "Good night, Purdey-girl. Try to get some sleep."

"I will." Purdey watched him disappear into his room and waited for the door to close before padding back to her own. Gambit was only partially right, she mused, as she slipped back into her room and removed her makeshift doorstopper. The combined threat of World War III and Dr. Leparge may have been over, but her feelings for Gambit, laid bare after this particular adventure, were not.

Something told her there were more sleepless nights in her future.