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discoveredinaljHappy Boxing Day! Must admit I neeeearly forgot I said I'd cover today, but phew, made it in time!
Some of you have seen this story, I'm afraid, in this year's FandomCards, but people who haven't... here's a wee fic. *g*
A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle
by Slantedlight
It was the worst kind of Wednesday. Grey skies drizzled grey rain, and the wind made it proper brass monkey weather. Doyle pushed himself away from their office window - tiny and cracked across one corner, but at least a window - and turned around to stare at his partner’s bowed head. He’d barely glanced up when Doyle burst in like a bored thunderstorm, and had given him the briefest of nods. He was writing what looked like a letter, which was strange enough, but he also had a pile of envelopes beside him, each one neatly addressed in Bodie’s oddly tidy handwriting. It almost looked like…
“Are you writing Christmas cards?” he asked abruptly, because surely not - that wasn’t exactly a very Bodie thing to do. They’d been partnered almost a year now, and Doyle had a pretty good grasp of the things Bodie liked to do. Most of them involved leggy blondes - or brunettes or redheads, Bodie didn’t discriminate - and writing Christmas cards was surely not on the list.
“Nope.” Bodie didn’t even look up.
Doyle took a step closer to the desk. From this angle he could just see the tip of Bodie’s tongue sticking out, darker pink against his pink lips. He could also see the name and address on the top envelope - Tilda Bodie, 9 Bickerton Ave…
“Looks like Christmas cards to me, mate,” he said easily. He’d also grasped that the best way to get information from his partner was to not seem interested - but to rib him a bit all the same, because then he’d either clam up (deep dark secret), start talking about his latest conquest in bed (something he thought was too boring to talk about), or get defensive (the real Bodie).
“Letters,” Bodie said, doing none of the above.
“You what?”
“Christmas letters. To go in with the Christmas cards.” Bodie still didn’t look up. “If I do ‘em now I don’t have to do ‘em when I get home, do I?” He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page, and finally met Doyle’s gaze while he folded the paper in four. “More time to spend with the luscious Lulu.”
“She’s not really called Lulu, you know.” Probably Lucy. Maybe Louise. Something ordinary. Something dull.
“Don’t care,” Bodie said. “She’s going to roast a chicken and make a Christmas trifle on Saturday - she’s a goddess!”
Doyle ignored the familiar twinge - he was getting good at that too. He nodded back at Bodie’s pile of envelopes instead, as Bodie angled his Basildon Bond, picked up his pen again, and set off on the next glorious epistle.
“You gonna write me one?” he asked, heading back to safe ground.
“Why would I write you a Christmas letter?”
“Your colleague, your partner, your…” Dare he say it? “…your friend?”
“Exactly. See you every day, don’t I? You know what I’m doing.”
“Bet I don’t know what you’re telling them you’re doing,” Doyle said, because it was a pretty safe bet that government agent with a licence to kill wouldn’t be making an appearance in those letters. Or maybe it would - in the very safe knowledge that he wouldn’t be believed and everyone would assume something far too dull for Bodie to say out loud.
“Be right then, wouldn’t you?”
“Butcher,” he suggested. “Baker. Button maker for Burtons.”
Bodie huffed a laugh, glancing back up at him, which was a result.
“None of the above,” he said. “How’d that explain my manly physique?”
“Circus performer. Ballet dancer. Tin soldier.”
“Ballet dancer?”
“Don’t knock it, got to be at peak of physical fitness to be a ballet dancer.”
“Never been out with a…”
“Go on then.” If there was one thing Doyle did not want it was to get into another recital of Bodie’s past conquests. “What d’you tell ‘em?”
“Tell ‘em I’m still in the army.” He scribbled another signature, then looked back up at Doyle and grinned, put on his poshest accent. “Tricky to get leave for a family do, don’t you know.”
“Tin soldier, then,” Doyle scoffed, because he’d seen a picture of Bodie in his uniform once, and hadn’t that been something else. “Little Christmas drummer boy.”
“Ah, but I’m your Christmas drummer boy.” Bodie pushed his chair back and stood up, gathering his envelopes neatly together and tucking them into his inside pocket. He folded a last paper, held it out, and Doyle took it without thinking. “Need to catch the post.”
The door closed behind him, and Doyle was left alone with an empty desk, a window full of drizzle, and a sheet of Basildon Bond. He flipped it open, read it quickly, and then smiled. He left the office, whistling cheerfully.
o0o
Title: A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse do not, sadly, belong to me. I'm just playing. *g*
Notes: Written for the 2025 ProsFandomCards exchange as a minizine.
Some of you have seen this story, I'm afraid, in this year's FandomCards, but people who haven't... here's a wee fic. *g*
by Slantedlight
It was the worst kind of Wednesday. Grey skies drizzled grey rain, and the wind made it proper brass monkey weather. Doyle pushed himself away from their office window - tiny and cracked across one corner, but at least a window - and turned around to stare at his partner’s bowed head. He’d barely glanced up when Doyle burst in like a bored thunderstorm, and had given him the briefest of nods. He was writing what looked like a letter, which was strange enough, but he also had a pile of envelopes beside him, each one neatly addressed in Bodie’s oddly tidy handwriting. It almost looked like…
“Are you writing Christmas cards?” he asked abruptly, because surely not - that wasn’t exactly a very Bodie thing to do. They’d been partnered almost a year now, and Doyle had a pretty good grasp of the things Bodie liked to do. Most of them involved leggy blondes - or brunettes or redheads, Bodie didn’t discriminate - and writing Christmas cards was surely not on the list.
“Nope.” Bodie didn’t even look up.
Doyle took a step closer to the desk. From this angle he could just see the tip of Bodie’s tongue sticking out, darker pink against his pink lips. He could also see the name and address on the top envelope - Tilda Bodie, 9 Bickerton Ave…
“Looks like Christmas cards to me, mate,” he said easily. He’d also grasped that the best way to get information from his partner was to not seem interested - but to rib him a bit all the same, because then he’d either clam up (deep dark secret), start talking about his latest conquest in bed (something he thought was too boring to talk about), or get defensive (the real Bodie).
“Letters,” Bodie said, doing none of the above.
“You what?”
“Christmas letters. To go in with the Christmas cards.” Bodie still didn’t look up. “If I do ‘em now I don’t have to do ‘em when I get home, do I?” He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page, and finally met Doyle’s gaze while he folded the paper in four. “More time to spend with the luscious Lulu.”
“She’s not really called Lulu, you know.” Probably Lucy. Maybe Louise. Something ordinary. Something dull.
“Don’t care,” Bodie said. “She’s going to roast a chicken and make a Christmas trifle on Saturday - she’s a goddess!”
Doyle ignored the familiar twinge - he was getting good at that too. He nodded back at Bodie’s pile of envelopes instead, as Bodie angled his Basildon Bond, picked up his pen again, and set off on the next glorious epistle.
“You gonna write me one?” he asked, heading back to safe ground.
“Why would I write you a Christmas letter?”
“Your colleague, your partner, your…” Dare he say it? “…your friend?”
“Exactly. See you every day, don’t I? You know what I’m doing.”
“Bet I don’t know what you’re telling them you’re doing,” Doyle said, because it was a pretty safe bet that government agent with a licence to kill wouldn’t be making an appearance in those letters. Or maybe it would - in the very safe knowledge that he wouldn’t be believed and everyone would assume something far too dull for Bodie to say out loud.
“Be right then, wouldn’t you?”
“Butcher,” he suggested. “Baker. Button maker for Burtons.”
Bodie huffed a laugh, glancing back up at him, which was a result.
“None of the above,” he said. “How’d that explain my manly physique?”
“Circus performer. Ballet dancer. Tin soldier.”
“Ballet dancer?”
“Don’t knock it, got to be at peak of physical fitness to be a ballet dancer.”
“Never been out with a…”
“Go on then.” If there was one thing Doyle did not want it was to get into another recital of Bodie’s past conquests. “What d’you tell ‘em?”
“Tell ‘em I’m still in the army.” He scribbled another signature, then looked back up at Doyle and grinned, put on his poshest accent. “Tricky to get leave for a family do, don’t you know.”
“Tin soldier, then,” Doyle scoffed, because he’d seen a picture of Bodie in his uniform once, and hadn’t that been something else. “Little Christmas drummer boy.”
“Ah, but I’m your Christmas drummer boy.” Bodie pushed his chair back and stood up, gathering his envelopes neatly together and tucking them into his inside pocket. He folded a last paper, held it out, and Doyle took it without thinking. “Need to catch the post.”
The door closed behind him, and Doyle was left alone with an empty desk, a window full of drizzle, and a sheet of Basildon Bond. He flipped it open, read it quickly, and then smiled. He left the office, whistling cheerfully.
Title: A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse do not, sadly, belong to me. I'm just playing. *g*
Notes: Written for the 2025 ProsFandomCards exchange as a minizine.
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Date: 2025-12-26 10:21 pm (UTC)Delightful. Thanks. And I love seeing the actual note :)
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Date: 2025-12-27 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-26 11:27 pm (UTC)Love it!
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Date: 2025-12-27 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-27 03:07 pm (UTC)A perfect Christmas comfort read. Thanks :-)
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Date: 2025-12-27 06:23 pm (UTC)Aw!
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Date: 2025-12-29 02:56 pm (UTC)Aww, loved this! ❤️
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Date: 2025-12-29 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-01-01 06:28 am (UTC)Ay! One of my favourite tropes: when one of them is in love with the other and feels jealous, but doesn't dare say anything...!!! As always, Bodie is making up a non-existent relationship just to brag, or to see Doyle's reaction (and I understand that he did this in the series, I think they called it something like the “Lasagna Incident”? Where Bodie pretended to ‘call’ a girl who had promised to make him dinner, and when Doyle promised to cook for him, Bodie immediately hung up the phone and went to Ray's? These boys are going to give me a heart attack from pure love... When I read ‘Doyle ignored the familiar twinge - he was getting good at that too,’ Supe por dónde iban los tiros (I knew where this was going)... YES!!! And of course, when Bodie or Doyle “feel the familiar twinge”, I can feel it too... I've cried so much with stories like that...