En Passant

An Excalibur fanfic by Brian Doyle. 

All characters used are the property of their original creators (None
of whom were me). No permission had been granted, no offence has been
intended (...and no money has been made!)

(This story is set after the events of Excalibur #100, and before the
arrival of Ben Raab as writer, so we're still in Ellis territory. It
may not have been comfortable reading, it may not have been cosy, but
God, it was fun!) 

Chapter 1 - Setting up the Board

With a rainbow shimmer of light, a snub-nosed aircraft materialised 
a couple of hundred feet above Piccadilly Circus. British reserve
ensured that no one had the bad taste to notice. The sole exception
was a small group of Japanese tourists exiting Tower Records (who
were cheerfully living up to their stereotype by snapping pictures 
of anything that moved, regardless of how interesting it was) and a
drunk lying on the steps in front of the statue of Eros, whose head
happened to be staring upwards. No one was listening to him apart
from his invisible friends, and the likelihood was that even they
were looking at their watches.

From a hatchway in the side of the craft emerged a strangely
mismatched couple, holding hands. They stood in mid-air, apparently
unconcerned by the absence of solid ground.

The smaller of the figures, a young brunette woman wearing a blue and
gold bodysuit and an odd looking lavender stole around her neck, gave
a wave towards the cockpit of the aircraft.

The other was a tall, sallow-complexioned young man with dark hair, 
a shabby looking black suit and even shabbier looking black raincoat.
He was too busy not looking down to actually be able to concentrate
on anything like waving. 

Still holding hands, the two of them started carefully walking down 
a deeply sloping pathway that quite simply wasn't there. Behind them
the aircraft shimmered again, and was gone with barely a sound.

A close observer watching the not-quite-floating pair would have
noticed that the man had his eyes tightly shut and seemed to be
sweating. A close listener would also have been able to make out
snatches of conversation between them.

"...o you _cannot_ smoke when I'm phasing.. .nhuman bloody
lung-Nazi...  I'm not an Inhuman, I'm a muta..."

Eventually they alighted on top of the roof of Rock Circus, the
pop-music based waxworks museum that sat between the foot of Regent
Street and the North side of Piccadilly. The pair were still arguing
and looked set to do so indefinitely.

With a yawn, the "stole" unwrapped itself from around the girl's
neck, revealing itself to be, in strict violation of normalcy, 
a small, purple-grey creature looking like nothing so much as a
three-foot long dragon. It stretched, flexing wide leathery wings
before taking off, hanging in the air by beating its wings lazily.
Thanks to a remarkably expressive pair of eyebrow-like ridges above
its eyes, the creature gave a good approximation of a bored
expression and made a small, resigned, sighing noise.

"... an't get off his bloody landed-gentry backside and investigate
it himself!"

The girl let go of his hand and faced him down. This was easier to do
than might be imagined because she had climbed back up her invisible
slope, and so was still hovering about a foot off the ground, making
her to all intents and purposes taller than he was. 

"Give him a break, Pete, he's going to a funeral, not an open air
concert. This is too disturbing not to investigate as soon as
possible and it's the sort of thing you love. With the others busy 
at Braddock Manor for a couple of days, it's the perfect chance for 
us to look up the contacts that you said could help. We can call it
'reconnaissance' if it makes you feel better."

Deciding that was not a battle he was going to win, Pete made
placating motions. "Okay, okay, we'll have a look into things before
we call them in. Anyway, never mind Braddock and the others right
now, Kitty luv... Is my tie straight?"

If her companion had just announced he planned to strip naked, sprout
wings and lambada down to earth unaided, she couldn't have looked
more surprised. Even the dragon's head swung round in shock.

"Excuse me! Pete Wisdom? Worried about your appearance? Isn't that
about twenty-eight years too late?"

"Ha ha. I'm large alright? I contain sodding multitudes. Now answer
the question, is it okay?"

"The tie's fine, it's the rest of you that's a little lopsided." The
girl's eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Who _are_ you? Pete's evil
twin or something?"

Pete replied, "Nah, I _am_ the evil twin. I crawled out of the womb
first and kicked the flap shut behind me. The other bugger starved to
death in utero."

Kitty wrinkled her nose. "You keep those comments handy, just waiting
for a chance to use them, don't you?"

"Well, that one I got from an old pal of mine when I was a kid, name
of Constantine. Daft bugger, totally weird."

"Well, I can see why you got on then. You are really, _really_
disgusting sometimes, you know that? So, now we're here, can you 
tell me who _are_ we meeting here that's got you worried about your
wardrobe? The Queen?"

"Yeah, right, like I'd straighten my tie for _her_. The people we're
going to meet are a lot more important and a lot more fun to be
around."

"Who?"

"About the only two people on earth I really respect."

Kitty was starting to feel she was in an alternate dimension... which
she realised ruefully wouldn't even be a novel sensation. "Respect?
You? Pete Wisdom! You don't even respect your own father.. Okay, not
that I can actually blame you for that one... Y'know, I do believe
you're actually nervous! I didn't think it was possible."

Wisdom grinned nervously. "Sad, but true, a cruel twist of genetics.
I got mutant powers and a killer libido, but lost my ability to be
ashamed of me'self."

"Which is just as well, all things considered." Kitty knew him a lot
better than that really, but knew he'd never admit it. He'd never
even been able to tell her how he felt about her. She was, however,
genuinely fascinated to meet whoever these people could be.

Phasing through a door in the roof ("Like we're paying THAT much to
get into this bloody tourist trap when we're here on business."),
Kitty and Pete slunk down stairs and along passageways, following
some indistinct sounds of mayhem, emerging into a gallery of 1960's
music icons -- or rather it would have been, if said icons hadn't
been busy attacking two of the customers.

In an instant Kitty had one of those flashes that she was in the
presence of two of the most remarkable people she would ever meet.

The first was a man of middle years, his face somewhat craggy and
lined, not exactly handsome, but striking. However, he carried
himself with more dignity than Kitty had ever thought possible. His
clothing alone took "immaculate" to a new level. Brian Braddock could
carry a suit well, but the pearl grey pinstripe on this man looked so
freshly pressed she imagined a little man with an ironing board had
to be nearby. He wore a bowler hat and was wielding, of all things,
an umbrella, and using it with great effect. The attacking Janis
Joplin didn't stand a chance.

The second was one of the most beautiful women that Kitty had ever
seen. In her life she had been lucky enough to meet many exceptional
women, in terms of inner and outer beauty: Ororo, Jean, Betsy,
Meggan...

This woman combined qualities from all of them, but was still
uniquely herself. Her face had an ageless aspect to it that meant 
she could be anywhere between her early thirties to mid forties, 
her figure was that of an extremely fit woman in the prime of life. 

Her clothing also had a striking flair; a sleeveless black
stretch-top, white trousers with a black and white checked belt,
black knee boots, waist-coast of soft white leather and a rakishly
perched beret on her straight dark hair. By rights she should have
looked desperately retro, instead it looked utterly natural. Kitty
had a feeling that this woman could wear a grungy tracksuit and make
it an enviable personal style statement.

However, what impressed Kitty the most was watching the woman move.
She was striding swiftly and efficiently through her attackers using
a technique that Kitty recognised from training with Wolverine as
being a particularly complicated form of kung-fu, combined with what
could be karate, and the odd element that looked suspiciously like
ballet. Whatever its origins she was basically sweeping through her
opponents like a scythe through wheat and hardly seemed to be raising
a sweat. Shards of plastic were flying through the air as her impact
after impact hit home.

In the midst of the chaos, the man turned and his face lit up when 
he saw the new arrivals. He didn't even stop pounding Keith Moon 
with his umbrella's pointed ferrule as he called over. "Wisdom? Pete
Wisdom? Good to see you again, man! How's your father?"

"Fit as a butcher's dog, and still mad as paint, sir!"

The man beamed, "Capital! No android could be that colloquial _and_
rude so you're not likely to be one of these robot doubles then, eh?
Would you and your young lady-friend care to join the party?" 

"Thanks, don't mind if we do."

The man ducked a wild swing by one of the Troggs and caught the
attacker round the throat with the handle of his umbrella, swinging
his opponent hard into a wall. Kitty heard something crunch inside
the android; the man was a lot stronger than he appeared.

"The more the merrier. These seem to be some sort of plastic-based
robot. Strong, nasty but not too bright, so don't worry about
injuring them. By the way, delighted to meet you, young lady, I hope
we'll have a more formal introduction in a minute or two."

The woman smiled in their general direction but was too busy dealing
with a combined assault by the Mamas and the Papas to waste much time
in small talk.

Wisdom smiled a particularly nasty grin. "Stupid are? Lucky me! Now,
where's Karen Carpenter? I always wanted to give her a right good
seeing to."

A group that Kitty recognised vaguely as The Small Faces made a move
towards them. She dived towards them, phasing her hand through the
heads of two of them. Usually any electronics she passed through went
completely haywire, but these constructs seemed unaffected.

"Pete, whatever they are, they haven't got ordinary circuitry in
them. Phasing through their brains doesn't work."

Pete looked genuinely baffled. "What makes you think their brains 
are in their heads? Half the humans I know keep 'em elsewhere, why
shouldn't a bleedin' robot?"

Shrugging, Kitty became solid again and dropkicked the nearest
robot.. or whatever they were.. right in the crotch, followed by
another kick to its rear. The robot slammed hard into the wall and
crumpled into an inactive heap, twitching spasmodically.

"I think that covered all the other bases, don't you?"

"Most of the ones I can think of, luv."

Meanwhile Pete was being advanced on by a young Mick Jagger and the
Rolling Stones. Without pausing he reached out his hands and splayed
his fingers wide. Instantly, brilliant shards of heat lanced from
each fingertip, punching holes through the chests of the entire
group. Three of them melted like butter, and Mick Jagger exploded.

Pete kicked at the pair of lips that were left lying on top of the
smoking pile. "THAT was for bleedin' 'Voodoo Lounge'! You were right
all along, you _should've_ died before you got old!" 

With a quartet of trained fighters, two with mutant powers and the
other two not seeming to need them, in no time at all there were few
opponents left. 

The elegant gentleman beheaded a young Freddie Mercury, the last
figure standing.

"Something of a 'Killer Queen,' Steed?" asked the woman in a dry
tone.

Steed looked pained, but smiled gainfully. "Indubitably, Mrs Peel.
Now let's see what this was all about before they do anything rude
like self-destruct."

Without paying another moment's attention to their guests, Steed and
Mrs Peel started to examine the wreckage. Kitty pulled Pete over to
one side for a quick word.

"_These_ are the two people you respect? Her I can understand, she's
amazing. And, alright, he's good too, but I wouldn't have thought
you'd have had any time for him. All bowler hat and olde worlde
charm. He's hardly the sort of person you can normally stand, never
mind look up to."

Wisdom chuckled. He had an incredibly evil-sounding chuckle. "Kitty,
I thought you were better at this game than that. Don't let that 
look fool you. It does most people I grant you, but you should know
better, Considering you have friends who look like hearth rugs an'
demons. You should know better than to go by appearances.

"When I first met Steed I really wanted to hate his guts -- I mean,
really loathe him for acting so bloody superior. The trouble is that
he really IS superior in this game, so there's no point getting angry
at him. Most blokes in this line of work are complete prats because
it's all they can be. Steed acts like a complete prat because he
thinks it's fun and doesn't care what anyone else thinks of him. 
Just watch him closely, there's a damn sight more to him than most
imagine."

"Is he a spy then?"

"Steed? A spy? One of those oversexed paranoids who's taking money
from every side that'll pay for intel and screwing or shooting holes
in anything that gets in their way? God no!"

"Well, what is he then?"

Wisdom scratched his head in an irritated fashion. "That's kind of
hard to explain. Even I haven't been able to work out exactly who he
operates through, and I can tell you the bra size of the bloody Pope.
His superiors seem to change all the time. If ever there was a case
of 'White Ops,' he's it."

"_White_ Ops?"

"Yeah, like 'Black Ops,' but on our side."

"I've never heard you this enthusiastic about anyone before, Pete,
not even me!"

"Oh, come on, Pryde, you must have met someone like that in your
life. Someone who you really wanted to be, if you didn't have to be
your usual miserable self? Someone who was all the things you admired
and none of the things you didn't like about yourself."

"Well, I'm not miserable but ... yeah, I think I know what you mean."
Kitty was suddenly reminded of the first time she had seen a tall,
graceful woman with a mane of white hair, blue cat-slit eyes and skin
the colour of coffee and cream. Of a man in a wheelchair who stood
taller in her mind than any man she'd ever met. She sighed.. "Oh
alright, I know _exactly_ what you mean."

"Well, this pair are mine. The bloke's John Steed, the man the
Intelligence services had to come up with a whole new definition
for."

"Which was?"

"Well, he deals with what falls between MI5, that's our espionage
branch and MI6, which looks after counter-espionage, so they call him
MI5 1/2. All the crappy dealings that sit outside the normal range.
The creepy cases, the weird cases, the cases no sane man would go
near.

"He takes 'em all on, and he always comes out on top. Never let all
that 'proper English gent' guff blind you, he's the best bloody
operative I've ever seen. He investigates, he examines, he acts, he
kills when he has to, and he feels bad about it, but he does it and
he looks bloody good doing it too. All so the man in the street,
who's never heard of him and would probably just write him off as 
a complete tosser if they ever met, can sleep safe at night."

"Wow! And the woman, he called her Mrs Peel or something?"

"That's Mrs Emma Peel, as close to a bleedin' Renaissance woman as
you're ever likely to meet. Science, art, mechanics, kicking arse.
She's naturally brilliant at all of 'em."

Kitty's eyes widened. "Really? Then it's official, I think I've found
my new role model!"

Wisdom snorted, "Don't even think about it, Kitty m'luv. Other women
have tried duplicating Mrs Peel and they all ended up looking like
complete tarts. She's an original... just like you." 

"Thanks for that, I was beginning to think that I had competition."

Wisdom waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but not quite as much as he
normally would. "I -- quite justifiably, I might add -- count myself
as one of the more desirable men to walk the face of the earth, but
she's way out of my league and we both know it. Besides, she's
married." 

Kitty just gave him a look.

"Alright, I grant you that never normally stops me, but it's
different, she's a widow..."

Kitty just kept looking.

"Okay, my reputation precedes me. Let's just leave it, okay?"

Kitty wanted to ask more, but decided to save it for later. She was
drawn to what Steed and Mrs Peel were examining: the remains of their
attackers. 

"As we thought, definitely some sort of plastic, rather than wax,
wouldn't you say, Mrs Peel?"

"Indeed, a rather novel polymer by the texture of it, not one I can
recognise without a more thorough examination, if then. No other form
of internal structure to explain their ability to move or function,
though. Look, there's even a makers mark."

"Ah... ego! I do like that in an opponent, it makes them so much more
likely to boast. A ghastly trait, but useful. Let's see who the maker
was.... Hmmmm... Nestene Plastics. Can't say I've heard of them
before."

"Well, I definitely think that it's worth a look, don't you, Steed?
We can get WHO to help investigate perhaps. Their Scientific Advisor
would have a field day with this."

"WHO aren't around anymore, Mrs Peel, and their Scientific Advisor
was last seen running around San Francisco, of all places. No, I
thought we might take a look into it ourselves, I'm not sure I
entirely trust these new 'Department' chaps yet."

"Excuse me... Mr Steed, isn't it? Fascinating though this clearly is,
I think we have something which is a little more important to deal
with."

Steed turned and actually appeared to be excited by the prospect.
"Really? Please forgive me, I do rather tend to get caught up in my
work at times, though not normally in the presence of such charming
company. The name's John Steed, all my friends just call me Steed so
I hope you will too. Delighted to meet you." 

Steed doffed his hat to her, which Kitty couldn't recall ever having
seen anyone actually do in real life before, except possibly Kurt
after OD-ing on Errol Flynn movies.

"I'm called Shadowcat, of Excalibur, but I guess you can call me
Kitty."

"Excalibur? Capital, heard good things about you. Kitty? Lovely name.
I used to know a young woman who sometimes called herself Pussy, but
that's another story altogether."

Mrs Peel stood up and joined them. "Hello, Pete," she said simply,
shaking his hand. He muttered something almost shyly.

She offered the same firm handshake to Kitty. "Emma Peel, a pleasure
to meet you, Kitty. Any friend of Pete is... well, probably in need
of urgent help." Her accent was quintessentially English, very
precise and formal, without being grating. Emma leaned forward and
chucked the little dragon, which was now perched on Kitty's shoulder,
under his snout. He cooed audibly and wriggled in pleasure as she
started to rub the ridges behind his eyes. 

"What a remarkable creature. Is he yours?"

Kitty saw the expression on the dragon's face and rolled her eyes.
"His name's Lockheed, and normally he's his own, but right now he'd
fly to the moon!"

Emma seemed fascinated, but kept on scratching. "Can he? Fly to the
moon, that is?"

Kitty smiled. "Not that I've ever known, but that wouldn't stop him
trying."

Meanwhile, Steed was quietly sizing up Wisdom again, clearly gauging
his relationship with Kitty and vice versa. He turned to Kitty with 
a wicked grin.

"I hope you're being a positive influence on this reprobate, Kitty?" 

Kitty swooned in her best 'Merchant Ivory movie' pose. "Oh, he's a
terrible trial, Steed, but he has one or two redeeming features."

Steed leaned forward conspiratorially. "Really? They must be very
well hidden!"

Kitty laughed. "Very!"

"But worth the looking for, right Kitty?" Peter butted in, obviously
trying to salvage some of his pride before it was too late.

Kitty just looked at him without saying a word, then simply raised a
quizzical eyebrow. 

She turned to Steed and adopted a mock serious expression. "This is
amazing, Steed, you can actually _embarrass_ him! You must tell me
your secret."

Steed clearly felt this banter had gone on long enough and
effortlessly took charge of the conversation again. "Another time,
Kitty. Now, about this 'other matter' that you were talking about, my
dear? We already have plastic assassins to deal with, so it must be
quite remarkable to take precedence."

Normally Kitty would have bridled at being called "my dear" by a
relative stranger, but instead she practically dimpled. There was
something about this man, a complete lack of condescension even when
saying things that should have been utterly condescending, that
rendered him completely charming. 

Wisdom sighed heavily and addressed no one in particular. 

"Oh God, here we go again, another one drowns in her own drool when
she's around him. _I'll_ tell you, Steed, since Kitty will be a couple
of minutes rolling her tongue back into her mouth." He winced at the
elbow that jabbed into his ribs, but kept on going. 

"We appear to have a new problem with some old friends of yours: The
Hellfire Club."

The silence that followed was broken only by the piece of plastic
falling from Mrs Peel's hands.

End Chapter 1