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f_m_parkinson)
And Nothing Else Matters
by Felicity M. Parkinson
It was that dead week in between Christmas and New Year, the time that Bodie regarded as ‘the dog days’, having moved them on from summer by some four months. Several Christmas cards still adorned the bookshelves of the living room – one from Cowley, another from Jax and his wife, a third from Murphy, and one from a gun shop that he patronised on occasion. They all looked a little wilted now that the immediacy of three days of Christmas excess had passed. Even the mistletoe that he had hung so thoughtfully from the kitchen light had shrivelled a little.
They were in a week with a festival at each end, a bit like bookends, he thought, and not a lot in between except to recover from one in order to celebrate the other with equal or even greater fervour.
Not that he’d had the chance that often. One or the other of them had usually been on duty, or at least on standby at this time, no chance to make merry or even just to relax to any extent. Though they were no longer active field agents, the work of CI5 continued night and day for all its personnel. Surveillance, Intelligence, Computers, Weapons Training and Assessment, refresher courses, annual reviews – none of it stopped for the festivities. Criminals didn’t take Christmas or New Year off; neither did Criminal Intelligence 5.
But this year, by some miracle, neither he nor Doyle was on the roster for duties at HQ. Barring some national emergency, they had a week’s leave in which to make the most of the festive season. Bodie relaxed further against the sofa cushions and flicked through the previous day’s tabloid, which he’d gone out to buy once the shops were open again, casting a cursory glance at page three before flicking over the pages to the section marked ‘TV and Radio’.
His other half appeared in the doorway. “You planning on lyin’ on that sofa for the rest of the day?”
Bodie gave the TV programmes a final look and put the paper on one side. “You got anything better in mind? Not sure I can watch The Great Escape for the hundredth time – think I can recite the dialogue in my sleep. But if you want to join me on the sofa…”
Doyle sat down in the easy chair to one side of it, resting a foot on his opposite knee and ignoring his partner’s suggestion. “We’ve got the day ahead of us. Fancy going out somewhere?”
“We went out this morning. You dragged me out of bed at six to jog round the cemetery. It wasn’t even light yet. Thought we’re supposed to be on leave. And I was having such an interesting dream…”
“You’d still be lyin’ there if I hadn’t.” Doyle was unsympathetic. “Can’t waste the day stayin’ in bed.”
Bodie raised his eyebrows. “Who said anything about wasting the day?”
“Yeah, okay. You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“But last night was so good.” He let the words stretch out for emphasis. “Late Christmas prezzie and all that. Surprised you’ve got the energy to do anything this morning.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t. Anyway, I didn’t mean a ten-mile hike along the Downs. How about a bit of a stroll in the fresh air and then a pub afterwards?”
“Not if it’s offering turkey. Can’t face any more. There’s a limit to what a man can stand.”
“Never thought I’d hear you rejecting food.” Doyle grinned. “There was a time you’d have eaten your way through the lot – roast turkey with all the trimmings, turkey burgers, turkey sandwiches, turkey curry…”
“That was a long time ago,” Bodie managed to stop Doyle in full flow. “These days I watch my waistline.”
“…not to mention the mince pies, Christmas cake, Yule log and chocolates you stashed in the cupboards last week… ‘Just in case,’ you said.”
Bodie knew when he was beaten. “Okay, maybe we need a bit more exercise. What did you have in mind, exactly?”
“That pub we went to in the summer. Not too far and there was a walk along the river and through the fields. Could do that and come back for some grub and a pint.”
“Oh, yeah, that one. I remember. It had good food and some interesting beers. Better check it’s going to be open later on,” Bodie told him. “I’m not driving down there to find they’re closed for the holiday season or not serving food.”
“You ever heard of a pub shutting its doors durin’ the Christmas week?”
“There’s always a first time. I don’t want to be disappointed.” Bodie managed a mournful expression.
“Thought you were off food at the moment,” Doyle added.
“Only if it’s turkey. I’ll be hungry in a couple of hours, anyway.”
“Gawd,” said Doyle. “You and your stomach. Must be cast-iron. Okay, I’ll see what gives. There might just be someone answerin’ the phone by now.” He got up and went over to the desk by the window and started hunting through the drawer, pulling out odds and ends and slips of paper. “What was the name of the place?”
Bodie thought for a moment. “Seven Dials? Seven Sisters?”
“Seven Stars.” Doyle waved a piece of paper around. “Thought I’d made a note of the name. Got a number, too.” He lifted the receiver from the handset sitting on the desk and prodded the numbered buttons with a long finger.
Bodie went back to his newspaper and listened with half an ear to the one-sided conversation about opening times and food.
“…ham and cheese ploughman’s? Yeah, that’d be great. Two of us. No, thing is, my mate can’t face turkey at the moment. Yeah, I know. ’Bout one o’clock? Okay, we’ll be there.” He rang off and put the receiver back on its cradle. “You heard that?” he asked, turning towards Bodie. “Definitely no turkey.”
****
They left the car in the pub’s car park and walked down the lane, the signpost to the river walk directing them through a farmyard on the edge of the village. Bodie stopped by the farm entrance and glared at the signboard above the wall. “‘Free-range turkeys for Christmas’,” he read aloud. “And you promised me no more turkey.” With mock outrage he turned to his partner. “There’s a whole farm-load of ’em here.”
But as they walked past the empty pens, he looked puzzled. “It’s odd. Not a turkey in sight. D’you think this place has been abandoned?”
“Nah.” Doyle indicated behind them with his thumb. “You read the noticeboard. It said ‘for Christmas’. They’ve all gone to turkey heaven. Maybe ours was one of ’em.”
“All in a noble cause,” said Bodie sententiously. “‘It’s a far far better thing that I do’, etcetera, sacrificing themselves for our Christmas dinner.”
Doyle gave him a stare. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” and opened the gate into the field that would lead them down to the river.
The day was crisp and clear, the sun having melted only a little of the frost that still whitened the fields. They turned onto the path along the river, swollen after the recent rain, the water flowing swiftly along, eddying where it overflowed and met the long grass of the riverbank. Trees stood etched against the blue of the sky, their naked branches spread out, black against the sun. Rooks erupted from one of the trees with an explosion of raucous calls and soared into the sunlight, wheeling and diving in the air. Bodie exhaled, his breath white in the morning cold.
“This is more like it,” he admitted. “Feels…good.”
“Yeah,” Doyle agreed, snuffing the air even as he shoved his gloved hands more deeply into the pockets of his long coat.
“Quick walk along the river, then back to some warmth and good grub.”
Doyle slanted a look at his partner. “Couldn’t imagine us doing this some years ago.”
Bodie glanced back at him. “How d’you mean? Adrenalin and caffeine kept us going. And exhaustion didn’t prevent us from getting a kick out of being alive.”
“No, but constantly on the go. Too little sleep, living on your nerves. Fast cars, shootouts, putting our lives on the line every day of the week, and always at the back of your mind the thought you might not make it this time.”
“It was worth doing,” Bodie said. “Yeah, I was prepared to shoot and kill to keep this country smelling of lavender and roses. And I don’t regret it. I went into CI5 with my eyes open. And we did a bloody good job. Still do, even if we’re not out in the field any longer. Cowley made CI5 what it was and McLeish still holds to the Old Man’s principles. Yeah, times have changed and the organisation has changed with ’em but the ethos remains the same. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stay.” He took another look at Doyle. “Oh, god, Ray, you’re not having another crisis of conscience, are you? Not today, for Chrissake, not while we’re on leave. Save your concerns till after New Year and we’re back at HQ. Anyway, thought you’d come to terms with all that years ago. You’re still working for the Squad, after all.”
Doyle said nothing, unlatching the gate that would take them back up through the fields, holding it for Bodie to come through. As they set off up the slight rise, he said, “No, I had all that out with our Kate a long time ago. I believe in what I’m doin’. At the end of the day, always have done. It’s not always been easy, though. And sometimes the doubts surface again. Don’t suppose I’ll ever get rid of them entirely. But I meant what I said.” He caught Bodie by the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him for a moment. “Yeah, course we had our fun off-duty. But this is different. There’s no constant tension now, no need to live in the moment. It’s a relief these days to be a back-room boffin of sorts. And I’ve still got you. I wouldn’t have put odds on that ten years ago.”
“You’re a crack marksman,” Bodie reminded him. “You sail through all the refresher courses. Don’t forget that, sunshine, when the youngsters are running around, thinking they’re god’s gift. You can still outshoot the lot of ’em. And you pass all the physicals, no problem. You’re very fit.”
Doyle looked serious for a moment. “Yeah, for my age. But I can’t outrun them, or even keep up with them now. It catches up with us all, you know.”
“Ah, but with age comes wisdom, laddie,” Bodie pointed out in a cod Scots accent. “Sayings of George Cowley, number two hundred and thirty-nine.”
Doyle laughed, as Bodie had known he would. That sexy laugh he’d heard a thousand times over the years, telling him that all was okay with the world – and Doyle - for that moment. He’d play the fool for Doyle, if necessary, and once they were back home, he had no doubts about keeping his lover far more interested in their day-to-day lives than any worries about the past, for all that Doyle was too introspective at times for his own good.
They came to another gate. Doyle swung the central portion to one side of the V-shaped enclosure, let himself through partway, then pushed the gate back to its opposite side and walked out into the field that would take them back to the farm.
Bodie paused. “Clever design, isn’t it?” He swung the central part to and fro. “Lets people through, keeps livestock in, and all without the need of a latch or a bolt. You know what it’s called?”
Doyle looked back at him, eyeing his partner as if he wondered what Bodie might be planning to do next. “Yeah, and it isn’t for the reason you’re thinkin’. But it’s a clever mechanism.”
“Why not make use of it?” Bodie leered at him. “After all, it ought to live up to its name.”
“You’re sex-mad,” Doyle told him. “Can’t even go for a walk without you mentioning it.”
“I’m only suggesting... C’mon, Doyle.” Bodie looked around. “There’s nobody about, not even a stray turkey. I don’t really care who might be looking in this direction if you don’t. Let’s give ’em a Christmas bonus.”
Doyle came back to the other side of the central gate. “You’re barking.” But he said it with affection. “One of these days, Bodie…”
But Bodie had grasped his partner by the shoulders and drawn him as close as the gate between them would allow. And they stood there for a while, kissing long and lovingly across the kissing-gate.
****
November 2022
Written for Christmas 2022
Title: And Nothing Else Matters
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: The lads and CI5 belong to their rightful owner, and we're only borrowing them.
Notes: November 2022, written for Christmas 2022.
f_m_parkinson)by Felicity M. Parkinson
It was that dead week in between Christmas and New Year, the time that Bodie regarded as ‘the dog days’, having moved them on from summer by some four months. Several Christmas cards still adorned the bookshelves of the living room – one from Cowley, another from Jax and his wife, a third from Murphy, and one from a gun shop that he patronised on occasion. They all looked a little wilted now that the immediacy of three days of Christmas excess had passed. Even the mistletoe that he had hung so thoughtfully from the kitchen light had shrivelled a little.
They were in a week with a festival at each end, a bit like bookends, he thought, and not a lot in between except to recover from one in order to celebrate the other with equal or even greater fervour.
Not that he’d had the chance that often. One or the other of them had usually been on duty, or at least on standby at this time, no chance to make merry or even just to relax to any extent. Though they were no longer active field agents, the work of CI5 continued night and day for all its personnel. Surveillance, Intelligence, Computers, Weapons Training and Assessment, refresher courses, annual reviews – none of it stopped for the festivities. Criminals didn’t take Christmas or New Year off; neither did Criminal Intelligence 5.
But this year, by some miracle, neither he nor Doyle was on the roster for duties at HQ. Barring some national emergency, they had a week’s leave in which to make the most of the festive season. Bodie relaxed further against the sofa cushions and flicked through the previous day’s tabloid, which he’d gone out to buy once the shops were open again, casting a cursory glance at page three before flicking over the pages to the section marked ‘TV and Radio’.
His other half appeared in the doorway. “You planning on lyin’ on that sofa for the rest of the day?”
Bodie gave the TV programmes a final look and put the paper on one side. “You got anything better in mind? Not sure I can watch The Great Escape for the hundredth time – think I can recite the dialogue in my sleep. But if you want to join me on the sofa…”
Doyle sat down in the easy chair to one side of it, resting a foot on his opposite knee and ignoring his partner’s suggestion. “We’ve got the day ahead of us. Fancy going out somewhere?”
“We went out this morning. You dragged me out of bed at six to jog round the cemetery. It wasn’t even light yet. Thought we’re supposed to be on leave. And I was having such an interesting dream…”
“You’d still be lyin’ there if I hadn’t.” Doyle was unsympathetic. “Can’t waste the day stayin’ in bed.”
Bodie raised his eyebrows. “Who said anything about wasting the day?”
“Yeah, okay. You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“But last night was so good.” He let the words stretch out for emphasis. “Late Christmas prezzie and all that. Surprised you’ve got the energy to do anything this morning.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t. Anyway, I didn’t mean a ten-mile hike along the Downs. How about a bit of a stroll in the fresh air and then a pub afterwards?”
“Not if it’s offering turkey. Can’t face any more. There’s a limit to what a man can stand.”
“Never thought I’d hear you rejecting food.” Doyle grinned. “There was a time you’d have eaten your way through the lot – roast turkey with all the trimmings, turkey burgers, turkey sandwiches, turkey curry…”
“That was a long time ago,” Bodie managed to stop Doyle in full flow. “These days I watch my waistline.”
“…not to mention the mince pies, Christmas cake, Yule log and chocolates you stashed in the cupboards last week… ‘Just in case,’ you said.”
Bodie knew when he was beaten. “Okay, maybe we need a bit more exercise. What did you have in mind, exactly?”
“That pub we went to in the summer. Not too far and there was a walk along the river and through the fields. Could do that and come back for some grub and a pint.”
“Oh, yeah, that one. I remember. It had good food and some interesting beers. Better check it’s going to be open later on,” Bodie told him. “I’m not driving down there to find they’re closed for the holiday season or not serving food.”
“You ever heard of a pub shutting its doors durin’ the Christmas week?”
“There’s always a first time. I don’t want to be disappointed.” Bodie managed a mournful expression.
“Thought you were off food at the moment,” Doyle added.
“Only if it’s turkey. I’ll be hungry in a couple of hours, anyway.”
“Gawd,” said Doyle. “You and your stomach. Must be cast-iron. Okay, I’ll see what gives. There might just be someone answerin’ the phone by now.” He got up and went over to the desk by the window and started hunting through the drawer, pulling out odds and ends and slips of paper. “What was the name of the place?”
Bodie thought for a moment. “Seven Dials? Seven Sisters?”
“Seven Stars.” Doyle waved a piece of paper around. “Thought I’d made a note of the name. Got a number, too.” He lifted the receiver from the handset sitting on the desk and prodded the numbered buttons with a long finger.
Bodie went back to his newspaper and listened with half an ear to the one-sided conversation about opening times and food.
“…ham and cheese ploughman’s? Yeah, that’d be great. Two of us. No, thing is, my mate can’t face turkey at the moment. Yeah, I know. ’Bout one o’clock? Okay, we’ll be there.” He rang off and put the receiver back on its cradle. “You heard that?” he asked, turning towards Bodie. “Definitely no turkey.”
They left the car in the pub’s car park and walked down the lane, the signpost to the river walk directing them through a farmyard on the edge of the village. Bodie stopped by the farm entrance and glared at the signboard above the wall. “‘Free-range turkeys for Christmas’,” he read aloud. “And you promised me no more turkey.” With mock outrage he turned to his partner. “There’s a whole farm-load of ’em here.”
But as they walked past the empty pens, he looked puzzled. “It’s odd. Not a turkey in sight. D’you think this place has been abandoned?”
“Nah.” Doyle indicated behind them with his thumb. “You read the noticeboard. It said ‘for Christmas’. They’ve all gone to turkey heaven. Maybe ours was one of ’em.”
“All in a noble cause,” said Bodie sententiously. “‘It’s a far far better thing that I do’, etcetera, sacrificing themselves for our Christmas dinner.”
Doyle gave him a stare. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” and opened the gate into the field that would lead them down to the river.
The day was crisp and clear, the sun having melted only a little of the frost that still whitened the fields. They turned onto the path along the river, swollen after the recent rain, the water flowing swiftly along, eddying where it overflowed and met the long grass of the riverbank. Trees stood etched against the blue of the sky, their naked branches spread out, black against the sun. Rooks erupted from one of the trees with an explosion of raucous calls and soared into the sunlight, wheeling and diving in the air. Bodie exhaled, his breath white in the morning cold.
“This is more like it,” he admitted. “Feels…good.”
“Yeah,” Doyle agreed, snuffing the air even as he shoved his gloved hands more deeply into the pockets of his long coat.
“Quick walk along the river, then back to some warmth and good grub.”
Doyle slanted a look at his partner. “Couldn’t imagine us doing this some years ago.”
Bodie glanced back at him. “How d’you mean? Adrenalin and caffeine kept us going. And exhaustion didn’t prevent us from getting a kick out of being alive.”
“No, but constantly on the go. Too little sleep, living on your nerves. Fast cars, shootouts, putting our lives on the line every day of the week, and always at the back of your mind the thought you might not make it this time.”
“It was worth doing,” Bodie said. “Yeah, I was prepared to shoot and kill to keep this country smelling of lavender and roses. And I don’t regret it. I went into CI5 with my eyes open. And we did a bloody good job. Still do, even if we’re not out in the field any longer. Cowley made CI5 what it was and McLeish still holds to the Old Man’s principles. Yeah, times have changed and the organisation has changed with ’em but the ethos remains the same. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stay.” He took another look at Doyle. “Oh, god, Ray, you’re not having another crisis of conscience, are you? Not today, for Chrissake, not while we’re on leave. Save your concerns till after New Year and we’re back at HQ. Anyway, thought you’d come to terms with all that years ago. You’re still working for the Squad, after all.”
Doyle said nothing, unlatching the gate that would take them back up through the fields, holding it for Bodie to come through. As they set off up the slight rise, he said, “No, I had all that out with our Kate a long time ago. I believe in what I’m doin’. At the end of the day, always have done. It’s not always been easy, though. And sometimes the doubts surface again. Don’t suppose I’ll ever get rid of them entirely. But I meant what I said.” He caught Bodie by the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him for a moment. “Yeah, course we had our fun off-duty. But this is different. There’s no constant tension now, no need to live in the moment. It’s a relief these days to be a back-room boffin of sorts. And I’ve still got you. I wouldn’t have put odds on that ten years ago.”
“You’re a crack marksman,” Bodie reminded him. “You sail through all the refresher courses. Don’t forget that, sunshine, when the youngsters are running around, thinking they’re god’s gift. You can still outshoot the lot of ’em. And you pass all the physicals, no problem. You’re very fit.”
Doyle looked serious for a moment. “Yeah, for my age. But I can’t outrun them, or even keep up with them now. It catches up with us all, you know.”
“Ah, but with age comes wisdom, laddie,” Bodie pointed out in a cod Scots accent. “Sayings of George Cowley, number two hundred and thirty-nine.”
Doyle laughed, as Bodie had known he would. That sexy laugh he’d heard a thousand times over the years, telling him that all was okay with the world – and Doyle - for that moment. He’d play the fool for Doyle, if necessary, and once they were back home, he had no doubts about keeping his lover far more interested in their day-to-day lives than any worries about the past, for all that Doyle was too introspective at times for his own good.
They came to another gate. Doyle swung the central portion to one side of the V-shaped enclosure, let himself through partway, then pushed the gate back to its opposite side and walked out into the field that would take them back to the farm.
Bodie paused. “Clever design, isn’t it?” He swung the central part to and fro. “Lets people through, keeps livestock in, and all without the need of a latch or a bolt. You know what it’s called?”
Doyle looked back at him, eyeing his partner as if he wondered what Bodie might be planning to do next. “Yeah, and it isn’t for the reason you’re thinkin’. But it’s a clever mechanism.”
“Why not make use of it?” Bodie leered at him. “After all, it ought to live up to its name.”
“You’re sex-mad,” Doyle told him. “Can’t even go for a walk without you mentioning it.”
“I’m only suggesting... C’mon, Doyle.” Bodie looked around. “There’s nobody about, not even a stray turkey. I don’t really care who might be looking in this direction if you don’t. Let’s give ’em a Christmas bonus.”
Doyle came back to the other side of the central gate. “You’re barking.” But he said it with affection. “One of these days, Bodie…”
But Bodie had grasped his partner by the shoulders and drawn him as close as the gate between them would allow. And they stood there for a while, kissing long and lovingly across the kissing-gate.
November 2022
Written for Christmas 2022
Title: And Nothing Else Matters
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: The lads and CI5 belong to their rightful owner, and we're only borrowing them.
Notes: November 2022, written for Christmas 2022.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2022-12-14 05:03 pm (UTC)Lovely . . .just lovely!
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Date: 2022-12-14 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 07:32 pm (UTC)What a delightful story! So much the lads, and I do adore older lads. Nicely done, shining with love.
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Date: 2022-12-14 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-15 09:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-15 09:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-15 03:48 am (UTC)Loved the ending!
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Date: 2022-12-15 09:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-12-24 12:18 pm (UTC)Beautiful!