Disclaimer: Though I labour on it night and day, I have still not perfected the time machine that will allow me to steal The Avengers from its actual creators.

A Far Better Thing, Part 2

Steed's heart rate quickened as the phone rang once, twice, thrice.  The anxiety and anticipation he experienced at that moment were unlike any he had known before.  Given his peculiar trade, he was accustomed to such feelings, but they were usually accompanied by excitement and a rush of adrenaline to his brain.  This was different and altogether unpleasant.  Steed couldn't remember the last time he had ever been nervous about something.  He and Emma had both made their share of mistakes, but rather than fretting about potential harms, they merely moved on to the thrill of cleaning up the mess through cunning, repertory tricks.  Steed knew, of course, that many agents were easily frazzled, and that was another reason that he had gone out of his way to find such ingénue as Emma and Mrs Gale, who were above that sort of thing.  But then he realised that Mrs Gale probably had felt this way on occasion, either when he had placed her in danger or when she herself had messed up, as that was not something she did often.

Yet Steed doubted Emma had ever been seriously worried while on a case.  Suddenly he wondered if there was any chance she felt that way now.  He was struck with an urgent need to know what had gone on inside her head as she strode out of his flat and climbed into the car with Peel.  She was every bit as calm, cool, and collected as he-perhaps even more so-and that made him wonder if mentally she had lost it too, if she had allowed herself to give in to a whirlwind of disturbing calculations and conclusions.  His heart trembled as he wondered if she might be contemplating drastic, irrational measures, just like the one he was taking at that moment.

The phone rang a fourth time, and Steed was about to give up, on the assumption that Emma and Peel hadn't returned yet, when her voice poured out across the wires.

'Hello,' said Emma, whose tone did not indicate that she was feeling any emotion at all.  She was still practical Mrs Emma Peel, although the Mrs had taken on new meaning.

'Emma?  Emma, this is Steed,' he began, trembling, but she quickly cut him off.

'I know that.  Do you really think that we could be partners for so long-'

'-without you learning my voice?  No, I suppose not.  But…listen.  I was thinking-'

'I would never have guessed.'

'-about us.  I remembered that Christmas, when the psychics dressed us up in Dickensian apparel-'

'-not to mention attempting telepathic espionage-'

'-I was playing Sydney Carton, do you remember?'

'Yes, of course.  And I was Oliver Twist.'

'Yes, well, do you remember why they made me Sydney Carton?'

'They wanted you to dream about going to the guillotine, and they decided you should play Carton because that's where he ended up.  Why are you asking me this?'

'You'll see.  Do you remember why Carton went to the guillotine?'

'As I recall, he was in love with Lucie Manette.  His feelings were not returned, and he changed places with his rival in order to give her a life she loved.'

'That's exactly right.  I was thinking about it and suddenly everything made sense.  When I let you leave with your husband, I thought I was doing what Carton did.  But I wasn't, because you're not Lucie.  This isn't a life you'll love.  Your husband has probably returned deathly afraid of his own shadow, and you'll be trapped by his side, never to play the games that made your life so enjoyable before.  You wanted me to read your face…didn't you?'

Steed finished his story almost pleading, realising too late that much of what he'd just said had been highly presumptuous.  He hadn't actually met Peel; he'd simply based his judgments on what would likely become of man struggling for years in the Amazon.  And the man didn't to be in such terrible shape from what little Steed had observed.  He was, after all, able to drive.

Steed waited for a reply, but there was only silence on the other end of the line.  This seemed horribly wrong to him.  Never had his and Emma's rapport been interrupted before.  Even now, with this late phone call, she had finished several of his sentences.  Then he crossed the line, and there was only dead air between them.  But no click, which meant at least that she hadn't hung up.

'I love you, Emma,' Steed said impulsively.  'I desperately wish you would change your mind.  I would have admitted it, someday, sometime in the future…and now I can only pray that there is a future.'

Another silence greeted this, until finally Emma spoke.

'Oliver Twist,' she began, pausing for emphasis, 'asked for more.'

Emma did not give him a chance to reply, as this extraordinary statement was followed almost instantly by that dreaded click.

This was no matter.  Steed's heart was immediately buoyed upwards, or at least that was what he thought might be causing the enormous lump in his throat.  That which he had so rudely surmised was true after all.  He remembered a time when Emma had told him that one should never take a man for granted, but one does.  It must work the opposite way as well.

But there was something he had to do first.  Now that he had been made to understand, albeit in a rather confusing manner, what turbulent emotions had plagued her, Steed felt he owed Mrs Cathy Gale an apology.  Apart from occasional holiday greetings, they had ceased communicating, an arrangement with which he knew she was exceedingly pleased.  Breaking a multiyear trend, Steed dialed her flat.

'Hello,' Mrs Gale answered on the first ring.

'Mrs Gale,' Steed began, with slight trepidation, 'this is John Steed.'

Steed could almost hear the scowl forming on her face.  'Whatever you want, you're not getting it,' she proclaimed.  'I was through with you when I left and that's not changed a whit.'

'Nor should it change, as I treated you in a manner entirely unbecoming to an English gentleman.  I'm calling to tell you I'm sorry, and that I've changed.'

For the second time in ten minutes Steed was faced with bewildered silence on a telephone line.  Mrs Gale swallowed, and then asked, 'What, pray tell, could execute such an implausible transformation?'

Steed chuckled and replied, 'I daresay you'll read about it in the society pages in the next few days.'

'I have better things to do with my time than read the society pages.  I'm writing a book on anthropology that challenges a current theory about ancient peoples.  But I think I see what you're getting at.  Best of luck to you.'

'And to you.  Send me a signed copy of that book, will you?'

'Of course I will.  Especially since you simply asked, rather than manipulating me into it.'

Steed managed a laugh, bid her a good day, and hung up.  He quickly got together his bowler and umbrella, then hurried out to his Bentley to fulfill Emma's demand.  He was scarcely able to concentrate on the road, and was forced to swerve in a way that would have confirmed Emma's conviction that she was the superior driver of the two.  Perhaps she was.  They would have all their lives to find out.

Steed reached Emma's flat and parked the Bentley outside.  He hastened towards the building, but found that he didn't need to go upstairs.  Emma was standing at the front entrance, one suitcase in each hand.

'Where's Peel?' Steed asked, having expected at least some sort of confrontation.

'Upstairs.  He overheard most of our conversation, and then we sat down together and he agreed with me…that we were drifted too far apart to share any real happiness.  He was hardly pleased with your assessment of his condition, though.'

Steed laughed, then relieved her of one of the suitcases.  They walked quietly back to his Bentley, stowed her luggage in the back, and seated themselves in the front.

But rather than starting the car, Steed took Emma's hand.  'Thank you for coming back,' he murmured, every inch sincere.

'Thank you for calling.  I was about to give up and do it myself.'

'Has your faith in me paid off, then?'

'Absolutely.'  Just then, Emma leaned over and kissed him lightly.  She started to draw back, but he deepened the kiss, refusing to allow it.  When at last they did break apart, she said simply, 'This really isn't the right venue, is it?'

'That can be easily fixed,' Steed answered, starting the engine.

FINIS

(AN: Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Anne, Petra6, Cath and esteed.  I really appreciated your comments.  I meant to finish this story much sooner, so I hope the ending was worth the wait.)