9:10 am, mandatory excursion.

[therealpm]

*Sitting in the back of a vehicle with blacked out windows, huddled up once more in a hoodie far too broad for him, Peter looks across at Alastair and smirks.  Alastair thinks they're going for the equivalent of a jog around the park, and Peter has been careful not to indicate otherwise.  Today is going to be horrible, but watching Alastair slowly lose the will to live is going to make it utterly worth it.*

Comments

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair looks out at the rain scattering down across the road and is glad of his own jacket. He's not too concerned, though. It's not exactly tipping down at the moment - the weather just makes it all a little more interesting, that's all. He catches Peter smirking at him.*

I don't know what you're smiling about and, despite what you think, I honestly don't give a toss. Are we nearly there yet?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter stretches out his legs.*

Oh nothing... nothing...

Give it another hour or so. It is a very discreet location.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair groans and wishes he'd brought a book to read.*

Sure. The same 'nothing' you kept feeding to the media behind my back when we were in power.

God, Peter, if we get any more fucking discreet we'll end up in France. Wake me up when we're there.

*He settles down against the window and closes his eyes. Even if he doesn't actually doze off, it will save him from talking to Peter for the next hour.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter whiles away the time by practicing the first few stages of the transformation again- or at least, he does until John happens to catch sight of him when they're stopped at a traffic light and tells him sharply to stop it.

Eventually they drive through the main gates of the base and stop in a somewhat windswept carpark. Peter elbows Alastair awake, smiling innocently at the other man's disgruntled, sleepy glare.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Peter's elbow jerks Alastair awake and he starts upright, blinking and rubbing his neck. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he looks around at their surroundings, then back at Peter.*

Well, this seems homely. Where does the fun begin?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter shrugs*

Over there, but Paddy's car isn't here yet, so... we wait.

*He shoves his hands into the hoodie front pocket, relishing the warmth. John is on the phone to someone. Presumably Paddy or Jane. He cuts off abruptly, turning to the gates. Peter follows John's line of sight and his mouth twists in dismay- it's Ashdown. He unbuckles his own seatbelt and climbs out of the car.*

Come along.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair follows Peter out of the car and into the rain, quickly overtaking him as he strides forward to meet Paddy.*

Move it, Peter, don't hang back as if you don't want to be here! You're not off to a very good start.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter doesn't answer, he's simply careful not to flinch when Paddy starts talking. They walk, or are marched at wand point, depending on your point of view, to a small khaki coloured vehicle and are then driven to the start of the course. It's intelligently designed- the track itself is long, but loops back on itself in such a way that it can all be easily observed from a central roadway. The terrain is often steep and uneven and there are pits, A-frames, walls, a submerged tunnel and several crawlspaces scattered along the course to ensure that each participant is thoroughly soaked and mudsplattered by the finish.

Peter smirks as Alastair sprints off almost as soon as Paddy says 'go', and decides to proceed at a more modest pace. One of the first obstacles is a series of intermittent pits and raised banks, with the headroom reduced by large logs that are raised only a few feet above the tip of the banks. Some sadist had seen fit to plant nettles on every square inch of ground not covered by muddy water, and if Alastair wanted to get ahead and tramp those down first? Well, Peter would be polite enough to let him.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Only a few minutes after starting the course, Alastair finds himself out of breath and trying to balance in the treacherous mud underfoot, grateful for the cold water that's already beginning to numb the nettle stings on his arms and knees. Safe to say he didn't see this coming. A challenge, yes - something Bercow would have deemed suitably unpleasant to fill Peter's time - but this is a step beyond.

Too late to back down now. Panting, he glances back and sees that Peter's crawling along at a comfortable pace, still some way behind.*

Fffffuck. You can do this, Campbell. Head in the game. The sooner this is over the sooner I can go home and -

*He slips and lands a hand in yet another spray of nettles, yelping in pain.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Grinning at Alastair's yelping, Peter carefully rearranges the cuffs of his hoodie to completely cover his hands and climbs over another tussock, sliding down the other side into the pit. After a couple more, he looks up again. Campbell's reached the last one and has gone haring off, trying to stay ahead. Peter merely smiles.

There's some hay bales to leap over next in the forested part of the course- nothing too difficult, but behind the trees is the first bit designed to break the faint hearted and begin to weed out the weaker contenders: instead of running along the bottom of a steep valley, the track loops straight up the side and back down again. Twelve times. Each descent is complicated by tree roots that need to be navigated carefully to avoid tripping and breaking one's neck. It's a thoroughly nasty experience that sets one up for horrendously achey legs for the rest of the course.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair emerges from the trees with what feels like enough hay to feed an army of horses scratching him from inside his clothes. He stares up at the next stretch, a steep trek up the side of a valley. It looks uneven as hell, but there are no leaps to be made and no obvious holes to fall into. Running uphill: familiar territory, at least.

By the time Alastair has reached the top of the second incline, he is ready to reconsider his initial assessment of the challenge, but too exhausted to do so. He checks to make sure Peter isn't gaining on him, then sets off down the side of the valley again, screaming internally all the while.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter shakes off the hay and stares up at the slope. The memory of last time is enough to wipe the smile at Alastair's antics off his face. Still...

He glances to his left. Alastair's struggling up the third incline, puffing like a steam train and using his hands to shove his thighs down as he ascends. Good, that means he won't be paying attention to Peter, who is therefore free to do something very undignified, namely, running up the hill on all fours.

Prior to transforming (and the 'experience' that was his last excursion), it's not something he'd even have considered. However, he can't deny that having a lower centre of gravity and four limbs holding onto the ground does make it a lot easier to climb and to do so without slipping, and if he really wants to give Alastair a good run for his money, he's going to need all the advantages he can get.

The first scramble up the slope is easy, and minus a near miss with a twisted ankle, so is the first descent. After the second, Peter is breathing heavily, but he's gaining on Campbell and that thought alone is enough to spur him up the third. Fortunately the brush on the slope is thick enough that they can only really see each other at the bottom or top of the slope. Peter can scramble up the sides unobserved.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Near the torturous end of his sixth descent, Alastair hears something behind him that surely has to be the invention of his own oxygen-starved brain. Footsteps, and heavy breathing. No no no no shit no! Peter can't be catching up to him, not now, please. The realisation renews his focus but he's still slowing with each step and the incline ahead looks, if anything, less welcoming than the first six. He turns to begin climbing it and pretends to be unaware of the man practically on his heels.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*The adrenaline boost of catching up is beginning to wear off and his legs are starting to ache in earnest now.
Peter slows down a little to allow Campbell to draw ahead again- there's a set of ponds he'd rather the other man sounded out the depth of as a step either way could be the difference between waist deep and a dunking. He tries to recall whether they come immediately after the slope, or if that's the first crawling under wire section, but his memory of that part of the course seems to be mostly mud, pain and shouting.

Speaking of which... the vehicle containing Paddy, John and Jane has pulled up in the middle of the valley and Paddy is being vocally unhappy. Apparently the bastard has some sixth sense that lets him know when a person is trying to be sensible about pacing things, rather than tiredly shamble-sprinting for their life. Well let him disapprove, Peter's just going to keep on-

...that was a growl, thatwasagrowl, thatwasa-

Peter finds himself involuntarily making the eighth ascent rather faster than he had intended, ending up fewer than 20 m behind Campbell.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair doesn't appreciate the shouting coming from Paddy's vehicle at the bottom of the valley, even if most of it does seem to be directed at Peter. In normal circumstances he would holler back, but right now that's out of the question, so he merely thinks his retaliation very forcefully in the hope it will be picked up telepathically.

After a short period of relative safety, Peter is definitely gaining on him again. They're about three-quarters of the way through this stretch, now, but it could be a hundred miles as far as Alastair's concerned. His legs are killing him, and his knees... he'd rather not think about his knees. He stumbles over a stray tree root and nearly repeats it in his desperation not to let it be the slip which puts him behind Peter.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*They continue this way, with Peter dropping back a little on the upper half of the slope, only to catch up again on the bottom half. Eventually it's finished and they stumble onto flat(ter) ground. Alastair, frankly, looks dead, and Peter gives him a shove and a growl to get him moving again. He wouldn't put it past Paddy to force him to carry his fellow spin doctor, should Campbell give up the fight. Comradeship or similar guff.

They make it through the flooded pits. Peter's legs have seized up from the cold water and Cambell doesn't look any better. From the position of the sun and length of the course they've covered, Peter reckons it must be past noon. His stomach agrees, which Peter, through the thudding haze, thinks is a bit odd. Last time he felt far too tired and sick to be hungry. He chalks it up to being more experienced at this sort of thing and keeps plodding along, a steady 10 m behind Campbell.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*As he stumbles from the end of the last descent, Alastair feels Peter's breath on his neck and a firm hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him forwards when what he needs most is a rest. Alastair snarls right back, trying to throw in a 'fuck off' for good measure, but ends up merely gasping in pain.

By the time they've made it through the ponds that some sadistic wanker thought it would be a good idea to dig here, Alastair's clothes are mostly waterlogged and he has a strong urge to drop off the face of the earth. Instead, it is inclined to swallow him up; ahead he can see circular openings beckoning, leading deep into the side of the hill.

Bracing himself, Alastair tells himself he's survived worse (has he? He can hardly remember his name at this point, never mind how and why he ended up here) before plunging himself into the nearest tunnel. It's dark, but he doesn't need to see to know that he's now on all fours in at least three inches of freezing water, not that it makes much difference any more. Also the opening is much narrower than it looks, and it's quite a squeeze trying to crawl along without getting stuck. He wouldn't be surprised if this tunnel turns out to be endless, or deposits him on the other side of the world. If he can make it out without hearing Peter's low growl behind him, that's enough to be going on with.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*'Alastair looks like he's about to collapse,' Peter thinks grimly. He dives down the hole after the other man, wriggling forward (he has never been so pleased to be the smaller of the two in his life) until he can grab the other's ankle. He gets a kick that misses his head by inches, but gropes forward again, hissing.*

Alastair, stop.

*Once Alastair is still, he continues.*

They can't go through the wood, they have to drive around it to get alongside where the tunnels come out and it'll take them a little while. We can probably afford to wait two minutes or so to catch our breath.

*He pauses, waiting for Alastair to give some indication of a decision.*

Come on, we're nearly half way there. Just take a break, alright?

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*When Peter grabs his ankle, Alastair nearly jumps out of his skin. Once it's clear that Peter isn't just trying to irritate him, he falls still and listens.*

... D'you think it'd be okay?

Yeah, all right, then. I am starting to get a little bit worn out now. What, shall we stop and have our coffee break in the dark flooded underground drinking straw? I don't know if I can reverse.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

...well Paddy's going to be unimpressed, but I doubt he was ever going to be otherwise.

Unless you know of anywhere more hidden from the prying eyes of our handlers...

*Peter says the last two words with a certain deliberation.*

...then yes.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair frowns, but he may as well not have bothered because Peter can't see it.*

All right, then, the drinking straw it is.

*He falls silent for a while, enjoying the blissful stillness as icy water seeps into his skin.*

Well. This is nice.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Pity for you then, that it's over so soon. Come on.

*He gives Alastair a shove, then follows it up with another growl when Campbell fails to move fast enough.*

Move.

*They exit the tunnel in fairly short order, and are on their way jogging again by the time Paddy et al. drive up. Paddy looks sceptical, but Peter just jogs along, keeping a careful 10 m behind the man as they scale more ditches, leap onto floating bales to cross a pond, clib over several walls and at last arrive at a giant A-frame.

Peter's stomach is growling loudly by now. He checks to see if any of the others have noticed, then follows Campbell up the series of netting and giant logs that comprise the A-frame.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair regards the apparatus in front of him with weary hatred. Its only redeeming feature is that it at least looks like hell to scale - the worst obstacles so far have been the deceptively simple-looking ones. At least here no attempt has been made to lull him into a false sense of security.

He latches his hand into the netting some feet above eye level and swings both his feet up onto the lowest rung. After a couple more wobbly movements, he glances down at Peter, who is just behind him and looking around warily.*

Come on, Peter, shift your arse. Last one to the top's a closet Tory.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter narrows his eyes. He's not as tired as he was last time he did this, but he's still shattered and at a disadvantage with a shorter reach.

He puts on a burst of speed until his shoulder is level with Campbell's ankle, then tugs, hard. Campbell drops off a beam, tangling himself in the netting and Peter speeds up and past to reach the top first.

He sits on the cross beam, catching his breath and looking at the rest of the course to go. The sun is definitely lower than when they first started. He scratches an arm, idly, and is surprised when his fingertips come back bloody. Peter makes a mental note to be more careful when practicing the transformation- clearly he'd forgotton to shift back fully when he'd been practicing earlier.

Below him, Alastair has managed to untangle himself and is rapidly climbing the frame with a thunderous expression. Peter decides to get out of the way and hops off the top beam, beginning the descent down the other side to ground level.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

Bastard - !

*Alastair feels his grip on the beam give way, and he drops. One foot goes straight through the netting, followed by his entire shin, at which point he's managed to wrap both his arms into the ropes. He comes to a halt with a jerk. It takes him a minute to extract himself and regain his footing, by which time Peter is already sitting at the summit.

It would be nice to push him off, but he's turned tail and fled down the other side by the time Alastair nears the top beam. He slithers over it and glares down at the top of Peter's head.*

Don't think you're getting away with that, you cheating little shit!

*He begins the descent. He moves more clumsily now that he's having to lead with his feet, but it's basically easier to come down that it was to go up. Soon they're almost level.*