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Chapter Text

A snowflake fell upon Simon’s cheek and then another onto the palm of his hand as he raised it into the air. Soon snow was falling heavily around him and the courtyard began transforming from a dull lifeless grey to a glorious white.

Suddenly a looming figure hovered over him, casting a shadow over where he sat, huddled for warmth in the corner.

“Enjoying the snow, Mr. Carter?”

Of course it was Major Mohn, who else would it be? Whenever there as a sense of impending doom, Mohn was sure to be found at the centre of it.

“Enjoying our winter, Mr. Carter?” He was pressing Simon for an answer.

“Not particularly.” Simon sniffed, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck and blowing the tips of his fingers which felt frozen, uncovered by his tatty fingerless gloves.

“I myself have experience far colder temperatures than this and far more harrowing conditions.” Mohn held his head high with pride.

“I expect you’ve had experience of coldness your whole life, Major.”

Mohn’s lips quivered ever so slightly. He studied Simon’s fingers with his eyes, how red they looked, how in need of warmth. “Cold hands, Mr. Carter?”

“Yes, but better cold hands than a cold heart.”

Mohn’s lips curled into a smile and he paced one single step closer. “No Christmas card from Cathy yet to boost your morale?”

Folding his arms, Simon sighed. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“How warm she must be. A roaring fire, another person’s touch maybe?”

Simon almost sprung up from his chair but stopped himself, instead glancing at his friends who were playing football to keep warm. He wished to join them but his injury meant he was still quite unable to play. Another reason to dislike Mohn.

“Why are you still here?” Simon finally said, unable to focus on anything other than Mohn’s figure standing against the falling snow, seeming to block out the light. That was how Simon believed the Major saw himself, as ruler over him, above him, to taunt him.

“You should wrap up warmer, Mr. Carter.”

“Why, are you concerned for my well-being?”

Mohn’s face showed no sign of feeling. It was like ice, so solid that not even a crack appeared. But Simon wanted to break it and hoped one day he could.

Reaching into his pocket, Mohn pulled out an envelope. “Your card from Cathy.” He threw it to him as though Simon were a dog playing fetch.

“Well then you better read it first,” Simon muttered.

“I don’t intend to read it.”

“Full of the tidings of Christmas, are we Major? Peace to your fellow man? Missing your loved ones?” Simon’s eyes locked on Mohn’s.

But Mohn’s eyes looked away first and he seemed to be processing something in his mind. He spun on his heels and turned away sharply.

Simon sneered. “Merry Christmas to you too, Major.”

Chapter Text

When James Eliot knocked on the door to Miss. Peterson’s office and heard no reply, he opened it to find Harriet asleep at her desk, her head resting on her arms. Underneath was a pile of paperwork.

“Harriet?” James said with a smile. “Harriet? Wakey wakey.” She didn’t rouse at his call so he gently nudged her elbow. “Harriet? It’s the voice of God, commanding you to wake up and go home.”

Suddenly Harriet’s eyes sprung open and she rose from her position. “What’s going on?”

“You fell asleep.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small mirror. She frowned when she saw her usual coiffured hair was unruly and her lipstick was now smudged above her lip. “Not a word, James.” She wiped the lipstick away and straightened her hair as best she could

“Busy day?”

“You know full well it was. I’ve been on my feet for twelve hours and haven’t been to bed for forty-eight.”

“Apart from that little siesta on your desk.”

She rose an eyebrow. “James, I can hardly take your humour at the best of times.”

He helped her to her feet. “Come along, Harriet, I’ll take you back to mine.”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m an invalid or even worse a potential date?”

He laughed. “Like a friend. I don’t think you should drive if you’re that tired, besides, Ian’s away isn’t he, why don’t I cook you some dinner?”

“Are you all that desperate, James?”

“Of course not but I bought some new saucepans.”

“Well what girl can turn down an invitation like that?”

…

Helping Harriet out of the car door, James led her inside and poured her a drink as she sat down in one of the white stylish armchairs.

“I’ve no idea why you’ve taken pity on me. It’s hardly the first time I’ve had a tiring day. Really James, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Never said you weren’t, wouldn’t dare. If I’m honest, I’m shattered too, could do with a bit of company to stop me falling asleep.”

“Well don’t fall asleep whilst cooking, that could be hazardous.”

“And you’ll file a law suit against me?”

They both laughed.

“What’s on the menu then?” she asked, trying to get comfortable on the modern furniture more made for style than comfort.

“Curry alright?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give it a bit of kick, keep us on our toes.”

“I’ll give you a kick in a minute if you don’t get moving.”

“Yes Harriet, at your command, Harriet.”

As he was about to leave, she called him back. “Thanks for inviting me, James.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “My pleasure. We must take care of each other.”

Chapter Text

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Albany,
not a creature was stirring, not even dear Bunny.
He’d fallen asleep in the glow of the room,
waiting for Raffles who’d be home soon.

In the candlelight, he slept, dreaming away-
of kisses from Raffles and rolls in the hay,
of laughter they’d share as daylight arrived,
telling their stories of deeds they’d survived.

When all of a sudden, a key in the lock,
awoke dear Bunny with a terrible shock.
Some footsteps were heard on the wood of the floor,
someone was standing there at the door.

In the light, Raffles stood, like an angel to greet him,
and a hat for a halo with a very large brim.
A cloak on his back and a grin on his face,
Raffles had arrived back to his place.

His hands held a sapphire, sparkling bright blue,
a string of pearls joined it with rubies too.
A palm full of treasures dazzled and gleamed,
the beauty he held was more than he dreamed.

“Now Bunny, dear Bunny, isn’t it grand?
There’s loot for us both, give me your hand.”
Bunny was shocked, his eyes open wide,
“You’ve stolen all this without me?” he cried.

“I had to, dear Bunny, for you were asleep,
lost in adventures and dreams that were deep.”
“Oh Raffles,” he said, “I’m so glad you’re home.
This Christmas for once, I’ll not be alone.”

They snuggled as one, by the warmth of the fire,
being together, their one true desire.
The jewels on the table were sparkling so bright,
and so did their love— Merry Christmas, good night!

Chapter Text

Noticing Callan asleep on a chair in Hunter’s office, Meres crept over to him and placed Christmas tinsel around his neck until he was brightly decorated in red and gold.

Callan’s eyes suddenly sprung open when he felt the tinsel tickle his cheeks. “Here, what’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s Christmas Day, old boy, don’t tell me you didn’t realise?”

Callan pulled the tinsel away. “I was hoping I slept through it.”

“Don’t be an old scrooge. Surely there’s something you’re hoping Father Christmas will bring you.”

“Yeah a bit of kip.”

Meres laughed and then placed some plates of food onto the table. “Liz got us a few treats so we can celebrate in…relatively cheap style.”

Callan groaned as he looked at the unappealing sausage rolls. “Too early for that lark.”

“Someone got up on the wrong side this morning.”

Callan ran his hand through his hair. “I never got up because I never went home. Christmas day, Boxing day, Valentine’s day, it’s all the bloody same to me, Toby.”

“You can at least have a glass of wine.” Meres handed him a glass and Callan drunk it hastily, ignoring the bits that dribbled down his chin.

“There you are, old boy, getting into the spirit.”

“No, I’m not. Wake me up when it’s New Year. Where’s Hunter anyway, he called me here for a meeting?”

There was a grin from Meres. “No, he didn’t. That was me. I knew you wouldn’t come if you didn’t think it was work related. Merry Christmas David, time to party.”

“You what?” He rubbed his bleary eyes. “A party?”

Suddenly a burst of music filled the room and Liz and some other colleagues entered, dancing to the music. Liz kissed Callan on the cheek, leaving a lipstick mark.

When there was no reaction, Meres pulled Liz aside. “Ignore him, he’s in one of those bah humbug moods. Isn’t that right, old boy?” Meres leaned down and kissed him on the other cheek.

“Get off!” Callan was already wiping his cheek.

“You doth protest too much, David.”

Callan was about to reply but noticed there was suddenly a conga line with Meres at the front. At first, he thought he was imagining it and then suddenly he found himself hoisted from his seat and leading the line. Meres’ arms clutched tightly around his waist and he was being nudged to get moving.

With only a slight smirk he reluctantly moved forward a few paces. “Alright, alright, I get it. It’s all a bit of a laugh. Toby, could you let go?”

Meres laughed. “Alright, everyone, let the old man rest, he needs to get his beauty sleep.”

Callan fell back into his chair, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the thumping music. Maybe if he fell asleep long enough it’d be spring!

He felt a blanket being laid across his back.

“Nighty night, David.”

Chapter Text

With a bundle of parcels under my arm, I entered Holmes’ sitting room to find it empty. The room was in a state of disarray with boxes and Christmas decorations strewn across the floor as though my friend had disappeared in the middle of something important which was not too uncommon if one knew my friend as I did.

“Holmes! I say, Holmes, are you here?”

There came no reply but I did hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. I made my way to the bathroom door and hovered outside for a moment, listening. “Holmes, is that you in there?”

There was no reply again but I could still hear the running water. I flung open the door and there he was, lying in the bath, his head submerged.

“My goodness! Holmes!” I scrambled to his side and wrenched him up, pulling him under the arms until he was above the water. Luckily, he was still breathing and alert.

He looked at me then with irritation in his eyes. “Watson, what are you doing blundering into my experiment?”

“Experiment, I thought you were drowning?”

“Why would I be drowning? Really Watson!” He sat up comfortably. “Your concern is admirable but I’m simply trying to determine how Mrs. Hawker was murdered in the bath.”

Noticing the tap was still running, I reached and turned it off. “Could you try and do that without flooding the bathroom?”

“Hmm?” Holmes was peering around the tub, inspecting some residue on the side, which I didn’t dare to ask the origins of.

“Well I’m sorry to interrupt matters, Holmes, it’s simply that you did promise to help me put up the tree and the decorations.”

“Tree? Decorations? For what?”

“Christmas, Holmes!”

“Mrs. Hudson does that.”

“But I want us to do it together.”

He smirked. “Well then together we shall if it means that much to you, my dear Watson. Why did you raise my head above the water though, I was getting somewhere?”

“I didn’t want you to drown. As tempting as it was to leave you, I had an attack of conscience.”

Holmes let out a short burst of laughter before his face was serious again. “Ha Watson, you are a genius!”

“I am?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t consider it before.”

With a flash, he was out of the bathtub, stark-naked, and pacing the floor. “Yes!”

“Holmes, er…a towel perhaps?”

He ignored me and I looked around for a clean one. There was one hanging on the door but by the time I grabbed it, he was already out of the room, leaving a trail of soap and water, creating a rather foamy concoction in the sitting room.

“Holmes, towel!”

He was still naked, still pacing around the room.

“MRS HUDSON! MRS HUDSON!” he screamed as he headed to the door to the hall.

My eyes widened in horror. He couldn’t possibly greet Mrs. Hudson is such a state of nakedness! I raced forward, leapt over the armchair, nearly twisted my ankle but made it just in time to slam the door he had just opened.

“In a moment, Mrs. Hudson,” I said as I heard a tapping on the door.

I threw the towel at Holmes. “For goodness sake, your towel!”

He looked down at it and then suddenly laughed. “Oh, yes, thank you, Watson, it is rather chilly.”

Chapter Text

“Lancelot! Lancelot! Come and look outside!” Brian was wrapped up warm in a cloak and his face was red from the biting winter chill. The squire was shuffling on the spot, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Lancelot allowed his squire to lead him out of the castle to where snowflakes fell softly and delicately onto the already layer of white upon the grass. He laughed. “What’s the matter, Brian? Have you never seen snow before?”

“Not since I was a boy, Lancelot, and I could never play in it because I always had chores to do.”

“You still have chores to do!”

“Oh.” Brian’s head dropped downwards, sending white from his hair onto the ground.

Feeling guilty, Lancelot smiled and held his hands into the air, catching some tiny snowflakes onto his gloved hand which then melted with the touch. “I will admit to there being a certain magic in this whiteness. I wonder if Master Merlin had anything to do with this sudden snowy landscape.”

He moved two steps in the snow and felt it crunch under the weight of his heavy boots. He was so caught up in the sensation that he wasn’t aware of Brian collecting some snow and launching it at him. A pile of white powdery snow landed upon Lancelot’s cheek with a thud.

“Brian! Come here at once!” Lancelot commanded as he wiped the snow from his face.

A sheepish looking Brian walked forward to where his stern-faced master waited for him. Knowing he was in for a telling-off, he looked to the ground and was about to begin his inevitable apology when with a surprise he felt a hand on his hair and realised Lancelot was ruffling it. The grin on Lancelot’s face was a wonderful sight and for a few moments they admired the snow together, arms around each other’s shoulders, basking in the glow of the winter’s morning. With everyone mesmerized by the snow, Camelot was silent.

Chapter Text

Dressed in a fine tunic and some pantaloons, Lancelot arrived for the grand masquerade ball. The King and Queen were seated on their royal thrones, watching as all the guests filtered into the large hall. With eager eyes, Lancelot scanned the room in search of the Lady Angela who had agreed to be in attendance and would meet him there at sundown, dressed in crimson.

A sea of blue, green and purple gowns greeted him until he spotted a lady dressed in red by the banquet table. Her blonde hair was in ringlets and an elaborate gold and silver mask concealed her face.

“Lady Angela,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it gently. “How divine you look.”

Instead of the beautiful soft voice he was accustomed to, Lancelot could hear a raspy mumbling coming from behind the mask.

“Are you unwell my dear lady?”

“No, I don’t feel like talking.”

Lancelot frowned. “But your voice sounds different. Even taking into account the mask.”

“I have a frog in my throat.”

“Would you care to dance?” He held his hand out for her and she silently agreed, nodding in approval and allowing herself to be led to the dancefloor.

Before the dance commenced, they stood facing one another and Lancelot looked into the blue eyes of his lady. “I must say, your eyes are quite spectacular. I do not recall them being so vivid.”

There was a giggle. They took hands and Lancelot was about to move her around him when he noticed the shoes of the lady were not elegant or elaborate but in fact appeared to be muddy old boots. Why on earth would a lady such as Lady Angela wear such monstrosities?

“My dear lady, whatever has happened to your feet?” he asked, standing back.

There was a silence and then an awkward mumble. Lancelot noticed something familiar in the way Lady Angela moved and it wasn’t the way she normally did. In fact, it was very masculine, very fidgety and childish. His face reddened, hoping he was imagining it.

He reached forward and snatched the mask away. He gasped as the angelic young face of his squire, Brian, stood staring back at him.

“Lancelot! When you hear what a story this is, you’ll laugh!”

“Brian! You’ll be dead before I hear it. What on earth possessed you to dress up and slander fair Lady Angela in this way?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it, Lancelot. But she couldn’t make it and I knew you’d be upset and well…I didn’t want you to look a fool.”

“And yet here I am, dancing with my squire who’s wearing a dress!”

Brian lowered his head. “You were never meant to know. Sorry, Lancelot.”

Lancelot softened, able to see the kindness in Brian’s act. “Alright, I’ll forgive you. And you know, I did start to worry.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t remember Lady Angela smelling like she’d slept in the stables all day.”

Brian laughed. “Ah she may smell of roses, but I have the most vivid blue eyes, eh Lancelot?”

Lancelot grabbed his ear. “Don’t be cheeky. Get me a drink and take that stupid gown off.”

Chapter Text

With a sigh, Glover stared out of the window and held his pillow close to his chest.

“What’s the matter, Glover?” Figgis said, arriving beside his bed and sitting down.

“It’s raining.”

“So it is,” Figgis said. “Well its good to get a bit of rain. How else you think those daffodils get so sprightly?”

Another sigh emanated from Glover.

“What is it now?” Figgis asked, looking at the droplets of water as they made their way down the pane.

“Three days in a row now. It just reminds me of old times, that’s all. Mother and I trapped inside on raining days, warm by the fire, doing a jigsaw puzzle whilst waiting for father to return.”

“Ah well, see, that’s nice! At least you had a warm fire. My dad sent me out in the rain to fetch the dinner and I had holes in me socks! And when I got home, there was a leaky roof, rained on me all night. Still, I learnt to appreciate it.”

There was a moment’s silence as the two men gazed outside, almost mesmerised by the heavy downpour.

Figgis nudged Glover. “Here we go, isn’t that Norman out there saying goodbye to his latest lady friend? One of the patients this time, being discharged apparently.”

“Another one? How does that pipsqueak get so much female attention? And why is he standing there getting wet when he has an umbrella in his hand?”

“And you call yourself a gentleman, can’t you see he’s holding it for her?”

“I can’t see a jot in this rain.”

“He’s in love, man. Look, he doesn’t care about the rain soaking his pyjamas as long as she’s dry.” He laughed. “Look, he’s wiping a little raindrop from her nose as though it were a teardrop. Puts you in quite the romantic mood, doesn’t it?”

Glover folded his arms. “Not for me. I used to be that man holding the umbrella over a beautiful woman, now I’m in here…well…with you.”

With a wide grin, Figgis placed his arm around his shoulder. “Well, you can always place an umbrella over me if you like. Folks might talk but we’ll be alright.”

“Since when are you a beautiful woman, Figgis?”

“Oh, I see, not good enough for ya now! Too plain, too poor, too shabby. Norman would never treat me like this.”

“Figgis, I repeat this and slightly louder…you’re not a woman.”

“Not with that attitude I’m not.”

Glover sighed and then looked wistfully back outside the window. “He’s giving her a kiss. His slippers are soaked through.”

“He’ll be doing tap dancing in a minute. Gene Kelly of the Jack the Ripper Ward. Nah, I like the rain, it’s got a romantic feel to it. And not only that but it’s great when you’re out in the lorry and you splash unsuspecting victims on the pavements!”

“Roy!” Glover gasped. “You don’t really do that?”

“Tory or two. Blimey, you needn’t look so shocked, I’m not running ‘em over, though they deserve it. I’m giving ‘em a simple splashing. It’s only a little baptism.”

“Well you shock me, Roy. How one can talk of romance the one minute and then mowing people down the next I’ll never know.” He looked away from Figgis and back to the scene outside. “Good god, what is he trying to do with that umbrella?”

“Looks stuck, can’t get it down…the umbrella I mean. Oh, here he goes!”

They both grimaced at the same time. “Ouch.” They both said together.

“He may need stitches for that!” Figgis said.

“Poor devil, what a way to end a liaison. Well, at least he’s got us, eh Roy?”

Figgis put his arm around Glover. “Yeah. We’re like his snooping parents.”

“You’re not a woman, Figgis!”

“Still, I like the rain.”

Chapter Text

Under a blanket of stars in the summer night air, we sat together in contemplation, watching the water ripple ever outwards as we skimmed stones across the lake. The day had been scorching hot and the late evening had brought relief, not simply in its coolness but in its tranquillity and we’d sat for hours, doing absolutely nothing.

After Raffles had been declared the victor of our stone throwing game, I gazed at him, taking a moment to look upon his dazzling eyes– and the corner of his lips which curled—telling me there was mischief within him.

“What are you plotting, A.J?”

He feigned innocence as though he were utterly offended. “What possible crime could one commit here, my dearest Rabbit?”

“I can think of one or two.”

He smiled. He seemed to enjoy the implication.

“I wondered whether we might take a dip in the lake, shed our garments and surrender ourselves to it. It’s not quite blue champagne but it’s divine all the same.”

I felt my cheeks reddening. I was no stranger to being without clothes in Raffles’ presence having been together many times at the Turkish baths, but we’d never swam naked together under the stars. I of course couldn’t resist the invitation and so followed suit as he disrobed and stood proudly, comfortable in his own form. Within seconds I was as naked as he and I scrambled behind some foliage, feeling a sudden shyness at being so exposed to the elements. I could feel the dry soil beneath my toes which were then wet near the water’s edge.

“Come on, Bunny, time to get your fluffy tail wet!” he called as I saw him disappear into the lake.

The moon cascaded down upon the water and for a brief moment I felt it could’ve been some exotic lagoon. In the moonlight I saw Raffles submerge before rising to the surface moments later.

“Bunny, join me!” he called again.

I was so far from him that he looked like a silhouette in the distance. I made my way to his side, splashing about, feeling the cool liquid pass over my hot skin. It felt so liberating. I swam to Raffles’ side and under the moonlight his features sparkled.

“Caught me at last,” he said, grinning.

Suddenly his arms were around my chest and he was wrestling with me.

“You fiend!” I cried. “An unprovoked attack!”

Using my legs, I wrapped them around him until we were both thrashing wildly and laughing like schoolboys. When we stopped, we were looking at each other and I felt his damp lips upon mine. The world stopped. Time ceased. How little I cared about anything else at that moment.

Chapter Text

“Well this is new,” Meres said, looking down at the handcuffs that connected his wrist to Callan’s.

The last thing he expected was to be outwitted by a woman and sharing the tube journey back to base with a very irritated colleague chained to him.

They sat down on the seat of the carriage and looked at one another. An awkwardness swept over them, especially knowing the looks they’d get and what everyone would say once they returned.

“Well we certainly were both wearing rose-tinted glasses today,” Callan sighed. “She played you like a violin, played right to your vanity, Toby.”

“She also played you equally, old boy, only with you she put on an act that made you powerless to resist her vulnerability. Still, it could be worse I suppose. We could be dead.”

Callan rubbed his sore wrist. “I could also not be spending Monday morning handcuffed to you.”

“I don’t know…it is rather…kinky?” He laughed.

“Could you please say that louder, I don’t think the geezer in the next carriage heard you?”

“Certainly!” Meres raised his arm so their handcuffs were visible to everyone. “We were in the bathroom together, had a little trouble getting out of the cuffs.” He laughed, peering at Callan, hoping he’d annoyed him.

“I’m gonna sock you one in a minute, mate.”

“I’d like to see you try, David. If I’m unconscious you’ll find it darned tricky to move about.”

“Just be quiet until we can get these damned things off. You haven’t got any tools with you have you?”

Meres sighed. “Not unless you want me to get out my concealed weapon on the tube. Could cause a bit of a panic.”

“That really would cause a mad dash for the exit.”

“So, looks as though we’re stuck, old boy. We shall just have to get used to being so close to one another.”

Callan sighed and leaned up against the window. “Bloody great.”

Chapter Text

As Rosie handed Harriet a typed-up document, they heard a joyful whistling noise coming from the doorway. Harriet had never heard Bill whistle before, it seemed so unlike him and was about to mention it when she looked up and instead saw her former colleague James Eliot standing inside the door frame, leaning casually against it, still whistling the merry tune. Instead of a sharp suit and tie, he was dressed in jeans and an open collared shirt and had grown a beard.

“My goodness, James, is that you?” Harriet said, a smile erupting on her face at seeing her old friend.

“The one and only.” He moved over to her and kissed her cheek. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by for a visit.”

He next crossed over to where Rosie sat, looking up at him with sparkling eyes of excitement. “Mr. Eliot!”

“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, oh light of my life, how I’ve missed your face.” He leaned down and kissed her soft blonde hair. “How have you been, angel?” He presented her with a single rose.

She held the rose to her chest and sighed happily. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Eliot. I’ve been well. I see you’ve got a tan.”

He smiled. “Indeed I have, my dearest Rosie.”

Harriet folded her arms. “When you’ve quite finished flirting, James, I’d really like to have a proper look at you.”

He stood up straight, ready for her inspection. She walked around him and tutted.

“This gallivanting off and writing on an island has made you much scruffier. No suit? And what’s that on your chin?” She laughed.

“Don’t you like it? Jenny thinks it’s quite becoming.”

“Jenny… may need glasses.”

Laughing, James took Harriet’s arm in his. “Come on, you must be in need of a break what with all your new responsibilities. How about a drink? I’ll pay.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

…

Nearby, in a pub located near the chambers, James brought the drinks to the table and sat down next to Harriet. He glanced her over. She looked more or less the same but she seemed even more glowing somehow, contented maybe, full of spirit and determination. He’d missed their lively conversations and playful moments.

“And how are things in the world of Harriet, or should I say Mrs. Moody? I was quite disappointed not to get an invite to the wedding.”

“Oh really, James, I explained perfectly well in that letter that it was a hasty ceremony.”

James laughed. “No, I’m very happy for you both. But really Bill a best man?”

“He was still around, unlike some.”

“You sent me away to write a book.”

“You chose to write a book!”

“You couldn’t wait to get rid of me, admit it.”

Sipping her drink, Harriet’s eyebrow rose, not answering for several moments. “I made the decision for you. But you’re mistaken if you think I wanted rid of you.”

“So, you have missed me?” He let out a wide grin.

“Enough of that. How is this elusive book coming along?”

“I’ve done three chapters.”

“In a year! Is that all?” Harriet sighed. “I suppose with all those island maidens to tempt you.”

“Nothing of the sort. I’m just taking my time. Anyway, when are you and Ian coming to visit me?”

“When does one find the time?” She picked up the drinks menu and glanced over it.

James took the menu away from her. “No excuses. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“In that case, I’ll talk with Ian. But I think you’ll have finished your book before I have a gap in my schedule.”

Taking her hand in his, James squeezed it tightly. “I have missed you, Harriet.”

“You’ll make me cry in a minute.”

“I’m serious.”

“You don’t want your job back?”

“No, no,” he laughed, letting her hand go and staring upwards. “I’m just glad to be back for a visit. The new life is going well but there’s something about home that I miss. And these chambers and your voice bossing me about every morning, and Bill’s flustering.”

“Not the law then?”

“Sometimes. Oh, I don’t know. I’m restless. When I’m there, I want to be here. Here I want to be there.”

“Oh well that’s charming.”

“You know what I mean. Ignore me.”

“You’re brooding again, James. It’s only been a year. You’re still figuring it all out. You’re still young, you’re transitioning to a new place.”

“When did you get so clever?”

“Get clever? Honestly, James.” There was a brief pause before Harriet finished the last of her drink. “Well, come on then. You’ve taken me for a drink. Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? You can bring Jenny.”

“She’s visiting relatives.”
“Alone?”

“You should see the relatives. Think I’m safer with you, even if you are bossy. Will Ian be joining us?”

“Ian will not. Just when you get back in the country, he goes out of it. So, I’m afraid It’ll just be me.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You can read me some of this book of yours. Sounds like you could use some help.”

“I could do with a chapter four.” He laughed.

Helping Harriet from her seat, he linked his arm through hers as they left the pub and walked out to where the sun was beginning to set.

“I did miss you, Harriet.”

“You already said that. How much did you drink?”

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Flatterer.”

Chapter Text

With circling seagulls overhead and the sound of noisy chatter, Georgina climbed out of the back seat of the car and into the sunshine.

Adam Adamant joined her and then sighed as he looked for signs of danger across the long stretch of sand. “Miss. Jones, you’ve lured me to this beach under false pretences.”

Georgie laughed and jumped onto the sand. “Whoopee. It’s not a lie, really, it’s sort of a problem. Look, little Timmy is cheating at the sandcastle competition.”

“Miss. Jones, a child’s sandcastle hardly constitutes a national emergency.”

“I knew you wouldn’t come if I didn’t exaggerate slightly.”

“Slightly?”

“Well, while we’re here, let’s at least have a bit of a dip in the sea.” She handed her bag to Simms and started to take off her sundress.

Adam gasped. “Really, Miss. Jones, is there not some beach hut in which to remove one’s garments?”

“Nonsense, I’m done now,” she replied, slipping off the dress to reveal a floral bikini underneath. “Isn’t it fab? Got it new yesterday, Carnaby Street.”

Averting his eyes, Adam accidentally caught a glimpse of the two-piece. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“This is the rest of it. Honestly, Adam, you’ll have to get used to the latest gear if you’re here for good.”

“There are some things on this present-day Earth that I refuse to ‘get’ used to.” She laughed as she saw Adam glance at the lack of clothing on most of the sun revellers.

Simms laughed and began to recite a limerick with glee: “Miss. Jones is quite fond of stripping. This girl could do with a whipping. So let’s disembark, and go to the park, before we all end up nude dipping.”

“Simms, would you mind?”

“Sorry.”

Georgie threw her arms around Simms’ shoulder. “Oh, come on, don’t be spoilt sports, let’s all go for a swim.”

“I’m not suitably dressed,” Simms replied. “I’ll just sit on the sand and catch some of the sunshine, miss.”

“Adam?” She tilted her head, gesturing toward the sea. Her tongue peeked out from her lips.

“These tailored garments hardly lend themselves to…paddling.”

“You must be roasting in that gear.”

“Do not concern yourself, Miss. Jones, I shall remove my jacket.”

“Ooh living dangerously!” she remarked as she waited for him to remove it, and then linked her arm through his.

“I think you forget, Miss. Jones, going anywhere with you is living dangerously.”

Chapter Text

The phone rang, waking Callan from under his blanket, tucked up in his bed snugly. His face was sweating, his eyes bleary, his body trembling. He rolled over and managed to reach the phone with his shaking hand.

“Hello?” he croaked, feeling as though the phone was stuck to his hand and that he was floating in another world.

There was a deep voice talking to him down the phone. “David, so you’re not dead, old boy?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m offended. You cannot recognise the voice of your favourite colleague?”

“Toby?”

“I’m your favourite? Well that I am surprised. You really do sound rough, old boy. Whatever is wrong?”

Callan licked his dry lips, attempting to speak but his words mostly came out hoarse. “It’s something the medics call influenza, been around quite a while apparently.”

Meres laughed. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of humour.”

“What do you actually want?” Callan said. “The last thing I need right now is your voice at the end of the telephone. I’d rather have Lonely give me advice on hygiene.”

“Touchy! Touchy! You need to get well. You’re needed.”

“Leave me to die in peace!”

“I’ll bring over your homework, a few files to peruse.”

Suddenly the phone cut dead from Callan’s end. “Callan? Callan?” Meres called. He smirked as he put down the receiver and picked up a file.

When he arrived at Callan’s flat, the door was left open a crack and Callan was crawling on his hands and knees towards the sofa. Meres smirked as he kicked the door shut with his foot.

“Late night on the tiles?” Meres laughed. “Or should that be bathroom tiles?”

Callan managed to look upwards and see the smug but somewhat handsome face of Toby Meres looking down upon him. “I’m going to sock you one in a minute, mate.”

“I’d love to see you try. Come on, take a swing at me. You’re a tortoise at the moment, David. Oh, do come out of your shell.”

With a groan, Callan managed to hoist himself onto the sofa where he whimpered like a small animal in pain and hugged his knees to stop the tremors.

Meres touched his forehead. “I could fry a breakfast on you. Speaking of which, have you eaten?”

“Funnily enough, no.”

“You must keep your pecker up. Here I made you some soup.”

Callan looked at him with suspicion. Why on earth was Meres making him soup? Had he stumbled into some parallel universe or had the delirium finally taken hold of his mind?

“You made me soup?”

“Well no, I didn’t make it, obviously, but I brought it here to make sure you’re keeping hydrated and nourished. I’ll heat it up.”

Callan managed to lean up and grabbed Meres’ collar. “Who are you and where’s the real Toby? And what is in this soup? Poison?”

“My, my, you are delirious. As if I would poison someone. That is a woman’s method. If I were to kill you I’d do it in a way that was a lot more gratifying to me. Now, sit still, be quiet and wait for me to prepare you the soup.”

…

Meres sat beside Callan on the sofa, holding the bowl underneath his chin. “Would you like to drink it or have me spoon feed you?”

“You’ll be wearing it in a minute, why can’t you back up an inch or two?”

Meres threw down the spoon onto the table in annoyance. “Aren’t you a bad-tempered patient? I am under strict instructions to get you well again so you can look over these files. Now be a good chap and let me feed you soup!”

Sighing, Callan gave in and motioned to the bowl, after all he was ravenous and his mouth was so dry.

Meres held the spoon to Callan’s mouth. “Here comes the aeroplane!”

“That’s it,” Callan said, stealing the spoon from his grasp, “I can feed myself. I am not an invalid.”

“You’re a baby, that’s for certain.”

“Do you need to be so close?”

“You’re the one who’s sweaty and clammy. I might need to take a bath after this.”

After Callan had begrudgingly eaten some soup, he closed his weary eyes and let Meres take away the bowl and place it in the kitchen sink. By the time Meres returned, Callan was snoring lightly, soup residue still on his chin.

Meres laughed. “What a pretty picture.” He wiped the soup from Callan’s chin with his handkerchief and then pulled a blanket over him, wrapping it around him and tucking him in. “I’ll leave this file here for you to look over when you’re more with it. Sleep tight, David, old boy, get well soon.”

Chapter Text

Staring up at the stage from the front row of the theatre, James Eliot passed a bag of sweets to Harriet and with a mouthful said: “Wine gum?”

“No, thank you, James,” she replied before having to swat his hand away as he attempted to pass the bag of sweets across her to where Ian sat on the other side of her.

She had wondered why they’d all agreed to Bill’s suggestion of a work outing to a magic show but Bill was interested and they didn’t want to offend, so there they sat, all in a row— Bill, then Rosie, James, Harriet and finally Ian (who did not work with them but who Harriet insisted on inviting.)

“She’s marvellous, isn’t she?” James whispered to Harriet as he looked at the magician’s assistant. “Lovely legs.”

“Yes, I see that. You watch out for her James; she’d eat you alive.”

“I hope so.” He grinned, nudging her.

…

Sitting up in bed, placing her glasses on and opening her novel, Harriet sighed contently, happy to be home after a disastrous night at the work outing. Why Bill hadn’t arranged a simple drink at the pub was anyone’s guess.

Suddenly the telephone started to ring and Harriet glanced at the clock. She looked over at Ian who was already snoring.

“Oh, who could that be?” She picked up the telephone. “Hello? Harriet Peterson speaking.”

“Harriet, I need your help. It’s James. I want you quick.”

“James? You do know it’s gone one?”

“Harriet, please, just come over right now, it’s urgent. And bring that spare key.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be there. What’s the matter, are you injured?”

“HURRY UP.” The phone cut dead.

…

When Harriet arrived, she let herself in and searched around downstairs expecting to find him hurt. She cautiously made her way up the stairs when she couldn’t find him.

“James?” she called.

“I’m in the bedroom.” His voice was a whisper behind the closed door.

“Well come out of the bedroom and tell me why you’ve got me up at this hour.”

“I can’t…I’m a little…tied up.”

With a gulp, Harriet opened the door and stepped inside. She jumped in shock at the sight of her colleague James Eliot lying naked on the bed with one hand handcuffed to the post. He had a bashful look painted across his face.

“Oh my.” She bit her lip to stop a giggle and then averted her eyes. “That was more than I was intending to see.”

“Don’t laugh, Harriet. I called you here because I didn’t trust anyone else. Get me out of this.”

“First things first, cover you up.” She grabbed a blanket and threw it over his lower half. “Secondly, I’d rather like an explanation with as little explicit detail as possible.”

“Can you talk to me as a friend and not as a barrister?”

“Very well. What have you been up to?”

“You remember that magician’s assistant?”

“With the nice legs?”

“Very nice legs but she isn’t so nice. She’s done a disappearing act after handcuffing me to this bed! Luckily she left one hand free so I could use the phone!”

Harriet smirked. “I hate to say I told you so, James, but I did warn you.”

“How did you know oh enlightened one?”

“Women’s intuition.”

“Oh of course. Such barrister talk! No facts, no details, simply you had a feminine feeling. Get me out of this handcuff, Harriet!”

Harriet attempted to undo the cuffs, feeling rather awkward as she leaned over him. “No key?”

“She took the blasted set with her.”

“I’ll check around. Don’t go anywhere.” She laughed.

“I could go off you, Miss. Peterson!”

Harriet left the room and returned moments later waving the key between her fingers. “This might be it. Perhaps she had a conscience after all. Left them on the worktop. Found your wallet though and I’m afraid she’s done a disappearing act with your money too.”

“Bitch.”

Undoing the handcuffs, Harriet helped James to sit upright where he began to rub his aching wrist.

“You won’t tell anyone about this, will you, Harriet?”

Harriet pouted. “Oh, not anyone?”

“No!” James discreetly stood up with the blanket wrapped around him like some kind of toga. “Well, turn around then.”

“It’s too late to spare my blushes now, I’ve seen the crown jewels.”

“Yes, well they’re no longer on display so avert your gaze, madam.”

“Very well.” She folded her arms and turned around, listening as he scrambled to the wardrobe and quickly put some clothes on. “Are you decent? Well decent enough?”

“Yes.”

She turned back around. “You know, James, you must be more careful about which girls you bring home. I refuse to come out at night to rescue you from saucy nocturnal activities!”

“Understood.” James couldn’t look at Harriet then, bowing his head and blushing. “Let me get you a cup of tea.”

“Something stronger, I think. I’ve had quite a shock.”

He led her to the kitchen where they started to make the tea.

“You’ve had a shock?” James rubbed his head. “I’ve had the shock of my life.”

“You’re forgetting. I saw you naked.”

James laughed. “I’m so glad I have a friend like you, Harriet.”

Chapter Text

Arriving at Callan’s place, Meres knocked on the door, rat-tapping a tune on the wood as he waited for a reply. He began to whistle.

“Come on, David, old boy, I’m getting old and useless standing here.” There was no response. “What did you want anyway?”

He knocked again, harder this time and finally the door opened a crack, where Callan stood, frowning, clutching a baby in his arms.

At first Meres’ eyes widened in surprise and then he let out a laugh. “Well, well, well, David, no one told me you had been expecting. Congratulations.”

With one hand securing the infant and one hand now clutching Meres’ collar, Callan dragged him inside.

“I’ve no time for your lip, mate. I need your help as much as it pains me.”

“I can see that. Have you never held a baby before, Callan? Little chap is clearly in discomfort.” On that word, the baby began to cry.

Meres took the baby from Callan and bounced it up and down. Within a couple of moments, the baby’s cries had subsided. “Well it’s obvious which of us he likes best. Who on Earth is he, David?”

“Someone left it outside as if I know what to do with it.”

“It?” Meres laughed and looked at the baby. “Look how the horrible man talks to you.”

Callan narrowed his eyes. “What have you done with the real Toby Meres, the one who gets satisfaction in other people’s pain and misery?”

“David, David, David, I take much pleasure in your discomfort, I take even more pleasure in other people’s, but strangely I do not take much from a defenceless infant. I have no desire to interrogate a baby, they can’t answer back and have no idea what I’m saying.”

“Well, never mind that, what are we going to do with him?”

“We?”

“You’ve gotta help me, mate. I can’t look after this baby. It’s bleedin’ dangerous ‘round here, weapons everywhere. Don’t suppose we could take him to a church or something?”

“We could. There are many options.” He looked at the baby and grinned. “Though he’s a little wriggler and in need of a little care and attention and it may have escaped your notice, old son, but he was left here for a reason. There’s something in that. This isn’t some accident.”

“Then you’ll stay and look after him whilst I look into it?”

Meres grabbed Callan’s arm and tutted. “Don’t think you can leave all this babysitting to me. I’m also a busy man, in case you’d forgotten. I’ll ring someone at the office, get them to look into it and maybe get Liz around here pronto. Women love babies. In the meantime, let’s both stay here and clean him up, he smells like he’s been kipping with Lonely.”

…

“No, David, check the water isn’t too hot!”

Sitting beside the bath tub, Callan sighed, rubbing his aching head. “Don’t make this any more degrading than it already is, mate.”

Meres was next to him, peering over the tub, ready to lower the baby into the lightly soapy water.

“What do you suppose his name is?” Callan smiled as Meres gently placed the baby into the tub.

“No idea. Perhaps we should call him something. Brutus?”

“No mate. If you name something, you’re attached. It’ll think I’m its father and you’re its, gawd help us, its mother!”

“No, you’re the first person he saw so you’re the mother. Well go on mumsy, give the fellow a little scrub. Got any rubber duckies?”

Callan scowled and rung out a wet flannel onto Meres neck. “No, I do not. When is Liz getting here?”

“Oh, sorry did I forget to mention? She isn’t coming. She said that just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she knows anything about child rearing and then she said good luck. Actually, it was less polite than that. The phone was slammed down too.”

“Any more on the reason he’s here then?”

“Not a word so far.” Meres laughed when the little baby let out a sneeze. “He’s having a bit of an adventure, isn’t he?”

“You know,” Callan said, rolling up his sleeve and splashing some of the bath water around with his hand. “I didn’t think you’d be so good with babies.”

Meres grabbed Callan’s hand under the water and gripped it tightly until Callan winced. “I’m not, Callan. You never witnessed that. The outside world will never hear of this, you got that?”

“Crystal clear, now let go of my hand! The baby doesn’t need to be subjected to a domestic.”

Meres let go and resumed splashing the baby with water. “I’ll see if there’s something in here he can play with.” As he got up, the gun he carried slid from the side down into the soapy bath water.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Callan said, grabbing the gun. “You wanna explain to Charlie how this little baby took its own life with your weapon?”

“Whoops. I forget, they’re into everything at this age. Must be careful where I leave guns.”

“I take it back, Toby. You’re not good with children at all.”

“Better than you are, that’s for sure.”

“You dropped…your gun…in the bath!”

“You nearly scalded him!”

“Your face alone is scaring him,” Callan snapped.

“You couldn’t even tell he was a he!”

“Of course I could.” Callan slammed his fist on the side of the tub. “Look, mate, this is getting us nowhere. We’re both useless at this, the end.”

At his raised voice, the baby began to giggle, looking wide-eyed and curiously from Callan to Meres and then back again.

Meres and Callan’s heads leaned to the right at the same time.

“You’ve gotta admit he’s more cooperative than our usual suspects,” said Meres.

“And much cuter. Well, when his nappy’s not being changed.”

They both sat staring then over the bath tub, cooing at the little one.

“You know,” Meres said, with a smile. “There could be a much simpler explanation to all this.”

“What’s that?”

“He could be yours.”

Callan held up Meres’ gun. “Get out!”

“Temper, temper. No gunplay in front of your son. David junior must be raised well for any success in life.”

Callan aimed the gun. “Right between the eyes if you carry on.”

Chapter Text

Sitting in a parked car by the side of the road, Callan and Meres watched a house across the street. Seated in the driver’s seat, Callan yawned and looked at his watch. “Midnight.”

Meres checked his own watch as though he didn’t trust Callan’s inferior timepiece. “So it is, old boy.”

“Feels like we’ve been here all day.”

“Practically have. When’s he going to come out?”

Callan sniffed. “Probably got a bird in there.”

“How cosy for him.” Meres also yawned and then looked to the house on the side of the street they were parked. He looked up at the window where a young woman was starting to undress. She quickly closed the blinds as Callan noticed his colleague was looking.

“Shame,” Meres said.

“You peeping Tom!” Callan said.

“Says the guy with the binoculars around his neck.”

“They’re for what-his-face over the road not a bird.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t look as good in a bra.”

“You little perverted creature.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. God’s creations, David. Besides I wasn’t looking at the woman, I was looking at the bird.” He smirked.

“Bird?”

“The parrot in the window just there,” he smirked again as he pointed to the window where true enough a green parrot was in a cage in the bay window.

Callan laughed. “You sly bastard.” There was a pause. “Ah another day in paradise.”

“Indeed.” Meres pursed his lips and started to whistle. “Another day has arrived. Rather an important day one shouldn’t wonder.”

“What you blabbering on about?”

“Oh, you are an ignorant bastard, David. You have no idea what today is?”

Callan looked away, staring intently at the house where there was some movement behind the curtains. “We have a job to do here, Toby, not playing guess what -bloody- day it is. And I know what day it is, Valentine’s Day. I do know about the occasion.”

“Important day for two reasons, David. One, it’s the day of love, and two, it was the day in which I came into this world.”

With a snort, Callan looked at Meres for a moment. “It’s your birthday?”

“Yes, one should’ve thought you’d pick up on it, I’ve mentioned it every day for the last month.”

“Don’t always listen to what you’re saying, mate. Anyway, your birthday is Valentine’s Day, bloody hell?”

“What of it?”

“A day dedicated to hearts and flowers and little dancing bunnies and kittens. Declaring love and buying teddy bears. Don’t know why my mind didn’t go straight to Toby Meres?”

“If you knew me at all, David, you’d be surprised.”

“Oh, I would, would I?” Callan nodded mockingly. “Another year older eh?”

“That is usually how it works. Birthdays. One can hardly age in reverse though that would be rather fun.”

“Yeah, well unfortunately for you, mate, you’re ageing like the rest of us in the right order.”

“Not quite at your speed though, old man!”

Clutching at his forehead, Callan shuffled, ignoring the gaze of Meres from the passenger seat. He was silent for a few moments, trying to imagine that Meres wasn’t next to him, preening himself in front of the mirror as if he were the parrot in the window.

“Must you do that?”

Meres sat back. “So, I can’t even look my best on my birthday?”

“We’re on a job, we’re not on a catwalk, sunshine.”

“David, you would never be on a catwalk, I can assure you of that. And stop going on, I know perfectly well what we’re doing but in case you haven’t realised we’ve been sitting here for seven hours and the sod’s not even made a movement. Perhaps they’re all dead in there with any luck.”

“Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean we have to have a party.”

“Why not celebrate the day you were born? I should be back at mine with a drink and bird.”

“Well, you’re not, you’re here with me and a bird in the window.”

Meres smirked. “And after I was no nice to you on your birthday.”

“Yes, that rude card that went straight in the bin.”

“Ungrateful swine.”

“I don’t even know how you knew it was my birthday.”

“Well, I know your file, David, and I can find out many secrets about you. So, I don’t think it was too much of a challenge. It’s now written in my diary with little pink hearts around it so I don’t forget. It says in quite big letters ‘DC’s birthday’ and that’s David Callan not Washington DC.”

Callan rolled his eyes. “You’d think you were the first person to work on their birthday.”

“This isn’t working, this is sitting and spying but not the fun kind.”

“Your gun can’t be out at all times.”

Meres raised an eyebrow. “On my birthday I can have whatever out at whatever time I wish, David, and how can you stop me if your gun is quite firmly tucked away?”

“Toby, will you just leave off?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to say it.”

“To say what?” Callan looked at him.

“Well, it’s been a full half an hour.” He looked at his watch. “Yes, half an hour and you still haven’t said it.”

“Said what Toby?”

“You still haven’t wished me a happy birthday. Or Valentine’s for that matter.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t, old son, you did anything but. And I’ll sit here like this until you do. It’s only polite.”

With a grumpy sigh, Callan took a deep breath. “Fine. Happy…Birthday…Mate. Many happy returns and all that.”

Meres shook his head and tutted. “My heart skips a beat when you’re so sincere.”

“Just have a bloody happy birthday will you and stop bothering me?”

“And Valentine’s Day?”

“You want me to wish you a happy Valentine’s day too?”

“I don’t ask for much.”

“Fine. Happy Valentine’s Day, happy Lent and Christmas and Easter and Ramadan, just accept all the greetings at once. You are blessed with Callan’s eternal wishes, is that fine by your eternal greatness?”

Meres snorted. “Well, there’s no need to be over the top, old son, all I wanted was my colleague to say a simple birthday wish.”

“And you got it, didn’t you? Anything else you really want? Present, cake, candles, plane flying across the air saying how much you mean to me?”

Meres started to laugh. “No but you could appreciate my birthday suit.”

“You what?” Callan spluttered.

Meres pointed down at his fine tailored suit. “Savile Row.”

Chapter Text

“Not on your life, mate, not on your life!” Callan groaned as he sat next to Meres in Hunter’s office, staring across at his superior over the desk. He rubbed his temples and shook his head several times.

Hunter leaned back in his chair and grumbled, not impressed with Callan’s uncooperative tone, and pushed a file into their direction. “Did I give the impression it was a choice, Callan?”

“It’s not too bad, old boy,” Meres said as he opened the file and perused the contents. “We get a nice holiday in Lisbon and a chance to glam up and have a bit of a laugh. Makes a nice change from sitting in ditches for eighteen hours.”

Getting to his feet and pacing around the table, Callan sneered. “I’d rather be captured, stabbed, shot, tortured and poisoned than do this job with you.”

“Is it me you object to or the undercover part?” Meres said, grinning, feeling dizzy as he watched Callan circuit him several times.

“Toby, he wants us to pretend we’re in the ‘Euro-pop song competition’ as some duo who are as camp as Christmas trees and all for intelligence on some people of interest in the organisation.”

Hunter pulled off his glasses, irritated that Callan spoke about him as though he wasn’t there. “Some people of interest, Callan, happen to be of vital importance to our national security.”

Meres stood up and stopped Callan in his attempt at another circuit around the room. “You heard the man, David, for the good of all.”

“You’re loving this. He wants us to sing, Toby, and dance and ponce about on a stage.”

“All for the good of mankind.”

Callan shook his head. “Yeah, because you always do things for the good of the people. You’re a puppet on a string, you are, mate. Don’t bloody believe this. So, have we got to actually get a song and sing it and all that palaver?”

“Already composed, Callan,” Hunter said. “The duo who were meant to be representing the United Kingdom are somewhat…detained.”

“Don’t be such a misery, Callan,” Meres said with a smile. “You watch the contest on the telly every year, don’t you?”

“Funnily enough, Toby, I don’t.”

Hunter sighed and folded his arms. “Just read the file, gentlemen. Your plane leaves tonight.”

“Of course it does,” Callan huffed, grabbed the file, hit Meres with it and left without saying goodbye.

The door slammed and Meres looked at Hunter, shrugging. “Touchy.” He followed him out the door and into the adjacent room where there was privacy from Hunter though Liz was lurking in the background as they spoke in whispers.

“Can you even sing?” Callan asked Meres who was busy checking his gun.

“I’m offended you should ask that question, David. If you’d ever come to the clubs with me, you’d know I’m excellent at karaoke.”

“You know I learn something new about you everyday that I wish I hadn’t. And I can’t sing.”

“You liar, old son, I’ve heard you. You’ve got that deep operatic tone.”

“When have you bloody heard me?”

“When we were in the shower. I was so shocked to hear that voice coming out of you that the soap slipped straight from my fingers onto the floor.”

Callan waited for Liz to enter Hunter’s office with some files before he grabbed Meres’ arm and hoisted him up against the wall, holding his arm behind his back. He spoke into the back of him, his breath on Meres’ neck. “If you ever say we were in the shower together out loud again, you won’t be singing at all because your tongue will still be here, pinned to that wall with a nail.”

Meres managed to spin around and push Callan away, placing him in a headlock. “And if you threaten to remove my tongue again, I’ll make sure I stick it right down your throat first.”

“Get off me!” Callan also managed to break free and pushed Meres away, breathless and sweating. “Fine if we have to do this. I’ll do it, but you lay off me, Toby, alright?”

“Whatever you say, David, but remember we’re meant to be a duo. Two flamboyant popstars who get along quite well so they say. We’ll have to do a bit of acting, if you’re capable of that.”

“I can do it, just don’t get in my way. I’ll learn the damn song and the stupid dance steps and we’ll get the intelligence but I don’t have to like it, Toby!”

“Heaven forbid!”

…

Callan glanced out of the aeroplane window and sighed as he watched the heavenly white clouds pass them by, swirling around the plane in ever-changing shapes. What he wouldn’t give to jump out at that moment, parachute to the nearest island and abandon the whole operation. Beside him, Meres was nibbling on some nuts.

“You have to eat so loudly?”

“I can eat louder if you like,” Meres said, placing a nut into his mouth and crunching it, grinding his teeth onto it slowly and noisily.

“So, you heard this song yet?” Callan said, ignoring Meres’ attempt to wind him up.

“Charlie played it to me. It’s a terrible tune full of do-wops and baby-baby-baby— perfect for the show but not for my ears.”

“And you want to embarrass yourself with it, do you?”

“It’s not me though, David, is it? I’m not Toby Meres, I am Tobias Meredith. I’m playing a role. Tobias loves all that camp nonsense— glitter, sequins and all that jazz.”

“And who, dare I ask, am I playing?”

Chewing on another nut, Meres pointed at the file and made sure no one was listening. “You are former opera star down on his luck, we call you Chad Davidson.”

“Chad?”

“Suits you terribly well I thought.”

Callan looked down at the file. “Apparently Chad also likes bubble baths and cuddles with his lover. Who’s his lover?”

Meres grinned. “They’re a duo, David, in more sense than one. They don’t publicly announce it to the press but rumours persist.”

“Bloody hell who wrote these characters? They’re not real. They could have made us Dave and Tobe, singing builders from Slough. It’s not like we’ll do the live show or need to win.”

“We have to look like we belong there and actually got into the contest fairly. No one called Dave would get into this competition. And live a little. So, they think we’re at it with one another, what harm does it do?”

Callan snatched the packet of nuts away from Meres. “Did you write our character profiles by any chance? If you had a nut allergy, I’d force feed you these.”

“I didn’t, David. If you must know, it was Charlie. His idea of a parting joke I suppose.”

“You’ll be a parting joke in a minute. Is that turbulence?”

“No.”

“Shame, was hoping we might be crashing.”

…

Arriving at the pop arena in Lisbon, Callan and Meres met with the event organiser who took them on a tour of the venue before letting them settle in their hotel room before rehearsals began in the morning. In their joint room, Callan leaned back on the bed and let out a silent scream into his pillow.

“Kill me now.”

“Alright I grant you that the organiser chap was a bit much but it’s not so bad here. We can go down to the bar, have some drinks, meet the other contestants.” He pulled Callan to his feet. “You’ll need to get changed into something more appropriate for Chad.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Callan asked, looking down at his suit and then looking at Meres who was kitted out in a paisley shirt and flares.

“Chad would never dress like that. And take a shower, you stink.”

“Oh charming.”

“Meet me downstairs. I fancy my chances with the sexy Swedish contestant we passed on the way.”

“Which one, bloke or bird?”

“Whichever will have me.”

Callan grabbed Meres by the shirt sleeve. “Hold it, right there. You’re meant to be with me, aren’t you? So why is Tobias playing away when he has Chad?”

“Because Chad is a bore,” Meres said with a grin, shaking Callan away.

“Yes, but a bore you’re meant to be sleeping with.”

“Great so now you’re going to ruin my sex life again?”

“I’ve got to have some perks.”

“Just get a move on, David, downstairs in ten.”

…

The next morning at the crack of dawn, a worse-for-wear hungover and tired, Callan and Meres, were in the dance studio working with the choreographer Elena who was stood at the mirror wall, barking orders and drilling them like a sergeant major. She shouted to Callan.

“Chad you’re so stiff, is there something wrong?”

“He’s always like that, aren’t you sweetie?” Meres puckered his lips.

Callan resisted the urge to reach out and punch Meres square on the jaw. “I’m just getting the feel of it, love. Are we sure about these flapping our arms about moves, Elena? I feel like a bird that got caught in the electricity cable.”

Elena laughed. “Oh, you do make me laugh, Chad, such a great British humour.”

Leaning aside to Meres, Callan sighed. “I was being serious. Whilst we’ve been in here flapping up and down like flippin’ seals, we’ve lost vital time. We’re meant to be spying on that bloke and instead we’re singing about hearts and butterflies.”

“We can’t do the job if we’re not in the game, old boy, and besides we learnt quite a lot last night at the bar. We’re further ahead than we thought. Stay cool, David, don’t let it bother you. We’ve learnt the song now. The dance is nearly done. Next is the costumes and make-up and we’re set for the rehearsal and technical run.”

“Blimey, all that still to do? When will this all be over?”

“When the fat man sings.” Meres smirked, tapping Callan’s stomach.

He was about to retaliate when Elena barked another order.

“She’s worse than Hunter.”

“Chad? Ready?” Elena called out. “And- a- one-two-three-four.”

…

“What you doing?” Callan asked Meres in their hotel room that evening.

Meres placed his feet in a bowl of warm water. “Soothing my tootsies. You spent so much time stamping on them, they’re quite sore.”

“Oh diddums.” Callan sat on the stool. “So, the loop’s tightening on Demetri eh, Toby? We get this over with and we can go.”

“I told you it’d come together.” Meres looked at Callan who was peering in the mirror, taking note of his own features. “You’re worried about the dress rehearsal, aren’t you?”

Callan laughed. “Bloody terrified. I saw the designs for the costumes and make-up. What are they thinking?”

“Yes, I recall you refused the pink outfit.”

“Blue isn’t much better unfortunately. Do you actually think anyone will believe that Chad and Tobias are real entries? We’re not up to the standard, mate.”

“The bar is set pretty low. You’ve got a nicer voice than some of those chumps. And for some reason people have really bought into our affair. Sex sells, David.”

“Does it really? I never would’ve guessed. It probably helped when you were gushing about me to that reporter.”

“I wanted to make it realistic. What could I say to the man, the truth? That I despise you? That you’re constantly moaning? That we’re undercover and actually barely tolerate each other? It’s all make love, not war here.”

“But did you have to go overboard? Calling me sugar dumpling?”

“That’s how these people talk. You need to work on your voice.”

“I thought you said I had a good voice.”

“Not your singing voice, your speaking voice. You sound like an East End crook.”

“Charming. And?”

“Chad is a former opera singer with a male lover who wears glitter knee-high boots. He wouldn’t speak like that.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this. I think you made up this assignment. There’s another side to Toby Meres that I’m now seeing clearly. I never had you down for sequins and glamour and leotards but admit it, you’re loving it?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not loving it at all, I’m just loving you squirm with embarrassment. You honestly think I enjoy watching teenage girls in mini-skirts bobbing along to us like demented sluts? You think I like hearing that same damn tune over and over until it makes my ears bleed? You think I want the world to think I couldn’t do better than dopey old Chad?”

“So, you’re as miserable as I am?”

“Worse. At least you’ve established yourself as the miserable bugger but I’m the good-time golden boy and I can’t break character now. God, I hate Tobias with every fibre of my being. I want to murder him very slowly.”

“I’d gladly murder him too. And Chad. Let’s face it, we’d both like to drop a bomb on the whole contest.”

“Hear hear!”

…

“Chad you have to come out sooner or later,” Meres called at the bathroom door in their dressing room. “It’s bad I know but it has to be done.”

“Bad? I am wearing a frilly jump-suit in which the trousers detach to reveal golden pants. This isn’t real is it? Tell me this isn’t real?” He stepped out from the room and Meres immediately burst into laughter at the outfit and his wig.

“Nice rug there, David.”

Suddenly Callan’s gun was pointed at Meres’ face.

“Where did you pull that from, old son?”

“I don’t think you want to know that. But shut-up, this is humiliating enough. And look at you, pretty in pink, I think not!”

Meres frowned and glanced in the mirror. “I thought I carried it off well.”

“Well, you don’t. We both look like those neighbours that no-one talks to because they’re a bit odd. Whose idea was the bloody strip-tease part?”

“The two producers, Chippa and Ludo. They said a bit of flesh sells. They want to see our legs; David and we’ve got to give the consumers what they want. We’re slabs of meat, sold on market stalls in every European nation. The song is less important than our love affair and good-looks. We’re the stars, Chad, we’re bigger than the Beatles for this week.”

“And what about the real job? We tailed him last night. After the tech run, we get him, right?”

“Right.”

“And then this is over. We pull out of the live show for personal reasons. Chad dumps Tobias or something and we have a cat-fight or whatever Chad and Tobias would do.”

“No, no. Tobias is dumping Chad.”

“Fine, look, it’s mutual dumping. But we can see the back of this contest for good, right? Just one dress and tech performance and we’re done? Finished, fini, finito, nil points or otherwise. Auf Wiedersehen and adieu, goodnight Vienna.”

“Thank the lord.”

…

After the agonising final full dress-rehearsal, Callan and Meres congratulated each other on completing the mission and also of a fine performance given the circumstances. The ripping off of their trousers had gone down a treat and their voices though pitchy at times had been quite successful. They’d even managed to fake a convincing argument afterward, proclaiming they were out of the show and each other’s lives for good. Callan could’ve done without the slap across his cheek from Meres but all in all, the hostility was there and very real.

“It’s a shame the world will never see us,” Meres said, staring at himself in the mirror of the dressing room. “But I suppose completing the operation is thanks enough.”

“What a relief,” Callan added. “This job takes the prize for the worst we’ve done.”

“Yes,” Meres said, sitting beside him. “Though in the end there was some good parts to take away. You looked jolly good in those gold pants, David.”

“You bastard. I looked ridiculous.”

“Yeah, they were a bit tight. Squashed the jewels a bit.”

Callan laughed and then sniffed. “I never want to see you in tight gold hot pants ever again, Toby.”

“A bit of a laugh you could say. How many people get to enter the euro-pop song competition?”

“Unlucky sods, that’s who. I’ll never live it down, mate. There is photographic and video evidence of us prancing about. Liz will probably have enough blackmail material for years.”

Meres placed his arm around Callan’s shoulder. “You know in some small way, I’ll miss Tobias and Chad.”

“Will you?”

“Give us a kiss, lover?”

Callan shoved Meres away, laughing as he wrestled him onto the sofa, placing his arm around Meres’ neck. At that precise moment, some of their fellow contestants walked into the room and gasped before nudging one another.

“Aw you’ve made up!” said the Swedish competitor. “So, you’ll be doing the grand show after all?”

Callan and Meres exchanged horrified glances and fell onto the floor.

Chapter Text

With a smile, Bunny laid out the breakfast, placing the tea cups and the toast rack near a pot of jam on the table. It was a fine spring morning, the first day of April, and Bunny was in high spirits, humming a merry tune—not just because the weather was pleasurable but because it was the one day of the year he could get away with making fun of his friend and partner. For the last couple of years running, he had fallen foul to Raffles’ pranks and been left red-faced on both occasions. This year he had decided that would change, and the reverse would be true. He would get his own back on A.J Raffles once and for all.

So there the delicious breakfast lay, and there, Raffles sat at the table, reading a newspaper and munching on some crunchy toast covered in sticky strawberry jam.

“Got any sugar for this tea?” Raffles said through a mouthful of toast, looking around for the sugar pot.

Bunny’s eyes twinkled at the request and he pushed the silver sugar pot from his side of the table, close to Raffles, trying not to laugh in the process. “Of course, A.J.”

Raffles placed a spoon into the pot and shovelled a large spoonful of sugar into his cup. As the spoon circled the liquid, he glanced at Bunny, carefully studying his little Rabbit’s expression. Something was decidedly wicked about his smile.

“Bunny, I don’t suppose you could fetch me that letter opener too, could you?”

“Alright.”

As he trotted to the sideboard, Raffles reached forward and switched the two tea cups, placing Bunny’s in front of himself so that when he returned nothing looked amiss. Bunny gave him the paper knife and then took a swig of his own tea.

“Goodness gracious!” he cried, spitting the tea back into the cup and grimacing.

Sipping his own tea and peering coyly over the rim of his own cup, Raffles feigned innocence. “Something wrong with your tea?”

Bunny rose to his feet. “Of course there’s something wrong with it! It’s…well, it’s… Oh never mind!”

He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and took a sip of water, trying to rid the taste of the salt he’d placed in the sugar pot. Raffles had clearly worked it out, had seen through his rouse, and now Bunny was still left red-faced and irritable. But he had another plan which even the greatest cracksman alive was not privy to.

After the pleasant breakfast, Bunny called Raffles into the bedroom and looked nonchalantly out of the window. “I say, A.J, is that house being burgled over there?”

Raffles leaned over Bunny and peered outside. “I can’t see anything.”

“Here, use these binoculars.” Bunny handed him his usual pair and Raffles put them to his eyes, carefully studying the scene across the road.

“There’s a gentleman walking around his flat quite innocently, Bunny, hardly means to call the police.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought I’d seen something. How silly of me.”

“Not to worry.” Raffles handed back the binoculars and headed away from the window. “I should be going now anyway. I have a meeting in town. Will you be here later when I return? We shall take supper together.”

“I’d like that, A.J.”

“Bunny, is there any reason you’re suddenly as quiet as a mouse?”

“No.”

“Hmm. How do I look anyway? Am I ready to impress the ladies?”

“Look?”

“Yes, I want to look my best.”

“You look marvellous, Raffles.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Bunny.”

Raffles noticed that Bunny was grinning at him but he shook it off and headed out the door, grabbing his coat from the peg as he did so.

…

“Bunny Manders!” Raffles shouted as he arrived back to his rooms an hour later, and grabbed Bunny by the lapels of his jacket, hoisting him against the wall.

Bunny had barely the time to compose himself before Raffles was inches away from his face, his angry eyes staring into his.

“What is it, A.J?” Bunny closed his eyes, trying not to look back at the face of his partner.

“What is it?! What is it?!” Raffles pointed to his face and his two eyes which were ringed with deep black lines, making it appear as though he we were wearing glasses. “You let me go out like this!”

Bunny scrambled free from Raffles’ hold and ran to the settee like a frightened animal escaping from its predator. “I don’t know what you mean, A.J.”

With a sigh, Raffles looked in the mirror. “I went a full hour wondering why people were laughing at me in the street, why ladies cooed and whispered. Beckett even asked me if I had trouble with my eyesight. What did you put on the binoculars, Bunny?”

“Me?” He looked downward. “Nothing…really.”

Raffles approached and sat down beside him. “So, my eyes with darkened rings around them have nothing to do with you? Lady Alice had the fright of her life.”

Looking up momentarily, Bunny caught a glimpse of Raffles’ eyes again and burst into laughter. He could no longer contain the pleasure of it. “Lady Alice saw you?” He laughed again.

Raffles gritted his teeth. “She asked whether I’d been sleeping alright.”

“And have you?”

Raffles shoved him. “Bunny, you little cuss!”

“It’s April fool’s day, Raffles!”

“Yes, and I’m the fool apparently. I thought I’d got you with the tea cup switch.”

“You underestimate me, Raffles, I had a feeling you’d clock on to that one. So, I had to think of another ingenious plan.”

Swatting him playfully, Raffles smirked. “And by Jove you did, Bunny. I’m rather impressed with your tenacity. An April fool I am, I’m happy to admit it, bested by my own little Rabbit.”

“Nothing wrong in being the fool from time to time.”

“No, especially as you were the fool for the last two years.”

“Thanks for reminding me, A.J.”

Grinning, Raffles leaned in close to Bunny. “We all need reminding from time to time.”

Bunny grabbed Raffles and kissed him quickly. “There’s nothing like kissing a fool is there?”

Chapter Text

The phone rang at Callan’s flat and he rolled over in his bed groggily. He turned on the light and glanced at the clock. 2.35 am. Who was ringing at that hour? He picked up the receiver and wiped his eyes.

“Hello?”

At first there was a pause and a muffled sound and then Callan heard a whimpering.

“Who is it?”

“David?” There was a gravelly, whispering voice at the other end of the line. “David?”

“Is that you Toby? It’s the middle of the bloody night!”

“Help me…David…I…”

“Toby? What’s wrong mate?”

The phone line cut dead and Callan was left sitting in his covers, shouting down the line as though it could help. He sighed. “Bloody hell!”

He leapt out of bed, threw on any clothes he could find and made his way as quickly as he could to Meres’ flat. When he arrived, the door was ajar and the place was ransacked. There was mess everywhere and broken glass by the bathroom. He turned on the light.

“Tobe?”

At first, he didn’t see anything, and then to his horror he saw there was someone laying on the sofa. He approached cautiously and there he was, Toby Meres, lying flat out, his eyes rolled back, his body covered in blood.

Callan gasped. “Toby! Toby! No don’t do this to me, mate! Don’t you dare bloody do this to me. You can’t bleedin’ die!” He ran to his side, sat beside him on the sofa and grabbed his arm. He then reached down to check his pulse. “Still beating. Don’t worry mate, I’ll get you help.” As he leaned over him to check where the wound was, Meres suddenly sat up, his eyes looking directly into Callan’s and he was grinning.

“Wanting a snuggle?”

Callan leaned back, clutching his chest, glancing over Meres and wondering what had happened.

“You’re…not…?”

“Hurt? Alas, no need to be my nurse, I’m quite well.”

Callan stood up, clenching his fists. “What the bloody hell is your game then?” He looked at the table and noticed there was a bottle of tomato ketchup. He then sniffed his hand which was covered in red. “Oh I get it. I’ve been stitched up like a right kipper. I thought you were dead, Toby!”

“That was the general idea. I knew you’d come running to rescue me if I called. Happy April fool’s day, David.”

Callan grabbed Meres’ neck and attempted to lightly throttle him. “It’s bloody March, mate.”

Meres pushed him away. “I think you’ll find, old son, it’s April and as usual your time keeping is not up to scratch.”

Sighing and sitting back down on the sofa, Callan shook his head wearily. “And you think it’s funny, do you?”

“Hilarious actually.”

“Well one day you’ll really be lying there hacked to death and I won’t bloody care.”

Meres pouted. “Aw you say the sweetest things. Surely you, the mighty Callan, can take a joke?”

“Most people don’t pretend they’re dead though, do they? I suppose I should’ve known that Toby Meres’ idea of a practical joke is a lot more demented than most.”

“Anything to make you look the fool for once, David.”

“Normal people celebrate birthdays and occasions with cards and flowers and presents, you celebrate days pretending to have been murdered.”

“What can I say, I’m Toby Meres and I’d hate to be predictable.”

Chapter Text

Marsha carried the birthday cake on a tray toward her husband Paul who sat on the sofa in the living room, closing his eyes as instructed. She placed the tray down as Murray and Diana gathered beside her, eager to witness Paul's reaction.

“You can open them now,” Marsha said excitedly.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Murray muttered, “you’ll only be disappointed.”

“I doubt that, Murray,” Paul replied before opening his eyes to see a deflated sponge with dripping icing and three ugly candles stuck on the top. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Marsha said with a giggle. “I got distracted during the baking, left Diana to attend, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?”

Paul laughed and rubbed her arm, kissing her on the cheek as she sat down beside him. “As long as it tastes nice, I don’t mind how it looks.”

“That’s no way to speak about Marsha,” Murray quipped as Diana shoved him.

“For a comment like that you’ll not be getting any,” Paul said.

“Yeah, but will I be getting any cake?”

Paul’s eyebrow rose. “Shut-up, Murray. It’s my birthday so you have to be quiet and not bother me all day.”

“It’s the opposite, Paul. Your birthday is here to remind you that with every passing day you’re getting older. It’s a day to taunt us. And you’re the oldest of us all so you’re closer to it.”

“Closer to what?”

“Death.”

“Murray!” Diana swatted him and then laughed. “Mind you, he has a point, Paul.”

“No, he does not have a point, Diana. If anyone’s going to go first, it’ll be Murray, he’s the most reckless and the most unhealthy.”

Murray sat down and squeezed himself next to his friend and then leaned on his shoulder. “You mean we won’t grow old together?”

With a smirk, Paul shoved him. “Not the way you live life, no.”

“Well, you can’t worry about all that, live life to the full I say,” Murray said. “And it’s a tradition, Paul, to mock your friends who are older than you.”

“Only by a little bit!”

“Don’t matter. As my card to you says ‘soon you’ll not be over the hill, you’ll be under it.’”

“You’ll be under the hill much quicker if you keep using my toothbrush.”

“I thought we shared everything.”

Paul was about to go off on a rant when Marsha stopped him and directed him to the cake, pointing at it with the enthusiasm of a magician’s assistant. He blew out the candles with one puff and then sat back contented that all his friends were there, even Murray who was always getting on his last nerve.

“Happy birthday, Paul,” Diana said, handing him a badly-wrapped present. “It’s not much— a jumper I tried to knit but it’s not very good.”

He tore open the paper and it was exactly as she described, a badly-made, over-sized, patterned jumper. “Oh, it’s…wonderful…Diana…thank you.”

“You don’t have to wear it or anything.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, I’ll take your advice.”

Next, Marsha handed Paul his gift of a new watch. He placed it on and smothered her in kisses, fascinated by the fact the watch had three different time-zones and complete accuracy. If anyone knew him well, it was his wife.

He coughed and looked at Murray.

“Is there something troubling your tonsils, Paul?” he replied innocently.

With another glare from the birthday boy, Murray relented and stood up, throwing a box at him. “Fine. A little something. Here.”

“Oh Murray, you shouldn’t have!”

“You haven’t seen it yet!”

Paul opened the lid of the cardboard box, expecting a gift like Diana’s but to his surprise he pulled out a decorative thermometer just like the one he’d pointed out to Marsha in the technology shop.

“Crikey!” he said quietly.

Murray sighed. “It’s wrong, isn’t it? You hate it? It’s always wrong.”

Paul smiled. “No, Murray, it’s wonderful, how thoughtful of you.” He tapped Murray on the shoulder and then placed his arm around his back. “I’m touched.”

Diana frowned and folded her arms. “You traitor, Murray. You said you were getting Paul some socks, rubbish ones with rabbits on them or something.”

He laughed. “And you fell for it.”

She leapt up and jumped onto her partner, wrestling him as he tried to fight back.

“That’s quite enough!” Marsha said, pulling them apart. “No fighting on Paul’s birthday.”

“That’s right,” Paul said, pointing to his notebook. “Bullet point number three, no fighting on my birthday.”

“What’s bullet point number one?” Diana asked.

“Cake.”

“And two?”

“Having…well…”

“Sex?” Murray smirked.

“I was thinking fun, Murray!”

Marsha folded her arms and tapped her foot. “Oh thanks, Paul, how charming!”

Paul laughed nervously. “No, no, I meant something we could all do together.”

“That could also be fun!” Murray nudged him playfully.

“Murray!” Paul shoved him with the cushion. “I’m serious, what shall we do?”

“Pillow fights, washing each other’s hair, frolicking in pyjamas,” Murray said.

“We’re adults, not pre-teen girls,” Marsha said.

“Paul’s already vetoed my adult suggestions.”

“Perhaps a meal out?” Marsha asked.

“I’d rather stay in,” Paul admitted. “I have my closest people around me. How about a game of twister?”

Diana clapped her hands together. “Oh I love twister!”

“Twister?” Murray said. “I thought we weren’t pre-teen girls.”

“Murray just doesn’t like it because he never wins,” Diana said, sticking out her tongue.

“Not afraid of a little competition are you, Murray?” Paul said.

“Me? Afraid? Nah. Marsha looks like you’re the person what spins the thing.”

“Am I? Charming.”

…

“Right foot blue,” Marsha called out to Paul as he balanced on one leg, bottom in the air.

“Good god, does it think I’m an octopus?” Paul tried to manoeuvre around Diana who was on all fours and Murray who looked like a crab standing sideways. “I’m getting older. My limbs won’t bend this way.”

“Told you so, grandad,” Murray said, pushing Paul away as a foot came into contact with his face. “One year closer. The process has begun.”

“Nonsense, I can do it,” he replied but as he attempted the move, he began to slip and grabbed Murray by the belt, pulling him down on top of him.

“Looks like Diana is the winner!” Marsha said as Diana leapt to her feet and the girls did a victory dance, hugging and spinning around.

Meanwhile, from the floor, Murray was still on top of Paul. “No fair! I only fell because Paul lost control of his faculties.”

“I can’t bend that way!”

Murray looked down at Paul underneath him. “So much for not wanting adult activities.” He winked.

“Get off me, Murray!” Paul shoved him.

Climbing off, Murray got up and helped Paul to his feet, grabbing his arm and pulling him up, laughing when Paul’s knees cracked. “Enjoying your birthday night in with friends?”

He smiled shyly. “It’s one of the best birthday’s I ever had actually.”

Marsha rubbed his shoulders. “Paul never had birthdays growing up. His mother didn’t approve of rough-housing.”

Murray laughed and then shoved Paul onto the sofa. “She didn’t, did she? Come on ladies, Paul needs a little roughening up. Get him!”

“Nooo!” Paul shouted as all three of them dived onto him until they were all splayed out on the sofa, legs and arms sticking out everywhere.

“Happy birthday old man!” Murray shouted, kissing him on the lips quickly. “We shall grow old together, just you wait!”

Chapter Text

Sitting side by side in the car, Callan and Meres waited for yet another hour after a long and tedious stakeout. Outside the window, darkness surrounded them, only a streetlight lighting the path beside them and they shuffled uncomfortably in their seats.

“You poorly?” Callan asked.

Meres looked at his colleague but wasn’t quite paying attention. “Sorry?”

“I said are you ill, mate?”

“Why do I look pale?” He looked into the rear-view mirror.

“No, I mean, what’s with you being so quiet, Toby, it’s unsettling? Normally I can’t shut you up.”

“Not everything is about you, David. I think you’ll find I’m busy.”

Callan snorted. “Busy, yeah, real busy, scribbling away in that notebook, no doubt rating birds you saw at the club last night.”

“Shows what you know,” Meres said, covering the page with his hand whenever Callan attempted to take a look. “Rating the girls was only the back page.”

“Come on, let’s have a butchers.”

Callan attempted to peek when suddenly he felt a gun resting on his temple.

“One more move and there’ll be David Callan brains on the windscreen.”

“Oh, you’re bloody charming, you are!”

Lowering the gun, Meres slipped the weapon back into his pocket. For a few minutes it was deathly silent before Callan sniffed. “Must be pretty secretive if you’re willing to shoot my brains out over it. What is it, something for Hunter like?”

Meres sighed. “You’re like a dog with a bone. I will guard this to the death if that’s what you mean.”

“Bloody hell.” He took a pause. “Not your Will is it? The last Will and Testament of Tobias Meres.”

“I never write Wills, David, best not to tempt fate.”

“Yeah, know what you mean and it’s not like you have anyone to leave anything to. In our game, it’s best to leave all that aside.”

“You certainly wouldn’t get any of my goods, David.”

“I don’t want any of your goods, mate, don’t flatter yourself, sunshine. So, it’s not a Will, what the bleedin’ hell is it then?”

Meres grinned. “You really hate not being kept in the loop, don’t you, think I’m betraying you or something?”

“Could be. You were smiling when you were writing.”

“Could be a love letter to you,” Meres said pursing his lips at him.

“If it is, I don’t want to ever see it, ever, alright?”

Meres smiled, took the notebook and shoved it into the glove compartment, slamming the hatch shut and locking it with a key.

“Shame it doesn’t self-destruct,” Callan said, grinning.

“Right, I need to go for a piss. Been holding it for hours.” He grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to use a public lav.”

“You should be used to trawling around public lavs at night by now.”

Smirking, Meres opened the car door. “Bastard. Oh, and by the way, if you try and get into my glove compartment, it won’t be me having toilet trouble, because you’ll never pee again on account of my grabbing a knife to your never regions and cutting everything I see.”

Callan folded his arms. “I do love it when you talk with such romantic honesty. Alright, mate, I get it, it’s a secret. Toby Meres has secrets!”

Meres nodded. “So we understand each other.”

“No but…”

Meres slammed the door shut and walked onto the pavement where under the lamplight, Callan noticed it looked as though he had a halo. The devil had left the vehicle but the streetlamp seemed to think he was the angel. On that note, Callan just had to know what the ‘angelic’ Meres kept inside that notebook. Within moments he was bashing the hatch with his elbow. When that wasn’t successful, he found a screwdriver in Meres’ bag which he used to break it open.

Looking outside the window, making sure he was alone, he grabbed the notebook and flicked through it, staring at some long pages of handwriting. “Bloody hell!” He gasped.

For several moments, he sat, bewildered, fascinated, open-mouthed, joyful at what he had found. He had no words to articulate the sensation of what he had discovered— the Achilles heel of Toby Meres. One word of it to anyone else and Toby was finished. His reputation was over. Callan held the notebook and realised the power he held in his hands, the holy grail of objects. He owned Toby Meres from this day forward.

He hardly had noticed Meres climbing back into the car moments later and quickly shoved the book under his bottom.

Meres was wiping his hands with a paper towel. “You do not want to know what it was like in there. Fifty paper towels wasn’t enough.”

“Not see any of your regulars?”

Meres smirked. “Not tonight, David, old chap, it’s not Friday. Anyway, what have you been up to?”

Callan shuffled. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you grinning like a demented clown at the circus?” Meres’ eyes moved to the glove compartment which was slightly cracked on the outside. His face was struck with horror. He flung open the compartment to find nothing but his leather gloves. “Callan! Where is it?!”

Callan feigned innocence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.”

“Come here, you bastard!”

Meres undid his seatbelt, leaned over Callan and started to search him. “Give me it, now!” He grabbed Callan’s jacket, thrusting his hands in any pocket he could find. “I will strip-search you if I have to. Don’t make me go into your trouser pockets.”

“Get off me, I haven’t got your sodding notebook.”

“Oh really?” Meres grabbed Callan’s seatbelt and then wrapped the strap around his neck like a snake that started to squeeze tighter and tighter. Callan began to turn red in the face, gasping for air.

“Where is it?” Meres called.

“I…can’t…breathe!”

“Then hand it over and you’ll live.”

Callan realised it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t being interrogated for national security. He wasn’t going to die because of Meres’ secret. “Alright, alright!” he squeaked, pointing to his bottom.

Meres let go, moving the seatbelt and shoving Callan who was clutching his throat, rubbing away the soreness left after the rough material. “Do that to me again, mate,” Callan said with deep breaths, “and I’ll bloody ‘ave you.”

“Just move!” Meres grabbed the notebook. “Did you read it?” He was inches from Callan’s face, so close he could smell his aftershave.

“Might’ve had a sneak-peak.”

Meres pouted in annoyance and threw the notebook onto the back seat. He looked down at his knees and his voice fell soft. “Well now you know. I’m not proud of myself. I suppose it had to come out eventually.”

“I’m stunned. You think you know a bloke, think you’ve started to understand their ways and then they go and do this and your whole view of the world goes out the window.”

“You tell anyone about this and you’ll be out the window from a high-speed train.”

“Why you do it?”

Meres took a moment to compose his answer, inhaling and then exhaling slowly. “I enjoy it. Tried not to but can’t help it. Been doing it most of my life, can’t seem to stop.”

“But it’s…strange, Toby.”

Meres grabbed Callan’s coat. “Don’t you think I know that? You collect toy soldiers. You’re just as warped as I am.”

“I don’t write Mills and bloody Boon style fiction though, do I?” He laughed. “Meres and Boon. With this information, Toby, I own you.”

“You won’t tell anyone?” Meres pleaded gently.

Callan laughed. “Nah. I’m not a grass.”

“Thank you. Can we never talk about this again?”

Not being able to look at him, Callan nodded. “I think I can handle that. Some things are a man’s private business. But just one thing? Are those stories based on you?”

“No.”

“’The spy I loved?’”

Meres licked his teeth. “I might base certain elements on my life. Write what you know and all that.”

“And are they erotic?”

“They’re romantic, David.”

“I think that scares me more.”

“That’s because you have no love in your soul.”

“Nor do you! Your Toby bleedin’ Meres. Blood and torture is your hobby, how do you write about couples skipping through fields, marital bliss and love hearts?”

Meres looked away, folding his arms. “I thought we said not another word.”

“My pleasure.” Callan paused for a moment and then grinned. “You know what’s funny though?”

“What?”

“You’re a terrible writer.”

With a swift elbow to the ribs, Meres managed to shut up his colleague.

“Everyone’s a critic.”

Chapter Text

Richard Barrett— one of the Champions, endowed, along with Sharron Macready and Craig Stirling with extraordinary powers after a plane crash in Tibet— laid in his hospital bed, weak and tired, his own powers unable to stop him falling victim to brainwashing but enough he could recover at a steadier pace than the average person.

He’d barely spoken to Craig since the incident, had told him he was too tired for visitors but in truth he wasn’t ready to face him, realising how he’d been forced to behave in extreme circumstances, drugged and driven to hatred. Regardless of whether those ideas were planted into his brain— for hours he’d wanted to kill Craig and nothing could’ve changed that. He had rage and determination to do the job.

Unfortunately, being able to share certain thoughts and feelings with Craig and Sharron meant he was never truly alone in his mind. He wondered if they knew little bits and pieces of how he was feeling or if Craig sensed he was deliberately trying to close off his mind to him. And dark thoughts still plagued him, images of the glistening knife aiming for Craig’s neck, memories of Craig supposedly murdering his father, and even though he knew now that wasn’t true, there were still fragments of that fabricated thought that remained and would so until he could fully recover and bury the ordeal. The physical and mental strain was still heightened and he was suffering. The three of them in the long run had no idea of how their mental health would cope with their new-found abilities and how their extraordinary skills would affect them in the long term, and so it was day by day that Richard would take each step and it was another week or so before he saw Craig and Sharron again.

Signed off work (which to him was a punishment in itself), assigned to the same ward as Tremayne, he could only wait with anxiety knowing Craig and Sharron had been sent on missions without him. They were well, he assumed, but he wondered whether Craig had suffered any after effects of the incident, whether he held any resentment or anger toward him. He felt he needed to know but was too ashamed to ask. He and Craig were hardly the types to hold a group therapy session.

The next Richard saw of them was when Sharron arrived, carrying two bouquets of flowers, placing one down for Tremayne on his bedside table and one for him. Richard had never received flowers before but the pretty colours brightened up the sterile room.

“Sharron, I somehow knew it was you coming,” he said with a smile.

“How ever did you know that?” asked Tremayne from his covers.

Richard and Sharron exchanged knowing glances.

“Just a feeling,” Richard replied.

Looking to the door, waiting for Craig to arrive, for his smiling face to appear at the glass, he realised he was disappointed when his friend hadn’t come to visit. Of course he told himself he didn’t want to see him but he really could’ve made the effort regardless.

As Sharron fluffed Tremayne’s pillows, Richard drummed his fingers on his chest.

“So…uh…no Craig?”

Sharron smiled. “He’s catching up on some paperwork.”

“Now I know something’s wrong. Craig never does paperwork if he can possibly help it…or leave it for yours truly.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sharron wished men would simply talk to each other instead of playing word games. “Nothing’s wrong. Craig hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“It’s what he doesn’t mention that counts, Sharron. Have you sensed anything then?”

“You’re one to talk…or not as the case may be. Ask him to come see you.”

Richard smiled and then thought hard for a moment. ‘Craig’ he repeated in his mind to which a moment later he heard a faint but deep reply of ‘Richard’ making him shiver.

“He knows I’ve called now.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” Sharron replied.

Resting his arms behind his head, Richard leaned back. “Probably on his way. You know, Sharron, I’m not sure why you were making a fuss.”

Sharron rolled her eyes upwards and glanced at Tremayne who was staring dumbfounded at the conversation.

“But he didn’t pick up the telephone?”

Exchanging glances, the two champions shrugged.

“Oh, we don’t need telephones,” Richard said quickly.

It was only moments later when Craig arrived at the hospital leading Richard to conclude that the man had been nearby waiting for his call. Had he even been just outside the door but then wouldn’t he have sensed him? It had been awkward between them but as soon as Craig entered the room and smiled, he felt instantly better.

“How are you, Richard?” He shook Richard’s hand.

“I’m also fine, in case you were wondering, Craig,” Tremayne said from his bed.

Craig laughed, keeping his eyes still firmly on Richard whilst he spoke. “Sorry sir, how you feeling?”

“I’d say he’s doing very well,” Sharron laughed. “He’s eaten four bags of grapes.”

“Well, I’m hungry!”

“Yes, but did you have to spit the pips out at me, sir?” Richard said, pulling a pip from his pyjama top.

“No bin.”

“Why don’t I wheel you out onto the courtyard?” Sharron said to her boss, glancing at her two boys, hoping she could give them time to talk alone and also score brownie points with her superior.

“What an offer. Thank you, Sharron.”

As Sharron assisted Tremayne and then wheeled him from the room, Craig grinned widely.

“She’s all heart,” Richard said.

“A real peach.”

“Hope she can’t hear us saying this.”

“She’ll gloat for days.”

There was an awkward silence. “So, you’re alright, then?” Craig asked again, rubbing the back of his neck.

Richard sat up straight in his bed. “Oh, you know, doing well enough but darned bored sitting here. I don’t know why the quacks won’t let me out.”

“Because you’re in recovery. If you won’t listen to their orders, listen to mine. You had a pretty big shock to the system. George died from it. And I had to knock you about pretty damn hard. You have to rest.”

Rubbing his jaw, Richard laughed nervously. “Yes, I’ve got the pain to prove it.”

Craig sat down on a chair and tapped Richard’s hand softly. It felt good to be able to be gentle on him rather than beating him to a pulp. “You’d have done the same to me, pal.”

“Yes, I suppose I would. Say, uh…Craig?”

“Yeah?”

He could barely look at his friend in that moment because every time he saw those deep brown expressive eyes, he remembered the manipulation, the pictures of Craig in front of him, forcing him to stare, to examine, to see him as the enemy. Those black and white photographs, giant, and facing him, pictures of him, over and over.

“I’m sorry for—”

“Richard, please, it’s nothing. It’s part of the job. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But with our skills I should’ve been able to resist it, resist attempting to kill my closest friend.”

Suddenly Sharron’s voice came into both their minds.

“Along with Sharron, my other closest friend,” Richard added to which Craig laughed. “We were always close, you and I, but now with this extra stuff, since Tibet, our bond is greater.” Richard looked downward. “It’s hard so accept it when people want to use that bond to turn us against one another.”

“It would have the biggest impact. Have a Nemesis agent kill one of his own.”

“Not just any agent, Craig, other agents aren’t you and me.”

“No, unlucky them. Look, don’t sweat it, it was just another day.”

“A normal day in which I tried to murder you?”

“Richard, don’t make me get violent with you again. You had no control.”

“But aren’t you angry with me, not even a bit?”

“Why would I be angry? It upset me, sure, but it wasn’t you, Richard. It was a drug, nothing more.”

“But it was me looking at you, accusing you.”

“I know your eyes well, Richard, they might’ve been just as blue but it wasn’t you in there. There was none of the Richard that I know and…” he stopped himself talking.

“So, it didn’t make you suffer? No nightmares?”

Craig looked at the door. “I wonder where Sharron’s got to.”

Richard grabbed him by the arm and spun him to face him. As he did so, he saw momentary fear sweep across Craig’s face. The last time he’d grabbed him unaware, he was determined for one thing, to kill!

Richard pressed him for an answer, asking the question twice for emphasis. “How did it feel Craig, didn’t the betrayal hurt you? I want to know.”

“Of course it did!” Craig replied aggressively. “What do you want me to say? The worst part wasn’t you trying to kill me, Richard. The worst part was having to hurt you to stop it.”

Richard chuckled lightly. “That wasn’t so bad, I could handle it.”

“It was for me. I can train myself to do anything— to beat, to kill but nothing trains you for having to hurt one of your own, one who matches you in every possible way.”

“True. And no one trains you how to cope with having a drug manipulate you!”

There was an awkward pause as the two men looked at each other.

“So, you worried about me huh?” Richard said with a tease. “Glad to hear it. Suppose Sharron’s got a point, that talking does help, that we all suffer from time to time.”

Craig ruffled Richard’s hair. “Don’t you forget it baby. And uh…let’s not tell Sharron about this, she might think she was right.”