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.

Forward Base

"Typical," Purdey huffed into her paper cup of tea one Tuesday afternoon, sending the cloud of steam rising from the piping hot liquid billowing across the small table toward Gambit.

"What's typical?" Gambit inquired automatically, attention still mostly consumed by the dog-eared paperback he'd been engrossed in ever since they'd arrived at the airport.

"That," Purdey replied unhelpfully, waiting until Gambit dragged his eyes away from Ian Fleming before pointing them in the right direction. Gambit was rewarded with the unremarkable sight of a sandy-haired man talking to an attractive blonde woman. From their body language, Gambit surmised that they were getting on famously. So much so that he could foresee them making a joint trip to the plane's loo during their flight. If they didn't give into impatience and take up residence in one of the airport's washrooms first.

"He might be," he decided, regarding the woman appreciatively before his gaze drifted back to his novel. "She's well above typical."

"I don't mean how they look!" Purdey hissed, shooting daggers at Gambit across the table, ire multiplying ten-fold when her outburst failed to earn so much as a flicker of an eyelid from her colleague. "He's flirting with her."

"Of course he is. If we didn't have a flight to Toronto to catch, I'd flirt with her, too." Gambit's eyes flicked up from his book long enough to grin wolfishly. "Like I said, she's definitely not typical."

"Oh, I don't know why I bother talking to you," Purdey grumbled, setting her tea down with feeling, slopping a bit of molten hot liquid onto the table in the process. She crossed her arms and lapsed into a sulk. Gambit watched her for a moment, concluded that she had no more to say on the topic, and went back to his book. He managed half a paragraph before Purdey, seemingly forgetting her last statement, leaned conspiratorially across the table and whispered, "He just finished saying good-bye to another woman five minutes ago." Her words were laced with disgust.

Gambit took a sip of his bad airport coffee and immediately winced in regret. "Maybe it was his sister?"

"That old chestnut," Purdey sniffed. "Would you kiss your sister good-bye?"

"If I had one, I might."

"Passionately? On the mouth?"

Gambit choked on his coffee and coughed loud enough that the couple in question briefly glanced their way. Gambit flashed an apologetic smile before turning, sputtering, back to Purdey. "Okay. You've made your point. Fidelity isn't his strong suit. What does that have to do with us?"

"Nothing," Purdey said simply, and, before Gambit could say anything, added, "But it does have something to do with you."

Gambit's eyes narrowed as he leaned across the table and planted one warning index finger on the surface with conviction. "Purdey, I am not going to punch him just because you don't like him. Not after what happened last time."

"He deserved it," Purdey dismissed with a wave of her hand. "But what I meant was, it concerns you and every other man on this planet. You're all so maddeningly fickle."

Gambit sat wearily back in his chair. "Ah. I see where this is going."

"You ought to," Purdey countered. "It's a universal truth, on par with the sky being blue. Men's minds are changeable and dynamic and totally and utterly fickle." She said the last word as if it was the most damning of all of the proverbial seven deadly sins.

"No more than women's," Gambit disagreed, putting his paperback down carefully, so as not to lose his place. He had a feeling this conversation might take awhile.

Purdey jerked her head toward the couple. "I didn't see her kiss anyone good-bye before she started chatting him up."

"Doesn't mean she doesn't have someone at home," Gambit pointed out. "Anyway, isn't it a bit extreme to condemn a whole sex based on the actions of one man?"

"Not if it's an accurate generalisation," Purdey opined, leaning back with satisfaction, as if that was the last word on the matter.

"And you believe that?" Gambit sounded mildly insulted. "That men change their minds about who they're in love with every ten minutes?"

It was Purdey's turn to look incredulous. "And you don't?"

Gambit made a moue and shook his head very, very slowly. "Sorry, Purdey-girl. I can't agree with you on this one."

"But you're a bachelor!" Purdey exclaimed, indignant. "With a little black book of telephone numbers to his name," she added, in an unsuccessful attempt to quash the smug smile that was currently spreading across his features at the mention of his relationship status. "And you're far from the only one."

Gambit tilted his head to one side, grin still stretching his features. "Now Purdey, you can't compare me to just anyone. That black book has been very carefully cultivated and curated. Not every bloke takes that much care."

"Of his telephone numbers or his ego?" Purdey quipped, which, much to her satisfaction, finally succeeded in wiping the smug smile off of Gambit's face. "But you've proven my point. I mean, why else would a man have a little black book in the first place, unless he wants to be able to change his mind at a moment's notice about who he wants to go out with on any given night? If that doesn't scream fickleness of mind, I don't know what does."

"Ah." Gambit held up a cautioning index finger. "That's when you're dating for fun."

"And commitment isn't fun?" Purdey surmised, with a bitter curl of her lip.

"No," Gambit replied placidly, then added, before Purdey's fatalism had a chance to settle in, "It's much, much more than that." As a stinging retort had not come zinging from Purdey's lips at this statement, Gambit plowed on. "I don't deny that a man might be a bit fickle when he's playing the field. But no man would up and leave a woman, not if he really cared about her."

Purdey blinked, not quite sure how to respond to what had turned out to be a surprisingly heartfelt answer, one professed with a genuine expression that seemed to indicate that Gambit was not only making his point to win the argument, but that he actually believed in what he was saying. The sincerity was enough to stop her usually unstoppable propensity for debating dead in its tracks. She was still searching for the words that might refute Gambit's sentiment as well as his argument when the tannoy speaker in the airport crackled into life.

"All passengers on British Airways flight 257 with service to Toronto please proceed to gate 5B for boarding."

"That's us," Gambit identified, draining the last of his coffee and tossing the cup, with expert accuracy, into the nearest rubbish bin, before collecting his carryon and his paperback.

"Yes," Purdey agreed faintly, still flummoxed by Gambit's argument, even if she was determined to remain unconvinced by it. "But we're not finished."

Gambit flashed her another one of those devastatingly genuine smiles as she collected her own bag. "Purdey, I hope we never are." As he turned and made his way toward the gate, he added, sotto voce, "And if that doesn't convince you, I don't know what will."