Cold Christmas
Dec. 12th, 2010 07:43 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
merentha13.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
discoveredinaljThis story is a first time. Not for the lads. It's my first Pro's fic. I hope you enjoy it! Any and all comments are welcome.
Cold. He felt as cold inside as the icicles clinging to the edge of the roof. Christmas. Bloody-Bah-Humbug!
Ray Doyle frowned as memories battered against the walls he had raised against the season. Christmas was supposed to be filled with family, friends, gifts, cheer, all things warm and good. His recollections held none of these things. He closed his eyes and let the ghosts of Christmas Past loose. He saw a little boy on Christmas Eve, alone, no tree, no presents, watching the neighbor family celebrate through their open curtains. He saw an art school student at the window of the dormitory, watching as parents picked up sons and daughters to take them home for the holidays. They were hugging, smiling, sharing warmth. Home. He saw a rookie officer in the Met, lying bloody and broken outside a Derby bar after trying to break up a holiday celebration that went awry. He saw a CI5 Agent, six Christmas’s running, alone on a stake-out, returning home to a cold and empty flat.
He had hoped this year would be different, better. This year he had Bodie. Cowley had promised that the two of them would be off duty this Christmas. They’d planned to spend the holiday together. They had bought all the trimmings for a real Christmas dinner. Bodie had even bought him a small decorated tree when he’d confessed to Bodie that he’d never had one.
Bloody Cowley. Bodie had been sent north a week ago on some hush-hush job. Bodie wasn’t scheduled to be back for at least two more weeks. He had been assigned this stake-out. Alone again on yet another Christmas Eve.
He shrugged deeper into his coat, trying to find some warmth. As he watched the house across the street that supposedly held IRA terrorists he noted that it had started to snow. Large wet flakes floated silently through the pools of light cast by the street lamps. The artist in him found the picture they painted beautiful, softening the harsh reality of the street and covering it’s dirt and squalor with a soft, white blanket. The lonely boy inside him felt even more isolated. The snow covering the ugliness outside left him alone, inside, untouched. He straightened up, trying to shake off the depression settling around him.
“It’s just another night”, he told himself.
Dawn provided a bit of warmth as the sun reached his window tucked under the eves of the roof. Binoculars in place, he watched the newsboy delivering the morning paper.
“Not the only one workin’ on Christmas then”, he murmured to himself.
He heard the door on the lower floor open. He thought it must be Anson come to relieve him. He kept his back to the room, binoculars trained on the house across the street, left hand moving up to where his gun rested under his coat. Footsteps made their way slowly toward him.
“Hope you brought me somethin’ hot to drink”, he said outloud, “tea ran out hours ago.”
A hot cup of coffee was placed in his hand. He felt the press of warm lips on the sensitive skin behind his left ear. His eyes closed. He heard a whispered “Happy Christmas, Sunshine.” Bodie. Warmth. Home. He opened his eyes, still looking outside. The icicles were melting.
Title: Cold
Author: Merentha13
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: if you want it!
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: Don't own the lads - just borrowed for fun No $$ involved
Notes: Christmas story
Cold. He felt as cold inside as the icicles clinging to the edge of the roof. Christmas. Bloody-Bah-Humbug!
Ray Doyle frowned as memories battered against the walls he had raised against the season. Christmas was supposed to be filled with family, friends, gifts, cheer, all things warm and good. His recollections held none of these things. He closed his eyes and let the ghosts of Christmas Past loose. He saw a little boy on Christmas Eve, alone, no tree, no presents, watching the neighbor family celebrate through their open curtains. He saw an art school student at the window of the dormitory, watching as parents picked up sons and daughters to take them home for the holidays. They were hugging, smiling, sharing warmth. Home. He saw a rookie officer in the Met, lying bloody and broken outside a Derby bar after trying to break up a holiday celebration that went awry. He saw a CI5 Agent, six Christmas’s running, alone on a stake-out, returning home to a cold and empty flat.
He had hoped this year would be different, better. This year he had Bodie. Cowley had promised that the two of them would be off duty this Christmas. They’d planned to spend the holiday together. They had bought all the trimmings for a real Christmas dinner. Bodie had even bought him a small decorated tree when he’d confessed to Bodie that he’d never had one.
Bloody Cowley. Bodie had been sent north a week ago on some hush-hush job. Bodie wasn’t scheduled to be back for at least two more weeks. He had been assigned this stake-out. Alone again on yet another Christmas Eve.
He shrugged deeper into his coat, trying to find some warmth. As he watched the house across the street that supposedly held IRA terrorists he noted that it had started to snow. Large wet flakes floated silently through the pools of light cast by the street lamps. The artist in him found the picture they painted beautiful, softening the harsh reality of the street and covering it’s dirt and squalor with a soft, white blanket. The lonely boy inside him felt even more isolated. The snow covering the ugliness outside left him alone, inside, untouched. He straightened up, trying to shake off the depression settling around him.
“It’s just another night”, he told himself.
Dawn provided a bit of warmth as the sun reached his window tucked under the eves of the roof. Binoculars in place, he watched the newsboy delivering the morning paper.
“Not the only one workin’ on Christmas then”, he murmured to himself.
He heard the door on the lower floor open. He thought it must be Anson come to relieve him. He kept his back to the room, binoculars trained on the house across the street, left hand moving up to where his gun rested under his coat. Footsteps made their way slowly toward him.
“Hope you brought me somethin’ hot to drink”, he said outloud, “tea ran out hours ago.”
A hot cup of coffee was placed in his hand. He felt the press of warm lips on the sensitive skin behind his left ear. His eyes closed. He heard a whispered “Happy Christmas, Sunshine.” Bodie. Warmth. Home. He opened his eyes, still looking outside. The icicles were melting.
Title: Cold
Author: Merentha13
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: if you want it!
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: Don't own the lads - just borrowed for fun No $$ involved
Notes: Christmas story
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 01:53 am (UTC)The photos were a perfect fit as well.
Thank you for sharing this!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 03:59 am (UTC)Thanks for posting! And come back with more soon, when you can. :^D
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 04:24 am (UTC)So sad, but now he has Bodie and things will be much happier!
Thanks!
And I hope this is the start of many more Pros stories! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 04:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 05:33 am (UTC)Thanks
Frances
Proslib business: proslib at gmail dot com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/proslib
http://www.livejournal.com/users/hagsrus/
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 06:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 08:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 05:06 pm (UTC)Awww, thank you! I was in the mood for something a bit sad and desolate, but with a lovely ending, and then you came along with this... perfect!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 05:14 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-13 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:19 am (UTC)I love the ending. Just Bodie coming up and everythings alright!
I think you did a wonderful job by keeping the end open, short and sooooo sweet!
Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 12:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 09:25 am (UTC)I especially liked how you conveyed the feeling of disappointment connected to all the Christmases of Doyle's past. It makes one think how lonely and sad Christmas can be for people who don't have family or friends to celebrate with.
And you're right, everyone should have their own Bodie. Good thing Doyle has *g*
no subject
Date: 2010-12-14 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-15 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-15 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-15 05:29 pm (UTC)