Bodie rose very slowly. He pushed up from his small position, let his muscles stretch out, moving with caution through the customary crack of one knee. For about ten seconds he let the blood circulate freely, straightened his spine, rotated his neck. Then he sank down again, equally slow, making no noise.
All was still below in the target house. Primrose Hill at 3am was dark and quiet. Surveillance around town was never as dark and quiet as out in the desert though. It was a different kind of dark. The faint grey-orange glow of the city glimmered amongst the drift of clouds overhead. Pinpricks of light from the streets showed occasionally through the silhouettes of trees.
The R/T crackled.
“3.7?”
“Ray,” Bodie said, grinning to himself. But also half cross at how much joy hearing Doyle’s voice gave him.
“You got anything?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
An almost inaudible sigh of weariness and frustration. Then silence again.
A slight breeze washed Bodie’s face. It really was time and more than time to pack up and go home. Slide into bed. With Doyle, added an unstoppable rogue voice in his head. No, not with Doyle, you utter plonker, scolded another, firmer voice.
Bodie began again.
It really was time to pack up go home. Slide into bed and crash. Think of nothing - and certainly not Doyle - for six, boneless hours.
A yawn cracked his jaw.
Through watering eyes he saw the moon slip out. As full and bright as he could remember, shining like a lamp over the roof of the target house.
“Boys and girls come out to play,” he muttered, without even realizing it.
“3.7?”
Another grin. “Ray?”
“Sleep deprivation symptoms - you’re quoting poetry again.”
A snort. “Nursery rhyme actually, you philistine.”
“Reverting to childhood, mate. Even worse.”
The voice coming at him through the dodgy airwaves was such a comfort. Such a touchstone. Bodie was tired and stupid and fond. He thought of Doyle somewhere on the other side of the house, sprawled on his belly in the bushes. Because he was so tired and stupid and fond, he thought of Doyle sprawled on his belly in bed.
There’d been no movement, no nothing at the target house for hours and hours and hours. Probably wouldn’t be either.
Still the moon hung, temptingly, over the roof.
Bodie, unguarded, hummed tunelessly into the R/T. Then, “It goes with your hair,” he said, very quiet.
Silence. For a long, worrying time.
“Yeah. Go on.”
“That’s all I know.”
“Liar.”
Bodie flexed his hand, patted his gun, instinctive. He kept his eyes on the house, compartmentalizing. “You go on, then.”
A low laugh. “When we’re done here?”
“Next year.”
“Whenever. When we’re done?”
“You’ll take me out for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner next year. Whenever.”
“No.”
Bodie could sense a punch-line coming. “Ughhhhh,” he mumbled, irritable with fatigue. “What?”
“I’ll take you home. To bed.”
Bodie carried on staring at the house. For a moment he didn’t see it properly, and then it came back into focus. He felt frozen. Speechless.
The R/T crackled again, the last time for an hour or more. For a moment there was a pause before Doyle spoke.
“And it’s not just because there’s moonlight, you know.”
And because he was tired and stupid and fond, Bodie believed him.
-ends-
Title: Moonlight Becomes You
Author: JoJo
Slash/Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: No money made, no infringement intended
Summary: Bodie is tired and stupid and fond
A/n:
1. Origin of
'Boys and Girls Come Out to Play/The Moon Doth Shine as Bright as Day'2. Lyrics of
'Moonlight Becomes You' - this may concievably make more sense if you glance at these (or know them already!)
For the middle (and final!) square, top line of my Pros Bingo card - The Moon Doth Shine As Bright As Day - and I hereby claim BINGO!!