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discoveredinaljWhile drawing a bit of a blank for story ideas, I decided to look up some Christmas story writing prompts. One of them was 'a gift wrapped with newspaper and duct tape'. And off I went...
*Post edited to comply with the comm rules. I'm sorry for my mistake.
*
Pros School of Creative Giftwrapping, by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
ubicaritas9
Story summary: Christmas Eve finds Bodie and Doyle employing some last-minute creative touches to their giftwrapping.
Prologue - Advent
It was a typical December, in that the subversive element of society that liked to plant bombs in large stores and other crowded places made its annual appearance in London, and this year spread their particular type of cheer to places outside the capital as well.
It was not quite so typical a December, in that George Cowley, controller of CI5, found his resources so stretched that he had most of his agents deployed alone across the city, and in other cities too. Usually he could keep his teams together, at least some of the time, needed to keep them together, where one could watch the other’s back and they could both bring themselves home … but this was a season like none other.
Lucas and McCabe claimed they barely remembered what the other one looked like; Jax and his newly-minted-agent partner Thomas had worked one case together before being split up, although the inexperienced Thomas ended up spending most of his time either in Records or assigned as Cowley’s driver, while Jax worked his designated rough-and-tumble patch of London.
And Bodie and Doyle, well, they’d been sent to opposite ends of the country, chasing down the worst of the worst, living up to their billing as Cowley’s top duo, despite the fact it was now more than three weeks and counting since they’d actually been under the same investigative roof. Bodie had gone north, to work his angle of the case with military colleagues, some more official than others, while Doyle had driven south and west, to coordinate an investigation that a small local constabulary had stumbled into and quickly found themselves over their collective heads.
Then suddenly it was Christmas Eve, CI5’s holding cells and interrogation rooms were bursting at the seams, and some lucky agents who had nearly forgotten the address of their flats were being released, if not to time off, at least to standby status. A truly fortunate agent or two might even be sent off duty for the holiday…! It was an exodus that Cowley was both relieved and pleased to permit, not that he would say it out loud, of course.
Christmas Eve
Ray Doyle blinked owlishly and willed his eyes to stay open and focussed on the road ahead of him. The hiss of his Capri’s tyres on the wet pavement and the rhythmic motion of the wipers conspired to remind him of how little sleep he’d had in the past forty-eight hours. He’d wound the window down as far as he could without getting soaked by the cold December rain, but it was still an uphill battle, and he’d never been so glad to see the countryside turn to city as he finally arrived back in London.
The B-Squad agents who’d arrived midmorning to pick up his prisoners had been full of headquarters gossip and tales of other agents’ derring-do. Doyle had nodded and smiled in all the appropriate places, but their presence had reminded him just how long it had been since he’d been home and seen everyone, and especially his partner. Bodie… They’d managed one fleeting call, last week, and that was the extent of their contact over the last month.
Doyle had watched the car drive off, then turned and limped back into the squat, nondescript building which served as the police headquarters in this small, nondescript town. The officer commanding the detachment had been a Hendon classmate of his all those years ago, and was one of the few coppers with whom he still maintained some, albeit infrequent, contact. George Cowley had taken advantage of this relationship and sent Doyle to coordinate what had turned out to be a frustrating investigation with an unexpectedly explosive end result. But a few stitches and a mildly-pranged knee, courtesy of a gang of wannabe-terrorists, were not going to stop him from heading for London once he’d completed his final debrief with the chief constable.
And he wasn’t going home empty-handed, either. Nestled in the boot between his duffel and two plastic sacks of holiday meal groceries – an unexpected donation from his mate’s wife – was a box containing a very special Christmas gift for Bodie.
Doyle arrived back at CI5 headquarters in a swirl of wind and rain. The parking lot was largely empty, and the one motor he was specifically looking for was not there. He’d expected that, however, as his partner faced a longer drive than he himself had. He eased himself out of the car and stretched cautiously, not wanting to further aggravate his already-aching knee.
His meeting with Cowley was mercifully quick, and ended with an unexpected bonus: Christmas Day off and a detailed report due by noon on the 26th. In light of such good fortune, Doyle didn’t even think about arguing when the controller directed him to get checked out by CI5’s own doctor before leaving the building.
In short order Doyle wrote his preliminary report and left it with Betty to give to Cowley, and paid the required visit to the infirmary. There was still no sign of Bodie by the time he was finished, although Cowley had assured him that his partner was well underway on his journey back from Liverpool.
His final stop before leaving headquarters was the rest room, where he was greeted by a morose-looking group of agents seated around the table.
“Oi, four-five! You here to join our band of poor unfortunate souls on standby?” Murphy looked up from his tea and biscuits, and pulled out the chair next to him in welcome. “Always room for one more, mate!”
Doyle shook his head. “Not me, not tonight. I’m off with the righteous, won’t be back in ‘til the day after next.”
“You jammy sod, how’d you manage that, then?” Lewis looked affronted, while Susan merely rolled her eyes at Ruth and returned her attention to a magazine.
“Could you do me a favour, Murphy?” Doyle pulled a slightly rumpled envelope from his coat pocket. “See that Bodie gets this, when he arrives?”
Murphy took the envelope from Doyle’s outstretched hand. “Leave it here with me, Doyle. I’ll give it to him myself.”
“Ta, mate.” Doyle gave the room a wave, before heading down the corridor to the lift.
*
William Andrew Philip Bodie pointed the nose of his Capri toward the off-ramp, flexing fingers long gone stiff gripping the steering wheel. What had been snow and wind in Liverpool had turned first to ice pellets, then become a steady pouring rain which had kept him company for the remainder of the drive to London.
He’d handed off the pair of terrorists – terrorists, ha! bloody amateurs, they were, but nonetheless they’d managed to disrupt a number of peoples’ holiday, including potentially his own – to the B Squad team who’d arrived in midmorning to serve as transport. They’d grumbled about this being their third long trip out of the city in as many days, until Bodie had pointed out that he hadn’t been home since the beginning of the month. Suitably chastened, they’d secured their charges in the back seat of their vehicle and departed in a flurry of white flakes.
With the prisoners safely despatched, it hadn’t taken much time for Bodie to tie up the loose ends with both the police and his own contacts, retrieve his few possessions from the tiny bedsit he’d been occupying, and make his own tracks to the motorway.
It was dark when he pulled into the CI5 parking lot, had been for hours, it seemed, between the continuing rain and the fact that it was but three days past the solstice, the shortest day of the year. A quick scan of the other vehicles didn’t reveal the one he was looking for, so that meant Doyle had either arrived back before him and then left again, or he was still en route back to London. And as desperately as he craved seeing his partner again, he hoped it was the latter, because in an unlikely turn of events, he’d come home from his assignment with a Christmas gift for Doyle… and he needed a few moments alone to wrap it.
With a quick debrief session with Cowley complete, Bodie retreated to the small, cluttered office shared by the senior agents to write his preliminary report. Rather to his surprise, the controller had agreed that the full detailed version could wait until the day after Christmas, and Bodie was not going to look that gift horse in the mouth! The draft complete and deposited on Betty’s desk, he stuck his head in the rest room door to wave goodbye to the unfortunate agents who were to remain at headquarters on standby, only to be stopped by a summons from Murphy.
“Oi, three-seven! Hang on, I’ve got something for you.” The lanky agent swung out of his chair and picked up an envelope off the table.
Bodie stepped in and took the proffered white paper, his “what’s this, then?” redundant even before he’d finished speaking, as he recognized the distinctive scrawl.
Murphy settled back into his chair with a sigh of resignation. “Your other half stopped in to lord his freedom over us poor working souls, the bastard. You missed him by about an hour, but he made me promise I’d give you that note.”
“Ta, mate. And, uh, Happy Christmas. To all of you.” Bodie thought he might have just managed the right balance of sympathy and smugness in his tone as he headed for the door. The crash of a magazine and a flurry of empty paper coffee beakers against the frame made him reconsider, and without a backward glance he was down the corridor, then out of the building and on the way home to his flat with an eagerness spurred on by the note from Doyle.
Be there tonight at 7. I have food and wine for Xmas dinner tomorrow. D.
*
Doyle drove away from headquarters in the gathering gloom of mid-afternoon and headed to his flat, making only one stop along the way, at an off-licence which was filled with people doing their last minute Christmas shopping. He selected a couple of bottles of good wine to go with their meal tomorrow, and picked up a few cans of beer as well. Standing in line to pay for more than half an hour didn’t help his sore knee any, but at least now he had a complete set of provisions for this evening and tomorrow’s meal.
Arriving home at last, he elected to leave the sacks of groceries, and the wine and beer as well, in the boot of the car. With the temperature barely above freezing, there was no danger of anything spoiling in the few remaining hours before it all ended up in Bodie’s fridge. Bodie’s fridge… in Bodie’s flat… For once it actually looked like they’d get Christmas Day together, and he didn’t dare to even consider the possibility of Cowley calling them in, lest he curse their good fortune.
The flat was as cold and dismal as he’d expected it to be, but fortunately he wouldn’t be staying too long. Doyle turned on the heat and the hot water; staying or not, getting clean was not optional. While he waited for the water to heat up, he made himself a cup of tea and took it through to his bedroom… might as well unpack and sort out what he’d take to Bodie’s. The bag with the gift, he left in the kitchen to deal with after he’d showered.
He settled onto the bed, sore leg stretched out and propped on a spare pillow. The tea went down well, and he thought he might like another cuppa, except the effort it would take seemed beyond him … The sleeplessness of the past couple of days, combined with the painkiller the CI5 doctor had insisted he take, right there in the infirmary, caught up with him all at once; his eyelids drifted shut, blinked once or twice, and then closed for good as he went to sleep, the fortunately-empty tea mug tipping out of his limp fingers and landing on the floor beside the bed.
A painfully stiff neck and a full bladder combined to wake the sleeper. Doyle opened his eyes to a darkened room and absolutely no idea of how much time had passed. He stretched carefully, rolling his head to and fro to work the kink out of the muscle, then snuck a look at his bedside alarm clock… Christ! It was nearly gone six thirty, and he had yet to shower and change!
He’d had years of practice in the art of the quick shower, and he could towel dry his hair and use his electric shaver at the same time with the best of them. It was only as he went into the kitchen to return the empty mug that a fresh wave of panic struck – he hadn’t wrapped Bodie’s present!
Ten minutes later Doyle was still feeling that burst of panic, as a thorough search of his desk, all the likely drawers and shelves, and even some of the unlikely ones, hadn’t produced a single sheet of wrapping paper. With his eye on the quickly advancing minute hand of his watch, he took another quick tour through the flat, and finally saw something that might do the job.
On the bottom shelf of the built-in bookcase in the lounge, he’d laid out the newest parts for his current motorcycle rebuild project… and they were sitting on several layers of newspaper! Sure, the top sheet might be a bit oily, but the others would be fine. There were even two rolls of tape to choose from, the heavy silver duct tape that held together more things than he liked to admit, and the thinner, more professional black electrical tape.
In the end, he used both kinds, to give the oil-dotted pages of The Guardian a more festive look.
Picking up his keys and a carryall containing some fresh clothes and the gift, Doyle turned the lights off and headed out into the evening.
*
Bodie pushed the door closed behind him and engaged the security locks, his hands on autopilot in the chill darkness of the hallway. His flat was cold and unwelcoming, the air stale, which was not surprising, considering it had been close to a month since he had been here.
He dropped his suitcase beside the shoe mat, but left his boots on for warmth as he headed deeper into the flat. He turned on the hall light, blinking in the sudden glare. First things first: the boiler, and the hot water… and then to the kitchen to see what he could find to eat. He’d be ordering a takeaway later, when Doyle arrived, but in the meantime, his stomach was reminding him it had been a long day since the transport café just south of Liverpool.
The freezer yielded half a loaf of bread, and while the furry remains of a brick of cheese had been unsalvageable, the strawberry jam in the refrigerator was fine; tea and toast went a long way to making Bodie feel more human again. By the time he was finished in the kitchen, the hot water was ready for a shower, and half an hour later he emerged from the bathroom fully clean, shaved, all traces of the grit and grime of the past few weeks rinsed down the drain.
Bodie dressed in his favourite black trousers and a comfortable, warm black rollneck. The chill had still not been banished completely from the flat; hopefully it would be gone by the time Doyle arrived in half an hour. Half an hour… Christ! He’d forgotten about wrapping Doyle’s present! And then there was the lack of a Christmas tree under which to put it…!
He retrieved the gift from his case, which was still sitting by the door where he’d abandoned it earlier, and set it on the coffee table in the lounge. Fifteen minutes later he’d unearthed a string of fairy lights and a handful of shiny baubles from a storage box in his wardrobe… so now he had decorations, but no wrapping paper! Another search through all the likely places still revealed none of the holiday paper he was sure he owned.
Frantic now, with less than ten minutes until his diligent Doyle came through the door, Bodie turned to his last, desperate solution. Grabbing the latest copy of his favourite gun magazine, he flipped through it to find the brightest, most colourful pages, and tore them out with only the briefest hesitation. Good, if he put a few of the sheets together, they would cover the gift nicely… now he needed tape. Tape… where had he seen tape… he rummaged through his ‘miscellaneous military kit’ box (which also lived in his wardrobe) and pulled out a roll of gun tape. The thick, sturdy green strips might be a bit overwhelming on the relatively frail magazine pages, but it would have to do.
By the time the door buzzer announced Doyle’s presence in the building entrance downstairs, Bodie had loosely wound the fairy lights around the lamp and side table in one corner of the lounge, hung the baubles from every other lamp shade and fixture in the room, and safely tucked the wrapped present out of sight in the hall closet. ‘Santa’ would put it out on the table with the lights later that night.
With a grin, Bodie went to buzz his partner in.
Epilogue – Christmas Day
It was much later, the next day, in fact, when Bodie and Doyle discovered their wrapping paper similarities.
For typically, when Bodie and Doyle got together after a lengthy separation, other … discoveries … rose to the fore, taking precedence over conversations, gifts, food and drink, and even sleep.
After twenty-four hours of reunion sex, late-night takeaway, good morning sex, shower sex, breakfast that was actually brunch, midafternoon sex, and a truly excellent Christmas dinner prepared with the donated food, Bodie and Doyle settled onto the sofa in the lounge to watch the usual Christmas night fare on the box. With generous glasses of Bodie’s finest pure malt scotch nearby, they picked up their gifts to each other and laughed uproariously over each other’s efforts at wrapping.
But as the saying goes, it’s the thought that counts. Doyle was delighted with the book compilation of vintage motorcycle technical manuals he found inside the pages of the gun magazine, and Bodie was enthralled by the set of miniature duelling pistols nestled into blue satin in their handmade wooden box which was wrapped in the oil-spotted op/ed pages of an ancient copy of The Guardian.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
End
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Date: 2021-12-29 09:19 am (UTC)The one thing I do ask everyone is to post their stories/creations etc. here to the comm rather than posting just links - it's the whole point of being a community rather than just a page of links that send people off elsewhere in the first place! It's to try and keep us all together.
There's not much that can be done about it now, but if you're struggling with lj in the future, just drop me a line and I can post for you.
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Date: 2021-12-29 03:00 pm (UTC)I've edited the post to contain the story, which sort of suggests I could have done that last night... sigh... so I'm sorry to have caused you grief. I will attempt to be better organized and less last-minute, which would let me send something to you to post for me.
Thanks for your patience.
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Date: 2021-12-29 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-01-03 08:11 pm (UTC)Thanks
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Date: 2022-01-04 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-01-04 12:12 am (UTC)(This was really fun!)
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Date: 2022-01-04 01:25 pm (UTC)I never used newspaper or comics or anything exotic like that... but on occasion my spawn may have received birthday presents wrapped in (the least obvious pattern I could find) Christmas paper ...
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Date: 2022-01-05 12:49 pm (UTC)Happy New Year!
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Date: 2022-01-06 08:21 pm (UTC)