Green Wing
Alan/Boyce
G
(2094 words)
Notes: Set directly after the Special.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.
As the water closed over his head again, the pain in his chest from lack of oxygen and panic becoming agonising, Alan spared a moment to wish his mother had allowed him to him take swimming classes at school with the other children. But no, she was convinced that her son was delicate, that the chlorine would make his asthma worse and no amount of pleading had swayed her. Still, he supposed he shouldn’t blame Mummy, she couldn’t have known that one day her overprotective, one might say, slightly smothering love would be the cause of his impending death.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. Well, now Alan could tell those know-it-alls that they were wrong, dead wrong, because instead of a lovely movie reel of all the important events in his life, like being made school prefect ahead of Smelly Smythe, or graduating with honours from Cambridge, or becoming a respected and revered consultant at one of the country’s most prestigious hospitals, instead, filling his head right up, were images of one insignificant student - teasing him…taunting him…flirting with him…sleeping with him…
He flailed upwards, managing to get his head above the surface, gasping for air. “Joanna!” he cried, “help me,” and choked as seawater splashed into his mouth. He gurgled and slapped at the water with his hands, but he was sinking, he could feel it. Terror clawed at his throat. He was going to die, he knew it, and he'd never told Boyce how much he lov-
“Oh for heaven's sake,” he heard Joanna say exasperatedly, and it was another layer of pain on top of everything else, that after all they'd been to each other she could be so callous. Then something grabbed hold of his hair and he was being pulled through the water. It hurt and he couldn't help flailing. Then his head was wrenched back and he could breathe and he gulped and gasped and spluttered, blinking away water and tears of relief. Finally his vision started clearing. Joanna’s face swam into view, peering down at him, glaring. Behind her, the sun was setting and the sky was gold, and it was beautiful, it was all beautiful! And he was alive! He clutched at Joanna, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressed his face to her beautiful bosoms.
“Stand up, stand up,” Joanna was saying impatiently, and he could feel her tugging at his arms. Alan tried to hold on - he didn't want to die, but he was weak from nearly drowning just a minute ago, and he could feel himself starting to slip away. “No, no, no, I don't want to die,” he moaned.
“It's shallow enough to stand, you idiot,” she said. “We’ve only been out here five minutes.”
“I don't want to die,” Alan repeated, when he'd regained his footing and stopped panicking.
And was slapped in the head so hard his ears rang. “Now you mention it!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, fumbling to right his glasses, miraculously still attached to his face.
“What was with the big dramatic gesture then?”
“Well, you know, you seemed keen and it all seemed for the best, really, but I don't. I don't. Want to die. I have too much to live for!”
“What? Being some big hairy biker with ‘Mother’ tattoos' bitch? Making front page news for beating a dwarf to death with a stuffed bird and smothering an old woman with your crotch?”
“No.” Alan squared his shoulders. “I'm sorry, m'dear, we've had some good times-”
Joanna snorted. “When?”
“-but my heart belongs to another. My near death experience has permitted me to see the light and I am resolved to seek out my Beloved and win them for my very own, once and for all.”
Joanna was staring at him unblinkingly, ignoring the occasional rivulets of water running down her face from her hair, sodden and clinging to her small but shapely skull. “What makes you think this person would be interested in being won by you anyway,” she sneered. “It's not like you were a prize when you weren't a double murderer on the lam.”
“I must attempt it, nonetheless,” Alan said, and started wading towards the shore, glancing sideways at Joanna, swimming along beside him, keeping pace in the chest deep water.
“Well, who is it then?” Joanna said. “I think I deserve to know, considering this decision will probably result in us both languishing behind bars and probably dying of old age in prison, never again knowing the touch of a man. Well, not me, anyway, no doubt you'll have any number of amateur proctologists lining up to give you examinations. With their cocks.”
Alan gulped and nearly hesitated, but the image of Boyce appeared in front of him, his golden boy, and he felt resolve flow into him. “He's worth the risk,” he said defiantly.
“He?” Joanna said, her voice rising, “I bloody knew it!”
It was shallower now and Alan had to raise his knees more as he splashed out of the water, stumbling and falling head first onto the beach, weak with exhaustion and the aftermath of terror, just managing to turn his head to the side so he didn't end up with a face full of wet sand.
There was a shadow standing over him, blocking the last rays of the sun on the horizon. Alan was shaking with cold now. He tried to push himself up with his arms, but he was too weak and flopped down again.
“Come on then,” Joanna said, and hauled on his arm until he managed to stumble to his feet with her help. “God, you're a pathetic excuse for a man, I can't believe I'm having to help you leave me for someone else.”
“You're a good woman, Joanna,” Alan said, feeling a wave of affection for her. After all, she'd been everything to him at one time, with her elegance, her refinement...
“Shut it,” Joanna said.
Together they staggered up the fortuitously deserted beach and found their clothes.
“Well, what now?” Joanna said, hands on her hips, when they were dressed.
Alan looked around helplessly. He was still feeling chilly, even his nipples felt cold. He rubbed them reminiscently, feeling a wave of longing for Boyce that brought tears to his eyes. If only he had a way to contact him...
“That's your solution, is it?” Joanna said snippily. “We're fugitives from the law, with no money and no place to go, and your plan is to stand there and fondle yourself?”
Alan dropped his hands hurriedly. “Er...no...just thinking...you know...coming up with a plan...”
“Well?”
“Er...”
Joanna sighed exasperatedly and reached into her knickers.
Alan felt a tingle in his groin, but he determinedly ignored it. This was not the time to get distracted. He quickly averted his eyes and stared at the scudding clouds. Then started as a dark shape flew overhead.
“Oh my! Is that a snowy owl?” he cried, nearly overcome with excitement. “What an amazing thing! These beautiful creatures are almost exclusively found around the Arctic circle. They are occasionally spotted in northern Scotland, but to see one here...” He clasped his hands together, gazing raptly in the direction the bird had flown until a hard slap across the face recalled him to himself.
“Snap out of it, bird-freak!”
Alan stared at Joanna in outrage, then blinked as he saw what she was holding up. “Is that a phone card?” he asked incredulously.
“Yup.”
“Where...when...how...how did you?” he stammered.
“Stole it from the shop, didn't I.”
“Why haven't you availed yourself of its usefulness before, if I may ask?” Alan felt a bit put upon.
Joanna shrugged. Her eyes slid away from Alan's. “No one to call,” she said over- elaborately casually.
Alan would be the first to admit that sometimes he missed nuances in conversations; certainly it had resulted in many a painful blow or insult, but he prided himself on his ability to read Joanna, he'd spent months studying her intently, some misguided people might say, stalkerishly, and he could tell she was having a womanly moment of weakness, so he reached out and patted her in a consoling manner. “There, there,” he said.
His hand was brusquely brushed aside. “Don't touch me,” she snapped. She held up the phone card. “Go on then, lover boy,” she sneered, “call your boyfriend. Let's see how much he really cares about you.”
Alan snatched the card out of her hand and marched off up along the road with his head held high, trying to look dignified and in control, despite the sand that had found its way into his shoes, and more disturbingly, into his underpants. It really was quite irritating! He finally had to stop and reach inside his pants to try and scrape it out. Joanna strolled past without saying a word, and then Alan had to hurry to get ahead, wincing at the remaining grains of sand sticking to his scrotum, making it impossible to walk in a dignified manner.
“Ah hah hah!” Alan crowed, on beating Joanna to the phone box. She rolled her eyes and leaned one arm against it. “Go on, then,” she said, waving the other arm at him impatiently.
“Oh, yes of course.” It took Alan a couple of tries to get the blasted door open; who made these things anyway, probably mentally deficient monkeys by the looks of things but finally he wedged himself inside and shut the door on Joanna's surprised face.
Then he carefully read the instructions about how to use the card, squinting in the dim light.
“Come on,” Joanna shouted, the sound muffled.
Alan carefully lifted the receiver, noticing to his pained dismay that his hand was shaking, and carefully dialed the painstakingly memorised number.
The phone picked up on the second ring, and Boyce said in a hushed voice, “hello?”
Alan could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest with the urge to pour out his heart at the sound of the beloved voice but he didn't know how these newfangled card thingies worked or how much time he had so he forced himself to take deep breaths until he could speak calmly.
“Hello?” Boyce said again, more urgently. “Is that...Lionel Richie?”
“The partridges would like to come home to roost,” Alan said, slowly and distinctly.
There was a pause, then Boyce said, “that's good.” There was the sound of a throat clearing, then Boyce said again, sounding a bit firmer, “that's good, then. What is the partridges' E.T.A?”
“Ah,” Alan said, fumbling for a cunning way to code his words. “The partridges are unable to fly. Repeat, the partridges are unable to fly. The farmer is hunting the partridges and the partridges have no seeds.”
There was a longer pause, and then Boyce said, “I'm on my way. Where are you?”
Alan sagged against the side of the phone box and told him, slumping to the floor, oblivious to possible germs and nasty things on the ground. He had nothing to lose now. He found himself pouring his heart out, hearing on the other end of the line a car door slam, the engine start, music blaring loudly for a moment and then abruptly cut off, occasionally asking Boyce 'are you there' to hear him say 'I'm here' and when the card ran out of credit he sat there with the phone pressed to his ear until Joanna banged on the door.
Alan scrambled to his feet and opened the door, prepared for more scathing comments, but all Joanna said was, “I'm freezing, move over.” It was a tight squeeze, and elbows and knees jabbed in awkward places but finally Joanna stopped complaining and wriggling around on top of him, which was a relief because Alan's john thomas was getting excited. He was very tempted to just rub himself off on whatever bit of her he could reach but he had a suspicion that once you've had an epiphany and a miraculous escape from near death that you were suppose to cleave unto the source of said epiphany, including your willy, so he just closed his eyes and reminded himself that Boyce was getting closer, that soon his love would be there to save him. “What have you got to smile about,” he heard Joanna mumble, but he nobly ignored her, and very shortly he fell asleep, and dreamt of Boyce, and his pointer, and snowy owls.
G
(2094 words)
Notes: Set directly after the Special.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.
As the water closed over his head again, the pain in his chest from lack of oxygen and panic becoming agonising, Alan spared a moment to wish his mother had allowed him to him take swimming classes at school with the other children. But no, she was convinced that her son was delicate, that the chlorine would make his asthma worse and no amount of pleading had swayed her. Still, he supposed he shouldn’t blame Mummy, she couldn’t have known that one day her overprotective, one might say, slightly smothering love would be the cause of his impending death.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. Well, now Alan could tell those know-it-alls that they were wrong, dead wrong, because instead of a lovely movie reel of all the important events in his life, like being made school prefect ahead of Smelly Smythe, or graduating with honours from Cambridge, or becoming a respected and revered consultant at one of the country’s most prestigious hospitals, instead, filling his head right up, were images of one insignificant student - teasing him…taunting him…flirting with him…sleeping with him…
He flailed upwards, managing to get his head above the surface, gasping for air. “Joanna!” he cried, “help me,” and choked as seawater splashed into his mouth. He gurgled and slapped at the water with his hands, but he was sinking, he could feel it. Terror clawed at his throat. He was going to die, he knew it, and he'd never told Boyce how much he lov-
“Oh for heaven's sake,” he heard Joanna say exasperatedly, and it was another layer of pain on top of everything else, that after all they'd been to each other she could be so callous. Then something grabbed hold of his hair and he was being pulled through the water. It hurt and he couldn't help flailing. Then his head was wrenched back and he could breathe and he gulped and gasped and spluttered, blinking away water and tears of relief. Finally his vision started clearing. Joanna’s face swam into view, peering down at him, glaring. Behind her, the sun was setting and the sky was gold, and it was beautiful, it was all beautiful! And he was alive! He clutched at Joanna, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressed his face to her beautiful bosoms.
“Stand up, stand up,” Joanna was saying impatiently, and he could feel her tugging at his arms. Alan tried to hold on - he didn't want to die, but he was weak from nearly drowning just a minute ago, and he could feel himself starting to slip away. “No, no, no, I don't want to die,” he moaned.
“It's shallow enough to stand, you idiot,” she said. “We’ve only been out here five minutes.”
“I don't want to die,” Alan repeated, when he'd regained his footing and stopped panicking.
And was slapped in the head so hard his ears rang. “Now you mention it!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, fumbling to right his glasses, miraculously still attached to his face.
“What was with the big dramatic gesture then?”
“Well, you know, you seemed keen and it all seemed for the best, really, but I don't. I don't. Want to die. I have too much to live for!”
“What? Being some big hairy biker with ‘Mother’ tattoos' bitch? Making front page news for beating a dwarf to death with a stuffed bird and smothering an old woman with your crotch?”
“No.” Alan squared his shoulders. “I'm sorry, m'dear, we've had some good times-”
Joanna snorted. “When?”
“-but my heart belongs to another. My near death experience has permitted me to see the light and I am resolved to seek out my Beloved and win them for my very own, once and for all.”
Joanna was staring at him unblinkingly, ignoring the occasional rivulets of water running down her face from her hair, sodden and clinging to her small but shapely skull. “What makes you think this person would be interested in being won by you anyway,” she sneered. “It's not like you were a prize when you weren't a double murderer on the lam.”
“I must attempt it, nonetheless,” Alan said, and started wading towards the shore, glancing sideways at Joanna, swimming along beside him, keeping pace in the chest deep water.
“Well, who is it then?” Joanna said. “I think I deserve to know, considering this decision will probably result in us both languishing behind bars and probably dying of old age in prison, never again knowing the touch of a man. Well, not me, anyway, no doubt you'll have any number of amateur proctologists lining up to give you examinations. With their cocks.”
Alan gulped and nearly hesitated, but the image of Boyce appeared in front of him, his golden boy, and he felt resolve flow into him. “He's worth the risk,” he said defiantly.
“He?” Joanna said, her voice rising, “I bloody knew it!”
It was shallower now and Alan had to raise his knees more as he splashed out of the water, stumbling and falling head first onto the beach, weak with exhaustion and the aftermath of terror, just managing to turn his head to the side so he didn't end up with a face full of wet sand.
There was a shadow standing over him, blocking the last rays of the sun on the horizon. Alan was shaking with cold now. He tried to push himself up with his arms, but he was too weak and flopped down again.
“Come on then,” Joanna said, and hauled on his arm until he managed to stumble to his feet with her help. “God, you're a pathetic excuse for a man, I can't believe I'm having to help you leave me for someone else.”
“You're a good woman, Joanna,” Alan said, feeling a wave of affection for her. After all, she'd been everything to him at one time, with her elegance, her refinement...
“Shut it,” Joanna said.
Together they staggered up the fortuitously deserted beach and found their clothes.
“Well, what now?” Joanna said, hands on her hips, when they were dressed.
Alan looked around helplessly. He was still feeling chilly, even his nipples felt cold. He rubbed them reminiscently, feeling a wave of longing for Boyce that brought tears to his eyes. If only he had a way to contact him...
“That's your solution, is it?” Joanna said snippily. “We're fugitives from the law, with no money and no place to go, and your plan is to stand there and fondle yourself?”
Alan dropped his hands hurriedly. “Er...no...just thinking...you know...coming up with a plan...”
“Well?”
“Er...”
Joanna sighed exasperatedly and reached into her knickers.
Alan felt a tingle in his groin, but he determinedly ignored it. This was not the time to get distracted. He quickly averted his eyes and stared at the scudding clouds. Then started as a dark shape flew overhead.
“Oh my! Is that a snowy owl?” he cried, nearly overcome with excitement. “What an amazing thing! These beautiful creatures are almost exclusively found around the Arctic circle. They are occasionally spotted in northern Scotland, but to see one here...” He clasped his hands together, gazing raptly in the direction the bird had flown until a hard slap across the face recalled him to himself.
“Snap out of it, bird-freak!”
Alan stared at Joanna in outrage, then blinked as he saw what she was holding up. “Is that a phone card?” he asked incredulously.
“Yup.”
“Where...when...how...how did you?” he stammered.
“Stole it from the shop, didn't I.”
“Why haven't you availed yourself of its usefulness before, if I may ask?” Alan felt a bit put upon.
Joanna shrugged. Her eyes slid away from Alan's. “No one to call,” she said over- elaborately casually.
Alan would be the first to admit that sometimes he missed nuances in conversations; certainly it had resulted in many a painful blow or insult, but he prided himself on his ability to read Joanna, he'd spent months studying her intently, some misguided people might say, stalkerishly, and he could tell she was having a womanly moment of weakness, so he reached out and patted her in a consoling manner. “There, there,” he said.
His hand was brusquely brushed aside. “Don't touch me,” she snapped. She held up the phone card. “Go on then, lover boy,” she sneered, “call your boyfriend. Let's see how much he really cares about you.”
Alan snatched the card out of her hand and marched off up along the road with his head held high, trying to look dignified and in control, despite the sand that had found its way into his shoes, and more disturbingly, into his underpants. It really was quite irritating! He finally had to stop and reach inside his pants to try and scrape it out. Joanna strolled past without saying a word, and then Alan had to hurry to get ahead, wincing at the remaining grains of sand sticking to his scrotum, making it impossible to walk in a dignified manner.
“Ah hah hah!” Alan crowed, on beating Joanna to the phone box. She rolled her eyes and leaned one arm against it. “Go on, then,” she said, waving the other arm at him impatiently.
“Oh, yes of course.” It took Alan a couple of tries to get the blasted door open; who made these things anyway, probably mentally deficient monkeys by the looks of things but finally he wedged himself inside and shut the door on Joanna's surprised face.
Then he carefully read the instructions about how to use the card, squinting in the dim light.
“Come on,” Joanna shouted, the sound muffled.
Alan carefully lifted the receiver, noticing to his pained dismay that his hand was shaking, and carefully dialed the painstakingly memorised number.
The phone picked up on the second ring, and Boyce said in a hushed voice, “hello?”
Alan could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest with the urge to pour out his heart at the sound of the beloved voice but he didn't know how these newfangled card thingies worked or how much time he had so he forced himself to take deep breaths until he could speak calmly.
“Hello?” Boyce said again, more urgently. “Is that...Lionel Richie?”
“The partridges would like to come home to roost,” Alan said, slowly and distinctly.
There was a pause, then Boyce said, “that's good.” There was the sound of a throat clearing, then Boyce said again, sounding a bit firmer, “that's good, then. What is the partridges' E.T.A?”
“Ah,” Alan said, fumbling for a cunning way to code his words. “The partridges are unable to fly. Repeat, the partridges are unable to fly. The farmer is hunting the partridges and the partridges have no seeds.”
There was a longer pause, and then Boyce said, “I'm on my way. Where are you?”
Alan sagged against the side of the phone box and told him, slumping to the floor, oblivious to possible germs and nasty things on the ground. He had nothing to lose now. He found himself pouring his heart out, hearing on the other end of the line a car door slam, the engine start, music blaring loudly for a moment and then abruptly cut off, occasionally asking Boyce 'are you there' to hear him say 'I'm here' and when the card ran out of credit he sat there with the phone pressed to his ear until Joanna banged on the door.
Alan scrambled to his feet and opened the door, prepared for more scathing comments, but all Joanna said was, “I'm freezing, move over.” It was a tight squeeze, and elbows and knees jabbed in awkward places but finally Joanna stopped complaining and wriggling around on top of him, which was a relief because Alan's john thomas was getting excited. He was very tempted to just rub himself off on whatever bit of her he could reach but he had a suspicion that once you've had an epiphany and a miraculous escape from near death that you were suppose to cleave unto the source of said epiphany, including your willy, so he just closed his eyes and reminded himself that Boyce was getting closer, that soon his love would be there to save him. “What have you got to smile about,” he heard Joanna mumble, but he nobly ignored her, and very shortly he fell asleep, and dreamt of Boyce, and his pointer, and snowy owls.