Peel of a Pair: Avengers (John Steed and Emma Peel; General Audiences)liadtbunnyJune 17 2014, 15:10:12 UTC
In the main drawing room of a country mansion, Mrs Emma Peel was sitting on a hard couch, which had ornately carved legs. She moved her arm from its position resting along the back of the sofa behind Steed. As Steed felt her touch his arm, he turned his face to hers. She smiled and moved her hand smoothly down his forearm to clasp his hand in hers. Steed smiled back in pleasure at the mischievous spark in her eyes, which was for him and him alone.
“How long have we been married?” said Emma, gazing deep into Steed’s eyes, although she was answering another’s question. “How long haven’t we been married?”
“I initially thought, if you will excuse me making assumptions about a lady like yourself, you had taken up with a new man. It has been a long time since Mr Peel disappeared in the Amazon and you’re still a young, healthy and vibrant woman. I couldn’t imagine you living the life of a nun,” said the questioner. He was a middle-aged man of medium build, with receding hair swept back at the temples. He gave the impression of being a generous man, but this was not reflected in the ice blue chips he had for eyes.
“Of course, if you had stayed with your initial thoughts you wouldn’t have been so keen to meet us, would you, Mr Dalyne,” said Steed.
“Mrs Peel and yourself, Mr Peel, are always welcome at my home. Such charming and elegant company, but, yes, I cannot deny I am interested in your knowledge of top-secret aviation technology. One thing you must tell me, before we get down to technical details, why are your face and voice different? Everything else is the same - your physical build, height, hair, sense of style and taste. Everything!”
Steed grinned at Emma, when Dalyne mentioned his taste, but he meant Steed’s taste in cars and the finer things in life and not the lovely Mrs Peel.
Emma leaned her body against Steed’s shoulder and he carefully smoothed down the stray strands of her auburn tresses, that threatened to tickle his nose. Steed regretted the diabolical criminal masterminds, they frequently came up against, were so stuffy despite their outward eccentricities. If they were in the same situation, in more swinging surroundings he was sure Mrs Peel would have spread herself across his lap. A brief flash of worry crossed his mind - they might appear to be too enamoured with each other to be considered a married couple well past the honeymoon period.
Steed cleared his throat, pushing any worries to one side. “What happened to my face? That’s a high tale of boy’s own adventure on its own. First, I must take you to the humidity of the Amazonian jungle. It’s true; I did crash my plane, due to an engine fault, in the forest. The Indians found me and saved my life. They regarded me as a messenger fallen from the home of the Gods. Too much adulation is as bad for the digestion as the ego, however, and when a Brazilian medical mission came into the area I departed with a heavy heart back to civilisation.”
“Indeed, it does sound the stuff of schoolboy reading,” said Mr Dalyne.
Emma continued the story. “While the natives had done all they could, for my Peter, his face was a mass of scar tissue and his vocal cords had been scorched by the intense heat inside the cockpit of the burning plane. What you see before you now is the handy work of Harley Street’s finest. Other than the face and voice, everything else is the same. It’s a small price to pay for the return of one’s loved one.”
Mr Dalyne nodded in agreement, it all fitted. There was more to a man than his choice of tailor, though. The way the Peels were with each other was hard to fake. It wasn’t the overt display they were putting on for him, on the settee, that convinced him Steed was really Peel. No, it was the little touches, looks of affection and sharing of private jokes which passed between them, during pre-Dinner drinks. Two spies couldn’t cook up that kind of behaviour after training. There were only two things bothering him now - why hadn’t Peter Peel wanted it to be known he was still alive and why had he waited nearly three years to sell his aviation secrets?
Re: Peel of a Pair: Avengers (John Steed and Emma Peel; General Audiences)timelessapeelJune 19 2014, 15:11:24 UTC
Great stuff! Especially that opener that tricked me into thinking the conversation was about to go in a another direction entirely. Clever idea, too, using Steed's physical similarities to Peter Peel to have him pass as Peel. Thanks for a really enjoyable fic.
Re: Re: Peel of a Pair: Avengers (John Steed and Emma Peel; General Audiences)timelessapeelJune 20 2014, 18:14:49 UTC
Your subconscious is extremely clever, then, because I was convinced that Steed and Emma had gotten hitched. You had me going until I hit paragraph five!
Re: Re: Peel of a Pair: Avengers (John Steed and Emma Peel; General Audiences)liadtbunnyJune 22 2014, 19:19:37 UTC
It seemed obvious to me they weren't but then I knew what was coming next:s I must stop thinking everyone is psychic! Next time I take an exam I'm doing it in my sleep:p
“How long have we been married?” said Emma, gazing deep into Steed’s eyes, although she was answering another’s question. “How long haven’t we been married?”
“I initially thought, if you will excuse me making assumptions about a lady like yourself, you had taken up with a new man. It has been a long time since Mr Peel disappeared in the Amazon and you’re still a young, healthy and vibrant woman. I couldn’t imagine you living the life of a nun,” said the questioner. He was a middle-aged man of medium build, with receding hair swept back at the temples. He gave the impression of being a generous man, but this was not reflected in the ice blue chips he had for eyes.
“Of course, if you had stayed with your initial thoughts you wouldn’t have been so keen to meet us, would you, Mr Dalyne,” said Steed.
“Mrs Peel and yourself, Mr Peel, are always welcome at my home. Such charming and elegant company, but, yes, I cannot deny I am interested in your knowledge of top-secret aviation technology. One thing you must tell me, before we get down to technical details, why are your face and voice different? Everything else is the same - your physical build, height, hair, sense of style and taste. Everything!”
Steed grinned at Emma, when Dalyne mentioned his taste, but he meant Steed’s taste in cars and the finer things in life and not the lovely Mrs Peel.
Emma leaned her body against Steed’s shoulder and he carefully smoothed down the stray strands of her auburn tresses, that threatened to tickle his nose. Steed regretted the diabolical criminal masterminds, they frequently came up against, were so stuffy despite their outward eccentricities. If they were in the same situation, in more swinging surroundings he was sure Mrs Peel would have spread herself across his lap. A brief flash of worry crossed his mind - they might appear to be too enamoured with each other to be considered a married couple well past the honeymoon period.
Steed cleared his throat, pushing any worries to one side. “What happened to my face? That’s a high tale of boy’s own adventure on its own. First, I must take you to the humidity of the Amazonian jungle. It’s true; I did crash my plane, due to an engine fault, in the forest. The Indians found me and saved my life. They regarded me as a messenger fallen from the home of the Gods. Too much adulation is as bad for the digestion as the ego, however, and when a Brazilian medical mission came into the area I departed with a heavy heart back to civilisation.”
“Indeed, it does sound the stuff of schoolboy reading,” said Mr Dalyne.
Emma continued the story. “While the natives had done all they could, for my Peter, his face was a mass of scar tissue and his vocal cords had been scorched by the intense heat inside the cockpit of the burning plane. What you see before you now is the handy work of Harley Street’s finest. Other than the face and voice, everything else is the same. It’s a small price to pay for the return of one’s loved one.”
Mr Dalyne nodded in agreement, it all fitted. There was more to a man than his choice of tailor, though. The way the Peels were with each other was hard to fake. It wasn’t the overt display they were putting on for him, on the settee, that convinced him Steed was really Peel. No, it was the little touches, looks of affection and sharing of private jokes which passed between them, during pre-Dinner drinks. Two spies couldn’t cook up that kind of behaviour after training. There were only two things bothering him now - why hadn’t Peter Peel wanted it to be known he was still alive and why had he waited nearly three years to sell his aviation secrets?
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(And I am hopeful that you only use your psychic powers for good. ;-) )
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(Sorry it's taken so long to reply - I was convinced I had when I first read this and only on a re-read I realised I hadn't)
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