Chalk fiddled with the dials and frowned.

"What's wrong, Chalk?"

"This one doesn't want to come in. I keep getting snow!" Another tiny adjustment, and a picture and sound appeared. "There it is!"

"Bodie, you can't be serious."

"Look, I checked it over with the lads down in surveillance, and it's no make they've ever seen, so I brought it down to this old mate of mine, right? And that's what he said."

"But, Bodie, the whole thing's insane! You can't tell me you still believe in Father Christmas!"

Bodie glared at him from his position on the floor and brandished the (squished) shiny red-and-green bug. "Well, what do you call this, then? Or the others?" Doyle opened his mouth to answer, closed it again, huffed, shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and searched for an explanation, which completely failed to come to him. Bodie smirked triumphantly and resumed crawling about the floor, examining the undersides of the furniture, in search of a device to match those he'd destroyed in the other rooms.

Doyle tried another tactic, posing dramatically in the doorway in an effort to distract his partner. If you couldn't beat them, try to get them to give up. Which, unfortunately, only worked if they were looking at you. And while Doyle himself had a rather interesting rear view, Bodie had his head under the bed, and couldn't see him at all. Doyle gave up with a sigh.

"Look, Bodie..." Doyle moved out of the way as Bodie shifted to the dresser. "What's the point? I mean, if it is really Father Christmas, what's it matter if he sees you?"

Bodie glared at him briefly, and resumed his search. "All I know is, I'm not having some bloody great elf watching everything I do! Christ, mate, isn't Cowley bad enough?"

Doyle had to admit, he had a point. Except... "If it is really Father Christmas, don't you think he'll find some other place to spy on you? I mean, you can't..." Bodie shifted to the wardrobe. "You can't just go around looking for bugs everywhere you go!"

"Yeah, well it'll be enough for me if I just.. ouch!.. get them out of here! Nobody's bugging me in my own flat!"

"Our own flat, you mean."

"Our own flat. Which is the whole point!"

"Huh?" Somehow, he'd missed something there.

Bodie paused on his way out of the wardrobe, and gave Doyle a deceptively sweet look. "There are some things the old man doesn't need to know, aren't there?" The look turned downright lecherous. "Besides, I'm planning to be naughty with you later. Wouldn't want to muck up my chances of a pressie, now would I?"

"Your chances of that, mate, are long past. Let's start last Boxing Day, shall we?"

Bodie grinned and headed for the window, running his hands around the frame. "Was nice, wasn't it?" He paused. "Hang about, if it was nice, it can't be naughty, can it? Sure to be okay with him. Still don't like the nosy bugger looking in, though."

"Fair enough. You really don't care for him, do you? When's the last time you got pressies from him, then?"

"Dunno. Haven't been good in a very long time." He stopped, both hands on the top of the window frame. "Got it!" Triumphantly, he brought down the last little brightly-coloured device and threw it to the ground, moving closer to Doyle as he stepped on it. "Still, must be doing something right. Got you, didn't I?"


The screen went black.

-- THE END --

Carait ocus morait Bodie ocus Doyle a n-ergarthe-se; run inso! (Heh. [:)

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