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!
Mark Hardwicke & Dr. Stephen Thorpe
I squatted beneath a bright winter sun while a frigid breezeruffled tufts of hair escaping from my beanie. Yet I didn’t feel theunseasonably cold temperatures for December in Virginia, a month that as oftenas not felt more like Fall even in the Shenandoah Valley. Blame it on globalwarming but back in merry old England I remember the last month of the yearbeing a series of days just this brisk.
Twinkling lights swung above; colorful leaves littered theground; a maze of hay bales and desiccated cornstalks piled at random intervalscreated an odd festive flair. But I ignored it all, awareness of mysurroundings heightened: rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, the airsmelling faintly of woodsmoke, and a shadow hovering around the corner of abarn-like structure not twenty feet from where I crouched behind a stack ofcorded logs.
This was a human-shaped shadow and the current object of myfocus. Holding my breath lest the vapor give away my location, I listened fortelltale signs from my target. Occasionally cries rang out farther behind me echoingaround the wooded landscape in what I hoped was my team regrouping. They weregetting closer. Or someone was.
It had been simple work to take out the first two targetswho lacked both a coordinated approach and tactical awareness. The third targetposed a slightly greater challenge when she managed to get a shot off that camecloser 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 remainingteam members. We weren’t operating as tightly as I would have preferred but oftenyou just made do with what you had.
I re-checked the firing mechanism on my weapon – it wascheaply made and loose. They hadn’t allowed me to bring my own firepower onthis mission. Still, I’d worked with less and adaptability was an asset in thefield.
The shadow inched forward slightly, so I scuttled back toavoid any sightline. Was it one of my team or the remaining target? It might beworth the risk to take the shot. Casualties are a part of the game. My teammembers had to know this. Though they might be right pissed at me, the end goalwas what really mattered.
Weighing my options while I waited, I kept my breathing slowand steady despite the exhilaration burning in my veins. It had been too longsince I’d felt this kind of rush, this heat.
Palming a rock from the sandy soil at my feet, I lobbed itoverhead to ricochet off the barn’s roof just above the target’s position. Acheap trick but too often effective. Timing was everything. Just as the shadowjumped out into view, I dove and rolled coming up on one knee and firing off a shotthat 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 achefrom my old stabbing injury. That and falling backward on my arse.
“Uh, sorry about that, Mr. Hardwicke. My gun must havemisfired.”
I peered down at the splatter of red liquid running from my flakjacket. “Bloody amateurs.”
The smells of slow-cooked beef and fresh baked bread draw meinto the kitchen the moment I step foot into the house. It has been hours sincelunch and I’m famished. Minutes later Stephen finds me nose-deep in a largebowl of stew, stuffing a hot buttered biscuit into my mouth while wearingnothing but long underwear.
“Ah, the warrior returns!” Stephen’s mouth finds mine in spiteof, or maybe because of, the melted butter smearing my lips. The kiss lingerslong 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 includemore butter.
“Mark?”
My eyes snap away from Stephen’s lips and I feel myselfblush beneath a grin.
“It was … good.”
“Just good? I’d have thought running around shooting yourfellow students with paint balls at a place called Hogback Mountain would be abit more than that.”
I grimace. “Taken out by friendly fire.”
Stephen chuckles, “Ouch. Well, you can always uninvite themto the holiday party.”
But my attention is back on Stephen’s mouth. The way hesmiles 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 inequal measure. And it is the familiarity that I find more desirable than thepurely sensual. I love this mouth because of the man attached to it or rather Ilove 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 ofbeing in the field?”
I think about the question. On the surface Stephen is askingif I find satisfaction in recreating missions and the accompanyingpseudo-danger through simulated war games. Beneath that, is he worried that I’mbored and in need of distraction?
Do I need distraction? The adrenaline of the hunt and thegratification of taking out a target certainly felt familiar. But it wasn’t asif there was any real danger and I know, at the end of the day, I’ll still begoing home to Stephen. So probably no more than any bloke who enjoys thesesorts of activities.
“No, if Teddy Grant can take me out by misfire, I’d have nobusiness 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 thecounter. Then I turn to Stephen and placemy arms around his neck, pull him in close and whisper against those lips, “Notas much as I’m going to enjoy thanking you for it.”
