Day 23 and I think I'm one of the last to contribute. I hope you've had an enjoyable reading experience with some fun and interesting ficlets from our many authors. If this is the first time you've heard of the Rainbow Advent Calendar, then the masterlist is
here. And you can join the Facebook group
here (which is the easiest place to show some love and engage with the authors).
Many thanks to Alex Jane for arranging the event.
This ficlet features Rick and Mal from
Resistance. And when I get a free minute I will be making this in a downloadable version.
Dark Nights and
Inner Light
“Do I need to be
concerned, Dholna?”
“What?” Rick’s long,
confident strides faltered and he spun around, nearly taking Mal out with the
axe slung casually over his shoulder. His boyfriend had hefted the weighty tool
with barely a qualm, and certainly without a word. He’d just expected Mal to
follow along behind with no clue as to where they were going.
And this was his
point. Or was it? He was fast losing his train of thought, what with the way
Rick’s biceps were straining against the flannel shirt he wore. And what was
with that, no coat, not even a jumper. In mid-December.
Oh well, if he was
going to die he could think of worse ways to go than watching the flex of those
bulging muscles wielding an axe.
“Mal?” Rick sounded
concerned. He dropped his gaze down to the ground, and then over at Mal’s suede
trainers. “Did you want to change your shoes, or something?” Mal glanced at
Rick’s sturdy boots and the sodden mulch that the ground became once the past
the tree line into the forest. “Be quick if you do. I want to get this done
before the light fades completely.”
They’d been home all
day—a rare full day spent together because of Mal’s shifts—so if the light was
that important, why had Rick waited until now to go out.
Mal looked at his
trainers, they were slightly scuffed at the toes but nothing too bad, they
still had plenty of life left in them, even if he didn’t. “Not like I’ll be
needing them soon,” he muttered.
“Eh?” Rick frowned,
but Mal could tell he was restless, eager to get on. You got to know these
things when you’d been living together for six months. “What’s the matter, hun?”
“It’s almost
twilight and you’re leading me into the forest with your trusty chopper. You
won’t tell me where we’re going.” Mal shook the empty sack that he held in his
left hand. A sturdy rope was looped over his shoulders. “This sack has got to
be six-foot long. Do you plan to carry me home in it?” His voice rose in
consternation, even though he tried to keep it level. “I love you. If it’s the
disparaging remarks I made about your attempt at mince pies—”
“Attempt!” Rick
sounded affronted all over again.
Don’t piss off the man with the massive
chopper. Mal eyed the axe
warily. “Sorry. If I’ve done something wrong, I’d much rather we talk about it
than you chase me around the forest with an axe.”
Rick threw back his
head and laughed. Did it have a slightly maniacal edge? No, Rick reminded Mal
of the huntsman in that film they’d watched the other night. Or maybe a
character from a fairy tale—not the Grimm versions, but like one from the
Christmas play the kids had put on at the village hall last week.
“I told you not to
go to that lecture on forensic science. It’s not like reading your murder
mysteries. That shit is real.” Obviously satisfied Mal was simply being an
idiot, Rick started walking deeper into the forest.
Mal had to agree,
Rick went out of his way to save ducklings from a drain, and he openly admitted
what a bad cook he was, although he was trying, even if Mal still cooked most
of their meals. Rick wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Motive is not important. Nobody knows what
could drive someone to kill.
But Mal did know
Rick. He fell into step behind his—still chuckling—boyfriend. “I had to go. How
often do you get to see a lecture on forensic science by an actual working Federal
Forensic Investigator in Hillchester?”
And Geoff Samson had
been a revelation; interesting, funny, and knowledgeable. That confidence had
been a turn on, as had the Wolverine-style sideburns. Maybe he could convince
Rick to try and grow some, but Rick’s fair hair made his beard hard enough to
see until it grew in thickly, by which time Rick’d had enough and was ready to
return to being clean shaven.
Geoff had taken the
time to talk to the audience afterwards over tea and coffee, despite most of
the audience being made up of authors wanting to discuss plot points and gory
modes of death.
Rick had been
working, so Mal had gone with Raleigh and Smudge. He’d thought the two of them
would have apoplexy when Geoff had introduced them to his husband, the romance
writer. Who knew the pair of them read that stuff? Although having listened to
the author’s passionate speech on the subject of romance, Mal could possibly be
tempted away from his police procedurals and cosy mysteries, at least for the
occasional read.
“So where are we going?” Mal asked, sliding in
next to Rick. On the side where he wasn’t carrying the axe, naturally.
“Now that you don’t
think I’m going to hack you into little pieces over a disagreement about
festive pastries? Has that been bothering you? I admit they were shit and I was
honestly more pissed at myself for fucking them up than your comments. I just
need to resign myself to the fact that I can’t cook and let you bear the brunt
of that revelation.”
“You’re a good
chopper,” Mal glanced at the axe, “whatever size your tool.”
“Yeah, we both know
yours is bigger. But I make a mean breakfast, even without bacon.”
“You do.” Mal
slipped his hand in Rick’s. “Why aren’t you cold? Is it much further?”
The pathway came to
a junction, left or right the only options, and Mal didn’t know which way Rick
would chose. On their walks and cycle rides they normally veered away on a
different path at the last fork they’d passed. Mal hadn’t been down this path
before. Several feet through the trees Mal could make out a mesh fence.
“This way.” Rick
tugged on Mal’s hand, stepped off the path and into the trees.
They followed the
wire fencing for a couple of minutes, ankle deep in fallen mouldy leaves. Mal
cursed himself for not taking the chance to change his shoes when Rick had given
him the option.
“In here.” Rick let Mal’s
hand drop and ducked down.
“Where?” But Rick
was already scrabbling through a large hole in the wire fencing. “What are we
doing? Is this breaking and entering? Am I going to be arrested?”
“Not if you stay on
that side of the fence you won’t.” Rick chuckled. He bent to drag his axe
through the hole and straightened. “You can stay here if you’re worried.”
“Worried?!” Mal’s
voice shot up an octave. “Should I be worried? What are you planning to do?”
“I’m losing the
light. I’ll argue the toss with you later but right now I need to get to the
grove. Or Nigel will be turning up in the dark.”
Nigel, their farmer
neighbour, was somehow involved in all this skulduggery. Mal had met him
several times over the last few months and he would have sworn he was as
straight as they come; rigid, stoic, his only concern the animals under his
care and the quality of the produce with his farm’s name on it. Had he stumbled
into some sort of cult?
“Come on, make your
mind up. Happen you’ll get lost on this side without a guide. Christmas will be
over the way you’re dallying.”
They couldn’t argue
about anything later if Mal didn’t know the extent of what was going on. He
scrambled through the gap and stood next to Rick. “Come on then. If we’re
breaking the law, let’s do it together.”
Rick led the way
through the trees. There was no path to speak of, although a way had been
cleared by foot traffic of some sort, but it was a treacherous thing with
fallen branches and rabbit holes. Mal would have been lost in an instant on his
own, or broken an ankle.
He was concentrating
so hard on keeping his footing that he didn’t notice the change in the tree
canopy until darkness made moving forward even more difficult. He glanced
around, the bark on the trees rougher than before and the sudden leaf covering
confirmed they were heading into a batch of evergreens.
“We’re here.” Rick
stepped through a line of trees and disappeared.
Mal followed. Rick
stood in the centre of a clearing. The moon flooded the area even though the
sun hadn’t quite set, casting a strange light. Mal turned slowly, taking in his
surroundings. The axe made sense now. He was staring at a dense stand of
Christmas trees.
“Pick one.” Rick
gestured to the trees.
“We’re stealing a
Christmas tree?”
“Stealing is quite a
harsh term. No one lives here anymore. The trees need thinning out or the whole
lot of them will die out.”
“So you help
yourself to one.”
“Originally someone
would come from the estate to share the trees around the village but it seemed
to have been forgotten over time. My dad used to do it with Nigel’s dad, they’d
bring us to help carry the trees back to the gate and we’d load them on the
tractor and distribute them around the village. I don’t have time for that, and
loads of people have fake trees now, so I only clear four trees.”
“One for you and
Nigel. Where do the other two go?”
“You’ve seen them
both. One’s in the coffee shop. And the other is on the village green.”
“The village tree?
We went to the lighting up ceremony of a stolen tree. Does everyone know?”
Surely the village Christmas committee weren’t aware of this.
“Where do you think
it came from?”
“The Christmas tree
farm that appeared just off the bypass on the last week of November.”
Rick laughed. “Those
trees are crap. These trees were planted for
the village. You’ll have to ask Raleigh the details of the story. But they were
planted at some time in the Victorian era, and every year the largest tree was
felled by the gardener of the big house and taken by cart down to the village
green where the Lord at the time would present it to the villagers. He’d bring
roasted meats, and toffee apples for the kids, and mulled cider and he’d help
the villagers decorate the tree. That became the basis for the lighting up
ceremony.”
“I wondered about
the toffee apples,” Mal said. “So the trees belong to the village. And you’re a
villager.”
“And you are too,
aren’t you?”
“I hope so.” Mal
meant that. He really loved living in Slopy Bottom. “Do you still pick the
largest tree?” Mal frowned. “When did
you come and get that tree?”
Rick wandered to a
stump just at the edge of the clearing. The wood looked freshly chopped. “I do.
The biggest I can easily get to anyway. You were at work. Smudge, Adam, Trevor,
and a couple of the other lads from the cricket team came to help me.”
“Trevor? But he’s
police.”
“They belong to the
village,” Rick said softly but insistent. “Now would you pick our tree.”
Rick wandered off
into the trees. Mal watched for a moment, the way his boyfriend laid a careful
hand on the bark of nearest tree, paused, nodded and then moved on. He let
himself be lulled by the tempo of Rick’s movements, until he lost sight of Rick
completely.
The dull rhythmic
thud that followed reminded Mal that Rick had given him a job to do. An
important job. This tree would stand in their lounge, would hold the carefully
wrapped decorations that Rick had carried down from the loft. Their first
Christmas together. The first of many. What made a good tree? Mal reached out
and placed a hand on the nearest trunk. The bark scuffed his palm, but apart
from that he could feel nothing. What had Rick been doing?
He moved on to the
next tree. It looked promising, the branches a wide sweep of dense needles, but
still with enough spread to get his hand to the trunk. Perfect for showing off
the decorations. The bark beneath his palm trembled as though the tree was
alive.
I’m a
tree whisperer.
The trunk shook,
something skittered over Mal’s hand, and a dark shape pounced out of the
branches and scampered off across the clearing. Mal squealed, his heart
pounding in his chest.
“Everything okay?”
Rick hurried through the trees. “You screamed.”
“I didn’t scream. I
yelped.”
“Squealed.” Rick
grinned, his worry apparently dissipating as he realised Mal was unharmed.
“A manly squeal.”
Mal protested.
“Oh, definitely. Not
rodent like at all, my city mouse.” Sweat beaded on Rick’s brow and caught like
diamonds in the golden hairs that were scattered throughout his beard.
“You haven’t called
me that in a while.”
“You’ve not reacted
that badly to anything countrified for months.” Rick brushed the wayward fringe
back from Mal’s face. He smelt of sweat and the forest, a woodsy, musky scent
that Mal would gladly bottle and take with him everywhere. “What spooked you?”
“I found our tree.”
Mal gestured to the conifer in question. Rick glanced over and nodded
approvingly. “But I was feeling the trunk like you do and something ran over my
hand, then leapt out at me. Frightened me half to death.”
“Squirrel.” Rick
tugged Mal into a hug, slipped his hand, which had been lingering in Mal’s
hair, into the thick waves and massaged his scalp. “Nothing to be scared of.”
“Not scared.”
“Your heart’s going
wild.”
“That’d be my hot
lumberjack boyfriend, pressing his sweaty body against me.”
Rick hummed in agreement
and hugged him tighter.
“We have loads of
ninja squirrels in London. Wasn’t a squirrel,” Mal said after letting the
caress carry on a few moments longer. “Too small. Wrong colour.”
Rick’s hand stilled
from stroking Mal’s hair, then he eased back. His eyes shone with excitement.
“Fluffy tail? Rusty colour? Tufty ears?”
“Maaaybeee,” Mal
stretched out the word, not wanting to commit to what Rick obviously wanted to
hear. “It’s getting dark and that critter was fast.”
“But it could’ve
been a red squirrel?”
“I guess.”
Rick let go of him,
stepped away, and peered at the tree in question—their perfect tree. “This one?
Shame, it’s a nice tree, would look great in the parlour, but we can’t take it.
Not if it’s a red squirrel nesting area, or even a run through. I’ll come back
tomorrow. Set up some cameras.”
“Cameras?” Mal asked
because he knew it’d be expected of him, but he couldn’t shake his
disappointment. They couldn’t have their tree, the one he’d picked out himself.
“I’ll need proof if
I want to get the preservation society out here. Hey,” Rick stepped back into
Mal, wrapped both arms around his waist, “we’ll pick out another tree. And
while it might not be as perfect as the one you chose, we’ll have picked it out
together.”
“Together. And that
sounds like a perfect symbol for our first Christmas of many. A new tradition.”
Mal agreed, settling their hips together. He rocked into Rick, relished the
hitch in Rick’s breathing the move elicited. After all, they were already
breaking and entering, why not add something raunchier to the list of charges.
He reeled Rick in for a filthy kiss, worked a hand up under his flannel shirt,
and long-sleeve Tee, resting his palm on the downy dip at the small of Rick’s
back, and savouring the heat he found there.
“Jesus Christ! Do
you two need to shag every time you’re alone? Where’s my tree?”
*
* * * *
“It’s gorgeous.” Mal
slipped his arms around Rick’s waist and, resting his chin on Rick’s shoulder,
contemplated their tree. The branches weren’t as equally spaced as on the first
tree he’d found and the top listed slightly to the left, but covered in Rick’s
family collection of ancient and modern glass decorations, and with the light from
the multi-coloured fairy lights twinkling off the myriad of reflective
surfaces, all the tree’s tiny imperfections disappeared.
“Worth breaking the
law for?”
“You are.”
Rick laughed and
craned his head back, pressing a kiss to Mal’s neck when he found skin. “How
far did you intend to take things? If Nigel hadn’t turned up for his tree?”
“All the way,
Dholna.” He turned to capture Rick’s lips, keeping things chaste for the
moment. “That’s not the first time Nigel’s caught us out. I’m beginning to
think he likes watching.”
“He’s—” Rick cut
himself off. “No. I was about to say he’s not gay, but I’ve made that
assumption incorrectly once or twice already. He must be lonely, though. He
dated Martha Tilsbury back when I was fifteen, but I don’t recall anyone since.
Maybe we could ask him over on Boxing Day, once he’s finished with the cows.”
“Sounds like a plan,
one more won’t make a difference since Smudge and Raleigh are coming. But for
now,” Mal nuzzled Rick’s neck, “can we finish what I started before Nigel
interrupted?”
“Hmm. Oh, no!” Rick
pulled away and hurried over to the sideboard. He opened a drawer and shifted a
few papers.
Then he returned to
Mal with sheepish expression, and held out a small parcel wrapped in tissue
paper
. “I hope this is okay. Not disrespectful or
anything. But your religion is important to you and I wanted it to be a part of
our Christmas.”
Curious after that
little speech, Mal carefully peeled back the wrapping, the metallic green
surface catching the light. Nestled in the tissue paper was a disc, carefully
cut to show a relief of the crescent moon and a star.
“Inner and outer
light,” Mal muttered, the words hard to force out past the lump in his throat.
“Is it alright?”
Rick asked. “I got the symbolism right, didn’t I? Love and strength?”
Mal nodded. The
threat of tears stopped him from speaking.
“That’s what you are
to me.” Rick stepped up, slipped one arm around Mal’s waist. With his free
hand, he reached up and swiped at Mal’s cheek. Dampness smeared across his
face. “Your love gives me the strength to be myself. Now, let’s hang this on
the tree, then you can take me out into the garden and finish what you started
in the forest.”
Allah be praised, he
loved this man.
Christmas Can Kiss My Dickens by Hunter Frost - A contemporary take on the Christmas classic. Cute, with the requisite amount of angst to do that story justice without being over the top for a Christmas romance.
