Advent Calendar - Day 8 Fiction by Natasha Chesterbrook

 

Something delicious and delightful this December morning! Natasha Chesterbrook returns with a coda for Mark and Stephen from the I Spy trilogy! 

Thank you to Natasha! 

I Spy Christmas Coda

Mark Hardwicke & Dr. Stephen Thorpe

 

I squatted beneath a bright winter sun while a frigid breeze ruffled tufts of hair escaping from my beanie. Yet I didn’t feel the unseasonably cold temperatures for December in Virginia, a month that as often as not felt more like Fall even in the Shenandoah Valley. Blame it on global warming but back in merry old England I remember the last month of the year being a series of days just this brisk.

Twinkling lights swung above; colorful leaves littered the ground; a maze of hay bales and desiccated cornstalks piled at random intervals created an odd festive flair. But I ignored it all, awareness of my surroundings heightened: rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, the air smelling faintly of woodsmoke, and a shadow hovering around the corner of a barn-like structure not twenty feet from where I crouched behind a stack of corded logs.

This was a human-shaped shadow and the current object of my focus. Holding my breath lest the vapor give away my location, I listened for telltale signs from my target. Occasionally cries rang out farther behind me echoing around the wooded landscape in what I hoped was my team regrouping. They were getting closer. Or someone was.

It had been simple work to take out the first two targets who lacked both a coordinated approach and tactical awareness. The third target posed a slightly greater challenge when she managed to get a shot off that came closer to taking me out than I would have liked.

Yet even then she had made a tactical error in a rash attack, leaving herself open to my assault. And I am never one to waste an opportunity.

While tracking the last target, I’d lost track of my remaining team members. We weren’t operating as tightly as I would have preferred but often you just made do with what you had.

I re-checked the firing mechanism on my weapon – it was cheaply made and loose. They hadn’t allowed me to bring my own firepower on this mission. Still, I’d worked with less and adaptability was an asset in the field.

The shadow inched forward slightly, so I scuttled back to avoid any sightline. Was it one of my team or the remaining target? It might be worth the risk to take the shot. Casualties are a part of the game. My team members had to know this. Though they might be right pissed at me, the end goal was what really mattered.

Weighing my options while I waited, I kept my breathing slow and steady despite the exhilaration burning in my veins. It had been too long since I’d felt this kind of rush, this heat.

Palming a rock from the sandy soil at my feet, I lobbed it overhead to ricochet off the barn’s roof just above the target’s position. A cheap trick but too often effective. Timing was everything. Just as the shadow jumped out into view, I dove and rolled coming up on one knee and firing off a shot that hit the target center mass.

My victory was short-lived when I heard footsteps behind me.

The immediate impact of the ammo hurt less than the ache from my old stabbing injury. That and falling backward on my arse.

“Uh, sorry about that, Mr. Hardwicke. My gun must have misfired.”

I peered down at the splatter of red liquid running from my flak jacket. “Bloody amateurs.”

 

The smells of slow-cooked beef and fresh baked bread draw me into the kitchen the moment I step foot into the house. It has been hours since lunch and I’m famished. Minutes later Stephen finds me nose-deep in a large bowl of stew, stuffing a hot buttered biscuit into my mouth while wearing nothing but long underwear.

“Ah, the warrior returns!” Stephen’s mouth finds mine in spite of, or maybe because of, the melted butter smearing my lips. The kiss lingers long and languidly. “How’d it go?”

I find my mind wandering down alleys far from mission recap. The kind that leads to a long evening in bed that might or might not include more butter.

“Mark?”

My eyes snap away from Stephen’s lips and I feel myself blush beneath a grin. 

“It was … good.”

“Just good? I’d have thought running around shooting your fellow students with paint balls at a place called Hogback Mountain would be a bit more than that.”

I grimace. “Taken out by friendly fire.”

Stephen chuckles, “Ouch. Well, you can always uninvite them to the holiday party.”

But my attention is back on Stephen’s mouth. The way he smiles at me while talking, taking pleasure from giving me his attention. Full, red lips that I know are as warm as they look.  I’d felt that mouth on my skin in places that made me shiver and ache in equal measure. And it is the familiarity that I find more desirable than the purely sensual. I love this mouth because of the man attached to it or rather I love all the pieces of him, but the sum is so much greater than the parts.

He stopped talking and I realize I’d stopped listening. “Pardon?”

Stephen’s smile turns contemplative. “Miss the action of being in the field?”

I think about the question. On the surface Stephen is asking if I find satisfaction in recreating missions and the accompanying pseudo-danger through simulated war games. Beneath that, is he worried that I’m bored and in need of distraction?

Do I need distraction? The adrenaline of the hunt and the gratification of taking out a target certainly felt familiar. But it wasn’t as if there was any real danger and I know, at the end of the day, I’ll still be going home to Stephen. So probably no more than any bloke who enjoys these sorts of activities.

“No, if Teddy Grant can take me out by misfire, I’d have no business even considering field work.”

“So you enjoyed your early Christmas present?”

I spoon the last of the stew from my bowl and set it on the counter.  Then I turn to Stephen and place my arms around his neck, pull him in close and whisper against those lips, “Not as much as I’m going to enjoy thanking you for it.”