A Wintry Discontent
Doyle jammed his hands in his pockets and tried not to shift his weight back and forth. He'd already had one hopping frog remark from Bodie, and it was too cold and early for another one.
"Oi, Kermit! Get this down you and stop jittering around. Giving me a bloody headache you are."
A steaming cup of tea from the thermos was thrust at him, and while he would have liked to have upended it all over the smug bastard's head, he was too chilled to waste it. So he took the offered cup and glared.
Doyle shook his head.
Might as well glare at asbestos.
"You just stand there and defrost, sunshine," said Bodie, still grinning.
The scalding, sugary tea was doing wonders, and Doyle couldn't be bothered to find a retort. Anson and Murph would be out in twenty minutes to take their turn camping in the bushes in someone's back bloody garden, and if his majesty over there didn't feel the cold, then his majesty could take his Kermit remarks and shove them up his jacksy.
He slurped and smacked his lips as loudly as he possibly could.
Silence from his partner this time and it was Doyle's turn to feel smug.
Then Bodie sniffed.
Doyle peered at him closely and saw a tremor. And another.
He frowned as he realised something. "Where's yours?"
"Tea, you idiot. Or do you army types always shiver when you're warm and happy, then?"
Give me strength.
"Was only one cup left. I'll warm meself up with one when the shift's over."
Doyle looked down and let the steam from his tea mist him up a moment. He glanced around to make sure, then stepped sideways and kissed Bodie on his left temple.
"What the bloody hell was that for?"
"Nothing, you soft git. Keep your eyes on the house."
-- THE END --