Do Not Forsake Me

Do Not Forsake Me by Caroline Miniscule John Steed stood alone in the middle of his flat, staring at nothing. Emma Peel had just told him, in her low, lovely tones: �Always keep your bowler on in times of stress...and a watchful eye open for diabolical masterminds.� Then she�d kissed him...on the cheek. She�d headed for the door without further ceremony. He�d called to her. �Emma,� he�d said. The first time he�d ever said her first name. She�d looked at him with her liquid brown eyes...and he couldn�t say what he�d wanted to say. �Thanks,� he�d said instead. She�d smiled a sad resigned smile and walked out. She�d walked out on him. There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt...bereft. Steed crossed over to the window. He wasn�t quite sure why...to see her one last time? To see if she was going to look up to see him one last time? If she saw him looking down at her, would she return? Steed looked down into the street, where was parked a silver convertible. He watched as Emma�s lithe figure walked around to the passenger side, and a tall man, bowler hatted and carrying an umbrella, opened the door for her. They had Him wearing a bowler hat, Steed thought, very coldly, even as his face creased in an incredulous grin. Whose idea of a clever joke was that? Emma got into the car, and then she did glance up at him. Their eyes met. Briefly. The man in the bowler hat got into the driver�s seat and the car accelerated down the street and out of sight. Steed felt a spurt of anger. So that was the way of it, eh? This was how They wanted it to end? Emma�s husband returns from the grave and that�s it? The dutiful wife quietly hangs up her pistol and brass knuckles and returns to kinder, kuche and kirche? And Emma was going along with this? He couldn�t believe it. Steed turned as the door opened. The young woman called Tara King stood there, posed as if she were modeling for him. Agent 69, he thought with another spurt of anger. The emotion didn�t get as far as his face, for Steed was a marvelous actor. It wasn�t this young woman�s fault that They had decided to use her to replace Emma Peel. Replace Emma....it couldn�t be done. But They were obviously going to try. Two hours crawled by. Tara was excited to be working with the famous John Steed, and kept telling him so. She knew his every case by heart, it seemed. Every case...that he had handled with Dr. David Keel, Dr. Martin King, Venus Smith, Cathy Gale, or Emma Peel. �The famous John Steed�, Steed thought to himself. Don�t you realize what that means, Tara King? Everyone knows me, on our side and amongst the Opposition. I�m too well known now. Mrs. Peel was too well known...so They said. So They�d retired her. For all that she was a talented amateur and not an agent at all. And yet she�d let them do it. And what was he to become? A nanny for a trainee agent? Was this to be borne, Steed thought, as the girl prattled on. No...no, it was not to be borne. But...what was he going to do about it? Finally the girl left. She�d worn a very sexy outfit and seemed disappointed that he did not give her a kiss as she made her exit, merely his most charming smile. She was pretty, she was attractive (the two weren�t necessarily synonymous), she could hold her own in a fight, but she wasn�t Emma Peel. And he wanted Emma Peel. He...loved...Emma Peel. Steed nodded to himself. Yes. He loved her. And he�d thought she�d loved him. He�d been sure she�d loved him. Steed slipped out of his suit jacket and exchanged it for a black turtle neck sweater. Emma had always liked him in that. He applied a match to a pyramid of kindling in the fireplace. By the time he�d poured himself a glass of brandy and lit a cigar, the logs were well ablaze, and the flames danced merrily in their grate. Steed relaxed on the divan, swirling the brandy gently, puffing at his cigar. He gazed into the heart of the fire, its warmth flowering over him, and he remembered.... The first day he�d met her. He�d been in his Bentley, following a couple of his agents chasing a fleeing villain down Palmerston Road, in the heart of London. The man -Johhny Dankworth - had knifed a third agent and was trying to make his escape with a piece of microfilm. He�d made the mistake of running right past Mrs. Peel with the knife still in his hand. She had grabbed his arm and used it as a fulcrum to ram him into the wall of the nearest building. Then she�d casually flipped him around and applied the coup de grace with graceful brutality. And then, she�d simply got into her car and driven away, leaving others to deal with the aftermath if they so desired. He�d been impressed instantly. Any civilian acting with such poise and efficiency would have impressed him, but especially so when it was a woman. He�d followed her - not because she was a woman but because he�d had to make sure she was a civilian. He�d followed her all the way to the village of Little Puddle, and then contrived things in such a way that she accidently ran into the back of his Bentley with her Lotus Elan. She�d gotten out to confront him, and for a very few seconds there had been a look on her face of such incredulous joy...wiped away immediately and replaced with shattered disappointment when she�d gotten a good look at him. She�d thought he was someone else. That was right, Steed remembered suddenly. The real Peter Peel had worn a bowler, that was right. And when he�d been behind Mrs. Peel at that point in time, for a second she had thought that he, Steed, might be him, Peter - for his plane had disappeared in the jungle of the Amazon just a month or so earlier and his body hadn�t been found. She�d still had hope. Emma had loved the real Peter Peel very much. Steed�s hand tightened on his glass. How cruel then, for Them to choose this as the excuse for her to retire. The return of Peter Peel. Steed sipped brandy, and forced himself to remain calm. To just...remember. That day. Those few minutes. They�d talked. She�d introduced herself and he�d recognized her name immediately - as the first woman to head an engineering company, of course, but also as the wife of the missing test pilot Peter Peel. He�d decided then and there that she was indeed merely a civilian and that her dispatch of the villainous Dankworth had simply been fortuitous. Then he�d returned to the Ministry to learn that the microfilm had not been found on Dankworth�s body. Suspicion had blossomed anew. And a sort of cold rage. Not so much that a woman of Mrs. Peel�s stature could be a traitor to her country, but that he could have misjudged her. He�d confronted her in her flat then, menacing her to tell him the truth. She hadn�t been phased. She�d given him the Look, which was more effective than even Cathy Gale�s pointed commentaries, and very calmly pointed out that there could be another person who could have made off with the microfilm. And indeed she�d been correct. Clemens, the Ministry man detailed to search Dankworth for the microfilm had taken it and done a bunk back to his real masters. [For full details of the first meeting between Steed and Emma, see Alpha Omega.] Hardly an auspicious beginning, Steed thought now, grinning ruefully. Which is why he�d held off on seeing her again, though he�d desperately wanted to. She was just the kind of woman he needed, professionally and personally, since his partner Cathy Gale had chosen to retire and go make her fortune in America, of all places. But that look that he�d caused on Emma Peel�s face, the emotions he�d caused - joy turned to despair - had haunted him for quite some weeks. And then she�d been handed to him. Fate had stepped in. She�d gone to West Berlin, on a sort of pilgrimage, he�d guessed, for Peter Peel had been stationed there just after the war. There she had become involved with Max Prendergast - a master criminal who was making a fortune out of the misery of refugees from Eastern Europe. His scruples had gone by the board. He�d been after Prendergast for years and here was his chance to catch the swine. He�d moved in. And Emma Peel had done exactly what he�d asked of her, and more. She�d proven to him that she�d be a more than capable replacement for Cathy Gale. She�d proven to herself that she enjoyed life on the edge. She�d agreed to become his partner. Steed finished off his brandy. He glanced at the cut glass decanter, but decided against refilling t he snifter. He felt like getting drunk, but he wasn�t going to. He would have things to do later - as soon as he could think of them - and he was going to need a clear head. Steed lay back on the divan, folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. He listened to the popping of the logs and the flaring of the flames and let the warmth wash over him. It felt good, lying there... The figure of Father Christmas carried a bag over its shoulder. Oddly shaped boxes wrapped in bright paper - airplane shaped boxes? - protruded from its top. Boots crunched in the snow as the figure walked away. The head turned and looked over its shoulder, revealing the face to be that of Emma Peel. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and then she beckoned, and Steed followed her. Steed grinned in his sleep. Christmas had always been a favorite time of his. That Christmas two years ago hadn�t started out to be pleasurable, though...in fact he�d been in hell. A group of mind benders had been putting him through the wringer, and it had been all the worse since he�d suspected what they were doing to him but had had to submit to it anyway. He�d gone with Emma Peel to a Dickensian party at the home of Brandon Storey, where it had all come to a head. The weekend had not been so pleasurable for Emma, either - her friend Jeremy Wade had been killed there. By the end of the adventure they�d both saved each other�s lives, and they�d both been emotionally drained. On the way home, they�d stopped at a hotel. And there they�d made love for the first time. They�d spent an entire day there, in lazy, languorous love making, getting to know each other in the most intimate sense. They hadn�t been in love, he didn�t think, but certainly attracted to each other and in need of some comfort and pleasure after what they�d gone through. [For full details see White Christmas.] When had he fallen in love with her, Steed wondered. Yes...at the end of the case of the Man-eater of Surrey Green. An extra-terrestrial, empathetic and psychotic plantlike alien had crash-landed in Surrey Green, and had been able to take over the minds of all the humans in a certain radius. He and Emma had gone to the mansion in which the alien was growing, along with the charmingly eccentric Dr. Sheldon. They were armed with a specially prepared tin of plant killer - which had to be poured directly into the root system of the plant - and defended with deaf-aids in their ears which blocked out the telepathic power of the evil alien. But Emma�s deaf-aid had come out during a fight, and for quite some minutes she�d been completely in the plant�s control. He�d been trying to save the can of weed-killer, and she, in a glazed way, was trying to pour it out harmlessly on the ground. They�d fought. And then he�d managed to get the deaf-aid back in her ear. Sanity had returned immediately...and a sort of terrible knowledge of what had to be done. Within seconds she�d come up with the perfect plan. The plant had gotten control of her once...and knew her...and was hungry. Pour the weedkiller over her jacket...and then let the plant drag her away to...eat her. It would sup on the liquid first, and die. He�d stared into her eyes at that moment and his heart had swelled with love even as he�d pulled the deaf-aid out of her ear again, and as her eyes glazed over with the return of the plant�s control, planted his fist on her chin, knocking her unconscious. Then, his heart in his mouth, he�d poured the weedkiller over her. He, Sheldon and Sir Lyle Peterson had then taken refuge in a separate room. And they�d watched. And waited. Steed had had to grip the doorjamb with both hands to prevent himself from running forward when the tendrils of the plant slithered over Emma�s unconscious body, and started to drag her slowly away. He�d known...known, that Emma would be safe. As those tendrils closer to the plant�s roots transferred the poison directly to its...well, heart, he supposed, that specially prepared weedkiller would take effect immediately. She would be safe. And she was. And when she�d regained consciousness a second time she�d asked him the traditional question with an impish look in her eyes - �What happened?� Steed couldn�t resist. Making bad puns was his only flaw, as Cathy Gale and Emma Peel had told him on many an occasion [well, Mrs. Gale wouldn�t have called it his only flaw]. �Didn�t you know? I�m a herbicidal maniac.� She�d groaned at him, and he�d helped her to his feet and she�d leaned against him, allowing him to comfort her and give her strength. And when had she fallen in love with him? They�d meshed together from the very beginning. It had been as if they�d been psychically linked - she always seemed to know what he was thinking, and vice versa. They�d spent hours and hours together, training. She�d already had a black belt in karate, and was a tournament level fencer. He�d taught her street fighting. �Dirty fighting� as Cathy Gale had called it, but as Steed had said time and time again, don�t ever fight fair - because the other chap certainly won�t. They�d bouted often, learning each other�s tendencies and abilities - their speed and reflexes, strengths and weaknesses. He�d never seen her out of countenance, even when he was unrolling her from a Shabazz carpet during that Pinter�s Department Store business. Her pride had been hurt on that occasion - she�d been a bit too overconfident - but she always learned from her mistakes. And he�d begun to learn that he could tell when she was in trouble, and that she could tell when he was in trouble. Although they so often were in trouble...Steed chuckled softly... She�d gotten a legacy, from some Uncle. An Uncle who turned out not to exist. She�d been lured to a house by someone, with diabolical intent. He�d moved heaven and earth to get there on that occasion. And when he�d arrived ready to save the day, she calmly stepped out of a door after having rescued herself, and smiled at him. �Where�s your shining armor?� she�d asked. And he�d been hurt by that, and showed it. And she�d realized that she�d hurt him, and that he�d intended to be her knight in shining armor, and at that point, her regard for him had turned to love. That adventure hadn�t effected her much, mentally. The villain of the piece had been a Professor Keller, someone she�d worked with but never had special regard for, and he had certainly never had regard for her. It had been stressful at the time, but with Emma stress was often like water off a duck�s back. Not so last year, when Max Prendergast had escaped from prison, bent on revenging himself on Emma Peel. For Prendergast had been deeply in love with Emma, and she�d used that love to catch him in a trap and turn him over to the authorities in West Berlin. That adventure had been eerily similar to the Keller incident. They�d both lured Emma to a remote house, intent on terrorizing her before killing her. But Emma didn�t terrorize easily. This time, though, she had been affected mentally. She�d been ..what was the right emotion...somewhat guilt-ridden in how she�d tricked Prendergast into missing his get-away plane - using her �feminine� wiles on him, not realizing that he�d actually been in love with her - or what passed for love in such a psychotic individual. And then for him to come back, his love turned to insane hatred...it had rattled her. This time he�d arrived a little bit earlier to save the day, with Emma down on her knees, one hand grasping the knife-hand of Max Prendergast, whose insanity-driven strength had taken her by surprise. She probably would have been able to dispatch him, but he�d saved her the effort this time. He�d given Prendergast a taste of his own medicine. Starting up the music he�d been playing, Meine Liebe, Meine Rose, and then prancing at him with the gigantic Joker card that had served as a sort of revolvilng door. Prendergast had been frozen with horror, and then Steed had dropped the Joker on him and that had been the end of that. �Steed.� His heart had lurched when she�d called his name that time. She�d been so relieved, so delighted to see him. She hadn�t wanted to deal with the aftermath of this adventure alone. And they�d walked out into a sunshiney day, found a secluded glade, and made love out in the fresh air, to the serenade of bird song, and doubtless the amazement of various cute woodland creatures. That had been a special time, Steed thought. He�d never told her he�d loved her. He should have, he supposed...but she knew he loved her, as he knew she loved him. There were a lot of things they didn�t have to tell each other...perhaps this was one of the things they should have.... She�d left him. Steed wrapped his arms around himself and concentrated on the warmth and the comforting sounds of the fire. The sound of airplane engines filled the air, and he found himself running through billowing clouds, chasing after a small, twin-engine plane. A leather-capped, goggle-eyed pilot with a gleaming white silk scarf streaming in the air revved the engines and increased the throttle, so that the plane bounced slightly up and down on the tarmac. It turned and headed towards Steed. Steed ducked under the wing and turned to look at the pilot, who was looking back at him, grinning. Steed would recognize those lips and teeth anywhere. It was Mrs. Peel. She beckoned to him. Steed sprinted forward, but the plane accelerated and lifted into the air. Steed ground to a halt and put his hands on his hips. She was trying to tell him something, but what? Steed opened his eyes wide. He sat up. Mrs. Peel was trying to tell him something. But what? Steed stood up, breathing deeply. Okay, okay, Mrs. Peel was trying to tell him something. Twice he�d been dozing, and he�d seen her, and she was beckoning him. She wanted him to follow her. Well, perhaps if he�d get into a proper sleep, she�d be able to get through more clearly. He�d give it a try. Steed strode into his bedroom, pulling off his clothes. He stepped into the shower and took a brisk five-minute pelting of soothing hot spray, then toweled himself dry and pulled on his silk pajamas...a gift from Mrs. Peel. He slid into bed, stretched to his fullest, pulling all the kinks out of his muscles and enjoying the almost sensuous feel of it, and then he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. He could hear the ticking of the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. It was very loud. Very soothing. Time, being sliced into slivers. They�d run out of time...he and Mrs. Peel. They�d gone their autonomous way for two years...and then the Ministry had decided to step in. �Mrs. Peel, you�re too well known...and you�re an amateur. Time Steed had a partner who was actually a professional agent. Time Steed had a ....a Mother, to report to.� Mrs. Peel had taken it well. �All good things must come to an end,� she�d quoted at him, in their meeting with Major B and the wheelchair-bound Mother. She�d wanted to retire. He could see that at the time. Because she didn�t like people telling her what to do and she would have taken a stand if she�d wanted to. She would have given Major B and Mother one of her patented Looks and they would have folded their tents and crept quietly away. But she hadn�t. And he�d accepted that. But he hadn�t expected this, the Ministry�s method of ensuring her retirement. Bringing a Peter Peel back into her life, making a front page story of it, so that all the world, friend and foe, would know that she was now nothing more than a wife. And leaving him. Had she had anything to do with that? Surely not. She would have told him if she�d been in on the planning of it, but when he�d last seen her a couple of days ago she�d been wondering if the Ministry was going to do anything at all! And now all of a sudden Peter Peel�s return was front page news, and she�d walked out on him...and in his dreams she was beckoning him to follow her. Was it him - dreaming what he wanted to believe, or was it her, trying to tell him something? Tick tock. Tick tock. The subject of marriage had never been broached. They both danced with death each day of their lives and Steed was not the marrying kind in any event. Mrs. Peel had never intended to get married again, either. They hadn�t wanted to live together, either. Arranging trysts in various locations had always been so much more fun. Steed lifted the lid on a bright red Baby Grand piano, propped it up, flipped his tails out of the way and sat down to play. Figures danced by - men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns. Wearing masks - cats and dogs, tigers and lions, pirates and kings and queens. As each figure swept past him they lifted up their mask, to reveal another mask underneath. Steed picked up the pace and the figures swirled past faster and faster. Soon it was as if they were caught in a vast wind and were blown off their feet and into the air, as if they�d been illusions without sustenance and no weight to them. Finally there was no one left. No one. He was alone again. Steed played a couple of final chords, and then sat in silence. A cat, a large, lithe, auburn cat with melting eyes, walked into the room. It walked with finicky steps across the floor and came to a halt at his feet, looking up at him. Then its muscles bunched and it leapt gracefully onto his lap. It reached up and put both its paws on his chest, and it�s small, sleek, beautiful head craned up at him. It...she...purred at him. She began to knead his chest with her paws. Steed stared into those chocolate eyes. �Happy now?� he asked. In response the cat�s claws came out, just a little bit, like little needles in his chest. �Alright, alright,� Steed said, laughing. �I know you�re not. I�m not happy either.� The cat straightened up a bit further, and butted his face with her cold nose. Then she went back to kneading his chest with her paws. She started to purr. �So what�s to be done, Emma? What�s to be done?� She stopped kneading his chest and curled up in his lap. She lifted one paw and batted at a newspaper on top of the piano. Steed reached out and picked it up. It wasn�t a newspaper...it was a card. A birthday card. In French. Steed stared at it for several seconds, and then began to smile. Mrs. Peel�s birthday was coming up. And for the last two years he�d taken her to Paris for her birthday. They�d always stayed at the same pensionne. And it would seem...they would stay there again this year. The cat put her paws on his chest again, and butted his face with her nose. Steed cupped her face in his hands and bestowed a kiss on that cold nose. �We�ll always have Paris, eh, Mrs. Peel?� She meowed at him. Then she began to fade away, until only her eyes and mouth were visible. And then she was gone. Steed rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. But there was a smile on his lips. They�d always have Paris.

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