Disclaimer: The Avengers went off the air eighteen years before I was born. Thus, I don't own it.
(AN: This story is a two-shot. Begins perfectly canonical, but will turn AU. You have been warned.)
A Far Better Thing, Part 1
'Rah-boom-dee-ay,' John Steed heard himself say, his eyes twinkling and his genteel smile firmly in place. He did not wish to offend Miss King-she had been quite amiable during the last twenty-four hours or so that he had known her-but he had to rely on every instinct of his spy training to keep from roughly taking her by the arm, escorting her outside and locking the door behind her. Actually it was Mother to whom he wished to direct this angry gesture, but at this point anyone remotely associated with the Ministry would do.
Emma Peel had just walked out of his life, with a cryptic smile and a jocular warning about diabolical masterminds. He was not in the least amenable to company at a moment such as this. What he craved was a few hours of solitude to let the entire fantastic affair sink in, with only a glass of vintage champagne for company. He had no room in his thoughts to absorb the nervous prattling of a largely inexperienced agent.
Steed shook himself mentally. He was being too harsh. It wasn't her fault Mother had chosen her to disrupt his troubled reveries. He resigned himself to listening, or pretending to listen, intently to what Miss King had to say, occasionally offering a congenial response. She was a fair conversationalist, but Steed barely registered that fact. Bantering with Miss King was far less satisfying than bantering with Mrs Peel, who could finish his sentences and frequently did. He could also do the like for her.
Miss King took her leave an hour hence, apologising for some preexisting dinner engagement. Steed showed her out, all cordiality, and counted to 40 before breathing a sigh of relief. Alone at long last, Steed poured himself a glass of champagne and relaxed in an armchair, allowing himself to give in to the cloud of gloom that had pervaded his mind since watching Mrs Peel drive away with her husband. No. . .not Mrs Peel. It was over, their partnership had ended-he could call her Emma now.
Unbidden, Steed's thoughts flew back to December of 1965…his first Christmas with Emma. He remembered how she had conducted herself then, as the psychics had tried to pry secrets from the catacombs of his brain. She had been true to him, fighting off both friends and enemies to reach him when she'd thought he was in danger. That Christmas was also, he recalled, the first time she had offered an affectionate gesture towards him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders as they sang 'Green Grow the Rushes Go.' He had reciprocated eagerly. The memory was painful now.
Had he loved her even then? Steed didn't know; he had always been a ladies' man and had continued to wine and dine various beautiful women during his partnership with Emma. She never minded that much, instead taking the opportunity to tease him, to chide him about the lack of mental agility of so many of his flames. On that point, he had to concede she was right.
One thing was for certain. If nothing else, Emma had been his best friend. They had done everything together, shared virtually every second with one another. They had clicked from the start. That was something Steed treasured about his talented amateurs. Apart from being smarter and more resourceful than the vast majority of Ministry trainees, Emma and her predecessor, Cathy Gale, had understood him in a way that few could begin to comprehend. Of course, in Mrs Gale's case it had ignited hostilities between them, but she had still been a commendable agent upon whom he looked back almost fondly. A wistful expression formed on his countenance as he thought of Mrs Gale. How thoroughly amused she would be, if she knew that John Steed was sitting humbled, champagne in hand, for the love of a fearless, beautiful, intelligent woman who could never be his. That was his comeuppance, he realised with a sting of regret, for having played such devious mind games with her. Emma had never required such treatment, and when he tried to implement it, she merely chuckled, self-assurance radiating from her slender form.
Steed's thoughts once again drifted to that fateful Christmas. He had been dressed as Sydney Carton, and Emma as Oliver Twist. Suddenly it occurred to him how appropriate that was. Sydney Carton had gone to the guillotine for the love of Lucie Manette, a woman whom he loved passionately but whose heart belonged utterly to Charles Darnay. When Darnay had been wrongfully sentenced to death, Carton, who bore a strong physical resemblance to his rival, changed places with him in order to fulfill his vow to give Lucie a life she loved. Steed thought bitterly of how closely Peter Peel had resembled himself, and how he had just condemned himself to a life of misery and sent Emma home with Peel. He had done it; he had made the Carton sacrifice. He had given Emma a life she would love, and paid a high price in return.
Sydney Carton carried no regrets with him to the guillotine. It was a far, far better thing he did, he declared in the last passage, than he had ever done. He was at peace when the blade came crashing down on him. He knew he had done the right thing; he had saved not only Darnay's life but Lucie's happiness-he had given the woman he loved a gift no one could ever touch.
Steed was not so composed. He was not half so certain that he had been right in his decision. He felt his mind slowly reaching a state of turmoil, the farthest thing from Carton's feelings as he laid down his life for Lucie.
Steed reflected further on the years he had passed with Emma. Somehow he could not imagine her dusting furniture or scrubbing floors, although she must have done so, as her flat always looked immaculate. What life had Steed given her? He knew Emma well enough to know that her thirst for adventure was not easily quenched. She had inherited Knight Industries at 21, and she had run it successfully, but she had been bored. After her marriage she and Peel had shared weekend excursions, sometimes dangerous but always thrilling. It made her confinement behind a desk bearable.
After Peel's 'death,' Emma had mourned for a respectable amount of time, towards the end of which she met Steed. She drove into the back of his Bentley, which he seemed to remember was his fault-or at least Emma claimed it was, but the question of who caused the accident was of no consequence in comparison to the way it had changed both lives for the better. Mrs Gale had only just departed, and Steed had told Mother that he intended to find another talented amateur, rather than accept one of the agent trainees. The search had not been productive up to that point, and Steed had been given one week to accomplish his goal before he was ordered to take on an agent trainee. Steed's muscles tensed as he realised that he was not even given a choice this time.
Steed had had every intention of keeping Emma on permanently. With Mrs Gale, he had wanted her to stay but known somehow that her distaste for him would catch up to them. With Emma there had been no such obstacle, and that only made this sudden vacancy in his life more painful. There had been no warning.
There was something else, too. Steed had enjoyed most every case he took on, with a few notable exceptions. Mrs Gale had not enjoyed her cases, and Steed knew that had much to do with the way he assigned them to her, manipulating her into doing something rather than simply asking outright. That was a lesson Steed carried with him when he met Emma. He treated her much more charmingly than he had Mrs Gale, and although he knew that Emma might have been able to laugh at him anyway, he was certain it had made a difference. Where Mrs Gale scowled, Emma smiled.
Steed remembered Emma's face as she kissed his cheek. Nostalgia had been written all over it. Her quip about diabolical masterminds…had it been a façade? Steed knew that Emma was every inch professional when it came to hiding her emotions. Had she wanted him to read her face, instead?
Steed's heart leapt. He knew now why he could not find Sydney Carton's peace. Emma was not Lucie Manette. To give her a life she loved, he should have pinned her to his side and waved Peel off. What fate awaited her? She had already lost the life of espionage that had been such a great game, and now she was in line to lose even more. She and Peel would share no more excursions; Steed hardly thought a man who had struggled so long in the jungle would come home with his taste for adventure intact. She wouldn't even be able to resume her position at Knight Industries, as the new C.E.O. was highly unlikely to step aside in favour of someone who had left of her own accord. What had he done?
Sydney Carton had fallen in love with a conventional woman. In loving Lucie, he really had wasted his heart. But Emma was unconventional; she was bold, calm and possessed of an inner strength that made her practically invincible. She would survive, but whether she would live or not Steed wasn't sure. But he knew that, if he had confessed his love to her, if he had tried to make her stay, she would have had the guts to do it. They might have lived happily ever after, protecting Great Britain from the most ridiculous foes.
His mind racing, Steed picked up the phone and dialed. There was not a moment to lose.
(AN: I know, I know. I haven't updated Russians, Rules and Romance in ages. I will eventually, I promise. I'm currently working on an HP fic, which needs two more chapters and has been torture to finish. When I'm done with that, I'll get back to work. For now, you get this. After seeing a stage adaptation of A Tale of Two Cities, I was inspired to write it. I don't usually write Avengers angst, so please leave some constructive criticism. Please?)