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: Yes, a fresh chapter, just in time for Patrick Macnee's birthday. He'll be 87 as of February 6. Happy Birthday, Patrick!
It'll also be Gareth Hunt's birthday on the 7th. He would have been 67. Rest in peace, Gareth. You are sorely missed.
Anyway, as promised, there is a fairly major development this chapter, but by no means does it signal that the end of the fic is nigh. There are still a few chapters to go yet. Keep an eye open for a cameo by another familiar face this time around. And, as always, stay tuned...
A few short minutes later, the cavalry arrived, scanning the empty entrance corridor before sweeping out into the various branch corridors to search the rooms, paying no heed to the obvious dead end presented by the trap. Only when all the footsteps had faded did the voice emanate from the crack in the floor, and the hook wedged inside it.
"How are you holding up, Mrs. Peel?"
"Well," Emma considered, shifting as she did so. "Holding down might be a better description. Mike, I don't know how much longer your belt can take the load."
"It doesn't have to," Gambit grunted, rearranging his grip round Steed's waist. "They've gone, haven't they?"
"They have," Steed confirmed. "Mrs. Peel, if you'd be so kind as to open the gates?"
"Certainly." Emma swung her legs up from where she'd let her feet rest ever-so-slightly on the spikes below. She braced one leg against the wall of the pit and used it to push up so she could grab Gambit's shoulder. Using Mike, from whom she'd been dangling, and Steed, who had been Gambit's source of support, she was able to climb a human ladder to the top of the trap and, start prying at the crack that Steed's brolly handle, enforced by the steel within, had created while they dangled from its shaft. They'd been counting on the guards missing the handle in the dark, and they had. Now, as Emma prised back the floor for an opening, she wriggled through and found herself on solid ground before turning to help Gambit, then Steed, out of their unlikely sanctuary. The panel slid shut soundlessly behind them, but they were already on the move, padding down the corridor toward the exit. Freedom.
There was a single guard manning the door, on the off chance that the intruders tried to double back. This had been deemed unlikely. There was only one way out, and no one could make use of it without running into the people coming in. As it was, he was surprised when two figures melted out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender. The guard quickly readied his gun, squinting at what appeared to be the silhouettes of a man and a woman. "Hold it!" He waved the gun menacingly. "Not one move while I radio in. Got it? Not one. We haven't been ordered to keep you lot alive." His eyes stayed on his captives even as his hand reached for the radio clipped to his belt. Neither was moving. On the contrary, they seemed to be waiting, almost expectantly, for something to happen. There was something wrong here. He could feel it. The sooner he radioed the better.
He unclipped the device, and dropped it almost immediately. A sharp pain was shooting from his neck and into his brain, threatening to block out all thought, all sense, everything save for an increasingly welcoming blackness. He dropped his gun, groped blindly for his attacker, felt a shoulder and maybe a shirt collar, but the man behind him simply wrapped his arm across his chest and neck, pinning his hand and rendering it immobile. The last thing the guard saw was the two figures approaching. Then the darkness won. He slipped to the ground without a sound.
Emma regarded Gambit's handiwork with mild admiration. "That's a neat trick."
"Just a matter of pressure at the right point," Gambit demurred, bending to retrieve both gun and radio and toss them into the nearest bush. He grinned, even though it was impossible to see in the dark. "You're very good at surrendering."
"It not the first time," Emma said dryly. "Although I like to think of it as biding my time. Optimism helps in this line of work."
Gambit smirked. "You must have been the most upbeat person in the whole department."
Steed was surveying the open landscape with concern. "We'll likely be spotted," he murmured, cutting Gambit and Emma's banter short.
"Can't we leave the same way came?" Gambit wanted to know.
Steed shook his head. "Too far. We'd never make it. There is a nearer entrance to the East, but it's a risk either way."
"It'll be riskier if we linger," Emma pointed out. "We've got a chance as long as they think we're still inside. The instant someone radios in, they'll send out the dogs. The closer way is our best option."
"What about the guard?" Gambit reminded.
Emma cocked her head at the fallen body. "This one didn't pose much of a problem. I'm going. If you want to take up permanent residence, that's your prerogative. Don't forget to write." She took off toward the fence, leaving Steed and Gambit no choice but to follow.
They nearly made it, too, before the searchlight flipped on, bathing the grounds in an otherworldly white light that threatened to blind and disorient them. Emma found the doorhandle based on memory, luck, and pure instinct, eyes screwed up against the glare that was quickly sweeping their way. She yanked it open, trusting that Gambit and Steed would follow. As it turned out, it worked in their favour. The guard that wheeled around at the shriek of unoiled hinges was just as blinded by the light as she was, and as a consequencet Emma's fist made contact before he got such much as a glimpse of his attacker. Emma didn't stop to survey her handiwork. She just ran, letting her legs and the adrenaline power her along, into the jungle, blind as a bat, but every other sense tingling, alive and exhilarated. No business merger could replicate this, this raw high of dancing the fine line between life and death. She'd missed it all these years. For the first time since she'd left 3 Stable Mews, left Steed, she was the Emma Peel again.
She didn't want to rest, but inevitably her nervous system came down from emergency mode, and she found herself leaning against a tree, breathing hard. A minute or so later there was a rustle and Steed and Gambit joined her, puffing impressively. Gambit braced his hands against his knees and waited for the stitch in his side to let up. "Bloody hell," he panted. "You could give Purdey a run for her money in a foot race."
"Just the right motivation," Emma gasped modestly. "I was in better shape when I was with Steed."
"Oh, I don't know," that worthy replied, a smile in the voice. "But I think we lost them. All the same, we'll lie low for a day, just in case they come looking. We'll visit Mrs. Peel's friends tomorrow."
Gambit nodded, forcing his breathing to slow down. "We'd better keep moving, then. Someone's going to bring out vehicles soon, and if we're not back at the camp..."
"Agreed," Steed broke in, striding off in the right direction and letting Emma and Gambit fall in behind.
"Do you Grey will suspect it was us?" Mike asked after ten minutes of hiking, partly to take his mind off the lactic acid build-up in his legs.
"Indubitably," Steed confirmed cheerfully.
"Won't that be a problem?" Gambit prodded, although he could feel Steed's confidence vibrating off the man in the still night.
"I don't think so," Steed said unconcernedly. "I took the liberty of creating an alibi. I don't think Grey will get far."
***
Julian Grey stormed down the Ministry corridors, Morse transcript in hand. "Three people," it said. "Caught in Pym's base last night, 0300 hours, reading files. Bryde, Purdey's among them."
It had to be Steed and Gambit. He could feel it. He knew it was too good to be true when the pair had filed their request for joint leave. They were in Brazil, and they were mucking about in his territory.
He burst into McKay's office without bothering to knock, much to the chagrin of the older man. He glared at Grey over the top of his reading glasses before removing them to fix his unencumbered stare on the enemy.
"Come in, why don't you?"
Grey ignored the sarcasm, choosing instead to slap the piece of paper down on his desk. "Read it."
McKay glared again, but put the glasses back on to do just that. A minute later he glanced up at the fuming MI12 man.
"Had a spot of bother, have you? What do you want me to do about it?"
"Call them off," Grey demanded.
"Who?"
"Steed and Gambit. Don't play games with me, McKay. We both know Gambit and Steed went after Purdey. They only filed leave so they could act outside of Ministry jurisdiction."
McKay snorted. "The report's hardly conclusive, Grey. No one got a good look at your intruders. Anyone would kill for the sort of intel Pym's accumulated. Besides, there were three of them. Don't tell me you think Steed and Gambit would risk hiring a third party to help them with their dirty work, someone who'd turn around and sell them out in a heartbeat?" He tsked and shook his head. "Grasping at straws. I can see why your department's failing."
"I'm not the one who's being unprofessional, here, McKay. If Steed and Gambit aren't in Brazil, where are they then?"
McKay regarded him blankly. "Canada," he said simply.
Grey's face distorted in disbelief. "Canada?" Grey exclaimed, redfaced. "What the devil are they doing there?"
"Taking leave," McKay replied, unmoved. He rifled through some papers and produced a piece of pasteboard. "They left a contact number if you're interested..."
"You're damn right I'm interested!" Grey snapped, snatching the offered card. "This had better not be a wind-up, or I'll have your whole department under observation." He turned on his heel and stormed out. McKay shook his head and went back to reading.
***
Tara King answered the ringing orange phone, perched herself on the edge of her desk. She'd been expecting a call on this line for a few days now, and she was ready. Steed had obviously been busy.
"Hello?" she said in her best Canadian accent.
"Tara King, please," the man on the other end said curtly, not even bothering to introduce himself. It didn't matter. Tara knew who it was. "It's urgent."
"One moment, please." Tara covered the mouthpiece and hummed half a dozen lines of "Hot Sand" by the Shocking Blue, brushed a hint of dust off the toe of her leather boot, and examined her fingernails just long enough to annoy the man on the other end. Only then did she speak into the receiver in her own British tones.
"Tara King."
"Miss King? It's imperative that I speak to either Mike Gambit or John Steed as soon as possible."
Tara drew in a breath through her teeth apologetically. "Sorry, we're just about to go to lunch. Aren't we Steed?" She reached over to a reel-to-reel tape recorder and hit 'play.' "That's right, Miss King," Steed's voice said cheerily, sounding exactly as if he were in the room with her. Tara grinned and switched it off again.
"I'm afraid the reservations won't wait. I'll have him ring you back just as soon as it's convenient. All right?"
"But you haven't even taken my name--!"
"Ta-ra!" she said cheerfully, and hung up.
***
It was late afternoon by the time Emma shook Gambit awake. Or half-awake. He swatted at her hand half-heartedly, and tried to turn over. "Five more minutes."
"That's what you said five hours ago," Emma said wryly, "when we had lunch."
"Lunch?" Gambit mumbled, and opened an eye only to shut it again against the dim light shining into his tent. "What time is it?"
"Quarter to five. In the afternoon," Emma informed, already heading outside. "You've been up worrying." It was a statement, not a question.
Gambit staggered upright to follow, banged his head on a tentpole and was muttering darkly by the time he joined Steed and Emma and accepted the now-cold remains of lunch. "Damned brain won't shut off," he said by way of explanation. "Why didn't you get me up earlier?"
"You looked like you needed it," Emma said simply. "A comb wouldn't go amiss, either." She exchanged knowing glances with Steed, and Gambit, distinctly uncomfortable, ran a hand through his hair with the self-consciousness of a teenager with bedhead. "And now that you're all rested up, you can take the next watch."
"Ah, the truth comes out," Gambit murmured, taking a plate and helping himself to breakfast/lunch/dinner/whatever meal it was. "Anything interesting happen while I was out of action?"
"I took a little sojourn," Steed offered. "Grey's people were out looking, but they didn't come quite far enough this way. Still, no sense in taking chances. Keep on the alert."
"Right," Gambit agreed, setting down his plate and automatically checking his gun. "Does that mean we're still on for tomorrow?"
"We are," Steed confirmed. "As soon as we've both had a rest." Emma was already retreating to her tent, and Steed paused to give the younger man one last word of encouragement.
"I'm sure Mrs. Peel's contacts will have a lead of some sort," he reassured. "I doubt much goes on here that they don't know about."
"I hope you're right," Gambit sighed. "I don't know where we'll go if it's another dead end."
"Wherever we have to," Steed said firmly. "I promise you."
That made Gambit feel better.
***
They set out late in the afternoon the next day, when everyone had caught up on their sleep, and the last of Grey's men seemed to have given up their search. Emma knew the way, but no one could deny that a vehicle would've been preferable to travelling everywhere on foot. But vehicles were loud and noisy and left an easy-to-track trail in their wake, and they couldn't risk that, less so after the night before. As it was, it wasn't too long a journey, but Gambit's feet and legs were starting to feel the strain. He smiled ruefully. He'd done treks like this in Africa on a regular basis, but most assignments didn't devolve into long hikes—the one preceding the discovery of the blue periwinkle excepted. With everything else going on, at the very least he'd keep fit.
They stopped at the village perimeter, and Emma warned them to let her go first do the talking, just in case the natives mistook their visitors for someone unpleasant and retaliated with something just as unpleasant, if not more so, in return.
"Maybe you ought to warm the crowd up first. I think I'll take a sweep of the surrounding area," Gambit announced, checking his gun proactively. "Purdey could have found her way to the village for help and hung back on the outskirts if Grey's men were about. Could be a chance I'll find something."
"As long as you keep in contact," Steed allowed, looking mildly concerned. "And you can find your way back. Another missing person is the last thing we need."
Gambit smirked, returning his gun to the holster at his hip. "I think I'll be all right," he said, not a little cockily. "I'll meet you in the village in an hour."
Steed nodded curtly, knowing that Gambit needed to feel useful. Standing by waiting for Emma's translation would do nothing for his restlessness. "Agreed."
Gambit saluted jauntily, and strode off into the greenery, eventually disappearing from sight. Steed and Emma were left to travel the rest of the way to the camp.
"He reminds me of you, you know. A little," Emma said after a moment, turning her head to search Steed's face, gauging his reaction. There was a trace of melancholy on the normally unflappable features.
"Ah, moved on to the new and improved version, have we?" he said conversationally, not daring to meet her eyes.
Emma chuckled. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the original. But there's nothing wrong with keeping both editions in circulation, either. For different reasons, of course." She smiled enchantingly, and Steed smiled back.
"Of course."
A shout in the distance shattered the moment, and Steed and Emma had barely exchanged glances before creeping off into the undergrowth toward the source of the sound. They eventually located a small pod of Grey's men—four in total, just in time to see them converge on their vehicle and drive off in the direction that Steed, Emma, and Gambit from which had come.
"If they find the camp," Emma said grimly, "we'll be taking lodging with Peter's friends."
"And they'll strengthen the search effort," Steed added. "Not unless we can derail them."
Emma nodded. "Right, I'll go."
Steed laid a hand on her arm. "We need you here."
"You need an introduction, that's all," Emma disagreed. "Look, I'll accompany you to the village, let them know they can trust the pair of you, and then check on the camp. That way we'll know if there's another nasty surprise like the tiger trap." She held up a hand to quell Steed's protests. "It's better if I go. They're looking for you. If they see me, you'll be in the clear back home."
"And if they catch you?" Steed was concerned, and Emma knew his worry was not going to be banished easily.
"On the off-chance that they manage," she said jauntily, "there's no law against visiting Brazil. They know as well as you do that I've a history here. Besides, I'm entitled to as much skulking around as I can get. The paperwork at home won't be abating anytime soon."
Steed sighed. "I'll radio Gambit to be on the lookout," he conceded to the warm brown eyes. "Although I'm afraid my Portuguese may be a bit rusty."
"Nonsense," Emma said, patting him on the shoulder. "You speak the international language of charm. You'll be perfectly all right. Now." She straightened up and gestured in the direction of the village. "Shall we?"
Steed followed suit, hooked her arm with his. "Of course, Mrs. Peel."
***
Gambit made a slow, circular trek of the village perimeter, taking his bearings while keeping both eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that would give him even the slightest reason to hope for Purdey's safe return. It was funny how all the old instincts, the old tricks, came bubbling to the surface, even after all these years. Naturally, the Amazon was a completely different environment from the locales that had been his base in Africa. But in some ways, the rules never changed, jungle or otherwise, and whatever else he had to say about his days on that other continent, they had taught him how to survive just about anywhere he might find himself, to the point that these unfamiliar climes didn't worry him as much as what he'd find. Or wouldn't find. Gambit knew where he stood with nature. It was the people one had to watch out for.
It was strange, really, the parallels that had revealed themselves to him since the start of this whole accursed business, the ones between Purdey and himself. Both recruited while under the mistaken impression that their task was something other than what it would ultimately become. Both sent out into the wilds of another world, lost, betrayed, led astray. And both, maybe, captured. Gambit hoped it hadn't come to that, that Purdey's life hadn't gone on to mirror some of the darker parts of his own. A few images of a hellish three months flashed in his mind's eye, but he shook them away. He'd spent too long contemplating what could be happening to Purdey. Now that he was actually in the position to do something about it, he meant to take full advantage of it. He paused in a clearing, let his eyes rove over the surrounding foliage.
That was when he noticed.
There had been sounds earlier, birds and things that had started chirping as he passed, adding their own calls to the lush background medley that most people tuned out after awhile. But Gambit wasn't most people, and now there was nothing. Silence hung heavily in this clearing, and Gambit knew better than to ignore the clues provided by the local wildlife. It was as if everything that could possibly be disturbed by a human crashing through its habitat had already been frightened away in anticipation of his arrival. As if someone had made it here before him. And had yet to move on. Now that he wasn't moving, he could feel it.
Someone was watching.
Gambit resisted the urge to snatch his gun straight from the holster, but that would only make the decision for whoever had his eyes on him to pull the trigger, if he was armed. Or they. There could easily be more than one. Trying to outdraw them would be tantamount to suicide. Gambit kept his hand close to the holster, but didn't rest his hand on it the way he wanted to. Instead, he started to circle, eyes and ears straining for any sound, any figure lurking in the shadows.
***
Purdey watched the man creep about wearily, circling the clearing with a practiced, stealthy gait. He knew he was being watched. She'd have to time this perfectly. Otherwise he'd look up in time to draw his gun.
The man's circle was bringing him toward her tree, below her perch on a branch a good eight feet off the ground. Purdey wished the foliage wasn't obscuring her vision—she couldn't see the man's face so as to identify him. He was tall and slim, and the hair was dark, but that was as much as she could discern without breaking cover, and she wasn't prepared to do so, not until she was certain she could win in a confrontation. There were too many people looking for her with less than admirable intentions. Perhaps he was one of Pym's minions. But he was a professional, that much was certain. And he knew his way around the Amazon, how to survive—his gear told her that much. She'd have to get the drop on him before she saw his face.
She only wished she felt a little more confident in her abilities. She knew she still wasn't fully recovered from her ordeal, and that worried her. The thigh throbbed on and off, and her side was protesting against her uncomfortable position on the branch. She needed to time this perfectly. Otherwise she was dead.
Just a bit closer…He was almost directly below her, head swivelling to scan the area around him. Purdey tightened her grip on her knife. Now…
***
Gambit was almost finished his circuit, ready to chalk the niggling feeling in the back of his mind down to paranoia, when suddenly the branches above him shook and someone dropped from the heavens onto his shoulders. Gambit reached for his gun, but his opponent was too fast, knocking his hand away, and forcing him forward onto the forest floor. From his knees, Gambit saw a knife sweep around from behind, arching toward his throat. He elbowed the person in the stomach and rolled away, clawing for his gun as he did so. He ended up on his back, managed to tug the weapon free of its holster, but his attacker was mind-bogglingly quick, and was on him instantly, knife pricking his Adam's apple just as he brought the gun around to point at the forehead. Despite that advantage, he froze, feeling the knife's blade all too keenly. If he so much as breathed wrong…But the gun was a deterrent, and the other person was clearly taking the weapon into consideration. It was a stand-off.
Gambit, trying hard to ease his laboured breathing, finally got a good look at his attacker, to look him in the eyes. Only there weren't any. The person straddling him was slim, and, to his surprise, was in possession of a mop of light hair. Blonde, in fact. The way the hair had grown into the eyes, he was surprised she could see at all. But the way the hair looked now, shaggy but short, it certainly looked as though it could have once been a mushroom bob, before nearly a month's worth of growth set in. He felt his heart leap, ever so slightly, let his eyes take in the parts of the face that weren't obscured by the flaxen crown. The neat nose. And the lips. Those full, soft lips that he hadn't felt against his own nearly as often as he would have liked. He'd know them anywhere. But the eyes were the real clincher. If he only he could see them…
"Purdey?" he asked tentatively, not sure he wanted to get his hopes up so early on in the search. "Purdey?" he repeated, carefully. "Is that you?"
The knife was trembling now, held a little away from his neck, but not enough to let him sit up. But the lips had parted, and even without the eyes he could see that she was taken aback. Gambit reached a hand up regardless of the weapon, found his hand unobstructed as he touched the bangs, pushed them back from the face to reveal a pair of bright blue eyes. Those eyes. Large and clear. Never had he seen a pair to rival them. He'd know their owner anywhere. "Purdey!" he exclaimed, taking in her whole face for the first time. His gun slipped from his fingers, and he grasped her shoulders. "Purdey-girl, I've found you!" This was wonderful. Fantastic. Here she was, that brilliant, wicked smile spreading across her face, even as he felt his eyes fill with tears.
"Mike Gambit, you do get around, don't you? And here I thought I'd just gotten rid of you." The cut glass tones were music to his ears. He'd been afraid he'd never hear them again. He fell into the banter gratefully.
"You know me," he replied. "Just passing through. Thought I'd look you up." His eyes moved skywards meaningfully. Purdey chuckled at the bad pun.
"Well, you found me. Or I found you, really. I've been tracking you for the past half hour."
"I'm not going to argue over credit, so I'll settle for you putting that thing away." He pointed at the knife still aimed at his throat.
Purdey blinked. "Sorry," she apologised, sitting back from where she'd sprawled on top of him and sheathing it at her belt. Gambit eased into a sitting position, and stared at her for a moment, as if trying to convince himself that she was real. She stared back, mind whirring away at what to say after dropping off the face of the planet for the past three weeks. She didn't have to bother, as it happened, because Gambit suddenly caught her up in a fierce hug, holding her tight, as though he were afraid that if he loosened his grip she would fade into nothingness. It took her a moment, but she eventually realised that he was saying her name over and over, so softly she could barely hear him.
"Oh, Purdey, Purdey, Purdey, I thought I'd lost you," he murmured into her hair, and now she noticed the catch in his voice, wondered if above her head he was finally letting the tears spill. "You've been gone so long. I wasn't sure there was anything left to search for."
"You're not going to get rid of me that easily," she murmured, but Gambit made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
"Don't even say that," he whispered, pulling her a little closer. Purdey found herself buried in jacket, and inhaled. Gambit was her first sniff of home in what felt like forever, and it was by no means the worst way to be welcomed back. She was ready to return the favour, when Gambit unknowingly applied pressure to her injured rib, and she winced involuntarily. Gambit heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her jerk in his arms, and disentangled himself to hold her at arm's length.
"What's wrong?" he asked with concern etched across his face. "Damn, did I hurt you in the fight? I shouldn't have elbowed you—"
"No, no," Purdey demurred, clutching her injured side. "I cracked a rib not long after I got here. It's still a bit sore."
"I should have known you'd be hurt," Gambit chastised himself. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Any other damage I should know about?" Aside from the unruly bob, her face had picked up a healthy tan. She looked tired, though. And a little drawn, but after the past few weeks, Gambit could relate. The eyes were bright, regardless, a good sign that her spirit was intact, and the worst of his fears hadn't been realised. His eyes came to rest on the mostly healed gash across her clavicle, right where the chain should have hung. That explained the blood. They hadn't cut her throat after all. He said a silent prayer of thanks. She was here, and she was alive. He couldn't ask for more. "You look pretty healthy," he told her. "And you're still in good shape," he added with a glance at one of Purdey's shapely thighs, poking from beneath her skirt.
"You look like you've seen better days," Purdey commented. She'd been giving her partner a similar once-over, and suddenly had a very good indicator of how he'd weathered the past few weeks. She took in Gambit's tired, worn features. The face was drawn and pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His body was only now draining up with days of pent-up tension, and she wasn't entirely certain that he hadn't lost weight. For every hour that she'd slept, it looked as though he'd been cursed with the worst insomnia to be visited upon the sleepless. "You're halfway to comatose."
"Yeah, well, I haven't slept much," Gambit confided, not even rising to the jab. "I was starting to think you weren't coming back."
Purdey scrunched up her face. "Mike Gambit, you know me better than that. You must have at least considered that I got out all right."
"You don't want to know what I thought," Gambit muttered cryptically. "My nightmares would give you nightmares."
Purdey didn't doubt that. She put a hand on his shoulder and kneaded the knots of tension she found there. "They didn't come true," she assured.
Gambit looked relieved. "No one caught you? You haven't had anything..." He trailed off looking for the best euphemism. "Done to you?" he finished lamely.
"Nothing along those lines," Purdey replied cryptically, rubbing her thigh, the concealed one, absently.
"Thank goodness," Gambit murmured. "But if you don't mind me asking, where the devil have you been? I know things got a bit hairy, but it would've put a lot of minds at ease if you just sent a postcard on, let someone know you were taking an extended vacation."
"I've hardly been on vacation, Gambit," Purdey retorted, getting to her feet from where she was straddling Gambit's legs. "You know about the ambush?"
"That's about all I do know," Gambit replied, standing as he did so. "Grieve filled us in. She was supposed to keep an eye on you, but she lost you in the confusion, and the last anyone saw of you, Pym's minions were dragging you off." He pursed his lips angrily. "You were bait. Grey set you up to draw Pym out into the open. The whole damn thing was a charade."
"Yes, I'd gotten that far on my own," Purdey said coldly, but the ice wasn't directed at him. "Pym killed my father, and he intends to have a repeat performance."
Gambit blanched. "You know Pym killed your father?"
Purdey laughed mirthlessly. "It wasn't exactly a secret once he had the knife to my throat and started prattling on about how he wished he hadn't had to kill the first Bryde from a distance."
Gambit swallowed hard. "I assume that's where you got the, uh." He drew his finger across his throat, and Purdey touched the wound absently.
"Yes," she confirmed quietly. "I think he would've made it a little deeper if someone from the camp hadn't gotten a lucky shot off and killed one of his men. As it was, I ended up going downhill the quick way. Pym had his knife through the chain, though, and it was cut off. I've been back, but there's no sign of it."
Gambit smiled. "I can help you there," he revealed, digging in his pocket for the envelope and tipping the contents into his palm Purdey peered in at the glittering contents, eyes widening in disbelief. Gambit watched her happily, glad to be the one to reunite her with this piece of her past. "Look familiar?"
"Mike Gambit," she breathed, taking it with trembling fingers and holding it up to the light. "And it's been repaired."
"Yes, well, Steed knew a fellow, and we had him do a rush job. Cleaned the blood off first, though. Thought that'd raise a few more questions than I could answer."
Purdey was already fumbling with the catch, gave up in futility. "Here," she offered, holding it out to him. "You do it."
Gambit took the fine links, found himself faced with the elegant nape of Purdey's neck, felt his pulse quicken ever so slightly as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulders as he brought his hands around to let the chain encircle her neck. Somehow he managed to do the clasp up himself, and Purdey was suddenly facing him again, fingering it lovingly.
"Where did you find it?" she wanted to know.
"Chap from the clean-up team brought it back," Gambit told her. "But that still doesn't explain where you've been hiding all this time. If you were that close to the ambush site you should have been near dozens of Grey's people. Anyone of them would have gotten you home."
Purdey smiled tiredly. "You're assuming I've had the ability to do just that."
Gambit frowned. "What?"
"Notice anything?"
Gambit looked Purdey up and down. "You're beautiful? Every day." But even as she was smiling at the compliment, he caught an oddity. The way she was standing, one leg looked to be taking more of her weight. The left one. That meant the right had taken damage.
"What happened to your leg?" he asked carefully, and Purdey raised an index finger in confirmation.
"Well, it's good to know your powers of observation didn't completely atrophy while I was gone," she commented. "When I took my trip down the hill, my trousers tore. Right around the thigh. And there was this large spider at the bottom that didn't take too kindly to my just about rolling over him."
Gambit's jaw dropped. "You were bitten? By a tarantula?"
"Of the poisonous variety, yes," Purdey confirmed. "Luckily, some of the locals found me just in time and administered the antidote."
"Natives?" Gambit looked sceptical. "You're joking."
"Mike Gambit, would I try an explanation that corny if it wasn't true?" Purdey pointed out. "And it wasn't exactly easy. I spent a lot of time drifting in and out of consciousness, and between that and my side and my wrist, I've had better times." Gambit glanced at her left hand for the first time and realised it was bound. "Slight fracture," she told him, following his gaze. "Nothing to worry about. But I was vulnerable in the meantime, and Pym and his men are still out on the prowl. I didn't want to endanger the tribe by trying to contact anyone, although it wasn't as if I had the resources."
"Explains a lot," Gambit agreed, massaging his temples. "We really did almost lose you."
"Don't dwell on it," Purdey suggested. "I'd rather not, in any case."
"Sorry," Gambit apologised. "But couldn't someone—one of your lot—have contacted someone?"
"Too risky," Purdey replied. "With Pym out on the prowl, they've been denying my existence to anyone who asks, including, I think, Grey's men, but I was unconscious at the time. They didn't know who to trust. It was the only way to keep me safe."
"I'll have to remember to thank them," Gambit mused. "I think Steed's having a word with them at the moment."
Purdey smiled broadly. "Steed's here?"
"Any reason to think otherwise?" Gambit pointed out. "Which reminds me, I ought to radio him and let him know you're not still AWOL."
"Good idea," Purdey agreed as Gambit unclipped the radio on his belt. As he fiddled with the frequency, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and glanced up in time to see Purdey lift the improvised skirt she'd wrapped around her waist to check on an ugly-looking red gash on her thigh. She was also clad in a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of army-like boots, and Gambit marvelled at how well she pulled it off. Purdey's eyes rose and met his at that moment, and she dropped the skirt back in place with an arched eyebrow. Gambit looked back at the radio before she could comment. He depressed the transmit button and tried to keep the smile off his lips while he spoke.
"Steed?" There was a moment of silence, and then the senior agent's voice floated over the airwaves.
"Gambit. I was just about to contact you." Purdey smiled to herself. Steed's voice was as welcome as Gambit's presence. For the first time in for what felt like forever, she was on solid ground. "I've good news. One of the local tribes has informed us that they've been habouring a fair-haired houseguest the past few weeks. Apparently she's gone out for a walk, but they're expecting her back any moment. That should put your mind at ease."
Gambit waggled his eyebrows at Purdey. "I'll do you one better," he replied. "You'll never guess who I ran into."
"Purdey!" Steed greeted cheerfully, as though he was somehow capable of seeing via radio. "Thank goodness. We were starting to worry."
Purdey sauntered over and took the radio Gambit offered, exchanging grin with her colleague even as she replied. "Only starting?" she queried.
"Well, you're more than capable of looking after yourself ordinarily."
"But this was extraordinary," Purdey pointed out.
"So it was. How did you come to meet up with Gambit?" Steed wanted to know.
"She just dropped in," Gambit quipped, and Purdey let out a groan for Steed's benefit.
"Literally," she told him.
"I sincerely hope you didn't sprain anything. Your hosts have informed me that you've taken some damage." The edge of worry in his voice was unmistakable.
"She's not doing too badly," Gambit snorted. "If her moves are anything to go by. Damn near cut my throat."
Steed tsked in mock disdain. "Purdey, you really must work on your modes of greeting. Someone could take it the wrong way."
"I'll try," Purdey promised.
"I hate to cut things short," Gambit interjected, "but I think it's time we headed back. Are you still at the village?"
"That's right," Steed confirmed. "I'll be waiting. Keep an eye on Purdey—I'd rather we didn't lose her again."
Purdey snorted. "No fear of that. I think Gambit's planning on tethering us together."
"You won't hear me arguing," Gambit commented, with a wicked look in his eye.
"Down, boy."
"I can tell you have a lot of catching up to do," Steed said knowingly. "Call in if you run into trouble."
"Right, Steed. Gambit out." Mike eyed Purdey up, met the blue eyes again. He knew he was in the Amazon, but as far as he was concerned, he was home.
"I've got some rope in with my gear," he offered mischievously.
"In your dreams, Mike."
"Better than some things."
"Oh, don't hang about looking mournful. I want to see Steed before the light goes. Come on, the village is this way." She set off purposefully through the undergrowth, and Gambit fell into step beside her gratefully. They walked in silence for a moment, before Purdey's oddly-wired brain caught up with her.
"I imagine you've been lonely," she mused casually.
"A bit," Gambit revealed. "Well, a lot, actually."
She shook her head. "You should've gone in for the dog."
Gambit laughed. It felt good.
Bonus mini-disclaimer: Tara King is the property of Canal+Image.