ext_41734 (
draycevixen.livejournal.com) wrote in
crack_van2010-09-17 07:06 am
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Entry tags:
Laeti Triumphantes by Sineala (Adult)
.
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 4392 words
Author on LJ:
sineala
Why this must be read:
There’s a long tradition of Christmas time stories in Pros and this is one of my favourites as it also fills in a part of some our lads’ rather mysterious backgrounds. Here, Sineala skilfully uses “cold” in all of its meanings to chart Bodie’s progress through a harsh and unforgiving life towards warmth and safe haven.
Tonight he dreams he's sixteen. He's almost forgotten being sixteen. He's sixteen and cold. Freighter in the North Atlantic. It's nighttime. He's on watch. The sea is choppy and rough, and he's been here for hours. Even with the gloves, he can't feel anything in his fingers. Binoculars hang heavily around his neck, and as the minutes pass they grow heavier still. He'll never be able to move his neck again, he thinks. The guillotine, only slower. The spray falls on his face, works its clever way through his coat to his skin. He can no longer tell if it's cold. It could be warm. He doesn't remember what warmth feels like. He's never warm, not even off-duty. When his watch is over, he'll crawl into his narrow bunk, practically the size of a cupboard. He'll curl up against bare-metal walls and shiver until the numbness turns into sleep. Sometimes he has company, but he's still alone. The first mate's body is a sheet of ice against his back. The man never stays the night.
Laeti Triumphantes
.
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 4392 words
Author on LJ:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Why this must be read:
There’s a long tradition of Christmas time stories in Pros and this is one of my favourites as it also fills in a part of some our lads’ rather mysterious backgrounds. Here, Sineala skilfully uses “cold” in all of its meanings to chart Bodie’s progress through a harsh and unforgiving life towards warmth and safe haven.
Tonight he dreams he's sixteen. He's almost forgotten being sixteen. He's sixteen and cold. Freighter in the North Atlantic. It's nighttime. He's on watch. The sea is choppy and rough, and he's been here for hours. Even with the gloves, he can't feel anything in his fingers. Binoculars hang heavily around his neck, and as the minutes pass they grow heavier still. He'll never be able to move his neck again, he thinks. The guillotine, only slower. The spray falls on his face, works its clever way through his coat to his skin. He can no longer tell if it's cold. It could be warm. He doesn't remember what warmth feels like. He's never warm, not even off-duty. When his watch is over, he'll crawl into his narrow bunk, practically the size of a cupboard. He'll curl up against bare-metal walls and shiver until the numbness turns into sleep. Sometimes he has company, but he's still alone. The first mate's body is a sheet of ice against his back. The man never stays the night.
Laeti Triumphantes
.
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