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.
For more information about the series, please see my profile.
Author's Note: Yet another new chapter, while I've still got the time. This one's extralong, in case things get hectic again. Like I said, there's a familiar face in this one who will be playing a significant role in the rest of the story. Hopefully I've done the character justice. More about that next time.
Gambit let himself into Steed's. The 'guide' was supposed to be here today, and Steed was going to introduce his colleague to this master of the Amazon. Gambit wasn't certain what to expect from this mysterious navigator, but as he approached the living room, he could just make out a pair of shapely, yet familiar, legs draped over the sofa, ankles crossed, and partially covered by a skirt made of obviously expensive material. There were only two pairs of legs Mike knew that well, and one set was currently missing in the Amazon. This pair was known to every young agent to crack a textbook in the past ten years of Ministry training programs. Could it be? He rounded the corner, and upon seeing the face that went with the legs, his suspicions were confirmed.
"Ah, Gambit, just in time," Steed greeted from the other end of the room, in the process of pouring the newcomer a brandy. "I'd like you to meet—"
"Emma," Gambit supplied knowingly, as the soft brown eyes lifted from the woman's drink to meet his own.
"Mike," she reciprocated warmly, swinging those ever-so-enviable legs over the edge of the couch and standing to meet him.
Steed frowned as Gambit closed the gap between himself and the auburn-haired lovely. "I wasn't aware that you'd met."
"Of course," Emma replied coyly, arching an eyebrow at Steed before turning back to Gambit. "How are you?" she asked as they exchanged pecks on the cheek.
"I've been better," Gambit replied wearily, pulling back again so he could see the high cheekbones that made his knees go weak. "Purdey…" he lamented, and Emma nodded in sympathy.
"I know. You look exhausted. But don't worry. We'll find her," she asserted in that lively, confident voice that made anything seem possible. "After all, Peter was missing for years, and he turned up alive."
"Excuse me," Steed interrupted, moving over to hand Gambit his drink, subtly sidling between the two of them in the process. Gambit grinned at the uncharacteristically jealous gesture. Now Steed knew how it felt for a change, to have the upper hand, and the benefit of Purdey's arms around his neck. "You act as though you've been friends for years."
"Years is pushing it a bit," Gambit told him. "A year is a little more accurate."
"Fourteen, fifteen months, if you're counting," Emma said with mock-seriousness, eyes heavenward as though in the process of calculating the term.
"But who's counting?" Gambit quipped. "After the first half dozen meetings, time isn't quite so important."
"You keep in touch?" Steed asked, brow furrowed in vague disbelief.
"Oh, we call on occasion. Sometimes there's a letter. Gambit's been extraordinarily helpful in some of the military contracts that Knight has been filling. He's offered some very useful insights from his careers in the actual forces. And I fill him in on business, and a few stories about my time in the trenches," Emma explained, eyes dancing.
"And the occasional tip about what to get for the spy who has everything," Gambit quipped.
Steed shot Gambit a look. "And you never thought to mention this?"
"Well, I am allowed a few secrets," Gambit murmured, a smile playing over his lips. "To go along with the Knight Industries stock."
"I see," Steed replied sourly, looking from one to the other. "Would I regret it if I asked how you met?"
Emma laughed. "Steed, I'm surprised. You know very well that I crashed your Christmas party the year before last."
"1975," Gambit chimed in cheerfully. "Right before we met Purdey." The smile fell, and the younger man cast his eyes down to his glass. Steed felt the pang of jealousy falter a little.
"I remember," Steed confirmed, although he'd tried to forget, quite frankly. He thought he'd succeeded, especially since the addition of Purdey had welded the three of them into an actual team. There was no denying that her presence and ease with the pair of them had smoothed the path toward Gambit and Steed becoming better partners, and beyond that, good friends. But in 1975 things were still strained, and the sight of Gambit escorting an auburn-haired lovely out the door had been enough to nurture a little resentment on Steed's part, no matter how unjustified or immature he was in his feelings. The fact that Emma hadn't been invited, and he, uncharacteristically, hadn't been able to work up the courage to speak to her after the passage of so many years. Emma had never returned, not surprising considering his non-existent reception. He knew Gambit had made his plane to Canada, but there was a two-hour absence to account for that had given Steed cause to wonder just what had transpired. He'd never had the courage to ask, wasn't even certain he wanted to know the answer. But it looked as though he would get one now.
"You left together, as I recall," Steed said finally, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Emma shrugged. "We hit it off," she said lightly. "And the party was getting a little too 'swinging' by that hour. Mike invited me out for a drink before he caught his plane, gave me a port in the storm until things calmed down."
Gambit felt his grin creep back ever so slightly. He remembered his first meeting with Emma Knight very well. There were pictures of all three of Steed's lovely partners in Ministry texts, and Gambit had spent more time than was strictly necessary studying the pages related to Emma Peel during his days as a trainee agent. Others in his class preferred Tara King, and were exceptionally delighted when that worthy made an impromptu appearance at one of his training classes. Some went for Catherine Gale, all cool confidence and leather boots. They were both attractive, he couldn't deny that. But in his mind, Emma Peel was a cut above. It was a schoolboy crush but it was brilliant one, and he'd had to fight to stop from drooling when he'd caught sight of her by the window, just about died when she'd dismissed the title of 'Mrs. Peel' and insisted he call her Emma, and spent the few moments while she retrieved her coat leaning against the wall for support, trying to make sense of the fact that she'd accepted his invitation for a drink. To this day he knew that Emma was using him just a tiny bit as a way to reconnect with Steed, or at the very least get his attention. But at the time he didn't care. He'd thought there wasn't another woman in the world that could make him feel that way.
Three days later, he met Purdey, and he'd known then what separated a crush from something deeper.
Steed raised an eyebrow. "A drink?" he repeated, hoping his relief wasn't too obvious. "I hope Gambit hasn't damaged to your palette."
Emma smiled her lopsided smile. "Nothing of the sort. He has far more taste than you give him credit for." She arched an eyebrow in Gambit's direction. "But we've got other things to worry about, don't we? When were you planning on leaving?"
Gambit snapped back to reality from his musings about a young woman with long blonde hair and fire in her eyes, and locked eyes with Steed. "What did McKay say about giving us leave?"
"He did his best, and got us both off for the day after tomorrow. I'd hoped for something sooner, but it can't be helped. At the very least, it'll give Mrs. Peel time to put her affairs in order."
"It shouldn't pose too much of a problem," Emma informed. "Not unless we take an extended vacation like Peter. I've contacted an old friend in Manaus. He'll have our gear ready when we arrive, and he'll contact the tribe that took care of Peter. They might have a better idea of where to start."
"They've already asked the locals," Gambit pointed out miserably. "Not much information there."
"Maybe they didn't think Grey's people were trustworthy," Emma replied knowingly. "I think you'd be surprised at what they'd divulge to a familiar face."
"It's worth a try, anyway," Steed insisted. "Come on. We can work the details out over lunch."
"You're right, as always," Gambit sighed, moving to follow the pair out the door. "And anyway, the lead time will give me a chance to do a little reading, research the background to this operation of Grey's. Something's still not right, doesn't sit the way it should, and it's not just because I'm angry that Grey got Purdey mixed up in all this."
"Instinct?" Steed queried.
"Definitely."
"Good," was all he got in reply.
***
Gambit sat in the file room, dossiers spread every which way over the table surface. He'd gathered anything and everything the Ministry had on Pym and his operations that he could find, and there was a lot of reading to be done. But Gambit was an old hand at sifting the important facts from digression. So he read. And read. He didn't know what he was looking for, only that he would recognize it when he found it.
Two hours later, he was starting to lose hope. Nothing stood out, nothing that didn't fit Grey's operation, in any case. Gambit picked up a list of agents known to have made contact with Pym and scanned it half-heartedly. Nothing.
No, wait.
Gambit sat up a little straighter, eyes giving the page another pass, this time thoroughly. He hadn't seen—
Yes, he had. There. Bryde. Jonathan Bryde. He rifled through the other files frantically. There, again. Bryde. And again. Gambit read the brief summaries with fresh eyes. The mentions were buried in footnotes. Bryde wasn't one of theirs. He didn't merit the long summaries devoted to the experiences of the Ministry men who had crossed paths with Pym. And Pym had such a long record that he'd tangled with dozens of British agents in just as many departments. Gambit had been focusing on the man's activities, skipping over the laundry list of names. He hadn't known what to look for. And to be fair, Bryde wasn't the man he expected, someone who hadn't had much to do with the Ministry in his years of espionage.
But someone else had.
He had his missing piece.
Gambit sat and read for a little while longer, the story slowly forming before his eyes. A story that he suspected Purdey didn't know half of. Not that it was particularly well spelt out here, but there was enough that by the time he reached the end his hands were clutching the paper til he was white-knuckled. Bryde's name was linked to several encounters, the last of which was in 1966. Gambit did the math in his head. 1976 less ten—not exactly rocket science. He scrabbled for the page listing the deaths attributed to Pym. If Purdey had known, he knew she wouldn't have agreed to go on the mission—at least not as Grey had assigned it. Gambit stood and quit the room, not bothering to clear up the scattered papers.
Gambit made his way quickly and efficiently down the halls, negotiating them with a sort of military precision. The blue eyes were cold. Those who knew him could see the signs and steered clear. Because Gambit was calm—too calm.
Julian Grey was in his team's war room, a lone figure among the dozen or so agents darting from task to task. They didn't look up until they heard the voice.
"Grey."
All eyes turned to Gambit, a lithe silhouette framed in the doorway. Grey took off his glasses and frowned. "Mr. Gambit. What can we do for you?"
"We need to talk," Gambit said simply, closing the gap between himself and the man.
Grey's frown deepened. "It's not convenient at the moment. We're rather busy, but perhaps you could come back later."
"I don't think so," Gambit growled. "Your office. Now."
"But—"
"Now." It was an order this time, with the force and precision of someone who had served in the military and knew exactly how to ensure obedience without raising his voice. Grey was in his office before he realised what he was doing. Gambit closed the door quietly behind them.
"Well, then, what's this all about?" Grey asked, annoyed at how easily Gambit had taken control.
Gambit didn't reply, just closed the distance between them, grabbed the man's jacket in both hands, and slammed his back against the wall.
"I'll tell you what it's about," he growled. "You set Purdey up, didn't you? You knew exactly whose daughter she was. You knew that Bryde and Pym were old enemies. You knew he killed Bryde. And you saw the perfect opportunity to draw him out. Bryde's daughter, another agent, conveniently shows up in Brazil on a courier assignment. Of course Pym'd come out for that, make a personal appearance. And then could catch him and earn a nice bunch of accolades from your people."
Grey swallowed in the face of the angry eyes. "It was necessary."
Gambit's eyes narrowed. "It was necessary to send Purdey in under false pretences, to put her life on the line?"
"She's an agent. She does it all the time."
Gambit shook his head. "Not while she's being lied to, she doesn't. You used her as bait, Grey. You didn't even give her a fighting chance. You sent her in knowing full well she was a walking target, and you didn't tell her what she was up against. You used her father against her."
"If I told her, she never would've agreed. It was the only way."
Gambit shook his head. "No, there's always another way. Maybe longer or harder, but there always is. You should have told her. And if she said no, you should have accepted that. I don't know what your mob's like, but we don't use our people. Do you know why? Because then we're no better than the enemy."
"Look, Mr. Gambit, I'm sorry for the deception. We are doing our best to locate Purdey."
"That's not good enough." Gambit dug in his pocket, still holding Grey with one hand, and extracted Purdey's broken chain. He held it up for Grey to see. "Notice anything?"
"Blood," Grey gulped, "on the links. I sincerely hope it's not Purdey's."
"You and me both," Gambit said icily, and grabbed Grey with both hands again. "Because I'm going after her, and when I find her, and I will, you had better pray she's alive and well. Because if they've," he paused and swallowed, as though the words were painful, "captured her, interrogated her, used her, killed her, then it'll be on your head, and I'll personally ensure that she's avenged. Do you understand?"
"You'll get in trouble for this, Gambit. You can't violate Ministry protocal. Interfere with this assignment, and I'll see to it that things become very unpleasant for you in the future," Grey threatened. "And as for your attachment to your colleague, well, I'd suggest that you exercise a little professional distance. Either that or get what you want out of her so you can attend to the job at hand."
Gambit's hands, still clutching Grey's lapels, tightened just that much more, and Grey could feel his feet pull off the ground ever-so-slightly.
"That was the wrong thing to say," Mike informed him in a low voice. "Now who's being unprofessional?"
"I'm not the one about to cause an interdepartmental incident," Grey pointed out. "But I understand that you're upset. If you'll just calm down, I'll forget all about this little scuffle and you won't be subjected to any uncomfortable internal inquiries. I'm sure Purdey wouldn't want you to get into trouble on her behalf."
Gambit snorted and smirked, releasing Grey as he did so. "You don't know her at all, do you? The only reason she'd call me off was so she could take care of you herself. And I assure you I'm not planning on volunteering for your little team." He looked back at the chain in his hand. "Do you know where Purdey got this?" he added conversationally.
"No."
"Her father gave it to her, when she was sixteen. Do you know how old she is now? 28. 29 in May. And if she's not going to see her thirtieth birthday because of you, there'll be hell to pay." He returned the chain to its envelope, met Grey's eyes one last time. "You see, I'm not afraid of you, because there's nothing you can do to me that can top what you've already done." He smiled mirthlessly. "If I were you, I'd worry less about the investigations and more about giving me reasons to turn rogue."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out the door with the intention of being long gone before McKay even answered Grey's inevitable call.
***
Emma Knight was seated at her desk, finishing the last of the paperwork that needed doing before she departed for Brazil. She had had better times. It was a well-known fact that Emma craved excitement in her life, something that her association with Steed had made blatantly obvious. And by the mid-sixties, Knight Industries was running smoothly enough that it didn't need Emma looking out for its every decision. She'd held onto her shares, but relinquished control to competent experts, content to dabble in academia and other matters that caught her fancy, and instead pop into monthly shareholder meetings to ensure things were still shipshape.
But that was before 1973, the year Emma and Peter Peel had announced, to the surprise of many a reader of the society columns, that they had separated, and intended to divorce. Emma had known for some time that things were never destined to return to the way they were before the plane crash, before the Ministry. Before Steed. But they were both stubborn, and the idea of not being able to make a marriage work seemed unfathomable to two accomplished people. All the same, they spent the better part of five years leading mostly separate lives, travelling to different places, her attending conferences, he still active in the aviation community, generally avoiding one another like ships that passed in the night until one evening they found themselves having dinner together and faced up to the fact that they were wasting their lives for the sake of a piece of paper. Amicable as the separation was, it was still stressful, and for Emma the last thing she thought she needed was the news that Knight Industries' last project had fallen through, and the share price was buckling in response. On the contrary, it proved to be a lifesaver, something to throw herself into completely and devote her energies to while the drama of the divorce played itself out in the press. This was something she could fix, something she knew how to handle. Knight recovered in 1974, but by that point Emma was back in the saddle as the driving force behind the company, too enmeshed to step out again as quickly as she had stepped in. She'd stayed on with the intention of ensuring stability, but one thing had led to another and now, four years on, she was still here, in this office. No wonder she'd jumped when Brazil beckoned, regardless of the old memories it stirred up. Anything to taste that freedom that had eluded her for so long.
She was just about ready to pack it in for the moment, to go out for a bite and read the paper, when the intercom on her desk buzzed urgently. Emma sighed and reached out to flick the switch.
"Yes, Annie, what is it?" she asked tiredly, rubbing her temples with the other hand.
"I'm sorry Ms. Knight, but there's a man here to see you."
Emma paused mid-rub, line appearing between her eyebrows. "I don't have any appointments," she murmured, half to herself, trying to recall if she'd set a meeting that had inadvertently slipped her mind.
"No," the secretary confirmed. "He doesn't have an appointment. He says he's a friend of yours." She dropped her voice, as though she were trying to keep the visitor from eavesdropping. "He looks a bit worked up. Should I call security?"
Emma's frown deepened. "Did he give a name?"
"Well, yes," the girl revealed reluctantly. "Gambit. Mike Gambit."
Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Gambit?" she echoed. "That's all right, Annie. Let him in."
"You're sure? I know you're busy..."
"It's fine," Emma assured. "Tell him to come in. I'll get the door myself." She released the switch on the intercom, rose from the desk, and strode purposefully for the door. She yanked it open just as Gambit reached for the knob, smiled lopsidedly at the brief flicker of surprise that passed over his face. The amusement was fleeting—the eyes that met hers were all too bleak for her humour to last long.
"There's a different girl manning the desk," Gambit muttered dazedly, in a way that suggested he was processing information exceptionally slowly. He stepped distractedly around Emma and into the office. "What happened to Bridget?"
"She's on maternity leave," Emma explained quickly. "Mike, what happened? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"I hope not," Gambit shuddered, making for one of the plush armchairs Emma had arranged around a coffee table to create a sort of living area. "If I do, it'll be Purdey's."
"I know just what you need," Emma replied knowingly, stepping over to the small bar, and pouring Gambit a rather a large whiskey. She handed it to him, and he gulped back half before she even had a chance to seat herself with her own drink. It brought a little colour back to his cheeks, but the haunted look was still behind the blue-green eyes. He swirled the remainder of the liquid around his glass for a moment before looking up to meet her gaze.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm keeping you in suspense."
"Whenever you're ready," Emma told him, sipping her brandy.
Gambit smirked. "You're not that patient," he pointed out, and Emma smirked back in agreement, crossing her long legs in the process. Just for a moment, he was reminded of Purdey, seated across from him, drink in hand, mirroring the same gesture the day before she had disappeared into the abyss. Even Emma's legs, a vision he normally treasured, betrayed him with images of a willowy blonde stretching gracefully before a barre, trading quips with his reflection in the floor length mirror. The smile faded.
"I did some research," Gambit said finally, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. "Into Pym. I knew something was wrong with the whole damn mission from the start, and I was right." He paused to drink off a little more of the whiskey, but he was calmer this time around.
"And?" Emma queried.
"Grey set her up," Gambit told her flatly. "You know Purdey's father was an agent?"
Emma frowned in thought. "I think you may have mentioned it."
"He died in the line of duty," Gambit explained. "Shot eleven years ago. I'll give you three guesses where."
"Brazil?" Emma arched an eyebrow. "I assume that wasn't a coincidence."
"You'd be right," Gambit confirmed. "Purdey's father—Jonathan Bryde—he did a lot of work overseas. Not one of ours, light on local security. Over the years, he tangled with Pym quite a few times, gave him enough of a headache that when Bryde put a foot wrong, Pym was waiting for him." Gambit bit his lip, as though the next words caused him physical pain. "It wouldn't be selling Pym short to say he nursed a grudge."
"I think I can see where this is heading," Emma put in. "Grey heard about Purdey's family connection, and decided to use it."
"Abuse it, is more like," Gambit growled. "I knew something was wrong, and so did Purdey, the minute Grey had his secretary use her last name." He thumped his fist uselessly against his thigh. "Between that and her father—too much of a coincidence. I should have seen it."
"Presumably Purdey would have been better suited to making those sorts of connections?" Emma queried.
"She didn't know the whole story," Gambit murmured ruefully. "For security reasons, she doesn't know Pym was the man who killed her father. And Grey knew from her profile that she wouldn't back down from going to Brazil, especially not if he made her feel as though she was a lesser agent for letting her emotions get in the way." He worked his jaw rapidly. "He set her up pretty much every damn way he knew how, and the real blow is that it worked. Now Purdey's lost in the middle of nowhere, Pym's gone AWOL, and on top of it all I've probably got a lecture from McKay brewing for inciting an interdepartmental scuffle and threatening to go rogue."
Emma's eyebrow climbed to heretofore unknown heights. "Exchanged something more than words?"
"Nearly," Gambit sighed. "I made certain he had a very good idea of how hard the wall was. Evens he's rung McKay and anyone who'll listen, and Steed's somewhere either trying to explain it away to the top brass, or plotting my murder."
"Or both," Emma concurred, resting her glass on the table. "But probably more of the former, if I know Steed."
"I know," Gambit agreed. "But I couldn't face him just yet. And I needed someone to talk to. Sara's out of town, and Purdey's..." He shrugged. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything important."
Emma waved him off. "I was just about to leave for lunch."
"What an excellent idea." Gambit and Emma turned at the sound of Steed's voice to find the man himself standing in the doorway. "Gambit, I'm all for youthful enthusiasm, but I think a course in diplomacy might be in order."
Gambit was on his feet as soon as the senior agent took a step toward them, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy ready to take his lashings with a stiff upper lip. "I know I went over the line," he admitted. "But after what he did to Purdey..."
"I'm not annoyed with you, Gambit," Steed assured his young colleague. "If I'd known, I likely would have paid Grey a visit myself, although exercising a little restraint. Still, McKay's on damage control, and as long as you take some leave and give everyone a week or so to calm down, I think we'll be all right. Besides, Grey can't talk about what transpired without revealing his motives, which I'm certain are going to be looked on less-than-favourably once his superiors hear McKay's report."
Gambit looked hopeful at that. "Do you think he'll be disciplined?"
"It's possible, although not nearly as heavily as he ought to be," Steed opined. "He did, after all, get results, if not Pym himself. I doubt they'll meet out a heavy enough punishment to ruin his career."
"I could kill him," Gambit offered brightly, but with a look in his eyes that hinted that he wasn't completely joking. "He wouldn't do much of anything after that."
"I think you'd top their list of suspects, don't you?" Steed said blithely.
"Get Emma to do it, then," Gambit suggested. "It's practically Saint Emma of Peel, anyway. Mother'd put a good word in for her."
Emma laughed her enchanting laugh. "I didn't know I'd been canonized. Steed, you've been holding out on me."
"Steed wasn't indoctrinated in training with the laws of Peel and Steed," Gambit revealed. "You're in the textbook, you know."
"Fascinating."
"That reminds me," Gambit said thoughtfully, fingering Purdey's chain in his pocket. "Emma, I need you to do me a favour."
"Oh?"
"Well, not me," Gambit elaborated. "Purdey, really."
Emma exchanged bemused glances with Steed. "All right," she said carefully.
Gambit turned to the older man. "And there's something I'd like cleared up in the meantime. If you could come along…"
Steed was equally puzzled, but didn't comment. "Of course."
"Right. Emma, if you don't mind riding with me...?"
Emma smiled wickedly at Steed. "Should I?"
"Not on my account," Steed told her.
"Mmm. Just let me get my coat."
***
"I'll say this much," Emma was saying as Gambit fished out his spare key and inserted it in the lock. "I certainly didn't suspect we'd end up here."
"Yes, well, that's where the favour comes in," Gambit murmured uncomfortably as he eased the door open. Emma exchanged glances with Steed before following him inside.
Purdey's flat was just as neat as Steed and Gambit had left it two days earlier. The sun still shone through the window like a beacon of hope, encouraging its owner to return and reclaim her life. Emma felt slightly ill-at-ease, walking into the domain of a woman she'd never met, a woman who, by all accounts, was her replacement--or the replacement of her replacement. Of her replacement, if one counted Gambit in the strange line of descendents. It was like walking in on her own life a decade ago, a life that was no longer hers. She wasn't certain whether the nostalgia was annoying or bittersweet. Or just plain bitter. She shook her head to clear it. For the moment she was her own replacement, but that wouldn't last. Best not to dwell on it too much.
"It's lovely," she commented, for something to say, even if the stark white flat with the floaty curtains and beaded door weren't quite her style. "But I don't know what I'm meant to do here."
"Well, it's just that...Purdey's things are here," Gambit explained uncomfortably.
"I'd deduced that much," Emma said wryly.
"Including her clothes," Gambit went on.
"Well?"
Gambit bit a lip. "If we find her...when we find her, she'll need some things, and since you're a woman I thought, well, maybe you'd know best what she'd like to have along."
Emma grinned. "You want me to pack for her?"
"If you could." Gambit cheeks were reddening in what looked suspiciously like a blush.
"Why me? Surely you know your way around?"
Gambit made a sort of choking noise that implied that this was both true and not necessarily good. Emma strained to contain her amusement. Gambit certainly didn't seem happy about the way things stood.
"I do," he said finally. "But I'd rather it were you."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Won't she take offense?"
"I know she will," Gambit said with conviction. "But if Steed does the honours she'll die of embarrassment. If we get her mother in, Purdey'll be angry for making her worry. And if I try it..." He smiled ruefully. "All I'll say is I don't relish bring on the other end of one of her kicks. At the very least I'm set for a reaming, but at least you'll pack the right things."
"Point taken," Emma replied with a wink, and disappeared behind the beaded curtain. Gambit breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Steed.
"You said you needed to talk to me," Steed reminded.
"I did," Gambit confirmed. "Do you know any reputable jewellers that'll do a rush repair job?"
Steed frowned. "Jewellers? What on earth for?"
"Purdey's chain," Gambit explained, pulling it from his pocket once more. "I'd like to have it put back together before we go. So I can reunite her with it. Sounds silly, but if I lost me St. Christopher, I'd be happy to see it again after the end of something like this."
"I see," Steed replied, eyeing the slip of gold with just a hint of melancholy in the grey eyes. "Certainly I can put you onto someone. Jenkins. He's been doing the work for generations of Steeds. Here." He extracted a slim billfold and removed a card, handed it to Gambit. "Give him my name. He'll see to it that you can pick it up before the flight. Unless you'd like me to drop it off for you?"
"No," Gambit said quickly, scanning the card. "I'd rather do it myself. Thanks."
"Anything else?"
"Just an overdue thank you for pulling my fat out of the fire with McKay after today," Gambit replied sheepishly, tucking card and chain back into his pocket. "Damn, but he's taken us all for a ride. I could still—"
"But you won't," Steed told him levelly, but with an authoritarian edge that didn't leave room for contradiction. "You were lucky this time round, but McKay can't put out the fires if you keep handing him petrol. And you can't help Purdey if you're under house arrest—or worse."
"Right, right," Gambit said, half to himself. "I can't wait to get out of here. I'm likely to go mad otherwise."
"Has Purdey broken a lot of ankles?"
The question caught the pair of them by surprise. They turned to find Emma, standing in the entrance to the bedroom, hands behind her back.
"No," Gambit answered, a line forming between knitted brows. Purdey called it his 'eleven.' He shook off the sudden urge to break down and focussed on Emma instead. "Why?"
Emma's hands appeared brandishing a pair of dangerously high heels. "I'm finding dozens of these and not much else. Does she wear them on assignments?"
"All the time," Gambit informed. "Runs like the wind in them, up and over fences, that sort of thing, although I couldn't tell you how."
Emma eyed up Gambit's boots appraisingly. "She's not the only one. How tall is she?"
Gambit looked Emma up and down. "You've got about half an inch on her," he estimated.
"Well, she doesn't need the height."
"She lost her place in the ballet because of it," Steed put in. "I'm afraid that leaves you out as well, my dear."
"Just as well I was good at maths, then," Emma quipped, eyes dancing.
"That's half the reason, I think," Gambit added. "She's a dancer. She knows how to balance in the things. But she does have boots in there, somewhere. Some of them are in Brazil, but she shouldn't have brought all of them along on a short trip."
"I'll have a look," Emma promised. "Somewhere behind the brown leather jacket, perhaps."
"Brown?" Gambit exchanged glances with Steed. "Purdey's jacket is black."
"See for yourself," Emma offered, rummaging in the depths of the closet as Gambit approached from behind. He pulled the article off the hanger and frowned at it.
"This is mine," he divulged to Steed, who had trailed in after him. "I've been looking for it everywhere. I thought Mrs. Bannister, my cleaning woman, had done something with it. All this time and Purdey's nicked it." He shook his head in fond disbelief.
"I don't suppose these are yours, too?" Emma queried, pointing to a leotard hung inside the closet door.
"No."
"You can't win them all," Steed opined. "Makes one wonder what else she's accumulated, doesn't it?"
"Two pair of boots, apparently," Emma revealed, extracting them from dusty depths. "These will do nicely." She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. "And unless I miss my guess, I thought you two gentlemen meant to stay out."
"Er..." was Gambit's eloquent reply.
"If you move fast, I may not sell you out," Emma offered, and Steed and Gambit beat a hasty retreat. She shook her head and turned back to the closet.