OUT IN THE COLD

(Setting - somewhere around Season 5... sightly AU, perhaps an alternative to There Are Crocodiles.)

-x-

There is a tower block. It buzzes with light and loud music and laughter. There is a party going on. Trendy Media Types in their thirties dress and dance and drink as though they were teenagers. There aren't any teenagers there. There were, but they're not there any more. Outside, it is snowing. It's not just snowing. It's a blizzard out there, but nobody at the party seems to notice. Nobody at the party seems to notice at all.

Two people are dying on the roof.

You can barely see them, under the snow. Some of the snow on top of them is stained a reddish brown. It's blood. The two people don't move. One is slumped, the other is huddling them both together against the onslaught of the snowstorm. There is no sound except the howling of the wind.

And then there's a voice. A very faint, distant voice.

'I'm… dre-hee-hee-ming… of a whiiiiiite Christmas…'

One of the figures under the snow stirs.

'Just like the ones I used to kno-howwww…'

'Hello…?' says the figure, faintly. 'Hello?'

'Where the treetops glisten…'

The figure tries to crawl forwards, but struggles to keep the second, slumped figure from collapsing.

'Hello? Is someone there?'

'And children listen…' The faint voice is fading under the sound of the wind.

'Please? We're on the roof, we're… she's hurt… she's hurt and I don't know what to…'

'To hear…. Sleigh-heigh-heigh-bells in the snow, the snow-howwww…'

'Please!' The figure tries to stand, carrying the weight of the second person, but stumbles, first onto its knees and the flat onto its face. 'Don't go!'

But the voice is gone. Slowly, painfully, the figure pulls itself and its companion back up into a half seated slump against the low wall of the roof. With clawed, bare fingers it wipes snow from its face, revealing itself to be a young man. He then tries his best to wipe snow from the face of the other figure – a young woman, barely conscious, her eyes rolled back and her head drooping. He regards her with worry. His lips are turning blue, but hers are bluer. He tries to rub her shoulders. She doesn't even respond. After a moment he gives up and just pulls her to him for warmth.

'I really, really really,' he says, 'hate Christmas.'

-x-

'How can you hate Christmas? What is there possibly for you to hate?'

'I just don't like it, that's all. Do I have to like everything?' Colin tried to move his Blu Tac model of an elephant in a Wizard's hat away from Spike's curious fingers but was too late.

'But Christmas…' continued Spike, cheerfully rolling the magical elephant out of existence between his palms, 'I mean, it's gaudy, it's tacky and everybody goes crazy buying the most godawful crap that nobody wants. You aughtta love it!'

'Everybody starts playing my game at this time of year, though. For one month a year everyone goes crazy and thinks they're me. And then next thing you know it's Christmas Eve and everything just goes dead for a whole fortnight. It's a disaster.'

Spike began subconsciously making a new Blu Tac model of a naked woman. 'What's wrong with that? It's party season!'

Colin sighed, frowning down at his books. 'Don't remind me.'

Spike looked at the Blu Tac woman critically, then squished her legs together to make a mermaid's tail. 'Still put off Office Parties by your previous track record, huh?'

'I just told you not to remind…' the penny dropped. 'That's what you're doing here, isn't it?'

'It's not that I don't trust you with my woman all alone at a big glamorous party, Colin. It's just…' Spike began making the mermaid's cleavage bigger and pointier. 'It's just that I'd prefer it if I were the one with her. I know I wouldn't have to trust myself to behave. Which is handy, because I'm completely untrustworthy.'

'It's managers and editors only, Spike. They didn't even invite Julie.'

'I'm sure they're allowing Plus Ones. I'm great at being the Plus One.'

'Any other circumstances, Spike, I'd love to. But it really needs to be me.'

'Why?'

Colin closed his ledger. 'What's our turnover, Spike? How is our yield looking? What's our budget like? If one of our shareholders comes up to you and tells you the other publications he's invested in have all folded in the last six months he's concerned about the way things are looking with us, what do you tell him?'

Spike pondered this for a moment. 'That his fly's undone. Then I'd run away.'

Colin shook his head at him.

'Isn't that what you would do?'

'Usually, yes. But that's not going to work this time.'

'Finances looking kinda shaky again, huh?'

'You could describe it like that.' Colin opened the ledger and scowled down at it again. 'Personally, I'd use more swear words.'

'So…' Spike experimented with giving the mermaid a bigger bottom. 'You're gonna be all tied up with getting more funds at this party, huh?'

'So will Lynda, if she doesn't want to spend next year delivering newspapers instead of writing them.'

'You mean she's gonna be crawling to a bunch of creepy old men all night?'

'Not entirely, Spike.' Neither of them had noticed Lynda approaching them. She smiled curtly at her boyfriend and pulled the sticky blue mermaid from his hand. 'Some of them are as young as thirty five.'

Spike leaned back on Colin's desk and smiled at her, folding his arms. 'And that's your idea of fun, is it?'

'No,' replied Lynda and Colin in unison.

'It's called "running a business", Spike.' Lynda rolled the mermaid into a ball. 'Grown up stuff. I wouldn't expect you to understand.'

'Oh, but you're happy for Rain Man here to help you out?'

'I'm still trying to work here!' Exclaimed Colin. 'If you're going to talk about me behind my back, could you at least do it away from my desk? It's very distracting.'

Spike shrugged. 'Yes but there's two of us and that would involve both of us having to move. Why don't you go and work in your office?'

'I can't, there's an Osprey in there.'

Lynda tutted. 'Still?'

'What?' asked Spike, now utterly bewildered.

'It's a long story,' sighed Colin, 'and I can't get rid of it now because it's endangered.'

Lynda drew a breath.

'And no I will not phone the RSPB, Lynda,' interrupted Colin, 'I still don't trust them.'

'Colin, for the last time the RSPB were not founded by Herman Goerring. I don't know where your Grandad got his information from, but he's got it wrong.'

Colin shook his head. 'No respect for the elderly. None whatsoever.'

Lynda crossed her arms. 'You can talk.'

'What?'

'Guys?' attempted Spike,

'Armistice Day,' accused Lynda. '1990.'

'That was an accident!' replied Colin.

'Guys.'

'Five Chelsea Pensioners, Colin,' continued Lynda. 'Five.'

'Guys!' Spike stood up from the desk as the other pair finally looked at him. 'You're

doing it again.'

'What?'

'Speaking in tongues, I don't know…'

Lynda raised her eyebrows. 'You never heard about the Chelsea Pensioners?'

Spike mooched away from the desk. 'It's not just that, Lynda.'

Lynda sighed, plopped the ball of Blu Tac back into Colin's outstretched hand and followed Spike. 'What have I done now?'

'Why is it always another guy that you have to take everywhere with you?'

'What?'

'First it was Kenny, now it's him,' whispered Spike. 'All these meetings, functions, conferences… even parties now…'

Lynda rubbed her temples. 'Why are the pretty ones always so stupid?' she sighed. 'Colin's Ad Sales Manager, Newspaper Sales Manager… think of a job to do with the finances of the Junior Gazette and add 'Manager' to it and you've got one of Colin's many titles, although if he ever finds any of that out from you you're dead. Kenny was Assistant Editor. Are you really suggesting that I take you to a board meeting instead of one of them because you happen to look better in a pair of tight trousers?'

'And why have you never taken Julie to any of these meetings since she became Assistant Editor?'

'Julie's not Kenny.'

Spike arched an eyebrow. 'Neither's Colin. You seem to keep forgetting that.'

'So taking Kenny to a party would have been OK, but taking Colin isn't?'

'Kenny's like your brother,' shrugged Spike, 'I could understand you and Kenny. You and Colin… I just… I don't get it, OK? Sometimes I think that the two of you must be talking to each other in your brains or somethin'. I don't like it. I don't like what's going on there.'

'"What's going on"?' Lynda blinked and grinned. 'Thompson, has our relationship really got so bad that I need to tell you that there's nothing going on between me and Colin Mathews? Do you seriously need me to validate that?'

Spike rolled his eyes. 'No. Nobody's that insecure. Just… why don't we have our own secret code words?'

'Angel Delight,' replied Lynda, setting Spike's collar straight.

Spike smirked involuntarily. 'You're filthy.'

'See?' she grinned and gave him a small kiss.

'This had better be a really, really boring party,' said Spike.

'It'll be a bunch of detestable crawlers in ill fitting clothes sucking up to each other,' replied Lynda, 'with Colin and me being just as detestable and crawling and ill fitting as the best of them. It'll be horrific. Believe me, if was anything fun I'd have invited the good looking arm candy.'

'I really hope you're talking about me.'

'Don't worry your pretty little head, Spike.' Lynda settled down to her own desk. 'I wouldn't leave you out in the cold.'

-x-

The man rolls up a sleeve of the jacket the woman is wearing for a second. There is a sock tied around her forearm. The sock is absolutely sodden with fresh blood.

'Oh God,' says the man.

He reaches further up the sleeve and pulls at something underneath. Then he stiffly reaches down to his right foot, pulls off his shoe and his sock, then puts his bare foot back into his shoe. Carefully, he removes the bloodied sock from the woman's arm. Beneath it there is a large gash in the woman's white skin. The man tightly ties the new sock over the wound.

'I wish I knew first aid,' mutters the man, then 'I wish you'd stop bleeding, Lynda. I'm running out of clothes.

He rolls the sleeve back down again and settles back to sitting still with the woman.

Very, very faintly, the woman slurs a few words.

'Mmmm drumunnn ver wide crzmzzzzzzz…'

The man looks at her. 'I'm glad you heard that too. I thought I might have imagined it. Thought I was going potty…' he pauses to consider this. 'Pottier, that is.'

There is a longer pause.

'Maybe we both imagined it,' adds the man. 'Maybe we're both going potty. Maybe none of this is happening at all. Maybe I hit my head back at the newsroom. Maybe we're off to see the Wizard.'

There is the sound of a couple laughing, faint and distant like the singing before. The man jumps a little.

'Hello?' he calls. 'Hello?' He draws up the little strength that he has to shout again, but his breath is short and his voice cracks. 'HELLO!'

Nobody replies. The laughter fades away. The man falls back against the wall again.

'We should have brought the Osprey,' he tells the woman. 'He could have flown to fetch help.' He pauses for a long time, his breaths growing fast and shallow. He whimpers a little, then, with effort, brings himself back under control.

'I wish we'd never come, Lynda. I wish we'd never come.'

-x-

'I wish we'd never come.'

Lynda squeezed herself next to Colin at the bar, irritably.

'Cheer up, Kid. Show these fine people your lovely smile.'

She buried her head in her hands. 'I hate smiling. Isn't that what I pay you to do?'

Colin sipped at his juice. 'I'm just taking five before my mouth drops off…' A tall, silver haired man passing by caught his eye and he span round on his chair, suddenly fixing his face into a sycophantic grin. 'Tony! Hi again! Listen – this…' He grabbed Lynda by the shoulders and turned her to face Tony. '…is the little lady I was talking to you about.'

'Hello…' muttered Lynda, blankly.

'Ah-ha,' said Tony to Lynda's cleavage, 'so you're the famous Lynda Day.'

'Part of her, yes,' replied Lynda, 'although the part that does the talking is up here.'

Tony met eyes with her, flushing slightly.

Colin laughed loudly and nervously. 'Quite the little firecracker, isn't she?'

'Quite,' conceded Tony.

'Oh, I'm a wildcat!' enthused Lynda, sarcastically, 'speaking when I'm not directly addressed, cheating on my diets, not doing the ironing properly, you name it! Sometimes I'm as much as quarter of an hour late bringing the menfolk their coffee because I'm too busy painting my nails, gossiping about Rock Hudson's hair and editing a God Damn newspaper, but I'm just so terribly winsome that this silly sausage here doesn't have the heart to fire me.'

'OK,' beamed Colin, 'well we've certainly all had a lot to drink, and…'

'On the contrary,' interjected tall Tony, 'I don't think I'm anywhere near drunk enough. I'm going to the bar.'

Colin indicated to the bar. 'Well, you certainly came to the right place, Tone. What can I get you?'

Tony fixed them both with a granite expression. 'I'm going to the other bar. It was… interesting to meet you.'

'I'm sure it was,' replied Lynda sweetly as she watched him stalk away. The second he was gone she span furiously to face Colin. '"Firecracker"? We're in the 1990's, Colin. Not a Cary Grant film.'

'Do you have any idea who that was?' hissed Colin.

'Yes. He was a pervert.'

'No, Lynda, he's… well, all right, I'll admit he was a bit of a pervert, but he's also a self made millionaire who's invested hefty amounts in five different independent publications, three of them for the youth market. He already knew about us, Lynda. He was all excited about meeting you!'

'I know he was, Colin,' snapped Lynda, 'I saw his trousers.'

'We need this, Lynda,' sighed Colin. 'Can you please, please be sweet and charming, just for one night?'

Lynda scowled and fidgeted with her cocktail dress, trying to tug her neckline up and hemline down simultaneously. 'It's all right for you, you're not a girl. You don't have to spend all night pretending to be flattered by the pathetic advances of dirty old men.'

Colin rolled his eyes, finishing off his juice. 'Get real, Lynda. This is the Media and I'm nineteen and single. I bet I've probably had to do more flirting so far than you have.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Colin. You can't flirt.'

'Not with people I'm interested in…' began Colin.

He was interrupted by a fat, bald man in his 50s putting his hand on his shoulder.

'Kevin,' slurred the fat man.

'Colin,' corrected Colin, politely.

'No. Brian. I'm Brian. Have I given you my card?'

The fat man produced a business card, which Colin took.

'Yes,' replied Colin, 'but thanks for the spare.'

Fat Brian wrapped his hand around Colin's, still holding his glass.

'Your tiny glass is empty, Kevin. Can I freshen you up at all?'

Colin affected a perfect look of coquettish innocence. 'Brian. Are you trying to get me drunk?'

Brian grinned salaciously at Lynda. 'He's onto me, isn't he? He's been warned about me, hasn't he? Old enough to be his father, I should know better. I'm a bad, bad man, aren't I, Kevin?'

'Don't be daft,' replied 'Kevin', cheerfully.

'Kevin, Kevin, Kevin…' Brian patted Colin's hand and stumbled off. 'Oh to be ten years younger…'

Colin turned to Lynda. 'See?'

Lynda shook her head. 'Why are we doing this, Colin? Why are we hawking ourselves like a couple of cheap tarts? We can't need the money that badly, can we?'

Colin just fiddled with his empty glass.

-x-

'I'm sorry,' says the man. 'I should have told you before. Then we wouldn't be in this mess.'

'…musss…' echoes the woman, thickly. 'S'overrrr.'

'Hey. It's not over 'til it's over. I promise, OK Kid? It's not done yet. We're not dead yet.'

The wind picks up and swirls around the wall, blowing the snow directly into their faces. Neither of them move.