AN: Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I've been soooo busy. But, to help make up for it, I've made this chapter extra long. (

Mrs. Peel tossed and turned in her bed, nightmarish visions of what had occurred in the previous days filling her mind. She awoke abruptly, gasping for breath, tears filling her eyes. Instinctively, she reached for the white telephone beside her bed, and began dialing Steed's number. But her eye caught the alarm clock beside her bed. It was three thirty. She couldn't disturb Steed at this hour. Let him get his rest. Shuddering, she reached for her bathrobe, and, slipping it on, walked to her kitchen to make some coffee. She'd need it.

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Steed rolled over in his sleep. He was dreaming of a picnic. It was a beautiful sunny day, the temperature perfect; not too hot or cold, and Steed and Mrs. Peel were seated on top of a grassy knoll overlooking a field of wildflowers.

"Have you any champagne," Mrs. Peel questioned. Steed smiled, and opened the picnic basket to reveal enough champagne bottles to stock a wine cellar.

"I'd recommend the '34," he smiled, looking over at Mrs. Peel. But she wasn't there. At least, not the Mrs. Peel he knew and loved. Only a pile of bones remained.

Steed sat straight up in bed. "Emma," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. He reached for the phone beside his bed, and his eye caught the clock. Three thirty. No, he wouldn't disturb her. She needed her sleep. He headed to his kitchen to make his patented hangover cure. Granted, Steed didn't have a hangover, but he could use the jolt.

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Steed walked up to Mrs. Peel's door, hesitating a moment before ringing the bell. It was only eight thirty, and he didn't think she'd be up, but he could wait no longer. He needed to see for himself that his precious Emma, er, Mrs. Peel was still safe and sound.

The door opened, and he saw Emma, pale and withdrawn in a white sweater which only accentuated the shadows under her eyes.

"Steed," she said with relief, "I thought it might have been,"

"The big bad bogey man," Steed completed, trying for some of his old Steed charm. Mrs. Peel faltered, and she put her hand up to her forehead wearily. Steed silently admonished himself for making her feel that way. Each took a deep breath and looked at the other.

"I had a nightmare last night," Mrs. Peel began.

"And you were a skeleton," Steed completed. Both stared at the other.

"I guess that these murders are starting to get to me," Mrs. Peel confessed.

Steed nodded. "How long have you been up," he questioned.

"Three thirty," was the tired response. Steed placed a cushion on the couch and gently pushed Mrs. Peel back, before spreading a blanket over her.

"Rest," he ordered.

Mrs. Peel yawned. A huge gaping yawn that lasted for what seemed to be forever. She snuggled down, and pulled the blanket close. "What about you," she questioned dreamily.

Steed shook his head, the image of Mrs. Peel as a skeleton still fresh in his mind. "I've got some work to do," he replied shortly. It didn't matter. Mrs. Peel was already sound asleep.

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A phone rang, shattering the stillness of the apartment, which was filled with old and decaying objects. An antique teddy bear, missing one of its eyes was sitting on top of a Victrola, which was next to an antique bust of Napoleon. An old man was sleeping in a rocking chair, with a plaid blanket thrown over is legs. At the sound of the telephone, his eyes shot open, and he reached for the source, right next to his chair, on a Louis XV desk.

"Hello," the old man questioned cautiously.

"Mr. Wallace," A youthful voice responded.

"Well," the old man demanded.

"The tests are going superbly. I just need another 'guinea pig,' to make sure the results weren't a fluke."

"How about two," the old man said with a grin, and gave a goulish cackle, before collapsing into a fit of wheezing.

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Mrs. Peel awoke to the ringing of Steed's phone. She opened her eyes to see Steed's back; he was seated on the arm of the sofa, talking.

"All right," Steed said in hushed tones. "I'll be there shortly." He hung up, and turned to look at Mrs. Peel, regret in his eyes. Steed seemed surprised to see her awake.

She sat up and stretched, "Another body?"

"Not quite. A body was stolen from the Morrison Cemetery. That of Mrs. Jane Crane. I'm going to go investigate."

Mrs. Peel threw the cover off of her. "Not without me, you aren't."

"You need your sleep," Steed countered protectively.

"Steed, you got less sleep than me, I suspect. At the least, I have to go with you to prevent you from falling asleep and driving off a cliff. I would never forgive you."

Steed smiled. "Not that there are any cliffs nearby."

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"Hello, I am Mr. James Morrison, owner of Morrison Cemetery. How may I be of assistance?"

Steed took his bowler off to the other gentleman. "I am Mr. John Steed, and this is Mrs. Emma Peel. We're from the Ministry. We're here to investigate the body snatching."

"Oh, yes," the elderly gentleman replied, shaking his head. "Dreadful happening. Mrs. Crane had only been with us for six months."

"Would you mind giving us the address for Mr. Crane," Steed politely asked.

"Certainly, certainly. Just follow me."