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.
Trap
Gambit watched the two men load the stretcher bearing Marty Brine's corpse into the ambulance with a vague sense of guilt. He hadn't managed to say more than a few words to the man before he was senselessly gunned down by their drug courier quarry, but, due to Brine's obvious interest in Purdey and her supposed claim that it was reciprocated, he'd been nursing less-than-friendly thoughts about the man in the moments before the CIA agent's unfortunately demise. Gambit knew he had a jealous streak to match Purdey's own in strength and pettiness, but that didn't mean he actively wished any of Purdey's potential paramours ill, and definitely not dead. Gambit had seen too much death in his time to take it lightly or wish it on anyone, even metaphorically. Marty had seemed like a decent enough sort from what he had gleaned from their brief acquaintance, and, even though their job was notorious for its unpredictability, it was hard to believe that less than an hour had elapsed between Gambit shaking Marty Brine's hand and watching his body being taken away. Even the pretty blonde nurse who, along with one of the men who had carried the stretcher, was adjusting the sheet covering the body, failed to lift his spirits. He hadn't killed the man, but he felt guilty for the petty ill-will he'd borne toward him in the moments before his demise.
"It could have been any of us." Purdey's words interrupted his train of thought, and he turned to look at her, belatedly realising he'd forgotten she was even there. "You, me, Steed. We were all running toward him at the same time. None of us had any cover. He could have killed anyone. He just happened to shoot at Marty."
"Yeah," Gambit agreed grimly, watching one of the men who had been in charge of the stretcher jump out of back of the ambulance and close the doors before moving to the cab. "We like to think that our training keeps us alive, that we can fight or strategize our way out of a tight spot. But sometimes who lives and dies isn't down to us. Sometimes it's just luck."
Purdey crossed her arms tightly, as though warding off a chill. "It's not fair," she said morosely, and Gambit could see the shadows in her eyes, knew the darkness of her mood went beyond Marty's death. As she watched the ambulance pull away, he knew she was picturing one of them being driven away instead. The thought had Gambit working his jaw anxiously. Purdey was right. The odds of any of them being shot had been even: one in four. Marty might have upped his ever-so-slightly by getting ahead of Steed and therefore presenting a more imminent threat, but Gambit and Purdey had been just as close, albeit approaching from the opposite direction. If the shooter had noticed that, then it would have been Gambit on the stretcher and Marty reflecting on the passing of a man he hardly knew. Or it could have been Purdey, but the mere thought made Gambit's heart stop and his chest tighten, so he moved swiftly on from it before he passed out completely.
"No, it isn't," he said in response to Purdey's comment about fairness, fighting the black spots clouding his vision at the notion of Purdey's demise in another reality, an alternate future. "I've seen so many agents die in the last couple of years—friends, allies. I don't know how Steed's dealt with it as long as he has. It never gets easier."
"No," Purdey agreed, hugging herself tighter. "It doesn't." In a flash of realisation, Gambit remembered that Purdey's own father had been killed in the line of duty, and that she was standing there wondering if his demise had been as arbitrary as Marty Brine's had. It was a hard notion to swallow, even at the best of times, but when it came to a loved one, it was almost impossible to accept.
"The best we can do for Marty is finish what he started," he told Purdey, turning to meet her wide, sad blue eyes, hoping that being able to do something for Brine would assuage the undoubtedly helpless feeling that was washing over her at the thought of her father dying at the hand of as cruel a killer as luck. "And get the man at the top."
"I suppose so." Purdey blinked her eyes, determined not to cry, and Gambit wished that he could help her avenge her father the way he was certain they were going to avenge Marty. He didn't even know the details of her father's death, if the man responsible for killing him had ever been brought to justice, if anyone even knew who he was. Purdey didn't talk about her father much, and Gambit was loath to upset her by bringing it up. But he could at least do right by Marty in death where he had been ungenerous to him in life. It was what he would do for any agent, what every agent deserved.
He offered his arm to Purdey. "Ready to find a drug lord?"
She looked at him, then his arm, nodded smartly, and took it. Now there was fire in her eyes. "Lead on, Mike Gambit."
He smiled, pleased to see the return of her usual spark. "The top man won't know what hit him," he predicted. "Let's find Steed."