New Avengers Snippets!
Jul. 24th, 2006 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfan14. Hostage
Oct 18 06
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 in dark 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. Links to quotes and screencaps (where they appear) are courtesy of bromfield hall.
As a rule
*** means I'm still adding onto a piece or scene and
### means I'm satisfied with that bit for now.
---
http://www.bromfieldhall.co.uk/tnaquotes17.htm
Summary: For them as hasn't seen it lately: Purdey gets kidnapped, and Steed is pushed into breaking all the rules to save her. Unfortunately, that means that someone has to go after Steed, and it's Gambit who gets elected.
Scenes
Sesquidrabble: Hostage -- Aftershocks
Gambit lay staring at the ceiling, trying to find a way into sleep. His body ached from the physical blows, but they weren't the problem.
It was another kind of blow entirely.
He still didn't quite believe it, still didn't want to believe it. Steed had risked World War III by turning over those plans. The world against one person, even if it was Purdey, didn't seem like a fair exchange.
And yet…yet…
Memory brought him the crisp air of an autumn day, the bright reds standing out against the greens, the deep cold in his belly as he stared at Purdey standing frozen in terror, the cordite smoke still curling around her. His hands remembered the shape of the rifle in his hands – his heart the desperation in his soul as he passed the gun into the keeping of a madman.
Perhaps it was a fair trade after all.
###
Epilogue
***
Tom Wolfe Was Right follows "Hostage"
Since Steed had to make things right with McKay, and see to it that Spellman and his cronies were locked up tight, Gambit bagged the job of driving Purdey out to her mum's place. They waited only long enough to see that the kidnappers were secured and the first of the back-up agents had arrived before they started. Gambit had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd probably left Purdey's mother worrying after that phone call, and Purdey was uncomfortable wearing the same clothes she'd been in for days. He offered to take her round to collect her suitcase, but she just shook her head. "I've got some spare things at Mum's," she said, and then curled up like a kitten in the passenger seat and went to sleep.
He knew the way to the town where Purdey's stepfather held the bishopric, so he drove in that direction, taking the quietest roads he could find so as not to disturb her until it was necessary. It wasn't all that far out of the way, perhaps an extra twenty minutes, had the traffic cooperated. He only got caught behind a tractor once, and that was almost a relief, giving him a chance to flex his sore hands, and give them a rest from the steering wheel. He considered the dirt on them ruefully. A check in the rear view mirror told him that his face wasn't much better off, though the dark patch on his cheekbone was more bruise than dirt. So much for making a good impression.
He stopped in a turnout beside a river, just on the outskirts of his destination, and turned off the engine. Any farther and he'd probably end up backtracking -- he'd have to wake Purdey now. But he waited a little longer, watching her sleep. She slept like a child after too long an outing, wedged deep into the corner to avoid notice, with one hand propping up her head in lieu of a pillow. Her hair was lambent in the fading light, and her skin looked like porcelain, but there was something about the way that the shadows picked out the shape of the bones beneath that warned him that being held prisoner had been more of an ordeal than she was ever likely to admit. She'd lost weight, in any case, and he didn't think it was because they'd failed to feed her. Perhaps she'd been too worried to eat. His own guts had been in knots from the moment he'd first been called in by Tommy McKay. How much worse for Purdey, watching the plot unfold and unable to interfere? Gambit didn't want to contemplate what would have happened if Spellman's plans had gone according to order. He wouldn't have dared leave Purdey alive, nor Steed.
And even if I'd figured out that Steed had disappeared looking for Purdey, I'd've never been able to prove it. I'd have been left behind.
His gut still ached, to tell the truth, though that was hardly a surprise. He'd been punched often enough today. Oh well. He was wasting time.
"Purdey?" he waited until she'd shifted a little in response to her name before he touched her shoulder. "Purdey, wake up."
Her eyes flew open, bright with fear for the half-second before she recognized him and pulled a face. "What is it?"
"I need you to navigate," he told her. "Unlike Spellman, I've never seen your parents' house." He hadn't meant to rub that sore, but the words were out before he could call them back.
"It's not a house," she grumbled, sitting up to look around for her bearings. "It's a palace. He is a bishop." She pointed to one of the roads. "That way. Up by the cathedral."
"A palace?" Gambit stared at her. "A real palace?"
"Bishops often live in palaces," she informed him with amusement. "Or at least they're called palaces. Like vicars live in vicarages."
"Oh." Come to think of it, he'd heard that before. He started up the car and put it into gear. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mmm." She stretched as best she could. "All right, except for the crick in my neck. But I could use another ten hours, I think, once I've had some supper."
"Should we stop and get you some fish and chips or something?" he asked, seeing a shop up ahead.
"Oh, no, not on a Wednesday night. It is Wednesday night, isn't it?" She sounded suddenly uncertain.
"Yes," he reassured her. "But I don't see what that has to do with it."
"Wednesday night is choir practice. And this is the first Wednesday of the month, which means the combined choirs are practicing together and that means they've all brought pot luck to eat afterwards because the sessions always take so long. He sang baritone, you know." She hugged herself, as if she were chilled.
He switched on the heater. "Baritone?"
"Spellman." Purdey looked out the window, but he could hear the bitterness in her voice. "He was in the congregation here, up until two months ago when he moved up to London." She sighed. "Now I'm going to end up wondering about all the rest of them as well. Go left up ahead."
"All the rest of who?" Gambit asked as he made the turn.
"The choir." She obviously thought he should have reached the same conclusion.
"Are any of the rest of them working for the Department?" Gambit asked, reasonably.
"No," she conceded. "But several of them work for various Ministries in one capacity or another."
He smiled. "Lots of people work for the government," he pointed out. "But if you're worried we can always run background checks. Get me a list of names and addresses and I'll run them through the computer." It would be easy enough to do, and he'd be glad to do it, out of the unreasonable burst of relief he got when he realized that Purdey hadn't been the one to bring Spellman home for dinner. "I can do the entire congregation, if you're feeling nervous."
"Nervous? Me?" she pretended indignance, but her smile gave her away. "You'd better be careful. I'm likely to take you up on it."
"No problem." The walls of the cathedral appeared as the street curved, the stained glass bright in the deepening twilight. Gambit slowed down, looking at the nearby buildings. "I don't see a palace," he said.
"It's that one," she pointed. "The Victorian Horror down the lane on the left."
"I see it." By daylight, he suspected, the bushes which lined the iron railings would show themselves to be roses, but even in this light he could make out half a dozen gables, assorted crenellated towers, and a plethora of chimneys against the purpling sky. "I take it back," he said. "It does look like a palace. The kind you build out of toy blocks." There were lights in most of the windows, and as he pulled up in the nearest space a door opened on the side facing the cathedral and a slim figure shooed a gaggle of choirboys out into the night.
Even in silhouette she looked like Purdey. She had the same graceful way of moving, certainly, and when she turned her head to say something to someone still inside Gambit recognized the nose. Purdey rolled down her window. "Mum!" she called, and then, impatient with the barrier, opened her car door and got out to dash up the walk. Her mother met her halfway, exclaiming with surprise when she was enveloped in a hug and now Gambit could see that Purdey was taller by half a head or more. But the babble of the choirboys and the music and voices from inside the house were too loud for him to hear what Purdey was saying.
He thought about getting out to join them, and realized that he didn't really want to. Maybe if it had only been Purdey and her parents... But the thought of dealing with dozens of people was daunting. He was just too tired, and too achy, and he didn't feel like explaining the black eye. He slipped out of the shoulderbelt long enough to lean across the passenger seat and snag the doorhandle, grunting when every bruise he'd managed to acquire complained about the maneuver. But he got the door closed and was starting to crank up the window by the time Purdey reappeared outside the car.
"Gambit," she said uncertainly, through the remaining gap. "Aren't you coming in?
He looked up to meet her eyes, and shook his head. "If it turns out I might have to investigate one of those people, I'd just as soon they didn't know what I look like," he said.
"Oh." She pulled her head back and scowled, as if she'd been thwarted somehow and didn't like it. "I see. Well..." she reached in through the window and took the hand he automatically offered in return. "Another time then?"
He squeezed her hand. "Any time," he said. "Sleep well, Purdey. If you can, with all that going on."
That was the right thing to say, because her uncertainty vanished. "Just watch me," she said firmly, and squeezed his hand back. "Drive safe, Mike."
She let him go and he finished cranking up the window, grinning to himself when he heard Purdey's mum asking "Who is that?" just as the glass reached the top. Maybe by the time we actually meet you'll have forgiven me for giving you a fright, he thought. He sat up carefully and put the car into gear, thinking about maybe stopping for a couple of aspirin and a beer. It was a long way back to London.
The traffic was worse on the main roads and it was nearly nine when Gambit finally reached home. He came around the corner from the elevator to find a messenger boy sitting in the corridor outside his door, working his way through a battered paperback.
"Can I help you?"
The boy squinted up at him. "Your name Mike Gambit?" he asked. And at Gambit's nod added, "Can you prove it?" But he got to his feet quickly enough when Gambit produced his identification.
"Been wondering when you'd get here, Mister," he said, examining the card carefully and comparing the picture to Gambit's face. "Starting to think I'd be here all night."
"It's been a busy day," Gambit answered.
"I can tell," the youth gave him a long look, taking in the damage and dirt that still clung to Gambit's suit. He waved the paperback. "'sawright – I came prepared."
His accent was pure Cockney – like Gambit's had been before he'd gone to sea. Long hair but clean, a bony, friendly face – the kid couldn't be more than seventeen, so he'd left school young or he wouldn't be working during term time.
"Would you have stayed all night?" Gambit asked, signing the receipt on the clipboard.
The boy shrugged. "Well, I would 'ave 'ad to step out to get a bite to eat, that sort of thing. But I'd've come back. Special delivery – straight into the recipients 'and as soon as possible. That's what I get paid for, ain't it?" He tugged an envelope out of his coat and handed it to Gambit. "And there it is."
Gambit glanced at it. Steed's handwriting. He could guess what it was, but for the moment he didn't feel much like reading it. He stuffed it into an inner pocket and started to reach for his wallet. Then hesitated.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starvin'. I been here since noon."
Gambit got out his key. "Want a sandwich? Or I could take you 'round the corner for a real meal. Least I can do after making you sit all that time." He wasn't quite sure why he was offering, except perhaps that Steed had seen the potential in him all those years ago and offered him dinner. And any kid who would sit tight all afternoon and into evening to deliver a packet to the right person, regardless, had potential. "Mind you, you'd have to call into your office – let them know where you are."
The boy's eyes had gone wary when Gambit offered the sandwich, but he relaxed when Gambit mentioned calling in. "That'd be all right I guess."
Gambit nodded and unlocked the door, being careful to keep his body language neutral. He remembered some of the hazards of being young and poor all too well. "You should call your folks too – just don't run up the long distance bill too much."
"Nah, me mum won't worry. I get in at all hours most nights." The boy followed Gambit into the flat and stopped just inside the door, giving a soft whistle. "Wow."
"Call her anyway. Phone's on the table," Gambit said, and waved the youngster in.
The boy was still rubbernecking. "Looks like something out of a magazine," he exclaimed with admiration. "I always thought they made those places up."
"They do. And get paid for it," Gambit said. "The bird I was dating when I moved in is an interior designer now."
"It's sure got style," the boy said, venturing in to get a better look.
"That's what Steed said." Gambit remembered. Not more than a month ago, was it, since Steed had needed a place to stay in London and Gambit had provided it? He'd been so complimented. But that was before Steed had dented the pedestal Gambit had put him on.
"Hey?" The boy was looking at him curiously.
"Nothing," Gambit said, shaking himself back to the present. He went into the kitchen and started rooting through the cooler for something he could offer as a drink. "What's your name, anyway?"
"'Drew. Drew Morris."
"Short for Andrew?"
"That's right."
Gambit paused as he was bringing down the glasses. "Any relation to Gertie Morris, runs the tobacconists on _____ Lane?"
"She's my great-aunt." Drew said with surprise. "You know Gertie?"
Gambit grinned. "Thought I recognized those dulcet tones." He dropped into the accent of his childhood. "Grew up on ____ Terrace I did. Gertie used to throw me out every afternoon for trying to charm me way into getting two lollies for the price of one."
"Don't know anyone named Gambit on ____ Terrace," Morris said, wrinkling his nose.
"You know where Meggie Whelan used to live?"
"Lady what always wore the purple hat? Third house from the end, I think."
"That's the one. She was my granny on me mum's side. Me dad was born down by the docks – nothing left of the place since the War – so we ended up with Granny." Gambit smiled to himself, partly for the memory, and partly because Drew Morris was looking like a better and better prospect. Observant and clever. He couldn't have been much more than twelve when Granny died, but he'd remembered. Gambit poured out the colas. "Have you decided what you want to eat yet?"
Drew shrugged. "A sandwich is all right," he allowed.
"Filet mignon would be better," Gambit opined. Making sandwiches wouldn't burn off his restlessness – and a sandwich wouldn't even begin to put a dent into the hungry ache in his middle.
"Filly minion? Ain't that a fancy kind of beefsteak?"
"Yeh."
"Don't think a restaurant what sells that kind o' thing would want me comin' in the door in this lot," Drew indicated his messenger's uniform with a wry air.
"You willing to run one more errand?" Gambit asked. "I'd like to clean up – that'll take five, ten minutes. Enough time for you to pop down two blocks and one over to the butchershop and pick up a whole tenderloin and a pound of bacon." He tugged a tenner out of his wallet to cover the cost. "We can chop off steaks as thick as we like, put them under the broiler and they'll be ready in no time."
"What's the bacon for then?"
"Wrap around the steak. I've got some salad left over to go along with, and a couple of potatoes we can boil up to mash. That is, if you've got the time."
"Just let me call in," Drew said, his eyes shining with what Gambit hoped was hunger and not greed. The tenner was another test, really. But worth it if it paid off. He dropped it on the kitchen counter and headed back toward the bathroom, only half listening as Andrew picked up the phone and started to dial. A little more Berkeley Square to balance out the playing fields of Eton, that's what the Department needed.
###
A shower and a change into jeans and a clean shirt later Gambit came back out into the main room to find Drew looking through his record collection.
"I put the food into the cooler," he said, without looking up. "And I fetched back some bread and butter as well, seeing as how you didn't have none."
The pile of change was sitting on the countertop. Gambit could see at a glance that the amount was probably correct.
***
"You feelin' all right?"
Gambit wanted to say, "I'm fine," but the words couldn't get past the pain from his back. He shook his head. "Stiff."
"You don't look so good. You ought to go to your doctor."
"This time of night? No… I'll be all right for now."
"Not bloody likely. Hospital then."
He wanted to argue, but the blood had frightened him more than he wanted to admit. "Maybe. You know how to drive?" If Purdey were home, he could have called her. But she wasn't. And Steed was too far away.
"Yeah. Haven't had a chance to take the test… me mum had to sell the car. But I know how – and I've got a learner's permit."
"Think you can get me to Charing Cross in one piece?"
"Too late for that," Drew said, taking Gambit's car keys and putting himself under Gambit's arm to support him out to the Jaguar. "But I can at least get you there without making things worse. Come on."
***
"I'll call a cab," he told the doctor.
"No need." Drew appeared at his elbow. "I'll get him home, then. And pick up the prescription, if he's got one."
"He does." The doctor, giving Gambit an odd look, passed the prescription over to the boy.
Gambit, exhausted by the tests, and more than a little fuzzy from the shot, stared at Drew. "What are you still doing here? It's got to be three o clock in the morning."
Drew took him by the arm and started him out the door. "My Uncle Lew remembers you. Says you got him out of a tight spot when he was a kid. Then you went off to sea and he never had a chance to pay you back."
"Lew…" Gambit tried to remember. "Lew Morris… Fair, thin, with bad eyes?" He knew which branch of the family now.
"That's him."
Gambit shook his head. "He didn't need me… He just needed a chance to take on the worst of the Peel Street lot without taking on the rest of them at the same time."
"He says you took a pounding for him," Drew said. "That's what happened today too, isn't it? You took a pounding for a friend."
"Something like that."
"Well, then, me getting you home is payback for Uncle Lew, isn't it?"
"It's not your problem."
"Well, he can't do it. He's nightblind now. And damn near blind when the sun is shining. My dad's ship is somewhere near the Phillippines, and my aunties sure aren't going to want to take a strange man home."
"Your aunt Doris might," Gambit said, tactlessly, and then bit his lip, remembering that he was being rude to a kid.
But Drew only sniggered. "Mam always said Auntie Doris started early. She's got eight kids now, did you know that? All girls but the last one."
"Eight?" Doris wasn't much older than Gambit was.
"Well, there's three come at the same time, so it's not as bad as it sounds but you'd think that six would have been enough babbies for anyone. And they still tried twice more till they got a boy."
***
The phone was ringing.
He tried to roll over and reach for it, and failed. Tried again, more slowly, when the bright pain had dulled a little and managed to snag the cord with his fingers. He pulled until the phone tipped over onto the bed beside him and fumbled for the receiver.
"Yeah."
"Gambit?" Steed's morning cheerfulness sounded dented. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" Gambit repeated, a flare of worry running across the pain. "D'you need me?"
"I was expecting you to be here an hour ago," Steed said. "Are you hungover?"
"No.. uhm. Yes…Maybe." A hangover. A perfect excuse for sounding like he was in pain. Except he wasn't sure why he was making excuses. Steed had seen him take that beating. Hell, Steed had struck the first blow. Ah. "Do you need me?" he asked again, hoping the answer would be "no."
"I was hoping to compare notes with you on Tommy McKay."
"McKay?"
"He's the only person at the department who knew I was aware of those plans. He showed me where he was keeping them – knowing I had the combination to the safe. And he was the one who first mentioned the possibility of a problem agent to me. There's a chance – a thin one, I grant you, but a chance – that he and Spellman were working together."
Gambit couldn't think about anything but the bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. Stupid place to have left them. "I dunno. Why'd he tell me where Spellman lived then? I wouldn't've got there in time." He tried to sit up, and felt like he was being hit in the back with a board full of nails. In spite of everything, he made a noise.
"Mike!" Steed was definitely worried now. "Is there someone there with you?"
"No."
"Look, I'm coming over."
"Bring the key." Gambit said, glad again that he'd trusted Steed once enough to leave a spare at the stud farm. He let go of the phone and tried to find a position that hurt a little less.
***
"Gambit?" Steed came through the door warily, his eyes resting briefly on the man in the bed before checking for a second presence. He advanced into the apartment with his brolly held ready, glancing at the alcove and taking a sidetrip into the kitchen, but Gambit had been telling the truth – there was no one else in the apartment.
There was, however, a crumpled paper bag and a prescription bottle lying on the counter. He picked it up and read the label. Codeine and acetaminophen. Prescribed the day before by a doctor Steed had never heard of, and filled by the druggist at Charing Cross Hospital.
"I could use one of those," Gambit said from where he was curled up on the bed. "If you don't mind."
"So it seems," Steed said, relieved to find that Gambit was at least aware enough to know what was happening in his apartment. He took down a coffee cup and filled it with water to bring it along.
Gambit accepted the pill and washed it down awkwardly, spilling some of the water because he hadn't sat up.
"I didn't think I'd hit you that hard," Steed admitted. Gambit looked terrible, pale and badly slept.
"You didn't," Gambit said, handing back the cup and letting his eyes fall closed again. "At least, not if the tests they did last night mean anything. It was the kidney punch. Bruised things up a bit."
"Should you be in hospital?"
"Not if it doesn't get worse. Bed rest, lots of water, the pills… I just need a few days off."
"A week at least, if memory serves," Steed said, feeling some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "And you'd be better off with two."
Gambit pried open an eye to look at him. "If memory serves?"
Steed smiled. If Gambit's curiosity was intact, then he wasn't too badly off. "Do you remember asking me about Cairo?" he said, "and a certain garlic sausage?" He fetched a chair over from the table and sat down near the bed, "Well, before I managed to solve that one I spent a week in a harem. Didn't do me any good – I wasn't in much better shape than you are now."
He had Gambit's attention now, which was an improvement over the pain having it, so he settled his hat onto the nearby statue and went on. "There was this very large eunuch, you see…"
###
Gambit didn't know how he'd expected Steed to react to the news that he was laid up. A bit of sympathy, perhaps. He hadn't been entirely surprised that Steed had come by to check on him. And, knowing Steed for a practical man, he hadn't been all that surprised that Steed had helped him attend to a few necessities before he'd fallen back to sleep.
But here it was afternoon – late afternoon by the light – and Steed was still at Gambit's apartment, with his feet propped up, a book in his hand, and an air of having settled well and truly in for the long haul.
"I thought you meant to go after McKay," Gambit said.
"Awake again are you?" Steed put down his book and checked his watch. "Hmm. I think you'd do better for a bite to eat before you take the next dose," he said, getting up and heading for the kitchen. Gambit watched as the older man pulled down a frying pan and pulled the eggs out of the cooler. Waited for the answer that would come sooner or later.
When Steed had the omelet started he glanced over to Gambit. " I've got Murchison keeping an eye on McKay. Besides, I haven't had a chance to compare notes with you yet."
"I thought you said there was no need for explanations."
"Not for what you did, no," Steed said. "I've lost count of the times I've had to confront someone I 'd rather trust about evidence that made them look bad. And I had got those plans from the safe. Even if I didn't bother to hide the fact that they'd been compromised."
"That was one of the things that was bothering me," Gambit admitted. "You knew the combination to the safe. So you had to know it had a counter mechanism, right?"
"Of course," Steed said. "Every safe in the department which is authorized any material above the designation Secret has a counter – and a log -- which I deliberately did not fill out." He flipped the omelet the once and set out a plate for it. "And I took out insurance. You got the delivery, didn't you?"
"Last night," Gambit said. "The boy was waiting when I got in. I haven't opened it, though." He sighed with relief. "So you didn't break the rule after all."
"I smashed it into smithereens," Steed said fiercely, serving the omelet and bringing it over to the table to reassemble his composure. "You'll have to sit up for a few minutes to eat this, I'm afraid, but you need the protein."
"But if you took out insurance?" Gambit asked, studying Steed's face as the older man came over to help him get up out of the bed. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Steed was nearly as shaken by what had happened as Gambit was.
"I was taking a chance – a chance that you weren't involved," Steed said.
"Hey?" Gambit hadn't even considered that possibility. But Steed was dead serious.
"It became clear very rapidly that the kidnappers were playing me. An exercise in compliance, if you will. And one of the first things I was ordered to do was to tell no one – particularly you."
"Me?" Gambit tried not to groan as he got to his feet. Even with Steed's help it was damned uncomfortable. He wrapped the sheet around him and headed, carefully, for the table. "Why me?"
"Well, their excuse was that you'd rush in and get Purdey killed," Steed said, seeing him settled into a chair and then fetching over the omelet. "But it did occur to me in the dark hours that you would know how I might react better than most. Particularly after you turned up in the middle of the night and could have been checking to see if I were following orders. What were you doing there so late, anyway?"
"Catching up the paperwork. Spellman kept distracting me all day – that new gun, a drink at the bar – a long complicated joke…" He took a bite of the omelet. "This is good."
"Thanks." Steed poured himself a glass of wine and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
"So what made you decide that I wasn't in on it?" Gambit wanted to know.
"Three things," Steed said. "Thirdly, it seemed out of character. Secondly, I didn't think you'd endanger Purdey, and the idea that both of you had gone over seemed extraordinarily unlikely. But first and foremostly, if you were going to go to those lengths to get me to fetch you something out of the Department, it would have been for something a great deal more valuable than those attack plans."
"You said you weren't sure what they were after," Gambit remembered.
"I'm beginning to think that one of the things they were after was you," Steed said. "Spelman seems to have deliberately pushed to achieve a confrontation between us… It was bound to go badly, no matter which one of us came out of it on top – and he could always hope that one of us would end up dead."
"Purdey said that he wanted to destroy the department. That undermining you would leave us all checking over our shoulders."
"Yes. And he's succeeded at least in making me wonder about Tommy."
Gambit ate some more of the omelet, trying to concentrate on the puzzle and not the insistent pain from his lower back. "Those plans… what were they doing in that safe in the first place? We're not a military organization."
"Waiting to be turned over to the Americans."
"And they wouldn't be valid until they were turned over, would they?"
"Right."
"McKay said that you knew, Walters, and Spellman – besides himself. And you say that only McKay knew that you knew."
"That we know of," Steed hedged a little. "He might have told Spellman, since the papers were his responsibility as liaison. Or there might have been a listening device in the office – a small recording device – which would have broadened the list of suspects to anyone who could get into the building. But the people who were most likely to know about the papers didn't need me – they could have got at them anytime themselves."
"Which would mean that you were bound to suspect that the plans were already compromised. Especially if it was McKay."
"Yes." Steed didn't look very happy about the notion. "But you tell me that the moment McKay noticed that the safe had been opened he set up an alarm, right?"
"Right. And it wasn't just me. He had ____ and ____ checking out the carpark where Walters got killed."
"Yes…"
"You could call the Americans. Find out if, and when, he notified them about the security breach."
"I could." Steed reached for the phone. "Do you mind?"
"Go ahead," Gambit could stand a long distance call or two.
***
"Don't tell Purdey. She needed that vacation before all the fuss."
***
There was a tap on the door, and the handle began to turn. Steed reached for his brolly, but the head that came around the corner was that of a youngster, and bore a messenger's cap on top of the unruly locks. "Mr. Gambit?"
Gambit, who had shifted painfully to see who was coming in, relaxed. "Drew… Did you forget something last night?"
"Nah. Auntie Doris just sent you over some pies. Said I should remember her to you." He gave Steed a curious look.
"John Steed," that worthy said, nodding.
"Andrew Morris," the boy nodded hesitantly, and then made up his mind and came in. "I'll put these in the cooler then. They should be good hot or cold."
"Drew took me over to hospital last night," Gambit explained. "His Auntie and I went to school together."
"I see," said Steed, in the voice that meant "I don't see, but I'm not going to ask."
***
Alternate versions
Ficbits and Dialogue notes
I'd really need a good britpicker to do the epilogue story right. Especially since I've got to somehow indicate when Gambit code-switching into the broadest forms of Cockney and when he's speaking in the "posher" accent he's adopted as an adult.
Thinking Out Loud
Hostage really shakes up Gambit. It can't hardly help but do so… after all, Steed breaks the one unbreakable rule, and Gambit has to come around to understanding why – and accepting that Steed's reasons were good enough to go on with. I think that the combination of Travis' death and Steed's "betrayal", no matter why he did it, are what set Gambit to reassessing his life. Looking at the apartment and thinking, "yeah, it's got style, but is it my style," and then digging into the boxes of things that he hadn't unpacked.
In My Humble Opinion
A key episode, but one I find very hard to watch. I can see why they had trouble figuring out when to air it, even though they filmed it first in this season. It changes all the relationships in the triangle – can't help but do it if you take it seriously – and puts poor Purdey firmly into the category of "bait". It doesn't help that the transfer to DVD is orangeish and everyone looks sick. It does, however, set off a string of plotbunnies…
Favorite scene – Gambit coming to the rescue at the end.
my TNA fic links
Oct 18 06
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 in dark 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. Links to quotes and screencaps (where they appear) are courtesy of bromfield hall.
As a rule
*** means I'm still adding onto a piece or scene and
### means I'm satisfied with that bit for now.
---
http://www.bromfieldhall.co.uk/tnaquotes17.htm
Summary: For them as hasn't seen it lately: Purdey gets kidnapped, and Steed is pushed into breaking all the rules to save her. Unfortunately, that means that someone has to go after Steed, and it's Gambit who gets elected.
Scenes
Sesquidrabble: Hostage -- Aftershocks
Gambit lay staring at the ceiling, trying to find a way into sleep. His body ached from the physical blows, but they weren't the problem.
It was another kind of blow entirely.
He still didn't quite believe it, still didn't want to believe it. Steed had risked World War III by turning over those plans. The world against one person, even if it was Purdey, didn't seem like a fair exchange.
And yet…yet…
Memory brought him the crisp air of an autumn day, the bright reds standing out against the greens, the deep cold in his belly as he stared at Purdey standing frozen in terror, the cordite smoke still curling around her. His hands remembered the shape of the rifle in his hands – his heart the desperation in his soul as he passed the gun into the keeping of a madman.
Perhaps it was a fair trade after all.
###
Epilogue
***
Tom Wolfe Was Right follows "Hostage"
Since Steed had to make things right with McKay, and see to it that Spellman and his cronies were locked up tight, Gambit bagged the job of driving Purdey out to her mum's place. They waited only long enough to see that the kidnappers were secured and the first of the back-up agents had arrived before they started. Gambit had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd probably left Purdey's mother worrying after that phone call, and Purdey was uncomfortable wearing the same clothes she'd been in for days. He offered to take her round to collect her suitcase, but she just shook her head. "I've got some spare things at Mum's," she said, and then curled up like a kitten in the passenger seat and went to sleep.
He knew the way to the town where Purdey's stepfather held the bishopric, so he drove in that direction, taking the quietest roads he could find so as not to disturb her until it was necessary. It wasn't all that far out of the way, perhaps an extra twenty minutes, had the traffic cooperated. He only got caught behind a tractor once, and that was almost a relief, giving him a chance to flex his sore hands, and give them a rest from the steering wheel. He considered the dirt on them ruefully. A check in the rear view mirror told him that his face wasn't much better off, though the dark patch on his cheekbone was more bruise than dirt. So much for making a good impression.
He stopped in a turnout beside a river, just on the outskirts of his destination, and turned off the engine. Any farther and he'd probably end up backtracking -- he'd have to wake Purdey now. But he waited a little longer, watching her sleep. She slept like a child after too long an outing, wedged deep into the corner to avoid notice, with one hand propping up her head in lieu of a pillow. Her hair was lambent in the fading light, and her skin looked like porcelain, but there was something about the way that the shadows picked out the shape of the bones beneath that warned him that being held prisoner had been more of an ordeal than she was ever likely to admit. She'd lost weight, in any case, and he didn't think it was because they'd failed to feed her. Perhaps she'd been too worried to eat. His own guts had been in knots from the moment he'd first been called in by Tommy McKay. How much worse for Purdey, watching the plot unfold and unable to interfere? Gambit didn't want to contemplate what would have happened if Spellman's plans had gone according to order. He wouldn't have dared leave Purdey alive, nor Steed.
And even if I'd figured out that Steed had disappeared looking for Purdey, I'd've never been able to prove it. I'd have been left behind.
His gut still ached, to tell the truth, though that was hardly a surprise. He'd been punched often enough today. Oh well. He was wasting time.
"Purdey?" he waited until she'd shifted a little in response to her name before he touched her shoulder. "Purdey, wake up."
Her eyes flew open, bright with fear for the half-second before she recognized him and pulled a face. "What is it?"
"I need you to navigate," he told her. "Unlike Spellman, I've never seen your parents' house." He hadn't meant to rub that sore, but the words were out before he could call them back.
"It's not a house," she grumbled, sitting up to look around for her bearings. "It's a palace. He is a bishop." She pointed to one of the roads. "That way. Up by the cathedral."
"A palace?" Gambit stared at her. "A real palace?"
"Bishops often live in palaces," she informed him with amusement. "Or at least they're called palaces. Like vicars live in vicarages."
"Oh." Come to think of it, he'd heard that before. He started up the car and put it into gear. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mmm." She stretched as best she could. "All right, except for the crick in my neck. But I could use another ten hours, I think, once I've had some supper."
"Should we stop and get you some fish and chips or something?" he asked, seeing a shop up ahead.
"Oh, no, not on a Wednesday night. It is Wednesday night, isn't it?" She sounded suddenly uncertain.
"Yes," he reassured her. "But I don't see what that has to do with it."
"Wednesday night is choir practice. And this is the first Wednesday of the month, which means the combined choirs are practicing together and that means they've all brought pot luck to eat afterwards because the sessions always take so long. He sang baritone, you know." She hugged herself, as if she were chilled.
He switched on the heater. "Baritone?"
"Spellman." Purdey looked out the window, but he could hear the bitterness in her voice. "He was in the congregation here, up until two months ago when he moved up to London." She sighed. "Now I'm going to end up wondering about all the rest of them as well. Go left up ahead."
"All the rest of who?" Gambit asked as he made the turn.
"The choir." She obviously thought he should have reached the same conclusion.
"Are any of the rest of them working for the Department?" Gambit asked, reasonably.
"No," she conceded. "But several of them work for various Ministries in one capacity or another."
He smiled. "Lots of people work for the government," he pointed out. "But if you're worried we can always run background checks. Get me a list of names and addresses and I'll run them through the computer." It would be easy enough to do, and he'd be glad to do it, out of the unreasonable burst of relief he got when he realized that Purdey hadn't been the one to bring Spellman home for dinner. "I can do the entire congregation, if you're feeling nervous."
"Nervous? Me?" she pretended indignance, but her smile gave her away. "You'd better be careful. I'm likely to take you up on it."
"No problem." The walls of the cathedral appeared as the street curved, the stained glass bright in the deepening twilight. Gambit slowed down, looking at the nearby buildings. "I don't see a palace," he said.
"It's that one," she pointed. "The Victorian Horror down the lane on the left."
"I see it." By daylight, he suspected, the bushes which lined the iron railings would show themselves to be roses, but even in this light he could make out half a dozen gables, assorted crenellated towers, and a plethora of chimneys against the purpling sky. "I take it back," he said. "It does look like a palace. The kind you build out of toy blocks." There were lights in most of the windows, and as he pulled up in the nearest space a door opened on the side facing the cathedral and a slim figure shooed a gaggle of choirboys out into the night.
Even in silhouette she looked like Purdey. She had the same graceful way of moving, certainly, and when she turned her head to say something to someone still inside Gambit recognized the nose. Purdey rolled down her window. "Mum!" she called, and then, impatient with the barrier, opened her car door and got out to dash up the walk. Her mother met her halfway, exclaiming with surprise when she was enveloped in a hug and now Gambit could see that Purdey was taller by half a head or more. But the babble of the choirboys and the music and voices from inside the house were too loud for him to hear what Purdey was saying.
He thought about getting out to join them, and realized that he didn't really want to. Maybe if it had only been Purdey and her parents... But the thought of dealing with dozens of people was daunting. He was just too tired, and too achy, and he didn't feel like explaining the black eye. He slipped out of the shoulderbelt long enough to lean across the passenger seat and snag the doorhandle, grunting when every bruise he'd managed to acquire complained about the maneuver. But he got the door closed and was starting to crank up the window by the time Purdey reappeared outside the car.
"Gambit," she said uncertainly, through the remaining gap. "Aren't you coming in?
He looked up to meet her eyes, and shook his head. "If it turns out I might have to investigate one of those people, I'd just as soon they didn't know what I look like," he said.
"Oh." She pulled her head back and scowled, as if she'd been thwarted somehow and didn't like it. "I see. Well..." she reached in through the window and took the hand he automatically offered in return. "Another time then?"
He squeezed her hand. "Any time," he said. "Sleep well, Purdey. If you can, with all that going on."
That was the right thing to say, because her uncertainty vanished. "Just watch me," she said firmly, and squeezed his hand back. "Drive safe, Mike."
She let him go and he finished cranking up the window, grinning to himself when he heard Purdey's mum asking "Who is that?" just as the glass reached the top. Maybe by the time we actually meet you'll have forgiven me for giving you a fright, he thought. He sat up carefully and put the car into gear, thinking about maybe stopping for a couple of aspirin and a beer. It was a long way back to London.
The traffic was worse on the main roads and it was nearly nine when Gambit finally reached home. He came around the corner from the elevator to find a messenger boy sitting in the corridor outside his door, working his way through a battered paperback.
"Can I help you?"
The boy squinted up at him. "Your name Mike Gambit?" he asked. And at Gambit's nod added, "Can you prove it?" But he got to his feet quickly enough when Gambit produced his identification.
"Been wondering when you'd get here, Mister," he said, examining the card carefully and comparing the picture to Gambit's face. "Starting to think I'd be here all night."
"It's been a busy day," Gambit answered.
"I can tell," the youth gave him a long look, taking in the damage and dirt that still clung to Gambit's suit. He waved the paperback. "'sawright – I came prepared."
His accent was pure Cockney – like Gambit's had been before he'd gone to sea. Long hair but clean, a bony, friendly face – the kid couldn't be more than seventeen, so he'd left school young or he wouldn't be working during term time.
"Would you have stayed all night?" Gambit asked, signing the receipt on the clipboard.
The boy shrugged. "Well, I would 'ave 'ad to step out to get a bite to eat, that sort of thing. But I'd've come back. Special delivery – straight into the recipients 'and as soon as possible. That's what I get paid for, ain't it?" He tugged an envelope out of his coat and handed it to Gambit. "And there it is."
Gambit glanced at it. Steed's handwriting. He could guess what it was, but for the moment he didn't feel much like reading it. He stuffed it into an inner pocket and started to reach for his wallet. Then hesitated.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Starvin'. I been here since noon."
Gambit got out his key. "Want a sandwich? Or I could take you 'round the corner for a real meal. Least I can do after making you sit all that time." He wasn't quite sure why he was offering, except perhaps that Steed had seen the potential in him all those years ago and offered him dinner. And any kid who would sit tight all afternoon and into evening to deliver a packet to the right person, regardless, had potential. "Mind you, you'd have to call into your office – let them know where you are."
The boy's eyes had gone wary when Gambit offered the sandwich, but he relaxed when Gambit mentioned calling in. "That'd be all right I guess."
Gambit nodded and unlocked the door, being careful to keep his body language neutral. He remembered some of the hazards of being young and poor all too well. "You should call your folks too – just don't run up the long distance bill too much."
"Nah, me mum won't worry. I get in at all hours most nights." The boy followed Gambit into the flat and stopped just inside the door, giving a soft whistle. "Wow."
"Call her anyway. Phone's on the table," Gambit said, and waved the youngster in.
The boy was still rubbernecking. "Looks like something out of a magazine," he exclaimed with admiration. "I always thought they made those places up."
"They do. And get paid for it," Gambit said. "The bird I was dating when I moved in is an interior designer now."
"It's sure got style," the boy said, venturing in to get a better look.
"That's what Steed said." Gambit remembered. Not more than a month ago, was it, since Steed had needed a place to stay in London and Gambit had provided it? He'd been so complimented. But that was before Steed had dented the pedestal Gambit had put him on.
"Hey?" The boy was looking at him curiously.
"Nothing," Gambit said, shaking himself back to the present. He went into the kitchen and started rooting through the cooler for something he could offer as a drink. "What's your name, anyway?"
"'Drew. Drew Morris."
"Short for Andrew?"
"That's right."
Gambit paused as he was bringing down the glasses. "Any relation to Gertie Morris, runs the tobacconists on _____ Lane?"
"She's my great-aunt." Drew said with surprise. "You know Gertie?"
Gambit grinned. "Thought I recognized those dulcet tones." He dropped into the accent of his childhood. "Grew up on ____ Terrace I did. Gertie used to throw me out every afternoon for trying to charm me way into getting two lollies for the price of one."
"Don't know anyone named Gambit on ____ Terrace," Morris said, wrinkling his nose.
"You know where Meggie Whelan used to live?"
"Lady what always wore the purple hat? Third house from the end, I think."
"That's the one. She was my granny on me mum's side. Me dad was born down by the docks – nothing left of the place since the War – so we ended up with Granny." Gambit smiled to himself, partly for the memory, and partly because Drew Morris was looking like a better and better prospect. Observant and clever. He couldn't have been much more than twelve when Granny died, but he'd remembered. Gambit poured out the colas. "Have you decided what you want to eat yet?"
Drew shrugged. "A sandwich is all right," he allowed.
"Filet mignon would be better," Gambit opined. Making sandwiches wouldn't burn off his restlessness – and a sandwich wouldn't even begin to put a dent into the hungry ache in his middle.
"Filly minion? Ain't that a fancy kind of beefsteak?"
"Yeh."
"Don't think a restaurant what sells that kind o' thing would want me comin' in the door in this lot," Drew indicated his messenger's uniform with a wry air.
"You willing to run one more errand?" Gambit asked. "I'd like to clean up – that'll take five, ten minutes. Enough time for you to pop down two blocks and one over to the butchershop and pick up a whole tenderloin and a pound of bacon." He tugged a tenner out of his wallet to cover the cost. "We can chop off steaks as thick as we like, put them under the broiler and they'll be ready in no time."
"What's the bacon for then?"
"Wrap around the steak. I've got some salad left over to go along with, and a couple of potatoes we can boil up to mash. That is, if you've got the time."
"Just let me call in," Drew said, his eyes shining with what Gambit hoped was hunger and not greed. The tenner was another test, really. But worth it if it paid off. He dropped it on the kitchen counter and headed back toward the bathroom, only half listening as Andrew picked up the phone and started to dial. A little more Berkeley Square to balance out the playing fields of Eton, that's what the Department needed.
###
A shower and a change into jeans and a clean shirt later Gambit came back out into the main room to find Drew looking through his record collection.
"I put the food into the cooler," he said, without looking up. "And I fetched back some bread and butter as well, seeing as how you didn't have none."
The pile of change was sitting on the countertop. Gambit could see at a glance that the amount was probably correct.
***
"You feelin' all right?"
Gambit wanted to say, "I'm fine," but the words couldn't get past the pain from his back. He shook his head. "Stiff."
"You don't look so good. You ought to go to your doctor."
"This time of night? No… I'll be all right for now."
"Not bloody likely. Hospital then."
He wanted to argue, but the blood had frightened him more than he wanted to admit. "Maybe. You know how to drive?" If Purdey were home, he could have called her. But she wasn't. And Steed was too far away.
"Yeah. Haven't had a chance to take the test… me mum had to sell the car. But I know how – and I've got a learner's permit."
"Think you can get me to Charing Cross in one piece?"
"Too late for that," Drew said, taking Gambit's car keys and putting himself under Gambit's arm to support him out to the Jaguar. "But I can at least get you there without making things worse. Come on."
***
"I'll call a cab," he told the doctor.
"No need." Drew appeared at his elbow. "I'll get him home, then. And pick up the prescription, if he's got one."
"He does." The doctor, giving Gambit an odd look, passed the prescription over to the boy.
Gambit, exhausted by the tests, and more than a little fuzzy from the shot, stared at Drew. "What are you still doing here? It's got to be three o clock in the morning."
Drew took him by the arm and started him out the door. "My Uncle Lew remembers you. Says you got him out of a tight spot when he was a kid. Then you went off to sea and he never had a chance to pay you back."
"Lew…" Gambit tried to remember. "Lew Morris… Fair, thin, with bad eyes?" He knew which branch of the family now.
"That's him."
Gambit shook his head. "He didn't need me… He just needed a chance to take on the worst of the Peel Street lot without taking on the rest of them at the same time."
"He says you took a pounding for him," Drew said. "That's what happened today too, isn't it? You took a pounding for a friend."
"Something like that."
"Well, then, me getting you home is payback for Uncle Lew, isn't it?"
"It's not your problem."
"Well, he can't do it. He's nightblind now. And damn near blind when the sun is shining. My dad's ship is somewhere near the Phillippines, and my aunties sure aren't going to want to take a strange man home."
"Your aunt Doris might," Gambit said, tactlessly, and then bit his lip, remembering that he was being rude to a kid.
But Drew only sniggered. "Mam always said Auntie Doris started early. She's got eight kids now, did you know that? All girls but the last one."
"Eight?" Doris wasn't much older than Gambit was.
"Well, there's three come at the same time, so it's not as bad as it sounds but you'd think that six would have been enough babbies for anyone. And they still tried twice more till they got a boy."
***
The phone was ringing.
He tried to roll over and reach for it, and failed. Tried again, more slowly, when the bright pain had dulled a little and managed to snag the cord with his fingers. He pulled until the phone tipped over onto the bed beside him and fumbled for the receiver.
"Yeah."
"Gambit?" Steed's morning cheerfulness sounded dented. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" Gambit repeated, a flare of worry running across the pain. "D'you need me?"
"I was expecting you to be here an hour ago," Steed said. "Are you hungover?"
"No.. uhm. Yes…Maybe." A hangover. A perfect excuse for sounding like he was in pain. Except he wasn't sure why he was making excuses. Steed had seen him take that beating. Hell, Steed had struck the first blow. Ah. "Do you need me?" he asked again, hoping the answer would be "no."
"I was hoping to compare notes with you on Tommy McKay."
"McKay?"
"He's the only person at the department who knew I was aware of those plans. He showed me where he was keeping them – knowing I had the combination to the safe. And he was the one who first mentioned the possibility of a problem agent to me. There's a chance – a thin one, I grant you, but a chance – that he and Spellman were working together."
Gambit couldn't think about anything but the bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. Stupid place to have left them. "I dunno. Why'd he tell me where Spellman lived then? I wouldn't've got there in time." He tried to sit up, and felt like he was being hit in the back with a board full of nails. In spite of everything, he made a noise.
"Mike!" Steed was definitely worried now. "Is there someone there with you?"
"No."
"Look, I'm coming over."
"Bring the key." Gambit said, glad again that he'd trusted Steed once enough to leave a spare at the stud farm. He let go of the phone and tried to find a position that hurt a little less.
***
"Gambit?" Steed came through the door warily, his eyes resting briefly on the man in the bed before checking for a second presence. He advanced into the apartment with his brolly held ready, glancing at the alcove and taking a sidetrip into the kitchen, but Gambit had been telling the truth – there was no one else in the apartment.
There was, however, a crumpled paper bag and a prescription bottle lying on the counter. He picked it up and read the label. Codeine and acetaminophen. Prescribed the day before by a doctor Steed had never heard of, and filled by the druggist at Charing Cross Hospital.
"I could use one of those," Gambit said from where he was curled up on the bed. "If you don't mind."
"So it seems," Steed said, relieved to find that Gambit was at least aware enough to know what was happening in his apartment. He took down a coffee cup and filled it with water to bring it along.
Gambit accepted the pill and washed it down awkwardly, spilling some of the water because he hadn't sat up.
"I didn't think I'd hit you that hard," Steed admitted. Gambit looked terrible, pale and badly slept.
"You didn't," Gambit said, handing back the cup and letting his eyes fall closed again. "At least, not if the tests they did last night mean anything. It was the kidney punch. Bruised things up a bit."
"Should you be in hospital?"
"Not if it doesn't get worse. Bed rest, lots of water, the pills… I just need a few days off."
"A week at least, if memory serves," Steed said, feeling some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "And you'd be better off with two."
Gambit pried open an eye to look at him. "If memory serves?"
Steed smiled. If Gambit's curiosity was intact, then he wasn't too badly off. "Do you remember asking me about Cairo?" he said, "and a certain garlic sausage?" He fetched a chair over from the table and sat down near the bed, "Well, before I managed to solve that one I spent a week in a harem. Didn't do me any good – I wasn't in much better shape than you are now."
He had Gambit's attention now, which was an improvement over the pain having it, so he settled his hat onto the nearby statue and went on. "There was this very large eunuch, you see…"
###
Gambit didn't know how he'd expected Steed to react to the news that he was laid up. A bit of sympathy, perhaps. He hadn't been entirely surprised that Steed had come by to check on him. And, knowing Steed for a practical man, he hadn't been all that surprised that Steed had helped him attend to a few necessities before he'd fallen back to sleep.
But here it was afternoon – late afternoon by the light – and Steed was still at Gambit's apartment, with his feet propped up, a book in his hand, and an air of having settled well and truly in for the long haul.
"I thought you meant to go after McKay," Gambit said.
"Awake again are you?" Steed put down his book and checked his watch. "Hmm. I think you'd do better for a bite to eat before you take the next dose," he said, getting up and heading for the kitchen. Gambit watched as the older man pulled down a frying pan and pulled the eggs out of the cooler. Waited for the answer that would come sooner or later.
When Steed had the omelet started he glanced over to Gambit. " I've got Murchison keeping an eye on McKay. Besides, I haven't had a chance to compare notes with you yet."
"I thought you said there was no need for explanations."
"Not for what you did, no," Steed said. "I've lost count of the times I've had to confront someone I 'd rather trust about evidence that made them look bad. And I had got those plans from the safe. Even if I didn't bother to hide the fact that they'd been compromised."
"That was one of the things that was bothering me," Gambit admitted. "You knew the combination to the safe. So you had to know it had a counter mechanism, right?"
"Of course," Steed said. "Every safe in the department which is authorized any material above the designation Secret has a counter – and a log -- which I deliberately did not fill out." He flipped the omelet the once and set out a plate for it. "And I took out insurance. You got the delivery, didn't you?"
"Last night," Gambit said. "The boy was waiting when I got in. I haven't opened it, though." He sighed with relief. "So you didn't break the rule after all."
"I smashed it into smithereens," Steed said fiercely, serving the omelet and bringing it over to the table to reassemble his composure. "You'll have to sit up for a few minutes to eat this, I'm afraid, but you need the protein."
"But if you took out insurance?" Gambit asked, studying Steed's face as the older man came over to help him get up out of the bed. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Steed was nearly as shaken by what had happened as Gambit was.
"I was taking a chance – a chance that you weren't involved," Steed said.
"Hey?" Gambit hadn't even considered that possibility. But Steed was dead serious.
"It became clear very rapidly that the kidnappers were playing me. An exercise in compliance, if you will. And one of the first things I was ordered to do was to tell no one – particularly you."
"Me?" Gambit tried not to groan as he got to his feet. Even with Steed's help it was damned uncomfortable. He wrapped the sheet around him and headed, carefully, for the table. "Why me?"
"Well, their excuse was that you'd rush in and get Purdey killed," Steed said, seeing him settled into a chair and then fetching over the omelet. "But it did occur to me in the dark hours that you would know how I might react better than most. Particularly after you turned up in the middle of the night and could have been checking to see if I were following orders. What were you doing there so late, anyway?"
"Catching up the paperwork. Spellman kept distracting me all day – that new gun, a drink at the bar – a long complicated joke…" He took a bite of the omelet. "This is good."
"Thanks." Steed poured himself a glass of wine and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
"So what made you decide that I wasn't in on it?" Gambit wanted to know.
"Three things," Steed said. "Thirdly, it seemed out of character. Secondly, I didn't think you'd endanger Purdey, and the idea that both of you had gone over seemed extraordinarily unlikely. But first and foremostly, if you were going to go to those lengths to get me to fetch you something out of the Department, it would have been for something a great deal more valuable than those attack plans."
"You said you weren't sure what they were after," Gambit remembered.
"I'm beginning to think that one of the things they were after was you," Steed said. "Spelman seems to have deliberately pushed to achieve a confrontation between us… It was bound to go badly, no matter which one of us came out of it on top – and he could always hope that one of us would end up dead."
"Purdey said that he wanted to destroy the department. That undermining you would leave us all checking over our shoulders."
"Yes. And he's succeeded at least in making me wonder about Tommy."
Gambit ate some more of the omelet, trying to concentrate on the puzzle and not the insistent pain from his lower back. "Those plans… what were they doing in that safe in the first place? We're not a military organization."
"Waiting to be turned over to the Americans."
"And they wouldn't be valid until they were turned over, would they?"
"Right."
"McKay said that you knew, Walters, and Spellman – besides himself. And you say that only McKay knew that you knew."
"That we know of," Steed hedged a little. "He might have told Spellman, since the papers were his responsibility as liaison. Or there might have been a listening device in the office – a small recording device – which would have broadened the list of suspects to anyone who could get into the building. But the people who were most likely to know about the papers didn't need me – they could have got at them anytime themselves."
"Which would mean that you were bound to suspect that the plans were already compromised. Especially if it was McKay."
"Yes." Steed didn't look very happy about the notion. "But you tell me that the moment McKay noticed that the safe had been opened he set up an alarm, right?"
"Right. And it wasn't just me. He had ____ and ____ checking out the carpark where Walters got killed."
"Yes…"
"You could call the Americans. Find out if, and when, he notified them about the security breach."
"I could." Steed reached for the phone. "Do you mind?"
"Go ahead," Gambit could stand a long distance call or two.
***
"Don't tell Purdey. She needed that vacation before all the fuss."
***
There was a tap on the door, and the handle began to turn. Steed reached for his brolly, but the head that came around the corner was that of a youngster, and bore a messenger's cap on top of the unruly locks. "Mr. Gambit?"
Gambit, who had shifted painfully to see who was coming in, relaxed. "Drew… Did you forget something last night?"
"Nah. Auntie Doris just sent you over some pies. Said I should remember her to you." He gave Steed a curious look.
"John Steed," that worthy said, nodding.
"Andrew Morris," the boy nodded hesitantly, and then made up his mind and came in. "I'll put these in the cooler then. They should be good hot or cold."
"Drew took me over to hospital last night," Gambit explained. "His Auntie and I went to school together."
"I see," said Steed, in the voice that meant "I don't see, but I'm not going to ask."
***
Alternate versions
Ficbits and Dialogue notes
I'd really need a good britpicker to do the epilogue story right. Especially since I've got to somehow indicate when Gambit code-switching into the broadest forms of Cockney and when he's speaking in the "posher" accent he's adopted as an adult.
Thinking Out Loud
Hostage really shakes up Gambit. It can't hardly help but do so… after all, Steed breaks the one unbreakable rule, and Gambit has to come around to understanding why – and accepting that Steed's reasons were good enough to go on with. I think that the combination of Travis' death and Steed's "betrayal", no matter why he did it, are what set Gambit to reassessing his life. Looking at the apartment and thinking, "yeah, it's got style, but is it my style," and then digging into the boxes of things that he hadn't unpacked.
In My Humble Opinion
A key episode, but one I find very hard to watch. I can see why they had trouble figuring out when to air it, even though they filmed it first in this season. It changes all the relationships in the triangle – can't help but do it if you take it seriously – and puts poor Purdey firmly into the category of "bait". It doesn't help that the transfer to DVD is orangeish and everyone looks sick. It does, however, set off a string of plotbunnies…
Favorite scene – Gambit coming to the rescue at the end.
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