New Avengers snippets
Aug. 5th, 2006 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanOriginal: New Found Land ( takes place after Forward Base and Emily.)
Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted, but not by me. I think Canal+ or Mark One Productions owns the rights at the moment. Which means, of course, that this is fanfic – me playing in someone else's sandbox. Even moreso, anything indark blue is a scene taken straight from the screen, dialogue and all, that either didn't hit the novelizations, or that didn't hit them in a way that satisfied my sense of the character arcs that I'm exploring.
As a rule
*** means I'm still adding onto a piece or scene and
### means I'm satisfied with that bit for now.
---
Summary: Work in Progress...
Purdey doublechecked for watchers, but it was still too early in the morning for anyone to be stirring. The only signs of life on the quiet Toronto street were lights coming on in windows, and the back of Gambit's head, just visible past the headrest in his car where he was parked three doors down. He was shifting position now and again as if he'd got tired of sitting there since midnight, and she could hardly blame him. By afternoon she expected to be equally bored. Surveillance duty was never much fun, and two weeks of watching this particular target hadn't yielded much in the way of excitement. The errands Smith had run had been innocuous, the routine of his day predictable. The closest they'd come to an interesting day had been the Saturday when he'd gone to a matinee of Star Wars. The Canadian agents who'd been helping at first had been pulled off to another job, but Steed's gut instinct was that James Smith was important, so here they still were.
She thumbed her radio to transmit. "Gambit."
"You're early." The reply came back so promptly that she knew he must have seen her drive up and park.
"I thought you could use something to eat," she said.
"More donuts?" he asked, unenthusiastically. "I'm still working my way through the bag you foisted on me last night."
She patted the white cardboard box on the passenger seat beside her. "Better." She promised.
"As long as there's coffee," Gambit said.
"There is. Is the coast clear?" She couldn't actually see around the corner to Smith's house from where she was now – it was bad enough having one of their cars visible.
"For now. Smith's bathroom light came on five minutes ago – if he stays true to form he'll be in there for another ten minutes."
"What, clockwork man? I think it's safe enough." She collected her offerings and her purse and went to switch cars, grinning when she saw Gambit hastily clearing the passenger seat of the detritus of newspaper and earlier meals. He popped open the door for her and she passed him the food to hold while she climbed in and got settled.
"Coffee," Gambit muttered, passing back the box and one cup while he kept hold of the other. He pried off the lid and took a sip. "Ahhh…"
"So," Purdey asked, opening the box and bringing out a plate of bangers and mash and a fork. "Did Mr. Smith add anything new to his repertoire last night?"
"An hour watching the telly, two hours in his garage fiddling at his workbench, in bed by ten. Same as always." Gambit accepted the plateful of food greedily, "Where did you find bangers in Toronto?"
"Steed discovered that the sous chef at the French restaurant down the street from our hotel was born in Stepney. The chef knows a butcher from Wapping, the butcher knows how to make bangers, and the three of them took over the kitchen at the Coq au Vin this morning at five a.m. in order to make us a proper meal. They've threatened us with bubble-and-squeak for supper."
"Mmm." Gambit swallowed the bite he'd taken and sighed happily. "What they need to find is a fishmonger from Brick Lane. I wouldn't mind a nice bit of eel pie round about now."
Purdey shuddered. As far as she was concerned, you had to have been born in the East End of London to appreciate jellied eels, in pies or out of them. "You can have my share if they do," she promised Gambit. Then she sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. "Curry would be nice, though."
Gambit made another inarticulate noise of agreement, ninety percent of his attention taken by the food in front of him, and another nine percent taken by the house he was meant to be watching. Which left only one percent for Purdey, but she didn't much mind.
She took a sip of her own coffee. "Gambit. Why are we here?"
"It's too early for existential philosophy," Gambit mumbled between bites.
"I meant, why are we still here. In Canada," she specified, before he could make another wisecrack.
Gambit shrugged and swallowed. "We're helping Steed dodge a desk job." He popped another bite of sausage into his mouth, tucked it into one cheek long enough to say, "You know McKay's going to go after him hammer and tongs the moment he lands at Heathrow."
"So we're going to sit here, watching James Smith, international man of no mystery whatsoever, for the next three months until McKay is safely retired?" Purdey inquired.
"Looks like," Gambit seemed awfully calm about the prospect.
She sighed. "Couldn't we save Steed from a desk in Paris? Or Milan? New York's not that far off."
"We could," Gambit agreed. "If we can find something happening in Paris or Milan or New York that's as important as keeping Them from interfering with the radar stations on the Dew Line."
"If that's what they're planning. If "the Collector" is the one who's meant to do the work and if James Smith is the "Collector" that Steed was warned about…"
"And if this is the right James Smith," Gambit added wryly. "There are twenty three of them in Toronto, according to the phone book."
"And nine more with unlisted numbers," Purdey sighed, half-wishing that she hadn't checked. "Oh, well. The petrol station should be opening soon. I've got to go and fill my …"
"Purdey, wait!" Gambit caught her arm before she could open the car door. "Look."
Smith's garage door was opening. Purdey ducked down until just her eyes were over the dashboard. "Maybe he's putting out his garbage bins."
"The garbage pick up was two days ago," Gambit said. "How much petrol do you have in your tank?"
"Barely a quarter."
Gambit shook his head. "That won't do. Best stay with me. Anything you need from your car?"
She patted her purse, just to assure herself that the shape of her gun and the walkie-talkie were there. "Nothing vital. But I should lock the doors."
"Steed can do that," Gambit said, starting the car as quietly as he could. "I'm going to need you to help me keep awake."
###
There were only two ways to get onto the main road on the west side of the subdivision, and once Gambit was fairly certain that Smith was headed that way he cut through an alley and took another long curving street to come up to the second intersection instead of following Smith directly. He spotted the blue Buick, turning north, and turned to follow it, now nearly two blocks behind. Purdey dug the binoculars out of the glovebox and doublechecked the license plate before leaning back with a sigh. "That was chancy," she observed.
"I know," Gambit said. "But with as little traffic as there is this early, it's not going to be easy to keep him from noticing us." He shook his head with frustration. "I wish we had your car. Yellow's a lot less obvious than red."
"Normally I'd agree with you," Purdey said. "But I've been following him in that car every day for the past week and a half. The only chances he's had to see this one have been in the evening or at night."
"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," Gambit sighed. At least he'd had some of his breakfast before Smith had started moving. "I wonder what set him off?"
"He didn't do anything unusual yesterday," Purdey said. "Just errands. Stopped at the grocer, the gas station, the bank. The most exciting thing he did was put new windshield wipers on his car."
"What kind of groceries?"
"Bread, sandwich meats, some soft drinks. And a bag of ice."
"A bag of ice?" Gambit scowled, trying to remember whether or not Smith's ice chest had been in its usual place on the garage shelves as the car had pulled out this morning. "Sounds like he means to go on a picnic."
"Or fishing," Purdey suggested. "That might explain the early morning excursion."
"It might," Gambit conceded. "If I'd found any fishing gear in his house when I got in."
"Hmm." Purdey tucked the binoculars away and started sawing pieces off the end of Gambit's half-finished sausage. "Not fishing then. What did you find in Smith's house?"
"Nothing much except a lot of knickknacks. You know, the little thimbles and spoons and things that the tourist places sell. That sort of thing. He's got rows and rows of them on shelves in his living room. The electronics workbench in the garage that set Steed off in the first place. And the ham radio setup for which he has a perfectly respectable license."
"It's the radio that worries me," Purdey said. "Especially if he's got bits and pieces of it in his car." She popped one of the bits of sausage into Gambit's mouth, and then ate one herself.
Gambit nodded and tried to think as he chewed. It would be worse than awkward if Smith could listen in on any conversations they might have with Steed. "We'll have to phone in the first time he stops."
***
My TNA fic links
n.b. This lj-entry was originally bits from Target and K is to Kill, but I moved them...
Disclaimer: The New Avengers are copyrighted, but not by me. I think Canal+ or Mark One Productions owns the rights at the moment. Which means, of course, that this is fanfic – me playing in someone else's sandbox. Even moreso, anything indark blue is a scene taken straight from the screen, dialogue and all, that either didn't hit the novelizations, or that didn't hit them in a way that satisfied my sense of the character arcs that I'm exploring.
As a rule
*** means I'm still adding onto a piece or scene and
### means I'm satisfied with that bit for now.
---
Summary: Work in Progress...
Purdey doublechecked for watchers, but it was still too early in the morning for anyone to be stirring. The only signs of life on the quiet Toronto street were lights coming on in windows, and the back of Gambit's head, just visible past the headrest in his car where he was parked three doors down. He was shifting position now and again as if he'd got tired of sitting there since midnight, and she could hardly blame him. By afternoon she expected to be equally bored. Surveillance duty was never much fun, and two weeks of watching this particular target hadn't yielded much in the way of excitement. The errands Smith had run had been innocuous, the routine of his day predictable. The closest they'd come to an interesting day had been the Saturday when he'd gone to a matinee of Star Wars. The Canadian agents who'd been helping at first had been pulled off to another job, but Steed's gut instinct was that James Smith was important, so here they still were.
She thumbed her radio to transmit. "Gambit."
"You're early." The reply came back so promptly that she knew he must have seen her drive up and park.
"I thought you could use something to eat," she said.
"More donuts?" he asked, unenthusiastically. "I'm still working my way through the bag you foisted on me last night."
She patted the white cardboard box on the passenger seat beside her. "Better." She promised.
"As long as there's coffee," Gambit said.
"There is. Is the coast clear?" She couldn't actually see around the corner to Smith's house from where she was now – it was bad enough having one of their cars visible.
"For now. Smith's bathroom light came on five minutes ago – if he stays true to form he'll be in there for another ten minutes."
"What, clockwork man? I think it's safe enough." She collected her offerings and her purse and went to switch cars, grinning when she saw Gambit hastily clearing the passenger seat of the detritus of newspaper and earlier meals. He popped open the door for her and she passed him the food to hold while she climbed in and got settled.
"Coffee," Gambit muttered, passing back the box and one cup while he kept hold of the other. He pried off the lid and took a sip. "Ahhh…"
"So," Purdey asked, opening the box and bringing out a plate of bangers and mash and a fork. "Did Mr. Smith add anything new to his repertoire last night?"
"An hour watching the telly, two hours in his garage fiddling at his workbench, in bed by ten. Same as always." Gambit accepted the plateful of food greedily, "Where did you find bangers in Toronto?"
"Steed discovered that the sous chef at the French restaurant down the street from our hotel was born in Stepney. The chef knows a butcher from Wapping, the butcher knows how to make bangers, and the three of them took over the kitchen at the Coq au Vin this morning at five a.m. in order to make us a proper meal. They've threatened us with bubble-and-squeak for supper."
"Mmm." Gambit swallowed the bite he'd taken and sighed happily. "What they need to find is a fishmonger from Brick Lane. I wouldn't mind a nice bit of eel pie round about now."
Purdey shuddered. As far as she was concerned, you had to have been born in the East End of London to appreciate jellied eels, in pies or out of them. "You can have my share if they do," she promised Gambit. Then she sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. "Curry would be nice, though."
Gambit made another inarticulate noise of agreement, ninety percent of his attention taken by the food in front of him, and another nine percent taken by the house he was meant to be watching. Which left only one percent for Purdey, but she didn't much mind.
She took a sip of her own coffee. "Gambit. Why are we here?"
"It's too early for existential philosophy," Gambit mumbled between bites.
"I meant, why are we still here. In Canada," she specified, before he could make another wisecrack.
Gambit shrugged and swallowed. "We're helping Steed dodge a desk job." He popped another bite of sausage into his mouth, tucked it into one cheek long enough to say, "You know McKay's going to go after him hammer and tongs the moment he lands at Heathrow."
"So we're going to sit here, watching James Smith, international man of no mystery whatsoever, for the next three months until McKay is safely retired?" Purdey inquired.
"Looks like," Gambit seemed awfully calm about the prospect.
She sighed. "Couldn't we save Steed from a desk in Paris? Or Milan? New York's not that far off."
"We could," Gambit agreed. "If we can find something happening in Paris or Milan or New York that's as important as keeping Them from interfering with the radar stations on the Dew Line."
"If that's what they're planning. If "the Collector" is the one who's meant to do the work and if James Smith is the "Collector" that Steed was warned about…"
"And if this is the right James Smith," Gambit added wryly. "There are twenty three of them in Toronto, according to the phone book."
"And nine more with unlisted numbers," Purdey sighed, half-wishing that she hadn't checked. "Oh, well. The petrol station should be opening soon. I've got to go and fill my …"
"Purdey, wait!" Gambit caught her arm before she could open the car door. "Look."
Smith's garage door was opening. Purdey ducked down until just her eyes were over the dashboard. "Maybe he's putting out his garbage bins."
"The garbage pick up was two days ago," Gambit said. "How much petrol do you have in your tank?"
"Barely a quarter."
Gambit shook his head. "That won't do. Best stay with me. Anything you need from your car?"
She patted her purse, just to assure herself that the shape of her gun and the walkie-talkie were there. "Nothing vital. But I should lock the doors."
"Steed can do that," Gambit said, starting the car as quietly as he could. "I'm going to need you to help me keep awake."
###
There were only two ways to get onto the main road on the west side of the subdivision, and once Gambit was fairly certain that Smith was headed that way he cut through an alley and took another long curving street to come up to the second intersection instead of following Smith directly. He spotted the blue Buick, turning north, and turned to follow it, now nearly two blocks behind. Purdey dug the binoculars out of the glovebox and doublechecked the license plate before leaning back with a sigh. "That was chancy," she observed.
"I know," Gambit said. "But with as little traffic as there is this early, it's not going to be easy to keep him from noticing us." He shook his head with frustration. "I wish we had your car. Yellow's a lot less obvious than red."
"Normally I'd agree with you," Purdey said. "But I've been following him in that car every day for the past week and a half. The only chances he's had to see this one have been in the evening or at night."
"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," Gambit sighed. At least he'd had some of his breakfast before Smith had started moving. "I wonder what set him off?"
"He didn't do anything unusual yesterday," Purdey said. "Just errands. Stopped at the grocer, the gas station, the bank. The most exciting thing he did was put new windshield wipers on his car."
"What kind of groceries?"
"Bread, sandwich meats, some soft drinks. And a bag of ice."
"A bag of ice?" Gambit scowled, trying to remember whether or not Smith's ice chest had been in its usual place on the garage shelves as the car had pulled out this morning. "Sounds like he means to go on a picnic."
"Or fishing," Purdey suggested. "That might explain the early morning excursion."
"It might," Gambit conceded. "If I'd found any fishing gear in his house when I got in."
"Hmm." Purdey tucked the binoculars away and started sawing pieces off the end of Gambit's half-finished sausage. "Not fishing then. What did you find in Smith's house?"
"Nothing much except a lot of knickknacks. You know, the little thimbles and spoons and things that the tourist places sell. That sort of thing. He's got rows and rows of them on shelves in his living room. The electronics workbench in the garage that set Steed off in the first place. And the ham radio setup for which he has a perfectly respectable license."
"It's the radio that worries me," Purdey said. "Especially if he's got bits and pieces of it in his car." She popped one of the bits of sausage into Gambit's mouth, and then ate one herself.
Gambit nodded and tried to think as he chewed. It would be worse than awkward if Smith could listen in on any conversations they might have with Steed. "We'll have to phone in the first time he stops."
***
My TNA fic links
n.b. This lj-entry was originally bits from Target and K is to Kill, but I moved them...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
TNA snippets
Date: 2006-08-24 10:36 am (UTC)Thought the characters were very much in tune with the series.
Would love to read more - feel brave enough to share the other plotline !!
And as a Purdey/Gambit fan I would love to read your take on their relationship. I never believed that anything happened between Purdey & Steed, despite the flirtations !
Re: TNA snippets
Date: 2006-09-01 02:23 pm (UTC)I'm in the "Purdey and Steed had some fun, but it wasn't a commitment" camp. Purdey and Gambit is a lot more complicated... but I'm in the process of working out a story set in Canada that ought to make you happy on that score. Not the plotline I mentioned before -- which may or may not work itself out into what I first intended -- but another story entirely.
Re: TNA snippets
Date: 2006-09-01 08:50 pm (UTC)Re: TNA snippets
Date: 2006-09-19 02:41 pm (UTC)