Brazil

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

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of Hostage and the year-later bits of Gnaws and The Last of the Cybernauts...? It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, and Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit.

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in Angels of Death, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

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

"And that's when I left," Purdey finished, leaning back into the sofa and focusing on her fingernail as it gently tapped against her glass of gin while she waited for a comment from one of her companions. When none came, she glanced up again, tried to gauge some sort of reaction. Steed was ensconced in the armchair across from her, elbows on knees, his own glass forgotten as he looked down and to the left at something that only he could see. Gambit, on the other hand, had started out in a chair, but he'd given up being still for pacing the flat like a caged animal while Purdey told her tale. She found him finally at rest, leaning back against her barre and wearing the same distracted expression as Steed. Purdey knew better than to try and drag anything out of either of them when they were like this—it was like pulling teeth. She finished her gin and set the empty glass on the coffee table, amusing herself by mentally superimposing that wallpaper she planned on putting up just as soon as she got a free moment when people weren't chucking her into coffins or smashing the furniture to bits.

"Feels wrong."

Purdey started out of her decorating daze, wondering at which male voice it was she'd heard. "What does?" she asked the room at large.

"Everything." Gambit was her first source of feedback. His eyes were fixed on her, actually seeing the way Steed's hadn't. "The whole package. Something's not adding up."

"'Something' isn't good enough." Steed was putting his oar in now, finishing his own drink. "Particularly when there are several somethings that could be clouding the waters. The problem comes in sifting out the emotional from the illogical."

Gambit scowled. "You did say to follow our instincts," he reminded. "And I don't know about you, but mine have been on high alert ever since Purdey told me about the call."

"Point taken," Steed allowed. "But my sticking point is what it is you're actually experiencing—emotions or instincts? I don't think any one of us can deny that we don't like the situation for any number of reasons." He ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. "Grey is less than likeable. McKay's been tied down. MI12's infringing on our operations. Using Purdey's last name. Sending her off to the very place her father died, and on short notice." He glanced from one of his young colleagues to the other. "Any of those—although I suspect all—could be swaying our judgment. We don't personally like this assignment, so we're suspicious of it, trying to come up with reasons to abort." His gaze stopped on Gambit. "You said yourself you've been on high alert since Purdey called. Once you start looking for a trap, you start seeing shadows everywhere."

Purdey bit her lip and looked to Gambit as well. "He has a point," she told him. "And Grey gave me a reason for everything he's doing."

"That's part of the problem," Gambit asserted, pushing away from the barre and moving across the room in three quick strides to settle onto the couch beside her. "Grey's got a reason for everything. It all seems a little too neat, like he was expecting to be questioned."

Purdey shook her head. "That doesn't follow. If he was going to work outside his own department, he would need reasons to convince the people at the top. You should know that better than anyone, the way the Germans brought you in in '75. And Steed's right—Grey's got your back up. You can't deny that."

Gambit sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration. "You think I'm paranoid."

"Overprotective came to mind," Purdey replied knowingly. Gambit was known for looking out for her own well-being more than his own.

Gambit peeked between fingers to smile at her. "Nothing wrong with that. Not if you've got something worth protecting." Purdey grinned back. "But it can go both ways," he went on. "You're not anymore objective than me. Grey's issued a challenge, getting you to go Brazil considering your past. After the way he went on about partners, I think you're trying to prove you can carry a solo act and shake off the baggage at the same time."

Purdey bristled, leaning forward to collect the glasses. "I am capable of doing things on my own," she reminded. "I did solos like any other agent."

"But you're not trying to prove anything? Not even to yourself?" Gambit pressed, and Purdey used the glasses as an excuse to flee from probing eyes. She was at the sink before she even considered replying.

"Even if I am," she heard her voice say, "that's not stopping me from doing the job."

Gambit was beside her suddenly. "I don't want to identify your body because you were too busy thinking about your dad to look out for the boys chasing your briefcase."

"You won't," Purdey snapped, slamming the glasses into the draining rack with feeling. "I wish everyone would quit worrying about my emotional state and trust me."

"We do trust you," Steed asserted gently. "But would you prefer it if we didn't worry at all?"

Purdey was silent. Steed carried on.

"It doesn't matter. I think it's fairly obvious that none of us is objective. I'll make some calls, speak with McKay, but at the moment interdepartmental jealousy isn't a good enough reason to ask for a pass."

"Last time we heard that, it took a 17-year sleeper to keep Purdey from getting shot," Gambit reminded grimly.

"All the same," Steed persisted, shrugging off the memory of the shot, the fear of being too late. If it hadn't been for Gunner… "Purdey, if you think you think you can handle it, you're obligated to carry out Grey's orders."

"I can," Purdey assured.

"Right." Steed retrieved his bowler and brolly from the kitchen table, turned to his partners. "I'll let you know if I find anything. Gambit, do you need a lift?"

Mike was looking thoughtful again. "No," he declined. "No, I'll stay on for a bit. Help Purdey pack."

Purdey made a face, and Gambit grinned back at her. Steed smiled a smile of his own.

"I'll be on my way, then."

Purdey walked the senior agent to the door. "Thank you, Steed."

"My pleasure." And he was springing up the 21 steps like a man half his age. She watched him disappear before closing the door and turning to Gambit, still ensconced by the sink.

"Help me pack," she scoffed. "You're slipping, Mike. You'll never outbluff anyone with lines like that."

"I save the best ones for special occasions," he quipped. "No use wasting them on trying to outdo Steed. Besides, I'll be happy to help. I'd love to see what you bring along for sunbathing."

"I doubt I'll have much time for tanning. I'll be trudging through jungle, not lounging in the sand, remember? Not that you're going to see anything either way." She was already making for the bedroom, and Gambit fell into step behind her.

"I'd settle for a few snaps," Gambit tried, but Purdey just shot a mildly amused look over her shoulder as she passed through the beaded curtain. He turned serious. "Really, though, Purdey. Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Purdey slid one of the mirrored closet doors to the side, and fumbled about in the dark depths of the top shelf as she replied. "You've seen me kick," she reminded, hands seeking out a familiar solid shape.

"It's not your abilities I'm worried about," Gambit replied, reaching over Purdey's head and closing his hand around the handle of a suitcase, hauling it down from where it lay hidden beneath a pair of heavy quilts. "Looking for this?"

"Yes, thank you." Purdey grasped the handle herself, covering Gambit's hand in the process. Gambit didn't let go, and she locked eyes with her colleague, the case forming a barrier between them. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Do you?" Gambit's gaze was penetrating, but she couldn't look away. "You haven't answered my question."

"Look," Purdey hissed in frustration. "If I don't do this, I'm going to hate myself for backing down. I'm not denying it'll be hard at first, but I've got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to the last place my father ever saw, and in the same capacity, as an agent. To know how he felt. Wouldn't you take that chance?"

Gambit sighed and relinquished the case. "I guess so," he admitted reluctantly. "But I can't shake this felling that something is going to happen to you on this assignment. Something you'll be unprepared for. And I'm not going to be there to help."

Purdey carried the case over to the bed. "You," she began, punctuating her words with the opening clicks of the clasps, "Mike Gambit." Clack. "Are behaving like an old mother hen." She eased the case open and returned to the closet, where Gambit was still posted with worried eyes.

"Last time you said that, we almost lost you," he reminded, and Purdey turned her head away as she pulled back the corners of her mouth in a wince. The memory of her curare poisoning was too vivid, the feeling of her body slowly shutting down. It wouldn't do any good to let him see her dismay—then he'd be even harder to convince. She made sure she was composed before she looked back at him.

"Last time you also had a lead," she pointed out. "Like Steed said, what do you have now?"

"I know," Gambit sighed. "Just a feeling."

"Feelings can be wrong."

"Sometimes."

"Then I'll be fine." Purdey set about packing a pantsuit in a camouflage print and a pair of boots, before making another trip to the closet. Gambit caught her arm gently before she could motor past him again. "Mike," she protested at his anxiously working jaw. "I'll only be gone a few days. Fly in, get rid of the case, fly back. There's not much that can go wrong."

"Maybe not," Gambit allowed. "But I've had experience with simple operations going wrong. Very wrong."

Purdey smiled lopsidedly. "This isn't about your habit of driving into walls during that racing stint, is it?"

But Gambit wasn't smiling. "No," he said flatly. "Something else. But I don't want you to find out first hand. If you're dead set on doing this, promise you'll be careful. Don't make me come and get you."

"I'll be careful," she promised, and he released her arm. "But it won't come to that. I'll be back before you know it, and you can take me out to dinner."

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gambit's eyes had a spark of mischief in them. "Just the two of us?" he asked hopefully.

"And Steed," Purdey clarified, and Gambit's face fell as soon as it had lifted.

"Well," he mused. "You could always stay on a little longer, and I could come join you on the beach…"

"Don't get any ideas," Purdey warned, but Gambit was warming to the idea.

"I've got some leave stored up. You've got a swimsuit in here somewhere, don't you?" He moved to rifle through Purdey's wardrobe, and she was across the room like a shot.

"Mike Gambit, don't you dare!" But she was laughing before long.