Discovered in A Snow Globe 18th December 2022

[harlech1000.livejournal.com]

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
By Harlech1000


It had been one of those winters. The kind where the air was crisp, the snow fell gently and the black of night was broken by the festive lights and decorations; carols were playing in the slushy streets and human beings, wrapped up warmly against the cold, were dashing around with Christmas shopping the only things on their minds.

George Cowley sat in his high back old fashioned chair as he had done every Christmas Eve since that fateful day twenty years ago. This year, the run up to Christmas had been relatively quiet but even had been busy, he would still have left the office at 8:00pm and kept his Christmas Eve Vigil.
Not many were left at CI5 now who knew what the Boss did on Christmas Eve but the ones that did understood.

Now as the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour, 10:30pm on Christmas Eve, George Cowley was prepared. In his private London flat the fire was roaring in the grate – proper Yule logs for the occasion – and the room was warm and cosy. There was a string of Santa Lights hung around the bookcase – his men would have been shocked to see such frivolity as well they might. It had been present - as had the small artificial tree which twinkled from its perch on the occasions table in front of the window. A lamp in the far corner lit the room enough for his purposes and he settled more comfortably in his chair with a soft sigh of pleasure. To his left hand was an exquisitely cute crystal whisky tumbler full of the very special single malt he reserved for this night as he had for the last twenty years.

It was at this time, he missed them most. His two favourites. The Bistro Kids. The best team he had ever had or ever seen in action. And despite the years that had passed he had seen nothing that could even touch what they had had together. He could still remember that last Christmas Eve as if -as if - it were right now when the shit that had hit the fan just as the two had been heading out for their first proper Christmas break together. ( oh he knew they were together and they knew he knew and they all knew that neither was going to bring the subject up because it was really unimportant. All that had mattered was they still got the job done with their usual brilliance). Cowley had turned to handle the disaster and without a word – just a look between them – they had followed him, abandoning their plans without a murmur as the true scale of the problem became apparent.

In doing so they had sealed their fates and in a funny kind of way his as well. Even twenty years later they were remembered in the hallowed halls of CI5 as the legends they had become. CI5 had changed so much since their day but what hadn’t changed was the way it was run and the man who ran it unimpeded by Government interference because of the secrets he knew and kept and the favours that he was owed by many. It was even a more secret organisation now than it had been then. Most government departments believed CI5 long since disbanded or reduced to merely a data collecting agency for others. It was not and never would be – not while under the control of George Cowley. It still did what it had been created to do by the very man who had created it.

That night it had more than proved its worth and done something exceptional. Ci5 was the reason that London and a good deal of the land around had not become a large hole in the ground obliterating centuries of history and millions of people. But while London had remained relatively unscathed by the surprising terrorist attack, two men had willingly given up their lives to ensure that once more England smelt ever so faintly of lavender and roses. Millions of people were still alive, who would never know who Ci5 were or what they had done to ensure that Christmas 1995 had been one of festive cheer not the holocaust that terrorists had planned for it to be. Cowley remembered. For him it was the day the Bodie and Doyle’s luck had finally run out. He hadn’t expected it. Nor had anyone else. But it had happened nonetheless.

Cowley sipped his whisky savouring the bite. He was in his 90s now and would continue to hold the reins of CI5 in the shadows until he died. Then his place would be taken by the one he had spent the last ten years training. What it became then would be another’s concern. He had done his best and was finally at peace with that. Everything had a time and a season. Now was his time for remembering them. The two that were always together right from the start. So opposite. – military precision with art student. Cowley smiled. He settled himself and closed his eyes. He could see Bodie so clearly – blue eyes laughing, excitement coiled at the prospect of action. Bodie hated the surveillances and was a like dog off the leash when the action came. Off duty he was quieter and more sociable than Doyle. Doyle was hot headed when his heart was involved but on the job he was something else. He could slip undercover with an ease that other agents envied; could play a role so perfectly that it was hard to believe it wasn’t real. Then he would given a shake and the role would vanish and Doyle would be there again.

Idly Cowley wondered what they’d have been like – in their sixties and what would they have made of him. The Santa lights seemed to laugh at him – he eyed them. Not his thing but it had been their Christmas present to him that year along with the small fibre optic tree with its star cow on the top. He’d found them in this very flat when finally he had returned home late the following day. He had laughed until the tears prickled his eyes. And every year since they had come out and he saluted them.

What would they have made of him now, he wondered. Strands of white hair still clung defiantly to his head; his eyes were as sharp as ever as was his brain and he was consider “sprightly” for his age – an age he hadn’t expected to reach to be honest. His face was craggy and lined and his new agents always tried to take advantage or make mock of what they though was an “old” man. It still gave him pleasure to put them in their place; old dog he may be but he still knew a trick or two.

Would they still have been around? Still teasing, pushing his boundaries, Bodie,faith and loyal, ready to obey orders, Doyle, forever questioning, always reminding him of what they did and why; together they had had his back even when he hadn’t been able to have theirs.

They had been tearaways at first and Macklin had despaired of ever finding a partner for Doyle – whose patient with agents not as sharp as himself was non-existent at the time. An accident had brought them together. An accident. His eyes wandered around the room and rested on his desk. It reminded him of that desk that Bodie and Doyle had destroyed.He’d torn a strip off them for that. They had understood. It had been part of his role and expected. In those days it had been almost fun- that game of theirs. George Cowley smiled. That had been the start of the pranks. Then had come m the appearance of the large Christmas tree with the drawing of the Minister – naked clutching a small purse to his privates – the tiny purse labeled “CI5 Budget” in his office. No one had seen them smuggle it in but there it was. The following year it had been two blow up Santas flanking a large wide eyed cow; the birthday bottle of Whisky he had found sat on his office chair one morning and even one in this very flat one Christmas. How they’d found the flat in the first place, he’d never found out but then he hadn’t tried that hard. Some things you didn’t really want to know. The secret was safe with them.

Cowley glanced to the dining room door and thought of his small garden beyond. There
In his back garden was an English Rose bush that he’d planted for Doyle and a apple tree that he’d planted for Bodie and the two stood side by side with the ashes of the two men mingled in the soil beneath. Not that there had been much left but what there was he had claimed. Lavender bushes had grown up around them and that too was fitting.

Closing his eyes, Cowley took another sip of his whisky.

“An rose bush …well at least you got Doyle right,” a voice said cheerfully loud. “Looks beautiful but has prickles.”

“ Beggars can’t be chosers.. … I’m sure he would have planted a Swiss Roll Bush if there was such a thing.” A tart tone equally as familiar and surprising.

Cowley opened his eyes, shocked.
“Good evening, sir.” Bodie was sat in the chair in opposite his own, grinning. “Merry Christmas.”

Behind him leaning on the back was Doyle. Both looked, not as he had last seen them but as he had first seen them – young and vibrant. Only their eyes told of their experiences.

They exchanged looks with each other and Cowley saw Bodie’s eyes twinkling happily. He held out a hand and Cowley watched without a word – what could he say – as Doyle put a pound coin in to it. “See,” Bodie crowed gleefully, “told you he would be speechless.” Blue eyes turned guileless back to him. “Can we have a drink, sir. It is Christmas.” Fake reproach.

“Aye and you can top me up while you’re at it.” Cowley had to work to make his voice sound its normal gruff self. But he was proud he managed it. “And what do you think you’re doing here…trying to haunt me. Its not Halloween.”

“Haunt a scot,” Doyle spoke directly to him, eyebrow raised in a mockery that was still so well remembered after all these years. “We wouldn‘t dare.” He straightened accepting the glass Bodie offered him.

“I take it you can drink? Its not going to end up on my floor?”

Both men turned to him in unison mock horror in their faces and in their eyes (oh how he’d missed this).
“Waste a good malt,” Doyle said reproachfully.

“We were taught better than that.” Bodie finished the sentence right on cue.

That so familiar so badly missed banter. Cowleyto his own surprise felt a lump in his throat. He had missed these two much more than even he’d realised.

“You could have planted potatoes,” Bodie had jumped back to his first topic. “I love crisps, chips and roast potatoes…”

“I know and it’s a wonder you kept your figure.” Doyle replied snidely. “That’s the third Swiss Roll you’ve had” he added as Bodie pulled a mini Swiss roll out of his pocket and began to eat it with great relish, licking his fingers. “Got to keep my strength up.”

Doyle snorted.

Cowley decided he was going to enjoy this. Insane as it was. But just seeing these men again. “So to what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

“Its Christmas.” Doyle answered as larconically unhelpfully as always.

“We thought you might like a visit,” Bodie added, brightly, his mouth full of Swiss Roll. No less enlightening. Typical of these two.

“How kind of you,” Cowley made his voice sound tart when really, baffled as he was (although the mist was clearing), it was good to see them. He wondered briefly if the whisky had been laced with something narcotic then dismissed it. The only people who would have dared were right in front of him and they had been dead for twenty years. “Why this year in particular?”. Although he had a feeling he could guess at this one with accuracy - he was not a stupid man and never had been.

“Because,” Bodie drained the glass and put it down. He looked up at his partner and Cowley smiled to see the silent communication that flashed between them.

“You have to ask?” Doyle met his gaze squarely, one eyebrow raised in mock surprise. “And you a Scot afterall…the second sight whatsit.”

“Its time…”. Bodie finishedwith a smile. “It’s time to go, sir.”

Cowley watched them sourly because they expected it of him. “Not to Heaven then?”

“Nope,” Doyle straightened. “But not Hell either.” He added just to make it clear.

“Beside Paradise really wouldn’t suit you, sir,” Bodie put in as he took Doyle’s glass neatly out of his hand and swallowed the last dregs before putting it beside his own.

“Got there did you and they kicked you out?”

Both men laughed. “Something like that,” Bodie agreed, his eyes twinkling.

Together they half turned away from him towards the door.

“Coming then?” It had to be Doyle, Cowley thought bemused. But he rose all the same. There was a serious look in both the green and the blue eyes, searching his face. It was then he realised, he could stay here or he could go with them. It was still his choice.

Ock, no no choice to be made then.
Carefully placing his glass down on the side table, he noted that Bodie had put both glasses neatly on the coasters beside the decanter. The right way up. He raised an eyebrow and looked up at them.

Bodie looked puzzled but Doyle smiled knowingly. “Just the once – in honour of the occasion.” Doyle said lightly. “Don’t expect it again…ever.”

“I won’t.”

“Ready then?” Bodie’s face cleared as he followed Cowley’s gaze to the glasses and realised what they were talking about.

The number of times Cowley had tartly asked if they knew what coaster are for as they’d left their glasses sitting on the table and he’d had to rescue them before they marked the wood. A very old running joke.

He looked up as eager as Cowley remembered Bodie to be, when there was action awaiting. Not built for surveillance was Bodie. He was the action man.

Cowley moved slowly forward feeling his years for the first time. They fell into their usual positions, flanking him as they done before that last night that was so long ago now. But it felt so familiar – so right.

Unconsciously Cowley straightened and blinked as his door into the hallway opened up instead to a brightly lit corridor. As he moved forward unafraid, he stepped on to cobblestones, old and warm but welcoming all the same. His terrible two followed him and when he stopped, they stopped, waiting with him.

Major George Cowley, Head of CI5, turned to see his study and an old 92 year old man slumped in a high back chair with an empty glass of whisky beside him. There was a peace about it as if the man was just asleep and would wake up any second.Cowley smiled at the thought.

Beside him Bodie was radiating energy one one side and Doyle quiet capability on the other side. It was Cowley realised the same energy Doyle gave out when something had gone remarkably right for once and they had saved the day and the smell of lavender and roses however faint lingered in the air.

Turning his back on his old physical form, Cowley looked ahead and began to walk forward as he did so, the door closed behind him. As he walked he felt his body straightening, his steps lengthening and he remembered how he had felt as young man when he didn’t need glasses and his body did what he told it without question or grumbling.

“You’ll like where’d we’re going,” Bodie remarked casually. “There’s plenty of work to be done.”

“I’m not sure that’s a recommendation,” Doyle pointed out dryly. “Given Ci5.”

Cowley snorted.

“Well can’t have you getting bored now ,can we sir?” Bodie said brightly.

Cowley didn’t answer. He couldn’t. For once in his life, George Cowley didn’t care. His personal misfits had come for him and were flanking him as they had done in life. After twenty years of missing them – nothing was better than this.

He didn’t deceive himself - It wouldn’t last – not with these two – and he had deep misgivings about grins the these two were exchanging as their banter continued . But for now, he was content.

“Merry Christmas”

Comments

[harlech1000.livejournal.com]

I posted to wrong community on 18th so sorry 🥲

[macklingirl.livejournal.com]

What a bittersweet story. I'm happy they are all together at the end. Thank you.

[merentha13.livejournal.com]

Not the usual Christmas story, but touching none the less. The lads, wherever they ended up(!) are still in character and Cowley's insights into their personalities is spot on. The three of them do belong together, forever. Thank you for an interesting read.

[harlech1000.livejournal.com]

Thanks - it just came to me and I had to write it -although where they’ve ended up does sound it could be fun to write 😄

[f-m-parkinson.livejournal.com]

A lovely story with a very positive ending. It had me both laughing and crying. I'll certainly enjoy re-reading it.

[harlech1000.livejournal.com]

Thank you 💖

[krisserci5.livejournal.com]

thanks for the story!

[trepkos.livejournal.com]

That brought a tear to my eye.