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.

Target!

Gambit snapped out of his daze just in time to catch the motorway exit, signalled, and made a lightning-quick, dextrous gear change that neatly avoided causing the driver behind him a heart attack or a nasty insurance claim. He pulled into the exit with seconds to spare, narrowly averting an absent-minded trip to Yorkshire or Cornwall or whatever other far-flung part of the island the XJS' bonnet had been pointed toward. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd also lost track of where he was, a fitting state of affairs given how unmoored he currently felt. He was simultaneously wired and exhausted, driving on autopilot, brain working overtime, whirring, spinning like the Jaguar's tyres, thoughts tumbling over and into one another. He needed to go home, he needed to rest, he needed food and sleep and a reprieve after the terror and confusion and raw emotion of the past few hours. But he couldn't afford to stop. Not yet. Not tonight. Not until the rash, capricious madness that was currently boiling his brain ran its course, boiled dry, and left behind nothing more dangerous than a few whiffs of steam. Not until he'd worked himself to the point of exhaustion, where he could do nothing more than stagger into his flat and collapse, comatose, facedown onto the mattress. That was when he'd go back, not a second earlier. It was too risky otherwise.

It had been hard enough keep a lid on his emotions during the trip back to Kendrick's surgery to have Purdey checked over, arms wrapped around her woozy form to stop her from tumbling into the backseat footwell of Steed's Range Rover. The antidote had saved her, but it had left her foggier in the head than Steed, no surprise given that she'd been farther along in the poisoning process. Steed might have been disoriented, but he hadn't fallen into a coma. Hadn't nearly died…

A roadside sign indicated a scenic route and promised a pleasant, leisurely drive. Gambit cranked the XJS' wheel and turned onto said scenic route, reassured by the way the car responded and his ability to control its power, its trajectory. If he just concentrated, if he let the car do its part and he did his, then nothing would go wrong. It was the polar opposite of how he'd felt when he'd found Purdey, lying cold and silent and still on the bed, and felt his own heart go as cold and silent and still as her limp form. As he'd gathered her into his arms, the first words of lament upon his lips, she'd come to life unexpectedly, and he'd gone from mourning to mortified in a split second. But he would have rather endured a lifetime of humiliation than relive that horrible moment when she'd collapsed again, for real this time, and the long, slow, agonising decline had begun. Steed had said he felt the same as Gambit about hunting down Purdey's killers, about getting revenge, but he hadn't cradled her in his lap, hadn't felt her pulse slowing minute by minute, hadn't heard her breath becoming shallower and shallower, hadn't felt her sweat soak through his trousers as her skin turned cool and clammy. He hadn't felt Purdey dying right in his arms, tangibly sensed her life slipping away with every second, and been helpless to do anything except stroke her hair and let her know that he was still there, that he would be with her to the end, however and whenever it came, because his heart had beat in time with hers from the second he'd laid eyes on her, and if hers stopped, his may as well, too. He might not have been poisoned by curare, but as Gambit had gazed down at Purdey's deceptively serene features, he'd known with more certainty than he'd ever had in his life that if Purdey went, it didn't matter what he did next, because he was as good as a dead man.

That was why he'd kept such a close watch on her all the way to Kendrick's, wrapping her in his jacket as much to keep her warm as to protect her modesty in her flimsy slip, to prevent her skin from becoming as terrifyingly cold as it had before. Why he took solace from her leaning against him, not because he always wanted to be close to Purdey, but because it meant he could feel the rhythm of her breathing and the beat of her heart right through her back, directly against his own—heart to heart, in every sense of the world. Why he'd paced relentlessly while waiting for Kendrick to examine her, and protested even more loudly than usual when the doctor insisted on examining him as well, to ensure he hadn't been hit and poisoned, because it meant letting Purdey out of his sight, where he couldn't make sure she was still alive. Why he'd insisted on carrying her down the stairs to her flat on the pretence that she had no shoes, but really because he was worried about whether she could make her way down safely with her still wobbly legs. Why he'd made her tea and ensured that she got to bed all right and fussed over her until Steed had taken him by the elbow and steered him bodily out the door, insisting that Purdey was fine and that they all needed some rest. He'd made sure Gambit had driven away, but what he didn't know was that Gambit had kept driving and hadn't stopped since. Steed had meant for him to go home, but Gambit couldn't. Because if he went home, there was nothing to stop him from going to Purdey's flat, a scant few minutes away, to check on her. And if he went to check on her, he'd want to sit with her for awhile, even if she only slept, just to make sure that her chest kept going up and down. And if she woke up, there'd be nothing to stop him from saying things to her, things that he'd felt and hinted at but never explicitly said in so many words. Things that he'd regretted never saying to her when he thought he would lose her. And if he said those things, there'd be no unsaying them, and Purdey would react—either how he hoped or how he feared—and then they'd have to deal with the fallout and there'd be no going back for them, their partnership, their friendship, any of it. Gambit was a master of self-control, but this day, this hellish day, had left his nerves ragged and raw, and his sense of perspective completely shot. He couldn't trust himself to not say the things his heart longed to say to Purdey, not right now, and until he got a hold of himself again, it was better for both of them if he stayed away.

"Mike Gambit, you're behaving like an old mother hen. But I do love you."

"You do what me?"

It felt like years since he'd called those words after her, but it had been only that morning. All she'd done in response was wave cheerily as she pulled away. That could have meant anything. For that matter, she'd never actually said 'love'. Just mouthed it at him while she revved her car's engine, teasing him as always. She could have meant it, or it could have been a flippant comment. There was no way of knowing. And until there was, Gambit wasn't going to impose what he felt, in the depths of his soul, upon her. The feelings that had only been reinforced and deepened by the events of the day would remain intense, but he would find a way to master them the way he was currently mastering the Jag. Until then, he'd drive.

Cornwall was probably lovely this time of year, anyway.