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. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. 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: Well, I've let another good chunk of time elapse between updates, but this one's longest of all, which ought to make up for it. Our new trio does a little hiking and investigating. We're a little over halfway now.

There are quite a few allusions to some other fics in this one, including some that haven't been uploaded yet. But those with a familiarity with The Anniversary ought to pick up on a few.

I promise some rather important developments next chapter. Hopefully that'll be sooner rather than later.

They made arrangements to leave the next morning, and spent the rest of the day lying low in their rooms. Gambit found himself fiddling with Purdey's chain. The repair was flawless. No one would have known it was broken. Not unless they knew the history behind it.

He still remembered that day, the one that seemed so long ago, when Purdey's hair had fallen out of its updo and around her shoulders in golden waves as she explained who her father was, her eyes riveted on the dead man who had revealed her secret with his dying breath, and the way her hand had gone to her clavicle, to touch the sliver of gold there. The piece of her father she had always kept with her.

Will! Will always keep with her. Don't start with the past tense. That's the last thing you need. He rubbed his face tiredly. He had to quit doing this to himself. It wasn't helping anyone, least of all Purdey, that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since she'd gone. Not counting his near coma 18 hours at Steed's. But that had only served to remind him of how much he needed the rest. He rose and let Purdey's chain slip from his fingers to pool on the nightstand. He didn't need a pill. He needed advice. He thought he knew where to get it.

It was clear that Emma Knight was getting ready to turn in when she answered the door. Her slim figure was wrapped in a dressing gown, but a pair of silk pajamas was visible below the hem, and when the sleeves slid back. She didn't look particularly displeased at the intrusion, just arched one of those ironic eyebrows at him and let it do the talking.

"Come for a bedtime story?"

"Just about," Gambit admitted, running a hand through the dark curls self-consciously. "I know it's late, but if you could spare a minute..."

She gestured for him to enter, closed the door softly behind him, crossed her arms and made her way unhurriedly to where he stood in the middle of the room. "Well?" she asked, not unkindly. "Is this about Purdey?"

"Not much isn't these days," Gambit said with half a chuckle, but there was no humour in it. "This might sound strange, but I need some advice, and you're the only one qualified to give it."

Emma's eyebrow was up again, this time with interest. "I'll do my best," she told him. She indicated the chair. "Do you need to sit down?"

"No, no, I don't want to take up that much of your time." He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "This might be personal. If you don't want to answer..."

"I'll be the judge of that. But I won't know until you've asked, will I?" Emma pointed out. "I haven't seen you this tonguetied since we met."

"Could you blame me? Emma Peel, agreeing to have a drink with me. I nearly died of shock."

"Just as well you didn't. My CPR's rusty. Go on. Ask. Don't spare my blushes."

Gambit took a deep breath, met her eyes. "How did you do it?"

Emma cocked her head. "A bit thin on the details."

"When Peel was missing, all those years ago, and you didn't know what happened. If he was dead or alive. If there was any hope left. How did you stay sane in those early days, those first few weeks?"

Emma pursed her lips, and looked thoughtful. "It all seems so long ago. So much has happened since then..."

"I know," Gambit agreed. "And I know it's hard to weed out your feelings now from when you—"

"Loved him?" Emma finished knowingly. "I suppose so. But I do remember being in the same situation. I spent weeks just like you, feeling helpless, wanting to do something, anything except keep the home fires burning and take tea with the other wives while the Air Force went over the jungle satellite photos. But when I got here, to Brazil." She shrugged. "I knew if there was any good to be done, I was going to do it. It may sound narcissistic, but I told myself that he had a better chance, now that I was here. That he wasn't facing it all on his own anymore. That he had an ally, even if he didn't know it, because he needed one. Everyone needs an ally. And if you're here, then Purdey, wherever she is, has hope. She knows you'd never leave her to her fate. And now you're holding up your end." She uncrossed her arms, opened her hands, help them palm up as if presenting an offering. "Does that help?"

Gambit smiled, a real smile, the first she'd seen since Steed had brought her in. "Yes," he assured. "Thanks. That's just what I needed."

"I'm planning a book. 'Sage Words of a Would-Be Widow.'"

"I'd buy it," Gambit vouched, turning to leave. "Good night, Emma."

She smiled lopsidedly. "Sleep well."

***

Early the next morning they took the boat out, just the three of them. Nobody was willing to risk hiring a crew, even if they had snuck in under Grey's radar. There was no point in taking chances, and between the ex-sailor and two very able hands, they were on their way down the Amazon before the city had stirred.

Steed and Emma had settled on a spot for the camp over breakfast, an hour's journey from the native village Emma knew, and in close proximity to both Grieve's camp, and Pym's newly commandeered base. Gambit had found them huddled over maps and charts, taking breakfast as they did so. They were so natural together Gambit couldn't help but smile. At the very least, some reforged bonds would come from this mess.

The trip took most of the day, and the light was dying by the time they had concealed the boat and trekked to the site. It was nestled, far from sight, behind some of the amazingly old trees. It was awe-inspiring, and Gambit wished he were visiting under happier circumstances. He'd have to remember to come back one day, when the associations had dulled in his mind. Now he had other things to attend to.

Emma's efficiency in setting up camp reminded him that this wasn't her first visit, and that her last trip, as she told them, had been made alone. With two others it was a simple matter to pitch the tents in the shelter of the trees. It was still hard work, though, and Gambit was actually hungry for the evening meal, which somehow made things a bit better. He was feeling more optimistic overall now that he was in the jungle. Something told him Purdey could be found, just as long as he tried. Combined with the clear air, and Gambit knew he would sleep better that night. All the same, he took the first watch.

It was Steed who prodded him into bed at midnight, ever-present umbrella shielding him from the sudden downpour that had started an hour earlier, and Steed again who used the same point to rouse him for breakfast. It hadn't yet gone six, but it was agreed that their starting point, the camp where Purdey was last seen, would be better viewed in the early hours, when the night watch had yet to be relieved.

The first guard they spotted was fairly dozy as it happened, but his half dozen friends looked a shade more alert. Not surprisingly, the camp's security had been upped, even this long after the attack. The camp itself was still drowsy this early, few of Grey's people early enough risers to be up and about. This made things a touch easier. While they couldn't investigate the camp personally, they could at the very least get their bearings to follow Purdey's path. They already knew where she'd been taken from; the more important question was where she was taken to. Emma extracted two pairs of binoculars from her pack and handed one to Gambit before scanning the site from their cover. "Right, what am I looking for?"

Steed extracted the reports that he'd had Finder "unofficially" copy on his break, after Steed himself had "unofficially" borrowed them. "Purdey's trail was benchmarked not long after the attack, but we'll need to get our bearings if we don't want to end up turned around. The layout of the camp has probably changed since the attack, but Purdey's tent was in the northeast corner." He turned the diagram included in the sheaf of papers, and oriented it for their position. "That should be to your left, Mrs. Peel. Eleven o'clock."

Emma swivelled and made adjustments to her Hobbesian multiplying glasses. "There's a workstation there now, but I think I can make out the area where the tents were."

"I see it," Gambit confirmed. "Which way did Purdey go?"

"She was heading for Miss Grieve," Steed murmured, tracing the route with his finger. "That would be southwest. Knowing Purdey, she'd keep to the treeline for cover. Miss Grieve was at the southern end of the camp, but Purdey never made it. She was grabbed somewhere along the treeline."

"Probably the southeast corner," Emma hypothesized, lowering her binoculars to glance at Steed's map. "From what I understand the car was halfway between the southern corners of the camp. If Purdey never made it, and she was still a ways off, I'd say her assailants came from behind, out of the trees. The corner would be the most dangerous place for her—unknowns on two sides."

Gambit was tracking the movements as they voiced them, found himself picturing the dark, and the chaos, illuminated sporadically by gunfire, and torches, and the headlights of the vehicle where she meant to take refuge. And he could see her, moving gracefully through the turmoil, dancing the fine line between the shadow and the light. How had she felt? Afraid? Exhilarated? Somehow, he thought the latter, could see her with a smile on her lips, mad and impetuous, but distinctly Purdey, fresh from her triumph against the enemy. But he could also see the shadows creeping in from behind, dark shapes that threatened to swallow her whole, her oblivious with all the danger around her. He wanted to cry out, to warn her, but she couldn't hear him. Because she wasn't there. Because he hadn't been there.

I'm here now, though.

"Gambit!" Emma hissed, and the image faded before his eyes. He lowered the glasses and realised both his colleagues were staring at him.

"What?"

"Get down," Steed said urgently, hooking the brolly's handle around his wrist and pulling hard. Gambit only just had time to control his fall and keep from landing on his face. He scrabbled for cover, glancing at his partners for an explanation.

"What's happened?"

"They're patrolling," Emma said with vague annoyance. "We were almost spotted."

Gambit ducked his head. "Sorry," he apologized, mentally kicking himself for letting his mind wander. But it was so easy to imagine shadows in the untamed wild, the way he had in Africa. And he could taste the fear. His fear. Maybe Purdey's. Emma was talking again, and he forced himself to listen.

"We're fairly certain we've located where she was taken," Emma explained, pointing at the diagram. "The description's a bit confused, but it makes sense logically, and between the three of us, we should be able to sweep all the possible areas she may have been on the way to the ravine."

"That's where they found the chain?" Gambit queried, remembering the little envelope in his pocket.

"Right," Steed confirmed. "But we'll need to take the scenic route to avoid crossing paths with—" He pointed towards the patrolling guard.

"I'll lead," Emma said pointedly, and Gambit didn't argue. Not until he had his wits back. He set about following Emma's crouched figure, and couldn't help but notice Steed bringing up the rear, as though to flank him. Even they know you're losing it. Better prove otherwise and fast if you don't want to end up back in Kendrick's office with the prescription pad. He took a deep breath. Just like Africa. All he had to do was forget how to feel.

***

The jungle was dense on the way to the ravine, and Gambit tripped over more than one root on his journey, treating the local wildlife to some of the more colourful turns of phrase in the English vocabulary, and a few other languages for good measure. True to the simile, Gambit could curse like the sailor he was when the situation warranted, but he'd always been mindful of context, and what passed without so much as a raised eyebrow below ship or on the racing circuit was frowned on by the more officious types in the Ministry corridors. As such, Gambit's extensive linguistic skills in the world of obscenities had atrophied in recent years. Steed didn't turn to strong language often, and one felt self-conscious letting the side down. And then Purdey had come into the picture, and the day John Steed cursed a blue streak with a lady present would be the day to pack it in and wait for the world to end. As for Gambit, he had his own reasons for keeping things clean, and they had nothing to do with Purdey's delicate ears. On the contrary, Gambit had the sneaking suspicion she'd be a quick learner, and it would somehow come back to haunt him. Purdey had no such restraints, and he knew she could do one of his old navy buddies proud when the mood was right. Gambit smiled to himself, and wondered if he uttered some Portuguese turns of phrase to suit the mood if Purdey would turn up asking for a translation.

Steed and Emma were a short distance away on either side, also scanning the undergrowth for any sign of Purdey's involuntary journey, no matter how minute. It had been too long for a decent trail to still be visible, and matters weren't helped by the fact that Grey's people had been trampling through making a mess of things. But there was always the chance that something had been missed, and Gambit had been a good tracker in his Africa days. But that didn't help much when there was nothing to track. Grey's people had been conscientious about the benchmarks at least. Every few feet another shiny disc of metal flagged their path. The men that took Purdey had obviously travelled in a zigzag to lose pursuers, and that tripled their travel time. But they were moving away from the camp at least, and from the watchful eyes of the guards.

"They certainly knew their way around, didn't they?" Emma commented, slightly winded after clambering over her fourth fallen tree. "Taking the scenic route in the dark, even with a torch, is asking for a wrong turning or a broken ankle."

"They're professionals," Gambit reminded. "They've probably been over this part of the jungle dozens of times. And Pym likely pays enough to make it worth their while."

Emma nodded, then frowned. "How many did you say took Purdey?"

"Three, according to the report," Steed chimed in from the rear. "Any fewer and Purdey would've had a better chance of fending them off back at the camp." He caught Emma's thoughtful expression, and knew something had stirred her lightning-quick mind. "Why?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm not sure. But three less the two that were killed means one, and Purdey would have been all right with even odds."

"There were more in the jeep," Gambit reminded, glancing down at the next marker. "That would have made it harder."

"Still," Emma brown eyes were alive with possibilities. "Something doesn't add up, and it's not just the maths."

She was right, too. Gambit didn't know how, but when they emerged from the greenery to join him on the edge of the ravine, the light had been shed in more ways than one. Something was ticking over in his mind, too, but every time he chased it, it danced out of reach. He gave up in frustration, hoping it would come to him later on. He sighed, trying to keep up hope for the next round of the search. This was where Purdey had been taken, where Pym's men had been shot. Hopefully it would provide more answers than the trail. It had to.

"The car was over here, apparently," Steed informed, walking over to a bare spot attached to a roughhewn road. He wasn't giving up, so there was no reason why Gambit should. "The report says that Pym's men were killed here." He bent and scratched a pair of x's in the soft earth with his brolly. "There were at least three figures that retaliated and made it to the vehicle and drove off. No clear description, so there's no way of knowing if Purdey was with them, but that's been the general consensus." Steed glanced up the road with an appraising eye. "This should take us to Pym's base. I'd say that was the best place to start."

Emma nodded in agreement. "If they did want Purdey as a hostage, they'd want her along. Or Pym wanted her for a vendetta." She nodded to where Gambit stood. "She was standing where you were, though. That's where they found her chain."

Gambit looked down at his boots, wondered what had drawn him to the same spot, if it had been coincidence, or some strange sort of fate. He glanced over the edge and winced inwardly, wondering it Purdey had been able to see how steep it was in the dark. Wait...

It hit him suddenly, so suddenly he nearly lost his footing and took a tumble. "I don't think she was in the car," he murmured, dropping into a crouch. "I think she took the long way down."

Emma frowned and made her way over with Steed in tow. "What?"

Gambit pointed over the edge of the ravine, eyes fixated on a point in the middle distance, leaning forward like an overeager Golden Retriever. "She wasn't in the car. She went over the edge."

Steed was frowning too now. "They made a thorough sweep of the area, but there was no—"

"They made a through sweep of the flat bits," Gambit countered, straightening up. "But Grey was never going to pull out all the stops for Purdey when she wasn't even one of his own. Besides, she'd served her purpose, hadn't she? Provoked Pym. I don't think he gives a damn about much else."

"Still—" Steed tried, but Gambit was being uncharacteristically forceful, and he found himself cut off before he could begin.

"There's something else," Gambit went on, pointing down. "It's steep to begin with, and I'd wager if Purdey jumped or fell, she wouldn't hit the ground until she was a ways down. That means any damage she caused wouldn't be visible unless you really stretched. Anyone just glancing over from the top would assume she hadn't gone that way."

Emma was crouching now, holding onto a stubborn root so she could stretch over the cliff. She smiled ruefully at Steed. "He's right. No one would see a trail unless they made a point of looking. And by now the trail's long gone. If she wasn't in the jeep..."

"Do we have any reason to believe she wasn't?" Steed wanted to know.

"Yes," Gambit said slowly. "Emma's maths. Now I know what's wrong." He straightened up, looked Steed in the eye. "There were three men with Purdey. That's four. Then someone had to drive the jeep out. That makes five at the very least, if he came alone, and I'll wager he didn't. Let's say six, including Purdey. Less the two that died, and we've got Purdey and three."

"There were only three in the jeep when it drove away," Emma reminded. "If there were only five to begin with then she could have been one of them."

"Right," Gambit acknowledged. "But all three fired back, didn't they? It's in the report. But Purdey, Purdey wouldn't have any reason to do that. If anything, she'd be struggling like the Dickens. And she's slimmer than the rest. Grey's people would've noticed her if they'd bundled her into the jeep, no matter how dark it was. Steed, you know how she can kick up a fuss. She'd have gotten their attention if she was there."

The light was dawning in Steed's eyes. "So if she wasn't taken..."

"And she wasn't found by Grey's men," Emma chimed in.

"Then she must have ended up somewhere else," Gambit finished. "And her chain was right by the edge..."

"But why wouldn't Grey's people think of that?" Emma wanted to know.

Gambit looked pleased with himself. "Taking her in the car was the easy explanation, and they went for it. Like I said, Grey's got better things to worry about than Purdey."

Steed had hooked his brolly round Emma's forearm, and was also making the stretch, hand steadying the bowler all the while. When he was righted once more, he bestowed upon Gambit one of those infamous beams. "No bet," he said cheerfully, and Gambit grinned back. "Anyone up for a hike?"

"Mmm, downhill. Just the way I like them," Emma approved, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She swept an arm out in a grand gesture. "But it was your discovery, Mike. You first."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "Need something soft to land on if you lose your footing?"

"It can't hurt."

"Not you it won't," Gambit agreed, but the humour was recognised on all sides as a sign of optimism. Gambit took the first step, made certain he had his footing and didn't fall prey to the ball baring effect, then set off down the incline at a semi-controlled sprint. Emma loped after him, leaving Steed to bring up the rear.

Gambit's theory made sense, even if the evidence of a body making contact with the hill was long gone. From the grade, Gambit hypothesised that her descent would have been less than controlled—she'd rolled, and not in any particular direction. Just down. Down and away from the guns. And Pym. That made him feel much better, even as the branches tugged at his trousers. He could only imagine what Purdey must have felt. Her jacket had been left at the camp, so her arms would have had little to no protection. He winced as he surveyed the terrain. She'd suffered, no doubt. Cuts and bruises at best, something broken at worst. But Purdey was resilient, and it was better than being with Pym. Anything was. It was just a relief she'd gotten away. What he wanted to know was where she'd gone after that.

There was a small ledge near the bottom, with a short drop to the greenery below. Purdey's journey would have come to an abrupt end after she'd gone over, and Gambit mentally tallied the different ways that one could land, and how much damage was likely for each as he dropped down himself. Unless Purdey had gone head first, there was nothing life-threatening about the short bout with gravity, but he had a sneaking suspicion Purdey would be so sore that any impact at all would be unwelcome. The branches and such had probably broken her fall, though, he hypothesised, prodding some very damaged plant life with his boot. Broken branches in abundance, right around where she would have made impact. If it were him, Gambit knew he would have taken a moment to recover and check for serious injuries, and he was willing to bet Purdey would do the same before moving on. He glanced around the immediate area in search of some sign of where she'd have logically headed next, but nothing became apparent. It was sheltered here, but now that gravity wasn't providing a convenient route, there was no way of knowing where she'd gone from here. If she'd even ended up here to begin with.

Emma vaulted down beside him, landing like a cat and brushing the odd leaf from her shirt. Steed was close behind, and Gambit pointed out the branches.

"I suppose we could fan out, try different directions," he said to Emma, but she shook the auburn tresses in a 'no.'

"For how long? Miles and miles of jungle, and we've no idea where to stop. Needle in a haystack." She shot Steed a knowing look. "Metaphorically, of course."

"Of course," Steed agreed, wandering over to the densely grown in area to the right. His eyes alighted on a tangle of brush, and he prodded within with his brolly "She was definitely here, though," he informed.

Gambit frowned. "How do you know? I could be dead wrong."

"Oh, I don't know." Steed extracted his umbrella, with something dangling off the end. "I'd say it was fairly obvious."

Gambit blanched, and dashed over to snatch the cloth from the point. He examined it disbelievingly, turning it over in his hands. Emma peered over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow. "Are those her--?"

"Trousers," Gambit confirmed, looking completely bewildered. They could easily have come from the camo print he'd watched Purdey pack. It had been noticeably absent when they'd searched her room, so he knew what she was wearing at the very least. "Why would she get rid of her trousers? I mean, I've suggested it before, but this is a strange time to do it."

Emma crossed her arms, trying to look unamused. "She doesn't make a habit of it then?"

Gambit glanced at her, stricken. "No! Anyway, you're one to talk. Harem pants and that lot."

"I kept them on, though."

Gambit wasn't listening. "They've been shredded," he observed, holding them out at arm's length. "The tears on the legs could be from falling down the hill, but the waistband's been cut right through, and it's barely holding together round the thigh." He squinted at the frayed fabric, dirty and aromatic. "I'd say she was cut," he murmured quietly, and Steed leaned over to see. "That tear's wide enough and the fabric's been stretched around the entry point." He suddenly felt nauseated again, and thrust the garment into Emma's hands while he braced himself on his knees and tried not to be sick. "Oh, hell, I hope nothing predatory could smell the blood."

Steed took the trousers and examined them. "No, I don't think so. If Purdey was bleeding that badly, she would've tied it off with a piece of trouser leg, not shed the whole thing." He shook his head. "We're missing something. Something went on down here."

"But what?" Gambit asked angrily, feeling impossibly helpless. Here they had proof that Purdey had fallen over the ravine and likely taken damage, and yet they were just as far from finding her as ever. And the trousers frightened him as much as comforted. He was all too capable of coming up with explanations, but none of them ended happily for Purdey. "Where do we go from here?"

Emma and Steed exchanged glances. "Pym's," they said in unison.

Gambit frowned. "We just proved she wasn't taken."

"We proved she wasn't taken immediately," Emma clarified. "We have no way of knowing what happened after that. Presumably Pym knew she went this way, and if he was as bent on revenge as you say, he could have easily come here and caught up to Purdey. Particularly if she was injured. She may not have been able to run."

"Grey's people have been over the base already," Gambit reminded.

"And if they did as through a job as they did here, I'd say they were liable to miss something," Steed predicted. "We've no way of knowing where to go from here. It is a place to start."

Gambit sighed, seeing their logic only too well. There was no way he could comb the whole jungle himself. "Right," he said resignedly. "But we ought to wait for dark."

"Agreed." Steed turned and started back up the hill. "Bring the trousers."

***

It was quiet in their little camp as they waited for night to fall. Steed and Emma seemed to sense Gambit's need for quiet reflection, talking softly and steering clear of the trunk onto which Gambit had settled, turning the remains of the trousers over in his hands. Something about the way they had been cut didn't fit with Purdey's capture, or an act by the girl herself, but he was damned if he knew what it was. He preferred that line of thought, though—the one that left Purdey with a few more options. The idea of Pym catching up to her was less palatable, and made the nausea come back.

That told him something else. He'd been trying very, very hard to shut down the part of his mind prone to fear, or panic, or despair. He liked to think he was good at this somewhat dubious skill. It had kept him alive for three months in Africa, and he'd had plenty of opportunities for practice since his Ministry days. But now, of all times, he was having problems cordoning off the weak and staying with the strong, and he didn't know why. His first thought was that it was because Purdey's life was in danger, not his, and it was always easier to temper fear when you weren't dealing with the unknown, when you knew where you were, and what was going to happen. That meant you could move on and brace yourself. But Purdey had gone missing before. He'd done this. He'd worried. He'd feared. He'd done everything he could to find her. But she'd never been gone this long before. Granted, it was nothing like his three months, but that was the trade-off. He could cope with being helpless on his own for a long time, or a short time when it was someone else's life on the line. But Gambit didn't do well when he knew next to nothing, and had an even smaller opportunity to do something. That was why this was so hard. He'd spent his reserves over the past three weeks, just trying to keep sane enough to get this far. If it turned out his persistence was all for want, that he was defeated in his quest before he could start, the cracks in the shell he'd spent years rebuilding would widen, and spread, and before he knew it there would be people speaking in soothing voices, and removal from active duty, and a prescription or seven. And he wasn't sure he'd care. It had been hard after he was honourably discharged from the army, hard to reacquaint himself with society. The nightmares lasted for months, and still surfaced every November, much to his chagrin. But the hardest of all was letting people in.

It might have been easier if Gambit hadn't been burned so many times in his young life, let down by so many that were meant to nurture, not cut him down. It had started right from birth, with the father who didn't particularly wanted his son, his own experiences in the war leaving little more than a shadow of the former man. Then it had been his mother, a good woman, but torn between husband and child. The former won out, much to Gambit's disgust. He knew from a young age he wanted nothing more than to get out. It didn't matter how. Just out.

After Africa, and the army, it frightened him to think he might be on the same path, that he was destined to follow his father's example. It was easy to let family back in—his aunt, his uncle, their daughter. The relationships were familiar, forged. But Gambit wasn't up for anything new, anything too serious. It was all too easy to imagine how someone could let him down, or worse, for him to let someone else down. That worried him more than anything. No one deserved his mother's fate, to be dragged down by another. He didn't know how much he had to give.

And then there was Purdey.

Gambit had known, somehow, when the blonde had walked into his life that nothing would ever be the same again. That something was different about this woman who turned everything upside down, and, remarkably, made it work. She'd succeeded in healing the rift between him and Steed in a matter of days. He wasn't entirely certain when she started work on his own damages.

But that day last November, that day when, by her own admission, she'd climbed into an ice-cold shower to fish him out again, that day, she'd held him together, sealed the cracks, made him feel whole for maybe the first time in his thirty-odd years on the planet. She'd put him together—she would be the one to break him apart.

And if they didn't find her, there'd be no one to pick up the pieces. He didn't think he could survive the second time...

Come on, Purdey. I still haven't told you why I needed fixing. You wouldn't leave without knowing that...

"Gambit?" It was Emma's voice, soft but penetrating. "The light's going. We need to head for the base before it's too dark."

Gambit blinked, realised that evening was threatening to turn to night. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed. "Right," he said, more to himself than Emma. "Let's get on with it."

***

The base was guarded, not surprisingly, by Grey's men. They patrolled the low wall that traced the perimeter with the gait of the weary. All the same, the trio of dark shapes kept to the shadows and hugged the trees while they engaged in silent conversation. Then they broke up and melted away, all while the nearest guard passed on by, oblivious to all but the well-worn path he had followed faithfully for nearly three weeks.

Half an hour later, the shadows convened once more, a short distance from the rhythmic footsteps, and compared notes on their reconnaissances.

"There's a gap every fifteen minutes," Emma informed. "On the northeast wall. One of the guards drags his feet, and the other is fast enough to loop him."

"There's a door on that wall, isn't there?" Steed's voice was thoughtful, and if it were day, Gambit knew he would see his face reflecting that mindset. "How long is the gap?"

"Less than a minute. Forty, forty-five seconds if we're lucky." Emma paused. "Enough time to get to the door."

"Right, but getting through's the problem," Gambit pointed out. "Picking the lock in forty-five seconds is a stretch even in decent light, and we're not going to be able to risk a torch with the guards around."

"We don't need to pick it," Steed declared, glancing at Emma's slim silhouette. "Not if someone opens it from the inside."

Gambit bit his lip. "I might be able to scale it. It's not too high, but the barbed wire at the top could make things messy."

"All the more reason to clear it entirely," Steed said with unconcern. "Don't you agree, Mrs. Peel?"

Gambit could sense Emma's lopsided grin, even in the dark. "I could try," she allowed. "Although it has been a few years..."

"Nonsense. I'm sure you've kept in practice," Steed assured. "As Gambit said, we won't have time for anything else."

"Either of you planning on clueing me in?" Gambit wanted to know, slightly annoyed at being left in the dark, both literally and metaphorically.

"Certainly," Steed said cheerfully. "Mrs. Peel has always been gifted in the art of perpendicular tennis."

Gambit made a face, even though he knew Steed couldn't see it. "Come again?"

"I'll take a flying leap," Emma told him. "Literally."

Gambit frowned. "Are you sure you can make it?" he asked doubtfully. "It's a bit of a stretch, and it's dark."

"No darker than last time," Emma said briskly.

"You've done this before?" Gambit's voice had a little hope in it now, and Emma smiled again.

"Yes," she confirmed. "And if we hurry we might make the next window."

***

Emma eyed up the fence. It was no higher than the hedge at PURRR, although that hadn't been lined with barbed wire at the top. And she'd been ten years younger. She hadn't told Gambit that part for a reason. There were enough doubts between the pair of them as it was. No time for that now. She swallowed her uncertainty and focussed on her timing. The guard had just rounded the corner out of sight. The window was open and narrowing fast.

"Now!" Gambit hissed, over her right shoulder. "Quick!"

"Heigh ho," she sighed, flicking auburn locks over her shoulder. "Over the top."

She broke into a sprint, left the ground, and soared gracefully over the fence to the safety of the other side. Gambit's jaw dropped. He gaped at the spot where she'd gone over, and tried to convince himself that what he'd just seen was real. As much as he admired Emma, he wasn't convinced that anyone outside an Olympic high jumper would clear the top. He shook his head in disbelief, looking to Steed as they broke cover and made for the door.

"It's not fair," he muttered to the senior agent. "One man, and all these fantastic women. There ought to be a quota."

"I have been rather lucky," Steed allowed, although his smile undercut his false modesty.

"You must have been born with it," Gambit muttered.

"Oh, you're not doing too badly yourself," Steed reminded. "And Purdey's certainly remarkable."

Gambit laughed. "I noticed. Let's hope Emma didn't break an ankle when she went over."

But the door swung open just before the next guard happened by, and by the time he, too, had rounded the corner, the trio was on its way to the building itself, eyes peeled as they silently searched the grounds for further security, but it appeared that inside the base was uninhabited.

The building was squat and blocky, but not much else could be discerned in the dark, and not as expansive as Gambit had imagined. Despite the lack of life, Emma's penlight was all they risked while Steed worked the lock on the door, and even then Gambit blocked the beam as much as possible with his body.

The door opened into an unadorned corridor with bare walls and floor. Pym clearly hadn't concerned himself with aesthetics. The only point of interest was the two strips of tape cordoning off a section of the corridor straight ahead. They made their way over and stopped just short. Emma ran a fingertip along the plastic, shiny in the torchlight. "Scene of the crime?"

"One of several, I'd hazard," Steed murmured, bending to inspect the wall at its base. "There's a sensor of some sort down this side, just past the tape. Gambit?"

"There's one on my end, too," the younger man confirmed, straightening up. "Booby-trapped?"

"Extra security," Steed concurred. "I wonder..." He tentatively prodded the floor on the other side of the barrier with his brolly, then drew it back hurriedly when the whole floor gave way. A garden of shiny steel spikes was briefly revealed before the floor reassumed its position. Emma arched an eyebrow.

"Someone's been watching too many Bond films."

Steed tsked unconcernedly. "I wonder who discovered it."

"Shame no one asked Grey down to look it over first," Gambit muttered.

"Regardless, all in favour of taking the scenic route?" Steed wanted to know.

"I'd say that was scenic enough," Emma countered, "but there's an offshoot back that way. Everything ought to connect in the end." She turned and set back the way they came. Gambit and Steed eyed the trap for a moment longer.

"Anti-social," Steed murmured, and then made after her.

The corridor did lead to rest of the base as it happened. Most of the rooms had been stripped and packed up for transport to London, where Pym's files and other belongings would be examined in detail. That effectively left a few large areas, filled with boxes, through which to search. Gambit regarded the seemingly mile-high stacks with dismay.

"How are we going to find anything in this lot?" he asked in despair.

"Pym did keep an awful lot in the way of records," Emma agreed. "For blackmail, perhaps?"

"It'll provide endless reading material for MI12," Steed pointed out. "Grey's assured a post for awhile yet. But someone must have put them in some sort of order. Check the top for the recent pages. Anything related to Purdey is certain to be there. Unless she has her own box."

"Heigh ho," Emma said resignedly, and lifted the top off her first. Gambit sighed, and squared his shoulders. A chance was a chance, and anything that might possibly lead them to Purdey was worth slogging through a mountain of boxes. And to think he enjoyed browsing through the files back at home. Steed had already laid claim to a stack near the door, as much to keep watch as anything, and followed his example, plunging into the darker depths near the back of the room, torch in hand.

Three hours later, Gambit couldn't help but be in awe of Pym, as he had of Juventor, despite his anger at the man for taking his revenge on Bryde father and daughter. The man really had a nice little operation going on, with fingers in businesses legitimate and otherwise the world over, and enough intelligence passing through his hands to set up his agency. And all while he sat, safely tucked away in Brazil, out of sight and reach of the authorities. More than ten years, now, since Jonathan Bryde had failed where Grey had attempted to succeed. After all, despite seizing the base, there was no sign of Pym, and Gambit suspected the man could easily start over. Presumably he had cash stowed the world over, and enough connections to find him another hideaway that wouldn't come with questions. This was a minor setback, nothing bigger than what Bryde had forced him to before. If Grey pushed the way Bryde had, Gambit half-hoped MI12 man's quest for glory would lead him to a similar stand-off that Purdey's father had endured. Maybe his dealings would look less clever from the wrong end of a gun barrel…

Mike snapped out of his dark train of thought as a loud bang echoed through the hollow chamber. He was on his feet, gun drawn, before Emma's rueful smile peered round a stack of boxes, even in the dim light urging him to relax. "My fault," she told him, indicating a fallen box and the pages that had skidded from within onto the cold concrete.

Gambit returned his gun to its holster, and moved to help her gather up the sheets. "We'll need to put them back in order," he pointed out, but Steed was already prodding about thoughtfully with his brolly.

"There's no need," he said simply, bending to pick up a single feuille. "They're blank. All of them."

"All?" Gambit dropped into a crouch, and sifted through himself, but Steed was right. The box had contained nothing but blank sheets. Emma was gathering them up regardless. "Pym must do a lot of correspondence."

"Presumably," Emma agreed, turning the box upright and stashing her first wad of sheets inside as neatly as possible. "That's the third box of blank paper I've come across. Not so much as a watermark."

"That makes two of us," Steed put in, aiding the pair of them.

"Three," Gambit told them, recalling a pair of similarly uninteresting crates. "Do you think it's significant?"

"It is odd," Steed murmured thoughtfully. "Why Grey's men would go to the trouble of boxing up unused stationary...but I suppose everything must go."

"Mmm." Emma returned the last of the sheets. "Never mind. I found something much more interesting before gravity stepped in." She rose and strode over to the box she had been busily rifling through. "I think," she began, as Gambit and Steed retrieved their torches and moved to join her, "I've found the 'Purdey box.'"

"What?" Gambit's exclamation was hushed by his companions. "Why didn't you say so?" he asked in a quieter voice. "What's in it?"

"Well, there's good news and bad news," Emma told them, flipping through the pages. "The good news is everything relating to Purdey, and her father, seems to have made its way here, and there's no record of her ever spending time on this base."

"And Pym did keep records," Steed broke in. "Several. Very detailed. I've found more than my share."

Emma nodded. "So did I. That means that, wherever Purdey went after falling down the hill, it wasn't here. And Grey's reports state Pym was holed up after here after the attack, before he was forced to evacuate. Purdey's records would be with the rest."

"Good," Gambit said with relief, then remembered Emma's words. "What's the bad news?"

Emma shrugged resignedly. "There's nothing here to indicate where Purdey may have gone, where Pym thought she ended up, if he even considered it. We do have this." She extracted a single sheet, held it up to the light. "Purdey's flight list. We can connect Grey having her real name recorded with Pym discovering she was here. And there's ample evidence of his hatred for Jonathan Bryde, but there's nothing to help us find Purdey."

"So, back to square one. With nothing to go on," Gambit said quietly, feeling his shoulders slump.

Emma met Steed's eyes. "Not quite," she contradicted. "There's still someone we can see."

"If Pym didn't find her, and Grey didn't, who's left?" Gambit wanted to know.

"Peter's friends," Emma reminded. "The tribe. I did tell you they wouldn't trust either set easily. It's possible they held something back."

Hope flashed in Gambit's eyes. "And they'll tell you?"

Emma grinned. "Wouldn't you?"

"I would and have," Gambit reminded, and Emma was about to answer when Steed shushed her quiet.

"Did you hear that?" he queried, and Emma and Gambit perked up their ears immediately. There was a moment of silence, then a soft sound, almost imperceptible. Like a footstep.

Without speaking, the trio immediately switched off their torches, plunging the room into a grey, almost cloudy, darkness, full of convenient places to hide. They made use of them quickly, melting into the shadows. A few seconds later the first torchlight pierced the fugue, and was quickly followed by an armed guard, gun held out in front with one hand, radio in the other. He panned it over the boxes, settled the beam on the unpacked files concerning Purdey. The remains of Steed's search were the next focus. Gambit's were too far back to be seen without coming closer, and Gambit was glad for it, considering his tenuous position secreted behind one of the taller stacks. A few inches to the left, and he knew the guard would notice his silhouette. The man himself seemed uninterested in venturing further without help, though. Already raising the radio to his lips, Gambit cursed internally at the idea of reinforcements.

As it was, the guard never had a chance to make the call. One boot-clad foot darted out of the gloom and made contact with the hand holding the radio, sending it skidding across the floor. The guard wheeled round to confront the attack, gun at the ready, but another figure had approached from the other side, wielding a hook that jerked his gun from his hand, before bringing a familiar steel crown down own his head with a resonant "clang." The first attacker delivered the coup de grace, and double-handed chop on the man's neck, and he sank to the floor without a sound. Gambit stepped out of hiding and approached the victorious Steed and Peel, er, Knight. Their body language told him they were satisfied with the result, and despite the dark, they were looking at each other. Gambit grinned and picked up the radio.

"I didn't know you went in for party tricks," he quipped, and Emma's head cocked quizzically.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind," Gambit murmured, knowing Purdey would have likely beat him to the punch in seeing the humour, even if it would have been of the ironic variety. After all, Purdey and Gambit's so-called "originality" in the coordinated attack had been practiced by the experts for years. He listened to the frantic squawking over the radio, shook his head. "They've alerted the whole base. Someone heard the box go."

"Then we had better be going," Steed declared, stepping over his fallen victim and heading out the door. "This way I think."

"That takes us back to the trap," Emma reminded, following Steed regardless. "And they'll be sending in the cavalry any minute now."

Steed smiled. "Exactly."