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.

Purdey emerged, blinking, from her airplane and made her way dazedly into the Eduardo Gomes International Airport. Opened only the year before, it was the first in the country, it still shone with newness. Purdey, after connections and jet lag, was hardly fit to appreciate this new piece of architecture, nor was her purpose like that of her fellow passengers, bleary-eyed but chomping at the bit to check into the Tropical Manaus, or one of the other luxury hotels, and pay a visit to the sites, perhaps the new Zoological Gardens. Instead, she kept a watchful eye open for anyone showing a little too much interest in the briefcase in her left hand. She'd refused to handcuff it to her wrist, pointing out to the man who had delivered it to her that it would only make her easier to spot, but she did have a firm grip on it, and even as she set about retrieving the rest of her luggage, the cargo was never far from her mind.

She was relieved to finally arrive at her hotel, to look out over the city. Once upon a time, rubber had driven the economy, but over the years it had ceded to industry and finance, and the tourists who were more than willing to explore the nearby jungle by boat or on foot. Purdey envied them their leisurely perspective on the mass of greenery, and of the extensive network of rivers that would take her to the camp where Grey's people were waiting for her special delivery. Purdey would have preferred to take Gambit's suggestion and lounge about on the sand of the Ponta Negra beach. But the jet lag would have to subside for her to enjoy it properly, and she wasn't going to be here long enough for that.

She breathed the air and let the sun bathe her in its healing light, willed herself to relax. The instant she had stepped into the city proper, she'd felt a rush of emotion. This was the last place her father had been before he died. The last country. These sights must have been among the last to grace his eyes. Had it looked this way when he had visited eleven years earlier? Had he smelt the same smells, heard the same sounds, felt the sun on his skin the way she was feeling it on hers? Had he been apprehensive of his assignment, the way Gambit and Steed were about hers? She knew so little about his death, even to this day. Not much more than the reporters who had splashed the story across every paper, squawking about the British civil servant shot as a spy, and the vehement denials by the country's government. And everywhere she'd gone, she couldn't escape it. As soon as anyone heard her name, there would be the question: "No relation to that chap in the papers?" Phrased differently, but the content was always the same. "Yes," she'd said at first, and told them she was his daughter. The condolences had been a help at first, a reassurance that he wasn't forgotten, that others cared too. But as it had gone on, and the story has morphed and mutated until it was unrecognisable, the questions got worse. Just when she thought the storm had passed, someone would look at her surname and ask—or just stare, which was even worse. That was when she'd made the decision. Purdey. Just Purdey. No Miss, Ms., or Mrs. Purdey. Now and forever.

It had helped that it made a brilliant stage name, given her new confidence to grow and expand beyond the rumours. And it meant that Larry hadn't known, not when he first appeared at the back door of the theatre, asking if he could please meet the lovely young woman who had danced to the left of the lead...

Purdey jerked away from the balcony, desperate to fend off those memories. She glanced about her room, looking for something to occupy her time until that airline meal worked its way through her digestive system and she was ready to sample the local cuisine. But she'd read the file a dozen times, and the case was safely stowed. Her eyes settled on the telephone. A glance at her watch and a quick mental calculation revealed that it was half past five in London. Purdey settled onto the bed and dialled a number—long-distance.

It rang three times before she finally got a reply, and then it was half-unintelligible for the violins zinging energetically in the background. Somewhere in the midst of the symphony she detected a faint "Gambit."

"Mike?" Purdey tried, putting a hand to her other ear in an attempt to ward off further distraction. "Are you there?"

"Purdey?" Gambit's voice was a little stronger this time, as though he'd wandered away from the source. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I'm just—" Purdey scowled as Mozart got a little more enthusiastic. "I'm not competing with your accompaniment," she told the phone.

"Hang on." She heard Gambit's footsteps and the Mozart built in intensity before coming to an abrupt end. "Sorry."

Purdey smirked. "Don't apologise. I've got all the time in the world. I reversed the charges."

"Thanks," Gambit said sarcastically. "You'll have me bankrupt by the time I'm forty." There was the sound of him moving again, then an audible click over the line. "I just scrambled us," he informed. "What's Brazil like?"

"Hot," Purdey said truthfully, tugging at the hem of her short-sleeved shirt and flapping it for relief. "The air-conditioning doesn't help much. And I think I managed half a tan just leaving the airport."

"You're doing better than us," Gambit confided. "It's been raining cats and dogs since noon. Steed actually had to use his brolly the way it was intended."

Purdey chuckled. "I don't imagine he liked that."

"He was a bit miffed, actually. Apparently after it's unfurled the balance is shot." She heard a bit of rustling as Gambit settled onto what was probably the couch. "Hot, you say?" he added thoughtfully.

"Boiling," Purdey confirmed, then realised where the conversation was heading. "And if you ask me what I'm wearing, Mike Gambit, I just might stay here permanently."

"Who, me?" Gambit asked innocently. "But if you felt like sharing…"

"Mike…"

"How's the courier job going?" Gambit jumped in, staving off a lecture.

Purdey sighed. "Well, I obviously haven't been hit over the head and shipped to Siberia. As near as I can tell, I haven't been followed. The most exciting thing that's happened all day was getting an extra snack on the plane. If things continue at this rate, the greatest threat's going to be boredom."

"Good," Gambit said with feeling. "I'd just as soon you have all your excitement here."

"With you?" Purdey queried with a grin. "Quarter to six and listening to Mozart. The life of the swinging bachelor. Do you have some hot tea and a crumpet standing by?"

"Depends on your definition of crumpet," Gambit quipped, and Purdey could almost hear his grin. "But I didn't feel much like going out, not with you over there. I've been trying to unwind with the music, but I think it's going to take you standing in my door before I can relax."

Purdey rolled her eyes expansively as she stretched out on the bed. "You're still not worked up about this, are you? I told you I was fine."

"I know, I'm being ridiculous," Gambit conceded with a sigh, "but I can't shake that feeling. Anyway, if everything's going so well, why did you call? Don't tell me you missed the sound of my voice?"

Purdey fiddled with her hair. "That'll be the day," she teased. "But it's too early for another meal, and I was looking out at the city, and I started thinking."

"About your dad?" Gambit finished knowingly, and jumped in to fill the silence that Purdey found herself unable to puncture. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I suppose," Purdey quavered, the impact of where she was and what she was doing hitting her suddenly. She reached up to brush away a tear that had escaped her best attempts to leave it unshed. "It's just strange to be here, and know that he came here for similar reasons, expected to be home again soon."

"I know." Gambit's voice was gentle, like a long-distance embrace. "I'm sorry, Purdey-girl. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"You didn't," Purdey protested. "I mean, it's me. And I'm not really crying."

"Yes, you are," Gambit contradicted. "If I was there, I'd take you for a drink, because you sure as hell could use one."

"We can improvise," Purdey told him, rising to dig a small flask out of her suitcase. "I've got something that's nowhere near chilled, but it'll do."

"Hang on." There was the clinking of glasses. "How does scotch sound?"

Purdey smiled into the phone. "Like you. Cheers."

"Cheers." She heard a ringing tap over the line as Gambit toasted her long distance. She sipped her own, too warm, spirit, and felt a little better, before glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I had better get downstairs for lunch or dinner or whatever it is that I'm meant to be eating."

"You're sure you're all right?" Gambit asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, Mike. Really," she assured. "Quit worrying and go out. Find a pub. Have a sandwich. Something. You'll drive yourself mad at this rate."

"But if you need to call someone…"

"I'll contact Steed. Or McKay. You can't live by the phone for the next 48 hours."

"Wanna bet?" Gambit challenged.

"I shouldn't if I were you. The horses haven't been kind lately."

"Point taken," Gambit said with a sigh. "Go enjoy yourself, then."

"I will, as long as that dinner is still on."

"I promised, didn't I?" Gambit reminded. "You and your jet-lagged digestion will be provided for."

"Then you'd better start saving your pennies. This heat's made me ravenous."

"How much food do they have in Brazil?"

"I'm hanging up."

"All right, all right," he said quickly, and then, with affection. "See you later, Purdey."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see her. "You may depend on it."

Yes, another chapter soon after the last one! But I thought I'd push things along a little. One more chapter after this, and I start fulfilling the summary a bit better than I have thus far. Hope everyone's enjoying it so far. The reviews are much appreciated.