discoveredinalj | On the first day of Christmas.

cornishcat.livejournal.com posting in

I'm here to post on behalf of

murphybabe who is currently unable to do it herself and really doesn't want to disappoint on this, the first day of our beautiful calendar.

Here it is! Enjoy. :D

ETA: One aspect that I just hadn't considered when posting for someone else was that all the comments come to me! Please excuse my rudeness if I don't reply... I'll leave that to the fabulous

murphybabe herself.

On the first day of Christmas…

Doyle was bitterly cold and downright miserable. He gritted his teeth and wormed his way along the frozen ground to the next measly bit of cover. Bloody training exercises. Bloody Macklin. Bloody Craine. Bloody Cowley. He hated the lot of them with heart-warming venom. It was a shame this didn’t extend to his arse, which was currently freezing.

He lifted his head cautiously over the heather. He could see the objective – an old lead mine – but couldn’t quite work out how to get there, given the lack of cover. Perhaps if he sneaked round to the left… He flinched as something exploded out of the ground in front of him, shrieking noisily. Shots sounded from across the moor. What the hell was going on? They weren’t using live fire on this exercise – it was all about stealth and secrecy, commando-crawling through seven different kinds of mud and filth. He reflected bitterly on London’s lack of heather as he put his knee into another cold, claggy puddle.

Doyle scrambled hastily away from where the birds had flown out of the undergrowth and headed down a slight gully towards a stream bed. Grimly, he refocused on his objective and resumed his painstakingly slow progress.

He inched sideways, eyes still on his target, and nudged up against something hard. Combat boots? He looked up – into two pale blue eyes.

‘Bang!’ said Macklin softly. Doyle groaned.

‘Careless, 4.5. Careless and sloppy. Perhaps a nice brisk run will help you sharpen up a bit.’

bdbdbdbd

As Doyle staggered back into the makeshift camp they’d established, a sardonic cheer went up from McCabe and Lucas, slumped in the doorway of their two-man tent. Anson looked over from where he was examining his blisters.

‘Have fun, did you?’

‘Bastard. Bet you’ve eaten all the bloody rations as well. I’m starving.’

‘And in a lovely sunny mood as well, I see.’

Doyle scowled.

‘Well, don’t worry – your partner did better than we did.’ Murphy nodded towards Bodie, who just grinned.

‘We had to make do with survival rations, but he has the luck of the devil. With any luck he might have saved you some.’

Doyle looked over at Bodie, who had established himself under a tree near the small fire and looked as though he was cosily snuggled up for the night. His back was tucked into the trunk and there was something hot in his hand, steaming in the cold air.

‘Come on, sunshine – over here. Come and get your gnashers round this.’ Bodie waved the object in the air. Doyle sniffed. A wonderful savoury scent was in the air. He hurried over to where Bodie was sitting.

‘What’s that, then?’ His stomach rumbled loudly.

‘Partridge.’

‘Partridge? How d’you manage that?’

‘They fell out of the sky in front of me. Had to fight a dog for them, though.’

Doyle shook his head, not caring if this was another of Bodie’s tall tales if there was hot food involved. He swore, juggling the meat from hand to hand.

‘Sit down, Doyle – make yourself comfortable.’ Bodie scrunched sideways a bit, leaving a small space for Doyle next to him. Doyle flopped gracelessly to the ground and put a hand on something rotten and squishy.

‘What the fuck?’ He scrubbed his hand angrily against his already filthy trousers.

‘Pears.’

‘Pears?’

‘Do you have to repeat everything I say? Yes, Ray, pears. We’re sitting under a pear tree. All right? Now shut the fuck up and eat.’

Doyle looked up through the bare, leafless branches. One lone star twinkled up in a cold, clear sky. He took another mouthful and stopped, transfixed. Partridge… pears... He turned to his partner.

Bodie winked, and all was right with Doyle’s world.

Title: On the first Day of Christmas
Author: Murphybabe
Slash or Gen: implied slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: They’re not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: With thanks to MoonlightMead for the beta.