Posting on behalf of
ubicaritas.
And To You Your Wassail Too
Part Two – Pray Think of Us Poor Children
Good master and mistress, While you’re sitting by the fire,
Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.
“I don’t believe it.” Doyle shifted in his seat, stretching out his legs in a vain attempt to get comfortable, or, at the very least, relieve some of his growing discomfort.
“Believe what?” Bodie flexed his own knees and ankles in succession, hampered as Doyle hadn’t been by the steering wheel and pedals at his feet. “That Father would have us sitting out her, at the back end of nowhere, in the cold and dark… on New Year's Eve! Waiting for a third-rate nobody of a terrorist who likely has better sense than us to be out in this weather … and all while he and the rest of the Squad are conducting the other part of the investigation inside yonder stately country manor!”
Doyle blinked. “Yeah, that about covers it,” he said, after a pause. “Although I might have added that the rain appears to be changing to snow…”
“Of course it is.” Bodie morosely checked his watch. “Right on time for our next walk around the perimeter.”
Both agents spent a moment fastening coat buttons and zippers. Bodie pulled on a pair of battered gloves, while Doyle wound his scarf a bit tighter around his neck. Together, they stepped out of the car and ventured along the slippery path that ran parallel to the manor’s stone fence.
“There’s got to be someone in the Squad more … deserving … of this.” Bodie swore and barely caught himself from taking a header into the mud. “McCabe, or maybe even Stuart … Both of them pranged their motors in that chase last week, right?”
Doyle shook the accumulating snowflakes out of his hair. “Oh no, mate,” he said. “You made sure that we would be the most deserving, didn’t you … and for a good long time! You and your harebrained idea to get the Squad to put in for Christmas vacation in August. Cowley stalked around like a thundercloud for a good week after the Minister himself showed up, looking for an explanation!”
“I always thought that was a bit of an overreaction by the Minister,” Bodie said. “And how was I supposed to know the entire Squad would ask for the same two weeks?! Not my fault, sunshine.”
They stomped through the mud and snow and darkness for a while longer, until they finally arrived back at their vehicle. Bodie immediately started the engine and set the heater on high; soon the car was filled with the aromatic yet oddly comforting fug of wet agent.
“I looked it up, you know,” Doyle said, into the companiable silence.
“Eh?”
“That carol, the one you were singing on the day when we all got our vacation notices.”
Bodie hummed a few notes of the tune.
“I reckon we’ve made it to the end of the last verse,” Doyle continued. “I just wish Cowley could hear us right now…”
“Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.”
Epilogue – Love and Joy
“I don’t believe it.”
A long, sated rumble sounded from the other side of the bed. “Believe what?”
Doyle nestled closer to the naked warmth next to him. “That I finally feel like I’ve thawed out … that Cowley has relented and given us a full weeks’ leave … that mmmff…” An arm snaked out from under the covers to draw him in even more tightly.
“And I believe that you’re talking too much.” Bodie trailed his hand from gently covering Doyle’s mouth, down his exposed throat, then even further to pass collarbone, nipple, and the angular jut of hipbone. “Now how does that refrain go…?”
“Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too;
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year
And God send you a Happy New Year.”
o0o
Title: And To You Your Wassail Too
Author: Ubicaritas
Slash or gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib: Yes please!
Disclaimer: Not enough wassail was consumed during the creation of this work. Also, just playing with the lads and returning them safe and mostly sound, no infringement of the Pros sandbox is intended.
Part Two – Pray Think of Us Poor Children
Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.
“I don’t believe it.” Doyle shifted in his seat, stretching out his legs in a vain attempt to get comfortable, or, at the very least, relieve some of his growing discomfort.
“Believe what?” Bodie flexed his own knees and ankles in succession, hampered as Doyle hadn’t been by the steering wheel and pedals at his feet. “That Father would have us sitting out her, at the back end of nowhere, in the cold and dark… on New Year's Eve! Waiting for a third-rate nobody of a terrorist who likely has better sense than us to be out in this weather … and all while he and the rest of the Squad are conducting the other part of the investigation inside yonder stately country manor!”
Doyle blinked. “Yeah, that about covers it,” he said, after a pause. “Although I might have added that the rain appears to be changing to snow…”
“Of course it is.” Bodie morosely checked his watch. “Right on time for our next walk around the perimeter.”
Both agents spent a moment fastening coat buttons and zippers. Bodie pulled on a pair of battered gloves, while Doyle wound his scarf a bit tighter around his neck. Together, they stepped out of the car and ventured along the slippery path that ran parallel to the manor’s stone fence.
“There’s got to be someone in the Squad more … deserving … of this.” Bodie swore and barely caught himself from taking a header into the mud. “McCabe, or maybe even Stuart … Both of them pranged their motors in that chase last week, right?”
Doyle shook the accumulating snowflakes out of his hair. “Oh no, mate,” he said. “You made sure that we would be the most deserving, didn’t you … and for a good long time! You and your harebrained idea to get the Squad to put in for Christmas vacation in August. Cowley stalked around like a thundercloud for a good week after the Minister himself showed up, looking for an explanation!”
“I always thought that was a bit of an overreaction by the Minister,” Bodie said. “And how was I supposed to know the entire Squad would ask for the same two weeks?! Not my fault, sunshine.”
They stomped through the mud and snow and darkness for a while longer, until they finally arrived back at their vehicle. Bodie immediately started the engine and set the heater on high; soon the car was filled with the aromatic yet oddly comforting fug of wet agent.
“I looked it up, you know,” Doyle said, into the companiable silence.
“Eh?”
“That carol, the one you were singing on the day when we all got our vacation notices.”
Bodie hummed a few notes of the tune.
“I reckon we’ve made it to the end of the last verse,” Doyle continued. “I just wish Cowley could hear us right now…”
“Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.”
Epilogue – Love and Joy
“I don’t believe it.”
A long, sated rumble sounded from the other side of the bed. “Believe what?”
Doyle nestled closer to the naked warmth next to him. “That I finally feel like I’ve thawed out … that Cowley has relented and given us a full weeks’ leave … that mmmff…” An arm snaked out from under the covers to draw him in even more tightly.
“And I believe that you’re talking too much.” Bodie trailed his hand from gently covering Doyle’s mouth, down his exposed throat, then even further to pass collarbone, nipple, and the angular jut of hipbone. “Now how does that refrain go…?”
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year
And God send you a Happy New Year.”
o0o
Title: And To You Your Wassail Too
Author: Ubicaritas
Slash or gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib: Yes please!
Disclaimer: Not enough wassail was consumed during the creation of this work. Also, just playing with the lads and returning them safe and mostly sound, no infringement of the Pros sandbox is intended.
no subject
Date: 2026-01-06 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-01-07 10:11 pm (UTC)Very enjoyable fic — thanks!