Discovered in a Livejournal: A Professionals challenge community

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - Calendar of Links

byslantedlight — Wed, 14 Jan 2026 17:56:11 GMT

One final post from the Wassail Bowl, even though the decorations came down over a week ago now. Below is the challenge calendar, which also acts as an archive - there is a link on the User Info page. If you click on any of the days, it will take you to the posts for that day. *g* You can also find people's creations over the year via the tags page, by challenge, and author/creator name.

For example (in a slightly-cheating way of letting you know I finally completed my story and posted it), if you click on the 21st, you will bring up the Pros story I wrote for the Winter Solstice (which is a sequel to Perfect Alignment and A Crook in the Path.) Or if you click on the 25th, you will bring up the posts of everyone who made a post on that day. *g*

1st Wassail!	2nd Wassail!	3rd Wassail!	4th Wassail!	5th Wassail!
6th Wassail!	7th Wassail!	8th Wassail!	9th Wassail!	10th Wassail!
11th Wassail!	12th Wassail!	13th Wassail!	14th Wassail!	15th Wassail!
16th Wassail!	17th Wassail!	18th Wassail!	19th Wassail!	20th Wassail!
21st Wassail!	22nd Wassail!	23rd Wassail!	24th Wassail!	25th Happy Christmas!
26th Wassail!	27th Wassail!	28th Wassail!	29th Wassail!	30th Wassail!
31st Wassail!				1st Wassail!
2nd Wassail!	3rd Wassail!	4th Wassail!	5th Wassail!	6th Wassail!

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 6th December - Twelfth Night - the Final Day...

byslantedlight — Tue, 06 Jan 2026 20:00:48 GMT

It is the 6th of January, and the end of our Winter-Solstice-Christmas-Celbrate-the-Light calendar for 2025 - sigh, as ever. It's always sad when I make the closing post like this - and especially because this year I have to say something very important, so please keep reading.

This might be the last Discovered in a Winter-Solstice-Christmas-Celebrate-the-Light calendar...

At first I thought it might be the last because I've been doing this for twenty years now and it's taking up more and more time the fewer of us there are, when I really need to do other Christmas-life things more efficiently (and I must admit I was a bit disappointed no one seemed to notice it was our twentieth Discovered in a Winter-Solstice-Christmas-Celbrate-the-Light calendar except me, even though I did announce it - and put it on the banner!) But then a few people messaged to say how much they look forward to the calendar each year, and being me I was relenting and thinking 21 sounded good too...

...and then the Dire Warnings of the End of Lj began popping up, which most of you have probably seen. There've been Dire Warnings before, but I think the world is possibly at a place where this time they're more likely to have some foundation. There is a rumour that Lj is splitting the (probably now very small) English-speaking side from it's much larger Cyrillic-speaking side prior to implementing other changes. There is a post here in the Russian Lj News comm about what seem to be pretty serious restrictions to users of the Cyrillic language site (Google translate seems to work pretty well on it). I must admit I can't see Lj continuing as a viable blog for them if those changes are actually effected - and some commenters seem to indicate that they have been. Could it all be a mis-translated ruse of some kind? Yup, not impossible - but it's hard to tell either way, and ironically enough Lj had a wee glitch as I came on to post this, which usually means something has been changed on the server. But who knows - it could have been a minor fix-an-issue thing.

That said - I have been/am updating the back-ups for ci5hq, my own Lj, and various other comms that I mod or co-mod to DreamWidth, and I will be running a final discoveredinalj back-up to Dreamwidth tomorrow. So all the Pros comms that we use and love will be available over there if Lj does go down, or vanish for us (some Dreamwidth links: CI5hq, Discoveredinalj, The Safehouse, CI5hq_dnoticed, ProsFicIndex, ProsFinder, Pros Records Room (Palelyloitering), and here's me too - bet you'd forgotten most of those existed! *g*) The Russian post linked above seems to suggest that content from before the changes will remain available even if everything else is different, and I'm crossing fingers because our comms (and my own Lj) are image-heavy, all hosted on Lj.

Basically: I don't know if we'll be here on Lj next year, and if we're on DreamWidth I'm not convinced it will be possible to run the calendar in the same format. Where ever we are, though, I hope we can all gather in a single agreed Pros-y place again, at least for next Christmas.

All of which is very heart-heavy, so - I'm going to open the rest of your day, in whatever time zone you are in, to posting any more little cheers-es that people might have from the Wassail Bowl, and as always remind people to archive their stories/images/creations elsewhere, although the calendar will remain as an archive for as long as it can be. (Did you know that if you click on a date on the calendar itself, it will bring up the posts for that day? This is true of all the archived calendars that you can find via the User Info page too! Go read the old stuff! Fill your boots! *g*) And...

...Wassail!

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 5th January 2026 - Gone Fishing

macklingirl — Mon, 05 Jan 2026 19:27:50 GMT

Gone Fishing
A Rainlads-Picture-Story
by macklingirl

Ray Doyle woke up and stretched. He discovered that the bed next to him was empty. Bodie had left him after a night of tender lovemaking.

Disappointed, he sat up. He really hadn't expected that. Maybe he shouldn't have whispered ‘I love you’ before falling asleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and only then saw the note on the chair.

His mood changed abruptly and he laughed out loud. Only Bodie would go fishing in this cold weather.

He set off and saw Bodie happily pulling a fish out of the pond from a distance. And it looked like it was already his second catch.

"Oh, hello, Ray. I see you found my note", a happy laughing Bodie said. "I thought I should try to catch something for our dinner before we have to go home."

"And it looks like you were successful. But you could have woken me up; I would have come with you." Ray answered.

"No, that wouldn't have worked. I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off you. And it's really too cold out here for that." Bodie said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Come on, take the bucket with the fish and let's go home."

Ray did as he was told, while Bodie carried the fishing rod and the net.

Two hours later, when they were back home, Doyle put the fish in the pan while Bodie set the table and sat down expectantly.

When the fish were done, they sat down together at the table, ate salad and fish, and drank wine with it.

In the middle of the meal, Doyle suddenly said, "You know what, Bodie? Next time, we should invite Cowley and Elizabeth Walsh to dinner as a thank you. The fish from his pond are simply delicious."

"Oh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Ray. I don't think Cowley intended those fish for fishing." Bodie grinned.

They finished their meal laughing.

The End

Title: Gone Fishing
a Rainlads-Picture-Story
Author: macklingirl
Slash or gen: Slash
Proslib: Yes, please (I'm working on the PDF)
Warning: Contains fish and Rainlads
Disclaimer: I own the Rainlads, but not the characters Bodie and Doyle. I only borrow them from time to time to play with them.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 4th January - And To You Your Wassail Too Part II by Ubicaritas

byslantedlight — Sun, 04 Jan 2026 23:11:47 GMT

Posting on behalf of ubicaritas.

And To You Your Wassail Too

Part Two – Pray Think of Us Poor Children

Good master and mistress, While you’re sitting by the fire,
Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.

“I don’t believe it.” Doyle shifted in his seat, stretching out his legs in a vain attempt to get comfortable, or, at the very least, relieve some of his growing discomfort.

“Believe what?” Bodie flexed his own knees and ankles in succession, hampered as Doyle hadn’t been by the steering wheel and pedals at his feet. “That Father would have us sitting out her, at the back end of nowhere, in the cold and dark… on New Year's Eve! Waiting for a third-rate nobody of a terrorist who likely has better sense than us to be out in this weather … and all while he and the rest of the Squad are conducting the other part of the investigation inside yonder stately country manor!”

Doyle blinked. “Yeah, that about covers it,” he said, after a pause. “Although I might have added that the rain appears to be changing to snow…”

“Of course it is.” Bodie morosely checked his watch. “Right on time for our next walk around the perimeter.”

Both agents spent a moment fastening coat buttons and zippers. Bodie pulled on a pair of battered gloves, while Doyle wound his scarf a bit tighter around his neck. Together, they stepped out of the car and ventured along the slippery path that ran parallel to the manor’s stone fence.

“There’s got to be someone in the Squad more … deserving … of this.” Bodie swore and barely caught himself from taking a header into the mud. “McCabe, or maybe even Stuart … Both of them pranged their motors in that chase last week, right?”

Doyle shook the accumulating snowflakes out of his hair. “Oh no, mate,” he said. “You made sure that we would be the most deserving, didn’t you … and for a good long time! You and your harebrained idea to get the Squad to put in for Christmas vacation in August. Cowley stalked around like a thundercloud for a good week after the Minister himself showed up, looking for an explanation!”

“I always thought that was a bit of an overreaction by the Minister,” Bodie said. “And how was I supposed to know the entire Squad would ask for the same two weeks?! Not my fault, sunshine.”

They stomped through the mud and snow and darkness for a while longer, until they finally arrived back at their vehicle. Bodie immediately started the engine and set the heater on high; soon the car was filled with the aromatic yet oddly comforting fug of wet agent.

“I looked it up, you know,” Doyle said, into the companiable silence.

“Eh?”

“That carol, the one you were singing on the day when we all got our vacation notices.”

Bodie hummed a few notes of the tune.

“I reckon we’ve made it to the end of the last verse,” Doyle continued. “I just wish Cowley could hear us right now…”

“Pray think of us poor children Who are wandering in the mire.”

Epilogue – Love and Joy

“I don’t believe it.”

A long, sated rumble sounded from the other side of the bed. “Believe what?”

Doyle nestled closer to the naked warmth next to him. “That I finally feel like I’ve thawed out … that Cowley has relented and given us a full weeks’ leave … that mmmff…” An arm snaked out from under the covers to draw him in even more tightly.

“And I believe that you’re talking too much.” Bodie trailed his hand from gently covering Doyle’s mouth, down his exposed throat, then even further to pass collarbone, nipple, and the angular jut of hipbone. “Now how does that refrain go…?”

“Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too;
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year
And God send you a Happy New Year.”

o0o

Title: And To You Your Wassail Too
Author: Ubicaritas
Slash or gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib: Yes please!
Disclaimer: Not enough wassail was consumed during the creation of this work. Also, just playing with the lads and returning them safe and mostly sound, no infringement of the Pros sandbox is intended.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 3rd January - A Celebration of MinoriK

byslantedlight — Sat, 03 Jan 2026 18:13:07 GMT

On the tenth anniversary of discoveredinalj the lovely minori_k created our banner for Discovered in the Holly and Ivy, and I thought it would be a nice idea to celebrate her on our twentieth anniversary. She is much missed as an ever-cheerful, beautifully-creative, kindly-generous friend to us all in Pros fandom.

If you didn't know Minori, this is her Lj, and here is her AO3, and both are great fun to read through - highly recommended.

Here is some artwork she did for discoveredinalj, and some other pictures of hers that I love. I'm sorry this post is a bit late today, but if you would like to, please post with your favourite Minori_k artwork - Wassail to our Minori, always here with us and the lads in spirit!

Discovered In the Wassail Bowl -- 02 Jan -- New Songvid by kat-byrd

sc_fossil — Fri, 02 Jan 2026 13:47:16 GMT

New vid, For the Glory by All Good Things. This is a Bodie and Doyle vid reflecting what it's like working for Cowley and CI5.

For download or viewing on the Internet Archive: For The Glory

For download or viewing on Google Drive: For The Glory

Title: For The Glory
Creator: kat-byrd
Genre: gen, canon partnership
Warnings: None

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - January 1, 2026 - Happy New Year

agt_spooky — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 20:43:04 GMT

Happy New Year from Bodie, Doyle, Cowley and myself! Here's to another year of sharing our love of The Professionals! Cheers!

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - January 1st - Memory time

macklingirl — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 14:55:58 GMT

We have a free posting day (what I love) and cim3745 told me, the memory from 2024 doesn't work anymore (what I don't like). So I created a new one.

Memory Game

Have fun and enjoy.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 1st January 2026 - Happy New Year everyone!

cim3745 — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 13:35:51 GMT

All the best to all of you and the lads, of course.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 1st January 2026 - Happy New Year everyone!

byslantedlight — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 12:27:49 GMT

Happy New Year everyone! Let's hope it's much improved on the old one, and here's to it being full of love for everyone.

Today is open posting day in the Dialj Calendar, so please fill your boots spreading Pros joy to start the year! *g*

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 31st December — And a Gentle New Year by The Hag

hagsrus — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 09:29:34 GMT

"Get off me, you great hairy lump!" Doyle snarled.

"Nowhere near you," Bodie called from the kitchen.

"Bloody Pollux... Not enough tripping me up and breaking my leg, now he has to jump all over it."

"Just showing he loves you." Bodie came in carrying two mugs of tea. "Only a pulled tendon, you know. Want a slosh of Glenlivet in this?"

"Feels like I broke my hip. Ta."

"Think of it as a New Year gift. We could have been stood gawping at the Heathrow departures with ten thousand other stranded sods."

"There's that," Doyle conceded, sipping his comforting beverage. "Oh, come on then, you bloody furry menace. Other side, damn it! Yes, I know you love me, just don't get under my feet!"

"Suppose you don't feel up to a bit of gentle New Year celebration?" Bodie asked hopefully. "Promise not to trip you up. Cats aren't the only ones who love you."

"Always the great big softie, you are. Give me a double and I'll see what I can manage."

Bodie reached for the bottle. "Not soft for long, sunshine," he promised. "Shove off, Pollux..."

Title: And a Gentle New Year
Author: The Hag
Slash or gen: Slash; Older Lads, Cats

Archive: Yes
Disclaimer: The usual not mine, just borrowing.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 30th December - And To You Your Wassail Too by Ubercaritas (Part 1)

byslantedlight — Tue, 30 Dec 2025 22:56:56 GMT

Posting on behalf of ubicaritas9 today - Pros fic! *g*

And To You Your Wassail Too
by Ubicaritas

Part One – Here We Come A-Wassailing

Here we come a-wassailing Among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wandering So fair to be seen.

“I don’t believe it.” Ray Doyle shook his head and stuffed the single sheet of paper back into its official-looking envelope.

“Believe what?” Bodie raised an eyebrow at his own as-yet unopened envelope.

The lift pinged and deposited them onto the second floor at CI5 headquarters, just along the corridor from the rest room. Even before they reached the door they could hear the agitated buzz of conversation; when they entered, they found a dozen or so of their fellow agents gathered around the notice board on the wall, where a posted page seemed to be the centre of attention.

“Did you see this?” Murphy stepped away from the crowd to greet them, gesturing vaguely behind him.

Doyle squinted at the board in the distance, then waved his envelope at him. “It’s bureaucracy gone mad,” he said. “Vacation requests for December must be made before the middle of July?! All employees must take at least one week…?!”

“All government employees are required …” Bodie was reading his own letter now, and looked up in disbelief. “… required to take Christmas vacation…”

Murphy nodded mournfully. “Since when does CI5 ever get any time off around Christmas… every nutter in the country comes out to play in December!”

“The A Squad never gets Christmas vacation!” Anson’s lament was echoed by others still standing by the posted order.

Bodie began a slow look around the room, then his face brightened. “If the powers-that-be want us to take a Christmas vacation,” he said, “then we’ll just have to move Christmas to a month when we’re not usually so busy. Say … in August?”

Doyle was already shaking his head. “Move Christmas to August? You can’t do that! Besides,” he added. “Cowley would never let us all off in August… oi, what are you doing? Gerroff…”

Bodie grabbed Murphy’s arm with one hand and reeled in Doyle with the other. “Now, sing along with me, lads …”

“Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves so green…”

end of part one

o0o

Title: And To You Your Wassail Too
Author: Ubicaritas
Slash or gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib: Yes please!
Disclaimer: Not enough wassail was consumed during the creation of this work. Also, just playing with the lads and returning them safe and mostly sound, no infringement of the Pros sandbox is intended.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - December 29th - A CI5 Christmas Party

macklingirl — Mon, 29 Dec 2025 19:18:07 GMT

A CI5 Christmas Party
a Rainlads ficlet

by macklingirl

Prologue:

No one could have predicted that, so close to Christmas, there would suddenly be an increase in attacks on breweries and off-licence shops. And no one claimed responsibility for these attacks. And suddenly, out of nowhere, they had a lead that took them to a warehouse belonging to one of London's largest spirits suppliers. They arrived just as a frenzied horde of overly Christian youths were running through the warehouse, shooting wildly. They were able to arrest them all, but now none of them could stand the smell of alcohol. And that at Christmas.

"I have an idea, Ray", Bodie said with a sigh. "Why don't we celebrate in our café? It could be a quiet party, with a little present for everyone."

"Oh, I love the idea. But you have to be Santa Bodie", Ray answered with a smile and kissed him.

They invited every fellow agent to Ray's Coffee/Bodie's Bar, and even Mr Cowley said he would love to come. When they all arrived, only Ray was waiting for them.

"Hi, Ray, where's Bodie?" Anson asked. "I thought he would be here with you.

"He'll be a little late; he has something to do first. And he has a task for you. Each of you must either recite a poem or sing a Christmas carol. Otherwise, there will be no presents." Ray answered with a grin. "What do you think, Ruth? Would you like to sing a carol? Or recite a poem?"

"Oh no, not me," Ruth said, laughing. "I don't know any carols or poems."

"I don't believe you, everyone knows at last one carol," Ray said

When even Mr Cowley and Miss Walsh started telling her she should sing, she turned and sang "God rest ye, merry gentlemen"

1. God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ our Saviour
Was born upon this day,
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray:
O tidings of comfort and joy,
comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy.

2. In Bethlehem, in Jury,
This blessed Babe was born,
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn,
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn:
O tidings …

3. From God our heavenly Father
A blessed angel came,
And unto certain shepherds
Brought tidings of the same,
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by name:
O tidings …

4. The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoicéd much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind,
And went to Bethlehem straightway,
This blessed Babe to find:
O tidings …

5. But when to Bethlehem they came,
Whereat this Infant lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His mother Mary kneeling,
Unto the Lord did pray:
O tidings …

6. Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All others doth deface:
O tidings …

And they all listened in silence till the end.

The moment Ruth finished her carol, the door to the bar opened, and Santa Bodie stepped inside, carrying a sack full of presents.

"Hohoho, have you all been naughty or nice?" he asked with a profound voice.

"I heard you sing this wonderful carol, dear Ruth. And I have a present for you." Bodie walked over to the Christmas tree, picked up one of the presents that lay beneath the tree and gave it to her.

Anson started laughing and nearly fell from the stool. "Oh, he's so funny", he said to Doyle. "I really can't stop laughing."

After twenty minutes and some poems, every agent had got his present, except Mr Cowley. They could all see what Santa Bodie had in his sack, but none of them dared to say anything. Mr Cowley cleared his throat.

"Yes, Mr Cowley? You have something to say?" Santa Bodie asked.

"Ah, yes," Mr Cowley said. "Nollaig Chridheil agus Bliadhna Mhath Ùr*."

"And to you, too," all agents said in unison.

Bodie gave the bottle of Laphroaig to Mr Cowley, who had small tears in his eyes

Three hours later, when all their friends had gone home, Doyle looked first at Bodie and then up to the ceiling and said, "We're standing under the mistletoe, my love."

And they finished the day with a kiss.

End.

* Nollaig Chridheil agus Bliadhna Mhath Ùr means Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Sorry, LJ don't like me at the moment. I can't put the carol under a cut (maybe LJ-cut inside an LJ-cut don't work) and I can't delete any of the verses. If I try that, LJ deletes everything beneath. So you have to have the full carol

Title: A CI5 Christmas Part
a Rainlads ficlet by macklingirl
Pros Lib: Yes, please (will send PDF asap)
Warning: Contains Christmas spirit and love
Disclaimer: The rainlads are mine, Ray's Café and Bodie's Bar and everything inside are made by me.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 28th December - Enjoying the Winter

cim3745 — Sun, 28 Dec 2025 10:05:51 GMT

Have a good time, as the lads do :-)

There's a wee story by byslantedlight in the comments - it's great
and on AO3 - Cowley, She Shrunk the Agents ...
https://archiveofourown.org/works/76585601/chapters/200434886

The Way to a Man's Heart.......

tango65 — Sat, 27 Dec 2025 03:35:12 GMT

Started with a different story, which wasn't coming together for me, which was when this one popped up. The lads obviously felt this story was more important..... :) Enjoy!

“What is that?” Bodie asked, peering over Doyle’s shoulder as he stirred the ingredients in a large wooden bowl. Fortunately, Bodie’s entrance had not gone unnoticed, otherwise he would have been wearing the contents of said bowl for sneaking up on his partner so surreptitiously. To be fair, he had intended to do just that (without the shower of upended contents) and was a little disappointed that he had not succeeded. This was quickly forgotten as the smell of said contents caught his attention, as well as the accoutrements on the counter, evidence of another of Doyle’s skills – cooking.

“It’s a Wassail bowl” replied Doyle, without stopping his stirring or acknowledging Bodie’s surprise entrance, another thing in which Bodie was disappointed, but only a little. “Why?” Bodie followed up with.

“It’s tradition” came the response, with just a little bit of “what are you, ignorant?” coming through in the tone. Doyle stopped his stirring and took a quick sip from the spoon. “Perfect” he stated and then turned to look at Bodie. “I guess since you are here that you will want some as well?”

Bodie perked up and moved straight to the cupboard to get glasses and with one in each hand, turned to bring them to bowl, only to find Doyle already on the move – toward the back door. “Outside” he commanded, “its a perfect night for it.”

Bodie dutifully followed, he knew a good thing when he saw it – free drink, beautiful night and the company of the man he………. No point going down that train of thought, he didn’t really believe in Christmas miracles.

Doyle put the bowl on the small table in the ground floor flat’s courtyard. The evening was clear and mild and apart from the noise of neighbouring celebrations, relatively quiet.

Bodie put the glasses down and Doyle picked up the server in preparation for filling each glass, when nearby voices yelled indistinctly. Before they knew it, a champagne cork had come flying over the fence and landed in the middle of the bowl, splashing the liquid and pieces of apple and other ingredients, all over the two surprised men.

The senders of this particular gift must have quickly forgotten, or choose to present innocence, regarding their missile as no-one came to check, either in person or via a shouted “You OK?”

The two men just stood there looking at each other in shock for a moment, before cracking up in laughter. Even when they looked as if they were getting themselves under control, another look at their partner just sent them back into fits of mirth.

After a while though, the cooling liquid and dripping fruit demanded attention and Bodie was the first to move, removing a piece of apple from one of Doyle’s curls. When he looked back at his partner, he noticed him carefully studying his shoulders, from whence he also started removing fruit.

“We had better go get cleaned……” Bodie started to say, before he realised that Doyle’s clean up had changed tools, he was now using his tongue on Bodie’s neck, carefully licking away all and any pieces of fruit and liquid.

Bodie froze in place, but his body was already responding and his first attempt at speech resulted in a garbled grunt, rather than anything intelligible. Doyle took this as cooperation and move his ministrations up to Bodie’s face. The frozen man quickly unfroze and took Doyle’s lips with his, where they were lost together in a searing kiss. One that spoke a thousand messages, commitment, history, companionship, loyalty, lust and most of all, love.

Once their lungs declared the need for air, they broke apart, but only far enough to draw in that much needed element and then back to rest their foreheads against one another.

Doyle broke the silence. “I take it you liked that?” he said with humour and wonder in his quiet voice. “I think you might be right about that” came the reply. They lifted their heads to look at each other. “I think I might have other things you will like” Doyle offered with a cheeky grin. Bodie responded with a matching grin, “I would like to see them now if you don’t mind”.

And Doyle didn’t mind as he drew Bodie back into the flat and into his bedroom, onto his bed and into his arms. And it was a very Merry Christmas for all.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 26th December - A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle by Slantedlight

byslantedlight — Fri, 26 Dec 2025 17:28:41 GMT

Happy Boxing Day! Must admit I neeeearly forgot I said I'd cover today, but phew, made it in time!

Some of you have seen this story, I'm afraid, in this year's FandomCards, but people who haven't... here's a wee fic. *g*

A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle
by Slantedlight
It was the worst kind of Wednesday. Grey skies drizzled grey rain, and the wind made it proper brass monkey weather. Doyle pushed himself away from their office window - tiny and cracked across one corner, but at least a window - and turned around to stare at his partner’s bowed head. He’d barely glanced up when Doyle burst in like a bored thunderstorm, and had given him the briefest of nods. He was writing what looked like a letter, which was strange enough, but he also had a pile of envelopes beside him, each one neatly addressed in Bodie’s oddly tidy handwriting. It almost looked like…

“Are you writing Christmas cards?” he asked abruptly, because surely not - that wasn’t exactly a very Bodie thing to do. They’d been partnered almost a year now, and Doyle had a pretty good grasp of the things Bodie liked to do. Most of them involved leggy blondes - or brunettes or redheads, Bodie didn’t discriminate - and writing Christmas cards was surely not on the list.

“Nope.” Bodie didn’t even look up.

Doyle took a step closer to the desk. From this angle he could just see the tip of Bodie’s tongue sticking out, darker pink against his pink lips. He could also see the name and address on the top envelope - Tilda Bodie, 9 Bickerton Ave…

“Looks like Christmas cards to me, mate,” he said easily. He’d also grasped that the best way to get information from his partner was to not seem interested - but to rib him a bit all the same, because then he’d either clam up (deep dark secret), start talking about his latest conquest in bed (something he thought was too boring to talk about), or get defensive (the real Bodie).

“Letters,” Bodie said, doing none of the above.

“You what?”

“Christmas letters. To go in with the Christmas cards.” Bodie still didn’t look up. “If I do ‘em now I don’t have to do ‘em when I get home, do I?” He scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page, and finally met Doyle’s gaze while he folded the paper in four. “More time to spend with the luscious Lulu.”

“She’s not really called Lulu, you know.” Probably Lucy. Maybe Louise. Something ordinary. Something dull.

“Don’t care,” Bodie said. “She’s going to roast a chicken and make a Christmas trifle on Saturday - she’s a goddess!”

Doyle ignored the familiar twinge - he was getting good at that too. He nodded back at Bodie’s pile of envelopes instead, as Bodie angled his Basildon Bond, picked up his pen again, and set off on the next glorious epistle.

“You gonna write me one?” he asked, heading back to safe ground.

“Why would I write you a Christmas letter?”

“Your colleague, your partner, your…” Dare he say it? “…your friend?”

“Exactly. See you every day, don’t I? You know what I’m doing.”

“Bet I don’t know what you’re telling them you’re doing,” Doyle said, because it was a pretty safe bet that government agent with a licence to kill wouldn’t be making an appearance in those letters. Or maybe it would - in the very safe knowledge that he wouldn’t be believed and everyone would assume something far too dull for Bodie to say out loud.

“Be right then, wouldn’t you?”

“Butcher,” he suggested. “Baker. Button maker for Burtons.”

Bodie huffed a laugh, glancing back up at him, which was a result.

“None of the above,” he said. “How’d that explain my manly physique?”

“Circus performer. Ballet dancer. Tin soldier.”

“Ballet dancer?”

“Don’t knock it, got to be at peak of physical fitness to be a ballet dancer.”

“Never been out with a…”

“Go on then.” If there was one thing Doyle did not want it was to get into another recital of Bodie’s past conquests. “What d’you tell ‘em?”

“Tell ‘em I’m still in the army.” He scribbled another signature, then looked back up at Doyle and grinned, put on his poshest accent. “Tricky to get leave for a family do, don’t you know.”

“Tin soldier, then,” Doyle scoffed, because he’d seen a picture of Bodie in his uniform once, and hadn’t that been something else. “Little Christmas drummer boy.”

“Ah, but I’m your Christmas drummer boy.” Bodie pushed his chair back and stood up, gathering his envelopes neatly together and tucking them into his inside pocket. He folded a last paper, held it out, and Doyle took it without thinking. “Need to catch the post.”

The door closed behind him, and Doyle was left alone with an empty desk, a window full of drizzle, and a sheet of Basildon Bond. He flipped it open, read it quickly, and then smiled. He left the office, whistling cheerfully.

o0o

Title: A Christmas Card for Ray Doyle
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse do not, sadly, belong to me. I'm just playing. *g*
Notes: Written for the 2025 ProsFandomCards exchange as a minizine.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - Happy Christmas Day!

byslantedlight — Thu, 25 Dec 2025 18:15:50 GMT

It's cold as anything out here in the south-west, and sooo windy that it's even colder, but it's also been clear blue skyed and sunny, and not even close to snowing (which it rarely is at Christmas over here, no matter how we want it to be) - but we can imagine that it is, right? The lads all cosied up inside somewhere, relaxing... *g*

Happy Christmas Day, everyone, however you spend it!

Discovered in a Wassail Bowl - A Pros Christmas Spotify Playlist

tinturtle — Thu, 25 Dec 2025 09:55:03 GMT

I've created a Spotify playlist containing all of the Christmas and otherwise seasonal songs that reached the top 10 on the UK charts between 1975 (Bodie and Doyle are paired) and 1984 (ten years later).

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5LBrhOSSqC7bO7Sct1zDzu?si=oeHQabiIRQiGEFRZ-e4Vcg

It wasn't entirely easy to tell which songs charted because of the time of year, but I did my best. Let me know if you see that I left anything out. I've included the Power of Love by Frankie Goes to Hollywood even though the band says it was not intended as a Christmas song, since I know people treat it as one.

ETA: Also, I forgot to say that there were two hits that would have been part of the list but were unavailable on Spotify: Renta Santa (1975) and Bionic Santa (1976) both by Chris Hill. They are more short musical sketches than songs.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 24th December - Caption Competition Results Are In!

byslantedlight — Wed, 24 Dec 2025 16:28:56 GMT

It's the 24th of December, which means it's time to reveal the winners of the Caption Competition! The most fun bit for me was reading all the captions, so here they all are again in case you missed any.

And now... the winners are... *g*

Picture 1

We're being followed - by a man in a sleigh pulled by reindeer...

Well done, f_m_parkinson! Happy 24th December!

Picture 2

Doyle rather regretted giving Bodie a joke present of knitting needles the Christmas before...

Well, and heee - that was me, byslantedlight! Thank you all for giggling! *g*

Picture 3

And Picture 3 was very very close between four captions, and even after that it was a draw between two!

Bodie couldn't help but wonder what "elf juice" tasted like.
and
The first stop on the CI5 hot cocoa crawl was going badly. Cowley is irritated there’s no scotch for his, Bodie is irritated there are no Swiss rolls for his, and Doyle is wondering how the bloody hell he’s going to drink all three cups at each stop.

Well done krisserci5 (elf juice) and agt_spooky (hot cocoa crawl) - cheers and Wassail to you both!

I wish I had fun prizes for everyone, as milomaus used to have, but I hope the giggles and merriment and kudos are reward enough. Wassail! *g*

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 23rd December - Not Quite 'A Christmas Carol'

krisserci5 — Tue, 23 Dec 2025 09:03:27 GMT

Not Quite 'A Christmas Carol'
By krisser

Ray Doyle drew his weapon before he opened the Capri door. Bodie did the same, not even locking the door after he stepped out. They paused, watching the house across the road.

"You had to cancel a date tonight?" Doyle asked, eyes glued to the front door.

"Yeah."

"Who with?"

Bodie scrambled for a name. "Clare."

"Another one?"

"Yup."

"How many do you know?"

"How many do you?"

"Point taken." Doyle laughed, an earthy sound. "Probably some were the same bird."

"Probably." Bodie made a rueful noise.

"Why don't you come round to me mum's for Christmas?" Doyle asked as he crept forward.

"Nah, don't think so." Bodie had already been moving around the back of the vehicle and turned away from the question. He missed the crestfallen expression that Doyle displayed, instead catching movement to the side of his position. He saw the glint of a gun and where it was pointing. Directly at his partner. Bodie reacted automatically and desperately lunged forward to cover Doyle as the retort filled their ears.

"What the . . .?" Doyle cried out.

"Uump," was all Bodie managed before he became dead weight.

-----

"You bastard. Getting shot like that. Did I teach you nothing?"

The voice seemed to be all around him. It filled the void he was in. Bodie opened his eyes. Void? He was in a bed, just not his bed and after looking about, it did seem like he was in a void of sorts. He thought he recognised the voice as he closed his eyes.

"Oi. Go away. I'm sleeping."

"Can't. I'm here for your welfare. I always seem to be doing that."

The whinge was more than familiar. "Keller? What are you doing here?" Bodie opened his eyes, looked about but couldn't see anyone or anything. Was he dreaming? Nightmare, more like. He tried to wake up, but nothing changed. Damn.

"You deaf? I said your welfare."

The voice seemed exasperated, emanating from swirling fog in the corner. Not that there was a corner, just where Bodie thought there could be one.

"What's the point of your disturbing my sleep?" Bodie requested of the possible apparition.

"To help you make the right decision." The voice floated about the room.

"I don't need any help in decision making, especially from you. No bragging rights on your track record." Bodie rolled over.

"Wounding. But this is not about me. It's about you. Never saw that yellow streak down your back till now." The voice held satisfaction that the barb hit home.

Bodie rolled back and half sat up like a shot. "I never turned down an assignment, dangerous or not!" he bristled toward the voice.

"No, not on the job. This is more personal."

"Nope." Bodie flopped over and covered his head with his sheet.

"Have you tried waking up? I mean really waking up." Keller asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, thank goodness. Means I'm not dead and this is hell?" Bodie asked, disgruntled. He had tried but he didn't know where he was or why.

After a long-suffering sigh, Keller asked. "You figured it out yet?"

"Oh bloody hell! Are you supposed to be Jacob Marley? A precursor to three ghosts?" Bodie's tone was incredulous in the extreme.

"No ghosts. Just me."

"Why you? Last I heard you weren't dead."

"Not dead yet. In a coma. No travelling to the past with me."

"Oh, so I don't rate the actual ghosts?" Bodie sounded amused.

"Nah, you're not a bad bloke, Bodie, just thick."

"Can you be any more obscure?"

"Made my point for me!" Bodie could hear the grin in Keller's voice

"Oh, shit, you're gonna show me when I die."

"No, but maybe Doyle."

"Nope! Don't want any part of that," Bodie yelled to the Keller form that seemed to becoming more substantial.

"No choice, mate. You're here."

Bodie noted that the bed disappeared and a room of sorts materialised. He was dressed in fatigues, comfortable and well worn. Bodie sighed. "Where is here?"

"Oh, that's a hard one." Keller paused a moment then clarified. "Somewhat like a bridge leading to where I need to take you."

"Okay. Again, why you?" Bodie looked questioningly at his old friend who seemed to be more real at last.

"Seems to be my lot, saving you," Keller said as he grinned. Bodie could see it this time.

"So, if I haven't done some big bad that I need to right, why are you bugging me?"

"This isn't about righting some wrong in your past, Bodie, it's about your future."

"I can handle that just fine." Bodie looked away from Keller into the nothingness that surrounded him, jaw clenched.

"We shall see. Hold my arm so you don't get lost."

"Nope. Fine, I'll stay here." Bodie folded his arms across his chest.

"Doesn't really matter. Where I go, you go. How it works." Keller stepped forward and Bodie was at his side.

"How what works?" Bodie asked again.

Keller waved his arm about. "This, now come on."

The two walked down the bridge that suddenly appeared and ended on what seemed to be the roof across the street from a row of houses. With a snap of Keller's fingers, the street below became alive with activity.

Keller pointed to a car approaching and they watched the scene unfold.

A Capri, his Capri actually, pulled-up and parked in front of a house with a Christmas tree in the window and a real tree in the yard. The front door opened and a woman with grey hair and flour-speckled apron stood waiting with open arms as he watched himself and Doyle approach her.

"Oh, Ray, you finally brought Bodie. So wonderful to have your fella here at last. Supper will be on soon." Mrs Doyle ushered them into the house then fussed about in the kitchen as she hummed to herself.

Doyle led Bodie to his old room. "I'm so glad you agreed to come this time. She'll feed you well."

Once the door was closed, Bodie asked, "Your fella?"

"Depends how you feel about it," Doyle responded with a mischievous smile.

"Quite like the idea, to be honest," Bodie replied.

"Just the answer I was hoping for." Doyle's eyes were alight with genuine excitement and love.

Doyle pushed Bodie back against the door and kissed him. A kiss that was answered in equal measure. Arms encircled one another as their passion grew. Doyle's hand reached down and pressed the obvious bulge, Bodie's head arched back. One touch sent him flying . . .

"Get a room," Keller interrupted the moment.

"Had one. Is that . . . "

"A possibility."

The scene faded from view.

Bodie was trying to control his own reaction to the scene, not shocked as he might have expected.

The bridge was back and they exited completely opposite from last time. This time they seemed to be in the future but it could have been yesterday. It was like a floating tour of almost the same event. Doyle was asking him to spend Christmas at his mum's. He turned it down each time and headed home to a sterile flat and takeaway. Every year the same. A wistful thought intruded on how happy they looked . . .

They were back on the bridge.

"Short and not too sweet," Keller needled.

"Status quo. Doyle's my partner. I can live with that," Bodie stated firmly with no emotion in his voice, but the lingering memory of . . .

Another exit presented itself on the bridge. Keller led the way. Bodie followed on his heels as everything behind him disappeared.

This time it was like they were looking in the window. Bodie recognised the office. George Cowley's. Keller snapped his fingers and the scene began.

Doyle burst through the door of Cowley's office. Cowley just pointed to the desktop. There sat Bodie's ID and weapon. Doyle looked up and Cowley shrugged. Doyle tossed his own ID, and unholstered his weapon, and placed it on the desk. He turned his back on Cowley and walked out without a word.

They travelled without moving through time and materialised in a cemetery. Bodie recognised this one. He and Doyle jogged there regularly. Keller moved them swiftly through the rows of graves until they came upon one that appeared newly dug. Bodie expected to see his name on the headstone, but instead it read: Raymond Doyle.

Bodie turned away and shut his eyes. "Get me out of here. Now!"

Keller made a sound but didn't push Bodie. "Okay. Different place," he said a moment later, or minute or however time passed here, wherever that was.

Bodie opened his eyes cautiously and Keller pointed ahead to the church. They were inside faster than the building registered in his mind.

Bodie saw a wedding in progress. Doyle stood alone with the vicar watching a bride advance toward him. No one was seated on the groom's side. No one was there for him. Bodie made to move closer.

"You can't stop this. No one can see you. This is just a possibility."

Bodie turned away. "I don't want to see this."

"Bodie, look at Ray's eyes. Is that really the gaze of a happy man on his wedding day?" Keller pointed to his partner.

Bodie looked a few seconds before he turned his back. "Evidently that was his choice." His voice sounded petulant. He tried to make himself believe it.

"You left. He's just trying to fill a void." Keller turned away and the scene faded.

They were back in the room where they started. Bodie moved about, looking for a way out.

"These are just the possibilities, Bodie, you can ignore these, or you can try to affect a change. The choice is yours." Keller waited but his friend didn't know how to grab a lifeline. "Bodie, do you really think that the Ray from the first scene wanted that wedding more than what he had just discovered with you?"

"He sometimes seemed to be moving that way," Bodie said forlornly.

"Bodie, you stubborn bastard. Really remember that kiss. Did that seem feigned or casual?"

Bodie remembered all too clearly, the look, the way it felt. His partner had looked happy. He had felt happy. Doyle's mum had referred to him as his fella. "Is that a sure thing?"

"Just one of the possibilities. Your choice."

Bodie smiled at the man. "Thanks, Keller. I mean that."

"That's another one you owe me, Bodie." Keller chuckled as he faded from view.

Bodie took a deep breath and forced his eyelids to open. He needed to see where he was and be the bravest he'd ever been.

This time, waking was easy. Bodie opened his eyes as the familiar sounds and scents associated with being in hospital filled his ears and nose. He turned his head and saw Doyle sitting by the side of his bed. Relief filled him. Maybe it wasn't too late. He leaned closer toward his partner.

Said partner rolled his eyes and said, "Finally."

Bodie stretched his hand out. "Ray, I'd love to meet your mum."

The brilliant smile on Ray Doyle's face was recompense enough.

fini

Title: Not Quite 'A Christmas Carol.
Author: krisser
Genre: slash
Archive at Proslib: yes please
Summary: Bodie has a Christmas time visitor.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 22nd December - Christmas Repar-tree

merentha13 — Mon, 22 Dec 2025 09:00:12 GMT

Christmas Repar-tree

Doyle let out an unhappy sigh as the frozen rain continued to tap on the windscreen. He shivered and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.

“Any idea why the girls called us in?” Bodie asked as he turned the Capri into the CI5 carpark.

“Not a clue, mate,” Doyle replied. “Ruth only told me that we were needed.”

They parked the car and ran through the wet weather into the building. Murphy met them by the door and told them to head to the VIP lounge.

Sally and Ruth were in the rest room when Bodie and Doyle wandered in. They were surrounded by boxes of what looked to be holiday decorations.

“Hello, ladies!” Bodie greeted them with a smile. “What’s going on in here?”

Susan looked at Ruth and nodded with a smile that made both of the lads a little nervous. “You boys are just in time to help set up the tree for tonight’s Holiday party.”

Bodie started to back out of the room.

Before he could escape, Ruth added, “Cowley’s orders.”

Doyle’s face lit up as he looked through the stack of boxes set on the floor. “Haven’t had a tree for years. Sounds like fun!” He reached for a string of lights.

Bodie stared at him. “Are yew fir real?”

“What?” Doyle winked at him. “I’m pine.”

Bodie raised an eyebrow and nodded his willingness to join in. “Just don’t get too sappy.”

Susan rolled her eyes and Ruth groaned.

Doyle waved a hand at the two of them. “I guess we’ll be happy to help you spruce things up.”

“Yeah,” Bodie chimed in, “leaf it to us.”

They untied the tree and set it in its stand. Doyle turned to Susan. “Do you want us to start on the baubles? How do you want to hang them?”

“Ornamentaly, my dear Watson,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

“How did the op go?” Ruth asked as she uncovered a plate of Christmas cookies. "Did you get all the info?"

Bodie, eyeing the biscuits, replied with a laugh, “Ol Cowley will be sitting on pines and needles until he gets the report from the Special Branch.”

Doyle watch as Bodie reached a hand wrapped in glittery threads towards the cookies. “Careful there, mate. Get those decorations near your mouth and you could get a case of tinsillitis.”

“Very funny, Doyle." Bodie looked to Susan and asked, “May I please have a chocolate biscuit, miss?”

“I guess the question is,” Doyle challenged, ”have you been knotty or nice?”

“I’m the nice one,” Bodie insisted, tangling the silver strands into Doyle’s hair.

“Son of a birch, Bodie," Doyle yelled. “Get that stuff out of my hair!”

“Sorry,” Bodie pouted and detangled his partner.

They all started decorating the tree, hanging ornaments and tinsel.

“Looks quite nice,” Doyle remarked when they’d finished. “You girls should take a bough.”

Ruth sighed .

“One more thing to add,” Susan said and wrapped a blanket around the base of the tree.

Bodie’s rubbed his hands together – his face lit up and Doyle groaned, “Don’t-“

Bodie ignored the warning. “Why do Christmas trees wear skirts?”

Everyone looked at him.

“So you won’t cedar roots!”

“Enough with the puns,” Ruth sighed again. “You’re berks are definitely not the Two Ronnies!”

“Maybe not,” Bodie conceded. “But you have to admit - we have great chemis-tree!”

Title: Christmas Repar-tree
Author: merentha13
Genre: Slash, Holiday
Archive at ProsLib: Yes
Warnings: puns
Notes: apologies to all :-)
Summary: a bit of wordplay.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 21st December - ProsFic - The Straight and Narrow by Slantedlight

byslantedlight — Sun, 21 Dec 2025 23:49:26 GMT

Okay, I have a confession - my story isn't quite finished, so this is kind of a place-holder post. It would have been finished, except that about twenty minutes ago my other laptop, the one I was writing on, completely black-screened on me, and I lost the last five minutes of writing I'd done. So I had to mess around, and thank goodness got it to start up again and rescued the rest of my story and sent it fast to myself by email, but... now it's quarter to midnight, and not only do I not have time to finish before midnight, but I have work tomorrow morning, so... Waaaah!

So I have posted all but the last few paragraphs (which are only written in my head) below, and I really recommend that you don't read them yet! I will try and finish tomorrow, and then remove this header from the post so that you can see it's done and ready to read.

And I was having a perfectly good winter solstice day until that happened!

It's finished! Sorry for the delay...

On the Straight and Narrow
by Slantedlight
Doyle should have known. His copper’s nose had twitched at the time, watching two of the three ambulances peel away with their lights flashing, the sirens rising into the sodium-lit night when they hit London traffic. The third ambulance had been a bustle of activity for a few minutes, unwanted equipment being packed away, the drivers sorting themselves out ready for their next call - except that one had stopped and stared right at him for what felt like a solid minute, an unexpectedly intense stare, before turning away and hoiking himself into the driver’s seat of the vehicle. Doyle had squinted through his memory for a moment, sure he knew that face, but then Bodie was beside him, and irreverent as he could be after these difficult ops, jollying him along, and into the car to get them home, and how likely was it, after all, that some villain had got a job as an ambulance driver?

And now there he was, in the doorway to Doyle’s flat, no one else he could be.

Doyle felt Bodie come up behind him, steps silent on the heavy carpet, alerted by his own copper’s nose that something was happening when they were supposed to be home for the evening, the first of an entire week off work together, dinner cooking away, both of them ready to settle in front of the telly and just relax after what had been a hell of a month.

“Purple Velvet!”

The man blinked.

“Trevor,” Doyle remembered, and Trevor nodded, looking nervous but determined.

“Didn’t think we’d see you again.” In fact he’d wondered for a long time whether they might, with Purple Velvet being an ambulance driver, and themselves being up close and personal with more than their share of ambulances, but the months had passed, and then a couple of years, and his mind had made space for other things instead.

“Yeah, well.”

He still didn’t seem keen, Doyle, thought, which could only mean one thing.

“Can I come in?”

“Saw you earlier,” he said, without answering the question. “Still driving, then?”

Trevor nodded, looked him defiantly in the eye. “Got me certificates an’ all.”

“Yeah?”

“Millar trained,” Trevor confirmed.

“No pilgrimage this year?” Bodie interrupted. “Isn’t it almost the shortest day? Shouldn’t you be off hugging a rock somewhere?”

Trevor’s nose twitched, but he didn’t rise to it. “Tomorrow. Just finished my last shift until New Year,” he said. “Can I come in or not?”

Doyle glanced at Bodie, who rolled his eyes, but shifted, and headed back into the living room. Doyle held the door open, gestured Trevor through.

“Thanks, man.”

Bodie settled onto the sofa, and Doyle took his place beside him, leaving the armchair for Trevor. The man didn’t sit though, standing in front of them, clutching his hands together as if he should be holding a string of pearls. After a moment he paced a few steps towards the window, stared out through its reflections over the rooves and streetlamps and dotting headlights, and then turned back again towards the other, ending where he started.

“You in trouble?” Doyle asked, because he might as well cut to the chase if Trevor was going to take his time like this. He’d been looking forward to dinner.

“No!” Trevor said emphatically, then closed his eyes and opened them again, wringing his hands together in nervous energy. “Or at least…”

“What have you done?” Bodie asked, with a put-upon sigh. “We’re not your get-out-of-jail-free card whenever you fancy a spot of anarchy - capiche?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Trevor protested, but his hands finally fell to his sides, and then crept into the pockets of his uniform trousers. “There’s other ways to start a revolution, you know.”

Yeah, Doyle did know actually, and he was surprisingly pleased to hear that Trevor had worked it out.

“Thing is… one of my mates has. Done something. I think…” He paused, then spoke all in a rush. “He’s stolen from me. Stolen something important, but I can’t track him down, and I can’t wait for the coppers to file a report and then forget about it, and I saw you at the pick-up earlier, and I thought maybe you might help. For old time’s sake. Or know who could help, because I’ve got to get it back, it’s important. Not just to me…”

“Alright…” Doyle waved a calming hand. “Sit down, will you. What did your mate take?”

“It’s not our job, Ray…” Bodie began, and Doyle shushed him with a hand on his knee.

“Go on,” he said, nodding to Trevor.

Trevor eyed them as suspiciously as if they were the thieves, but he sat down, perching on the edge of the armchair. “You know what a Wassail bowl is?”

“A was-what bowl?”

“Wassail. It’s from an ancient tradition…”

“Of course it is,” Bodie muttered, but Trevor just glanced at him and carried on.

“…wishing your neighbours a good yuletide, and taking a drink with them. People used to go door to door for yule with a big cup of punch - a bowl really - with lots of handles, and everyone would take a sip, and that’d bring luck…”

“…and plague…”

“Knock it off, Bodie,” Doyle said, when Trevor paused this time. “Okay, so that’s a Sail cup. What’s that got to do…”

“Wassail,” Trevor interrupted him. “A Wassail cup. They’re old, see, really old. No one’s gone proper wassailing since the 1700s. Okay maybe 1800s. But old, yeah?”

“Old,” Doyle confirmed. “We get it.”

“And old is valuable, right?”

“Sometimes…”

“Well this Wassail bowl is old and valuable - and it’s gone.”

“Gone from where?”

“My…” Trevor halted again, then took another breath. “From my mantelpiece. Me and the missus found it in a junk shop in Deptford, covered in dust and muck. We took it to the museum and they agreed it was the real deal. Wanted to buy it off us an all. But we don’t want the loot - we’re gonna start a revival, get everyone together again, and…” Another pause. “Only it’s gone, and I think I know who stole it.”

“So why…?”

“Wait a minute,” Bodie interrupted, leaning forward. “Your missus?”

“Man can get married if he wants, can’t he? Don’t need your permission…”

“Congratulations,” Doyle said hurriedly, before everything was derailed again, and dinner was delayed even longer. “So you and…?”

“Sukey,” Trevor said, and his eyes softened. “Me and Sukey had it on the mantelpiece, cleaned it up properly. It’s a pottery one - they’re usually made of wood, but it’s got the handles and everything. Look - I brought a picture…” He fished in his inside pocket for a moment, pulled out a photograph of three men, all with beards and what were probably drunken smiles on their faces, and all clutching the most bizarre looking object Doyle had seen in a long time.

“And that’s a Wassail bowl,” he said, shaking his head. It was indeed a pottery bowl, but curved handles jutted out all around it - eight, nine… ten of them. What did you do with it? Fight over who was getting the next mouthful? “So your mate just picked it up by it’s handles, and tucked it in his bag, and now you can’t find him.”

“Yeah, that’s the long and short of it,” Trevor confirmed. “We had it valued and they said it was worth at least £5000, and Mikey came over to borrow money, only we haven’t got it to spare just now, and then the bowl was gone this morning, so…”

“So he’s probably going to sell it, and you saw us and thought we might know the dodgy dealer he’s going to try and sell it to.” Bodie shook his head. “There must be hundreds of antique shops in London - why d’you think we can track it down?”

“But it’s different, see - it’s a Wassail bowl. It needs a specialist. If he wants money he’d have to find the right dealer to sell it to, so he might go to a fence…”

“He’s already got a fence,” Doyle said, realising, snapping his fingers. “He’s done this before.” Of course he had. However much he’d reformed now, Purple Velvet had once run with a dodgy crowd - it made sense that some of his mates were still dodgy.

“Well…”

“Listen, sunshine,” Bodie said. “There’s still hundreds of fences in town...”

“Not like this one.” Trevor shook his head. “He told me about her before. Years ago when… when I might have been into that scene. Very distinctive, very specialist. Her name’s…”

“Margery.” Bodie’s face was alight with sudden glee. “Margery Harper!”

o0o

“So Purple Velvet’s taken a wife,” Bodie said later, as they got ready for bed. “Who’d ‘ave thought it. Sukey. Can just see her, built like a milkmaid…”

“Lay off, Bodie.” Doyle frowned, pulled his t-shirt over his head and chucked it towards the chair in the corner.

Bodie tutted, picked it up, and dropped it into the laundry basket instead. “What’s got your goat?”

“Whaddaya think?”

“Ah come on, Marge has probably forgotten all about you by now!”

She had most definitely not forgotten him, and he’d received a Christmas card sent to CI5 every year since they’d met to prove it, but that wasn’t entirely what was worrying him. He shook his head generally, undid the fly on his jeans and then stopped.

“Is it Trevor and his milkmaid then? Come on - you know what she’ll be like. Some hippy chick with blonde hair and apple cheeks and a fine line in natural fabrics. She’ll be tied to the sink and loving it…”

“Will you shut up!”

“Ray…” Bodie eyed him steadily for a moment, only half undressed himself, then took the few steps from his side of the bed and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Talk to me.”

Trouble was, he didn’t know himself, at least not enough to put it into the kind of words that Bodie wanted. He didn’t like that Marge would be as pleased to see him as he just knew she would, he didn’t care that Purple Velvet had settled down and got married, he just…

“He reckons his mate took this thing, right?”

“’S what he reckons.”

“And he reckons his mate knows Marge - which means he probably knows that his mate’s crooked as the day is long. And we’re gonna have to arrest him.”

“You pay your money, you take your chance.”

Bodie’d said that before, and Doyle knew it, but... “Trevor’s gone straight.”

“And you don’t want to set him off again.” Bodie sighed, squeezed him a little tighter for a moment. “We can’t let ‘em all go, sunshine.”

He knew that too, but he remembered Trevor and Amy, and Sid and the others, remembered what had happened to them in the wake of the Mullan snatch at Stonehenge.

“Besides - we’re not even supposed to be working! Look - what if we hand him over to the lads? Jax is on this Christmas, he’s soft like you, Marge’ll be all over him…”

“Just because we’ve got consciences…” He shrugged out of Bodie’s embrace, turned to face him. “Look - Trevor came to us, we’ve got to see it through. We’ll see Marge tomorrow, we’ll track down the bloody cup, and we’ll arrest his mate. And then it’s Christmas, right?”

Bodie stared at him for a moment, hands on hips, and then he nodded. “And then it’s Christmas.”

o0o

Alf - or was it Herbert? - ushered them into the cluttered living room with as stoic a face as he’d ever had. Marge was sitting at a desk, platinum-blonde hair shining in the overhead light, fountain pen scratching away in the quiet morning.

She looked up. “Ray Doyle, as I live and breathe! It’s been an age since you came to visit!”

It had been well over a year, Doyle knew, and he’d hoped it would be longer. It was the light in her eyes when she saw him that he couldn’t stand, the spark of hope that he’d never kindle but that he couldn’t well and truly expunge either - on Cowley’s orders.

“How are you, Marge?” he asked, standing still as she leaned in to give him a hug, and then a kiss on either cheek. “Oh, very continental.”

“I’ve just been to France,” she confirmed. “Stocking up for Christmas. You can fit an awful lot in a Rolls, you know, although Alf did say he was worried about the suspension.”

“Business doing well, then?” It hadn’t been a Rolls she’d cornered him in back then.

“I can’t complain. Drinkie?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, turning away to her drinks cabinet, and picking up a cocktail shaker that she clearly already had on the go. There was a splashing of liquid, the clinking of ice cubes. “I’ve got something new for this year - “Margery’s Tropical Gold”! When she turned back she was holding two glasses of bright yellow liquid that smelled dramatically of bananas and had a slice of pineapple and a cocktail umbrella spiking cheerfully from one side. “Well, we all need some sunshine at this time of year, don’t we!”

She led the way to the sofa by the wall, drinks in hand.

“Bit early, isn’t it Marge?”

Margery froze, and if her eyes had been daggers Bodie would have been down and out in seconds. “Some of us have been working all night,” she said, cold as ice. “This is my midnight, for your information. It’s not an easy life, you know, a woman making her way on her own.”

Doyle caught Bodie’s eye and frowned at him, but Marge had already turned back to him, melting visibly as she did so. She sat down and patted the cushion beside her, waited until Doyle had settled into it.

“There - now we’re all comfortable.” Marge smiled, clearly not including the empty-handed Bodie, and clinking her lurid drink against Doyle’s glass. “How can I help you, lover?”

Doyle took a deep breath. Definitely not forgotten… Beside him Bodie shifted so that their knees brushed, a kind of reassurance.

“You ever heard of a Wassail bowl, Marge?” he asked. “It’s a…”

But Marge was narrowing her eyes. “As it happens my friend Sebastian had someone ask about a Wassail bowl this morning. We don’t get many of them through. Why do you want to know?”

“Funny coincidence,” Doyle said. “Or not. We’re looking for one. What did Sebastian tell him?”

“Oh, it wasn’t a him. Men always assume you’re talking about another man.” Marge sniffed, took a sip of her drink. “No, it was a woman - a Japanese woman, in fact. He sent her to a friend of his - not that you heard it from me.”

Trevor’s mate had passed the bowl on already then - maybe even sold it. “Has your friend got a shop as beautiful as yours, Marge?”

Marge smiled, as prone as ever to a gentle compliment. “You do say the nicest things. It’s smaller than mine, but… more specialised. I don’t give his address to just anyone, you know.”

“It would really help us out,” Doyle said, lifting a hand to rest on her arm, cringing inwardly.

Sure enough, she bit her lip and looked at him from under long eyelashes. “Well, if it would help,” she said. “Since it’s you…”

“You’re a diamond, Marge - a real diamond.”

Marge blushed.

o0o

A bell rang delicately above the door when Doyle pushed it open, and he paused to look around before closing it again. Bodie had gone around the back, and the bell would at least let him know that Doyle was in.

Sebastian’s shop was an entirely different premises to Harper Antiques, where dark shelves and shadowed corners could hide a multitude of objet d’art and other items of more or less dubious provenance amidst the clutter and apparent disorder. The shelves here were starkly white and generously spaced, the items for sale arranged more like pieces of art than anything else - but there was nothing Doyle recognised as the Wassail bowl in Trevor’s photo.

After a moment when Doyle’s senses pricked uncomfortably, knowing he was being watched, a beaded curtain in the back wall rattled to one side, and a plump, comfortable looking man in a moss green suit entered with a smile and stood behind the counter.

“Good morning, sir! How can I help you?”

Doyle didn’t bother with niceties, just opened his ID and waved it under the man’s nose. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Oh my!” Sebastian smiled, and Doyle fancied it was nervously. “Well, anything I can do to help our boys in blue.”

“Think your jacket’s more of a taupe, wouldn’t you say, Ray?” Bodie appeared in the beaded archway, and Sebastian turned, startled.

“Have you seen anything like this recently?” Doyle asked, holding up Trevor’s picture of the Wassail bowl. “Please say yes, because we know you have.”

“Well… yes.” Sebastian’s smile barely faltered, but falter it did. He looked from Doyle to Bodie and back again. “Is there a problem?”

“That depends,” Bodie said, sauntering further into the shop behind the counter. “Who did you sell it for?”

“Oh now, I can’t disclose my clientele’s business!” Sebastian objected. “I’d never work again!”

“I think that’s a distinct danger today whichever choice you make.” Doyle kept his voice low.

“I say…”

It took half a second for Bodie to step up to the counter and swivel the man’s workbook towards him. “S. Smith?” he said, eyebrows raised. “Not very imaginative, that.” He turned to Doyle. “Nice of him to label it Wassail bowl though, wouldn’t you say? Next appointment 2pm.”

“Very helpful,” Doyle agreed, glancing down. “We’ll just wait until they get here.”

“What?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “Whatever for? I don’t…”

“’s alright,” Bodie said. “It’s only an hour or so. Doyle can nip out and get us some lunch.”

Doyle rolled his eyes.

o0o

In the end it was Bodie who went out to the bakery down the road, and came back with sausage rolls and custard slices all round, even for Sebastian.

“Can’t let you go hungry, can we - not our favourite snitch.”

“Favourite… what did you call me?”

“Snitch,” Bodie said, agreeably, taking a bite of his sausage roll. “You’re not making much money otherwise, are you?”

It was true, the shop had been notably quiet all the time they’d been there, and “S. Smith” was the only name in the book all day.

“Money?” Sebastian looked horrified. “I don’t make money!”

“No?” Doyle looked over at Bodie. “Funny kind of shop, then.”

“Shops are usually there to make money,” Bodie agreed. He turned to Sebastian. “Don’t you want to make money?”

“I don’t need to!” Sebastian huffed. “I do this for the art of it - to keep our beloved traditions alive!”

“He’s another Purple Velvet,” Bodie said, nodding sagely. “In it for the love.”

“What’s purple velvet? And I am in it for the love, as a matter of fact! I’m independently comfortable, not that it’s any of your business! Are you sure you’re CI5? You know I have a good mind to call your…”

The bells above the door rang.

“Ah, Mrs Smith!”

Bodie, Doyle, and the woman all looked up at the same time, eyebrows raised, and there was a brief pause while everyone tried to decide what to do with Sebastian’s overly-jolly greeting. Mrs Smith - a tall Japanese woman in a long floral dress overlain with a black coat - broke first. She bowed her head politely, and backed out of the shop, then turned and ran up the street, clutching a colourful bag to her chest, dodging shoppers with huge parcels, and prams, and the occasional dog on a lead.

From the corner of his eye, Doyle could see Bodie vaulting the counter, but he was already out the door himself, and then mere paces behind the escaping woman. She was fast, but Doyle was annoyed and therefore even faster. Ignoring the gasps and cries of the general public, he finally reached out an arm and grabbed her shoulder, so that she stumbled, had to catch herself on a parking meter, and finally came to a halt, breathing hard.

Bodie slid behind her, just in case she should try anything, but it was Doyle who gestured her to walk ahead of them, back to Sebastian’s shop, and tried to ignore the tears that had caught on her eyelashes. So this woman had bought the Wassail bowl from Trevor’s mate, and had - what? Come to collect it? She obviously knew it was stolen goods or she wouldn’t have run, or maybe she’d been planning to smuggle it out of the country, and didn’t want the attention…

Sebastian must have had some kind of survival instinct after all, because he was waiting for them in the shop, leaning casually against the counter, and drinking a cup of tea. Sitting in front of him was one of the strangest objects Doyle had ever seen - a many-handled pottery bowl. The woman gasped when she saw it, but otherwise said nothing, and kept her head bowed.

“Is this what you were after then?” Bodie asked her, turning her so that she was facing it full on. “Fetch a pretty penny back home, I expect?”

She shook her head, said nothing.

“And you,” Doyle said to Sebastian. “Who’d you buy it from, then?” He turned to Bodie. “How long d’you reckon he’ll get for handling stolen goods?”

“Stolen goods?” Sebastian spluttered. “Funny kind of stolen goods that spend more on the repair! Look at the goldwork!”

Goldwork? Doyle eyed the Wassail bowl in all its ceramic glory, then leaned over and peered inside. It was dark brown pottery - it couldn’t be gold underneath, could it? He lifted it high, peering at the base, was tempted for a moment to bring the whole thing smashing down, see what happened, but Trevor would never forgive him. Not, he reminded himself, that he owed the man anything at all - they’d done more than enough interrupting their own holiday to play detective for him.

“Right,” he said. “The local nick can sort you out.” He tucked the Wassail bowl under his arm, and let Bodie and Mrs Smith leave ahead of him, then turned back and winked at Sebastian. “Don’t leave town,” he said, for no other reason than to scandalise him. “We might want to talk to you again.”

o0o

South Road Police Station was predictably busy this close to Christmas. Doyle knew a couple of the uniforms, and nodded to them politely as they handed Mrs Smith, who’d remained silent about anything at all, over to the duty sergeant. He used his badge to keep hold of the Wassail bowl, and then to commandeer a telephone and call Trevor while Bodie chatted up one of the WPCs.

“You actually found it?” Trevor sounded breathless. “I can’t believe you found it! I knew I could count on you!”

“Yeah well,” Doyle said, “you’ve got about twenty minutes to get down here and claim it, and if you’re not here then we’re leaving it with the filth.” He gave a cheerful wave to a passing constable.

“So that’s that then,” Bodie said, as he slid onto the hard wooden bench beside him. “One last good deed, wrapped up in no time, and we can finally go enjoy some mistletoe?”

“Just gotta hand it over to Trev,” Doyle confirmed, “and then we’re done.”

“On holiday,” Bodie said cheerfully. “Our time our own, our fridge stocked full of…”

“Gannet. You only love me for my well-stocked fridge.”

“Oh I dunno.” Bodie smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got other well-stocked…”

“Cup of tea?” Doyle suggested hurriedly, reaching into his pocket for some coins for the machine. “My treat.”

It was in fact two cups of tea later that there was a commotion at the station door, and Trevor’s pointy face made itself known - surrounded, strangely enough, by what seemed to be three other faces, all hooded against the cold, and each with a runny nose.

“Have you got it?”

“Morning Mr Bodie,” Bodie said. “Morning Mr Doyle. Thank you so much for rescuing my…”

“Yeah man,” Trevor said. “Cheers. Did you get it?”

Doyle took mercy on him. “We did.” He reached to the seat beside him, passed it over to Trevor - and blinked. He gestured to the three toddlers hanging from various contraptions around the man’s body; two against his chest, and another in a kind of papoose, peering over his shoulder. “Are they all yours?”

“Oh - yeah.” Trevor lowered himself carefully, undid a couple of buckles, and let the three children down to the floor, where they clutched at his legs and looked around curiously. “This is Daisy, Skye and Patrick. Say hi, kids.”

None of the kids said hi, shrinking cautiously back against their father, all dark hair and eyes and denim romper suits.

“So did it…” Trevor paused, swallowed. “Was it Mikey, then?”

Doyle shook his head. “We’ve not got that far yet - we’ll get the dealer in after Christmas. He’s not going anywhere.”

“But - you said you arrested someone. Who was it, then?”

“Dunno yet.” Doyle shrugged. “A woman. Your mate sold it, the dealer sold it on…”

“Japanese,” Bodie said. “Good market for that sort of thing abroad. Usually America, but…”

Trevor froze. “Wait - Japanese?”

“Yeah, that’s right…” There was a strange expression on Trevor’s face, one Doyle couldn’t quite make out. “Why, you think you know her?”

“Might do,” Trevor said slowly. “Can I see her?”

“Don’t see why not. Save time if you can ID her for the lads.” Doyle gave him a curious look, then gestured to the duty sergeant, rolling his eyes. That was all they needed, Purple Velvet’s mate to be part of an international crime syndicate stealing historical - he thought of the Wassail bowl - things.

“Just once,” he muttered to Bodie, “I’d like a holiday that doesn’t involve busmen.”

“Don’t look at me - you’re the one let him into the house.”

“Yeah, but…” He broke off and looked down to find one of Trevor’s toddlers tugging enthusiastically at his jeans.

Unfortunately it took time for Mrs Smith to be extricated from her cell and brought upstairs, and Trevor’s three children gained rapidly in confidence. Daisy - or possibly Skye, or maybe Patrick - suddenly recognised a fellow playmate and latched on to Bodie as if he was their best friend. They were currently colouring in together, a page each in a book provided by Daisy’s - or Skye’s, or maybe Patrick’s - dad, each with the tip of their tongue sticking out in concentration. Doyle would have laughed if he hadn’t been busy playing Simon Says with the other two.

Trevor watched on benignly, shooting occasional narrowed-eyed glances at the stairwell behind the duty desk.

Bodie was paying careful attention to the bow-tie worn by the penguin he was colouring, and Doyle had painstakingly lifted his hands to his shoulders yet again, when a dark head began to rise in the background, following shortly by the checker-banded cap of the duty WPC, and then a sudden desperate flurry of activity and the raucous shouts of children.

“Ma-ma!”

“Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!”

“Mu-u-u-u-u-um!”

“Sukey!”

Doyle fielded an orange crayon that had probably not actually been aimed at him, since its owner was running in the opposite direction, arms raised and with a joyous shriek, and glanced at Bodie.

Bodie was frowning in the general direction of Trevor and his - family? All of them? Sukey? - the effect slightly lessened by the tip of his tongue still protruding from the corner of his mouth.

“Mama!”

“Mum! Where you?”

“Mumma!”

Trevor’s arms were wrapped around their prisoner, who had buried her face in his shoulder, reaching down to hold her children to her, somehow all three of them at once.

The WPC exchanged glances with Doyle and raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head, shrugged and waved her away. She tipped her head in the direction of the station book, an unnecessary reminder, but subsided behind the desk.

“Daijōbudesuka?”

“Gomen'nasai - Gomen'nasai!”

“Anata ni wa ayamaru hitsuyō nante nani mo nai wa, itoshī hito…”

“He’s speaking in tongues,” Bodie said, from the side of his mouth. “D’you think we need an exorcist?”

“Shut up, Bodie...”

“Shut up, Bodie,” Bodie agreed, shifting to stand closer, their shoulders a warmth together. “Alright then, Doctor Doolittle, you gonna try something more direct?”

“Doctor Doolittle?” Doyle asked, momentarily distracted. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“Didn’t he speak all the languages?”

“He spoke to the animals… oh, never mind!” But Bodie was right about one thing - happy families had gone on long enough. “Oi!”

Even the Desk Serg. and WPC looked up.

Trevor and Sukey started apart, although Trevor kept a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“Got something to tell us, Trev?”

“No!” Trevor beamed at him. “It’s all alright! Just a misunderstanding!”

“Oh - a misunderstanding,” Doyle said, straight-faced. He looked at Bodie. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“Well that’s alright then.” Bodie nodded along. “If it’s just a misunderstanding. So we can all go home, then?” he asked Trevor.

“Yeah man! We can all… oh.” Trevor’s face fell. Something to do, Doyle suspected, with the fact that neither he nor Bodie were smiling back. “I mean…”

“I’m so sorry to have caused you trouble!” Sukey spoke suddenly, quietly, as Trevor’s voice fell away. “I didn’t know that there would be confusion - it’s not my husband’s fault.”

Doyle stared at her for a moment, and she gazed back at him, looking apologetic, and perhaps just a little bit defiantly scared. He took a breath. “Right, why don’t we all sit down,” he suggested, ushering them to one of the wooden benches that lined the wall. They followed obediently, the children like little ducklings behind their parents, until they were all sat neatly in a row, the Wassail Bowl set carefully on the floor between Trevor’s feet. Bodie commandeered a couple of chairs from behind the duty desk, and settled them side by side, facing the family.

“Now,” he said, nodding to Trevor. “Why don’t you introduce us.”

Trevor nodded back agreeably, and Doyle could see him giving Sukey’s hand a squeeze. “This is my wife, Sakura, and you’ve met Daisy and Skye and Patrick.”

“Sakura,” Bodie repeated.

“It means cherry blossom,” Trevor said, and then added proudly, “Sakura Smith.”

“Trevor Smith.” Doyle confirmed. How had they never known that?

“That’s right - Trevor and Suki Smith. Mister and missus,” he said, and there was no missing the warmth in his eyes as he spoke.

“Alright…” Doyle eyed the children, who were sitting, subdued, very close together beside their parents. “And how long have you been married?” he asked. “Where did you meet?” He supposed there was still the vague possibility of an international gang being involved. You could probably be a mother and the head of an international crime syndicate at the same time.

“Three years,” Trevor said, beaming again. “Well - three and a half. She was my Japanese teacher - an’ I knew straight away.” He looked gently at her. “My soulmate.”

Suki rolled her eyes at him, and Doyle’s impression of her rose a notch, but she was smiling too. “He was an excellent student,” she said.

“So you moved to suburbia and settled down for some domestic bliss,” Bodie said, with the air of a man who had decided he wanted to get home sooner rather than later. “And what happened to the Wassail Bowl?”

“It got broken,” Suki said, looking down at her hands, and Trevor’s, intertwined on her lap.

Trevor glanced at her, startled, and then eyed the Wassail Bowl. “It doesn’t look broken.”

“I frew ball,” one of the children interrupted, sliding down from the bench and throwing themself against their mother’s knees. “Sorry, mama…”

Suki leaned down and kissed the top of their head. “It’s alright Daisy, it was an accident.” She looked back up. “One of the handles came off - it was terrible, such an old artefact, and we said we’d look after it, we told the museum… So I took it to a friend who knows antiques, and he knew someone who was skilled in kintsukuroi, and I thought that would be the best thing, even if it wasn’t traditional English…”

“Couldn’t you just glue it?” Bodie asked, eyebrow raised, but it was immediately clear he’d asked the wrong question. Suki looked aghast.

“No!” she said, “It is too valuable for glue - it is old, it needs something for its spirit!”

And there it was, right there, the reason she and Purple Velvet were married.

“Show me,” Doyle suggested, feeling Bodie take a breath to say something that would probably not be helpful right now. “Where’s this repair, then?”

Suki nodded to Trevor, who picked up the bowl and passed it to her. She turned it around, and extended a narrow finger to one of the handles. Doyle leaned forward, squinting, then took it carefully from her. An incredibly narrow string of gold, barely visible, ran around it at the top and the bottom.

“Kintsukuroi,” she said.

Doyle stared at it a moment, wondering why it had to be gold, how that repaired the spirit ... But there was something else, something on the tip of his brain… Yes! He clicked his fingers, turned back to Suki. “Why did you run?” he asked. “If you were just getting it fixed, then why’d you take off like that?”

“I didn’t know who you were,” she said. “Sebastian looked so worried… and he can be very… straight.”

“Straight?”

“Bit of a stickler,” Trevor said. “Bit keen on the fuzz… um, the rule of law.”

“Ah, the dreaded fuzz,” Doyle muttered, unable to help himself.

“You mean he’s a decent, law-abiding bloke?” Bodie suggested darkly, shifting to casually press his knee against Doyle’s. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know Purple Velvet didn’t exactly respect the police.

Trevor simply ignored them both. “But why didn’t you tell me?” he asked Suki. “I get why you didn’t want to tell the museum, but why didn’t you tell me?”

Suki dropped her head, stroked her daughter’s hair gently. “The Wassail Bowl is old,” she said again. “I knew you wouldn’t be mad, but…” She looked back up, and held Trevor’s gaze. “You would be disappointed. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me!” Trevor said forcefully, throwing his arms around her. “Accidents happen!”

“Accidents happen,” Doyle repeated, purposefully not looking at Bodie who was pulling a nauseated face in his direction. He took a deep breath, couldn’t believe he was about to do this for Purple Velvet again. He stood up, crossed to the duty desk. “Alright,” he said. “Let ‘em go.

o0o

They ended up giving the Smiths a ride home, the three children peering excitedly out the windows at the Christmas lights and decorations that they passed, already shining brightly in the late afternoon. Now and then they clutched either their parents, or Doyle’s hair for balance when Bodie took a corner.

“You know,” Suki said suddenly to her husband, as they paused for a white van topped with half a dozen ladders to pull out in front of them on Haverstock Hill. “If we left now we’d miss sunset at the stones, we’d have to go straight to bed. The kids are already tired. Maybe we could… celebrate here this year?”

“What - on the Heath?” Trevor sounded dubious.

“You know they frown on dancing naked around here,” Bodie interrupted over his shoulder, and Doyle turned just in time to catch Suki rolling her eyes again.

“We wouldn’t…!” Trevor began. “Oh, you’re kidding…” He looked back at Suki. “But yeah - maybe you’re right. I can nip in and get… Oh, take a right on the next one, thanks... get what we need.”

Doyle whistled under his breath as they drove slowly along the red brick houses of Parliament Hill, sliding into a parking space almost at the end. “Nice,” he muttered, low enough that he wouldn’t be heard in the back seat.

Bodie shot him an amused glance as he turned the engine off. “Struggles of the working class, eh?”

They climbed out of the vehicle, flipped the seats forward to let their passengers out, and then stood back to let them get on with it.

He’d never thought of Purple Velvet as a poor little rich boy, although that had perhaps been the crowd he ran with back then. He was an ambulance driver, for fuck’s sake, hardly the career of either an heir or a spare, but the house he ran into, leaving them all behind, was three stories high, half-hidden behind a brick wall topped with elegant black railings, and he unlocked the door with a confidence that suggested it wasn’t flats, it was all his.

Suki was helping the children out of the car, lifting them one at a time onto the pavement, where they stood for a moment with wobbly legs, gazing back at the Capri, before drifting off in the direction of their father. They got as far as the gate before Suki called them back.

“We’re going on an adventure!” she said. “Who wants to see the longest night!”

“What’s longest night?” Patrick asked - was it Patrick? They were wearing identical pink bobble hats.

“Tonight is the longest night,” Suki said. “The sun is far far away, and from tomorrow it comes back and gets closer again!”

The children nodded seriously, looking up past the street lights to the darkening sky, and Doyle found himself smiling.

A door slammed in the house, and Trevor came bounding back to the pavement, a large wicker basket slung over one arm. “We won’t make it,” Trevor said. “It’s ten to four now.”

“Then the sun will set without us,” Suki said calmly, “As it always does.”

Trevor gazed at her lovingly for a moment, and Doyle glanced at Bodie, willing him not to make any more vomiting noises, but he was leaning casually against the car, just watching them, face unreadable.

“Come on,” Suki said, turning to smile at him, and Doyle blinked.

“What, us?”

“Of course you,” she said. “We must thank you for your help, and…”

“There’s really no need,” he began. “It’s our job…”

“Come on!” she insisted, “You must see the Wassail Bowl! And besides…” She leaned in closer, and Doyle automatically leaned forward himself. “Trevor makes his own wine - it’s very good!”

“His own wine?” Bodie glanced from Suki to where Trevor was now settling one of the children on his shoulders, and encouraging them to hold onto his hair. “Of course he does.”

“Last year was blackberry!” Suki said, and stepped forward to join her husband, sweeping up another child as she did so.

“Blackberry,” Doyle repeated, catching Bodie’s eye, and meeting another suppressed smile. He made the mistake of glancing down at the pavement ahead of them, and found himself being watched hopefully from just above knee-height. What the hell, he thought. If you can’t beat ‘em… He swooped down and picked the child up, lifting her high into the air before swinging her onto his shoulders, to sudden delighted giggles, and then racing after her parents, confident that Bodie would be following.

The Heath was all dappled streetlight already, fading off into shadows, and then bursting into the distant twinkling lights of the city as they climbed Parliament Hill proper. The child Doyle was carrying leaned her mouth down to his ear, cupping them ticklishly together, and whispered “Fairy lights!” before burying her hands in his curls again.

Bodie caught up to him, and they walked side-by-side along the path, following Trevor and Suki through dim woods, past other people, mostly with their dogs, hurrying to or from their homes and into the winter evening. The woods opened out again, and they veered from the path across damp grass towards another clump of trees, a circle of skeletal branches reaching into the night, surrounding even taller pine trees, their elegant trunks topped with darker shadows.

Trevor and Suki led the way to a bench at the side of the mound, and Trevor took a tarpaulin from the basket and shook it out onto the grass. The children were deposited onto it with little boxes of bread and cheese and apples, and the rest of them settled on the bench.

“Now,” said Trevor, glancing to the west. The sun had set as they walked, completely unseen behind a layer of cloud on the horizon. “This is what we’re here for.” He gestured behind them with a bottle. “Bouddicea’s grave,” he said. “Defender of the Britons, and the old way of life.” Suki passed him the Wassail bowl with a raised eyebrow, and he looked slightly abashed. “Well, they think it might be her grave. But it’s old.” He turned to the west again and raised the Wassail bowl, holding its handles firmly. “And the old year has passed with the dying of the sun, and now begins the night. But the sun will rise tomorrow, and the earth will expand and grow again, and to that we say - Wassail!” He took a long drink from the bowl, then passed it to Suki.

”Wassail!” She drank, and passed it to Bodie, sitting beside her on the bench.

”Wassail.” He caught Doyle’s eye, all twinkle and smirk, then drank deeply himself - and dropped the bowl quickly from his lips. “Bloody hell!” he added, coughing.

Doyle took a more judicious mouthful, tasting it for a moment before swallowing, something like strong cough syrup, but then nodded and took another. It was all blackberry at the end, a glorious burst of late summer caught in Trevor’s wine.

”Wassail,” he said, lifting the bowl to toast everyone around him.

Suki took it from him and knelt beside the children to let them taste it - “Mummy, yum!” - “Sail!” - and then passed it back to Trevor.

”Wassail, my love,” she said, as they held it between them for a moment, and Trevor shone at her in a way Doyle had never imagined he’d look at anyone.

He knew better now.

They sat quietly for a while, passing the bowl between them until it was empty, listening to the children’s slowing chatter. Trevor pointed out stars that appeared in a patch of clear sky above them, and it might be a cold night in December, but it felt, Doyle thought, as if it might finally be the beginning of their holiday. There were no villains. There was this solstice night with the Purple Velvets - with the Smiths, and there would be Christmas, and there would be Bodie.

Yeah, that sounded like a holiday to him.

“Bedtime,” Suki said just then, leaning down to pick up one of the children who had got up from the picnic only to slump, half-asleep, against her knee.

”Bedtime.” Trevor nodded, and began to gather the various boxes and apple cores into his basket again, where the Wassail bowl had already been tucked.

“Bedtime,” Bodie echoed, face all innocence except for a quirk to his lips that Doyle recognised for what it was. He narrowed his eyes, but that was never going to stop Bodie. “Well it is the longest night,” he continued. “Be good to finally get a decent night’s… sleep.”

“The dark holds treasures as much as the light,” Trevor announced, hoisting a child onto his back, and letting Suki tie the straps of the carrier. “It’s just a case of seeing what they are.”

Doyle couldn’t help his own smirk at that, turning away to try and hide it, trying to ignore Bodie’s wide grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

o0o

Doyle woke to the warmth of his own flat, and his own bed, and Bodie’s arm heavy across his chest, Bodie’s legs tangled with his own. There was a vague glow around his curtains, and they might not have got to sleep until late in the longest night, but he felt awake, ready for the day ahead. He tensed his muscles, stretching all over until Bodie groaned against him, and woke, reaching for him in mock protest that turned into something entirely different.

Somewhere the sun was rising, and Purple Velvet and his missus were no doubt being happily plagued by three over-excited toddlers, their Wassail Bowl runneth-ing all the way over, but here together in their own home, Doyle kissed Bodie, and smiled.

o0o

Title: On the Straight and Narrow
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Slash, always
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse do not belong to me, and I will put them carefully back after playing.
Notes: This one is a sequel to Perfect Alignment and A Crook in the Path. Also posted here to AO3.

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 21st December - Happy Winter Solstice!

byslantedlight — Sun, 21 Dec 2025 10:53:55 GMT

Happy Winter Solstice, northern hemisphere!

I'm not quite ready to make my main post for today, but I wanted to post this first, for various reasons. *g*

I hope my lovely sender doesn't mind, but I am going to start by sharing a Pros FandomCard that I received this year!

It combines all the things I love about this season. *g* It also reminded me very much of some fic I wrote, which seemed fitting.

Perfect Alignment

A Crook in the Path

and... *g*

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - December 20th - Word search Pros

krisserci5 — Sat, 20 Dec 2025 08:42:57 GMT

Happy 20th - a Pros word search.

I tried to get it to embed, massive failure - so 2 options. Actual search under cut or if you want an interactive version then go here. Word Search Pros 2025

Bodie ...........Doyle...............Cowley...............Susan
Macklin..........Ruth................Anson................Betty
Walsh............Marge...............Jax..................McCabe
Lucas............saucy...............caustic..............sexy
sensual..........astute..............alpha................smokey
adept............witty...............teddybear............shrewd
smart............resourceful

(. . . . can you match the trait to the agent? I'll add that list at end of day.)

Discovered in the Wassail Bowl - 19th December - Wassail Toasts

jinkyo — Fri, 19 Dec 2025 19:22:54 GMT

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season!

animated gifs under the cut.