The Professionals Circuit Archive - Please Pass.	 Please Pass.

 

by Arduinna Finn

  
 *Just a Thanksgiving snippet that I couldn't resist writing.*

Anson stared in shock at the pile of paperwork placed lovingly on his desk
by 3.7 and 4.5 (at least he assumed it had been placed lovingly; the card
on the top certainly implied so, with its scrawled, "You're an angel,
angel. Hugs and kisses, 3.7 and 4.5") as they left on their extended
weekend -- paperwork that he was supposed to do now, since he was filling
in for them. The sound of happy chuckles broke into his plans of
vengeance, and he dove for the door, sticking his head out in time to see
the cause of his woes scuffling their way down the hallway, clearly having
just gotten Cowley's blessing to leave. 

"Oi! Bodie, Doyle!" 

The pair slowed to a halt just before the stairs, turning to answer the
summons. Bodie raised his eyebrows inquiringly, sneaking in one last shove
at his partner, who dodged it without batting an eye and landed a solid
hit in return. A smug smile played around Doyle's lips for a moment, then
turned sickeningly sweet as he looked at Anson. "Yes, angel?" he asked.
Bodie choked, bending slightly to duck his head behind Doyle in a
pathetically obvious attempt to hide his snickers. A second later he
straightened up, coughing and red-faced, carefully not looking at his
partner, who was carefully not looking at him back. They were both
grinning openly now. 

Anson opened his mouth to deliver a blistering commentary on them, their
parentage, and their fondness for certain domesticated animals, not to
mention their appalling lack of esprit de corps in dumping so much hated
administrative work on him while they were off living the high life, but
trying to say it all at one go almost choked him. Knowing that he had to
say something, he settled for a simple, snarled, "Get stuffed." 

Honour thus satisfied, he withdrew back into his office, pulling the door
shut with a firm click (Cowley had delivered a few blistering words of his
own not too long ago about his agents' tendency to slam doors after the
Minister had been subjected to an afternoon of said agents' use of said
slams to punctuate a raging argument) -- but not before he heard a quiet,
"Good idea, that -- and I get first dibs on the stuffing!" 

-- THE END --

November 21, 1998

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