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.

The Gladiators

"Don't you like Greek food?"

Gambit blinked and the image of Steed and Chuck Peters laughing uproariously at something the former had said snapped into focus before his eyes. Gambit had the sneaking suspicion that he'd been staring at them—or, more accurately, through them—for the past ten minutes. Not that they were liable to have noticed. After they'd roused the Canadian security chief from being knocked out by one of Sminsky's goons, they'd marched him down to the infirmary, where the very pretty Quebecoise doctor had confirmed that his concussion wasn't too bad. With that diagnosis, Peters had insisted on taking the trio out for dinner as a "thank you" for services rendered on their so-called working holiday, and it hadn't taken them long to settle on the Greek restaurant on Dundas Street that Steed was forever raving about. Which was why they were now ensconced in a booth in a sea of boisterous voices and exotic scents that would have sent Gambit straight back to his navy days, if recent events hadn't already had him harkening back to another time and place entirely. A place he'd now been bodily dragged back from by words, not from Steed or Peters, who were cheerfully drunk on a heady mixture of ouzo and nostalgia for the days of shinning over the wall on joint Anglo-Canadian missions, but from Purdey. Who else?

Gambit tore his eyes away from the giddy Steed and Peters and stared dazedly into Purdey's big blue swimming pool orbs. "What?"

"You've barely eaten anything." Purdey pointed her chin at his almost-untouched plate. "Not a fan of Greek cuisine?"

Gambit looked down at the bundles of rice wrapped in grape leaves with a side of the moussaka that he'd ordered more because Steed had been raving about it than out of any burning desire for what he basically thought of as Greek shepherd's pie, then smiled wanly at Purdey. "It never tastes the same outside of Greece," he offered by way of explanation, hoping that would be enough.

"Do you mind if I have it?" Purdey wanted to know. "It seems a shame to waste it."

Gambit snuck at glance at Purdey's plate, which, true to form, had been cleared, and resisted the urge to smile. "Help yourself, Purdey-girl," he permitted, leaning back to afford her greater access. "Like you said, it'd be a shame to waste it."

"Well, Steed would be very disappointed if this excellent moussaka wasn't appreciated," Purdey justified, quickly swapping plates with him, before setting to work with her fork on one of the grape leaves. "You've been to Greece, then?"

"Hmm?" Gambit was already drifting away, back into the recesses of his past, but Purdey seemed determined to keep him in the here and now. "Oh, yeah. A few times. Back in my navy days."

"Is that where you met O'Hara?" Purdey posed the question so casually he almost didn't hear it at all, but the name finally focussed his wavering attention on Purdey and her demeanour, and he had a sudden sneaking suspicion that her inquiry about his leftovers hadn't solely come from a desire to sneak herself a second dinner.

"No," he said simply. "It wasn't in Greece."

"Where, then? Ireland?" Purdey cut a slice off the moussaka and popped it into her mouth, chewing expectantly, if one could chew expectantly. Purdey could, it seemed.

"No, not in Ireland, either," Gambit sighed.

"Where was it, then?" Purdey wanted to know, taking a sip of ouzo to clear her throat. "Was it when you were working with Steed, before I came along?"

"Does it matter?" Gambit asked tiredly.

"Well, you've been broody and distracted ever since you caught a glimpse of him," Purdey said matter-of-factly. "And you did say he tried to kill you once before."

"Lots of people have tried to kill me," Gambit pointed out, reaching for the ouzo.

"I've noticed. Sometimes I've had the inclination myself," Purdey replied wryly, spearing a bit of grape leaf with feeling. "It must be something about your personality that incites such uncontrollable feelings of rage."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Gambit queried irritably, downing his ouzo and pulling a face at both the taste and Purdey's attempts at interrogation.

"Aha!" Purdey pointed her fork at him in triumph. "You admit that you're feeling, if not unwell, then not happy."

Gambit suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of fatigue, weariness. He set the empty glass beside Purdey's cleaned plate with resignation. "All right, you got me. Congratulations."

To his surprise, Purdey's brow creased in mild annoyance. "I'm not looking for accolades," she said sharply, sounding stung.

Gambit's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "That makes a change. What are you looking for then?"

Purdey opened her mouth to say something, probably scathing, but uncharacteristically swallowed the urge and said instead, "An explanation. About O'Hara."

"What makes you think there's anything to explain?" Gambit wanted to know, picking at the tablecloth rather than meeting Purdey's eyes. He really didn't want to talk about O'Hara. He'd spent all day trying not to think about him, after all, which he supposed was what Purdey had picked up on. The trouble with Purdey was, once she had picked up on something, it was nigh-on impossible to get her to drop it until she decided she was finished with it. And that could take a long time. "O'Hara tried to kill me, that's all. One in a long line of bastards who finally got what he was coming to him today." He hadn't meant that last part to come out with so much vitriol, but that, and his choice of language, meant that the cat was well and truly out of the bag, and was now wending its way between Purdey's ankles mewling for attention.

"Gambit…" Purdey's voice was soft, but somehow reached him through the din of the restaurant. He looked up and found her gazing at him with those worried, serious eyes that meant she was past jokes and esoteric conversation, and really was concerned about him. It was flattering, really—Purdey only worried about people if they meant a great deal to her, and this conversation was as good as a confession that he held a special place in her heart, despite some of his fears to the contrary in recent months. But that was another issue, not nearly as old as the O'Hara one. But it was the one he was staring down tonight. "What happened? Where did you meet O'Hara?"

Gambit sighed and let his eyes flutter closed. "It was in Africa," he told her, and the revelation felt like the long exhalation of a breath he'd been holding for years.

"Africa?" Purdey was taken aback, clearly hadn't been expecting that answer. "What were you doing in Africa?"

"My job," Gambit said bitterly, hating to admit to his past occupation, even in the broadest strokes. "A different job. Part of another life."

Purdey seemed to realise that something bigger was brewing beneath the surface. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked gently, biting her lip uncertainly, wondering how to play this particular situation.

"Not really," Gambit admitted candidly. "Definitely not tonight." Deep down, he knew his upset wasn't so much due to O'Hara himself as the unpleasant associations he called up to that ugly chapter of Gambit's life, the one he would have just as soon forgotten.

Purdey glanced across the table at the two laughing men. "Does Steed know?"

"Yes. Sort of." Gambit felt a headache coming on, and it had nothing to do with the ouzo. "Broad strokes."

"Well, if you ever feel like filling them in with a little fine detail, I'm here." It was an offer made with absolute sincerity, and one of Purdey's most winning smiles, the sort that drove away clouds on the most overcast of days.

Against all odds, Gambit felt himself smiling back. "I might take you up on that, Purdey-girl. One day."

"That's settled then." The promise—or promise of a promise—revived Purdey's appetite, and she turned back to his abandoned food. "We could make an event of it. Go to Greece, maybe, and then you can enjoy Greek food properly."

"I don't know if I need to," Gambit quipped, feeling his spirits lift, "when I have you to enjoy it for me."

Purdey elbowed him. "Stop being cheeky and pass the ouzo."

"I didn't know you liked it so much," Gambit commented, reaching across the table for the bottle.

"I don't. I'm trying to get it away from Steed and Peters," Purdey hissed conspiratorially. "It's going to take an age to get them home. I think they've forgotten which city they're in!"

The rich roll of Gambit's laughter added itself to the cacophony of the restaurant.