Discovered in the Bleak Midwinter - December 8 - Ficlet "Little Toy Trains"
Happy holidays, everyone! I hope you enjoy the story.
Little toy trains, little toy tracks
Little toy drums, comin' from a sack
Carried by a man dressed in white and red
Little boy, don't you think it's time you were in bed?
~ Roger Miller
A chilly evening was swiftly turning into a bitterly cold night, but the streets were still crowded with bustling shoppers. Scarcely a soul walked about empty handed. The bottoms of overloaded shopping bags skimmed the top of frozen slush; shoulders jostled as people passed one another, their arms piled high with gaily wrapped trinkets and treasures. Clearly, excitement was building to a fever pitch as Christmas drew ever nearer.
Skillfully bobbing and weaving their way towards their parked car, Bodie and Doyle both blended in and stood apart from those around them: dark shadows in a street of lights; anonymous guardians of this festive sea of humanity; two tired men who wished for nothing more than a good, hot cuppa and a warm bed after a seemingly endless day.
So intent was Doyle upon achieving this goal that it took several strides for him to realize that he had somehow lost his partner. Puzzled, he drew to a halt and glanced around, fully expecting Bodie to be but a step or two behind. But he was definitely not there. It took a bit of searching, but Doyle finally caught a glimpse of him a little way down the street. There he stood, nose pressed against the glass of a brightly lit shop window, clearly entranced by whatever lay inside.
“A pretty bird on the till, no doubt,” Doyle grumbled. He sighed, resigned to making his way back though the crowd to retrieve the aggravating sod.
Bodie paid no notice when Doyle finally sidled up beside him, slightly cross and sporting a brand new bruise on his upper arm, courtesy of an oblivious shopper’s sharp elbow. Bodie’s breath continued to fog the window, and his eyes remained unblinkingly fastened on the toy train looping its way along a series of winding tracks.
It was a pretty scene, Doyle had to admit. Fluffy banks of cotton snow, miniature houses and trees and people, a mirror lake reflecting twinkling fairy lights. Faintly, the whistle of the train sounded whenever it reached a crossroads. Obviously, the shopkeeper knew what he was about when setting up this display. It was every little boy’s dream come true - every big boy’s dream as well, it would seem, if the look on Bodie’s face was anything to go by.
Doyle’s mouth opened, ready to dish out a snide comment, but any urge he had to make fun of his partner vanished as blue eyes finally tore themselves away from the charming scene and met his gaze. There was an openness there that rarely graced Bodie’s controlled countenance. Not his usual mocking manner, but rather something of the little boy that had never had a chance to be: too poor to afford such a fancy toy, too busy fighting to survive to ever have the luxury of being a child.
“Shall I ask Father Christmas to leave that under the tree this year?” Doyle said. And, much to his surprise, he found he meant it, too. His reputation as a skinflint be damned! If ever anyone deserved to have that train set, it was Bodie.
The smile that lit Bodie’s face at this unexpected offer triggered an answering warmth deep in Doyle’s breast. As they stood there, lost in each other’s eyes, a bubble of silence seemed to envelop them and a light dusting of snow began to fall. In that instant, Doyle felt he was encased within a snow globe; locked into one perfect moment when the rest of the world went away, and only he and Bodie remained. It should have felt suffocating, terrifying; instead, it felt so right that he found himself wishing the moment would never end.
But, inevitably, a car horn blared, shattering the illusion. The dull roar of traffic resumed. People nattered on about this and that, adding to the noise and confusion. The snowfall thickened, and a brisk breeze sent swirling, wet flakes into his face.
Doyle shivered.
And, suddenly, it was just another typical pre-Christmas evening.
Except it wasn’t, really. In the space of a few seconds, something had shifted between the two of them. Something extraordinary. Something so new and full of promise that Doyle thought his pounding heart might suddenly burst free of his chest.
“Ta, mate,” Bodie replied, still smiling, still with that soft look in his eyes. “But I don’t need it. Not anymore. Let’s go, Ray.”
“But -”
A hand more used to violence than tenderness rose to gently ruffle through Doyle’s windswept curls, effectively silencing his protest.
“It’s all right. Truly. After all, I have my own sweet golly to play with now, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Doyle whispered. “You have me.”
This time, the shiver that travelled up Doyle’s spine had nothing to do with the cold and damp.
“C’mon, then. Let’s not hang about.” Bodie said, positively bouncing on his toes. “I can’t wait to get home and unwrap my Christmas pressie.”
Title: Little Toy Trains
Author: melanieathene
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes, please
Disclaimer: Unfortunately not mine.
A/N: Many thanks to cali_se for betaing and brit picking.
Little toy trains, little toy tracks
Little toy drums, comin' from a sack
Carried by a man dressed in white and red
Little boy, don't you think it's time you were in bed?
~ Roger Miller
A chilly evening was swiftly turning into a bitterly cold night, but the streets were still crowded with bustling shoppers. Scarcely a soul walked about empty handed. The bottoms of overloaded shopping bags skimmed the top of frozen slush; shoulders jostled as people passed one another, their arms piled high with gaily wrapped trinkets and treasures. Clearly, excitement was building to a fever pitch as Christmas drew ever nearer.
Skillfully bobbing and weaving their way towards their parked car, Bodie and Doyle both blended in and stood apart from those around them: dark shadows in a street of lights; anonymous guardians of this festive sea of humanity; two tired men who wished for nothing more than a good, hot cuppa and a warm bed after a seemingly endless day.
So intent was Doyle upon achieving this goal that it took several strides for him to realize that he had somehow lost his partner. Puzzled, he drew to a halt and glanced around, fully expecting Bodie to be but a step or two behind. But he was definitely not there. It took a bit of searching, but Doyle finally caught a glimpse of him a little way down the street. There he stood, nose pressed against the glass of a brightly lit shop window, clearly entranced by whatever lay inside.
“A pretty bird on the till, no doubt,” Doyle grumbled. He sighed, resigned to making his way back though the crowd to retrieve the aggravating sod.
Bodie paid no notice when Doyle finally sidled up beside him, slightly cross and sporting a brand new bruise on his upper arm, courtesy of an oblivious shopper’s sharp elbow. Bodie’s breath continued to fog the window, and his eyes remained unblinkingly fastened on the toy train looping its way along a series of winding tracks.
It was a pretty scene, Doyle had to admit. Fluffy banks of cotton snow, miniature houses and trees and people, a mirror lake reflecting twinkling fairy lights. Faintly, the whistle of the train sounded whenever it reached a crossroads. Obviously, the shopkeeper knew what he was about when setting up this display. It was every little boy’s dream come true - every big boy’s dream as well, it would seem, if the look on Bodie’s face was anything to go by.
Doyle’s mouth opened, ready to dish out a snide comment, but any urge he had to make fun of his partner vanished as blue eyes finally tore themselves away from the charming scene and met his gaze. There was an openness there that rarely graced Bodie’s controlled countenance. Not his usual mocking manner, but rather something of the little boy that had never had a chance to be: too poor to afford such a fancy toy, too busy fighting to survive to ever have the luxury of being a child.
“Shall I ask Father Christmas to leave that under the tree this year?” Doyle said. And, much to his surprise, he found he meant it, too. His reputation as a skinflint be damned! If ever anyone deserved to have that train set, it was Bodie.
The smile that lit Bodie’s face at this unexpected offer triggered an answering warmth deep in Doyle’s breast. As they stood there, lost in each other’s eyes, a bubble of silence seemed to envelop them and a light dusting of snow began to fall. In that instant, Doyle felt he was encased within a snow globe; locked into one perfect moment when the rest of the world went away, and only he and Bodie remained. It should have felt suffocating, terrifying; instead, it felt so right that he found himself wishing the moment would never end.
But, inevitably, a car horn blared, shattering the illusion. The dull roar of traffic resumed. People nattered on about this and that, adding to the noise and confusion. The snowfall thickened, and a brisk breeze sent swirling, wet flakes into his face.
Doyle shivered.
And, suddenly, it was just another typical pre-Christmas evening.
Except it wasn’t, really. In the space of a few seconds, something had shifted between the two of them. Something extraordinary. Something so new and full of promise that Doyle thought his pounding heart might suddenly burst free of his chest.
“Ta, mate,” Bodie replied, still smiling, still with that soft look in his eyes. “But I don’t need it. Not anymore. Let’s go, Ray.”
“But -”
A hand more used to violence than tenderness rose to gently ruffle through Doyle’s windswept curls, effectively silencing his protest.
“It’s all right. Truly. After all, I have my own sweet golly to play with now, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Doyle whispered. “You have me.”
This time, the shiver that travelled up Doyle’s spine had nothing to do with the cold and damp.
“C’mon, then. Let’s not hang about.” Bodie said, positively bouncing on his toes. “I can’t wait to get home and unwrap my Christmas pressie.”
Title: Little Toy Trains
Author: melanieathene
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes, please
Disclaimer: Unfortunately not mine.
A/N: Many thanks to cali_se for betaing and brit picking.