New Avengers Snippets!
Aug. 1st, 2006 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanMine Story (follows Angels of Death)
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.
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.
"Medical leave?" Gambit didn't take the ultimatum at all well.
"Think of it as a holiday," Steed advised the younger man. "Two weeks off with pay." Kendrick had wanted three, but two weeks would be a start, and Steed could steer Gambit into some easy assignment afterwards.
"I shan't want to go bathing at Brighton Beach with this," Gambit said, eyeing the bulky bandage on his arm with distaste. "Or do you mean for me to rent a caravan and go on a ramble through Wales?"
"You might try visiting that aunt of yours… The one who sends you the pyjamas." Steed meant it as a joke, but to his relief he saw Gambit go thoughtful at the suggestion.
"I might. I couldn't tell her how I got laid up – she'd have kittens. But she'd be glad to put me up – and to put up with me. That's an idea, Steed."
"Leave a number," Steed ordered.
"Where are you going?" Purdey asked, coming into the room in time to catch the last sentence of the conversation.
"Off to seek feminine companionship," Gambit teased, grinning up at her as he reached for pen and paper. "You'll have to practice your maternal instincts on Steed for a week or two."
***
Steed was seriously contemplating the option of throwing caution to the winds when the telephone rang. He nodded at Purdey, and disentangled himself. "Do excuse me," he said, taking comfort in the steadiness of his own voice.
He picked up the receiver. "Steed."
"It's Gambit," said the voice on the other end. "I might not have long, so listen. I spotted Harry Trask in a bar and followed him to an old coal mine two miles southwest of Dalton Halt. He's met up with four other men. One of them looks familiar – I think I've seen him in the files, and the other three are standard issue thugs. There's a sixth man, too – he took a potshot at me, and I ran for it, but I'm not sure how long I'll…" The line went dead in a sudden burst of sound.
"Gambit! Gambit!" Steed rattled the contacts, and got nothing but a ringtone for his trouble.
"He's on holiday!" Purdey said indignantly, coming around to stand by Steed.
"He's in trouble," Steed said, reaching down to dial again. "Get the car – and check the map for a place called Dalton Halt."
Her face changed immediately, reflecting the worry on his own, and she darted for the door. Steed wanted to follow, but he needed some information first.
After six rings he got an answer. "Files."
"Steed here, I'm going to be radioing in in about fifteen minutes and I'm going to need everything you can tell me about Harry Trask."
***
"Steed! Purdey! Over here!" the whisper came as a relief to Steed, even though he couldn't quite tell where "over here" was. Purdey spotted the fingers sticking out of the crate first, and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention and point the way. They checked for watchers before making their way across the storehouse.
"Gambit?" Steed doublechecked as he bent down beside the peephole.
"Hullo, Steed. I don't suppose you can get me out of here?"
"It won't be easy," Steed said. "They've piled six or seven crates on top of the one you're inside."
"I thought as much," Gambit said. "I tried kicking out the other end, but it didn't go far."
"There's a wall in the way," Purdey said. "We'll either have to clear the boxes from on top or smash in this end."
"My head's right next this end," Gambit protested. "And I've got about as much room to maneuver in as a sardine."
"We'll have to pry the boards outward then," Steed said. "Because it would take a forklift to get those top crates off, and that would attract far too much attention. It's going to take time."
"I'll be here," Gambit quipped. "I can guarantee you that."
***
It took a good ten minutes to get the enough of the end of the crate off for Gambit to wriggle out. His eyes were red-rimmed and his clothing stank of tear gas, which settled the question of how he'd been taken prisoner neatly, but the question of why still interested Steed.
"They were going on about having a volunteer to test the Device," Gambit said, when asked. "Something they're going to steal from the base just over the next hill."
***
Gambit tucked the jacket over Steed and sat back on his heels, too tired to dig any more.
"Sorry," Steed whispered. "I'm not much use like this."
"Just rest a bit, and then you can help," Gambit lied automatically. He let his head droop onto his crossed arms. Just a few minutes rest... "I wonder if Purdey got clear."
The name seemed to agitate Steed, and he shifted, wincing. "About Purdey…" he said, and was interrupted by a coughing fit. As soon as it finished he tried again. "About Purdey," he said, in a very rough, low voice. "I never encouraged her, Mike."
"You didn't need to," Gambit sighed. He'd thought that through a long time ago. "I know we get a little hot some times, but it's always been ladies' choice. Especially with Purdey."
Steed closed his eyes and moved his chin in what might have been a nod if Gambit hadn't braced his neck and head so firmly. "Yes. But nothing's happened. Not yet. I've lost too many friends…"
Gambit had wondered. It was clear to him that Purdey had been signalling her willingness to Steed for some time, and equally clear that Steed had gotten all the fonder of her of late. God knows Gambit couldn't have resisted temptation for this long. But Steed had. Out of friendship. He thought of all of the funerals Steed had been to in the past two years. Funerals of old friends. Sometimes it seemed like all of the chickens were coming to roost at once for a long career of taking chances. It would be Steed's funeral one of these days. Or Gambit's. Best to take good memories along.
"Well, you're not losing me. Not to anything as stupid as jealousy, anyway. And at least you'd be safe with Purdey." And she'd be safe with you.
"If it's any consolation," Steed said softly. "I don't think she'll stay long. I think it's curiosity, more than anything else."
Gambit could see that. Steed had a reputation for being an amazing bed-partner – the sort who never left a lady unsatisfied. Hell, if he were a woman, Gambit would have probably been attracted to that suave sophistication. God knew he was still astonished, in the depths of his gutter-rat soul, that Steed had bestowed him the honor of friendship. Time to start earning it again. "It's all right, Steed," he said. "I trust you. I trust both of you." He quirked a smile. "And maybe you can teach her something really useful that I can benefit from in the future, hey?"
That got a laugh from Steed, and if it turned into another cough, at least he was still half-smiling when it was over. Gambit patted his shoulder and turned to face the rubble again. "Just a few more feet…"
***
Purdey bit her lip as the soldier eased the end of the long probe through the rubble and bent over his headphones. She noticed that the others had all fallen silent too, waiting.
"I hear breathing. I'm guessing, but I think there are at least two different men."
But which two?
"Now what?" she asked the Brigadier.
"We get some air in there. Then we come at them from the lateral tunnel. There's no way through this cave-in without collapsing the entire roof on their heads."
"Won't that take longer? Coming from the side?"
"Yes, but it's safer. And the important thing is to get them out alive, if we can."
***
"Gambit? Gambit!"
Gambit roused himself painfully. "Whaizzit?" he asked blearily.
"Gambit, listen. Do you hear it?"
"No."
"Come over by me. Put your head on the ground."
"I can't. I'll fall asleep."
"Come anyway."
Gambit crawled, elbows-and-knees to save his poor torn up hands, over to Steed and collapsed next to the older man. He rested his ear against the ground and heard what Steed had heard. Something mechanical, and voices. "They're trying to dig us out."
"Yes," Steed said. "Purdey must have got clear."
"Good." Gambit closed his eyes.
"Gambit, why are you shivering? Mike!"
"…cold…"
"You're shocky. Nudge up; we'll keep each other warm till they get here."
"Isn't that Purdey's job?"
"Don't argue." Gambit felt Steed's hand fumbling under his shoulders, pulling him closer and he turned obligingly, ending up in a kind of an awkward hug with his head tucked up between Steed's arm and chest. It felt strange, but warm and somehow comforting. "That's better," Steed said.
"Your back." Gambit remembered belatedly.
"It still hurts," Steed said. "And so do my legs, which is a good sign. But I'm chilled. And you're hurt worse than you told me."
"I wasn't then," Gambit voice cracked on the useless protest. "But one of the beams had a nail in it and I couldn't see it in the dark. Tore my arm open."
"So how much blood have you lost?"
"I've no idea. Too much, probably. I'm very tired, John." Gambit closed his eyes, not that it made any difference with the flashlight dead, and wondered how Steed managed to find his shoulder to pat without any light.
"Then you should rest," the older man said. "Let them do the work for a little."
"I'm afraid to fall asleep," Gambit murmured, feeling unconsciousness barking at his heels.
"I'll be here." Steed replied, so solidly that Gambit had to smile.
"All right then," he whispered, and let sleep take him.
###
Steed lay quietly, looking into the darkness with unfrightened eyes. He'd been here before, many times, and the possibility of imminent death no longer had the power to twist all his attention from more important matters.
Like friendship.
He wondered if Gambit had fallen into coma yet. The younger man's breathing was slower now, and his skin was cooler under Steed's hand. It would be the worst sort of irony if Steed survived this ordeal and Gambit didn't. A man wasn't meant to outlive the one he'd passed the mantle onto.
A man wasn't meant to outlive all his friends.
Best reason to make as many friends as possible, I suppose. Though he hadn't really expected Gambit or Purdey to become much more than colleagues. They were a different generation than his own, in far more ways than one. He'd thought to put some polish on them, to round out their training, and ended up depending on the pair of them as he hadn't depended on a living soul in years. Not since Tara. It isn't a matter of mere friendship with these two. It's gone beyond that. Steed knew himself for a man who made friends easily, who found himself on amicable terms even with ideological enemies as often as not. But he also knew himself for a man who could close the file, turn away with only a small measure of grief from those who betrayed or died. Most of the time. But if Gambit died… I'll hunt them down, and I won't stop until I've found them. Purdey would help. Gambit meant as much to her as he did to Steed.
Though what, precisely, he meant to Steed, was difficult to say. Steed remembered the first time he'd seen Mike Gambit – a long shadow jumping down into the dark underpass where four thugs in the employ of a madman had cornered Steed for the purpose of keeping him from an important meeting. He'd thought the odds had gone even worse until the shadow came out of his crouch and head-butted the nearest yob into a trash receptacle. The ensuing melee had been brief, thanks to Steed's steel lined bowler and Gambit's enthusiastic, if unscientific, application of force. Steed, still in a hurry, had hauled his unexpected rescuer out of the danger zone as soon as it was possible, pressed a card into his hand, and told him to call the next day. And what had turned up on Steed's doorstep was a lanky youngster – not yet twenty-three – with six years duty in the Merchant Navy already under his belt and two years spent working at whatever came to hand as he tried to fill in some of the schooling he'd skipped over at fourteen in the hopes of turning himself into officer material. There'd been a good bit of potential even then, as Steed had discovered over the course of dinner and a rather enjoyable pub crawl, and when the background check turned up clean Steed had had no qualms about recruiting that combination of native intelligence and quick reflexes into Mother's little merry band.
He hadn't seen a great deal of Gambit for a while after that – had heard about his accomplishments in training, of course, and encountered him now and then in the field afterwards. He'd taken some interest in the lad, but it had been occasional hints as to the proper appreciation of wine and the other finer things in life, as well as an avuncular amusement at seeing the addition of three-piece suits to the wardrobe of jeans and loud shirts. It hadn't been friendship. At the most he'd felt a sort of vague pride when his candidate's performance had outstripped that of some other experienced agent's protégé.
But there'd come a time when Gambit, recovering from three bullets taken as he'd come over the Wall, had been the only man available to help Steed plough through old files in search of clues to a new puzzle. And Steed had discovered during a week of dusty paperwork that the youngster with the ready grin had matured into a man who had lost none of his joie de vivre and whose wits were very nearly a match for his own. They'd solved that puzzle, and gone on to solve another with the help of Purdey, fresh from her own training and able to go where no man could pass unnoticed. And somehow, when Steed needed assistants after that, there'd never been any question of whom to call.
Steed knew that there were speculations at the ministry about the three of them – that only Purdey's steadfast – and very public – refusal to grace Gambit's bed had kept rumors of a ménage à trois from being bandied around. But that was a mere question of sex, and Steed was far too experienced to mistake chemistry for love. Or trust.
Ah, perhaps that's it. I trust them.
That was what made the difference. It wasn't just that they enjoyed each other's company; that they played as well as worked together. It was also that Steed could relax if Gambit was behind him, and enjoy Purdey's long legs without wondering about whether or not she might have sold out to some better bargainer. They might be pushed into doing something stupid – no one was without a price – but if they were pushed it would be for reasons that Steed understood. The safety of the nation, or more likely still, the life of a friend.
Steed's left arm, trapped beneath Gambit's head, had gone blessedly numb. It was the only place on his body that didn't hurt, although the numbness made him frantic to move. He wouldn't though. If Gambit were only sleeping, he shouldn't be disturbed.
###
The sun was coming up when Purdey heard shouts from the diggings. She untangled herself from the blanket and put down her coffee, waiting just a moment for the Brigadier's nod of approval before darting to the edge of the ditch to watch.
They were just bringing a loaded stretcher out of the side tunnel. A blanket was over the head and she gasped, but one of the soldiers beside her steadied her. "It's all right, Miss. The Surgeon Lieutenant wouldn't be pacing him if he were dead. I'm betting they just didn't want any dirt from the tunnel to fall on his face while they were bringing him through."
But which one is he? She craned her neck for clues, but the blankets and straps didn't even give her a chance to guess at height and weight.
"Here, Miss," the soldier handed her to one of his mates, who passed her along to the next fellow, all over the piles of dirt until she'd come around the hole in time to kneel by the stretcher as it was placed on the ground and watch as the doctor flipped back the blanket.
He was filthy, and his nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask, but she knew him even through layers of coal dust and blood. "Gambit," she said, hoping he'd open his eyes. "Mike!"
"Excuse me, Miss," one of the orderlies was busy with scissors, cutting away the filthy clothing.
"I can do that," Purdey said, appropriating the scissors. "You do the IVs and things."
"You're sure he won't mind, Miss? I mean…" the young soldier blushed, and Purdey felt herself able to smile for the first time in hours.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," she said, and let the soldier draw his own conclusions. It was better to have something to do. Kept her from wondering whether or not they'd found Steed alive as well.
And it wasn't like Gambit would ever be able to use any of these clothes again. She wondered what had happened to the leather jacket he'd been wearing. It might have protected him from some of the damage that she was uncovering. Bruises aplenty – purples and greens made a patchwork on skin that was inordinately pale where it wasn't filthy – and more scrapes and cuts than she wanted to think about. There was a makeshift bandage on his left arm, and she hesitated, wondering. "Do you want me to cut this away too?"
"Yes, please." The medic had swabbed the other arm and started an IV.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Sullivan, we need you down below."
"Coming," the young doctor said, and tucked a blanket up over Gambit. To his assistant he added. "Clean any open wounds, treat for shock, add a second IV and get him typed and crossmatched for a blood transfusion as soon as possible. We'll have to get him on antibiotics too, as soon as we can find out whether or not he's allergic."
"Right, sir."
"He's not allergic to penicillin, I know that for a fact," Purdey told the orderly. She had to go carefully to get the bandage off – it was slippery with blood and pus. As she saw what it was covering she couldn't help but hiss through her teeth with sympathy. "That's got to hurt."
"Here, pour this on it while he's still unconscious." The orderly handed her a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and Purdey obeyed the instruction quickly, wincing as the stuff foamed angrily in the jagged wound.
"You wouldn't happen to know the last time he had a tetanus jab, Miss?"
"Six months gone," Purdey answered. It was after he'd been stabbed by Spence in what she'd thought was a friendly matchup over which man would take her to dinner until Spence had fallen down dead and Gambit had stumbled out of the gym bleeding. The doctors had wanted him to spend the night in the infirmary, but Gambit had insisted that all he needed was a few stitches and he'd be good to go. He had been too, that was the thing to remember. Gambit was nearly as indestructible as Steed.
He didn't look it at the moment. She poured some of the hydrogen peroxide on his poor misused hands. They'd been scraped raw and considering the kind of calluses that Gambit had from all the karate he did, Purdey wasn't sure she wanted to know how they'd gotten that way. He'd lost one nail and split three of the others. The rest were ragged and filthy, like he'd been trying to dig his way out of the tunnel barehanded.
The orderly was frowning at Gambit's right arm. "Did he have stitches in?"
"Yes," she answered. "He got shot ten days ago. A flesh wound. Why?"
"Because it's torn open again. You lot live dangerously, don't you, Miss?"
"Sometimes," Purdey had to agree. "Does his skin feel cold to you?"
"That's the shock." The surgeon lieutenant was back. "He's lost a great deal of blood. We'll have to get both of them back to the infirmary, as soon as possible."
"Both of them?" Purdey asked.
"They're bringing the other one up now. He asked for you, I think. You are Purdey?"
"He did? Yes, I mean, I am…"
"Go and let him see that you're all right while I work on this fellow." His phrasing freed her, let her leave Gambit knowing he was in good hands while she darted over to the pit to help as the soldiers got the second stretcher up to the surface.
This time she didn't wait – she flipped back the top of the blanket herself and found Steed underneath, smiling. "Steed," she sighed.
"Hallo, Purdey," he said in a soft voice, as if he couldn't take a deep breath.
She realized that they'd strapped him to a backboard, and wrapped a cervical collar around his neck. She touched it lightly. "What's all this?"
"Precautionary measures." Steed whispered. "There was a rather large rock on top of me before Gambit dug me out, and he was worried about spinal damage. But everything still wiggles when I ask it to. It just hurts a bit."
"It sounds like it," Purdey said.
"That's the broken ribs," Steed said, and grimaced. "How's Gambit?"
"He looks like he's been through the mill. And he's still unconscious. The doctor says he needs a transfusion."
"Badly," Steed was somber. "He's been fading for the past few hours."
"The Brigadier said they couldn't get to you through the original passage without bringing down the entire tunnel."
"Nor could they," Steed agreed. "Gambit nearly killed himself trying it from our end."
"What happened to Trask?"
"Dead. Under the cave-in. The soldiers said they'd try to retrieve the body. How about Villanueva?"
"Escaped, I'm afraid. He destroyed the mine lift and by the time I managed to climb out he was gone."
"Ah, well." Steed grunted. "We'll have to get him later, then." He shifted restlessly, as much as he could with all that strapping over him, and pulled a face.
"I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner," Purdey said, tucking Steed's hair back from his forehead. "We came as soon as we could."
"I'm just grateful you got us out at all," Steed sighed. His eyes were drifting shut. "Keep an eye on Gambit, will you, love?"
He's really out of it, Purdey realized. But there was no arguing with him. She bent down and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll do better than that," she said. "If Gambit could donate blood to me when I was hurt, it should work the other way round."
Steed chuckled softly. "And you always insist that he's not your type…"
***
Alternate versions
Ficbits and Dialogue notes
Thinking Out Loud
The base over the next hill is usually unoccupied, but UNIT is using it, temporarily. Trask and Villanueva are trying to steal some gadget that the Doctor's been working on. They've been hired, and aren't quite sure what it's supposed to do, but they're willing to experiment on Gambit. Either very late Jon or early Tom… If I use Sarah Jane's "I'm from 1980" as my guideline (which I prefer to do), I can get away with it.
my TNA fic links
*****
n.b. this entry originally had the snippets from House of Cards and Angels of Death, but I moved them when I rethought how I wanted to work. But that's why the comments read the way they do.
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.
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.
"Medical leave?" Gambit didn't take the ultimatum at all well.
"Think of it as a holiday," Steed advised the younger man. "Two weeks off with pay." Kendrick had wanted three, but two weeks would be a start, and Steed could steer Gambit into some easy assignment afterwards.
"I shan't want to go bathing at Brighton Beach with this," Gambit said, eyeing the bulky bandage on his arm with distaste. "Or do you mean for me to rent a caravan and go on a ramble through Wales?"
"You might try visiting that aunt of yours… The one who sends you the pyjamas." Steed meant it as a joke, but to his relief he saw Gambit go thoughtful at the suggestion.
"I might. I couldn't tell her how I got laid up – she'd have kittens. But she'd be glad to put me up – and to put up with me. That's an idea, Steed."
"Leave a number," Steed ordered.
"Where are you going?" Purdey asked, coming into the room in time to catch the last sentence of the conversation.
"Off to seek feminine companionship," Gambit teased, grinning up at her as he reached for pen and paper. "You'll have to practice your maternal instincts on Steed for a week or two."
***
Steed was seriously contemplating the option of throwing caution to the winds when the telephone rang. He nodded at Purdey, and disentangled himself. "Do excuse me," he said, taking comfort in the steadiness of his own voice.
He picked up the receiver. "Steed."
"It's Gambit," said the voice on the other end. "I might not have long, so listen. I spotted Harry Trask in a bar and followed him to an old coal mine two miles southwest of Dalton Halt. He's met up with four other men. One of them looks familiar – I think I've seen him in the files, and the other three are standard issue thugs. There's a sixth man, too – he took a potshot at me, and I ran for it, but I'm not sure how long I'll…" The line went dead in a sudden burst of sound.
"Gambit! Gambit!" Steed rattled the contacts, and got nothing but a ringtone for his trouble.
"He's on holiday!" Purdey said indignantly, coming around to stand by Steed.
"He's in trouble," Steed said, reaching down to dial again. "Get the car – and check the map for a place called Dalton Halt."
Her face changed immediately, reflecting the worry on his own, and she darted for the door. Steed wanted to follow, but he needed some information first.
After six rings he got an answer. "Files."
"Steed here, I'm going to be radioing in in about fifteen minutes and I'm going to need everything you can tell me about Harry Trask."
***
"Steed! Purdey! Over here!" the whisper came as a relief to Steed, even though he couldn't quite tell where "over here" was. Purdey spotted the fingers sticking out of the crate first, and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention and point the way. They checked for watchers before making their way across the storehouse.
"Gambit?" Steed doublechecked as he bent down beside the peephole.
"Hullo, Steed. I don't suppose you can get me out of here?"
"It won't be easy," Steed said. "They've piled six or seven crates on top of the one you're inside."
"I thought as much," Gambit said. "I tried kicking out the other end, but it didn't go far."
"There's a wall in the way," Purdey said. "We'll either have to clear the boxes from on top or smash in this end."
"My head's right next this end," Gambit protested. "And I've got about as much room to maneuver in as a sardine."
"We'll have to pry the boards outward then," Steed said. "Because it would take a forklift to get those top crates off, and that would attract far too much attention. It's going to take time."
"I'll be here," Gambit quipped. "I can guarantee you that."
***
It took a good ten minutes to get the enough of the end of the crate off for Gambit to wriggle out. His eyes were red-rimmed and his clothing stank of tear gas, which settled the question of how he'd been taken prisoner neatly, but the question of why still interested Steed.
"They were going on about having a volunteer to test the Device," Gambit said, when asked. "Something they're going to steal from the base just over the next hill."
***
Gambit tucked the jacket over Steed and sat back on his heels, too tired to dig any more.
"Sorry," Steed whispered. "I'm not much use like this."
"Just rest a bit, and then you can help," Gambit lied automatically. He let his head droop onto his crossed arms. Just a few minutes rest... "I wonder if Purdey got clear."
The name seemed to agitate Steed, and he shifted, wincing. "About Purdey…" he said, and was interrupted by a coughing fit. As soon as it finished he tried again. "About Purdey," he said, in a very rough, low voice. "I never encouraged her, Mike."
"You didn't need to," Gambit sighed. He'd thought that through a long time ago. "I know we get a little hot some times, but it's always been ladies' choice. Especially with Purdey."
Steed closed his eyes and moved his chin in what might have been a nod if Gambit hadn't braced his neck and head so firmly. "Yes. But nothing's happened. Not yet. I've lost too many friends…"
Gambit had wondered. It was clear to him that Purdey had been signalling her willingness to Steed for some time, and equally clear that Steed had gotten all the fonder of her of late. God knows Gambit couldn't have resisted temptation for this long. But Steed had. Out of friendship. He thought of all of the funerals Steed had been to in the past two years. Funerals of old friends. Sometimes it seemed like all of the chickens were coming to roost at once for a long career of taking chances. It would be Steed's funeral one of these days. Or Gambit's. Best to take good memories along.
"Well, you're not losing me. Not to anything as stupid as jealousy, anyway. And at least you'd be safe with Purdey." And she'd be safe with you.
"If it's any consolation," Steed said softly. "I don't think she'll stay long. I think it's curiosity, more than anything else."
Gambit could see that. Steed had a reputation for being an amazing bed-partner – the sort who never left a lady unsatisfied. Hell, if he were a woman, Gambit would have probably been attracted to that suave sophistication. God knew he was still astonished, in the depths of his gutter-rat soul, that Steed had bestowed him the honor of friendship. Time to start earning it again. "It's all right, Steed," he said. "I trust you. I trust both of you." He quirked a smile. "And maybe you can teach her something really useful that I can benefit from in the future, hey?"
That got a laugh from Steed, and if it turned into another cough, at least he was still half-smiling when it was over. Gambit patted his shoulder and turned to face the rubble again. "Just a few more feet…"
***
Purdey bit her lip as the soldier eased the end of the long probe through the rubble and bent over his headphones. She noticed that the others had all fallen silent too, waiting.
"I hear breathing. I'm guessing, but I think there are at least two different men."
But which two?
"Now what?" she asked the Brigadier.
"We get some air in there. Then we come at them from the lateral tunnel. There's no way through this cave-in without collapsing the entire roof on their heads."
"Won't that take longer? Coming from the side?"
"Yes, but it's safer. And the important thing is to get them out alive, if we can."
***
"Gambit? Gambit!"
Gambit roused himself painfully. "Whaizzit?" he asked blearily.
"Gambit, listen. Do you hear it?"
"No."
"Come over by me. Put your head on the ground."
"I can't. I'll fall asleep."
"Come anyway."
Gambit crawled, elbows-and-knees to save his poor torn up hands, over to Steed and collapsed next to the older man. He rested his ear against the ground and heard what Steed had heard. Something mechanical, and voices. "They're trying to dig us out."
"Yes," Steed said. "Purdey must have got clear."
"Good." Gambit closed his eyes.
"Gambit, why are you shivering? Mike!"
"…cold…"
"You're shocky. Nudge up; we'll keep each other warm till they get here."
"Isn't that Purdey's job?"
"Don't argue." Gambit felt Steed's hand fumbling under his shoulders, pulling him closer and he turned obligingly, ending up in a kind of an awkward hug with his head tucked up between Steed's arm and chest. It felt strange, but warm and somehow comforting. "That's better," Steed said.
"Your back." Gambit remembered belatedly.
"It still hurts," Steed said. "And so do my legs, which is a good sign. But I'm chilled. And you're hurt worse than you told me."
"I wasn't then," Gambit voice cracked on the useless protest. "But one of the beams had a nail in it and I couldn't see it in the dark. Tore my arm open."
"So how much blood have you lost?"
"I've no idea. Too much, probably. I'm very tired, John." Gambit closed his eyes, not that it made any difference with the flashlight dead, and wondered how Steed managed to find his shoulder to pat without any light.
"Then you should rest," the older man said. "Let them do the work for a little."
"I'm afraid to fall asleep," Gambit murmured, feeling unconsciousness barking at his heels.
"I'll be here." Steed replied, so solidly that Gambit had to smile.
"All right then," he whispered, and let sleep take him.
###
Steed lay quietly, looking into the darkness with unfrightened eyes. He'd been here before, many times, and the possibility of imminent death no longer had the power to twist all his attention from more important matters.
Like friendship.
He wondered if Gambit had fallen into coma yet. The younger man's breathing was slower now, and his skin was cooler under Steed's hand. It would be the worst sort of irony if Steed survived this ordeal and Gambit didn't. A man wasn't meant to outlive the one he'd passed the mantle onto.
A man wasn't meant to outlive all his friends.
Best reason to make as many friends as possible, I suppose. Though he hadn't really expected Gambit or Purdey to become much more than colleagues. They were a different generation than his own, in far more ways than one. He'd thought to put some polish on them, to round out their training, and ended up depending on the pair of them as he hadn't depended on a living soul in years. Not since Tara. It isn't a matter of mere friendship with these two. It's gone beyond that. Steed knew himself for a man who made friends easily, who found himself on amicable terms even with ideological enemies as often as not. But he also knew himself for a man who could close the file, turn away with only a small measure of grief from those who betrayed or died. Most of the time. But if Gambit died… I'll hunt them down, and I won't stop until I've found them. Purdey would help. Gambit meant as much to her as he did to Steed.
Though what, precisely, he meant to Steed, was difficult to say. Steed remembered the first time he'd seen Mike Gambit – a long shadow jumping down into the dark underpass where four thugs in the employ of a madman had cornered Steed for the purpose of keeping him from an important meeting. He'd thought the odds had gone even worse until the shadow came out of his crouch and head-butted the nearest yob into a trash receptacle. The ensuing melee had been brief, thanks to Steed's steel lined bowler and Gambit's enthusiastic, if unscientific, application of force. Steed, still in a hurry, had hauled his unexpected rescuer out of the danger zone as soon as it was possible, pressed a card into his hand, and told him to call the next day. And what had turned up on Steed's doorstep was a lanky youngster – not yet twenty-three – with six years duty in the Merchant Navy already under his belt and two years spent working at whatever came to hand as he tried to fill in some of the schooling he'd skipped over at fourteen in the hopes of turning himself into officer material. There'd been a good bit of potential even then, as Steed had discovered over the course of dinner and a rather enjoyable pub crawl, and when the background check turned up clean Steed had had no qualms about recruiting that combination of native intelligence and quick reflexes into Mother's little merry band.
He hadn't seen a great deal of Gambit for a while after that – had heard about his accomplishments in training, of course, and encountered him now and then in the field afterwards. He'd taken some interest in the lad, but it had been occasional hints as to the proper appreciation of wine and the other finer things in life, as well as an avuncular amusement at seeing the addition of three-piece suits to the wardrobe of jeans and loud shirts. It hadn't been friendship. At the most he'd felt a sort of vague pride when his candidate's performance had outstripped that of some other experienced agent's protégé.
But there'd come a time when Gambit, recovering from three bullets taken as he'd come over the Wall, had been the only man available to help Steed plough through old files in search of clues to a new puzzle. And Steed had discovered during a week of dusty paperwork that the youngster with the ready grin had matured into a man who had lost none of his joie de vivre and whose wits were very nearly a match for his own. They'd solved that puzzle, and gone on to solve another with the help of Purdey, fresh from her own training and able to go where no man could pass unnoticed. And somehow, when Steed needed assistants after that, there'd never been any question of whom to call.
Steed knew that there were speculations at the ministry about the three of them – that only Purdey's steadfast – and very public – refusal to grace Gambit's bed had kept rumors of a ménage à trois from being bandied around. But that was a mere question of sex, and Steed was far too experienced to mistake chemistry for love. Or trust.
Ah, perhaps that's it. I trust them.
That was what made the difference. It wasn't just that they enjoyed each other's company; that they played as well as worked together. It was also that Steed could relax if Gambit was behind him, and enjoy Purdey's long legs without wondering about whether or not she might have sold out to some better bargainer. They might be pushed into doing something stupid – no one was without a price – but if they were pushed it would be for reasons that Steed understood. The safety of the nation, or more likely still, the life of a friend.
Steed's left arm, trapped beneath Gambit's head, had gone blessedly numb. It was the only place on his body that didn't hurt, although the numbness made him frantic to move. He wouldn't though. If Gambit were only sleeping, he shouldn't be disturbed.
###
The sun was coming up when Purdey heard shouts from the diggings. She untangled herself from the blanket and put down her coffee, waiting just a moment for the Brigadier's nod of approval before darting to the edge of the ditch to watch.
They were just bringing a loaded stretcher out of the side tunnel. A blanket was over the head and she gasped, but one of the soldiers beside her steadied her. "It's all right, Miss. The Surgeon Lieutenant wouldn't be pacing him if he were dead. I'm betting they just didn't want any dirt from the tunnel to fall on his face while they were bringing him through."
But which one is he? She craned her neck for clues, but the blankets and straps didn't even give her a chance to guess at height and weight.
"Here, Miss," the soldier handed her to one of his mates, who passed her along to the next fellow, all over the piles of dirt until she'd come around the hole in time to kneel by the stretcher as it was placed on the ground and watch as the doctor flipped back the blanket.
He was filthy, and his nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask, but she knew him even through layers of coal dust and blood. "Gambit," she said, hoping he'd open his eyes. "Mike!"
"Excuse me, Miss," one of the orderlies was busy with scissors, cutting away the filthy clothing.
"I can do that," Purdey said, appropriating the scissors. "You do the IVs and things."
"You're sure he won't mind, Miss? I mean…" the young soldier blushed, and Purdey felt herself able to smile for the first time in hours.
"Nothing I haven't seen before," she said, and let the soldier draw his own conclusions. It was better to have something to do. Kept her from wondering whether or not they'd found Steed alive as well.
And it wasn't like Gambit would ever be able to use any of these clothes again. She wondered what had happened to the leather jacket he'd been wearing. It might have protected him from some of the damage that she was uncovering. Bruises aplenty – purples and greens made a patchwork on skin that was inordinately pale where it wasn't filthy – and more scrapes and cuts than she wanted to think about. There was a makeshift bandage on his left arm, and she hesitated, wondering. "Do you want me to cut this away too?"
"Yes, please." The medic had swabbed the other arm and started an IV.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Sullivan, we need you down below."
"Coming," the young doctor said, and tucked a blanket up over Gambit. To his assistant he added. "Clean any open wounds, treat for shock, add a second IV and get him typed and crossmatched for a blood transfusion as soon as possible. We'll have to get him on antibiotics too, as soon as we can find out whether or not he's allergic."
"Right, sir."
"He's not allergic to penicillin, I know that for a fact," Purdey told the orderly. She had to go carefully to get the bandage off – it was slippery with blood and pus. As she saw what it was covering she couldn't help but hiss through her teeth with sympathy. "That's got to hurt."
"Here, pour this on it while he's still unconscious." The orderly handed her a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and Purdey obeyed the instruction quickly, wincing as the stuff foamed angrily in the jagged wound.
"You wouldn't happen to know the last time he had a tetanus jab, Miss?"
"Six months gone," Purdey answered. It was after he'd been stabbed by Spence in what she'd thought was a friendly matchup over which man would take her to dinner until Spence had fallen down dead and Gambit had stumbled out of the gym bleeding. The doctors had wanted him to spend the night in the infirmary, but Gambit had insisted that all he needed was a few stitches and he'd be good to go. He had been too, that was the thing to remember. Gambit was nearly as indestructible as Steed.
He didn't look it at the moment. She poured some of the hydrogen peroxide on his poor misused hands. They'd been scraped raw and considering the kind of calluses that Gambit had from all the karate he did, Purdey wasn't sure she wanted to know how they'd gotten that way. He'd lost one nail and split three of the others. The rest were ragged and filthy, like he'd been trying to dig his way out of the tunnel barehanded.
The orderly was frowning at Gambit's right arm. "Did he have stitches in?"
"Yes," she answered. "He got shot ten days ago. A flesh wound. Why?"
"Because it's torn open again. You lot live dangerously, don't you, Miss?"
"Sometimes," Purdey had to agree. "Does his skin feel cold to you?"
"That's the shock." The surgeon lieutenant was back. "He's lost a great deal of blood. We'll have to get both of them back to the infirmary, as soon as possible."
"Both of them?" Purdey asked.
"They're bringing the other one up now. He asked for you, I think. You are Purdey?"
"He did? Yes, I mean, I am…"
"Go and let him see that you're all right while I work on this fellow." His phrasing freed her, let her leave Gambit knowing he was in good hands while she darted over to the pit to help as the soldiers got the second stretcher up to the surface.
This time she didn't wait – she flipped back the top of the blanket herself and found Steed underneath, smiling. "Steed," she sighed.
"Hallo, Purdey," he said in a soft voice, as if he couldn't take a deep breath.
She realized that they'd strapped him to a backboard, and wrapped a cervical collar around his neck. She touched it lightly. "What's all this?"
"Precautionary measures." Steed whispered. "There was a rather large rock on top of me before Gambit dug me out, and he was worried about spinal damage. But everything still wiggles when I ask it to. It just hurts a bit."
"It sounds like it," Purdey said.
"That's the broken ribs," Steed said, and grimaced. "How's Gambit?"
"He looks like he's been through the mill. And he's still unconscious. The doctor says he needs a transfusion."
"Badly," Steed was somber. "He's been fading for the past few hours."
"The Brigadier said they couldn't get to you through the original passage without bringing down the entire tunnel."
"Nor could they," Steed agreed. "Gambit nearly killed himself trying it from our end."
"What happened to Trask?"
"Dead. Under the cave-in. The soldiers said they'd try to retrieve the body. How about Villanueva?"
"Escaped, I'm afraid. He destroyed the mine lift and by the time I managed to climb out he was gone."
"Ah, well." Steed grunted. "We'll have to get him later, then." He shifted restlessly, as much as he could with all that strapping over him, and pulled a face.
"I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner," Purdey said, tucking Steed's hair back from his forehead. "We came as soon as we could."
"I'm just grateful you got us out at all," Steed sighed. His eyes were drifting shut. "Keep an eye on Gambit, will you, love?"
He's really out of it, Purdey realized. But there was no arguing with him. She bent down and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll do better than that," she said. "If Gambit could donate blood to me when I was hurt, it should work the other way round."
Steed chuckled softly. "And you always insist that he's not your type…"
***
Alternate versions
Ficbits and Dialogue notes
Thinking Out Loud
The base over the next hill is usually unoccupied, but UNIT is using it, temporarily. Trask and Villanueva are trying to steal some gadget that the Doctor's been working on. They've been hired, and aren't quite sure what it's supposed to do, but they're willing to experiment on Gambit. Either very late Jon or early Tom… If I use Sarah Jane's "I'm from 1980" as my guideline (which I prefer to do), I can get away with it.
my TNA fic links
*****
n.b. this entry originally had the snippets from House of Cards and Angels of Death, but I moved them when I rethought how I wanted to work. But that's why the comments read the way they do.
