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.
Hostage
"Purdey!" Purdey's mother didn't bother to hide her surprise as her daughter threw grateful arms around her and hugged her tight. "I didn't know you were coming. I thought you weren't able to get away."
"I wasn't," Purdey confirmed, trying not to think about the much more sinister—and completely accurate—implications of the phrase, before pulling back and smiling beatifically down at her mother, who had been at least half a head shorter than her daughter ever since that growth spurt when she was sixteen. Even when bemused, her mother's face was a welcome sight, one that she sorely needed to see after her ordeal. Even looking at Steed and Gambit reminded Purdey too much of what she'd gone through, and what had almost become of her, their team, and the Ministry. Steed had wisely realised this, and insisted that she take her leave as planned, albeit a few days later than intended. The unconditional, lovingly accepting care of a parent was, she knew now, precisely what she needed. She needed to be with someone completely separate and apart from work and all the attendant anxieties, uncertainties, and stresses that came with it. "I was waylaid, but I wanted to come, and here I am."
"I see." Purdey's mother was searching her face with the same big blue eyes that Purdey herself employed so effectively on others when trying to divine their secrets, and Purdey knew that her mother could sense that there was more to the story, even if she wouldn't ask for it outright. "Well, I'm very glad to see you, dear. Better late than never, except for dinner, of course. You're a little early for that."
"I think I can ward off starving to death for another hour," Purdey quipped, moving past her mother into the house and making a beeline for the kitchen-and the biscuit cupboard. "Where's Elliot?" she inquired, in reference to her bishop stepfather, as she dug around until she found a packet of chocolate digestives and tore it open.
"Still at the church." Purdey's mother had drifted into the kitchen in her wake, and Purdey could feel her analytical gaze on her back. "How were you waylaid, exactly?" she asked curiously "Was it something to do with work?"
Purdey paused a fraction of a second before stuffing a biscuit into her mouth. "Sort of," she replied around a mouthful of digestive, hoping the chewing would disguise the strain in her voice. "Why do you ask?"
"I had a call," Purdey's mother revealed, resting anxious hands on the back of one of the chairs in the breakfast nook, leaning on it for support. "From a man."
Purdey nearly choked on her biscuit. "A man?" she repeated, whirling on her mother, eyes wide and biscuits forgotten, crushed to crumbs in the packet by her suddenly white-knuckled hand. Images of Spelman, who actually knew her mother, and his henchmen flashed through her mind. Had one of them contacted her mother as part of a secondary scheme, in case the first one failed? Were they going to use her to force Purdey to do something if Steed didn't come through? All the blood drained from her face as the possibility that the caller had been someone she didn't know, a part of Spelman's team that she hadn't seen who was still wandering around loose. What if there was more than one of them, all working away on who knew what, and she had no idea where to find them, no way of protecting her mother? "What man?" she demanded, not bothering to hide her distress. Her mother could be in grave danger, and Purdey felt sick at the idea that she had compounded it by her very presence.
"He didn't give his name," Purdey's mother informed crisply, gauging her daughter's reaction with interest. "He wanted to speak with you. He seemed to be under the impression that you were here. I was rather surprised by that. I would have thought you'd have told everyone who needed to know that you hadn't come." She looked expectantly at Purdey, clearly waiting for her to explain why she hadn't told anyone that her vacation had been postponed. No wonder she was so suspicious about Purdey's explanation—or lack thereof—about her impromptu postponement, and sudden resumption, of her holidays. Purdey had no intention of telling her the whole story—at least, not in person, when she couldn't escape follow-up questions by pretending that the line was bad. Her mother worried about her daughter engaging in the same line of business as Purdey's father enough as it was, and with good reason—her father had been killed working as a spy. As a consequence, she knew the risks of the business better than most—and the excuses an agent might make in an attempt to set a loved one's mind at ease. But that didn't mean Purdey needed to tell her mother exactly what had happened just now, in detail, when it was so raw that Purdey herself still hadn't time to digest it. At the same time, if the man who'd made the call did pose a risk, she needed to head him off before he caused still more problems, and that meant getting as much information as she could out of her mother, even if it raised her suspicions to heretofore unknown heights.
"When was this?" she wanted to know, amazed at how level her voice was, and forced herself to radiate cool even as her insides quivered in anticipation.
"Earlier this afternoon," Purdey's mother estimated. "Around three. I remember because I was just about to call Elliot about his tea."
"Three," Purdey repeated, biting a lip in thought. She'd wondered if the mystery man could have possibly been Steed, calling to see if she'd really been kidnapped, but by three he would have been on the road to the rendezvous to make the exchange for the Allied Attack Plans. In any case, if Steed had wanted to confirm her whereabouts, he would have done it after the first of the blackmail attempts had come through, not just before the final showdown. That meant it could still be someone dangerous. "What else did he say?"
"Not very much," Purdey's mother informed. "It was a fairly brief conversation. One thing he did say, though, that was rather odd…"
Purdey felt her ears prick up like a hunting dog'a. "Yes?"
Purdey's mother's expression conveyed her bemusement. "He said he'd like to have dinner with me sometime. Now isn't that an odd thing?"
Purdey felt the knots in her stomach go from tangled to slack in a split second. There was only one man on the planet whose concern for her welfare was that all-encompassing and who would actively seek, rather than avoid, having dinner with her mother. And that was the man who had ridden to Purdey and Steed's rescue on a leap of faith, at the cost of a beating to himself, and, at the end of it all, somehow managed to still have enough energy to gaze at her with complete and utter adoration and longing whilst ironically uttering the words, ostensibly directed at Steed's flame Suzy, "Silly, deluded girl." It could only be Mike Gambit, a man who would endure physical pain for someone he cared about and still come out the other side smiling. Purdey knew that her ordeal had had an effect on her because of her complete inability to mentally gloss over the magnitude of that poignant expression of his affections. And as she had stood there, attempting to ring Suzy on her kidnappers' antiquated phone, with Gambit making dreamy eyes at her, she'd found herself smiling coyly, knowingly, secretively back, unable to keep the gratitude, the fondness, and, worst of all, the affection from appearing on her own features. For one moment, their mutual attraction had bounced and crackled between them without any defences or barriers to dampen it. How strong her own feelings for Gambit were, Purdey wasn't ready to admit, even as exhausted as she was. But there was never any question as to where Gambit's heart lay, a fact that made Purdey's own armoured organ pang with a certain exquisite agony, even as she put on an impassive mask and set about putting her mother's mind at ease.
"It's all right," she told her mother, with no small amount of relief. "I know who it was. He's a friend. He was looking out for me, that's all."
"I see." Purdey's mother tilted her head inquisitively, and Purdey could practically hear the whirr of her brain as she digested this new intelligence and its implications for her daughter and, more importantly, for her. Before she opened her mouth to speak again, Purdey knew she would already have two or three theories as to the identity of the caller, and at least as many regarding how she could wheedle that information out of Purdey. "Should I set a place for him for dinner, then?"
Purdey hid her catlike grin behind another biscuit. It wasn't a subtle opening salvo, but she gave her mother credit for the sheer gall of it. "Not tonight," she told her, snapping off a piece if biscuit with still-grinning teeth.
"I see," her mother repeated, one eyebrow arched high. "Perhaps some other time soon?"
Purdey chewed her biscuit thoughtfully for a moment, images of a dishevelled Gambit, dirt and dust clinging to his suit and bits of debris in his hair, grinning wistfully at her, dancing through her mind. "Maybe," she allowed, more to herself than to her mother. "Just maybe."