Pain. Excruciating, throbbing pain greeted Bodie when he struggled back to consciousness. His stomach twisted, and he swallowed hard, terrified of vomiting with a gag in his mouth. He managed not to be sick, but the effort cost him, and the blackness called...

Pain. Bodie managed to open his eyes and tried to get his brain to function. What had happened? He remembered fighting the Christmas crowd to buy Doyle a pair of leather gloves. Remembered going back to his car and reaching for the door, then...

Pain. The smell of blood greeted him on his next return to consciousness. His own? He remembered the sound of the shot now. Given his current condition, he guessed the bullet must have grazed his head. At best he'd been concussed, at worst... Christ, it hurt...

Pain. Blood and urine this time. He'd been out long enough and deep enough to lose control of his bladder without realizing it. Where was he? How long had he been here? More importantly, how did he get away? His wrists and ankles were bound. Not an expert job by the feel of it, but he couldn't concentrate enough to work himself free. Doyle. The name of his partner and lover came to him even as he drifted down into the black again. Doyle would save him...

Pain. A third smell had joined the other two. Decay. He was on his side, lying on a carpet in the middle of a barren room, with nothing to account for the smell within his field of vision. Must be behind him. He gritted his teeth, then rolled over...

Pain. It was Williams. The former MI6 agent sat in the chair a few feet away from Bodie. Or what was left of him. The nutter must have blown most of his head off with the Browning 9mm now resting in his lap. He'd shot and kidnaped Bodie, then left him with only a rotting corpse to keep him company. Had he planned it that way? A bit of revenge for the disgrace that had ended his career? Or was it all a string of impulses that had led him to suicide? Hardly a waste to mourn -- Bodie had little use for a so-called man who would have let an innocent woman be murdered just to keep his cover. He'd cheered when the new head of MI6 had fired the lousy sod, but it seemed the fucking bastard had decided to blame Bodie for his fall from favor.

Working it out helped Bodie keep conscious for a bit longer, and he struggled with the ropes holding him, but either his head injury or lying too long on the cold, hard floor had left his limbs uncoordinated. He'd done little more than work up a sweat before he passed out again...

Pain. Christ, would it never ease up? He knew his father and lover would be searching for him, but how could they ever find him? There had been no threats, no sign that Williams ever gave a second thought to Bodie or CI5. Could even Ray Doyle track him down in a situation like this? He hadn't told anyone where he was going. If anyone had seen Williams take him, he would have been home by now, because it looked very much like the man had brought him to his own rundown flat. No, Ray wouldn't be able to find him. He was on his own. And if he couldn't get free, he'd have to just crawl out of here. He stared at the few feet separating him from the door. Way he felt it might as well have been a few kilometers. Still he had to try. He moved...

Pain. He'd managed to scoot himself all of a foot closer to the door, passing out three times during the effort. At this rate it would be days before he got to the door, and then how would he get it open? Looked like he was gonna miss Christmas. Or had he already? Been three days to go when Williams had grabbed him. Mouth was dry enough that he could have been a prisoner here for that long. Wasn't just pain making him light-headed anymore. He need a doctor, some water, some food, a long shower and his Ray. He let Ray decide on the order. Ray...

Pain. And... a voice? Ray? "Now this is a strange place to be on my list," he made out the words. Not Ray. Then who? "Oh, I see. Chalk, Cheese, you know it's against policy to interfere with this sort of thing."

"Aw, boss, we can't just leave him." A small figure stooped down beside him -- one that looked all the world like a miniature version of Doyle with pointed ears. "It's Christmas!"

A second miniature joined the first -- this one looked like him, and he decided pointed ears did not suit him. "Besides, it's not really against the rules. Doyle did ask to get him back for Christmas."

"And both of them have been good. Honest they have!"

There was an amused snort, and Bodie used quite a bit of his energy directing an indignant glare at a man in a red suit. A man he would have sworn had his father's face underneath all of that white hair. "All right, boys. I've got a soft spot for them, too."

Delight spread across the elves' faces, then Ray-elf said, "Cor, Chalk, he's a bit of a mess."

His own image nodded sagely. "That's a fact, and we can't be giving out broken pressies can we, Cheese?"

"Not a bit of it. Bit of Mender Magic should fix him up."

"Good idea, mate. Let's get to it."

They twiddled their fingers, glitter seemed to flow from the tips, and Bodie decided it was an excellent time to pass out again...

Tired. The pain was gone, and he felt clean again, but everything seemed so out of focus, so unreal. Vaguely he felt himself lifted up into a pair of arms too strong to fit with the pot belly he felt pressing against him. Still hallucinating, then. The rush of open air, free of the stench of Williams' death, made a sob catch in his throat. If sanity meant a return to that horrible room and the imprisonment of ropes he couldn't squirm free of, he'd keep this madness...

Tired. Sleigh bells. Movement. Arms carrying him again. Something soft and familiar beneath him...

Tired. Voices again, a bit muffled, but this time gloriously familiar. "Damn it, I have to get back out there! I have to find him!"

"I want him found, too, Doyle, but it won't do anyone any good if you don't get some rest! And you'll do it in my office where I can keep an eye on you!"

The door opened, then almost in unison, two voices cried out, "Bodie!"

Safe... He was safe...

Fine. Bodie woke up to the sights and smell of a hospital room, something that always made him scowl, and he saw no reason to make an exception this time. A finger that gently caressed his mouth changed his mind, and he turned to find Doyle standing next to his bed. "Ray."

That earned him a soft kiss. "How you feeling, pet?"

"Fine." No pain, not even a headache. "I feel fine."

Doyle couldn't seem to stop touching his face and his green eyes were bright with tears. "Was so bloody terrified, lover," he whispered. "Thought I'd lost you for sure this time."

Bodie pulled his trembling lover into his arms, soothing him with softly cooed nonsense words and gentle caresses. "We're all right, sunshine. We're all right."

"I'm glad to hear it." Bodie looked up to see his father enter the room and didn't miss how tired the man looked. The last few days had been hell for all of them.

Still shamelessly cuddling his Ray with one arm, Bodie reached out with the other. "Dad."

George Cowley took hold of the offered hand, then gave it a hard squeeze. "You're certain that you're all right, son?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then report, 3.7," the father gave way to the Controller of CI5, but the father still kept hold of his hand. Good enough. "What happened to you?"

"Was Williams, Sir." Bodie told them the very small bit he knew, and the bit more that he'd guessed. It took less than two minutes. Then he asked, "So how did you find me?"

His father and lover exchanged looks. "We didn't," Cowley told him. "I had every able body I could spare searching, but you just turned up on my office settee. You don't know how you got there?"

Bodie stared at them, his only rational explanation for what he had seen and heard destroyed. He thought of his father in a Santa suit, of two elves with his and Doyle's faces, of a sleigh ride and eight tiny reindeer. Thought of the two men who loved him and always believed in him. Thought of how much he hated hospitals and the probability of a speedy discharge if he talked. "I can't remember a thing."

-- THE END --