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discoveredinaljPosting a bit early [although it is the 26th in the lad's world!] because I'm on the road early in the morning to spend the rest of the holiday weekend with my out-of-town daughter. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas!
Two days before Christmas – two days that were supposed to be days off – and here he was, chasing some low life villain across the tops of run-down buildings in the East End through a squall of wind-whipped sleet and snow. And without his partner no less – Bodie having been sent off a week ago on some sodding SAS top secret-if-I-tell-you-I’ll-have-to-kill-you-mission. Bloody Cowley!
He could hear the holiday music playing from the speakers in the shops below him.
♪ I’ll be home for Christmas ♫
Yeah, he’d be home – and alone; his plans for Bodie in pieces. Bloody Bodie.
“Doyle!” Murphy’s voice bellowed up from the street below.
He ignored the shout and concentrated instead on keeping his balance on the icy bitumen. His target was two rooftops away now and Doyle tried to increase the speed of his pursuit on the slick surface. A small smile creased his face when he noted his quarry had stopped running – the sodding bastard had reached the end of the line. No more rooves within reach. His own jump to the next building was easily made – one more to go.
As he leapt across the final gap he felt his boot slip at the last instant. His momentum broken, he found himself short of reaching the next structure’s parapet. Stretching desperately he managed a temporary hold on the ancient brick, but his weight was too much for the old cement and he fell. The awning over the building’s entrance way broke his fall and dislocated his shoulder. He tumbled the rest of the distance to the ground, landing painfully on his hip - and tangled in the fairy lights that had adorned the canopy. Bloody decorations.
“Doyle!” Murphy again.
“’m ok, Murph.” He pushed himself gingerly into a sitting position, tangling himself further in the lights.
“Of course you are.” Murphy smiled and helped him free himself from the still glowing holiday trimmings.
Murphy cleared his throat. “Behind on your reading, Doyle?”
“Wha-”
Murphy’s hand tapped Doyle’s boots. “If you’d read the latest issue of “Vogue” you’d know that no fashion conscious girl would be caught dead in these slick leather-soled boots whilst prancing along the London sky-line!”
Doyle stifled a groan and then clutched at his shoulder. “Give off, Murph, I never prance!”
“Prancing is for reindeer, not gollies.” Anson appeared suddenly, slightly out of breath. “After you took the shortcut down to the street, 4.5, Lucas managed to round up your target. Cowley’s taking him back to HQ. You are to get checked out at hospital and then you’re ordered to stand down until after Boxing Day.”
Murphy helped Doyle to his feet. “Bodie’ll have a field day with this one, mate! Big, tough CI5 agent brought down quite handily by a string of fairy lights!”
The shop music continued its accompaniment -
♫“Have yourself a merry little Christmas.” ♬
Doyle shook his head in resignation and muttered, “Bloody Carols.”
Christmas Eve. The wind rattled the windows and its fingers reached down the chimney to stir up the embers slowly dying in the fireplace. Sitting in his dark lounge, Doyle shivered. He rose slowly and as he bent over to add another log to the fire, his hip made its displeasure known.
Fire tended, he sprawled back into the overstuffed chair. Murphy had brought him home after he’d been released from hospital. He’d turned down the offer of a pint with the rest of the squad, claiming tiredness. He hurt and he wasn’t in the mood for any holiday celebrations.
He’d never had any use for all the hoopla around the holidays – the songs, the decorations, the shopping, the gift giving – he’d left that all behind – or rather it had left him behind when his mother had abandon him in Derby. He’d been ten. Ten year-olds living on the streets had no use for tradition.
But that was a long time ago.
His single acknowledgement of the season was a small tree wrapped in fairy lights – a concession to the little boy that resided behind the tough façade his partner showed the world.
They’d been at the green grocer’s and Bodie had spotted a display of Christmas trees.
”This would look good in the window in your flat,” Bodie prompted.
“Nah, don’t need the aggro.”
“Everyone needs a tree, Doyle.”
“Not everyone, mate.”
“Do a good Scrooge impersonation, you do.”
“Well,” he poked Bodie in the chest with a stiff finger, “maybe ol’ Scrooge had the right of it – that idiots running around spouting Christmas cheer should be boiled in their Christmas pud and then be run through with a sprig of holly!”
A young mother showing the display of trees to her children quickly gathered up her two toddlers, gave him a disgusted look and hurried away.
Bodie’s lower lip pushed forward into one of his better pouts as he stood staring at the trees until Doyle gave in with an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. Smiling, Bodie bumped his shoulder as he reached across Doyle for a string of lights and a box of small, shiny ornaments.
“Plans for tonight, then?” Doyle bumped him back.
“A curry – which you will be buying – a few lagers, also purchased by you, and then adding a bit of bright Christmas cheer to a Grinch’s holiday.” He held up the decorations clutched in his hands.
“Pushy bugger, aren’t we?”
“And that’s why you love me.” Bodie tapped a finger on the end of Doyle’s nose.
Taken aback by that pronouncement, Doyle managed a feeble, “Do I?”
“Of course you do.” Bodie struck a pose. “What’s not to love?”
And they had spent a pleasurable evening sharing the takeaway and decorating the tree. In the morning, Bodie had left on the special assignment; all that was left of him was a pile of pillows and tangled sheets on the settee and a hastily scrawled note. Keep the halls decked and your bells jingling, mate. I’ll be home in time for Christmas.
The tree-lights had been darkened since.
It was times like this, when he was injured and hurting and the rest of the world seemed to be getting on well just to spite him, that he missed his partner the most. Sometimes exasperating, often stubborn, at times remote - the personification of cool was Bodie. He worked hard to present a tough professional image to the world, Bodie did. But none of that fooled Doyle. His Bodie was warm, caring, generous, cheeky, irreverent - a balm to his own brooding soul. They fit so well together. No one had ever meant so much to him and he’d planned on showing Bodie just how much he needed him – how much he wanted him. Must be holiday madness that had him contemplating the truth of Bodie’s words - he did love the mad bastard. Did Bodie really know? Should he try it on? He’d probably end up with a black eye for a Christmas gift. Bloody holiday.
He settled back in the chair, closed his eyes and nodded off.
A key turning in the locks followed by footsteps on the wooden floor of the entryway brought him slowly awake.
“If you’re a Christmas ghost of any tense – past, present or future - you can turn right around and bugger off,” he mumbled. "And watch those chains on me floor!"
“No ghosts, Ebenezer, it’s only me,” Bodie called out. Stepping into the lounge he knelt by the fire and warmed his hands. “So tell me Raymond, why are you sitting here in the dark?"
“Wasn’t expecting you back.”
“It’s Christmas – told you I’d be back.” Bodie rose from his crouch and settled in front of Doyle’s chair, resting his hands on Doyle’s thighs.
Amused, Doyle watched as Bodie glanced at the dark tree and the empty floor beneath it.
Doyle shrugged and met Bodie’s eyes. “Didn’t get you a pressie – been a bit laid up.”
Bodie looked at him – with a warm, gentle, contented expression that melted Doyle’s heart – and leaned in to cover Doyle’s lips with his own. He broke the kiss and sat back on his heels, still holding Doyle’s gaze captive.
“Got me present, haven’t I?” He reached up and ruffled Doyle’s hair. With an affectionate shake of his head, Bodie’s eyes took in the sling supporting Doyle’s arm and the cane propped next to Doyle’s chair. He sighed heavily. “Although it seems me pressie is a little bit bent and worse for wear…”
“Pillock.” Doyle swung his hand towards Bodie’s head, but Bodie ducked out of the way.
Reaching forward, Doyle turned on the lights and the small tree sparkled in the dark room.
He drew in a surprised breath. The glow of the tree lights paled in comparison to the joy that radiated from Bodie’s face.
He was pulled into strong arms as Bodie's mouth again covered his own. The kiss seemed to last forever and Doyle was breathless when Bodie released him.
“Bloody hell, Bodie.”
“Happy Christmas, Ray," Bodie winked mischievously. "God bless us everyone.”
Title: Ebenezer Doyle
Author: merentha13
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes, please
Disclaimer: Just borrowing the lads; no copyright infringement intended
Note: Dicken's quote that Doyle mangled: “...every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.” [Thank you, Hagsrus!]
Two days before Christmas – two days that were supposed to be days off – and here he was, chasing some low life villain across the tops of run-down buildings in the East End through a squall of wind-whipped sleet and snow. And without his partner no less – Bodie having been sent off a week ago on some sodding SAS top secret-if-I-tell-you-I’ll-have-to-kill-you-mission. Bloody Cowley!
He could hear the holiday music playing from the speakers in the shops below him.
♪ I’ll be home for Christmas ♫
Yeah, he’d be home – and alone; his plans for Bodie in pieces. Bloody Bodie.
“Doyle!” Murphy’s voice bellowed up from the street below.
He ignored the shout and concentrated instead on keeping his balance on the icy bitumen. His target was two rooftops away now and Doyle tried to increase the speed of his pursuit on the slick surface. A small smile creased his face when he noted his quarry had stopped running – the sodding bastard had reached the end of the line. No more rooves within reach. His own jump to the next building was easily made – one more to go.
As he leapt across the final gap he felt his boot slip at the last instant. His momentum broken, he found himself short of reaching the next structure’s parapet. Stretching desperately he managed a temporary hold on the ancient brick, but his weight was too much for the old cement and he fell. The awning over the building’s entrance way broke his fall and dislocated his shoulder. He tumbled the rest of the distance to the ground, landing painfully on his hip - and tangled in the fairy lights that had adorned the canopy. Bloody decorations.
“Doyle!” Murphy again.
“’m ok, Murph.” He pushed himself gingerly into a sitting position, tangling himself further in the lights.
“Of course you are.” Murphy smiled and helped him free himself from the still glowing holiday trimmings.
Murphy cleared his throat. “Behind on your reading, Doyle?”
“Wha-”
Murphy’s hand tapped Doyle’s boots. “If you’d read the latest issue of “Vogue” you’d know that no fashion conscious girl would be caught dead in these slick leather-soled boots whilst prancing along the London sky-line!”
Doyle stifled a groan and then clutched at his shoulder. “Give off, Murph, I never prance!”
“Prancing is for reindeer, not gollies.” Anson appeared suddenly, slightly out of breath. “After you took the shortcut down to the street, 4.5, Lucas managed to round up your target. Cowley’s taking him back to HQ. You are to get checked out at hospital and then you’re ordered to stand down until after Boxing Day.”
Murphy helped Doyle to his feet. “Bodie’ll have a field day with this one, mate! Big, tough CI5 agent brought down quite handily by a string of fairy lights!”
The shop music continued its accompaniment -
♫“Have yourself a merry little Christmas.” ♬
Doyle shook his head in resignation and muttered, “Bloody Carols.”
Christmas Eve. The wind rattled the windows and its fingers reached down the chimney to stir up the embers slowly dying in the fireplace. Sitting in his dark lounge, Doyle shivered. He rose slowly and as he bent over to add another log to the fire, his hip made its displeasure known.
Fire tended, he sprawled back into the overstuffed chair. Murphy had brought him home after he’d been released from hospital. He’d turned down the offer of a pint with the rest of the squad, claiming tiredness. He hurt and he wasn’t in the mood for any holiday celebrations.
He’d never had any use for all the hoopla around the holidays – the songs, the decorations, the shopping, the gift giving – he’d left that all behind – or rather it had left him behind when his mother had abandon him in Derby. He’d been ten. Ten year-olds living on the streets had no use for tradition.
But that was a long time ago.
His single acknowledgement of the season was a small tree wrapped in fairy lights – a concession to the little boy that resided behind the tough façade his partner showed the world.
They’d been at the green grocer’s and Bodie had spotted a display of Christmas trees.
”This would look good in the window in your flat,” Bodie prompted.
“Nah, don’t need the aggro.”
“Everyone needs a tree, Doyle.”
“Not everyone, mate.”
“Do a good Scrooge impersonation, you do.”
“Well,” he poked Bodie in the chest with a stiff finger, “maybe ol’ Scrooge had the right of it – that idiots running around spouting Christmas cheer should be boiled in their Christmas pud and then be run through with a sprig of holly!”
A young mother showing the display of trees to her children quickly gathered up her two toddlers, gave him a disgusted look and hurried away.
Bodie’s lower lip pushed forward into one of his better pouts as he stood staring at the trees until Doyle gave in with an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. Smiling, Bodie bumped his shoulder as he reached across Doyle for a string of lights and a box of small, shiny ornaments.
“Plans for tonight, then?” Doyle bumped him back.
“A curry – which you will be buying – a few lagers, also purchased by you, and then adding a bit of bright Christmas cheer to a Grinch’s holiday.” He held up the decorations clutched in his hands.
“Pushy bugger, aren’t we?”
“And that’s why you love me.” Bodie tapped a finger on the end of Doyle’s nose.
Taken aback by that pronouncement, Doyle managed a feeble, “Do I?”
“Of course you do.” Bodie struck a pose. “What’s not to love?”
And they had spent a pleasurable evening sharing the takeaway and decorating the tree. In the morning, Bodie had left on the special assignment; all that was left of him was a pile of pillows and tangled sheets on the settee and a hastily scrawled note. Keep the halls decked and your bells jingling, mate. I’ll be home in time for Christmas.
The tree-lights had been darkened since.
It was times like this, when he was injured and hurting and the rest of the world seemed to be getting on well just to spite him, that he missed his partner the most. Sometimes exasperating, often stubborn, at times remote - the personification of cool was Bodie. He worked hard to present a tough professional image to the world, Bodie did. But none of that fooled Doyle. His Bodie was warm, caring, generous, cheeky, irreverent - a balm to his own brooding soul. They fit so well together. No one had ever meant so much to him and he’d planned on showing Bodie just how much he needed him – how much he wanted him. Must be holiday madness that had him contemplating the truth of Bodie’s words - he did love the mad bastard. Did Bodie really know? Should he try it on? He’d probably end up with a black eye for a Christmas gift. Bloody holiday.
He settled back in the chair, closed his eyes and nodded off.
A key turning in the locks followed by footsteps on the wooden floor of the entryway brought him slowly awake.
“If you’re a Christmas ghost of any tense – past, present or future - you can turn right around and bugger off,” he mumbled. "And watch those chains on me floor!"
“No ghosts, Ebenezer, it’s only me,” Bodie called out. Stepping into the lounge he knelt by the fire and warmed his hands. “So tell me Raymond, why are you sitting here in the dark?"
“Wasn’t expecting you back.”
“It’s Christmas – told you I’d be back.” Bodie rose from his crouch and settled in front of Doyle’s chair, resting his hands on Doyle’s thighs.
Amused, Doyle watched as Bodie glanced at the dark tree and the empty floor beneath it.
Doyle shrugged and met Bodie’s eyes. “Didn’t get you a pressie – been a bit laid up.”
Bodie looked at him – with a warm, gentle, contented expression that melted Doyle’s heart – and leaned in to cover Doyle’s lips with his own. He broke the kiss and sat back on his heels, still holding Doyle’s gaze captive.
“Got me present, haven’t I?” He reached up and ruffled Doyle’s hair. With an affectionate shake of his head, Bodie’s eyes took in the sling supporting Doyle’s arm and the cane propped next to Doyle’s chair. He sighed heavily. “Although it seems me pressie is a little bit bent and worse for wear…”
“Pillock.” Doyle swung his hand towards Bodie’s head, but Bodie ducked out of the way.
Reaching forward, Doyle turned on the lights and the small tree sparkled in the dark room.
He drew in a surprised breath. The glow of the tree lights paled in comparison to the joy that radiated from Bodie’s face.
He was pulled into strong arms as Bodie's mouth again covered his own. The kiss seemed to last forever and Doyle was breathless when Bodie released him.
“Bloody hell, Bodie.”
“Happy Christmas, Ray," Bodie winked mischievously. "God bless us everyone.”
Title: Ebenezer Doyle
Author: merentha13
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes, please
Disclaimer: Just borrowing the lads; no copyright infringement intended
Note: Dicken's quote that Doyle mangled: “...every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.” [Thank you, Hagsrus!]
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Date: 2015-12-27 09:12 pm (UTC)