Berlin

by rabidsamfan

Purdey, a brand new agent in training, gets tapped by Steed to go and fetch an injured Mike Gambit home. But there are complications, and neither one of them may make it back to London alive.

2. A Little Night Music

Berlin

Chapter 2: A Little Night Music

by rabidsamfan and Timeless A-Peel

Beta by Khell, kibbitzing by clevertoad and cuthalion.

Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted by Canal+, and this is just for fun. The publicity picture which inspired this story is on a recent trading card from Strictly Ink (though you can see it at http://docs. google. com /View?docID(equalsign)d4pccjp(underline)215hr7t95 if you're curious. Replace the parentheses with the named punctuation and take out the spaces. And curse ff.n's document editor for me, will you?) It's the back of card 70. It clearly predates the series, which gave us the idea and a license to play...

---

Purdey waited until all the nurses had vacated the premises before easing Gambit carefully back onto the pillows and out of her arms. Not a moment too soon, she mused, as she rubbed her sore shoulder. Gambit limp was an awful lot of dead weight, too much for someone with four inches and who knew how many stones fewer than he had. She watched him sleep for a moment, smiling at the still-blissful expression on his face. It may have been her imagination, but Gambit looked much more serene when he slept this time around, as though he were finally certain he was no longer alone, that someone was watching out for him for a change. Purdey didn't plan on disappointing him.

Purdey looked to the chair, was at the point of resigning herself to another session of benchwarming when Gambit muttered, "Fourteen hours delay," the words soft, but as clear as a bell. Purdey shook his shoulder gently, hoping that would remind him not to talk, but he was beyond rousing. "The messages are..." he went on, and she covered his mouth with her hand hastily to muffle the rest of the sentence.

"Hush, Michael," she said for the concealed microphones. "You need to sleep now."

But it was no use. Perhaps truth drug had been added into the syringe, to increase the chances of him saying something. He kept on mumbling, and only her hand prevented the words from being comprehensible. Whatever the reason for it, though, she had to try to keep him from compromising any important secrets while he rambled. She found that the technique that worked best was covering his mouth and trying to keep his jaw from moving very much. Some of what he seemed to want to tell the world didn't sound as if it could be "intel", not from the persuasive tone which was all that she could understand, but she didn't dare take any risks.

It was awkward, standing there, a handkerchief ready so she could pretend to be mopping his brow or something like that if a nurse should happen to peek in, and for all that she'd spent far too many hours sitting in one day, the standing wasn't making her feel any less stiff or cramped. She envied Gambit his bed, someplace to lie and stretch out the knots. She did the best she could to glean some relief, moving her feet through the positions, trusting the bulk of the bed to hide that much from any nosy visitor, but what she really longed for was her barre and a good long session of stretches. She didn't even dare do a few pliés. She'd no idea what kind of information the nurses might be passing along about "Mabel Horrocks", but ballet moves would be distinctive enough to attract attention, and she doubted that any check would turn up notable patrons of the arts in Gambit's family.

The sky outside the window was dark by the time that he finally quieted down, and Purdey tentatively took her hand away and shook it to restore circulation. The chair was going to be a welcome change, and she'd have a chance to actually try to read the articles in her magazines, although she didn't see the one she'd had on top of the pile anywhere. Of course the pile of magazines had been scattered when the nurse had fallen, so maybe someone had picked it up. Pity. She'd actually been looking forward to delving into that issue of Brigitte for more information about the pictures on the pages she'd dog-eared.

"I hope you're finally settled," she told Gambit, as she brushed the hair off his forehead. "Auntie's getting tired."

"Auntie?" Gambit echoed, but his voice sounded much less forceful, as though twenty-five years had been stripped from it.

"Yes," she told him, hoping confirmation was all he sought. "Aunt Mabel's here."

"And Mum?"

Purdey blinked. Mum? "I'm afraid not," she replied, hoping that Gambit wouldn't pursue the matter. "Although she wanted to be, I'm sure."

"She's not better?" Gambit sounded disappointed, heart-breakingly so. And young.

Purdey sucked air in through her teeth, wincing involuntarily at the way his mouth was tugging downwards on the sides, knowing she was well and truly out of her league. On the one hand, telling him his mother was fine might quiet him down, and at least give him a chance at a blissful sleep. On the other, the lie could backfire and lead to more talking, maybe even asking for her. Purdey could pose as Auntie Mabel well enough, but she guessed that her impression of Mrs. Gambit wouldn't fool anyone, not even an unconscious man. Not to mention the fact that the listeners might find it a bit odd that 'Mabel' was clueless about her sister-in-law, to the point of not even knowing her name. She decided on ambiguity. "I...don't know."

"My fault," Gambit muttered. "I shouldn't have..." He didn't finish the thought, but Purdey felt herself being drawn into the strange conversation. Gambit had avoided mentioning his mother during dinner. Had she been the one who had danced in traffic? The mystery dangled in front of Purdey, begging to be solved. Gambit was as much of an enigma as anyone she'd met in the department. If she pushed, there was a chance she could glean more than a few scraps about his past.

Of course if she did, she would be overstepping several personal and professional boundaries in the process. She bit her lip, considering the temptation. Curiosity was what had got her into this job in the first place, after all.

"You're not mad, are you? You and Gran? I didn't mean it..."

"I'm sure you didn't," Purdey assured him hastily, realising from his plaintive tone that she'd let this go on for far too long. This was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong way to shake information out of the man. And it was sure as hell not a good idea to let any listeners find out enough about his childhood to use as a handle against him later. "No one's mad at you. So try not to think about it. Just sleep. Auntie Mabel's going to sing you a lullaby, all right?" Maybe singing would drown out anything else he might say. As long as she could think of something to sing...

---

Gambit felt himself slowly regaining consciousness, as though exiting a dark tunnel. Someone was shaking him vigourously. He tried to wave them away. He wanted to sleep, to let his battered body rest, but the shaking wouldn't stop. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked until Purdey's lovely face came into focus. She put a finger to his lips before he could say anything, and held up a scrap of paper with a feminine script scrawled across it. He squinted and read it.

"We're getting out. Ready for trouser-duty."

Gambit grinned as Purdey held up the garment. She had a whole outfit laid out, complete with the pair of leather boots that some kind soul must have salvaged from the ruins of his clothing when he was brought into the hospital. He pulled away the wires as Purdey pushed back the blankets.

It took Purdey several minutes to get Gambit up and fully-dressed, and she was a bundle of nerves the whole time, constantly looking over her shoulder. He didn't dare ask her what was wrong, and he didn't think his hands were steady enough for note writing. The Novocain had worn off, and he could feel the hole in his chest again, but the morphine wasn't entirely faded, and the pain was distant enough that he didn't quite care about it. But it was there, and he knew from experience it would get worse. Best to move while he still could.

Outside the room, Purdey had parked a wheelchair, and Gambit sat down without protest, and let her pile the suitcases onto his lap. Purdey pushed him along the corridor, and through a double door and into the next ward. There was a door at the far end, but the light from numerous doors spilt out into their path. Purdey pushed the chair as quietly as possible, peering into each room and darting past when it was clear. Mercifully, they weren't seen by any of the nurses, most of whom were having coffee in their break area, and complaining about having the night shift. Once they'd passed through another set of double doors and into a long empty hall, Gambit asked. "What time is it?" The words came out in a kind of croak, and he swallowed and tried to get the saliva flowing in his mouth to compensate.

"Two in the morning." Purdey's shoulders were tense, like she was waiting for the roof to cave in. "We're going to get clear of this hospital while we've got the chance."

"Why? Did I talk?" His throat was dry enough, that was certain.

"You muttered -- and sang a few show tunes," she added with a brief grin. "But I don't think anyone could understand the muttering. I couldn't, and I was right next to you."

"Show tunes?" he repeated, wondering if he were still caught up in one of the morphine dreams.

"I got tired of holding my hand over your mouth to muffle the mumbling and tried singing to drown you out instead. You sang back. Do you know every song Fred Astaire ever sang?" She was beginning to relax, now that it seemed that no one was following them.

"Most of them," he answered, staring at her. Showtunes?

"Anyway," she said, circling back to the topic at hand. "You didn't say anything that mattered, and no one could have understood you if you did."

"Then why...?"

"Because I heard one of the nurses talking on the phone at the nurses' station. They were going to kidnap both of us."

"Did you leave me? Alone?" He couldn't help feeling alarmed.

"Just the once -- and you'd quieted down by then. But I needed something to keep me awake and luckily I didn't want any of the coffee the night nurse brought me so I went to look for a cola." She frowned. "No, it was twice. I went out again to pour the drugged coffee back into the pot and get the wheelchair. But I didn't go very long or very far. I would have seen if someone had tried to go into the room with you."

Gambit grasped her hand. It sounded to him like she'd done the only thing she could do, done it alone, and without hesitating for a moment. "Remind me to thank Steed for sending you."

"Let's see if I can get you safe first. I didn't want to risk taking you down the passenger lift we took to the cafeteria, but," she turned a corner and sighed with relief. "I saw this cargo lift on the fire escape map."

"Cargo, am I?" Gambit quipped. He shifted his grip on the suitcases. "That's a good idea."

"I hope so," Purdey said, pushing the call button. "I've got no idea where it comes out. There could be a dozen people there on the main floor."

The lift arrived and the doors slid open. She pushed the chair in and reached for the ground floor button, but Gambit forestalled her. "Try the basement, instead."

"The basement?"

"Who's in a basement this time of night? Nothing down there but laundry, kitchens, storage rooms. And if this is a cargo lift, it ought to be near a loading dock. Some place we can get out." He pressed tentatively at the bandages on his chest. Not too bad. "I can even climb back up one flight if I have to."

---

He did have to go up a few stairs, in the event, which meant leaving the wheelchair behind, but at last Purdey got him safely tucked into a corner, a recess in the brickwork where a wing had been added on to the original building. He sat on her suitcase and took huge gulps of the cool night air.

"Will you be all right while I go fetch a cab?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Take neither the first..."

"Nor the second which may present itself. I remember, Sherlock," she wrinkled her nose at him, but she was smiling, delighted to find yet another point they had in common. Philosophy was all very fine and well, but Sherlock Holmes was more fun.

"Wait." He pulled his own suitcase onto his knees and opened it, searching by feel until he came up with a bundle of paper. "Give me your purse."

She handed it over, not quite sure why he wanted it, and he thrust the bundle inside. He felt around for something too -- something he was glad to find by the relief that was visible on his face in the dim light -- and then passed the purse back. "Okay, that's my passport, my notes for Steed, and every deutschmark I've got left, so try not to lose it. If something goes wrong and I'm not waiting here, you run like hell for home, all right?"

"Nothing's going to go wrong," she promised him, handing him her hat. "Hold onto this for me. I'll be right back." She pulled the strap of the purse over her head, so that it would stay snug against her chest where no pickpocket could reach it, and took off running. There was a major street three blocks down -- she'd passed it every time she'd been in a cab so far -- and an elegant hotel two blocks over. If she'd find a cab anywhere this time of night, it would be there.

---

It occurred to Gambit, as he watched Purdey taking off down the street like a young deer, that he'd burned his bridges. If Purdey wasn't who she claimed to be then he'd played right into her hands – practically kidnapped himself and then gone and given her all the evidence he had against the double. But he wanted to trust her. Needed to trust her.

He toyed with the idea of going back inside the hospital long enough for her to give up looking for him. She'd be safe enough on a plane back to London, especially if he led any pursuit off. But before he could make up his mind to do it she came back with the cab, as promised. Purdey spilled out of it, her white dress gleaming under the light of the streetlamp across the way. In moments she had eased Gambit up onto his feet, and manhandled him and the luggage into the back seat of the cab. "Bahnhof Zoo, " she told the driver, and he took off.

"Is there a train this time of night?" Gambit asked her.

"Yes, to Frankfurt in twenty minutes if we can make it." She rearranged the suitcases so that they weren't banging their knees on them, which meant scooting closer to Gambit to make room beside her and piling them next to the window on her side. He didn't mind that in the least, and reached out an arm to tuck Purdey closer, over to where she could put her head on his shoulder. She did so happily, her breathing slowing as the adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. They made the trip in silence.

Gambit realized, eventually, that the driver was frowning at the rear view mirror. "What's wrong?" he asked in German.

"The lady, she said you did not want to be followed, yes?" the driver answered, hesitantly.

"Yes."

"Well, there is a motorcycle behind us. It turns when we do."

Damn. Gambit tried to think. "Mabel-love, it looks like we'll miss that train."

"Bother," she grumbled sleepily. "What about that hotel you mentioned? Could we go there instead?"

"That's a thought. But it would be best if we could lose the tail." He could think of one way, but it was going to be bloody uncomfortable. To the driver he said, "Please take our luggage to Kellerstrasse 68, but drop us at the train station."

"Yes, sir."

"Purdey give me my passport. And we'll need the cabfare now." She yawned as she complied, and he wondered how long she'd been on her feet. They'd both end up "out" at the same time at this rate, and that wouldn't work, but if they could only get to Liebermann's first they might survive it. First lose the tail. The station was coming up. "Ready?" he asked Purdey.

"Yes. What am I ready for?"

He grinned. "We're going to go into the station, and then go out the other side. If we do it smoothly enough, our tail will be busy trying to find us on the platform instead of checking the other cabstand."

"That's a good plan," she said. "Except I don't think we have enough cash to pay another cabfare. Unless you think he'll take a cheque."

"Don't worry about it," Gambit told her, already steeling himself for what would undoubtedly be a tough journey. "We can pay once we get to the hotel. But hang on tight to your purse. This isn't a good neighborhood this time of night."

---

They arrived at the train station, and Gambit struggled out of the vehicle, while Purdey paid the driver. She tipped him as much as she could, hoping that would guarantee the safe arrival of the luggage. He nodded to her before driving off, but he seemed excited and pleased instead of wary, and she hoped that was a good sign. In the distance, she could hear the throaty roar of the motorcycle. She got an arm around Gambit's waist, tense with anticipation. Who knew if bullets were about to start flying?

"Come on," Gambit murmured as they got inside. "Let's give our friend on the bike something else to chase." He started off toward the platform, and Purdey struggled to keep up with his long stride. Even injured, the man could move when he put his mind to it. He was obviously running on pure adrenaline, pushing the pain and fatigue into the background, but for the first time she realised just how tall and lithe he actually was. She bet he could keep pace with her easily, maybe even outrun her, when he was healed up. That was no small feat-- Purdey had been known to outrun pretty much anyone who dared to race her, and she had a handful of trophies from school sports days to prove it. Now she was struggling to keep up as Gambit made his way through the station, unexpectedly changing course to take advantage of the cover offered by the building. It wasn't as if there were a lot of people at the station at this time of the morning, so there was no chance of fading into the crowd, and neither one of them could pass for one of the young runaways who were panhandling or propositioning the passersby. Gambit ducked behind a pillar and leaned against it thankfully, pulling Purdey into a tight embrace. "Over my shoulder," he instructed, puffing a bit from the exertion. "Take a look. Is he still after us?"

Purdey regarded Gambit's shoulder with mild dismay. "I'm not used to being outdone in the height department," she muttered, realising for the first time that she actually had to look up to see his face. Even her dangerously high heels lost some of their impact competing with Gambit's boots.

"Well, I can't pick you up, not in the kind of shape I'm in. And it'd be a bit obvious, too."

"No, I can manage," Purdey assured him, and took a deep breath, closed her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she raised herself onto her points, just as she had been taught all those years ago. Gambit's face got a little closer, and she peeked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was the biker, helmet still on, concealing his face as he made his way through the station, head turning as he scanned the area. They were safe for the moment--he hadn't spotted them behind the pillar. "He's here," Purdey told Gambit, "but he's still looking. He's gone over behind the newsstand now." Purdey lowered herself down again, and looked to Gambit, who was regarding her with something like admiration.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?"

Purdey smiled nonchalantly. "Royal Ballet," she explained, and felt a bit of smug gratification at the way his eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Hooray for the arts," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But I thought dancers who made career changes were a bit closer to mid-life than you. You're only what, 26?"

"27, actually. And I didn't quit so much as they threw me out."

"What on earth for?"

Purdey shrugged. "Too tall." It was as good an explanation as any, and mostly true. The choreographers had never been quite sure where to put her in the line after that last growth spurt.

"As far as I'm concerned you're the perfect height." Gambit used his hand to tip up her chin so that her mouth could meet his own. Purdey, whose mind had been on their pursuer, felt her eyes open wide in surprise, partly at the unexpected action, partly at Gambit's gall at taking their cover and milking it for all it was worth. But after a moment, she felt her eyes slide closed and she started to actually enjoy herself. It was a pity Gambit chose that moment to break away. He cast a brief glance over his own shoulder. "Now the good news is, we've got platform tickets and he doesn't, so when we make for the platform he's either going to have to stop and buy one at the wicket or raise a fuss that the authorities will notice."

"Platform tickets?" Purdey asked.

"The little red cardboard things in the ticket folder. They use them here at the Zoo to keep the runaways from sneaking onto the trains." He saw Purdey's mouth open in surprise, and he remembered that she still didn't know about his earlier bit of snooping. "I took a tour of your purse back at the hospital. Strictly business," he added to Purdey's narrowing eyes.

"I'm not even going to try to guess what you were hoping to find," she said, dryly. "Is suspicion a requirement of the business?"

"Always. It's a survival trait," he grinned. "Glad you've joined up? Now, give me one of the platform tickets. You're going to go first and I'll follow. Whatever you do, don't turn round; don't give him any reason to think you've spotted him."

Purdey blanched. "We're just going to walk right into his line of fire? And you're going to go without assistance? Are you mad? He's already used a gun on you once. He'll do it again."

"Not here," Gambit said confidently. "Too many people about. And even if he does, it's me he'll be aiming for, and I'll do my best to cover you." He gestured vaguely at his bandages. "May as well add to the collection."

"That's not very comforting," Purdey snapped. "I don't want you to go suicidal."

Gambit grasped her upper arms gently, so that she couldn't help but look him in the eye. "Purdey," he told her seriously, "I need you to trust me on this. I told you I don't want to have your blood on my hands, and I meant it. But this isn't just about you or me. There'll be a lot more agents in danger if you don't manage to get back to Steed." He tapped on her purse. "In here is a magazine, and in that magazine is an envelope, and in that envelope there's a photograph and on that photograph there are fingerprints. Evidence," he told her somberly, "against the double. Now, when we go out there, if he does start firing, I want you to run for it. Get away, go to the airport, fly home. Don't stop for me. Don't even look back. Not if you hear me cry out. Not even if he threatens to kill me. I want both you and that envelope safely away. Do you understand?"

Purdey could feel tears lurking, but she blinked them back. She wouldn't admit it, but she was frightened. She was new. She didn't know what to do without Gambit. And for other reasons -- the thought of leaving him behind was more than she could bear, even if she'd known the man for less than 24 hours.

"That's what the kiss was for," she grumbled, tightening the strap of her purse. "So I'd listen to you."

Gambit grinned. "No, that was to get me to the platform. I could exercise seniority, but I'd much rather you'd listen to me as a partner, not because I've ordered you." The grin faded. "Please, Purdey. We don't have much time."

Purdey squared her shoulders and straightened her hat. "All right, Mike Gambit, but I won't like it."

"I'm not asking you to, but at least we're past Michael." He risked another glance. "Now go. I'll be right behind you."

Purdey swallowed hard, and made for the platform. She managed a strained smile for the conductor as she dug in her bag and extracted the tickets. She resisted the urge to check for Gambit's presence behind her. Her nerves were raw by the time she made it through the queue and handed over the scrap of pasteboard that would let her onto the platform. "Enjoy your trip," the attendant said in German that betrayed his sleepiness as she passed. Purdey nodded nervously, and then almost collapsed in relief when she heard Gambit's voice reply in the same language.

"A friend of ours planned to see us off. If he should come looking for us, could you kindly let him know we'll be in cabin number five?"

The man looked at his watch. "He'll have to hurry. The train leaves soon. But I will pass on the message."

"Thanks," Gambit said, and took Purdey's arm.

"Why did you tell him that? Do you want to be caught?" she hissed when they were out of hearing range. "And our ticket was for cabin eight."

Gambit grinned and shooed her up the stairs onto the train. "Right. But cabin five is occupied. I heard a couple that went on ahead being directed that way." Purdey frowned, but followed Gambit down the corridor to cabin five. He stepped inside, and ushered Purdey in. Inside, a surprised-looking young German couple gaped at them. "Excuse me," Gambit said, "but do you mind if I draw the curtains?" He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped over to the window, and started on the task. "Purdey, give me a hand, and make sure that you can be seen through the window before you finish." Purdey complied, wondering if Gambit had lost his mind. He was already heading back toward the door. "Sorry for the intrusion," he told the baffled couple. "Just keep those down until the train starts moving. Thanks. Come on, Purdey. Let's not overstay our welcome." Purdey flashed the pair a smile, and quit the room with her colleague.

"What was that about?" she asked. Gambit was already heading for the far end of the carriage.

"A small diversion for our friend on the bike," he explained. "He should have seen us in the same cabin he got told by the conductor. By the time he realises we've given him the slip, the train'll be moving, and we'll be gone. Now," he indicated the door, "we're going to get out the other side of the train onto the opposite platform. The doors on these things seal once it starts moving, so if our friend has made it onboard, he won't be able to get off again. Not before we're long gone, anyway. Come on."

They had to pick the lock to open the door on the "wrong" side of the train in order to get off, but Gambit managed the trick with an ease that Purdey promised herself she'd acquire as soon as possible. The steps down only went to platform height, which meant a fair drop to the ground, but with a little help from Purdey, Gambit managed it. The train began to pull away just as they reached the far side of the tracks and the steps that led back up to the platform level. As they watched it go, they paused to collect themselves. Gambit flashed a rude salute at a glimpse of helmet in one of the windows, but other than that Purdey thought that his attention was starting to wander. She put herself under his good arm and steered him at the exit, determined not to puff. It was hard work, but she managed to keep him upright, and when they reached the cabstand she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled for all she was worth.

A cab appeared almost immediately. Once they were both inside it, Gambit sank back in the seat and closed his eyes, pale in the light from the overhead dome. "I'm afraid I overdid it, Purdey-girl. You'll have to get us the rest of the way." Despite the obvious fatigue, he looked quite content, and the nickname slipped from his lips without art or guile, or even the faint air of patronization from the expert to the novice. Purdey regarded the closed eyes thoughtfully. She wasn't sure, but she had the feeling she'd passed some sort of test. She wasn't just playing Auntie Mabel anymore. He trusted her.

"No problem," Purdey assured him, with a slight smile, and gave the address of the hotel to the driver.

---

Purdey kept an eye out the back window of the cab, but no one followed them, and by the time the cab turned into a wide quiet street and pulled up to the curb she was almost ready to believe that they'd lost their tail for good.

The hotel was older than most of the buildings nearby -- at a guess it had been built in the Twenties or earlier, and some of the Art Deco touches in the architecture had survived war and restoration. The name on the transom was "Der Blaue Adler" -- the Blue Eagle, Purdey translated to herself. A family hotel, she guessed. Twenty or thirty rooms at the most, unless the matching awnings on the more modern building next door meant that they'd expanded. It looked very nice.

Gambit, on the other hand, was looking more than a little worse for wear. "You shouldn't have pushed it," Purdey scolded, as she pried the man out of the cab. "All that running around was too much."

"No choice," Gambit pointed out, putting as much weight as he dared on Purdey's shoulder. "I'll be fine once I've had a few hours sleep."

Purdey sighed, and helped him to the lobby. It had a red and gold motif, and Purdey had just maneuvered Gambit into a plush chair when a man approached them from behind the reception desk.

"Herr Gambit," he said, his enthusiasm dampened by the concern in his eyes. "I thought you had left us for home."

"Best laid plans," Gambit replied shortly, nursing his side. "I hope you've got room."

"For you, always. And you've brought a friend," the man went on, turning to Purdey.

Gambit made the introductions, forcing himself to focus on what still needed to be done. "Purdey, Josef Liebermann. He owns the place, and he's been on our side ever since Steed gave him a bit of a hand during the war."

"A pleasure, Fräulein," Liebermann replied, kissing Purdey's hand.

"Likewise, I'm sure." Purdey smiled radiantly. "Seems as though everyone in this business has a connection to Steed."

"If they have any sense," Liebermann agreed. "But I forget myself. How may I be of service?"

"The cabbie outside needs paying," Gambit told him. "We're a bit short on marks at the moment, but if you could add it to the bill...?"

"Yes, of course. I will attend to it immediately, and then see about the two rooms."

"One," Gambit corrected, and Liebermann raised an eyebrow. "Certain people think Purdey's my dear Aunt Mabel, Uncle John's trophy wife who's having a little on the side. We need to keep them thinking that way in case we're tracked down again."

"Ah," Liebermann replied, although he didn't sound very sanguine about the idea. "I will be sure to remember that if anyone inquires. Now, I think the cab driver is becoming impatient." He headed out into the night, leaving Purdey to tend to Gambit.

"Here." She produced a handkerchief, and blotted the beading sweat off his brow. "That's better. Are you going to be all right?"

"Fine." His smile was distinctly lopsided, now. "Just need some sleep."

Liebermann returned. "I tipped him generously. I hope you do not mind?"

Gambit waved it off. "Fine. Money's the least of our troubles."

"I presume it is your baggage which was delivered earlier. That cab driver seemed to think you were rejects from a spy movie. He kept looking over his shoulder."

"Yes, those are ours," Gambit confirmed. "Do you think he'll talk?"

"I doubt he himself knows what transpired. But now, I can see you are tired. I will take you up to your room." He went to the desk and fetched a key. "The paperwork can wait until you are rested."

He led Purdey and the listing Gambit to a lift, and took them up to the top floor. Guiding them down a corridor, he opened the door to a spacious room. "Honeymoon suite," he explained. "It isn't in use, and it will work best for your, ah, cover."

"And me too battered to carry you over the threshold, Purdey-girl," Gambit lamented.

"Some other time," Purdey grumbled under the strain of keeping him upright.

Liebermann brought in the suitcases and deposited them on the stand near the closet, and then stayed, pointing out small amenities to Purdey while Gambit made a visit to the bathroom. Purdey was grateful -- when Gambit came out again his eyes were glazing over, and he was listing like a ship in a gale wind. Liebermann caught his arm and guided him over to the oversized bed. Purdey pulled back the covers and between them they settled the injured man, depriving him of his jacket, tie and boots. "I don't think you'll stay awake long enough to get into pajamas," Purdey said.

"Don't have any anyway," Gambit murmured. "Josef... thanks."

"Not a problem," Liebermann insisted, and turned to Purdey. "There is no need to come downstairs -- I will sign you in if you will give me the spelling for the name. And if you need anything, anything at all, please let me know."

Purdey printed out "Mabel Horrocks" for him on a piece of hotel stationery and exchanged it for the key, and then walked the hotelier to the door to thank him again before she locked it behind him. When she turned to look back at Gambit his face had gone slack again, and she thought he must already be sleeping.

She tugged the covers up over him and then took her own turn in the bathroom, using the cellophane wrapped toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste that Liebermann had promised she'd find waiting there. The shower tempted her, but not enough to override her own sleepiness, or her dislike of dealing with hair that had been slept on while it was wet.

She was seeking out extra bedclothes to make up the couch into a bed when she heard the voice, thick with sleep.

"What're you looking for?"

"Blankets," she explained. "I'm going to sleep over here."

"Don't need to do that," he muttered. "'S lots of room on the bed."

Purdey turned and raised an eyebrow. "That's only an act, remember?"

He opened one eye and smiled blearily. "Nothing wrong with a little authenticity, and it's not as though I've even got the energy to try anything--in my clothes on top of it. But this bed's huge, and you can make for the other end, build a pillow barrier, wrap up in your duvet, whatever. S'gotta be more comfortable. That couch is too short."

Purdey considered for a moment. Gambit had a point. "Oh, all right," she relented, and went over to crawl in, toeing off her shoes at long last. She curled up next to Gambit, and let the exhaustion start pulling her under.

"What, no pillows?" He yawned the question.

"No need. I trust you."

"Do you?" And there was a different edge to his voice. "Do you?" And then he was asleep.

---

Purdey was wakened by a hand that wasn't hers curling familiarly around an area of her anatomy where it hadn't been invited. She shifted position to get clear of the unwelcome heat more than anything else, not bothering to open her eyes until memory nudged at her and she remembered where, and when, she was.

So much for trust! she thought, but the dim light from the windows showed her that Gambit was out like a light -- hadn't shifted much at all from his original position on the pillow. If she'd got into cuddling range it was her own fault. She snorted and picked up his hand, meaning to tuck it back where it had started before she built up the pillow barrier he'd mentioned earlier. But his hand was hot in hers. Too hot. She felt for the pulse and found it racing along -- too quickly, she thought, comparing it to her own.

"Gambit?" She touched his face and found it just as hot as his hand, or worse. "Gambit? Can you hear me?"

"Mmm," he murmured in response to a light tap on the cheek, but he didn't open his eyes.

Purdey swore. Just the one word, to get it over with so she could think. There was no use in wishing that she'd kept Gambit at the hospital, where the doctor could deal with complications. He was here now and definitely feverish, but the important question was how feverish, and she had no way of knowing. Hotel medicine chests didn't run to thermometers, at least not in her experience. But still -- as small as The Blue Eagle was, it was a hotel. There was probably someone downstairs who could tell her where the nearest druggist could be found.

She got out of bed and spread her duvet over his, and then added the coverlet for good measure, pulling the lot up to Gambit's chin, with the vague memory of reading about "sweating the fever out" in children's books nudging the back of her mind. Aspirin would be more certain to work, no doubt, but much to her frustration a quick rummage through her purse proved that she didn't have so much as a single Midol. She started making herself a mental list. Aspirin, a thermometer, rubbing alcohol, cool drinks to keep him from becoming dehydrated, icepacks if the fever was very high... But she couldn't leave him without doing something first. She turned on the bathroom light and found a washcloth, dousing it in cold water for a fever rag.

Gambit shuddered a little when she put it on his forehead and opened dull eyes for a moment to identify her before letting them close again. She rearranged the cloth so it wouldn't drip into his ears. "It's all right. You're just too hot. I'm going to go and get some things to help bring down the fever," she told him in a low, soft voice in case he was asleep again. But his hand came out from under the blankets, catching hold of her sleeve, wordlessly importuning her to stay. She bit her lip and tried to think.

It took her a moment to realize that the telephone was within reach. She picked up the receiver and waited for the switchboard to notice.

"Reception desk," the voice was young and female, and speaking German. Purdey gathered her wits quickly.

"Is Herr Liebermann there?"

"My father has gone to bed. May I be of help?"

Purdey had no idea whether or not Liebermann's daughter would have been informed of the masquerade, and she didn't want to take chances. She switched to English, hoping it would be understood. "My name is Mrs. Horrocks. My nephew has been injured and he is running a fever. You understand?"

"Yes. I understand. You wish me to call the doctor?"

"No... I don't think it's that bad; I can nurse him. But I need some things. A thermometer, aspirin, rubbing alcohol. Icepacks, perhaps, and something cool to drink. Can you send for them and add it to our room bill? I don't want to leave him."

"The chemist is not there this time of night, but my father has such things to lend. I will bring them to you."

"Oh, thank you."

"A few minutes only," the other woman assured her and rang off.

Purdey sighed with relief. "Well, at least I won't have to go out again." She peered at the bedside clock. "Four-thirty in the morning. That means I've had exactly 72 minutes of sleep since I woke up yesterday," she told Gambit. "And I've spent most of the time I've been awake watching you sleeping. It's really not fair."

He made a noise, but she wasn't sure it was an actual comment. His eyes didn't open.

"I mean, we could have been discussing philosophy, or talking about old movies, or contemplating great works of art, couldn't we? If only you had a bit more stamina." That wasn't fair and she knew it the moment it came out of her mouth; Gambit had done more than any man with three bulletholes in him should have been asked to do, but then again she was only blethering to pass the time until she could do something. "We could have been inventing stories about your Uncle John. Though I'm sure that nothing we came up with would touch the real thing for adventure."

A soft tap on the door told her that the receptionist had arrived. "Now remember," she whispered hastily. "I'm Mabel, your Uncle John's wife. And if you can't remember, try not to talk." She hoped he'd heard her. He didn't seem to be completely unconscious -- not from the amount of effort it took to loosen her sleeve from his grasp.

When she opened the door a woman about her own age was standing there -- dark haired, with deep green eyes that met her own with a smile. "Here you are, Mrs. Horrocks. I have the other things, but only two aspirins, I am afraid. We will send for more when the shops open and I hope that will be enough for your neph..." she looked past Purdey to the bed, and the green eyes widened abruptly. "Mike?"

Before Purdey could stop her she'd come into the room and crossed to the bed, setting her tray of medical oddments on the nightstand as she sat down beside Gambit. "Mike?" she said again and switched into German. "It is Margot, Margot Liebermann. What has happened to you?"

His eyes fluttered open for a long moment and he smiled at the intruder in a way that made it abundantly clear that he knew her very well indeed, but he didn't say anything -- just raised a hand which Fräulein Liebermann took hold of rather possessively. "You are burning up." She turned to Purdey. "But this man I know. He has been here many times. He did not say he had an aunt so very..."

"Young?" Purdey said, coming to the other side of the bed and taking possession of his other hand. "I married his Uncle John not so very long ago. Michael and I met then." She wanted to get rid of Margot as quickly as she could, but she could tell it wasn't going to be easy.

"I see," said Margot, looking a bit pinched. "You are close, then?"

"Very," Purdey confirmed. "I'm going to take him home as soon as he's fit."

Margot's face betrayed her dismay. "Home? I did not even know he was still in Berlin."

"I'll bet," Purdey said through clenched teeth. "I think Michael works on a need-to-know basis, don't you?" she asked Gambit's closed eyes. He opened them again, and looked from Purdey to Margot and back again, and smiled in a way that Purdey wasn't sure was entirely appropriate considering the circumstances.

"Mmph," was the eloquent reply, and he took hold of Purdey's sleeve again. Margot responded by turning Gambit's head her way, brushing aside a stray curl.

"You need a hospital," she told Gambit. "You are very unwell."

But Gambit's smile vanished and he shook his head, grimacing. "No...no..."

"It's all right," Purdey reassured him hastily. "We're not going back to the hospital." Not unless you look like you're going to die on me. She met Margot's eyes. "He really hates hospitals. That's why we came here."

Margot made an impatient noise. "Then we must do what we can, and hope that it is enough." When Gambit didn't let go of her hand she freed it gently and reached for the thermometer. "It is all right, mein Liebling," she said, tucking it under his tongue. "We will see you well."

It took all Purdey's self-control to not object to the intimacy. The flare of jealousy startled her -- what exactly had Gambit been telling this girl? And how much did it resemble what he'd said to Purdey to herself? She took a grip on herself. All that Gambit had actually told her was that he'd made a habit of putting girls on "trouser duty". And then there was that little black book to consider. Not that she had any intention of thinking about it just now. There was too much to do. Still, Mabel had a right to be annoyed. "I don't see the ice," she pointed out, reaching across to collect the packet of aspirin from the tray.

Margot began to unbutton Gambit's shirt with a decidedly practiced efficiency. "There is a closet at the end of the hall with linens and towels and an ice machine just beyond it, next to the elevator," she told Purdey, and then hissed when her efforts revealed the bandages on Gambit's chest. "We cannot put him in a cool shower, I think. Not with these."

"I was thinking an alcohol rubdown," Purdey told her. "No, let us do the work," she added to Gambit when he began to tug blindly at his still-buttoned sleeves. She put the aspirin down on the bedclothes and took the shoulder opposite Margot. "Careful," she warned the other girl, as they raised Gambit to a sitting position long enough to get the shirt off. "That arm is injured too."

"What happened?" Margot asked.

"The doctor thinks he was mugged -- beraubt, he said," Purdey added when Margot didn't seem to know the English word. "I came to bring him home as soon as he was fit, but the hospital was giving him nightmares and he insisted that we come to a hotel."

"I see." Margot got the shirt clear and they laid Gambit back against the pillows. "You will have better dreams here," she promised Gambit, slipping easily into German again. She began to work on his top trouser button and he caught her hand. "Hush," she said. "There is nothing here we have not seen, Meisterliebhaber. You cannot stay in all your sweat."

His eyes opened again and he looked to Purdey, who was painfully aware of the blush that burned her ears as she figured out the new bit of German vocabulary. Master Lover, indeed! For the sake of having something neutral to say she took the thermometer from his mouth and read it. "Thirty nine point two." The mental calculation drove her embarrassment aside. "That's nearly 103... I'll fetch the ice." They had to bring his temperature down, and quickly, if they could, or call in a doctor regardless.

By the time she got back Margot had his trousers in a rumpled heap on the floor, although she'd drawn the coverlet up to his waist. Gambit was hanging onto it with white-knuckled fists and shifting restlessly while the German girl importuned him to let her prop him up so he could drink some of the juice she had brought him.

Purdey took a moment to put the pillowcase she'd filled with ice into the bathroom sink and then went to help Margot pile pillows behind Gambit's head. "Mike," she said and then remembered she was "Mabel". "Michael, it's all right."

He seemed to hear her after a moment and studied her with a faintly petulant air. "You went away..." he croaked, like a sulky child.

"Yes, just for a moment. But I'm here now."

"Said you would stay..."

"And I did, while we were at the hospital. But we're at the hotel now, and you're feverish and we need ice to cool you off." The worried line was still between his eyebrows so she added. "I won't go away again, not without telling you first."

"Promise." It was a command not a question.

"I promise."

"We will both stay," Margot interrupted. "At least until you are feeling better. Frau Horrocks, where have you put the aspirin?"

Purdey had to think for a moment. The packet had been in her hand, and then... She began to rummage through the bedclothes that Margot had pushed over onto the unoccupied side of the bed. A tug on the coverlet suddenly sent the aspirin packet and her purse both flying and the contents of her purse spilled out across the floor like a field of scree at the bottom of a cliff.

Her first instinct was to go for the aspirin, but it took a hard check when she realized that the envelope with the photograph had slipped most of the way out of the magazine Gambit had hidden it in and the bright red warnings were clearly visible. She didn't dare look to see if Margot had noticed -- that would only make things worse -- so she scrambled after the mess instead, hoping to hide the indiscretion with her own body. She shoved the magazine and envelope under the bed and grabbed for the aspirin package. "Here," she said, tossing it back to Margot before making herself very busy with putting the rest of the debris back into the purse.

"Verflixt!" Margot exclaimed a moment later, the sentiment echoed by a less articulate noise from Gambit. Purdey turned to see what had gone wrong. The tomato juice had spilled across Gambit's face, neck and chest, and he was curling up, trying to swallow. Purdey abandoned the purse and got up on the bed again.

"What happened?" she asked as Gambit finally managed to get the pills down his throat and sprawl back again.

Margot shook her head, as if to brush aside the question for being too obvious. "I should have used a straw after all."

"A straw?" Purdey really looked at the tray this time and realized that Margot had brought up an assortment of paper straws and had been trying to give Gambit his drink from a small plastic teakettle shaped like an elephant's head with the trunk as a spout.

The delicate color on Margot's cheeks deepened even more. "You sounded so young," she said. "I thought your nephew must be a child." She gave the mug to Purdey and got up from the bed. "I will go and get clean linens and towels."

As soon as she was out the door Purdey reached under the bed and grabbed the magazine with the envelope in it. If Liebermann hadn't told his daughter that Gambit was in the hotel, then chances were pretty good that she wasn't in on her father's secrets. She darted over to the radiator -- still cool in this weather -- and dropped the magazine down behind it with the envelope still inside. It would take some obvious maneuvering to retrieve it, but that was all to the good. Purdey wasn't certain that Margot didn't have an ulterior motive in fleeing the room. She'd had one herself after all. If only she could be certain that Margot hadn't seen that envelope!

She went back to the bed and collected the fever rag to clean the spilled juice off of Gambit. The tomato juice looked far too much like blood for her comfort. "I wish I knew what you've told Margot about your work," she muttered.

Gambit frowned. "Margot?" he asked, looking around vaguely.

"She'll be back soon," Purdey told him. She tossed the befouled washrag aside before she realized that she'd missed a few drops near the corner of his mouth. "Hold still," she told him and brushed them aside with her fingertips. His mouth felt very different under her touch now that he was awake. She let her fingers linger against the roughness of his cheek, but resisted the sudden urge to run her thumb across those hot lips. It wasn't like he was in any shape to appreciate the gesture.

He lay still obediently, his eyes huge and bright. "I wish... I wish..."

"You wish what?" she asked, wondering where the fever was taking him. After all that babbling at the hospital she half expected him to starting singing something out of Snow White.

"Wish it was fair." He reached up to touch her cheek, and for a moment their gestures echoed each other.

"Fair?" She felt she ought to know what he was talking about, but she was far too aware of his hand against her face to think.

"To the kids. Twice as bad with the two of us dancing." His eyes closed and his hand fell to the bed again, as if his strength had given out.

For a moment she could almost see them, five scruffy, somber ragamuffins and a shadowy sixth, silently watching as their parents trod a perilous waltz. "Mike..." But he was shivering suddenly and gooseflesh was prickling out across his arms and chest. She could swear she could feel him getting warmer. "Damnit, Mike, don't you dare die on me now."

"'M okay," he whispered. "Jus' cold."

Purdey reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "You'll be a lot colder in a minute," she warned him. She poured a little of the cool liquid into the palm of her hand and began spreading it across his chest, avoiding the bandages as best she could. It evaporated almost as soon as it touched his skin. "How does that feel?"

He shuddered. "Too cold."

"Let it warm in your hand first," Margot said, returning with an armful of towels and sheets. "My mother she does so, when I am small and sick."

Purdey nodded. "Come to think of it, my mum did too. Or she mixed it with tepid water so I wouldn't take a chill." She bit her lip. "We haven't got a basin... how about that vase?"

"Ja, that will do."

---

If Gambit had been in better condition, he would have enjoyed having two beautiful women spreading the water-alcohol mix over him by hand. As it was, he was too busy shivering to appreciate the situation. Besides, it felt like being massaged with icicles. He locked his jaw and took it, but when it got to the point where not even grim determination could keep his teeth from chattering they took pity on his complaints of cold and bundled him into an armchair with a couple of blankets wrapped around and a glass of juice to sip at while they changed the bed.

The break seemed to do him some good, or the aspirin did. He watched the two women as they worked. Margot had brought a rubber sheet to protect the mattress -- not that it wasn't already pretty damp from the alcohol bath -- but at least Gambit wasn't going to have to sleep in the wet spot. Purdey... no, he wasn't meant to call her that, if he could just remember why... Mabel-love, the one who wasn't his aunt really, she was acting a bit oddly, deflecting Margot whenever it seemed that the Liebermann girl might go around to the far side of the bed. But he didn't ask. Talking was dangerous, he knew that much. Not that he wanted to talk while the lassitude of the fever had melted his bones.

Besides, there were too many things he couldn't say in front of Margot and he half suspected that there were more than a few things he shouldn't say in front of Pur... Mabel-love. Not about Margot in any case. He didn't think they liked each other much. Which was a shame, because he'd learnt a trick or three from that lovely pair of surfers he'd met in Australia, and he hadn't forgotten any of them.

"Well, he's smiling anyway." The voice brought him out of his doze. "Open your mouth, Michael. I want to get your temperature now that your teeth aren't chattering so hard they'd break the glass."

"Mmmmm," he said around the thermometer that Purdey put under his tongue. He blinked at her a couple of times and tried to sit up straighter.

"Easy..." Purdey took one side and Margot the other, and they shifted him up so that he wasn't sliding off the chair.

Margot laid a hand on his forehead. "You are starting to sweat. That is good; it means the fever is broken."

"The fever or me?" Gambit mumbled. Purdey glared at him and he quieted, pushing the thermometer back where it belonged under his tongue. It wasn't fair to have the two of him ganging up on him. Not like this, any road. He closed his eyes and thought about Australia. It had been too hot there, too. And he'd sunburned in some very awkward places.

He opened one eye when the thermometer was taken out of his mouth, and waited for the verdict.

"Thirty nine even," Purdey said. "That's progress, anyway."

He scowled at her, in no mood for maths. "What is that in real numbers?"

"A little over a hundred and two," she told him. "How do you feel?"

"Limp."

But he was more awake than he had been. He noticed that the women had laid down a layer of towels on the bed in preparation for another alcohol bath and made a face. "Do you have to do it again?"

"It's that or ice packs," Purdey told him. "Unless you'd rather I called a doctor."

"Ice packs," he decided after a moment's thought. He could probably manage to push the ice packs away without anyone noticing.

---

Purdey found herself yawning for the third time in as many minutes, and took a moment to rest one of the half-melted ice packs against her eyes. It wasn't like her makeup had survived this long anyway. It would be daylight soon.

She wished Margot would just leave. Not that she wasn't grateful to the German woman for all the help she'd given. Heaven only knew how Purdey would have managed to get Gambit back into the bed alone. And Margot was more awake, more able to spot Mike's unsubtle attempts to shift off the cooling packs. But the nagging worry about the "Top Secret" envelope was still bothering Purdey, and the more coherent Gambit got, the better the chance that he would slip up and call her by her own name instead of "Mabel". If only because he was talking more now.

Well. Fussing.

"I'm okay now," he insisted again, batting ineffectively at the damp cloth Margot was trying to put on his forehead. Although his red-rimmed eyes and the sweat beading on his face told another story. "Just tired."

"Then you should sleep, Mausi,"Margot said.

"I'm too hot. Except where those damn ice packs are," Gambit grumbled. His eyes drifted over to Purdey. "Why can't you just let me sleep?"

At least he'd remembered to speak English to her. "Get your temperature down just a bit more, and then you can sleep. Half a degree, that's all I ask."

He pushed at the covers. "How'm I meant to do that when you keep making me hot?"

"Last time we took the blankets off you said you were too cold."

"And now I'm too hot." Even sulking she could see the quirk at the corner of his mouth that told her that he knew he was being petulant. She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled suddenly, somewhere between sheepishness and amusement. "And cranky."

"Think you could tolerate one more sponge bath? Just water this time, and not too cold?"

He sighed, but nodded. "As long as I can sleep afterwards."

"Fair enough."

She went into the bathroom to fill the vase and collect a couple of washrags, and when she came out again, Margot was on her feet and folding up the duvets to lay them on the couch. Purdey's expression must have given some of her dismay away – she'd been so intent on getting the water for Gambit that she'd clean forgotten about the hidden envelope – because Margot gave her a puzzled look and said. "We do not have so many extra, if these get wet. A sheet will do for now."

"Oh..." Purdey shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "Michael's not the only one in need of sleep," she offered. "I'm not used to staying up all night."

"Your husband is an older man, yes? And the long nights are not easy when you do not do them often," Margot agreed, and then cast a fond look at Gambit. "But it is much easier when he is the one staying up."

On another occasion, Purdey might have sniggered at that observation. Gambit certainly did. But he didn't, couldn't, know about the envelope. She made herself busy with the sponge bath, her mind spinning hamster wheels as she tried to figure out whether or not she could trust Margot the way that Gambit seemed to. It didn't help that she didn't want to trust anyone, oh all right, any girl who could turn a simple sponge bath into an excuse to let her hands linger so intimately on a man's belly.

The envelope. Gambit was drowsing now, but surely he'd notice if Margot tried to find it or take it. If Purdey gave her the opportunity...

Ah, the old hide in the bathroom, leave the door ajar, and watch through the gap by the hinges trick, she thought, unsure whether or not the echo of Maxwell Smart's voice in her head was a good thing. But it was more of a plan than she'd had, and she decided to give it a go.

"Here, give me those ice packs, they're melted. I'll dump them out and make fresh. That way they'll be all ready if we need them." There was still ice in the pillowcase in the sink, which gave her the excuse she needed, and she could put together a bag of cubes and rattle it to create the impression that she was busy.

She was almost disappointed, once she'd crept over to her watching post, to see that Margot hadn't left her position by Gambit's side. In fact, if anything, Margot was even closer to him. Purdey almost forgot to make the ice pack rattle as she watched Margot bend down to give Gambit a long, leisurely kiss.

That woke him up all right. He stared up at her as she sat back and Margot smiled down at his bemused expression. "I cannot stay much longer, Liebling. I must get the desk ready for the morning, and see to the arriving staff and supplies in the kitchen."

"Is it that late?"

"Oh, yes. You shall have to sleep in." She rested her hand against the side of his face for a moment, and then trailed it down his body. Gambit made a noise, deep in his chest, and the girl chuckled as she surveyed the thin sheet which covered his hips. "I would not wish to leave you too soon, but I see you are feeling much better than you were."

Gambit caught her hand in his, and put it to his lips. "Margot... thank you. I'm sorry to have been so much trouble." In spite of the evidence, he still sounded very pitiful, and somehow Purdey wasn't surprised that Margot bent down to kiss him again, and stayed there, with her face near his.

Purdey couldn't see Margot's expression past the fall of her hair, but she could hear the change in her tone of voice. "You should have called me, Mike, when you were hurt here in my own city. I would not have had to come so far."

"Not my choice, Margot-Maus. And the doctor didn't know." Gambit closed his eyes again, took a moment as if he were hoarding his strength. "Besides, it seems a shame to waste any time I might have with you feeling this awf..."

The ringing of the phone startled all three of them. Purdey dropped her bag of ice; Gambit tried to sit up and gasped with pain; Margot swore and caught his shoulders, easing him back against the pillow. "It is all right. I set the switchboard through to this room in case I was delayed." She picked up the receiver. "Reception desk, Der Blaue Adler."

By the time Purdey had tossed the scattered ice cubes from the floor into the bathtub and reached the bathroom door, Margot had already hung up the phone and stood up to go. For a moment Purdey wondered if she hadn't been crying. The makeup on her cheek was smudged, as if she'd run a hand across it and there was a brittle note to her voice as she spoke to Purdey. "I must return to my work, Frau Horrocks. You will call me if you need a doctor recommended?"

"I don't think we will," Purdey said. "Michael's doing much better, thank you."

"But if that should change?" Margot's green eyes were dark with distrust, and Purdey knew hers were no better. But somehow, in that split second she felt closer to Margot than she had all night.

"Of course we'll let you know. You or your father," Purdey amended, belatedly, not wanting to make a commitment.

"I just need to sleep," Gambit put in. "I'm okay, Margot, really. You go back to work." He gave the girl one of the smiles that Purdey found so hard to resist. Evidently they worked on Margot too, because she recovered her aplomb and returned the smile with interest.

"I shall see you tomorrow," she promised and bent to give him one last kiss –- a mere peck by comparison -- before nodding pertly to "Mabel" and departing.

Purdey went to the door and turned the lock with a fierceness that surprised her. It was bad enough to know that Margot had been sleeping with Gambit, but somehow worse to know that he was important enough to her for the kind of worry that had been in those green eyes.

She leaned her head against the closed door and closed her eyes, meaning to banish the memory of the way he'd responded to Margot's kiss, but her treacherous imagination was all too willing to elaborate on the possibilities.

"Purdey-girl?" The nickname made her stiffen, but his voice was concerned, not coaxing. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, but kept her face turned away from him until she knew she could control her expression.

He was smiling sleepily, but there was a crease between his eyebrows. "Give me a hand getting these damp towels out from under, and I'll stop being a nuisance," he said. "It's a bit chilly in here."

She went to the couch to collect one of the duvets, to loft over the bed so it would come down and settle already spread out. "There," she said with fragile alacrity. "Now, if you nudge over to the other side of the bed I can get the towels and you can sleep."

"Oh," he blinked. He made a face as he scooted over, but he managed. "That was a good idea." He was still looking at Purdey with a question in his eyes.

"It was Margot's idea," Purdey admitted, her voice cracking on the name, and then made herself very busy with collecting the towels and the damp washrags, carefully avoiding his fevered eyes. She wished that she hadn't mentioned the other woman. Least said, soonest mended.

He sighed a little. "About Margot..." he began, but Purdey didn't want to hear it.

"I'd best take care of these -- let you sleep," she said, and fled to the bathroom before the waters could get any deeper. With the door safely closed she turned on the cold tap at the sink and filled her cupped hands with water, burying her face in them to cool it, and to wash away the tears that insisted on falling. It was a moment before she dared look her reflection in the eye, and when she did she couldn't help but see the dark shadows that smudged the tops of her cheeks. "You're just tired, that's what it is. A few more hours of sleep and you wouldn't be falling apart." She didn't know why it was she'd got herself so tangled. Proximity, protectiveness... The fact that he's the first man you've trusted enough to sleep with -- even if it was only sleeping -- in donkey's years... "You saw that book of his. You saw the way the women in records looked when Steed said he needed rescuing. He's a skirt-chaser, just like every other man in the department." A skirt-chaser who wants a wife and kids? "He didn't mean that," Purdey tried to persuade her reflection. But part of her mind drifted sleepily out and back to London, to the river, and a cozy little boat where a small dark-haired child held onto her finger in a chubby fist and studied the passing boats with sea blue eyes. While she watched him, watched the way the sunlight filtered through his curls, she felt a familiar pair of arms encircle her waist and well-shaped hands rest against her abdomen. She could feel and hear a deep contented, chuckle. "Ready for number two, Purdey-girl?" the man behind her asked.

It was Larry's voice.

Purdey snapped out of the fantasy with a jolt, shaking her head. No. That wasn't what she wanted. Not anymore.

"How many dates could you have had this week if you wanted them? Enjoy the flirting but keep it impersonal, remember? That was the plan," Purdey tried again to make her mirror-self understand. There'd be plenty of candidates for Gambit's houseboat, no doubt, and Margot at the head of the line. But Purdey had no intention of leaving her heart out where it could be battered again. No intention of handing her dreams over to any man and then watch him turn them into nightmares. It might be different this time, the mirror argued.

Purdey collected herself, practiced putting on a cool, professional air as she rinsed another washcloth. "You're not stupid," she reminded the mirror, "and Mike Gambit's not worth getting worked up over. Probably." But the last word was only a whisper, and she wasn't about to admit to herself that she'd heard it.

---

Gambit waited for Purdey to come out of the bathroom, knowing that he had to straighten things out with her before he could let himself sleep. Margot could be left without knowing where things stood, but Purdey was different. He had to explain.

But she didn't come out. Vaguely aware that he was pushing his luck, Gambit managed to struggle out from under the covers. He didn't care if he felt it in the morning--hell, it was the morning, and he was feeling it. But he had to do this.

He saw his trousers lying over a chair and reached for them, maneuvered his feet into them somehow and pulled them on. There were only a few times and places when you could walk in on a lady in the raw, and this definitely wasn't one of them. It wasn't the lady, either. Besides, he didn't think Purdey was in any more shape to appreciate the view than he was to do something about it if she did.

---

Purdey had just turned to open the door, but jumped in surprise when the knob turned before she could reach it, and she suddenly found herself looking into Gambit's blue eyes. "Gambit!" she exclaimed.

"Need to talk to you," he said, propping himself against the doorjamb in a way that suggested that he really required the support.

"What you need is to get back to bed," Purdey scolded, trying to steer him back into the bedroom.

He shook his head. "'S important."

"About the envelope? It's safely hidden." Stick to the professional part of the business.

"About Margot."

"Don't worry about Margot," Purdey said, wishing he'd just shut up. "She doesn't matter."

"She does matter," Gambit said, and Purdey's heart skipped a beat. But Gambit was rubbing at his face. "That didn't come out right."

Purdey stopped trying to move him and retreated back to lean against the counter that held the sink. She crossed her arms, hoping to hide the way her hands wanted to curl into fists. "You don't have to explain anything. It was all pretty obvious."

He shook his head. "No... Look, don't get me wrong. I like Margot. She's a good dancer and she's good in bed. But she's not one of us."

One of us? Purdey's eyes came up to meet his at last.

"Her dad knows what we're up to -- most of it anyway," Gambit went on, relaxing a little now that she was looking at him. "He has to, in order to keep this place a safe refuge. But Margot, she's a civilian. We date sometimes, if I happen to be in Berlin, that's all. She knows it's just a bit of fun. Purdey..." He reached out a hand to her. "I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"She's worried about you," Purdey pointed out, softly, looking at that open, inviting hand. "She does care."

"Of course she does. She's a nice kid, and she's known me for three years or more. But it's not like I'm the only man she has a bit on the side with. She knows I'm not serious." He wasn't going to be able to keep that hand in the air much longer, by the way it was trembling.

The sensible part of Purdey's brain couldn't seem to decide if she went to him because of the way he'd held his hand out to her or because she wanted to keep him from tipping over. "And here I was thinking she was a candidate for that houseboat of yours," she said, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. She tried to tuck herself in alongside his least damaged side so she could get him back into bed.

"Margot?" Gambit said, surprised. "She gets seasick in a bathtub. Besides, she's not the sort of girl I'd want aboard." He wasn't cooperating. Just standing there like a great lump with his arm over her shoulders.

"Oh? And what sort of girl are you going to take aboard, then?" The question came out before she could censor it, and she hoped it didn't sound as flippant to him as it did to her. Or maybe she did. Gambit's eyes were too close now, and she avoided them, although looking at his lips wasn't going to make the odd feeling in her middle go away any time soon.

"Someone I don't have to keep secrets from," he said huskily. "Someone who..." his breath skipped a pace. "Purdey..."

He'd gone green, she realized a moment after he tried to lunge past her for the loo, and the eyes she'd finally looked up into had been crossing. Unfortunately, her instinctive reaction had been to try to hold him up just at the moment he most definitely needed to be falling to his knees and somehow they ended up with him draped over the side of the tub, heaving up the remains of the goulash while she tried to disentangle herself before more of it landed on her sleeve and hand.

Well that certainly murdered the mood. But practicality was stronger than any sense of disgust, or even disappointment that the huskiness in his voice must have been due to rising nausea and not something else. She held his back until the worst of the spasms eased and then hooked some of the towels over with her foot and reached across him to turn on the cold water tap in the tub so she could rinse off her arm. He slumped a little farther, until he was sitting on the floor facing her across the tiles.

"Yaagh. Sorry about that."

"At least you weren't drunk," she said, damping the end of a towel to clean his face and the few spatters that had hit his bare skin. "But I think it's time we called a doctor."

He caught her hand. "No." The blue eyes were steely. "No doctor."

"But..."

"Call in a doctor now and we'll both end up dead." She hadn't seen that look on his face since he'd punched the nurse. A statue could look less stony. "Tomorrow, when you've had some sleep, you can go out and kidnap one if I'm not better. But they'll be looking to see if a doctor gets called out tonight, and who's to say if the man we call is the man who walks in the door?"

"We could ask Margot." Purdey offered. She didn't think she could kidnap a doctor, and Gambit didn't sound like he was joking. "She'd know any doctor she called for you."

"And she'd end up just as dead if the wrong man turned up." He wasn't going to allow that. She could see it from the grim set of his jaw. Reluctantly, she nodded acquiescence.

He might have said something more, but a fit of coughing caught him. Purdey got up far enough to get a glass from the counter and filled it at the running tap. He rinsed his mouth out and spat into the swirl in the tub and then drank about half of what was left in the glass. "Thanks," he said, leaning back against the loo. "That's better. I think I scraped my throat raw."

"Think you're going to get sick again?" she asked, reassured somewhat by the return of color and animation to his face.

"Don't think there's anything left in me to get sick with," he countered ruefully. He looked at her, smiled a little. "Sorry about your dress."

She glanced down at the spatters across her skirt and the wet place on her sleeve. "I think it won't stain if I wash it out right away," she said. "Not enough to matter, anyway."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but another set of coughs interrupted whatever he'd been about to say.

Purdey pushed herself to her feet. "I'd best get you back to bed."

hr

At least the trousers had given Purdey something to hold onto as she manhandled him back to bed, Gambit thought. Not that he couldn't have managed if he had to, but crawling wasn't very dignified.

He did his absolute best to look healthy – or at least healthy enough to get by without a doctor – while she was tucking him in, and told her he was fine sturdily enough that she finally stopped fussing with the covers. He had the feeling he'd frightened her. Hell, he'd frightened himself.

"Sure you'll be all right while I clean up?" she asked.

He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze in answer and then closed his eyes, hoping she'd think he was going to sleep. What he was actually doing was keeping another round of coughs at bay as long as he could manage to. It bloody well hurt to cough, not so much in his throat, but down where the sutures were. But it was the scratchiness in his throat that was going to set things off if he let it.

Think about something else.

He could hear the clunk of suitcase latches, but the splash of water in the tub hid her bare footsteps, and it wasn't until the sound of the water changed to the rataplan of a shower that he knew for certain she was in the bathroom.

In the shower. Right. Think about Purdey in a shower.

Funny that she had mentioned the houseboat again. Funny that he'd told her about it, even joking. That was an old, dead dream. Moribund anyway. He'd probably spend his retirement trying to see all the countries he'd somehow missed along the way, not that he wouldn't mind bringing Purdey along on the trip. If he made it to retirement. Purdey probably wasn't in the market for babies anyway, not if she'd taken up this job.

Doesn't mean she wouldn't like practicing the technique, part of him hoped.

Think about something else. If you can.

He didn't think there was any chance of talking Purdey into trouser duty again tonight, but there was no denying that he'd sleep better without them. You're a big boy, you can take them off yourself. It just meant sitting up for a minute or so. Do it while she's still busy in the bathroom.

But trying to shift onto his side and push up into a sitting position set off the coughing again, and this time he couldn't make it stop. It hurt, too, no matter which side he tried to roll to, either because of his arm or the bandages on his chest, and he realized for the first time how much he'd been depending on Purdey or the orderlies to get him upright when he'd been lying flat.

I managed to get up by myself before! But he hadn't been coughing then, hadn't strained the muscles in his abdomen by vomiting yet. He locked his jaw and forced himself to twist towards the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the pain. He had to sit up somehow just so he could ease the stress on his middle and keep some of the air in his lungs long enough to do some good. The coughs came again, relentless. He twisted again, pushed a foot out over the edge of the bed, thinking if he fell off onto his hands and knees it would be an improvement. At least if he coughed himself into vomiting again he'd be facing the right direction.

"Wait! Wait! Here, I've got you." Purdey was there behind him, lifting him by his shoulders and tugging him back up onto the bed. He leaned back against her, aware of the warm damp soapy air she'd brought from the shower, grateful to the warmth of her body against his back. Upright was so much better. The coughs still hurt, but braced against Purdey he could almost stand the pain.

Her arm around his waist pushed against the sutures at first, but then she let go for a moment to swathe a duvet around both of them and tuck a pillow against his chest, holding it against his injuries while he coughed. The pillow helped, made the sutures stop feeling like they were going to pop. Gambit held his hand over hers, shifted the pressure around a little until it felt best. Gradually, the coughs eased, letting him rest between fits. Gradually the rests got longer than the fits. Eventually he realized that Purdey had stopped making soothing noises at him some time ago even though she was still leaned up against his back like a second rider on a motorbike.

"Purdey," he croaked, turning his head to look at her.

"Hey?" She lifted her head from his shoulder and blinked at him with a sleepy scowl for a moment before she smiled. "Sorry. Must have dozed off."

"You're in worse shape than I am," he accused.

"I am not," she said, and then yawned. "I'm just sleepy."

"So lie down and sleep."

She considered that, sitting back to look at him. "Well, your cough is better," she said.

"It ought to be," he said. "I've been practicing enough."

She snorted her opinion of the joke, and reached up a hand to check his forehead. "Sure you don't want a doctor?"

He shook his head. All the arguments still applied, and truth to tell he felt better just now than he'd felt for a long while. "Just a drink of water."

"Right." Purdey began disentangling herself.

Shifting back to lean against the pillow pile she made against the headboard undid a little of his sense of numb sleepiness, but he tried not to let her see that. He didn't let her see the stain of blood and pus on the pillow he still held to the sutures either, though he checked it himself while she was in the bathroom getting him the glass of water. It wasn't too bad, he thought. No worse than the bandages had been when the nurses at the hospital had changed them... was it only yesterday morning?

Purdey came back from the bathroom and his half-awake brain caught up to the realization that she had changed from the beautiful white silk outfit she'd been in to a white cotton circus tent.

"What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Nightshirt, female, standard issue." Purdey replied, the ghost of a smile flickering in her sleepy eyes. "Item number three in the suitcase, female, standard issue I got given, which judging from the girdle that's item number two, suggests that the standard female does her undercover work as a tractor driver in Vladivostok."

"What's item number one?" Gambit wondered, taking the glass she held out to him.

"Woolly knickers, the kind that go all the way down to your knee. Not exactly the sort of thing you'd want as a femme fatale." Purdey chuckled, pulling the armchair up beside the bed. She yawned again as she curled up in it. "I didn't bother to read the rest of the inventory."

He drank a little water, reached over to the nightstand and put the glass where he could get it again by himself. "Aren't you going to lie down?"

"MMnn." She shook her head 'no'. "Don't want to kick you if I have a nightmare." Her eyes had closed. He thought she must already be three fourths the way asleep, but she was fighting it. "Sure you're okay?" she asked.

"I'll do for now," he said softly, hoping she'd rest. "You're a good nurse."

A smile curved her lips. "Everything I know about medicine I learned from watching the telly," she admitted, but her eyes never opened and a moment later her breath had settled into the even pattern of slumber.

Gambit smiled and let his own eyes close. "Only you," he whispered, lest he waken her again. "Only you."

---