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.

Medium Rare

Gambit's finger was hovering over the buzzer when Steed came clattering down Purdey's 21 steps, dressed head to toe in a charcoal grey suit that was the very definition of 'smart'. "Steed! What are you doing here?" he wanted to know, dispensing with the pleasantries in an effort to overcome his bemusement as quickly as possible. He didn't know how much time he had, after all.

"I rather thought that that was obvious," Steed pointed out, alighting at the bottom of the stairs and taking up his position on the opposite side of the door. "I'm here to see Purdey. And you?"

"Just as obvious," Gambit parried. "Same thing."

Steed was eyeing Gambit's wardrobe rather dubiously. "I know there's no reason to stand on ceremony when visiting friends, but I find it difficult to believe that you chose your ensemble especially for the occasion."

Gambit pulled the mackintosh that he'd hurriedly thrown on over his jeans and well-worn shirt closed with a self-conscious cringe. "I was in the middle of doing some DIY at my flat when Purdey rang and said she needed help. It sounded urgent, so I didn't stop to change."

Steed frowned. "I found a similar message waiting for me when I stepped out of my briefing with the Minister for a moment. I hope she's all right."

"Only one way to find out." Gambit pressed down hard on the buzzer and held it. Over the whine that it sent echoing through the flat came the sound of hurried, scuttling footsteps. A moment later, the door was flung open and Purdey appeared, dressed in shapeless coveralls, a workshirt, and a headscarf. There was a paint smudge on her cheek and a wild look in her eye.

"Purdey!" Gambit and Steed exclaimed in unison, clocking her unkempt appearance and immediately assuming the worst.

Purdey scowled. "You took your time. I thought you'd never get here." She seized one of Gambit's arms and dragged him bodily into the flat. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

"Is everything all right?" Steed wanted to know, removing his bowler and peering inside in search of enemy agents, killer robots, or some heretofore unknown enemy that might be the source of Purdey's distress. Seeing nothing, he followed Gambit, who tripped over the threshold as Purdey almost yanked his arm from his socket in her haste. "Your message said it was emergency."

"It is an emergency!" Purdey confirmed, spinning Gambit around and wrestling the stunned man's mac from his shoulders. "I've mixed too much wallpaper paste and I'll never be able to use it all on my own before it dries out." She cast Gambit's mac carelessly onto her dropsheet-covered couch and looked him up and down, then did the same to Steed. "You're not exactly a matching set, but at least one of you came suitably dressed for DIY."

"Purdey!" Steed exclaimed, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. "I cut short a briefing with the Minister to come here. A briefing, I might add, that involved methodically addressing every one of the Minister's concerns about my trustworthiness after Wallace's rather thorough character assassination."

"Oh, no one really believed you'd turned traitor," Purdey dismissed, thrusting a paintbrush into Gambit's outstretched hand and closing his numb fingers around the handle. "Gambit and I certainly didn't, and anyone else with a lick of sense didn't either. Besides, McBain will explain everything in his report, and everyone knows he only deals in cold, hard facts."

Steed exhaled in obvious annoyance. "I have every confidence in McBain's abilities, but when the Minister asks for personal assurances that you've not turned traitor, one does feel rather compelled to give them. Especially when McKay is standing behind you with what could be his cane or a gun barrel at your back because the department's reputation is also on the line. Neither of them was best pleased, or very reassured about my commitment to the Ministry, when I left midway through the briefing to attend to what I assured them was a matter of grave importance."

"It's of grave importance to me," Purdey asserted, hefting a bucket full of wallpaper paste over to set next to Gambit's feet.

Steed pursed his lips. "Forgive me, my dear, but I don't think that loss of wallpaper paste qualifies as a national emergency."

"Well, never mind. You're here now," Purdey said brightly, pointing toward a coat rack laden with paint-splattered smocks. "You should be able to find something there to protect your suit." She saw Steed's pinched expression and added, "You did say you appreciated my unfailing faith in you when you were under house arrest."

Steed recalled the words, much to his annoyance, which meant there were two types of annoyance mixing together, and he wasn't sure if one negated the other or if they were producing a dark cloud that was exponentially worse. "I did appreciate it," he began, rather tersely. Cleaning up the mess Wallace left behind and ensuring that Victoria Stanton was sworn to secrecy had been exhausting, and he was rather short on his usual good humour as a result. "But I'm not entirely certain that it warrants a complete abdication of duties." He looked to the younger man for assistance. "Gambit?"

Gambit looked at him, then the paintbrush, then the expectant Purdey, shrugged, and smiled. "Maybe she'll make us sandwiches when we're finished. I don't know about you, but I haven't had my tea."

Purdey grinned broadly, then turned expectantly to Steed, and their combined cheeriness was enough to shift Steed's uncharacteristically bad mood. He laughed, carefully set his bowler and umbrella on a bit of kitchen counter that was well out of range of any errant flicks of wallpaper paste, and made for the coatrack. "I'll start on the back wall, shall I?"