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discoveredinaljWhew! Hello from a lurker-who-used-to-post! It's been...a year I have no wish to repeat. There were some wonderful things, but also a whole lot of not wonderful things. I have not been writing, and didn't think I'd participate in this year's challenge. But, you know, who can resist when I see all the wonderful things you all create? So, here is my present for you all: a short, short story, like a little appetizer, on Christmas Eve. Happy Christmas/Solstice/End of Year/New Year to you all.
And Here’s Another Christmas Eve
By PFL
“You what?” Bodie shouted the words, then ducked lower behind the inadequate cover of an abandoned washing machine. Bullets flew over his head. Doyle wouldn’t have said what Bodie thought he’d said. Not now, during a firefight. Not ever. Bodie looked over at Doyle, crouched behind a tractor. Their eyes met, then Doyle looked away, towards the farm house burning behind them. An evasive manoeuvre. Fuck.
Bodie raised himself up enough to fire over the top of the washer, and dropped down again. He heard a yell, then the sound of something heavy falling. Lucky shot, it seemed. Another barrage of bullets from the barn kept him pinned. How many were there? One line of fire from the left, through the door, another from that upper opening just to his right… “What did you say?”
The only sound from Doyle was his gun firing. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He wasn’t getting away that easily, not after he’d started it.
“Doyle!”
“Christmas! Stay! You! To your right!”
Bodie lunged left, to the side of the washer. He felt a tug on his jacket--a bullet too close? Sod it. Doyle’s gun barked. Bodie saw a man slumped in the upper opening, his gun fallen to the ground. Two men down, leaving how many? One? Two? The washer wasn’t cutting it but the tractor was too far away. Bodie fired as he ran towards a low wall near the front of the barn. Doyle was now behind him, and would move to the right. Bodie’s heart was pounding, but it wasn’t just from the firefight. “How long?” he shouted to Doyle. Did he mean just the day, a meal? But...'stay'? No. It was just a casual invite. Had to be. Like they used to do. Except, they didn’t do that anymore, certainly not at Doyle’s flat. Not since he’d realised there was a line Doyle wasn’t willing to cross. After that, there had been no more invitations, nor more flirting, from either of them. The changes had been subtle, but real. They never talked about it, thank God. It just was.
He caught a flicker of movement inside the barn, fired at it, and heard Doyle running behind him. Return fire kept him low against the wall. “Doyle!”
“Had to be certain,” Doyle said, closer to him than before, by a trough near to the corner of the barn. Gunfire followed Doyle’s words. It was stupid to be doing this now, revealing too much to their enemies and, perhaps, to each other. But the adrenaline was flowing through Bodie and he wouldn’t stop. He could match Doyle for recklessness any day. Go on, risk their lives. Risk more.
Had to be certain, Doyle had said. That wasn’t the question Bodie had asked, but the answer was--maybe--more than he’d ever hoped for. He chose his words to be carefully non-committal: “You know me.” He’d been the one touching fire before, it was Doyle’s turn now. Bodie had to be certain, too. He fired towards the barn door again, but knew he’d missed the man. Dammit. He had to keep his head in the game. Both games. He waited for Doyle to respond. He heard one possible version in his head: Yeah, my plans fell through and I reckoned you’d not turn down a free meal. Stay the day. Or perhaps: You’ve bloody loved me forever, Bodie. Might as well get something out of it. Bodie’s stomach tightened. Bloody fool, that’s what he was, hoping for an impossible miracle. Bodie shot a round at the barn again, took out his fear on wood and dust.
“Couldn’t get it wrong--not with you.” Was that really Doyle’s voice? “Why do you sodding think I--bloody hell.“ Doyle flattened himself by the trough as bullets peppered the metal. Bodie rose to his knees, lay down a covering fire so Doyle could run to the better protection of the corner of the barn. “Is that a yes, then?” Doyle shouted. He sounded irritated and hopeful all in one.
Bodie’s heart soared and he grinned. “No. Not yet. Why now? Tell me that.” It had been years for him, but for Doyle? He fired again at the man inside the barn, keeping him in place. Doyle’s gun spoke, and his angle of fire was different now. Bodie watched as a man reeled from the barn, then fell to the dirt. There was silence in the farm yard. In the distance, he heard sirens. The cavalry was on its way, it seemed. He looked towards Doyle, saw only his arm along the side of the barn, the rest of him hidden by the corner. Doyle’s hand held his gun, sure and true. The open sleeve of his jacket revealed honed muscles. Bodie’s breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to look away, checked the bodies he could see, all that was left of Martelli’s gang.
“Last night,” Doyle said, his voice loud in the relative quiet. “That’s when I knew for certain. When Cowley called us in, and I picked you up. Didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”
Bodie stared at him, still on his knees by the wall, still primed for action. Doyle’s decision, then, hadn’t been during the firefight, or in the house when Martelli’s trap had been sprung on them, and they’d nearly died. The moment of knowing had come, not in fear or adrenaline, but in the quiet before the storm. In the night on Christmas Eve, when all things were possible.
Doyle’s arm lowered, and he stepped out from the corner of the barn. He raised his chin, his gaze steady as he walked towards Bodie. “No one knows me as you do. No one ever could--or will.” Bodie saw movement at the corner of the barn; a man behind Doyle! He fired at the same time as Doyle moved swiftly to the side. The man--the bloody fourth man--fell back, and lay still. Doyle smiled, unperturbed; he didn’t even look at the dead man. “And I know you.”
“Too bloody right.” Bodie moved swiftly to the man on the ground in order to be certain he was dead, then on to another of the gunmen as Doyle checked the rest. He noted the cavalry in the lane--fire brigade, police, and no doubt Cowley as well. All on a Christmas morn. He walked back to Doyle, desperate to kiss him, but saw the rueful humour in Doyle’s eyes. “Gotta work on your timing, sunshine.” He gripped Doyle’s upper arm, felt the solid reality of the man who guarded his back and would guard his heart. Doyle smiled at him again--his fierce smile, and all of Bodie’s hopes shone in his eyes.
The End
December 2021
Title: And Here's Another Christmas Eve
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Notes: I swore I wouldn't write another Christmas story. Yeah, well...
And Here’s Another Christmas Eve
By PFL
“You what?” Bodie shouted the words, then ducked lower behind the inadequate cover of an abandoned washing machine. Bullets flew over his head. Doyle wouldn’t have said what Bodie thought he’d said. Not now, during a firefight. Not ever. Bodie looked over at Doyle, crouched behind a tractor. Their eyes met, then Doyle looked away, towards the farm house burning behind them. An evasive manoeuvre. Fuck.
Bodie raised himself up enough to fire over the top of the washer, and dropped down again. He heard a yell, then the sound of something heavy falling. Lucky shot, it seemed. Another barrage of bullets from the barn kept him pinned. How many were there? One line of fire from the left, through the door, another from that upper opening just to his right… “What did you say?”
The only sound from Doyle was his gun firing. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He wasn’t getting away that easily, not after he’d started it.
“Doyle!”
“Christmas! Stay! You! To your right!”
Bodie lunged left, to the side of the washer. He felt a tug on his jacket--a bullet too close? Sod it. Doyle’s gun barked. Bodie saw a man slumped in the upper opening, his gun fallen to the ground. Two men down, leaving how many? One? Two? The washer wasn’t cutting it but the tractor was too far away. Bodie fired as he ran towards a low wall near the front of the barn. Doyle was now behind him, and would move to the right. Bodie’s heart was pounding, but it wasn’t just from the firefight. “How long?” he shouted to Doyle. Did he mean just the day, a meal? But...'stay'? No. It was just a casual invite. Had to be. Like they used to do. Except, they didn’t do that anymore, certainly not at Doyle’s flat. Not since he’d realised there was a line Doyle wasn’t willing to cross. After that, there had been no more invitations, nor more flirting, from either of them. The changes had been subtle, but real. They never talked about it, thank God. It just was.
He caught a flicker of movement inside the barn, fired at it, and heard Doyle running behind him. Return fire kept him low against the wall. “Doyle!”
“Had to be certain,” Doyle said, closer to him than before, by a trough near to the corner of the barn. Gunfire followed Doyle’s words. It was stupid to be doing this now, revealing too much to their enemies and, perhaps, to each other. But the adrenaline was flowing through Bodie and he wouldn’t stop. He could match Doyle for recklessness any day. Go on, risk their lives. Risk more.
Had to be certain, Doyle had said. That wasn’t the question Bodie had asked, but the answer was--maybe--more than he’d ever hoped for. He chose his words to be carefully non-committal: “You know me.” He’d been the one touching fire before, it was Doyle’s turn now. Bodie had to be certain, too. He fired towards the barn door again, but knew he’d missed the man. Dammit. He had to keep his head in the game. Both games. He waited for Doyle to respond. He heard one possible version in his head: Yeah, my plans fell through and I reckoned you’d not turn down a free meal. Stay the day. Or perhaps: You’ve bloody loved me forever, Bodie. Might as well get something out of it. Bodie’s stomach tightened. Bloody fool, that’s what he was, hoping for an impossible miracle. Bodie shot a round at the barn again, took out his fear on wood and dust.
“Couldn’t get it wrong--not with you.” Was that really Doyle’s voice? “Why do you sodding think I--bloody hell.“ Doyle flattened himself by the trough as bullets peppered the metal. Bodie rose to his knees, lay down a covering fire so Doyle could run to the better protection of the corner of the barn. “Is that a yes, then?” Doyle shouted. He sounded irritated and hopeful all in one.
Bodie’s heart soared and he grinned. “No. Not yet. Why now? Tell me that.” It had been years for him, but for Doyle? He fired again at the man inside the barn, keeping him in place. Doyle’s gun spoke, and his angle of fire was different now. Bodie watched as a man reeled from the barn, then fell to the dirt. There was silence in the farm yard. In the distance, he heard sirens. The cavalry was on its way, it seemed. He looked towards Doyle, saw only his arm along the side of the barn, the rest of him hidden by the corner. Doyle’s hand held his gun, sure and true. The open sleeve of his jacket revealed honed muscles. Bodie’s breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to look away, checked the bodies he could see, all that was left of Martelli’s gang.
“Last night,” Doyle said, his voice loud in the relative quiet. “That’s when I knew for certain. When Cowley called us in, and I picked you up. Didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”
Bodie stared at him, still on his knees by the wall, still primed for action. Doyle’s decision, then, hadn’t been during the firefight, or in the house when Martelli’s trap had been sprung on them, and they’d nearly died. The moment of knowing had come, not in fear or adrenaline, but in the quiet before the storm. In the night on Christmas Eve, when all things were possible.
Doyle’s arm lowered, and he stepped out from the corner of the barn. He raised his chin, his gaze steady as he walked towards Bodie. “No one knows me as you do. No one ever could--or will.” Bodie saw movement at the corner of the barn; a man behind Doyle! He fired at the same time as Doyle moved swiftly to the side. The man--the bloody fourth man--fell back, and lay still. Doyle smiled, unperturbed; he didn’t even look at the dead man. “And I know you.”
“Too bloody right.” Bodie moved swiftly to the man on the ground in order to be certain he was dead, then on to another of the gunmen as Doyle checked the rest. He noted the cavalry in the lane--fire brigade, police, and no doubt Cowley as well. All on a Christmas morn. He walked back to Doyle, desperate to kiss him, but saw the rueful humour in Doyle’s eyes. “Gotta work on your timing, sunshine.” He gripped Doyle’s upper arm, felt the solid reality of the man who guarded his back and would guard his heart. Doyle smiled at him again--his fierce smile, and all of Bodie’s hopes shone in his eyes.
The End
December 2021
Title: And Here's Another Christmas Eve
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Notes: I swore I wouldn't write another Christmas story. Yeah, well...
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