This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed becomes a man hunter
Emma stays afloat
Chapter 12
Steed guided Emma to the sofa and poured her a brandy. She took it, kicking off her shoes and drawing her legs up to wrap her arms around them. Steed left her to go clean up the supper dishes and think through what had happened. She obviously had a reason to suspect Matthew Stein. And, he supposed, it would not be hard to guess at Stein's motive. He'd manipulated Knight's investments on Birch's instructions and presumably never seen a cut of the profit. Then he'd been fired when Birch was caught. He was clearly dishonest, but was he also violent? And did he have enough knowledge of explosives to construct a bomb? Apparently enough to construct it, but not enough to safely set it and get away.
When the dishes were done and the leftover roast wrapped and put away, Steed returned to the living room and poured a brandy for himself. He pulled off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the sofa toward Emma's still huddled form. He sipped his brandy and waited.
After a while she spoke.
"He broke into my apartment about two weeks after you left. He attacked me."
"What did he do?" Steed asked gently, his imagination running wild.
"He touched me. Through my clothes. I was so weak and tired I could hardly fight him. I was terrified," she took a sip of brandy, then set the snifter on the table behind the sofa. Steed did not fail to recognize the significance of this admission. Emma never admitted to fear. "He got me onto the floor and drove his knee between my legs," she whispered, eyes staring blankly across the room as she relived the moment.
Steed continued to watch her, waiting for some sign that she wanted him. He'd unwittingly imitated her attacker earlier, and now he wanted to know all that had happened before he risked doing it again.
"What else?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Her eyes flicked to him, focusing on him at last.
"I hit him with the toilet brush," she said. "Not hard enough to knock him out, but it distracted him. I don't really remember what else I did; I was hardly able to fight back. But he fell and hit his head on the bathtub. He was knocked out long enough for me to tie him up."
Steed nodded and sipped his brandy. "And you were cut -- on your back, and your side, weren't you?"
She nodded, remembering the shards of the broken jar and the cuts that Freddy had told her should have stitches. Steed had seen them, of course, when he massaged her earlier.
"What did you do then?" Steed asked, truly curious. He knew she had not called the authorities. If she had he would have been informed. She gave him a wan little smile and lowered her gaze to her knees. "Emma?" he prodded.
"I called my spin doctor," she said, looking back up at him. He frowned for a moment, then remembered the term she'd used for someone who corrects publicity problems.
"The person who helped you strategize your return to Knight after the shooting is also your personal ‘clean-up' team?" he asked, trying not to chuckle. She managed a little smile herself as she nodded and shrugged.
"Who is this versatile person?" Steed asked. "He -- or she -- could be useful to me."
He didn't like the look she gave him then. It was somewhere between embarrassed and defensive. But she didn't say anything.
"Emma? Who did you call?"
"Leighton and Brenford Consulting," she finally said, eyes on knees again.
"Leighton and Brenford," Steed repeated, the first name sinking in. "Frederick Leighton? He's your consultant? What the hell does he know about getting rid of would-be rapists? Obviously not much!" Steed swung his feet to the floor and rose, taking a gulp of his brandy, then turning back toward her.
She was peering up at him looking terribly contrite and incredibly desirable. He snorted a laugh at the absurdity of the foppish Lord Freddy managing disposal of a criminal -- his kind of work. He took another sip of brandy and put the glass on the table.
"He had a couple of his men take Stein away. He said they'd discourage him from bothering me again," she said.
"And I suppose he stayed to comfort you," Steed said, his mind reeling with ridiculous jealousy. She winced and he instantly regretted his words. He sat down at her feet, one arm on the back of the sofa, the other stretched out around her, his hand on the arm of the sofa that she leaned against. She sat curled in ball encircled by his protective arms.
"I'm sorry, Emma," he said. "For that remark. And that it happened at all. Tell me what to do to help you."
"Forgive me," she said.
"For what?" he frowned.
"For trying to hide this from you so you wouldn't find out that I called Freddy instead of you. For wanting you to keep after Peter more than I wanted you here with me."
"Darling, I accepted your faults a long time ago. That you are stubborn and bloody-minded is my cross to bear. If it's any help, you were right. I would have dropped everything and come to you, and, as it turns out, you didn't need me."
She reached up and brushed the unruly lock of hair off of his forehead, her hand landing on his shoulder, the backs of her fingers brushing his neck.
"Oh but I did need you. I just knew I couldn't have you and muddled through on my own." She lowered her legs and pressed herself into his arms. He held her willingly, bundling her against his chest as if to make up for his absence after the attack.
"And something good did come of it," she said, leaning her head back to raise her face to his, "I went back to Hemming after that, and kept my appointments with him."
"So I noticed," he said, stroking her solid, muscular back. She smiled against his neck. "Let's go back to bed," he suggested, still stroking her.
"Steed, I don't think I can -- pick up where we left off. Not tonight," she said.
"You seem to forget that I flew in from the States overnight. I'm exhausted," he said, loosening his grip in order to stand up. She rose with him.
"Yes, that's right. What time does your body think it is now, anyway?" she asked as they walked arm-in-arm toward the stairs.
"I have no idea," he chuckled as he followed her up. "but it's definitely time to be sleeping."
Emma woke up sobbing. She could not control the gasping wails that seemed to well up from her very soul. There had been a monster. An enormous, charred creature lumbering toward her, its thick arms hanging from broad shoulders, its hands scraping the ground with a chilling, grinding sound. The face was a hideous mass of burnt flesh, teeth and bone. She was trapped on the bathroom floor, her feet and hands skittering on tiles slimy with face cream. The monster loomed in the doorway, flames licking around it and blackening the wooden doorframe.
The heat was what awakened her, her hands flailing against the heavy comforter that was too warm for two people to sleep under at that time of year. Steed was instantly awake, drawing off the heavy cover and wrapping his arms around her, making soothing, wordless sounds. She realized where she was and whom she was with, and buried herself in his protective embrace until at last the sobbing stopped.
"Bad dream?" Steed asked. He was no stranger to the hauntings of his own psyche.
"He was all burnt," Emma said, realizing as she did that Steed did not know of the monster in her dreams since Stein's first attack. But he guessed.
Stein. "He can't hurt you again, darling," he said. Although getting over his last act will take some time. Assuming it was him setting the bomb.
She breathed in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shifting against him so that he loosened his hold on her to let her lie on her back. She stared at the ceiling for a long while. Steed began absently stroking her abdomen through the t-shirt she'd borrowed. As the nightmare faded she reached a conclusion: Stein had unintentionally pushed her along the path that she had chosen when she'd sought out Steed months ago. She was unencumbered by her old life now. Everything was gone in a giant blaze. This realization imparted a shocking sense of freedom. She knew that she had yet to mourn the loss of her belongings, but she also knew that she could go on, and that the way would be easier now with so little to carry.
"I've no place to go. You don't mind if I stay with you?" she whispered, her eyes sliding from the ceiling to his face. He frowned, surprised that she'd even ask, and she grinned.
"Gottcha," she said, tracing the side of his face with her index finger.
"Vixen," Steed said, capturing her in a gentle, loving kiss.
"You love it," she sighed when his lips released hers.
"No," he said, kissing first one high cheekbone and then the other, "I love you."
"Prove it," she whispered challengingly.
He slid his hand up under the t-shirt, favoring her breasts with his gentle touch. But he didn't linger there. He drew the shirt up her abdomen and lowered his face to the soft flesh of her stomach, kissing his way toward her panties. She slid her fingers into his hair, her legs parting of their own accord as his kisses approached the fringe of hair just showing there. He slipped both hands inside her panties and pulled them down, working them over her long legs with her help. When they were lost in the tangle of sheets and comforter he worked his way back up, tickling the delicate skin of her inner thighs with his night's growth of beard. His fingers parted her, his mouth following to suck gently on her vulva.
Supporting herself on her elbows to watch him, she sighed and let her head fall back, breasts jutting proudly upward within his t-shirt. He slid one hand across her stomach to cup a mounded breast and massage a nipple until it towered like the top of a skyscraper. His tongue worked within her, rubbing her clitoris until she groaned and pressed herself against his face. He lapped at her, consuming her juices and sucking her to draw more. She convulsed again, filling his mouth with her essence and crying out -- a sensuous, throaty cry that thrilled him, sending a jolt of white-hot desire to his loins.
He rubbed his damp face against her curly auburn hair, then kissed the thin skin in the fold of her pelvis. She shifted, lowering her shoulders to the mattress and reaching out to thread her fingers into his hair. He let her draw him up her body, placing kisses here and there as he went until he was stretched out beside her exploring her face with his tongue.
She was exploring his ass through his silk pajamas, squeezing the powerful muscle there, and then running her hand up his back, pressing hard. He sighed at the sensation: partially massaging, mostly sensual. She rubbed her hand back down his back and inside his pajama bottoms, then around to the front where his erection tented the soft fabric.
"Take me," she sighed, gently gripping his thick penis. It was warm and dry, except, she found as she rubbed her hand up and down, for a few drops of semen at the tip. She smeared it around, eliciting a harsh groan from Steed. He reached down and jerked his pajama bottoms over his hips, then shifted his legs between hers and positioned himself above her. A look of distracted pleasure on her face, she rubbed the tip of his penis in her vagina, making circles around her vulva as she drew in a deep breath. Her chest rose, breasts straining against her t-shirt. Steed lowered his face to them, mouthing first one nipple and then the other through the thin fabric. She pressed his penis against her clitoris and removed her hand, slipping it around his hip to grasp his ass. She pressed him down, pushing her pelvis up, driving him half way into herself. He dropped his hips against hers to fill her the rest of the way. She squeezed his ass as she raised her legs, stretching her pelvis beneath him, shifting position so that he could sink in deeper.
He pulled most of the way out and slowly pushed back in, his shaft slick and hot with their joined fluids. Sheathed within her again, he rotated his hips, stirring her. Stirring himself. He repeated the move once more, painfully slowly as his loins throbbed with contained desire.
"Keep going," she moaned, pressing her mouth to his and plunging her tongue inside. He complied with another slow stroke as she drew her legs even higher. "Faster," she added, sucking at his tongue.
He reared up on one hand, reaching with the other arm to capture one of her legs and bring her ankle in against his shoulder. She moaned again, her complete exposure to him fanning the flames in his loins. He thrust faster as she came around him, a hot, wet orgasm that left her panting. She gripped his bicep and strained against his plunging pelvis, desperate to become one with him, if only for a few magnificent seconds. He thrust faster and harder, his face contorted in his inward focus. The feel of his penis nudging her cervix with each stroke sent little shocks all through his body that combined and built into a single, massive bolt of searing passion. He exploded, pumping his essence into her in long, throbbing spasms, unaware that he cried out her name, unaware that he smothered her with great, grasping kisses as his orgasm wracked his body.
Drained, filled, semiconscious, they lay together in a tangle of arms and legs amid the equally tangled sheets. Gradually Steed's bones and muscles reformed and he lifted his heavy leg off of hers and shifted to wrap his arms around her, one buried in the pillows behind her neck, the other across her stomach. She sighed, half asleep, and turned her face toward his for a lazy kiss.
"Let's go to Provence and make love in a lavender field again," she sighed, stroking his forearm. He smiled, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
"Let's stay in bed for three or four days," he sighed. "It seems like every time we manage to spend a night or two together something happens and we're apart for weeks."
"Let's get married at Christmas."
He lifted his head to look into her eyes. They were twinkling mischievously. "Really?"
"Uh hum," she nodded, her hair rustling against the pillow, "Let's be one of those annoying couples who think nobody has anything better to do with their holiday."
"On the anniversary of our engagement?"
"Yes, let's make it Christmas Eve. Let's be dreadfully self-indulgent."
"You think anyone will come?"
"If we throw a good enough party they will," she laughed.
Despite their resolve to stay in bed for days, the ringing telephone early in the afternoon found Emma in the shower and Steed in the kitchen slicing the leftover roast for lunch.
"Steed, Bond here. I heard what happened," James's smooth voice sounded concerned. "How is Emma?"
"Better than you might think, actually," Steed said. "I think she's in shock about the loss of her apartment. But she's able to see the positive side."
"Which is?"
"The future."
"Speaking of future, I was hoping you and she would join me for supper tonight. I have a surprise that I think will brighten it."
"All right. I'll have to ask her -- I suppose there's a chance she has plans," Steed frowned, realizing he had no idea what sort of weekly schedule she'd been keeping since he left.
"I have nothing to wear," Emma suddenly realized when Steed told her of the invitation. He set her plate with her sandwich and a handful of green grapes in front of her and sat down, pouring her a glass of beer from a large bottle he'd opened.
"You have some things upstairs," he pointed out.
"Work clothes," she dismissed them out of hand, then paused with her sandwich halfway to her mouth, "I have nothing to wear to work!"
"But you just said --."
"Edmond and I are meeting with the Americans on Monday. I need to look exactly right."
"Dressed to kill?" he chuckled. But she nodded seriously.
"I'll need to do some serious shopping over the weekend. And this afternoon!" She looked at her wristwatch and grimaced.
"This afternoon?" Steed cried. He had been developing a lovely plan for the afternoon, leaving just enough time to shower and dress before going over to Bond's for supper. Emma smirked at him, reading his mind.
"I wore this to seduce you," she indicated the catsuit she'd put back on. "I refuse to wear it all weekend."
"Did you really imagine you needed to seduce me?" he chuckled, focusing on a much more interesting topic than shopping.
"I imagined that I'd enjoy it," she replied coyly.
"Ah!" he chuckled again, flattered.
"But in any case, I need something different to wear, and some under things," she took a bite of her sandwich and put it down. "I just have time for some basics this afternoon," she added when she'd finished chewing.
Steed sighed and took a long gulp of beer. "All right. Where do you want to go?"
She stared at him, chewing another bite of sandwich, "You want to come?" she asked, not sure if she liked that idea.
He shrugged. "If I can't have you in bed, then I'll be your shopping bag bearer for the afternoon," he said.
Steed happily followed Emma into the lingerie department. He was not at all embarrassed by the racks of brassieres and panties and the scantily clad mannequins displaying delectable lacy garments. He paused to leer at a particularly enticing black lace bodice while Emma flicked through a row of white bras looking for her size.
"May I help you sir?" a saleswoman with long, shining blond hair and a full-lipped smile simpered at Steed. Emma glanced at them, then turned back to her search with an amused look on her face.
"Yes, perhaps," Steed replied, favoring the saleswoman with his most charming smile.
"A gift for someone special?" she asked.
"Yes, very special," Steed said, not looking at Emma, who turned away to hide her grin. "My dear auntie Matilda," he leaned closer to the saleswoman and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "she believes she's the Queen. We try to indulge her. It's all quite harmless."
"I see," the saleswoman inched away from Steed. "And what does -- um -- auntie like to wear?"
Steed straightened his bowler and looked around at the displays for a queenly bit of underwear.
"Excuse me miss," Emma interrupted. The saleswoman eagerly abandoned Steed in favor of helping Emma find a bra in the size and color she wanted. When she fled to the stock room Emma exchanged a grin with Steed.
"I know you're dying to look at the neckties, Steed. Why don't I meet you there in a few minutes?" she suggested.
"You don't think I should buy something for auntie Matilda?" he asked.
"If you go away I'll buy something for you," she coaxed. His eyes brightened and he turned on his heel. Emma chuckled as he made a beeline for the escalators. When the saleswoman returned with Emma's bra she found her customer examining a black lace bustier.
"Oh, you hardly need something like that with your figure, miss," the saleswoman said.
"I wasn't thinking of support," she said. "It's more along the lines of a present."
"For a friend or relative? Do you know her size?"
"I'll be wearing it," Emma said, selecting the appropriate size. "But I know he'll like it."
"Oh! I see. Yes," the saleswoman seemed to run out of agreeable statements. Emma cast her a guileless smile and handed over her collection of purchases.
"I'll also need some panties and a garter belt -- black."
"We have hose that stay up without a belt, miss -- have you seen them?"
"Yes. But he's rather old fashioned," Emma replied, watching with amusement as the poor saleswoman finally blushed.
In two hours Emma supplied herself with a small wardrobe of casual clothes, shoes, and handbags, along with the lingerie. Steed had noticed her occasional pauses as she looked at a pair of sleek, zippered boots or a particularly daring blouse. She would stare at the item as if seeing a ghost then close her eyes and turn away before opening them. He did not comment, hoping that she would turn to him when she was ready to face her loses. Certainly the middle of Harvey Nichols was not the place for it.
At last he loaded her bags into the Bentley and held her door for her before climbing in himself. He sagged against the seat and groaned.
"Worn out darling?" she asked.
"Jet lag," he suggested, starting the car.
Steed had never visited Bond's London apartment, but Bond's much vaunted double-oh rating put him in the top salary echelon within Britain's intelligence community. After his years wandering Europe in the war and wandering the world just after it, Steed had elected a career path that, in recent years, kept him closer to home most of the time. Therefore he was not eligible for double-oh, which was an MI-6 international designation. His base salary was generous, but not top echelon. However, he consistently received bonuses for his efforts that doubled or even tripled his annual income.
During the chaotic years just after the war Steed had found a number of lucrative assignments and opportunities that didn't conflict with his morals and loyalty to his homeland. The interest from investments he'd made with that income had been trickling into his Swiss account, augmenting his share of the family money, for years. Steed had no reason to envy his associate's paycheck. But he was curious to see how Bond spent it on his home. After all, the man spent vast swatches of time abroad.
"Steed, Emma, it's good to see you," Bond opened the door to his penthouse as soon as the gentle chime of the bell sounded. Emma stepped in and he kissed her on the cheek, then shook Steed's hand. "Come in. Have a drink," he added, leading them through the marble-floored foyer and into a spacious sitting room.
"Sally!" Emma cried happily when she spotted her assistant standing by a floor-to-ceiling window. Sally, who'd been watching a flock of pigeons circling outside the window, turned and favored Emma and Steed with a happy smile.
"What are you doing here?" Emma asked, suddenly suspicious. Is James the reason that she's finding Terrance less interesting? I'll kill him! She turned toward James, her concern clear in her expression.
"I invited Sally as well," James said calmly, leading Steed over to a bar -- mahogany inlayed with walnut. "She helped me with something recently."
"What was that?" Emma asked, arching an eyebrow at Sally. Sally just smiled, which made Emma's curiosity more urgent.
"Patience, my dear," James said as he poured two glasses of champagne. "Your favorite beverage, I believe," he said to Steed, who nodded appreciatively. James carried the bottle across the room to where two more glasses stood half empty on a side table near Sally. When all were bubbling merrily he raised his. The others followed suit. "To the future of Knight Industries -- I believe I've shared this toast with some of you before, but it's still relevant."
"To Knight," Steed concurred. Emma and Sally drank as well.
"Please, sit down," James gestured at the brown leather sofa that faced the windows. Steed waited for Emma to take a seat at one end, then sat beside her. Sally sat in an armchair where she seemed to have been before they came in. James took a matching chair across from her.
"Is your apartment really destroyed, ma -- Emma?" Sally asked. Steed's head snapped around at her use of Emma's first name. Emma smiled encouragingly at her and nodded.
"I haven't gone back. But they said it was. I intend go in, when they're done with it. At least, I think I do," she shrugged, ducking her head to look down at her hands for a moment. Then she recovered. "There may be something to salvage. Perhaps in the kitchen."
"Like a broken teapot, perhaps?" Sally asked with a playful smile. Emma understood her reference to a piece of china that Steed had broken and she'd kept anyway.
"Perhaps," she agreed. "But in any case I've resolved to move on."
"That's commendable," James said, his tone suggesting that he didn't completely believe in her resolve. "What do you think, Sally? I'm not sure I can wait," he went on.
"Yes, please James. I don't think I can stand it," she replied. Emma and Steed exchanged a bewildered glance as James stood up and disappeared through a doorway into a darkened room.
"I have something to show you," his voice echoed from the dark room. Emma frowned at Sally, but the girl just smiled back. She seemed to be containing a great deal of excitement.
James reappeared in the doorway, stepping through sideways while carrying a large, thin object. He rotated as he entered the sitting room to display what he was holding. Emma sprang to her feet, then walked slowly across the room, her eyes fixed on the Renoir. Steed rose too, watching her, then glancing at Sally. She was grinning from ear-to-ear as she watched Emma approach the painting. Then Steed looked at Bond. His eyes were also locked on Emma, his expression one of pride and affection. Be gracious. He's not going to win her away from you, even with this, he assured himself.
"How?" Emma asked simply. James set the painting on a side chair and stood beside Emma to look at it. Steed quickly joined them, standing on Emma's other side. Shut out of the group, Sally stayed seated like a spectator.
"It was a public auction. I bid," James shrugged. "I had inside information about the best item on the block," he added.
"I can hardly believe it," Emma said, stretching up to kiss James on the cheek, then turning back to the painting. "I never expected to see it again."
"I'm not sure it fits in here," James said. "I don't suppose you know a good place for it?"
"Knight Industries might be willing to repurchase it," Emma said, nodding slowly. She didn't know what James had paid -- she'd studiously avoided seeing the results of the auction. But whatever it was, she'd willingly pay it back, plus the commission.
"That would work out rather well, actually," James said. "I had to liquidate some stock to buy it. I'd like to re-establish my position in Knight Industries -- I hear it's going to go up soon."
Emma's mood was noticeably buoyant through James's excellent dinner. Her happiness influenced the others, making it a jolly evening.
Steed quickly forgot any petty jealousy over James's surprise when he saw the ebullient effect it had on Emma -- after all, he'd be the target of her pleasure later, not James. Sally was clearly proud to have had a hand in the surprise. Steed had never seen her so animated as she described her first visit to an auction house. She was young and inexperienced, but Steed continued to believe that she could find a place in the ministry. For one thing, she seemed to adapt quickly to circumstances and people -- he'd seen her personality shift in an instant depending on whom she was dealing with. And for another, she managed to combine loyalty and discretion in equal measures. She was, he thought, no less experienced than Tara King had been when she'd begun her training.
James was relieved that Steed had recovered Knight's fortunes from Peter Peel. He had sold more stock than he'd wanted to get the Renoir. The bidding had not been too heated, but there had been two others interested. He'd almost given up when the price was double the reserve, but one glance at Sally's intense expression had forced him to nod once more. Thankfully, the gavel had fallen. And Sally's joy at his success had made it worth it. She was a rare thing in his life -- a young woman without an agenda that in any way involved espionage. He found her refreshing.
Emma's gaze kept returning to her father's painting. She could not take it back to Steed's, of course, much as she wanted to. It was far too valuable to load into the boot of the Bentley. No, it had to remain in James's care -- insured, she assumed -- until Monday when she could arrange for purchase and professional transport. Transport back to its home on the wall in her office. And in a few weeks she would allow herself to look for furniture to replace the suite that she despised in front of the fireplace. And her desk chair. For the first time since Sally told her that Steed was coming home she allowed her head to spin with plans.