This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
The characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed takes a fall
Emma takes a delivery
Chapter 27
"Can't we keep it to our closest few hundred friends, darling?" Steed asked as he watched Emma paging through her address book transcribing names onto her guest list.
"Of course darling," she replied absently, so that he thought she wasn't even listening. But then she added, "I'm only including people within a half day's travel. Except Caro and Harry, of course. Although I wouldn't blame them for not coming. We shouldn't expect them to give up their Christmas traditions for us every year."
"Well, strictly speaking we shouldn't expect anyone to give up their Christmas traditions. But I fear that our little party is expected to become one of them."
"You love parties."
"I love attending parties."
Emma smirked at him, setting her pen down on her book to watch him for a moment. She was at her desk in the library and he was ensconced in one of the big, comfortable chairs with a handful of ministry files on his lap. During his third week of recovery he had demanded to be put on the inactive duty list. That meant he'd had files brought out to him, and he sat in the library distracting her from what little Knight work she tried to get done. She adored having him there. She was about to tell him so when her Knight telephone rang -- she had had a separate line installed.
As she answered it she watched him pick up a file and begin reading, although she was certain he was eavesdropping -- she'd watched him read that file already. She didn't mind. Very little Knight business that she conducted at home was so confidential that he could not hear about it. The call was from her secretary, Mrs. Emerson, to go over the next three days' agenda. Knight was hosting a conference at a London hotel, and the marketing department had overbooked Emma's time. Between them they worked it out and Mrs. Emerson rang off with the intention of reading the marketing director the riot act. Emma was just as happy to have someone else to handle such distasteful tasks.
She turned back to her guest list, unable to remember what she had been thinking of telling Steed before Mrs. Emerson's call.
"Okay, I surrender!" Emma gasped, wiggling out of Siobhan's loosening hold. The nanny looked at once triumphant and embarrassed. Emma smiled proudly at her. "Very good, Siobhan. You've mastered that one."
"Thank you ma'am. All of a sudden I realized just how to position myself."
"Yes," Emma rubbed her slightly sore neck, "I noticed. No," she held up a warding hand as the Nanny started to apologize, "I'm fine."
"It's going well then?" Steed's voice came from the door. They were in the middle of the basement gymnasium, surrounded by Steed's weights and exercise equipment. Steed crossed to them, John squirming in his arms. "He was crying. But I seem to have provided adequate distraction," he said, smiling down at the baby.
"If you pick him up every time that he cries, Steed, he'll be dreadfully spoiled," Emma said. She and Siobhan had heard the baby's cries over the monitor that the nanny always carried. They had agreed that little John was just crying for attention and if left to it he would soon amuse himself with the mobile hanging over his cradle. They had also heard Steed's soothing words as he picked up his fussy son. They'd exchanged a knowing smile and continued their lesson.
"Did you check his nappy?" Siobhan asked, reaching for the baby. Steed's brows shot up, his expression somewhere between alarm and guilt. Emma chuckled at him. Although he'd been taught how to change John's diapers, and did it when essential, it was a task that he avoided with deft skill and manipulation. Siobhan slipped her fingers in the back and nodded.
"He's wet," she said. "I'll go change him."
Emma watched satisfaction flicker across Steed's face and she nodded, eyes narrowing. As Siobhan carried John out of the gym, Emma sauntered over to her husband, intent on extracting a confession.
Steed beat her to it.
"She's much better at it than I," he said, all disarming nonchalance. Emma snorted, slipping her hands up his chest and around his neck, pressing herself against him in a way that she had not done in weeks. It was an automatic move, an inadvertent signal that he wouldn't misunderstand. She wanted him, and although she had not intended to pressure him, she thought he might be well enough to want her, too.
His kiss conveyed everything she needed to know. A moan rose in her throat as she kissed him back, fingers twining into his hair, body perfectly aligned with his. He held her tight, one hand caressing her lower back, the other holding the back of her head as his mouth trailed urgent kisses all over her face. She took a deep breath as he kissed her throat, his hand slipping down to hold her buttocks.
"You were right, last summer," he breathed into her ear, his hand moving up her back again. "About us having no privacy in our own home."
Emma lifted her mouth from his throat. "We still have the sanctity of our bedroom," she said. He caught her mouth again, his lips pressing hers open, his tongue plunging in. His touch and kiss ignited the smoldering desire that she'd been nursing. She melted against him, letting his strong arms holding her tight against him keep her upright. He had been using the gym and the results were astonishing. He was so accustomed to recovering from wounds that he knew exactly how to return his body to peak condition quickly. Even the doctors at the clinic had been amazed when they'd examined him yesterday.
His hand wandered over her shoulders and around to brush over her breast. She gasped at the tingling sensation, her mouth closing on his lower lip. He teased her nipple with a light pinch and she caught at his hand, the attendant warmth in her loins making her desperate to press herself tighter against him. She could already feel his body's response and she wanted more. She pulled his hand away before she lost control of her actions.
"Our bedroom," she repeated, hating to pull away from him, but making herself do it. He took a deep breath and allowed her to lead him through the basement to the stairs that led up to the hall near the front door. From there they climbed the main stairs and hurried along the upper hall past the nursery where they caught snatches of a lullaby Siobhan was singing to John.
"Let's have a fire," Steed said as he shut the door. Emma paused, having expected him to retake her the instant they were safely in their room. But Steed winked, putting both hands on her cheeks to pull her into a quick, urgent kiss. Then he released her and went to the fireplace.
She slipped into the bathroom while he arranged logs and ignited kindling. She returned to find him kneeling in front of his fire. As she approached he glanced over his shoulder at her, then reached out to close the fire screen. She sat down, her legs stretched out behind him, and he sat too, facing her with his legs the other way, slipping his arms around her.
Their eager kisses made them both shiver with desire as they renewed their exploration with mouths and hands. Steed drew down the zipper on Emma's velour top, following his hand with his lips and smiling against her warm skin as he found that she had removed her bra and the tank top she'd been wearing while teaching Siobhan.
"What else have you taken off?" he asked.
"You know how to find out," she replied, slipping her hands under the back of his jumper to gently caress his back through his cotton shirt. He leaned back a little to allow her to remove it, then finished unzipping her top. She put her hands to his throat to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He kissed her playfully, stretching his neck above her struggling fingers to catch her smiling lips. She gave up and slid her hands up over his shoulders to pull him close.
She felt a joyful sense of renewal as he continued kissing her. His roughly passionate kisses and slow, careful undressing reminded her of the early days of their love, when their passion was so intense they sometimes lingered over one another for days at a time. And the tension of never speaking of it made the intimate moments all the more seductive. It never ceased to amaze her that even now, with the hurdle of spoken commitment behind them, they were able to rekindle passion in one another over and over. She could not imagine growing bored with Steed, or feeling the thrumming desire that coursed through her now for any other man.
As he drew her velour jacket off her shoulder and kissed her where it had been she shivered and closed her eyes, letting herself become completely absorbed by him. His touch left fiery trails over her skin, his scent overwhelmed her with its musky masculinity. She could feel his heart beating where their chests met, and as he carefully traced her ear with his tongue she heard and felt his breath. She matched her breathing to his, felt her heart beat increase to his pace.
And then she was lying down, one knee bent, one of his knees between her legs. His fingers fondled one breast, his mouth the other. She brought her hands back up to his shirt, managing to undo a few more buttons before he distracted her with his fingers, slipping them under the waistband of her stretchy velour trousers. A little moan formed in her throat as he parted her moist lips and rubbed one gentle finger along her labia. He lifted his face from her breast and covered her mouth with his, pressing another finger into her to stroke more powerfully against her clitoris. She moaned again and he absorbed the sound, returning it as he ground his solid maleness against her hip.
She wanted to envelop him. She wanted him to fill her, to let her hold him tight within herself. As she imagined these things he stroked deeper with his fingers and an anticipatory orgasm shook her. He released her lips, smiling happily at his success, as if making her come were a great achievement.
He removed his hand from her trousers and put his damp finger to her lips. She sucked on it, eyes locked with his.
"Let's get in bed," he said. "I'm still too sore for the floor."
He took off his shirt as they crossed to the bed, then he removed his trousers as she slid hers off and pulled back the coverlet and top sheet. He followed her onto the bed, rolling her beneath him and parting her legs with his own. He slid into her, no longer patient with tender foreplay, knowing she was as ready as he was. But once inside he held still, closing his eyes to enjoy the most amazing sensation he knew. She drew her legs up around his waist and wiggled against him so that he thrust a little deeper. Then her lips were on his, pulling him into her there as well, and for the first time in weeks, since Venice, he was at peace. She engulfed him, her hands flat on his back, her loins holding him in their deep, secret place, her mouth fondling his with great, sucking kisses.
"Emma," he sighed and she moved her hips again, sending a spark of friction up his member like an arrow into his heart. He jerked out and back into her and she cried out quietly, clearly holding herself in check because of the nanny down the hall. He wanted her to yell, didn't care what Siobhan heard. Determined, he lowered his head to pinch a nipple between his lips. She retaliated, scraping a fingernail across his own sharply sensitive nipple. It was he who yelled first, a deep moaning sound that made her smile triumphantly beneath him. He pinched her again and thrust out and in and she groaned, tossing her head from side to side until he stopped her with a hand on the side of her face. He grabbed her lips with his, sucking her harder than she had him, and she bucked beneath him, driving him into a frenzy of thrusts as his loins burned for more.
Then she pulled her legs up further, tilting her pelvis to him. He reached back and hooked first one leg, and then the other, drawing them up to his shoulders. She was always flexible, and even more so after her workout with Siobhan. He thrust into her harder, taking animal pleasure in her restrained position. She opened herself to him, throwing her arms over her head and closing her eyes. Her lips parted in concentration, the tip of her tongue showing, as he drove into her. He felt her shudder around him and she gasped, lips twisting into a satisfied smile. He shifted his arms, releasing her legs so that she locked her ankles behind him, smiling contentedly up at him.
"Finished?" he asked. She shook her head.
"Resting," she replied, slipping her hand between them to spread two fingers around the base of his shaft where it was buried inside of her. She squeezed, her smile turning mischievous, and he gasped at the sensation. He pulled out and thrust in, her squeezing fingers sending tremors up his penis. He did it again, grinding into her to feel her hand crushed between them.
"You like that," she said. His next thrust was his only answer and she smiled. And then she was squeezing him all over, her internal muscles tightening around him to match her fingers. He instinctively thrust deeper, driving her into the mattress. She opened her mouth in a silent cry, back arching as she erupted deep inside. He could wait no longer, the sheer power of her orgasm challenging him to match it. He began to thrust again, riding her internal waves, forcing his way in against her successive orgasms, sweating from the heat building between them.
Her cry found sound, a ragged moan that went on and on as he pumped again and again to fill her with his essence, to reclaim her, body and soul, as his own. And she took him, absorbed him, held him with strong arms around his healed back, until he was spent and shriveling within her. He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, still gasping, gradually aware of her feet in the air and her lips against his temple.
He raised his head and she lowered her legs, rocking her pelvis against his. He kissed the tip of her nose and she smiled a contented, feline smile.
"I love you, John Steed," she said softly, and her words touched his soul. Of course he had known it, but to hear it, for her to give of herself so easily, was like offering a rebirth. She loves me. I owe her everything.
He lifted up and moved to her side, gathering her in his arms to hold her tight. He lay on his back and she aligned herself to him, head on his shoulder, one arm across his chest.
"The dreams always start with me bound," he said slowly. She raised her head to look at him, but his eyes were closed, as if he had to be in a semi-dream state in order to describe it. "I hear footsteps. Marching footsteps. It's a memory from Nee San. Sometimes the clock tolls three in my dream. It always tolled three in Nee San."
"I know," she barely whispered, unable to stop herself. As if by knowing some of it, she was entitled to hear the rest. He swallowed, his eyes still shut tight. She laid her head on his shoulder and waited.
"Then the questions come. I can never see them. It doesn't matter, I know what they look like, each one of them: the Chinese captain with his thin moustache and Manchurian accent; the Gestapo agent in his hoch Deutch and immaculate black uniform, as if he knew that his perfect attire would embarrass me in my rags; the Spaniard who had masqueraded as a cleric to gain my confidence; the Italian whom Tara so efficiently dispatched last month. They begin their questions and their beatings.
"In Nee San, they never used anything so gross as striking. The Chinese understand the human mind better than any other culture. Their tortures were exquisite and slow. And sometimes there were no questions at all. Only torture for its own sake. Designed to make us want to tell them everything."
"But you didn't," she whispered, still not quite believing that he was talking about it.
"Never."
He was quiet for so long she thought he had finished, that this small morsel was all he could manage at once. But then he took a long breath and went on.
"I was in Nee San because I had been sloppy. I was not going to crack and double my sins."
"How long were you there?"
"I don't know."
Emma lifted her head again, allowing herself a puzzled frown. His eyes must have been open just a slit, for he saw it.
"I was captured and held in a local prison for days, or weeks. I don't really know. I was hardly fed, never washed. I was treated like an animal and obligingly became one. I was tried and sent to Nee San, where I was treated like an experiment. It was easy not to speak, when I had been an animal and was now just a statistic. It's amazing that they never understood that, when they understood so much else.
"When they pushed me out into a road in the middle of the night the only thing that surprised me was that they put fresh clothes on me first. I expected to be hit by a truck. But instead I stumbled across the road, passing someone going the other way, and fell into an English soldier. I had been traded, because my own people didn't trust me not to tell what I knew, and they could not get into Nee San to terminate me."
Emma inhaled a sharp breath and he opened his eyes at last, studying her for a moment, perhaps wondering if she could stand to hear more.
"The war ended while I was in a hospital near RAF Hamelin. I signed out and returned to the continent."
"They didn't try to keep you?"
"They tried. But I was feeling particularly bitter. I had shown them that their training worked. I had held out, kept the secrets that, it turned out, were not that vital soon after I was traded. They offered me an administrative position. I was insulted, angry, burned out. I wanted to go back to war, to get it out of my system. I felt cheated of the last few months of the engagement."
Now Emma studied him for a while, and he fell silent under her gaze. Would he be surprised to know that I understand how he felt? She wondered. Would it shock him to learn that I have known an animal need for retaliation? But I did not have the option. I had to be the mourning widow. Would he believe that I envy him the opportunity to act?
"So you went back to war -- or the aftermath of it," she said. He stared at the ceiling.
"In my nightmares, when I will not answer their questions, they torture you," his voice cracked as he went on.
"Steed," she said, suddenly understanding his unwillingness to speak of it.
"They accuse me of not loving you as much as I do my work." Tears were running from the corners of his eyes. He took a ragged breath through his mouth.
"Steed," she repeated, but he went on as if he did not hear.
"And when I still do not speak, they torture John."
The horror of it welled up within Emma and her own tears flowed. She pressed her face to his shoulder and held him with her arm across his chest. He held her too, wrapping both arms around her, his face pressed into her hair.
She could not imagine how he could endure the dreams, even for the brief moments before his thrashing awakened her and she woke him. Her pain at thinking she had lost him was nothing compared with the revulsion she felt as she imagined seeing their son tortured. What dark corner of Steed's mind offered up this terrible notion? What had he seen during the war and after it that could dissolve the mores of civilization in his mind and allow it to create such a vision?
They lay silent for a long while, their tears mingling, their sobbing breaths syncopated. Emma struggled to suppress the vision of John wailing as he was struck repeatedly, his little face a mask of confused anguish. No. Our son will not be the victim of a diabolical mastermind. We will keep him safe.
Emma sucked in a deep breath to clear her head and her sinuses, then lifted her head to look at Steed's face. His grim expression spoke of guilt and deep pain. She thought it would help him to describe the dreams more, but she knew he would not. Not, at least, to her. From her he needed absolution and reassurance.
"You do not love me less than your work, John," she said. "It isn't a question of love, but of loyalty and trust. We are both loyal to Queen and country. And I trust you to choose your path based on your love for me tempered by your loyalty. I pray that your nightmares will never come true, but I know that if they do that whatever choice you make will be your only option to remain true to yourself.
"No," she put a finger to his lips. "Don't deny it. You have walked a narrow line since we met, or since you understood your feelings for me. I have endeavored to be a strong partner so as not to put you in the position you so fear. And now we must both endeavor to ensure the safety of our son."
Steed wiped his eyes with one hand and studied her as she spoke. The memory of his nightmares still played out in his head: John hung by his feet, flames licking at his fine, dark hair, his face contorted in a scream. The voice roaring a meaningless question and his own muteness -- it was not that he refused to save his son: he could not. Despite what Emma thought, there was no choice, not after so many years of conditioning. He could not betray his country, even to save her. Even to save their son.
"If you believe John is safe, then your dreams may go away," Emma suggested, pressing the back of her hand to Steed's cheek, amazed at the dampness there. She had never seen him cry before.
"Mrs. Steed is here," Watkin said into the intercom on his desk. Emma stared at the door to Mother's office, her hands in front of her holding her bag. Her suit felt oddly restrictive and she realized that it was just possible that she had gained some weight through the hips.
"Send her in," Mother's voice sounded harsh through the intercom speaker. Watkin rose and opened the door for her.
"Emma, how are you?" Mother said, waving her toward his desk. Today his office also included a single, luxurious guest chair and a row of tall file cabinets along one wall. Seeing Emma's glance at them Mother slapped his hand on a file on his desk and grimaced.
"Personnel review time," he said. "It seems like I have to review every single file myself."
Emma's eyes drifted to Rhonda, Mother's silent assistant. The woman's face remained impassive as she took the file from under Mother's hand and carried it to one of the cabinets.
"Please sit down," Mother gestured at the chair across from him. Emma seated herself carefully, noting the unfamiliar pull of her short skirt as she bent.
"Thank you for seeing me, Mother. I won't take much of your time," she said.
"I daresay your own time is rather more valuable -- still keeping up with things at Knight, aren't you?"
"I am precariously balanced on top of everything there," she replied with a smile. Overt flattery rarely made a good impression on her, but it was such a rarity from Mother she could not help but note it. It made her suspicious, of course.
"And what can we do for you?"
"Steed is having nightmares."
Mother took a deep breath and pressed his hands flat on his desk, using them to press his upper body against the back of his chair. Rhonda went to one of the filing cabinets, took out a thick file, and set it on the desk in front of Mother. He opened it, flipping to the middle, then turning a few more pages before he stopped.
"He is prone to nightmares," he said, looking from the document up to Emma's face.
"Yes. But these are particularly bad."
"He has described them to you?" Mother's tone belied a hint of surprise and Emma felt a ridiculous twinge of competitive victory that she was closer to Steed than Mother.
"Yes. And after he did they came less frequently. But they are not going away. I have an idea of how to banish them permanently."
"Steed is resistant to therapy, Emma. Certainly you know that?"
"You mean he refuses to see that psychoanalysis could have a positive impact on him? Yes. He is rather old fashioned, after all. But that's not what I had in mind."
"Oh?"
"Security, Mother. That's what he needs. He needs to know that his son is protected. And although a security system in our home might provide a false sense of security, I believe that it would alleviate Steed's deepest fears. If the ministry will protect his child, he will be better able to function."
Mother adopted a puzzled frown, as if he didn't quite understand what she was asking.
"You want us install a burglar alarm in your house?" he asked.
Emma smiled patiently. You old fox. You know what I mean. He's your best agent, cough it up.
"Remote control gate, security cameras, trip wire along the wall, and yes, Mother, a burglar alarm in the house," she said.
"No 24-hour armed guards?" he asked somewhat caustically.
"I'm thinking of getting a big, mean dog."
He ignored her sarcasm. "And you believe that all of this is required in order for Steed to get a good nights' sleep?"
"The responsibilities of fatherhood are very new to him, and he's undergone a terrible ordeal. He might have handled one or the other in his usual way -- a few bad dreams, a vacation in some paradise, and sweep the unpleasantness under the mental rug. But he isn't able to do that this time. And, apart from easing Steed's troubled mind, I believe that his home should be made secure."
"And does Knight Industries believe its CEO's home should be secure?" Mother's evil little smile was designed to goad her. But she had expected him to play this card.
"Yes. I can allocate funds for home security. But Knight does not have access to the quality of equipment that you can provide. And Steed would not gain the same sense of safety from Knight's protection as he would from the ministry's."
"Knowing that Knight protects his son wouldn't make his bad dreams go away?"
Emma's eyes narrowed at Mother's patronizing tone. But she held her tongue.
Seeing that she would not rise to his bait, Mother closed Steed's file and looked up at Rhonda.
"Send a security analysis team to assess the Steed house and grounds. I want their recommendation in three days," he paused to look at Emma, "you will be available to meet with them, say, tomorrow, I trust?"
"I will be at their disposal," Emma nodded.
"Very well. Is there anything else, Emma?"
"No. Thank you Mother. I knew you would agree that Steed's mental well being is critical -- to both of us." Emma rose, nodded at Rhonda, and left the office. When the door was closed Mother handed Steed's file to Rhonda.
"Have Dr. Hirsch schedule an appointment with Steed -- his return to full duty will be contingent on it." Rhonda took the file, nodding at his instruction. As she turned away he added thoughtfully, "I wonder just how difficult Mrs. Steed is finding adjusting to the responsibilities of motherhood."
fin