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, and Emma Peel 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: First fresh chapter of the month! And it's longer, too! We're clipping along. Probably only one or two chapters to go after this. Steed and Gambit still aren't on the best of terms, but then sometimes life throws you a curveball...

Enjoy!

Gambit was already climbing out of the Rover, and the pair of them hurried down the sidewalk out of sight of the house, before sprinting across the street and heading into the foliage that had grown in close to the back of the brick wall.

It was fairly high, but Gambit made a stirrup with his hands and elevated the senior agent enough for Steed to hike himself up to perch on the top of the wall. Steed used his new position to do a bit of surveillance, and caught a glimpse of a guard rounding the left corner of the house just before he disappeared from sight. Only then did Steed return the favour and offer Mike the handle of his umbrella to help him reach the same vantage point. They dropped to the ground in unison and set about brushing leaves off their shoulders.

"We need to get inside," Steed murmured quietly, eyes darting around as he sought out any potential observers. "Find a window, door, any way we can climb in unseen." He pointed to the left. "You take that side of the house. I'll take this."

"Right." Gambit nodded curtly before setting off around the same corner Steed had seen the guard disappear. Steed watched him go with a glint in his eye, then set off toward the other end of the house.

Gambit made his way quietly through the alleyway between the wall and house, left hand skimming lightly over the brick, eyes and ears open. The first thing he noticed was that several of the windows to the basement of the house had been bricked up recently. Gambit scratched at the fresh mortar and wondered why. He didn't wonder long, however, because it was at that moment that his sixth sense kicked in, and he spun to land a punishing blow to the stomach of the man that had snuck up behind him. He followed up with a neat chop to the right hand, and the man dropped his gun. Gambit kicked the weapon off to the side. The man, obviously a guard, backed away, and eyed up his opponent while he recovered. Gambit stood completely still, eyes fixed on the guard, feet placed for perfect balance, hands at his sides. The guard looked reckless enough to charge in, rather than wait his opponent out and let him make the first move. Gambit could see the wheels turning, the impatience and uneasiness. He held back a smile. The longer he stewed, the more likely he was to do something stupid. A few seconds ticked by. The guard did something stupid. He tried a straight charge, but Gambit twisted to the side, grabbed his jacket, and flung him to the ground, before setting upon him with a series of quick chops.

The last chop did the man in. Gambit dropped into a crouch to check that he was truly down for the count. But even as his fingers sought out the man's neck, footsteps sounded behind him, careful quiet footsteps that wouldn't be picked up by any less than a highly-trained ear. Gambit stopped breathing, let his heart slow down until he could no longer hear it in his ears. The footsteps were getting closer, and Gambit tensed for action. Just before they reached him, he spun, shooting upward at the same time. He was running on instinct, and it was only his quick reflexes that prevented him from landing an expert blow across Steed's neck.

"I take it you made out all right?" the senior agent asked unconcernedly, despite Gambit's raised hand. He leaned to one side so he could peer around Mike and examine the fallen guard. "Excellent. I see McKay didn't exaggerate your abilities."

Gambit lowered his arm, but his eyes narrowed in the process. "Did you know there was a guard around this way?"

"I suspected," Steed said blithely, turning his attention to the house. There was a window here, one that hadn't been bricked up, which obviously led to the first floor of the house. He ran a hand along the frame with the ease of a professional.

"And you couldn't have said something?" Gambit wanted to know, annoyance edging into his voice. "Given me a little warning?"

"You didn't need it," Steed replied distractedly, pulling a slip of metal from his pocket and setting to work on the window latch. "And if you had come out on the losing end, I was right behind you, with nothing but your best interests at heart."

Gambit's jaw tightened. "Really?"

"We are partners," Steed reminded, and flashed one of his charming smiles. "You watch my back, I watch yours."

"Funny," Gambit snapped. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot more like hunter/bait, and I sure as hell wasn't playing the former."

"Now where on earth would you get that idea?" Steed tsked, voice dripping with innocence. An audible "click" sounded, and Steed smiled in satisfaction as the window latch sprang open. "Forty-five seconds. One of my best."

"You won't mind if I leave the congratulations for later," Gambit growled. "Answer the question."

"I don't believe you asked me one," Steed replied, carefully opening the window.

"You know what I mean. Did you use me as bait just now?"

"Does it matter if I did?"

"Yes."

"Duly noted. Shall we go?"

Gambit couldn't take it any longer, couldn't take that level voice and that damned unruffled composure. The man didn't even have the decency to look him in the eye. Well, that was enough of that.

Gambit reached out to seize the other man's collar, to at least pull him around so they were face-to-face. But Steed, damn him, was ready, and twisted in his grasp. Then suddenly it was Gambit on the defensive, and Steed was holding his brolly with both hands, using it to force Mike backwards until he was slammed against the brick wall. Gambit struggled, but the brolly was unyielding, the steel core pressing across his chest and digging into his shoulders.

"Now that wasn't very sporting." There was menace among the warm tones now, and the grey eyes were suddenly very cold. "And I had my back turned, too. You could have at least have had the courtesy to let me have the first move."

"What? Age before beauty? It's already not a fair fight," Gambit panted. Steed's brolly was pressing down hard on his chest, and making it difficult to breathe. He could still move his legs though, and Steed was close enough that he could do something with his fists even with limited mobility.

"Yes, there are probably about half a dozen ways you could do me a damage just now," Steed murmured, as though reading Gambit's mind. "And I happen to know just as many ways to counter them, so I'd choose wisely. Of course, it's entirely possible that you've picked up a few tricks I'm not aware of. In fact, I rather hope you have, since you did attack me. I'd be very disappointed if you jumped in without a plan. So if you're feeling confident, by all means, try your luck."

Gambit's eyes searched his face, and he knew Steed could see the wheels turning. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of looking nervous. All the odds should be pointing in his favour. Steed was older, after all, and he hadn't been in the field as much the past few years. But then he was experienced, too, and even though Gambit wasn't exactly a novice himself, he knew better than to second-guess Steed's own particular brand of fisticuffs. The dirty kind. There was a chance Gambit could surprise him, maybe even a good chance. But there was also the chance of being thumped, and that would be too hard to live down just now. Anyway, Gambit didn't really want to do the man a damage. Much. But that didn't mean he was going to roll over and die, either.

Steed knew Gambit was mulling over his options. He was quite interested to see what he did next. If Gambit really did try to best him in a fight, he was going to be very disappointed. Mike could be a bit headstrong, but he hadn't put him down as suicidal. But it was difficult to tell what a man would do when he was pushed.

"All right," Gambit said finally, and Steed arched an eyebrow in interest. "You're not a pushover. I'd sorted that much for myself. You're going to teach me a thing or two about the great John Steed, whether I want to hear it or not. Fair enough. But now we're going to listen to my side for a minute. There's something you ought to remember about Mike Gambit. Call it a refresher course."

Steed's eyebrow climbed higher. "Do tell."

"I don't like being used," Gambit said emphatically, and something in his eyes made Steed sit up and pay attention. "I'm not an idiot. I know this job's dangerous, and there's a pretty good chance I'm not going to live to collect my pension. I accepted that when I signed on. I only want one thing in return, and that's a so-called 'partner' I know isn't going to manipulate for his own convenience. If you want me to do something dangerous, ask, and I'll do it more often than not. But I have to know I can trust you to be straight with me. No games, no little side ventures. Tell me what I'm up against, let me in on the plan, and I'll stick with you to the end. But jerk me around one more time, and I'll walk." He paused, and smirked. "That last bit should sound familiar. How much would you wager that Dr. Keel and Mrs. Gale would agree with me?"

He had him there, Steed realized, and the younger man knew it. It was no secret Cathy and Keel had resented his tendency to put them in sticky situations with only half the facts. He'd even tried it once or twice on Mrs. Peel, but she hadn't stood for it any more than they had, and after that, Steed took great pains not to alienate her. After all, there was only one Emma Peel…

He removed his brolly, took one step back to give Gambit room while he stretched his arms. "All right," he agreed mildly. "No games, as you call them, but I'll hold you to your word and expect cooperation in return."

"If it's reasonable," Gambit added. "I don't mind taking orders, just not with only half the plan to go on."

"Agreed." Steed held out a hand. Gambit eyed it warily for a moment, then took it and shook firmly. Steed beamed.

"Right, then, I think it's time we went inside, don't you?"

Steed clambered over the window sill, leaving Gambit to follow. They found themselves in a darkened study. Gambit closed the window behind them while Steed flicked on the desk lamp and plopped his bowler over the top to dim the light. Without a word they both set about rifling through the desk drawers, glancing at the paperwork.

"Here's something," Gambit whispered, sliding a page into the dim pool of light. "Abbott's been ordering crates. Loads of them. You could ship more than files in those. Arms, maybe."

"Or something totally innocuous, but with microfilm stashed somewhere inside," Steed pointed out. "Size means nothing."

Gambit smirked to himself. "I'm not so sure about that."

"But you can be sure of this." The light flicked on suddenly, and Steed and Gambit glanced up to see a man in the doorway, a gun in one hand and the other on the light switch. He was tall and blonde with a mustache.

"Abbott," Steed identified, straightening up. "Fancy meeting you here."

"In my own study? Yes, it is a bit of a surprise. Particularly you, Steed. I suspected they'd send someone out to watch me one of these days, but you? I'm flattered." He jerked his gun at Gambit. "Who's your friend?"

"We're more like acquaintances, actually," Steed corrected, their little bout outside still fresh in his mind.

"Yes, well, it doesn't matter, really. You're both coming downstairs, anyway. No, hands up," he added, as Gambit's hand crept toward the inside of his jacket. "In fact, let's take care of that right now." He jerked his head, and four men filed in, all armed. They quickly surrounded Steed and Gambit and set about searching them for weapons. Gambit lost his gun, and Steed sighed unhappily when they relieved him of both bowler and brolly. Satisfied that they were clean, the guards nodded to Abbott, who indicated for them to exit the study via a second door neither of them had noticed, set in the study wall to their right. It looked like a broom closet, but it led to a steep, narrow flight of stairs, and Gambit and Steed were waved down it. Mike touched the walls as he went to steady himself on the perilous slope. They were damp to the touch, and he pulled away, desiring to make as little contact as possible.

When they reached the bottom they were confronted with several doors, all identical and made of a heavy metal, likely steel, each equipped with an observation slat. Abbott led them halfway down the hall, and Gambit could hear noises beyond the unyielding slabs as he passed. Human noises. Terrified noises.

A sudden heavy clang resonated through the darkness, and Gambit and Steed started in surprise, bodies tensing and ears seeking out the noise. A terrified yelp followed. Abbott appeared unconcerned.

"That's just the mechanism," he said blithely. "Each of these cells has a terribly high ceiling, and a very heavy cement block chained to it. The mechanism loosens the chains a random amount after an arbitrarily chosen amount of time. It's completely dark in the cells, so if you're inside, you never know when the block will drop and by how much. Eventually the uncertainty breaks a man down, and he becomes very cooperative." He wrenched open the door of the nearest cell. "I don't know how much you know or why exactly you've chosen to investigate me, but I'll wager once you've spent some time in here you'll be happy to tell me everything you know."

Steed arched an eyebrow at the cramped quarters. "Bit of a tight squeeze for two of us."

"Well, normally I'd split you up, but we're short on vacancies," Abbott said with an unpleasant smile. "But look at it this way. You'll have time to get acquainted. I'm sorry I can't say how much. It would ruin the excitement. But at the very least it ought to be meaningful. On the edge of death, I find everyone's terribly open and honest." He waved at the guards and they shoved both men inside unceremoniously, letting them stumble in and fall against the walls. "If you feel cooperative, however, do be sure to call," Abbott called after them. "After all, I have all the time in the world."

Then he shut the door, and for Gambit and Steed, the world was black.

***

John Steed finished checking the walls for any means of escape and sighed, settled down into his corner and tried to make himself comfortable so he could think. Above him, the mechanism clanked once, ominously, and Steed couldn't help but start at the sound, but before the echoes died away, he had forced his heart to slow back down. It was completely dark, so he couldn't gauge the block's progress, but Steed could hear breathing. Laboured breathing. Fast and hard.

"Gambit?"

There was no answer.

"Gambit?" Steed asked again, this time with genuine concern. "Are you all right?" He hadn't thought Gambit was the sort to break down completely, to lose his nerve, even in a situation such as this. Neither had McKay, obviously. But maybe McKay was wrong, although that didn't happen often. Maybe Mike Gambit had squeaked in under the psych department's radar, a ticking time bomb, waiting to go to pieces at a moment's notice, and take everyone else with him. Maybe that was why he didn't want a partner. He was afraid of getting him killed.

"I'm…" The word was more a gasp than an actual syllable. He could almost hear Gambit swallow, desperately trying to moisten a dry throat. "I'll be all right," he tried again, with a voice that shook so much it undercut any remaining credibility his words may have had. "I've been in better lodgings is all."

"Yes, they are a bit stingy with the lighting," Steed mused, going along with the thread of humour. "But don't worry. I'll have us out before the ceiling falls down."

"You've got a plan." Gambit said it flatly, tiredly, as a statement, not a question. Mike clearly wasn't hopeful about their prospects.

"Yes." It was a baldfaced lie, but it was dark and Gambit couldn't see his face, and Steed was fairly certain Mike wouldn't be able to tell from his voice alone, especially in his state. "But I'll need you to hold out as long as you can."

"I'm not a complete basketcase," Gambit half-snarled, half-protested. "Well, not for the reason you think, anyway."

Steed's ears pricked up. That was interesting. If Gambit wasn't panicking because of their situation, what had set him off?

"We could be crushed at any time," he pointed out. "Most normal people would find that at least mildly distressing."

Gambit snorted derisively. "Nobody in our line of work is normal," he said with half a chuckle. "I'm not thrilled about the idea of being reduced to a red smear at any moment, but I can handle it." He paused, clearly considering his next words. "It's the blasted cell," he said finally, and could almost hear Steed snap to attention in the dark.

"Don't tell me you suffer from claustrophobia?"

"No. Not really. It just…reminds me of something. Something I'd rather forget." And it did, too. The walls were exactly the right temperature, a lukewarm damp that sank into your bones if you leaned against it long enough. And with two people inside he could feel the heat rising. And not being able to see, only feel the brick beneath his fingers when he touched the wall. And the smell of fear and sweat sunk into the floor stinging his nostrils. And somewhere off to his left, a door with a slat, and the tormentors beyond. He came here in his nightmares, and the fear and despair was as omnipresent when he woke up as it had been when he was there. But it was the darkness that was the worst. They said it was a bad sign when you dreamt in black and white, but Gambit had dreams that were only black. Just that unyielding, yawning black. Sensory deprivation to the nth degree. And nothing but the smells and the rough of the wall and the pain to assure him that he was still alive, not some tortured spirit long-dead and haunting its tomb. Even the dimensions were about right—too small to lie down, just big enough to curl up. Everything was the same. Everything except…

Breathing. Someone else breathing. Steed. He'd been alone the first time, but this time around, there was another soul trapped here, someone else who knew he was alive and couldn't leave him hurting all alone in the dark. Steed may not have been his favourite person in the world up until an hour ago, but now….What had he read? Which file? He hadn't been supposed to read it, he remembered. Not without clearance. But Sandy from files was a friend, and he'd been bored, and John Steed's biography had seemed like a good choice at the time. Something had twigged with Gambit that day. He remembered Sandy asking if everything was all right, and Mike had looked down to discover his hands clutching the table edge until the knuckles were white. What had he read? He'd blocked it out for his own sanity. But it came back now. These things always came back to him in the end.

"Nee San."

Steed's head snapped up in surprise. Gambit had gone quiet, and Steed had left him alone for the time being while he tried to scrape together something that could be reasonably called a plan. He wasn't having much luck. Nothing that didn't involve very stupid guards falling for the sick prisoner cliché at any rate. But those two words were enough to pull him away from everything.

"Nee San." Gambit repeated, distantly, as though reciting from memory. "You were there. '59 I think it was. Four months. I read about it."

Steed swallowed. This wasn't the sort of talk he relished at any time, least of all now. "What of it?" he managed.

"If you ever feel like swapping stories," Gambit rasped, throat parched once more. "I think I could live up to my half of the bargain." Somewhere in the back of his brain, a little voice was saying: Are you mad? Offering to confide in John Steed? You're not even sure you can trust him, yet. You're not even sure you like him.

But a louder voice said: What does it matter? We're dead anyway.

That voice won.

And across their little cell, John Steed took a shaky breath, and Gambit heard it. Steed was shaken, and Gambit wasn't certain if he felt better for rocking that sold foundation or not. But what he heard next made him feel a bit better. Unequivocally.

"Shall you go first, or should I?"

And against all odds, Gambit heard his voice say: "I will."