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.

Three Handed Game

Purdey found herself sitting in the same spot on the same couch with the same view that Gambit had had when she burst into Helen McKay's studio a little more than an hour ago and caught him mixing business with…life modelling. The front door opened and the sound of voices and ambulance doors slamming spilled into the otherwise perfect tranquility of the studio. The soundscape disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by leisurely footsteps that headed straight for her, and a moment later Steed plopped onto the couch beside her. Purdey's gaze remained fixed on the large, abstract, block sculpture, but she knew her newfound company was Steed because of the instantly reassuring, comforting feeling that washed over her, a prediction that was ultimately confirmed by the gently-amiable voice that followed. "I wasn't aware that you were a fan of Miss McKay's work."

Purdey snorted derisively. "I'm not," she replied, keen for Steed to not be under that illusion a second longer than necessary. "I've never liked abstract art. I think the people who make it don't have the skill to be proper artists, so they make blocky, strange things and pretend that they're an abstract representation of something else. Then everyone else nods along and calls it profound because they're too afraid to call it rubbish and be accused of not understanding it."

Steed chuckled in agreement. "Mrs. Peel was very keen on it. As a matter of fact, she was crafting something quite similar to this piece when we were working together…" He took a breath that was not quite a sigh, but was too long to be just a breath, and Purdey detected a certain wistfulness in it, undoubtedly attributable to him suddenly, acutely feeling the absence of Mrs. Emma Peel. If Purdey had been in a different frame of mind, she might have pursued that line of inquiry, but as it was she had more than enough to think on, and then Steed started speaking again and the moment was gone. "I must admit, I'm also rather partial to art that bears some sort of resemblance to, for lack of a better word, something." Purdey snickered ungenerously in response, but Steed, ever the gentleman, was not quite finished, and keen to balance out his criticism with praise. "For that reason, I prefer some of Miss McKay's other work. That statue, for example." He pointed his brolly tip at the nude male example in a Grecian style that Purdey had initially mistaken as being modelled on Gambit. "I'm on rather firmer ground with that. Recognisable, museum-worthy, classic. It proves that our Miss McKay doesn't create abstracts to disguise a lack of talent. I only hope that she hasn't lost her gift permanently due to Juventor's device. Hopefully she'll make a full recovery."

That squelched Purdey's schadenfreude, and she had enough decency to look mildly sheepish about her unkind assessment of the woman's work given that Helen had only just been taken away from her studio by ambulance, intellect reduced to something resembling a root vegetable. It wasn't a fate Purdey would wish on her worst enemy, even if she had the sneaking suspicion that Helen's IQ hadn't been much higher before she'd been zapped. "Yes, well, just because we've proved she can sculpt doesn't mean I like her abstract monstrosities," she countered, a touch defensively.

"Of course," Steed replied mildly, head tilted slightly in that evaluative, thoughtful way that Purdey knew meant he was seeing through her defences and finding things that Purdey would rather keep hidden. "You're entitled to your opinion, of course, but I can't help but notice that you seem to be disproportionately interested in this particular work, despite finding it so loathsome. You haven't taken your eyes off of it the entire time that I've been here."

Purdey bit her lip and knew that he had her there. More importantly, she knew she'd just been subtly asked a question that Steed, persistent as he was, would keep asking indirectly from now until the end of time. It was a gentle form of cross-examination that could break people as successfully as putting them in the interrogators' chair, and Purdey knew there was no point in resisting. "Where's Gambit?" she asked instead, resigning herself to the inevitable.

The question threw Steed, which was a feat in itself. "As far as I know, in Miss McKay's garden of wonders, walking our dear friends in the clean-up crew through what happened. Why?"

"Because that sculpture is of him!" Purdey exclaimed, flinging herself up from the couch in exasperation with herself and Gambit and Helen McKay and the whole universe and beginning to pace. "He was modelling for her when I arrived—au naturel, of all things. You must have noticed that he was only wearing a blanket when you stopped by earlier."

Steed sucked his teeth and look heavenward as he recalled the scene. "I did notice he seemed rather unusually clad, but I had rather more pressing things to worry about. Knowing Gambit, there could have been several explanations."

Purdey snorted again. "That's very generous. In my experience, when it comes to Gambit, there's only one explanation, and it involves a girl."

Steed's knowing smirk made him instantly look three decades younger. "All the very best ones do."

Purdey gave him a look beloved by parents shaking their heads at their children's antics the world over. "Well, this girl had an awful lot to say when Gambit left to make himself decent."

Steed tilted his head in interest. "Did she really? My goodness me. Nothing that will offend my delicate sensibilities, I hope."

Purdey grinned in spite of herself at Steed's feigned, wide-eyed innocence. "I doubt that anyone's managed that since 1953."

"Besides some regrettable instances that led to the consumption of unchilled champagne, there was one rather startling incident in 1966 that comes to mind," Steed allowed, casting his mind back. "But that's for another time. What did our unfortunate friend Miss McKay have to say? Nothing about Juventor?"

"Of course not," Purdey scoffed. "She was so wrapped up in creating her latest horror that I think she'd forgotten why we were here." She ceased her pacing, stopping beside the abstract sculpture, rendered mournful and unfinished by the misfortune that had befallen its maker. "She kept talking about this piece, and how hard it had been to find a good model for it." She turned to Steed, brow creased with sour, angry bemusement. "She said that Gambit was exactly what she'd been looking for because his shoulders were a little too broad for his build, but she thought he looked better for it. Perfection out of imperfection. That's what she said this piece was about."

"That sounds a suitably artistic raison d'etre," Steed said slowly, studying Purdey's face, then the sculpture, with great care. "Now that you've told me what she was attempting to express, I can see it."

"But I can't," Purdey exclaimed bitterly, skirt flaring out as she swirled to glare angrily at the sculpture once more. "Or at least, I didn't. Not until now. Had you?"

"Noticed Gambit's shoulders?" Steed had been asked stranger questions, and that was evident with the equanimity with which he fielded this one. "Yes, as it happens. Any man who regularly visits his tailor becomes very aware of any idiosyncrasies in build that might make the fit rather difficult. I've often wondered how Gambit made do with off-the-peg jackets before he was able to afford custom tailoring."

Purdey's expression showed that she was torn between being heartened and feeling worse at Steed's words. "You noticed it, too," she said softly, trooping disconsolately back to Steed and slumping onto the couch beside him.

"I take it you hadn't?" Steed prodded gently, sensing that this was a sore spot, even if he had yet to divine exactly why.

"Not until now," Purdey confirmed, slouching deeper into the couch, as though she was hoping it would swallow her up. "And even then it wasn't obvious. It was only when I really looked at him, really looked, that I saw it, and even now that I've seen it, it still doesn't seem obvious. I sort of unsee it if I forget about it. To me, it's about as obvious on Gambit as it is on that…thing." She waved an arm vaguely at the sculpture. "And it doesn't even have any shoulders!"

"I don't want to presume, so forgive me if this sounds rather ignorant, but why should it matter that either Miss McKay or I noticed this particular idiosyncrasy about Gambit and you did not?"

Purdey was silent for a moment, brooding as she pondered the sculpture in front of her. "I don't know," she admitted finally. "Maybe if it was only you, it wouldn't matter. But the fact that Helen McKay-that a total stranger knew something about Gambit that I didn't…" She shook her head, genuinely at a loss. "I don't know why, but it bothers me."

Steed nodded slightly, confident now that he had taken the measure of the situation. "In my experience, you're only bothered by such discrepancies when they matter," he observed, as he climbed to his feet from Helen's fashionably low-slung couch. "Why they matter, however," he added, looking down at the woebegone Purdey, "is a question only you can answer." He glanced out the windows at the rear of the studio, where he could see Gambit emerging from Helen's sculpture garden with one of the clean-up crew men, with whom he was in deep conversation. "Speaking of our friend and colleague, he appears to have finished his business and is on his way back here." He turned and smiled benevolently down at Purdey. "I think I'll have a word with him first. I'd like to clarify one or two points. We'll be out front when you're ready to join us."

Purdey smiled gratefully up at the senior agent. "Thank you, Steed," she said, though the three words felt inadequate, meant as they were to encompass her gratitude for a multitude of things, from Steed's understanding that she needed a moment, to his wise counsel, to his willingness to listen to her in the first place—and keep what she said to himself.

Steed understood the multifaceted thanks just as he had everything else. "My pleasure, my dear," he replied cheerfully, tipping his bowler at her before he settled it comfortably onto his head, and strode away to leave her to her thoughts.

Purdey took a deep breath and looked back at the sculpture. Despite Steed's generosity, she knew she couldn't stay and stare at it forever. Juventor was still out there, somewhere, and he had all the parts of the Three Handed Game in his head now. Whatever Helen's insight about Gambit meant to her was something that she would have to unpick at her leisure later. Only, deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what it meant to her. She shook her head to clear it. Maybe best to leave that train of thought alone for now, until she was ready to face it.

She could hear Steed and Gambit's voices faintly through the door, so she took a deep breath, freed herself from the couch's smothering embrace, and set her jaw. Whatever her feelings, the three of them had a job to do, and Purdey wasn't about to let her partners do it without her. There were some things that the artistic Helen McKay could never understand, and what it was like to work with Gambit, shoulder to shoulder, in the dangerous world of espionage, was one of them.

It was that thought that powered her long, easy strides as she walked away from the sculpture without looking back.