Written for Discovered in the Mistletoe, on the discoveredinalj livejournal community.

Thanks to Sharmini for all the help -- Merry Christmas!

---

Snow, snow over the whole land
across all boundaries.
--Boris Pasternak (1890--1960)

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yuletide gay.
--Ralph Blane (b. 1914)


Moving in and out of doorways, taking turns covering the other. The almost phosphorescent glow of the snow emphasized the muffled sounds they made. Deep snow, falling in great clumps, steadily burying the world and the trail of one Seamus O'Hanlon -- latest member wanting into the Christmas bombing club. Breaths clouding about their faces, Bodie and Doyle panted as silently as they could.

They'd been chasing the bastard for more than two miles, inch by miserable inch, on streets so remote that they wouldn't likely be cleared in time for the spring thaw, let along this Christmas Eve night. Leather jackets, smart as they were, were no match for winter weather that had crept up on the pair too immersed in finding O'Hanlon this past week. Barely time to eat, grab a quick wash and change their shirts, and head back out, let alone check weather reports that had been threatening massive amounts of snow for days now. Dead R/T's and motors abandoned miles back were of no help. On foot and running in the snow, they chased this latest threat to Peace on Earth.

---

The Cow had been specific. " O'Hanlon. Find him. Don't let him complete his dirty work. And, don't come back until ye do," his Scots burr pervasive in his staccato, barked speech.

"Yes, sir," the pair had replied in unison quietly and left his office, Doyle clutching the slim file that held the whole of their information on O'Hanlon. Bodie had leaned into Doyle as they walked down the hallway, and Doyle brushed his hand over Bodie's in return.

Cowley had gazed at the pair as they walked away silently together. He'd given them yet another impossible task, and they were tired. Aye, all of them were tired. It seemed every year the holidays became a long and longer exercise in how much one small group of good men and women could endure to keep the roses and lavender fresh. Good lads, his were, and they'd do, no question. But, a holiday was in order to his best pair. Their rough edges needed mending; the sort of care only the two could give each other. The sort of care he wished was available for him. He'd sniffed in mild irritation, tinged with grim amusement. "Getting soft in yer dotage man," as he lit into the ever present stack of files and documents on his desk. He'd ask no less of himself than his men, be damned to age.

---

Doyle eased up next to Bodie, who was crouched down against a corner of a building, pretending it was out of the wind. "Can't see a fuckin' thing," he muttered, blowing onto reddened hands turning white.

"Bastard's gone to ground, holed up somewhere," Bodie reached over and grabbed his partner's hands, his gentle stroking at odds with the harsh rasp of his words.

"He's too slick," Doyle edged closer. "Knows where he's going."

"Been here before, I'd bet. Has a set up," Bodie nodded in agreement. "It would explain why he's out of this muck and we're making like Shackleton."

Doyle shivered and nodded back at the logic of his reasoning. "Question is, what're we gonna do about it?"

The two huddled even closer together. "Not gonna last much longer, not without cold weather gear," Bodie stated flatly.

"You got any idea where it is exactly that we are?" Doyle asked.

"Besides near the river? Not a bloody clue," Bodie replied with studied lightness, belied by his sudden tugging of Doyle's hands under his roll neck jumper, pulling him close, ignoring his uncontrollable flinch as his partner's icy fingers came into contact with his abdomen. Doyle immediately started shivering heavily.

"Oi, that's it, mate," Bodie exclaimed. "You're going to go into hypothermia, you are. And I'm not far behind. We've got to find a place out of the weather. O'Hanlon's not about in this, not now."

"Only fools out here are us," Doyle agreed through chattering teeth. "Problem is, the Dorchester's gone and lost our reservation, and there's not a room to be had."

"The season for that, innit?" Bodie got to his feet, helping Doyle up. "Luckily, that charming B&B has an opening," he gestured to the dilapidated building across from them, barely visible in the falling snow. There was a sliding door partially off its glide, showing a small egress.

The two checked the area as much as was possible in the weather, then shuffled across the open space to the door. Both gasped anew as the wind was fully felt. Now that they weren't running full tilt, sweat damp clothing adhered to their skin chilling them further. They had clumsy lumps of ice pretending to be feet to walk on, and even more dangerous, they'd stopped shivering so much.

Bodie carefully propped Doyle up against the wall where he took up watch to ensure no unpleasant surprises, and he began pushing against the door. Doyle divided his attention between watching for O'Hanlon and his partner's actions. He was somewhat bemused by Bodie's solicitude, though it wasn't by far the first time Bodie'd felt the need to take care of him. It used to get up his nose, and he'd respond like a spitting cat. He couldn't exactly remember when he'd started to enjoy the care. Probably about the same time he'd started to do the same for his partner.

The door resisted Bodie's attempts until at last, with a shriek, it slid open barely far enough for them to fit through. Bodie turned sideways, dug in his heels, and pushed with his back, moving the door a scant inch more, whereupon it stuck and refused to move further. Moving over to where Doyle leaned, head down and breathing hard, Bodie murmured, "C'mon, Sunshine. Your chamber awaits."

"Hope they remembered to turn down the sheets," Doyle mumbled.

"And put the choccie out," Bodie's voice shook as he tried to banter back.

They awkwardly entered the building, and attempted to safely cover all angles. The two did as much of a visual sweep as they could in the gloom. It appeared to be an empty receiving warehouse of undetermined age, the smells of old petrol, grease, and dust mingling unpleasantly. There were banks of windows, high near the ceiling. At least half of the small glass squares were broken out, and snow had drifted onto the floor. The windows let in the snow brightness, so after a few minutes, their night sight had adjusted as much as it was going to.

"No one's been in here for ages," Doyle walked over to where Bodie was gazing at the windows. "Looks like there might be some sort of office up those stairs," he added tiredly.

"Let's have a look then," Bodie replied, passing the back of one hand across his face, rubbing his brow and eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond measure.

"Not taking your vitamins, are you?" Doyle eyed Bodie and hooked one arm through his and turned them toward the staircase. Bodie was too tired to respond to this sally and leaned into Doyle as they worked their way across the warehouse floor. Without thinking about it, Doyle slid his arm away from Bodie's and tucked it around the other man's waist. Bodie's head was down, and he trudged like an old plow horse intent on finishing his row, but unable to look to see how much was actually left to do.

Doyle went first up the stairs, holding his semi-auto in a trembling hand, wondering if his half-frozen fingers would be able to feel the trigger he might need to pull. It was baseless worry, as the office was dark, empty, and cold. The door was off its hinge, and the glass half walls were cracked and some were missing. Dust and neglect covered everything, and there wasn't even a scrap of discarded paper on the floor, so empty was the room.

The two kept going to the far back wall, deepest in the gloom, seeking the safety of darkness and a solid wall at their back. Both slid down the wall and leaned into one another as they finally rested.

After a few minutes of silence only broken by the sounds of their breathing calming after their exertions, Doyle turned his head to look at Bodie. In the dim light, the younger man's pale face was barely visible, and he'd slumped down, his chin on his chest, arms crossed under himself in the futile attempt to conserve warmth.

"This isn't helping much," Doyle announced. "Except for being out of the wind, it's not any warmer in here."

"Complain to the management," mumbled Bodie, turning his head and burrowing under Doyle's jacket. Doyle's arms automatically came round him and tucked him into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Don't think I won't," replied Doyle gazing about the room that had not, despite the season, miraculously produced any means of warming themselves. His eye was caught by the far left wall, which formed a small ell that they'd initially over looked. The building was old red brick, but there was a stand of boards leaned up against it near the back corner. The boards were out of place, the wood still yellow, and he fancied he could smell the fresh timber now that he thought about it. "Hang about," he nudged Bodie with his chin. "Looks a bit outta place, don't it?"

Bodie lifted his head from where is had been comfortably ensconced and peered at the offending lumber. "S'not anything they used in building this lot," he observed. "Place is from the turn of the century at least."

"Yeah, and not this century, either," muttered Doyle and he heaved himself up, then offered a hand to Bodie. They made their way to the ell and carefully began moving the boards. A waft of warm air eddied around them and they doubled their pace, but tried to remain quiet. Below the layer of boards was a canvass tarp, and around the edges of the tarp, warm currents of air floated out to be immediately gobbled up by the biting cold of the warehouse. On high alert, the two back away and conferenced in the empty office.

"Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make that entrance, and then make it so's the casual visitor wouldn't find it," Doyle said quietly.

"Yeah, and Lombard Street to a China orange it's our lad," Bodie stated.

"Right then," Doyle pulled out his weapon. "Since we're in the neighborhood, shall we call?"

"Wouldn't be polite not to, now would it?" Bodie's smile was feral.

The two crept back over to where the tarp hung, and Doyle dropped down to one knee and eased a corner of it back. A dimly illuminated crawlspace of about ten feet ended with another hanging tarp. Doyle motioned to Bodie and entered into the space, his partner behind him. The space paralleled the brick wall and bits of rubble from the adjoining wall littered the space. It gradually grew higher, and the two were able to partially stand up as they reached the second tarp. Slight noises could be heard from the other side of the tarp, but there was no way to know if they would be seen if they moved it.

They stationed themselves on either side of the tarp and in complete accord, simultaneously pulled back each side slightly and entered the room, weapons to the fore. By the light of a gas lamp, there sat Seamus O'Hanlon, large as life, eating a beef sandwich, a bottle of whiskey sitting next to him.

"Wha' the bloody fuck," snarled O'Hanlon, pulling up out nowhere a nasty looking Webley.

Bodie and Doyle both yelled, "Stop!" but each knew that it was a given that O'Hanlon would fire. Bodie went low and Doyle went to the right, each firing two rounds and they heard the roar of O'Hanlon's revolver as they fired.

"Doyle!" yelled Bodie as he made his way to O'Hanlon, but didn't bother to check him for life signs, as there were four bloody holes in his chest.

"Here, aren't I. Stop yer yellin'," groused Doyle as he got up from the floor where he'd tumbled taking his shot. He approached Bodie and glanced down at O'Hanlon's body. "Stupid fuck," he snarled viciously kicking the dead man's leg.

"All's not lost," and held up the bottle of scotch that had survived, and chuckling darkly walked over to where a paraffin heater blasted out warmth.

Doyle made his way over to Bodie and snagged the bottle, pausing only to wipe the top and took a long drink, shuddered, and passed it back. Bodie grabbed the bottle in one hand and Doyle in the other, hugging him close as he drank a healthy portion. Arms entwined about each other, they turned to look at O'Hanlon.

"Suppose we'll have to move the bugger," Bodie muttered after a bit.

"We'll heave him into the warehouse. He'll keep at that temperature," Doyle offered nuzzling at Bodie neck, tugging down the rolled collar and pushing his cold nose into warm skin. They held this position for a few more minutes, then broke apart and began the task of taking out the rubbish.

---

The cozy set-up O'Hanlon had turned out to be a goldmine. Stockpiled rifles, handguns, detonators, gelly, and more were piled in the warehouse. A false wall hid the munitions from the main body of the warehouse, with a cleverly hidden door for access.

"Bloody hell," muttered Bodie as he stepped back from a pile of books he was examining.

"What is it?" Doyle inquired from where he was going through O'Hanlon's food stash to find them something to eat.

"Look," Bodie walked over and handed Doyle the book in his hand.

Doyle stared it, "This what I think it is?"

"Yeah, the current edition of The Green Book," Bodie shook his head in disbelief. "Cowley's gonna lose his top over this, mate. Don't think there's been a full copy of this found in twenty years."

"Maybe we can trade it for a couple of days off," Doyle stretched and tossed the book down on another pile. "I'm totally knackered."

"Any decent nosh there?" Bodie wandered over to the larder.

"Yeah, some tins and packets," Doyle replied, walking over to the heater, where he'd placed the kettle for tea. "Tea in a bit."

They laid out their jackets on top of some crates to try and dry a little, and pulled off their shoes, putting them close to the heater. Lacking chairs, they sat on some cushions their absent host had provided and devoured a strange meal of crisps, tinned sausages and fruit cocktail, washed down with several cups of tea each.

"Ah," Bodie leaned back, snagging the scotch bottle and scooting nearer the heater. "That's better then."

"Kinda cozy," agreed Doyle as he pulled himself over to Bodie and proceeded to lay up against him, snuggling down with an impudent wriggle of his bum, which of course provoked Bodie to reach down and tug him closer by said delightful portion of his anatomy.

"And you're comfortable now?" Bodie's voice dripped sarcasm, but hugged Doyle closer.

"For now," Doyle rubbed his face in Bodie's chest, shuddering with pleasure at the warmth of the heater and his partner.

They drifted in warmth, punctuated by period sips of scotch from the bottle they passed between them. After a while, Doyle pushed up Bodie's jumper and vest and snaked his arms around his waist and just held onto him, shuddering a little. Bodie looked concerned as he put down the scotch bottle and turned to Doyle, putting both his arms around him.

"Any particular reason you're attempting to occupy the same space as me?" he asked gently.

"Just the usual," Doyle's reply was muffled by damp wool and a reluctance to pull away from Bodie even a little. "Bloody awful day on top of a bloody awful week."

"Adding to a stunningly awful month," Bodie finished for him, sliding a hand up into his hairs, gently finger combing the curls that had dried haphazardly.

"Yeah," Doyle groaned as Bodie's other hand moved to massage his neck after undoing a couple of his shirt buttons.

"Got to start wearing at least a vest, Ray," Bodie chided gently. "If you won't wear a jumper. You're too skinny, can't retain any heat."

"Got you for that, don't I?" mumbled Ray trying out his teeth on Bodie's neck, then licking where he'd bit.

"Argh, you've been fed, you little bugger," Bodie protested faintly but continued to hold him close.

"Taste good," Doyle observed with a yawn.

"Be better after a shower, I'd think," Bodie rolled his eyes.

"Tastes like you," Doyle said with certainty.

"And, you like that?" said Bodie softly, not alarmed, but feeling his way.

"Best of all," Ray looked up from his fascination with Bodie's neck.

Bodie smiled gently at his best mate, "Me, too."

A soft kiss and two bodies slid into sleep, resting together.

-- THE END --

December 2006