5 January - Sandman by Foxcat
Good Morning everyone
You've got me today, and my prompt was a snowman. This is what I came up with, hope you like it:
“Shove off, you great mutt. It's my stick and I'm using it...” Doyle eyed the chocolate labrador that was slowly circling him, its gaze fixed on the twisted, soggy piece of driftwood in his hands. Doyle tightened his grip on the coveted object and jabbed the stick towards the dog. “Go away and bother Bodie instead, he'll play with you.” The dog gave a low bark in response and trotted even closer to him. “Oi, I told you I'm busy! Go and chase a seagull or... oh, give me strength.” Doyle sighed. The bloody animal was positively dancing around him now, jumping up and down excitedly with every movement of the stick in its direction. Doyle threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. You win, you daft mongrel. Go on then - fetch!” Doyle raised his arm and made an elaborate throwing motion, chuckling wickedly as the dog went careening towards the incoming tide at a hundred miles an hour.
Doyle moved the stick to his other hand, tipped his head to one side and took the time to look at his handiwork in the sand. He nodded to himself and grinned. Not bad at all, really. He'd managed to capture a definite likeness and with a bit of luck, the whole thing would make Bodie smile. God knows there hadn't been a lot to smile about this last week. Doyle tucked his scarf into his coat and looked back towards the seawall, where Bodie was perched watching the progress of a small sailing yacht on the horizon. They had both been close to Cowley, but it had hit Bodie particularly hard - the funeral, listening to the Will, beginning to organise the estate.
Doyle shivered as a particularly bracing sea breeze whistled around his ears. He pulled his gloves out of his pocket and shoved them on, tucking his hands under his armpits for extra warmth. Bloody Cowley, dying in a tiny seaside town on the edge of nowhere in the middle of winter. And on a bank holiday, too! Nine hours it had taken them to drive across from London thanks to all the holiday traffic and then it had been another two hours before they finally managed to find a flea-pit of a hotel that was open on Boxing Day.
Doyle looked down at his artwork in the sand and let out a long, deep breath. “Bank Holidays are for shop assistants and the overpaid money-men on Canary Wharf, Doyle, not for me or CI5.” He smiled at the familiar voice in his head. Typical Cowley, right to the end. Even in death, Bodie and Doyle were at his beck and call, and days off be damned.
Doyle looked up as Bodie hopped down from the seawall and made his way across the beach, the chocolate labrador close on his heels now. He traced the stick through the sand and quickly added one final touch to his drawing, turning his head as Bodie and the dog appeared by his side. Bodie clipped the lead on the dog's collar and peered down at Doyle's artistic efforts. He let out a low snort.
“A snowman, Ray? Very festive. The old man would approve.”
Doyle threaded his arm through Bodie's. “Well, we didn't get to make a proper snowman this year, did we? Minus eleven degrees down in London, and here we are in the balmy sunshine without a drop of snow in sight.” Doyle turned his head away as a sudden gust of wind blew a cloud of sand towards them and hugged Bodie's arm closer to his body.
Bodie grinned and took a step closer to the snowman in the sand, pulling both Doyle and the dog forwards with him. “Cowley as a Christmas snowman? Well, I've seen everything now.” He looked across at Doyle and raised an eyebrow. “Mind you, you certainly got his expression right - he's got the same pissed-off look on his face that Cowley always had.”
Doyle chuckled. “That was only when you were around, mate.”
Bodie grunted in response and shoved Doyle gently with his elbow, peering down at the snow-Cowley in the sand. “The glasses and tie are a nice touch though.” He leaned forward, squinting against the afternoon sun. “Is that a bottle of whisky in his hand?”
Doyle grinned. “Of course. Wouldn't be Cowley without it.”
“I hope it's a twenty year old single malt.”
Doyle nodded. “Goes without saying, doesn't it?” He looked back at Bodie and tightened his grip on his arm. “I'm going to miss the old bugger.”
Bodie swallowed and reached down to pat the dog's head. “Yeah, me too. I'll miss him phoning us every week telling us how to do our job. I'll miss the emails with the giant fonts and random capitalisation.” He gazed down at the caricature in the sand, a small smile on his face. “The old fool never would admit his eyesight was going...”
Bodie took a deep breath and looked back up at Doyle. “Come on, mate. Let's go home.” He gave a quick tug on Doyle's arm and led him along the beach towards the steps to the seawall. Beside them the chocolate labrador sprang forward, straining at her lead and pulling them forwards. Bodie let out a long groan. “This bloody dog. How Cowley found the energy to exercise her every day, I'll never know. We've had her less than a week and I'm knackered already.”
Doyle snorted. “We're getting old, mate, that's what it is. Not used to exercise any more, either.” He sucked in a huge gulp of air and breathed it out slowly. “This sea air did wonders for the old man.” He turned his head, watching Bodie carefully. “He got twenty years of retirement out of it down here, after all. And there are worse places to end your days, don't you think?”
Bodie sniffed in response. “Worse than the arse-end of the country? I suppose so, if you like Crown Green Bowling and old folks' homes.”
Doyle slowed down, his arm still tucked in Bodie's, until they came to a stop by the edge of the shoreline. He watched for a moment as the tide broke over the sand and took a deep breath.
“You know, our retirement's long overdue. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, even before the old man died.” He felt Bodie shift next to him and looked up to see a frown on his face.
“I'm serious, Bodie. I reckon it's time, don't you? Just think about it. No work, no pressure. No more saving the world. Just us.”
Bodie pulled his arm free and turned to face Doyle, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. “Come on, Ray, you'd miss London too much - all those museums and galleries and people.” He gestured at the empty beach around them. “No Starbucks here, either.”
Doyle folded his arms across his chest. “I've had enough of London. Honestly, I've had enough of meetings at seven o'clock in the morning, and not getting home until after midnight and of us being too tired to even talk to each other.” He raised his chin and quirked his lips when Bodie looked up at him. “I've had enough, Bodie. I want to retire to the coast and learn how to make chutney.”
Bodie snorted. Doyle took a step closer, persisting. “I want to go swimming in the sea every morning and to complain about the price of fuel in the winter. I want to wear cardigans and slippers and not have to worry every single day about the latest terrorist cell or the political situation in the middle east.” He took hold of Bodie's hand, playing with his fingers before tucking it into the crook of his arm. “I want my twenty years' worth, Bodie. With you.”
Doyle waited silently. It was a lot to ask of anyone, even after all these years. Come away with me. Leave your job and your home and everything you know, and let's start growing old...
Bodie blinked and nodded his head briefly towards the sea. “The tide's coming in. We'd better head back, before it gets too late.” He turned back towards the stone steps and gave a quick tug on the dog's lead. “Anyway, I've got a bit of artwork of my own I want to show you. Come on Duchess, let's go.” The labrador pricked up her ears at the sound of her name and plastered herself against Bodie's side as they walked back up the sloping beach.
Bodie stopped at the foot of the stone steps leading up from the beach to the pavement, nodding his chin towards some writing at their feet. “What do you think then?”
Doyle looked down, and laughed out loud at the slanting capitals in the sand.
DOYLE
LOVES
BODIE
Doyle scratched his nose, examining the declaration closely. “Not bad. Nice workmanship. Steady, even lettering. But shouldn't it say Bodie Loves Doyle?”
Bodie squeezed Doyle's arm and grinned. “Ah, that goes without saying, doesn't it?” He wrapped his arm around Doyle's neck and pulled him close, leading him up the steps and away from the beach. “Just don't expect me to go swimming in the sea with you every morning. Have you felt the temperature of that bloody water?...”
THE END
Title: Sandman
Author: Foxcat
Bodie/Doyle
Archive at Proslit: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just for fun etc
And just because this picture exists, please have a visual as well!
You've got me today, and my prompt was a snowman. This is what I came up with, hope you like it:
“Shove off, you great mutt. It's my stick and I'm using it...” Doyle eyed the chocolate labrador that was slowly circling him, its gaze fixed on the twisted, soggy piece of driftwood in his hands. Doyle tightened his grip on the coveted object and jabbed the stick towards the dog. “Go away and bother Bodie instead, he'll play with you.” The dog gave a low bark in response and trotted even closer to him. “Oi, I told you I'm busy! Go and chase a seagull or... oh, give me strength.” Doyle sighed. The bloody animal was positively dancing around him now, jumping up and down excitedly with every movement of the stick in its direction. Doyle threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. You win, you daft mongrel. Go on then - fetch!” Doyle raised his arm and made an elaborate throwing motion, chuckling wickedly as the dog went careening towards the incoming tide at a hundred miles an hour.
Doyle moved the stick to his other hand, tipped his head to one side and took the time to look at his handiwork in the sand. He nodded to himself and grinned. Not bad at all, really. He'd managed to capture a definite likeness and with a bit of luck, the whole thing would make Bodie smile. God knows there hadn't been a lot to smile about this last week. Doyle tucked his scarf into his coat and looked back towards the seawall, where Bodie was perched watching the progress of a small sailing yacht on the horizon. They had both been close to Cowley, but it had hit Bodie particularly hard - the funeral, listening to the Will, beginning to organise the estate.
Doyle shivered as a particularly bracing sea breeze whistled around his ears. He pulled his gloves out of his pocket and shoved them on, tucking his hands under his armpits for extra warmth. Bloody Cowley, dying in a tiny seaside town on the edge of nowhere in the middle of winter. And on a bank holiday, too! Nine hours it had taken them to drive across from London thanks to all the holiday traffic and then it had been another two hours before they finally managed to find a flea-pit of a hotel that was open on Boxing Day.
Doyle looked down at his artwork in the sand and let out a long, deep breath. “Bank Holidays are for shop assistants and the overpaid money-men on Canary Wharf, Doyle, not for me or CI5.” He smiled at the familiar voice in his head. Typical Cowley, right to the end. Even in death, Bodie and Doyle were at his beck and call, and days off be damned.
Doyle looked up as Bodie hopped down from the seawall and made his way across the beach, the chocolate labrador close on his heels now. He traced the stick through the sand and quickly added one final touch to his drawing, turning his head as Bodie and the dog appeared by his side. Bodie clipped the lead on the dog's collar and peered down at Doyle's artistic efforts. He let out a low snort.
“A snowman, Ray? Very festive. The old man would approve.”
Doyle threaded his arm through Bodie's. “Well, we didn't get to make a proper snowman this year, did we? Minus eleven degrees down in London, and here we are in the balmy sunshine without a drop of snow in sight.” Doyle turned his head away as a sudden gust of wind blew a cloud of sand towards them and hugged Bodie's arm closer to his body.
Bodie grinned and took a step closer to the snowman in the sand, pulling both Doyle and the dog forwards with him. “Cowley as a Christmas snowman? Well, I've seen everything now.” He looked across at Doyle and raised an eyebrow. “Mind you, you certainly got his expression right - he's got the same pissed-off look on his face that Cowley always had.”
Doyle chuckled. “That was only when you were around, mate.”
Bodie grunted in response and shoved Doyle gently with his elbow, peering down at the snow-Cowley in the sand. “The glasses and tie are a nice touch though.” He leaned forward, squinting against the afternoon sun. “Is that a bottle of whisky in his hand?”
Doyle grinned. “Of course. Wouldn't be Cowley without it.”
“I hope it's a twenty year old single malt.”
Doyle nodded. “Goes without saying, doesn't it?” He looked back at Bodie and tightened his grip on his arm. “I'm going to miss the old bugger.”
Bodie swallowed and reached down to pat the dog's head. “Yeah, me too. I'll miss him phoning us every week telling us how to do our job. I'll miss the emails with the giant fonts and random capitalisation.” He gazed down at the caricature in the sand, a small smile on his face. “The old fool never would admit his eyesight was going...”
Bodie took a deep breath and looked back up at Doyle. “Come on, mate. Let's go home.” He gave a quick tug on Doyle's arm and led him along the beach towards the steps to the seawall. Beside them the chocolate labrador sprang forward, straining at her lead and pulling them forwards. Bodie let out a long groan. “This bloody dog. How Cowley found the energy to exercise her every day, I'll never know. We've had her less than a week and I'm knackered already.”
Doyle snorted. “We're getting old, mate, that's what it is. Not used to exercise any more, either.” He sucked in a huge gulp of air and breathed it out slowly. “This sea air did wonders for the old man.” He turned his head, watching Bodie carefully. “He got twenty years of retirement out of it down here, after all. And there are worse places to end your days, don't you think?”
Bodie sniffed in response. “Worse than the arse-end of the country? I suppose so, if you like Crown Green Bowling and old folks' homes.”
Doyle slowed down, his arm still tucked in Bodie's, until they came to a stop by the edge of the shoreline. He watched for a moment as the tide broke over the sand and took a deep breath.
“You know, our retirement's long overdue. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, even before the old man died.” He felt Bodie shift next to him and looked up to see a frown on his face.
“I'm serious, Bodie. I reckon it's time, don't you? Just think about it. No work, no pressure. No more saving the world. Just us.”
Bodie pulled his arm free and turned to face Doyle, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. “Come on, Ray, you'd miss London too much - all those museums and galleries and people.” He gestured at the empty beach around them. “No Starbucks here, either.”
Doyle folded his arms across his chest. “I've had enough of London. Honestly, I've had enough of meetings at seven o'clock in the morning, and not getting home until after midnight and of us being too tired to even talk to each other.” He raised his chin and quirked his lips when Bodie looked up at him. “I've had enough, Bodie. I want to retire to the coast and learn how to make chutney.”
Bodie snorted. Doyle took a step closer, persisting. “I want to go swimming in the sea every morning and to complain about the price of fuel in the winter. I want to wear cardigans and slippers and not have to worry every single day about the latest terrorist cell or the political situation in the middle east.” He took hold of Bodie's hand, playing with his fingers before tucking it into the crook of his arm. “I want my twenty years' worth, Bodie. With you.”
Doyle waited silently. It was a lot to ask of anyone, even after all these years. Come away with me. Leave your job and your home and everything you know, and let's start growing old...
Bodie blinked and nodded his head briefly towards the sea. “The tide's coming in. We'd better head back, before it gets too late.” He turned back towards the stone steps and gave a quick tug on the dog's lead. “Anyway, I've got a bit of artwork of my own I want to show you. Come on Duchess, let's go.” The labrador pricked up her ears at the sound of her name and plastered herself against Bodie's side as they walked back up the sloping beach.
Bodie stopped at the foot of the stone steps leading up from the beach to the pavement, nodding his chin towards some writing at their feet. “What do you think then?”
Doyle looked down, and laughed out loud at the slanting capitals in the sand.
DOYLE
LOVES
BODIE
Doyle scratched his nose, examining the declaration closely. “Not bad. Nice workmanship. Steady, even lettering. But shouldn't it say Bodie Loves Doyle?”
Bodie squeezed Doyle's arm and grinned. “Ah, that goes without saying, doesn't it?” He wrapped his arm around Doyle's neck and pulled him close, leading him up the steps and away from the beach. “Just don't expect me to go swimming in the sea with you every morning. Have you felt the temperature of that bloody water?...”
THE END
Title: Sandman
Author: Foxcat
Bodie/Doyle
Archive at Proslit: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just for fun etc
And just because this picture exists, please have a visual as well!