Carbon Copy
by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel
Disclaimer: I don't own Sapphire and Steel, nor the characters of Sapphire and Steel themselves. They're the property of ITC Entertainment Group Ltd. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended. Further disclaimers can be found at the bottom of the page.
Author's Notes: See the end of the fic for comprehensive Author's Notes as well. I can't say much here without spoiling the fic. :-)
"Excuse me, milady. I didn't know anyone was still up."
The woman in blue was standing in the middle of the foyer with her back to Frederick. At the sound of his voice, she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. All the lights were off in the foyer, and the only illumination came from the fire in the morning room as he stood in its open doorway. As a result, he couldn't make out her features in the darkness. All he could discern was that she was fairly young, and that her eyes were blue. He didn't know how he could possibly tell, but he knew, somehow, despite the dark. As silly as it sounded, it looked to him as though her eyes were glowing.
"You're one of Miss Georgina's friends, are you?" he inquired, for something to say. The glowing gaze was fixed unwaveringly on him, and he was finding it unnerving. That gaze wasn't human, wasn't of this earth. He still couldn't see her face properly, despite the glow of the fire spilling into the foyer, and he felt a hard knot of unease form in his stomach. He wondered if he ought to turn the lights on or raise the rest of the house. Some of them downstairs were still awake, he knew—Mr. Hudson, Rose, Daisy. He'd be happy for anyone to come upstairs now. Frederick wasn't a coward—he'd served in the war, after all, to the very end, unlike some people he could mention—and he was capable, but he knew when he was in over his head. Something told him neither physical force nor the most powerful firearm in the world would make much difference to the girl in the foyer.
"Miss Georgina?" The voice was crisp and the words well-enunciated, and yet there was an added breathy huskiness to the tones. It gave her words an ethereal quality, as though she was whispering them close to his ear, even when she was so far away.
"Miss Georgina Worsley," Frederick elaborated. "She had some friends here this evening. Lot of young ladies. And, well, you're a young lady..."
"Yes," the woman murmured, with a touch of humour, turning to look back the way she was facing, toward Eaton Place's front door. "I suppose I am. But no, I'm not a friend of Georgina Worsley."
"Oh." Frederick frowned, searching his mind frantically for some other explanation that was still this side of human and within the realms of possibility. "Did Mr. 'udson let you in? I didn't hear the bell."
"No, Mr. Hudson did not let me in," the woman said quietly, and turned her whole body to face him. The eyes were back, and Frederick felt a shudder course through his body. "I'm afraid I've dropped in without notice."
"I see," Frederick murmured, working his jaw gently. "Well, in that case I think I'd better tell someone you're here."
"No." The word was soft but full of authority, and Frederick felt compelled to stop in his tracks. "I'm not a thief, or a murderer. I was travelling and lost my way. I've ended up in your house by accident."
"It's not mine," Frederick countered, angry and confused as to the power the woman's voice had over him. Something about the quality, the timbre, made him obey. He wished he could see her face properly so he could look her in the glowing eyes and figure out what she was about. "It belongs to Lord and Lady Bellamy."
"Does it?" The voice sounded amused. The figure started to walk slowly toward him with a comfortable, graceful stride, arms swinging gently at her sides. "And who are you?"
There was a brief pause, and then Frederick replied. "Norton. Frederick Norton. I'm the footman in this house."
"Are you?" The voice sounded even more amused at the idea. She stopped only a foot or two from where he stood. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Norton. My name is Sapphire."
"Sapphire?" Frederick repeated sceptically, one eyebrow raised. "That's an…unusual name."
"Yes, isn't it?" Sapphire said brightly. "Is there somewhere we can talk quietly without rousing the rest of the house, Mr. Norton? I'll answer any questions you may have."
"There's the morning room," Frederick said reluctantly, indicating the room behind him. "But I'm not sure I should, Miss Sapphire—"
"Just Sapphire," she corrected. "Please. And I promise it'll be all right. It's in everyone's interest that you trust me."
"Including mine?" Norton wanted to know.
"Especially yours, Mr. Norton. May I?"
Frederick hesitated a moment. He didn't know who this woman was, and he was still suspicious of her, but he was also curious, and really, he wasn't sure that anyone else in the house was really going to be more qualified to deal with her than he was. At the very least he might be able to prevent anyone else from getting caught in the crossfire if something went wrong. So, reluctantly, he stood aside and let Sapphire drift into the morning room. He closed the door behind them.
She stood with her back to him, in the middle of the room, slowly taking it in. He hovered in front of the door, put his hands in his pockets, and watched her. She was very quiet, and strangely enough, her examination of her surroundings didn't seem to involve much in the way of actually looking at them. She stood very still, head hardly moving, as though she were breathing the room, smelling it, tasting it, feeling it, but not actually looking at it, as though vision was a secondary sense that she used as an afterthought. When she turned around it was so sudden he was caught off-guard, and when he finally saw her face, with the light of the fire dancing eerily over its contours, he very nearly died of shock. He fell back against the door, hands bracing themselves on the frame, chest heaving violently. Her expression was blank and serene, but as she noticed his reaction, a tiny frown creased her features and tugged gently at the corners of her mouth. She was clearly puzzled, and she cocked her head slightly to one side as though that angle would provide a better window on his psyche.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Norton?"
Frederick shook his head, in disbelief, not in answer to her question, and searched for his breath. "Who are you?" he half-gasped, half-hissed.
She righted her head and looked at him levelly. "I told you. Sapphire."
Frederick pushed away from the door, strode over to where she stood, and met her eyes. They were an intense, unreal shade of blue, a blue found in no human being. Her hair was shoulder-length and blonde. She was clad in a blue knee-length dress and matching blue heels. The mouth was wide and sensuous, but in a cold, detached way, as though it had been moulded by hand to convey sensuousness, but the sculpture hadn't understood the emotion and feeling behind it. She was beautiful but unreal, unearthly, and he felt no flicker of desire for her. It was very strange. But he knew, suddenly, intuitively, that she wasn't human. Wasn't anything he'd ever encountered before. She stared back at him unconcernedly, patiently, waiting for him to work out what was going on for himself, or to formulate his next question. He chose the latter.
"I suppose what I should have asked," he said quietly, "is 'what are you?'"
Her lips moved toward a smile. "I thought you might," she said with amusement. "The clever ones always do." She turned away from him and started to walk around the room, touching objects as she went. "It's such a simple question, but the answer is infinitely more complicated. Very difficult to explain."
"Try," Frederick suggested.
Sapphire picked up an ashtray and examined it. "I am many things. A traveller. A medium. An operator. An agent of Time."
"Agent of Time?" Frederick interrupted. "What's that when it's at home?"
Sapphire laughed at the turn of phrase. "As I said, it's rather complicated, but I suppose you could say I'm essentially…elemental. Time is like a corridor, you see. It surrounds everything, encompasses it. Sometimes it becomes weak and things, entities, break through into the world, and disrupt the natural order of things. My job is to try and right them again. Only certain entities—elements-can work here and do the job. I'm one of them."
Frederick looked thoughtful, but, to her surprise, not sceptical, or frightened, or confused, which were the reactions she was used to receiving whenever she attempted to explain things to humans. But Frederick was taking it all in with the quiet consideration of someone who'd seen his share of unusual things, and was willing to consider an addition to the list. "What sort of things?" he wanted to know, then went on when she didn't seem to know what he meant. "What break into this world?"
"Oh." Sapphire smiled in understanding. "As I said, it's very complicated. They are things humans aren't meant encounter, or to understand. I suppose 'ghosts' would be the best word to describe some of them. Malevolent forces. Anachronisms. There aren't really any words to describe what they are in any human language. All you need to know is that they must be stopped."
"By you?"
"And others like me," Sapphire confirmed. "I have a partner. I'm not entirely certain where he is at the moment. We were in a tight spot, and in order to get out of it again, we had to split up. I believe I fell through a hole in time in the process, and wound up here, in your house." She moved to the clock sitting on the mantelpiece and touched the face tenderly. "I'm sure we'll find each other again. Just as soon as we find our bearings. We fell blindly through time and space." She looked from the clock to him. "What year is it?"
Frederick picked a newspaper off a side table and brought it to her, showed the date. "1927," he informed, tapping the print. "February 17."
Sapphire took the paper. It was the evening edition. "Yes," she agreed, tracing her fingers over the ink. "Five hours."
Frederick frowned. "Come again?"
Sapphire looked up and smiled. "The paper is only five hours old. Therefore, I know you're telling me the truth." She handed back the paper and moved back into the room, to Virginia Bellamy's desk, and started fondling the items she found on the surface.
Frederick set the paper back on the side table. "Why would I want to lie to you?" he asked carefully.
"I don't know," Sapphire replied, handling a pen. "How long have you been working here, Frederick?" she asked conversationally.
"Eight years," he replied, a little uncomfortably. "Started after the war, in 1919. I was Major Bellamy's batman, you see, and he was kind enough to offer me employment after the war."
"Eight years," Sapphire said thoughtfully, setting the pen down and hefting a paperweight instead. "And how old are you, Frederick?"
Frederick frowned at the question. "Thirty-three," he told her, "though it's none of your business."
"Thirty-three," Sapphire said serenely, not bothering to respond to his mild outrage. "That would make you…twenty-five when you entered service?"
Frederick shifted and looked at his feet. "Suppose so. Why?"
"Well, it's a bit puzzling," Sapphire began, turning to him, still holding the paperweight. "You see, when I go to a place, there's a reason. I'm sent to places where there is a disturbance in time. Time itself ensures that. So even though I was on my way out of one place, and I fell through time out of control, with no way of determining where I would end up, I don't believe I reappeared here by chance."
"No?"
"No." She ran her fingers over the paperweight thoughtfully. "I haven't told you about my powers."
"Oh, you have powers, then, do you?" Frederick said wryly. "Can make things disappear, can you? Like the magicians at the theatre?"
Sapphire wasn't smiling. "I can make certain things disappear, yes," she agreed. "Though not the sort of things you may imagine, and not in the same way, either. But I have other powers as well. One is the ability to tell the age of things, and everything they're composed of." She turned the paperweight over and over in her hands. "Ever since I arrived here, I've sensed something, and I think it's the reason I'm here." She put the paperweight down and rested her hand on the desk itself. "I think there's an anachronism in this house."
"Anachronism?" Frederick said quietly, shifting again.
"Yes. Something not of this time." She ran her fingers over the polished wood. "At first I thought it might be the house. Buildings often can act as a trigger to put the natural order of things out of balance. This building—"
"165 Eaton Place," Frederick supplied.
"Yes. It's old, but not out of time." She looked at the desk. "Sometimes it can be a object. I can feel it here, strongly. I've been taking readings of things in this room. Some of them are old—very old. Antiques. But not so old that they seem out of place, and not out of keeping with the time period, either."
Frederick looked around the room vaguely. "Well, if it's not the house and it's not what's in it, what could it be, then? The site the house was built on? A graveyard?"
Sapphire shook her head. "Sometimes the trigger, the abnormality in time, is a thing. Sometimes a building. But it can also be a person."
Frederick froze. Sapphire levelled her gaze at him, and he felt a cold shudder through his body.
"You asked what I am," Sapphire said, walking toward him slowly, purposefully. Frederick wanted to move, to run, but his feet wouldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, whether because of the power of her gaze or some malevolent force, he didn't know. But he didn't move, and she kept coming. "Perhaps I could ask the same. What are you, Frederick Norton: man or ghost?"
Without asking, she reached out and seized his hand, wrapped it in both of hers, and held it tightly. Frederick tried to remove it, but her grip was like a vice, holding, not squeezing, but not giving him an inch to wriggle free, either. He was forced to stand there as Sapphire closed her eyes and took his readings, traced the flow of his blood through his veins, the beat of his heart, the expansion of his lungs, the time left in his life. When she opened her eyes again, her eyes betrayed her puzzlement.
"You're not a ghost," she said quietly, releasing his hand in favour of placing her hands on her hips. "You're a man, flesh and blood. Not a ghost. Not an element. And yet, I can sense that you are not of this time. You're the anachronism. Your birth won't happen for years." She closed her eyes and did the calculations. "Sixteen years, as it happens."
Frederick sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "Right. So you've caught me out. Now what?"
His voice was different. The cockney, lower-class tones had faded, for something more clipped and authoritative. Sapphire looked at him with interest. "I can sense you," she said quietly. "I can feel your presence in this room over the years. Serving drinks and introducing people. For eight years, as you say. And yet, you never seem to age, Frederick Norton. The man who came here eight years ago is, physically and mentally, only months younger than who you are now."
Frederick smirked. "What, haven't your lot ever come across one of me before?" he asked cheekily.
Sapphire shook her head. "Not me. But whatever you are, it's safe to say you shouldn't be here, doing what you're doing."
"Why, because I might end up my own grandfather?" Frederick quipped. "Don't worry. I'm very careful to steer clear of my gran. And my own timeline."
Sapphire's eyes narrowed. "Time traveller!" she accused.
"Ah, you have met people like me before," Frederick murmured, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Sapphire said shortly, pacing away. "Steel—my partner—doesn't like them. He thinks they're disrespectful to Time itself, and so do I. Just popping in and out whenever they choose."
"Something like what you do, then?" Norton said cheekily, and Sapphire wheeled around angrily.
"No! I'm an operator! We come for a reason. You do it for fun." She stalked back over to where he stood. "Time is not a game."
"No, it's not. And I respect that," Norton said firmly.
"Then why-?"
"Historical interest. Or an escape. I started out here to see World War I for myself. Then I ended up following along for the footman gig. It's quiet for the most part and gives me a place to think. I'm considering winding it up soon, though."
"And how?" Sapphire wanted to know.
Norton arched an eyebrow. "Don't you know? Aren't you psychic or something?"
"How?" Sapphire demanded.
Norton smirked, shook his head. "You know, in some ways I'm still not entirely clear on how I do it myself. Apparently I'm one of those people who was just…born with it. A predisposition. A knack for travelling in time. I didn't know a thing about it until I was in the Navy…"
"The Navy?" Sapphire interrupted. "Was this during the War?"
Norton shook his head. "No, no, nothing to do with this time. I, uh, guess I should add that my name isn't really Frederick Norton."
"No?"
"No. I take on a pseudonym when I travel. Makes things easier." He stuck out his hand. "Gambit. Mike Gambit."
Sapphire eyed it warily, then shook. "Mr. Gambit."
"Pleasure. Look, I didn't go looking for this. I was fifteen. I wanted to see the world, but in my own time. Then one day I was in port in India, and this woman—well, let's just say she recognised a certain quality in me and taught me how to use it." Gambit ran his hand through his hair self-consciously. "The first time I only went back a year, but I got better at it with practice. Now I can adopt a persona and come back whenever I like, pick up from where I left off. I really am a ghost in a way—I've supposedly been here eight years, but I've skipped sections of it. I can sort of, I don't know, bend time around me so no one notices that I'm gone. It's like my last appearance bleeds into my next."
"I understand," Sapphire told him. "But it still shouldn't be done. People leave trails behind them in the timestream."
"Do they?" Gambit looked unsurprised. "I wonder why they haven't sent someone after me sooner?"
"They build up," Sapphire explained, "over multiple visits. If this is one of your longer recurring trips, enough trails may have built up to be detectible. Enough to bring me here." She set her mouth. "And enough to make me stay. You must leave."
"Why?"
"Because as long as you're here, I've got a job to do. They don't like you to go back and leave unfinished business behind."
"I thought you came here by accident. At random."
"I did. That doesn't mean I'm not being monitored. Somewhere. They won't be happy with me if I leave things unfinished." She set her mouth determinedly. "If you leave, I can leave. And then I can find Steel."
"Your partner?"
"Yes."
"Close are you?" Gambit's voice was laced with suggestiveness.
"In ways you could never understand."
"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," Gambit murmured. "Do you know who I saw when I first got a good look at you? My partner. Purdey."
"Purdey?"
"Purdey. You're the spitting image of her. Well, the hair's a bit different, and her eyes only light up metaphorically, but otherwise, it's downright uncanny." He searched her face, suppressed a shudder. "Is that what you do? Scan my brain and take the form of people I know?"
Sapphire shook her head in bemusement. "No, I always look this way. It's an illusion, but this form is my chosen one." Her eyes dawned with realisation. "I did base it on a real woman. With a few modifications. Perhaps it was your Purdey." She paused, and Gambit watched as she shimmered before him, like a hologram, and her clothes and hair transformed into a gauzy blue dress very different from her own, and a smooth-as-glass mushroom bob haircut. She regarded Gambit matter-of-factly, indicated her appearance. "Is this her?"
Gambit swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "Yes," he rasped.
"Oh, well, that's all right, then." Sapphire transformed back. "Before I went to investigate my first anomaly I was allowed to choose an appearance. I searched through the whole of time, and I saw her. I liked the way she looked."
"So you stole her identity?" Gambit cut in, a bit coldly.
Sapphire looked surprised at the comment. "I don't think so. I'm not pretending to be her, and I don't think it's likely I'll cross paths with anyone who knows her. And anyway, it's only her appearance. There's more to people than that."
"Yes," Gambit said tersely, "but shallow or not, we're a bit attached to it. Can't you change it?"
"Yes, I suppose I could, if I was given permission" Sapphire said flatly. "But I don't want to."
"And I don't want to quit travelling," Gambit countered.
Sapphire's eyes flashed. "Then you won't leave?"
"Oh, I'll leave. For now. And I'll wind this identity up, somehow. But I won't promise to stop. Not just for your sake."
Sapphire raised an eyebrow. "There's no way I can convince you?"
"Give up Purdey's appearance."
"But I like it!"
"And I like 1927. You can't always get what you want, Sapphire. But it's all right. I'd never mistake you for the real Purdey."
"Why? The hair?"
"No," Gambit said thoughtfully. "The humanity."
"I try—"
"You try, but there's no substitute for the real thing." Gambit looked into those eyes, saw the contours of the face, and knew, at some level, that she didn't look like Purdey. Not his Purdey. The warmth wasn't there, and neither was the humour. Not quite. "You've got some big shoes to fill."
Sapphire cocked her head to one side. "I don't understand."
"You might. One day," Gambit said cryptically, then turned away. "I'd better be going."
"How?" Sapphire wanted to know, moving to follow him. "Tell me, how is it that you're able to travel through time? Do you use a mechanical device?"
Gambit looked over his shoulder. "Not really. It's complicated. My trigger is music."
"Music? Any music?"
"In a pinch," Gambit conceded, "but it works best with familiar pieces, pieces I've travelled with before. Some work better than others." A wicked grin stretched his lips. "Have you ever heard of David Bowie?"
Gambit lay on the floor his flat, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he willed his body back to a state of rest. His clothes sizzled gently from the friction of his journey, and he opened his hands to let the heat radiate off the palms. He took deep cleansing breaths and listened to the scratch of the record in his player as it continued to spin, its running time elapsed. He'd deal with it in a moment. Just as soon as he could touch things without worrying about melting them, or possibly setting them aflame. He hoped he hadn't scorched the shag carpet.
The sound of someone pressing his flat's buzzer made his eyes snap open in alarm. He wasn't in any shape to answer it. Not now. Maybe in a couple of minutes, but that was an eternity to someone at the door, particularly someone who was impatient as the person who was now tapping out a little rhythm with the buzz. Gambit recognised the opening lines of "Jingle Bells," before his visitor gave up and started knocking instead.
"Mike Gambit, I know you're in there. We're due for a briefing in 15 minutes."
Purdey's voice. Gambit groaned and closed his eyes. Purdey definitely wouldn't go away, even if he kept quiet. And yet, he didn't feel ready to get up. Not yet.
"Gambit!" Purdey was sounding annoyed now. "Don't tell me you're still in bed?"
Gambit took a deep breath. Thirty seconds. He could manage in thirty seconds.
"I'm coming in," Purdey's voice said, and Gambit started counting down in his head. He heard the jangle of keys, suddenly questioned the wisdom of giving Purdey a key to his flat.
Twenty.
The sound of a key sliding into a lock, then turning. The door opened.
Fifteen.
Footsteps as high heels crossed the floor. Gambit remained focussed on the ceiling. Eventually, Purdey's face came into view. It looked down at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
"Mike Gambit, what on earth are you doing down there?"
"Resting," Gambit murmured. "You didn't have to come in."
"You didn't answer," Purdey pointed out, frowning now. "Mike, are you all right? Have you been out on some sort of all-night bender?"
"No," Gambit said quickly. "No, I'm fine. Don't I look fine?"
Purdey cocked her head to one side. "Well, yes. I suppose. But why didn't you answer when I knocked?"
"I've been exercising. Bit stiff."
"Exercising? In that?" She took in Gambit's waistcoat, bow-tie, and tails and arched an eyebrow. "I've heard of trying to make things special at home, but aren't you taking it too far? Or were you planning on attending a costume party later?"
"It's a long story," Gambit replied, sitting upright and starting the slow process of climbing to his feet. "We have an assignment?"
"Yes. Steed called me this morning. He tried to call you, but your phone's off the hook."
"I know." Purdey offered him a hand as he got up, and he forgot himself for a moment and took it. She gasped at the heat that radiated off of it. Gambit looked at her in alarm, pulled away and straightened up on his own.
"Purdey! You okay?"
"Yes." She was looking at her hand, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was undamaged. She looked up at him, met his eyes. "Your hand. It was…hot."
"Yeah. Sorry about that." Gambit rubbed his palm on his trousers self-consciously, then turned to attend to the record player before Purdey could question him further. He removed the needle and lifted the LP out. Purdey followed, craned to see over his shoulder.
"David Bowie?"
"Yes." Gambit found the sleeve and slipped it inside. "I'm fond of track four."
Purdey frowned in thought. "You mean 'Life on—'"
"Yes," Gambit cut in hurriedly. Purdey looked at him oddly, then sniffed his shoulder.
"You smell as though you've been to a barbecue," she observed. "Smoky. Charred."
"Sorry. Give me a minute and I'll change." He turned to put actions to words, but she caught his arm and dragged him back.
"Mike, is something wrong?" she asked, blue eyes filled with worry. "You're behaving very oddly."
Gambit looked at her. Really looked. She looked so much like Sapphire, and yet, so different. The eyes that looked up at him were bright with wit and love and intelligence, but didn't glow with supernatural light. She was real, not an illusion or a copy. He loved her for it. Just her. And he wanted to kiss her.
"I'm sorry," he apologised, and covered her hand with his. "But I'm fine. And do you know why?"
Purdey shook her head, completely confused. "No. Why?"
"Because there will only ever be one of you," he murmured, and leaned in to kiss her forehead through her fringe. When he pulled away, she was smiling.
"Well," she began, releasing his arm and shifting in that self-conscious way of hers. Was that a hint of a blush tinting her cheeks? "That's very nice, but it doesn't get us to our briefing."
"I'll be quick. Lightning, even."
"You had better be," Purdey warned, and watched him disappear down the hall. Only once he was gone did she pick up the record, look at it, and shrug. Then she touched the still-warm spot on her forehead, and smiled. "Sometimes, Mike Gambit, I think you must be from another planet," she said under her breath, but not without affection. "But I love you anyway."
End
Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and are used for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
Upstairs, Downstairs and Frederick Norton, Mr. Hudson, Daisy, Rose, the Bellamys, and Georgina Worsley are property of London Weekend Television and ITV, and are used for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Notes: Yes, I went a bit crossover crazy, though in my defence, it started out as a simple crossover of Sapphire and Steel with Upstairs, Downstairs, and the TNA dimension sort of developed on its own (with the final Life on Mars in-joke sneaking in at the end). So yes, lots of dimensions and in-jokes going on in there—you sort of need to have seen all four shows to get them all, but if you haven't, here's a quick guide.
The original idea was to have characters played by Gareth Hunt and Joanna Lumley in different series interact with one another, so we'd have people who looked like Purdey and Gambit sharing scenes without actually playing Purdey and Gambit. Then I decided to slide TNA in there. So, Joanna Lumley played both Purdey in TNA and Sapphire in S&S, so I had to explain why they'd look the same if they were occupying the same universe. For the unitiated, Sapphire and Steel was a sci-fi series which ran from 1979-1982, concerning a pair of elemental beings who went around dealing with disruptions in the natural order of time and space. It ended with the two protagonists trapped in some sort of strange limbo, with no way out. The series was cancelled before creator and writer PJ Hammond could make the next story which would have freed them from their imprisonment. I haven't said quite how she and Steel got out of their trap, but however it happened, Sapphire's ended up at Eaton Place in the process.
Gareth Hunt's character in Upstairs, Downstairs was Frederick Norton, the footman. Frederick only appeared in 10 episodes of UpDown's fifth season, but those stories span a total of eight years—almost every episode takes place a year or so after the last. The consequence is that Gareth's character works at 165 Eaton Place, the house in which the show is set, from 1919 to 1927, and yet, obviously, Gareth never looks much older since all his appearances were shot in about a year. This gave me the idea for the premise, having Gareth and Joanna appear together as their different characters from two different shows, just as a sort of overarching in-joke, and the time premise gave me a way to do it. All the references to the Bellamys and people like Georgina and Mr. Hudson and Frederick's issues with a certain Edward are UpDown things you sort of have to see the show to understand. They're all characters in that series, obviously. Gareth's character did leave the series later in 1927, so Gambit is true to his word—he works out a way to have Frederick leave without arousing suspicion. You'll have to watch the series itself to find out how, but it's very Gambitesque...
Gambit's use of the song "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie to aid in his time-travel was just too much to resist. Those who have seen the brilliant British series Life on Mars will know that the song was playing when he time-travelled. Maybe certain pieces of music have better time travel properties. Who knows?
I hope I don't need to tell you this is AU, though. Gambit definitely isn't running around as a time-traveller in my arc stories. This is just a bit of fun.