Lost Boys

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. David Keel, Cathy Gale, Emma Peel, and Tara King belong to Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Timeline: Zero in a series. Takes place in June, 1975, a full ten months before the start of the TV series. Those interested in the rest of the series are invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, and Brazil.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, another update this week, following "All Wet" this past weekend. I must admit I was surprised my little piece of whimsy got such an enthusiatic response--surprised but definitely pleased! I'd forgotten how much fun it was to do shorts, but I always need a really idea before I can do one. So until then, there's more series to be had. Now...

It was half past seven in the morning. Outside the quiet flat, London was stirring. Cars passed, either on their way to an early engagement, or returning home after a very late night. A small sparrow fluttered across what was, to it the great chasm between two blocks of flats, landed on one flat's windowsill, and began chirping merrily.

Inside, Mike Gambit lay in his bed, sheets bunched around his waist, one arm folded under his head, the other draped carelessly over his bare stomach. The St. Christopher medallion around his neck was skewed, resting to the left of the hollow at the base of his throat. He was studying the ceiling with a distracted air. He'd been awake for quite some time, but he couldn't bring himself to climb out of bed. If he did, then he'd have officially started the day, and all that it brought with it. That included John Steed.

Gambit had heard the stories about Steed. More than heard. He'd read about him, which was an infinitely more reliable source of information, because unlike some green trainee agent repeating a third-hand rumour in the breakroom, the reports weren't prone to overblown exaggeration. Not that Steed's cases seemed to need much in the way of expansion. The man seemed to attract the strangest of the strange. Gambit had spent many an hour hiding away from whoever happened to be looking for him in the file rooms, wrapped up in one of Steed's old case files. They were better than a mystery paperback, and often more fantastic. He still couldn't quite wrap his brain around the mind-swapping machine, although it was infinitely more plausible than the man-eating plant from space. That one had to be some file clerk's idea of a joke. Didn't it? Gambit bit his lip and idly wondered what he would do if Steed asked him to fight off some very hostile—and hungry—vegetation. Perhaps a can of herbicide in the boot of the Range Rover wouldn't go amiss.

He'd done a little reading on Steed's partners, too. The man had had enough of them, all of whom seemed to move on of their own volition. It didn't seem to matter much—Steed always came up roses with a fresh one. Or at least he had. Gambit had noticed no one had stepped up to fill the empty position vacated by Tara King as of January 1, 1973. There had been a smattering of collaborations with the usual suspects in the Ministry's roster, but no one had lasted much longer than an assignment or two. Much like Gambit. Mike smiled to himself. Steed and he had that much in common at least, although he suspected the Ministry's new regulations concerning the so-called "talented amateurs" had more to do with it than any drive on Steed's part to be on his own. Steed had liked to source his own people. Now he had to make do with whatever was available in the Department's corridors. It was only a matter of time before Steed roped him in for a trial run for one reason or another. May as well get it over with. Gambit doubted he'd last much longer than any of the other Ministry boys. After all, Steed was fond of partners of the female persuasion. He hadn't had a male partner since…when was it? Gambit screwed up his face in thought, trying to remember that chapter in the textbook. 1961. That was it. Dr. Keel. David Keel. From the sounds of things, Steed and Keel had a love-hate relationship: Steed loved to use him, and Keel hated that. Apparently he'd gotten fed up one day and told Steed in no uncertain terms that his surgery was only for the patients who didn't stagger in with sucking chest wounds and spilled state secrets right before they died. There'd been a colleague of Keel's, a Dr. Martin King, who had been roped in as well, but his tenure with Steed had been even shorter, and just as fractious. Steed had converted to women after that, among them a certain Mrs. Emma Peel. Gambit knew as partners went, Emma Peel was a standard he could never hope to live up to, and his legs weren't nearly as interesting, either. Well, if you had to be beat, there were worse opponents than devastatingly beautiful auburn-haired goddesses. She'd left Steed without wanting to do him bodily harm. That was more than could be said for the good Dr. Gale. Gambit remembered Mrs. Gale. Their paths had crossed briefly a few years ago. It was only in retrospect that he made the connection, remembered her and the way she had ironically compared him to another man of action who apparently still rankled her, even from a distance. He also remembered what she could do with a rifle, and in unarmed combat. If all that anger had come from her time with Steed, Gambit wasn't certain he wanted to stick around.

But then it wasn't Mrs. Gale that was worrying him, not really. It was the place he had met her. How much did Steed know about that place, and what had happened? Gambit had fought so hard to bring the nightmares under control, to once more discipline his mind and body, to control them as he always had, to be a man and an agent that could be trusted with the lives of so many people when they hung in the balance. The nightmares were only really bad once a year now. He had it beat. Almost. He was certain of it. But if anyone could get into your mind and peel away all the defenses, it was John Steed. If Gambit wasn't careful, he could have McKay pulling strings and plopping him into desk duty before his head quit spinning. Gambit scowled and threw the blankets back. Like hell was he going to let that happen. John Steed may be a living legend, but he had also been a step out of the field for the better part of two and a half years, and from the sounds of things, he was a bit old-fashioned, too. He didn't have to beat him. He wasn't up to that just yet. Gambit knew when he was outmatched, and he knew he needed more time to study the man, not the files, before he could stand toe-to-toe. But he could put up a fight, and he might, just might, get out of this all right. After all, the only thing that seemed to work was the Dr. Keel method--stand up to the man. Either that or acquire an MD in a hurry.

That was the start of a plan, at least. Gambit climbed out of bed, settled onto the floor cross-legged, and started his morning workout.

***

The end of John Steed's brolly reached out and depressed Gambit's buzzer, releasing just before the penetrating shrill from within became irritating. A moment after he did so, the door opened, and Gambit appeared, fully dressed save for his jacket. Steed automatically cast an eye over the tailoring, noting with approval the fit of the waistcoat and the crispness of the light blue shirt. Gambit may not have shared Steed's conservative style, but the man's clothes were of undeniable quality.

"Good morning, Gambit," Steed greeted, beaming away. "I can call you Gambit? I didn't take you as one to stand on formality."

"That's fine," Gambit said levelly. He had a confident glint in his eye, and something told Steed that he'd have to keep one eye on his colleague and the other on the job at hand, at least for the time being. "Come in." He opened the door the rest of the way, and Steed removed his bowler before stepping inside. Gambit's flat was as modern as the rest of him, with a sleek black kitchen, well-stocked bar, and a living room decked out in some sort of white shag sheepskin. Steed avoided the couch, which seemed to be equipped with some sort of untrustworthy mechanism, and set his bowler and brolly on a spotless glass kitchen table. Gambit followed, heading for the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?" he offered.

"Please," Steed accepted. "Milk, no sugar." He glanced around the flat a bit more as Gambit set about his task. There was a brick effect on one wall, while another housed his record collection, stereo, and a set of shallow alcoves lit up with multicolour lights. There was also a small raised area in one corner, housing a drafting board and a display case containing various examples of weaponry. A selection of crossbows was mounted on the wall.

"I see you stock your own armoury," he commented as Gambit handed him a cup and saucer.

Gambit glanced at the wall. "Yes, I've been collecting for a few years now. Some of the rarer examples are pretty hard to find, but I've got a Ministry salary to use on them now."

"Fascinating hobby," Steed replied, sipping his drink.

"I'm surprised you didn't know about it already," Gambit said flatly. "Or deduced it from the cut of my suit."

"The cut of a man's suit says nothing about his hobbies. Only his tastes."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not at all. I know some very well-dressed people with some very unpleasant pastimes."

"Yes, I've read about those," Gambit mused.

Steed smirked, but didn't seem surprised. "Ah, I see you've been checking up on me. No wonder you accuse me of the same."

"Not checking up," Gambit clarified jauntily. "Catching up. On my reading. I haven't managed to get to the bookstore in awhile, and you and Mrs. Peel are always good for some entertainment."

Steed arched an eyebrow over his coffee cup. "Only Mrs. Peel?"

"Oh, I've skipped around a little—Mrs. Gale, Tara King. But Mrs. Peel's a favourite…" His eyes became distant, and Steed saw an almost dreamy expression cross the man's features. Steed didn't like it at all. "Woman like that," Gambit murmured, more to himself than anyone, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I'd count myself lucky if I happened across someone even half as brilliant."

"Well, keep your eyes open, and perhaps you will," Steed replied, a little sharper than he'd intended, and Gambit snapped out of his pleasant daze. "But at the moment there's only me, and we should be focusing on the job at hand."

"And what would that be?" Gambit queried, eyes mildly resentful, lips pursed, whether from Steed's interruption of his fantasy, or because he was unhappy with the assignment, Steed didn't know. He didn't particularly care, either. He hadn't liked the younger man's expression, particularly when Emma Peel was behind it. He produced the file he had brought along, slid it across the kitchen counter at the younger man with a hint of satisfaction. Gambit flipped it open disinterestedly, scanned the contents. "Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me what we're doing? Who we're supposed to be watching?"

"Delighted," Steed said with enthusiasm, but Gambit could hear a trace of sarcasm in the warm tones. "Roger Abbott."

"Our side or theirs?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. It may be that the answer is both, in which case we have some housecleaning to do. He's very high up in D16. I know, not one of ours," he added when Gambit frowned at the department's name. "But they'd rather someone from outside the family keep an eye on him."

"And that's us," Gambit finished, closing the file again. "Right, what's old Roger done to deserve the two of us breathing down his neck?"

"Deliveries," Steed said simply. "Sending, not receiving. Quite regularly, every two weeks. Now, there's nothing wrong with that in itself…"

"But when you've got access to a few hundred secret documents, everyone gets a bit touchy," Gambit finished with a sigh. "We're a paranoid lot, aren't we?"

"It pays off, sadly," Steed reminded. "More often than we'd like."

"Yeah. It's hard finding people to trust, isn't it?" Gambit murmured, not meeting Steed's eyes, but the older man could tell some old wound was surfacing, however briefly. "In every business," he added, then glanced up and tried to smile away whatever memory had chosen to haunt him. "Anything gone missing lately, any files been compromised?"

"Not as near as they can tell. People betray secrets all the time, of course, but there's no indication that he's been holding files for longer than necessary, making copies, anything of that sort. But he's due to send off another package, and we're to watch for it and, if need be, intercept it."

Gambit nodded to himself. "Sounds simple enough. Any idea how long it'll take?"

"I'm afraid not," Steed said truthfully, finishing his coffee and picking up his bowler and brolly. "We may be all day at it."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," Gambit said with a sigh, reaching for his jacket. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Stick us together like sardines in a tin until someone snaps."

"McKay's always been one for endurance tests," Steed said with a smile. "But to show you I mean well, I'll buy us lunch."

"Which we'll eat in the car, of course," Gambit said knowingly. "No escape."

"Naturally."

Gambit shrugged on his jacket. "What happens if Abbott doesn't send anything out today?"

Steed smiled. "Well, then we're going to be spending a lot of quality time together until he does."

"Wonderful," Gambit said without much enthusiasm. "That had better be a good lunch," he muttered as he followed Steed out of the flat.

***

It turned out Steed owned a Range Rover as well, but then that shouldn't have been terribly surprising. The Ministry had recently begun subsidizing the purchase of such vehicles for its agents, if only so they would have a practical vehicle available when long chases led them over rough terrain. Steed's was a black model, whereas Gambit's was white, but the interior was more or less the same. Gambit liked cars and thought the Rover handled well, but it would never hold the place in his heart currently occupied by his shiny new Jaguar XJS, the product of his pay raise upon becoming a full agent. It handled like a dream, and Gambit was itching to test it in a proper chase. As yet the other side hadn't been obliging in providing him with a vehicular pursuit.

They didn't drive long, as it turned out-a quarter of an hour, maybe a little more, before Steed parked the Rover across the street from a stately brick home surrounded by a matching brick wall. The entrance was just visible in amongst the shrubbery, so it would be obvious if anyone chose to come or go, regardless of whether or not they could actually see what was going on in the house. Steed put the parking break in and released his safety belt, settled back and waited to see if Gambit would find the silence too oppressive and say something. A few minutes passed, but the younger man was staring resolutely out the window, seemingly uninterested in conversation at all. Steed had expected as much. After all, Gambit was convinced he was going to use something, anything, he said or did against him, and a man feeling hunted wasn't liable to offer up ammunition to the hunter. It would be up to Steed to break the ice and keep it broken.

"See anything?" he asked Mike, and he saw the dark curls shake.

"There isn't much of a view, and the bushes are blocking what's left," he replied, not bothering to turn Steed's way. "We won't know anything until someone pays a visit or decides to leave."

"Then we may be in for the long haul," Steed pointed out, settling back in his seat. "We'll have to find some way of passing the time, then."

Gambit did turn then, eyebrows raised. "What do you suggest? Game of cards?"

"I left my deck at home, I'm afraid," Steed replied, feigning regret. "But we can always talk, get to know one another a bit better." It wasn't just McKay's request that was pushing Steed, either. There was lots to know about Mike Gambit, Steed, had no doubt about that, and since a peek at his file was off-limits, at least for the moment, the solution was to go straight to the source.

Gambit snorted and turned to look back out the window. "I think we both know as much as we need to."

"Oh, come now. There must be plenty you couldn't find in the files. And I've gone nowhere near your file, so I'm certain you have any number of anecdotes to share."

"Nothing you'd be interested in," Gambit said curtly, crossing his arms. Almost defensively, Steed noticed. Why was Gambit so convinced he was under attack?

"Nonsense," Steed replied, putting on his most innocuous smile. "What about your time in the Navy? Surely you must have had an adventure or two there?"

Gambit sighed and looked heavenward. Steed really wasn't going to let up until he told him something, and Gambit's sanity couldn't take who knew how many hours of that painfully cheerful patter. He'd give him a little bit, just enough to get him to shut up, and then maybe he could sit here in peace.

"All right," Gambit agreed, turning in his seat so his head could fall back against the headrest. "If you're so damn interested, I joined the Navy when I was fourteen."

"That's a bit young, isn't it?" Steed said with a slight frown.

Gambit smiled ruefully, shook his head. "Not young enough as far as I was concerned. I wanted out, to feel free, see the world." Steed could tell he was holding something back, but didn't press. After all, it more or less spoke for itself. Boys of 14 did not leave for sea if they had happy home lives. But now was not the time to press Gambit for more information. "I loved it," Gambit went on. "Still miss it, sometimes. Never knowing where you were when you woke up in the morning. Those were the days..." He sighed, and looked vaguely wistful. "Met a lot of people, too. I'm still in touch with a few of my old shipmates. And Spence, of course."

Steed arched a surprised eyebrow. "Spence? You don't mean as in the Ministry's karate instructor? Our Spence?"

Gambit grinned, taking some pleasure in provoking a reaction. "That's exactly who I mean. Spence and I go way back."

"I'd no idea he was in the Navy."

"He wasn't. We were docked in Oslo, and I managed to get paralytically drunk and said a few things I shouldn't have. Ended up starting a fight I didn't have the slightest chance of winning. Spence was in the same bar and leant a hand to a fellow Brit. I'd never seen anyone fight like that before." He shook his head, as though still disbelieving all these years later. "Then he got me out of there fast. I told him I owed him one, and he said he'd been traveling and trying to get back to England and asked to hitch a ride on our ship. They probably wouldn't have let him if he hadn't known karate, and been willing to teach it to the rest of the boys. Kept some of us out of trouble when we docked. We didn't swing round to England for another eight months, so I learned a lot. He was the big brother I never had. And when I settled in London again, he taught me everything I know." Gambit smirked again. "Or at least, he thinks he has. I've supplemented quite a bit over the years."

"I can imagine," Steed agreed. "Do you ever regret it? Leaving so young? Missing school?"

Gambit sighed. "Sometimes, I guess. But I'm a firm believer in teaching yourself. If I can get a book on something, I'll sort it out on my own, and I don't think I do too badly that way, either. Of course, every once in awhile, I get an expert in. I, uh, find I learn better when the teacher's female."

Steed smirked. "I don't doubt it. Although I always found women tended to distract me from lessons."

"You were already at Eton. You could afford to be distracted," Gambit said wryly. "Anyway, it may sound odd, but I don't envy you your public school. I mean, I wasn't exactly born and bred to enter the halls of higher learning. Hard to miss what you never had a chance at in the first place."

"Well, we're not all meant to be gentlemen." It was a cheap shot, and Steed knew it, but it had slipped out anyway. Steed had never considered himself a snob, not in the most obnoxious sense of the word, but something about Gambit made him want to put the younger man in his place, even if he had to resort to class-consciousness. A little voice deeper down pointed out that he might be just a wee bit jealous of Gambit's unrestrained youth, while young John Steed had had to make his own fun within the confines of rigid schools, and on occasion had paid the price for it. And besides, the little voice added, you remember what McKay said. Gambit could be very good given the chance, good enough to take over the reins some day, and if he'd been learning karate and wracking up experience all over the world, he was entirely capable of catching up a bit faster than Steed would like. Catching up before retirement. But he just had to say it, no matter how petty it was, if only to see how Gambit would react.

To his surprise, Gambit snorted, not looking particularly upset. "You're not a gentleman," he said, quite frankly. "You just do a good impression of one. I've read all about Ruthless Bastard Steed from the early sixties, and I can see he's still in residence."

"Appearances overcome reality," Steed said mildly, inwardly pleased at Gambit's insight. More often than not, people were drawn in by the façade until it was too late.

"Plato," Gambit replied, picking up on the reference immediately, and he took pleasure in the mild surprise that flickered over Steed's face. "I told you I did a lot of reading. You can figure these things out without going to Eton."

"No helpful professor?"

A slow smile crossed Gambit's features. "Well, I did have a girlfriend who majored in Greek. She was doing her Ph.D. when I was with her. There was a whole education to be had there."

"In more than one area," Steed said knowingly, then snapped to attention when he heard a car approach. "Hold that thought. I think Abbott's about to receive visitors."

It was true. A lorry had just driven up and been allowed in through the gate. In the back were half a dozen large wooden crates. Gambit and Steed exchanged glances.

"If I boost you up I think I can get you over the top of the fence," Gambit offered.

Steed nodded. "We'll take the back. Less likely that anyone will spot us, including the neighbours."