Discovered in the Autumn - Prosfic: Every Day is Autumn, by Slantedlight
I am really really aware that I said hey, let's all post lots of Pros, and then I didn't... *headdesk* It's not that I've not been doing Pros - I even managed a wee something during my weekly writing group last week, and finally finished it off... *g*
Every Day is Autumn
by Slantedlight
There was nothing, Doyle thought, that would make the world right again. It was over, all over. He took a breath of cold air, only because he had to, and realised that it had started to drizzle, a fine mess across his face and down his neck. It gathered on the autumn leaves in the gutter beside him, shining them to irreverent jewel-like reds and yellows under the streetlight.
In the distance the ambulance drivers were finally being allowed to move the body, were hefting it onto a stretcher, one at each end so that it sagged a little in the middle as they lifted.
He didn’t care, he told himself. It was just a body. It didn’t matter.
Part of him wanted to sag down onto the kerb, down among the leaves, and do nothing but sit there, face in hands to block it all out.
It hadn’t happened.
But it had happened, and somehow his legs wouldn’t move enough even to bend; they held him up, stubbornly straight and tall in the drizzle.
The ambulance drove away, followed closely by Cowley’s car, and then there was a jostling beside him, against him, and Bodie was there, the full force of him, an elbow in his ribs, rubbing his hands together, that irrepressible look of a job-well-done loud on his face.
“Pack it in, Bodie,” Doyle growled, because he just couldn’t take it tonight. “I’m not in the mood.”
He could almost hear Bodie changing course.
“Yeah, well,” Bodie said, squinting out into the night and the rain. “Don’t blame you. She had us all fooled.”
“You never liked her.” It was out before he could stop it.
Bodie looked at him. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said quietly. “Not my type, but…”
“But what?” he snarled. But I could tell something wasn’t right. But you wouldn’t listen. But it was obvious she was hiding something…
“But I could tell you liked her…”
Doyle turned then, to stare at him. Glare at him. And that meant she was a wrong ‘un.
“…so there had to be something about her.”
“Something about her,” Doyle repeated flatly. The rain was coming down a little harder now, he could hear it on the leaves, and dribbling its way into a drain somewhere.
“Something decent,” Bodie said, hunching his coat closer around his neck. “Something you saw in her.”
A girl, Doyle thought. She’d been a beautiful girl, all dark hair and eyes and slow smiles. A girl who wore t-shirts that said Save the whale, and cried when she heard about seals being clubbed in Canada, and wouldn’t eat meat or anything an animal had been forced to produce. A girl who couldn’t stand that calves were crammed into lorries and shipped overseas still alive, to be terrified and then slaughtered, or that geese were force-fed until they choked, just because people with too much money liked the way their crushed up stomachs tasted on toast.
A girl who didn’t mind the death of innocent people if it meant that no one would eat pâté de foie gras ever again.
He brushed angrily at the dampness across his face, eyes stinging. Bloody rain.
“She cared,” he said, turning abruptly away, because they’d left the Capri somewhere, a few streets away, somewhere past the corner shop with its bright blue neon sign in the window. “She was a killer because she cared.” He didn’t look up, but he could feel Bodie striding along beside him. “That’s why she did it.”
That was why she took up with a copper she probably couldn’t really stand, because she’d needed information, and she cared so much that she’d do anything to get it.
Bodie was silent. Well, you couldn’t say much to that, could you.
Doyle paused at the corner by the shop, peered down the road beside it. No Capri.
“It’s not what I saw in her that’s the problem,” he said reluctantly, not knowing if he said it to Bodie or was saying it to himself.
It was the same thing in the end, he supposed.
Bodie jostled against him again, nudging him to cross the street, dodging the spray sent up by passing cars. The Capri was right there, just where they’d left it, and he felt in his pocket for the keys automatically, even as Bodie produced them from his own jacket, dangling them in the air for a moment, and then unlocking his door. Doyle waited in the rain as Bodie slid in, then reached across and unlocked the passenger side. Rain, and rain, and rain.
“Yeah,” Bodie said at last, as Doyle clambered in beside him. “But we know she wasn’t thinking clearly, don’t we. Can’t ‘ave been.”
Doyle raised his eyes to the roof of the car, and took another breath. He wasn’t mad at Bodie. Not really. “What do you mean?”
“Well if she thought you’d be right there beside her, priming the fuses, she didn’t know you that well, did she.”
“She knew I was a copper,” Doyle reminded him. “Prentice told her. ‘s why she went out with me to start with.”
Bodie tipped his head in acknowledgement, one hand on the gear stick, the other holding the key in the ignition, but he didn’t start the engine.
Doyle closed his eyes, rubbed hard at his face with both hands. “Come on then, what are you waiting for?”
Bodie glanced at him, then turned the ignition at last, looking in the mirrors and behind to the empty, rain-washed street, and then he pulled out and drove.
“I knew you were a copper,” he said, turning them onto the main road. “Didn’t stop me, did it?”
It hadn’t stopped Bodie making a pass at him, one dark, drunken night when the day had been too much for either of them to think more about. Hadn’t stopped six months of them rushing home after that, of falling into bed, or onto the sofa or the floor, or anywhere that was private and convenient.
It was Doyle who had stopped that, because Cowley almost knew, because he’d wanted CI5 since he’d heard about them. Because he’d always thought, despite everything, that one day he’d have a beautiful wife who loved him, and beautiful children, and a life that he’d made for himself, and for them.
And now that was over, all over, because he knew he’d never cared enough for Penny, that he was sorry she was dead, sorry that she’d been shot because she would have killed more people, but he wasn’t utterly, completely broken for her. His heart hadn’t torn itself in two the way it had when he thought Bodie was going to outrun him one misty autumn afternoon with a bomb strapped to his chest.
He’d never run as hard as he’d run that day.
Nothing stopped Bodie, except Doyle.
“Yeah,” Doyle said, and now he did look at Bodie as he drove, at the light that crossed his face from the streetlamps that flashed past, sodium orange against the shadowed brown in the car, and Bodie’s skin turned golden for fleeting moments. “I suppose you weren’t thinking clearly either.”
The car slowed for a traffic light, and Bodie returned his look. “Never thought clearly about you, Doyle,” he said. “But I know you.”
It was over, Doyle thought. He had to give in. Like the end of summer, and leaves falling off trees, and knowing that the depths of winter were always there, waiting for you to reach them. Nothing but autumn between now and then.
“You care,” Doyle said, watching steadily as Bodie nodded minutely, seriously, definitely, and then turning away to gaze out at the chill of the night again. The engine idled between them, and the traffic lights changed from red to orange to green again, and after a while, back to orange and back to red, and still Bodie waited.
“I know, mate,” Doyle said at last. “Me too.” He looked back at his partner, patient and beautiful, and he thought about the whole of the life they’d made together when Doyle had barely been paying attention, still wondering when summer would start.
He thought about autumn stretching out ahead of them, all fire and light and lazy weekends while the rain lashed down around them, and he chanced a half-smile. “You know it’s cold out here - ‘ow about shifting this thing and getting us back somewhere warm?”
Bodie raised an eyebrow, and Doyle nodded back to him, minutely, seriously, definitely. Bodie turned to grin at the windscreen and put the car in gear, jostling Doyle’s elbow as he did it, so that Doyle growled at him, and found himself grinning back, and then they were away, heading home. It was all over, and it was all about to start again.
🍂🍂
🍂
Title: Every Day is Autumn
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib: Certainly. *g*
Disclaimer: The lads still aren't mine, and I'm only admiring and playing.
Every Day is Autumn
by Slantedlight
There was nothing, Doyle thought, that would make the world right again. It was over, all over. He took a breath of cold air, only because he had to, and realised that it had started to drizzle, a fine mess across his face and down his neck. It gathered on the autumn leaves in the gutter beside him, shining them to irreverent jewel-like reds and yellows under the streetlight.
In the distance the ambulance drivers were finally being allowed to move the body, were hefting it onto a stretcher, one at each end so that it sagged a little in the middle as they lifted.
He didn’t care, he told himself. It was just a body. It didn’t matter.
Part of him wanted to sag down onto the kerb, down among the leaves, and do nothing but sit there, face in hands to block it all out.
It hadn’t happened.
But it had happened, and somehow his legs wouldn’t move enough even to bend; they held him up, stubbornly straight and tall in the drizzle.
The ambulance drove away, followed closely by Cowley’s car, and then there was a jostling beside him, against him, and Bodie was there, the full force of him, an elbow in his ribs, rubbing his hands together, that irrepressible look of a job-well-done loud on his face.
“Pack it in, Bodie,” Doyle growled, because he just couldn’t take it tonight. “I’m not in the mood.”
He could almost hear Bodie changing course.
“Yeah, well,” Bodie said, squinting out into the night and the rain. “Don’t blame you. She had us all fooled.”
“You never liked her.” It was out before he could stop it.
Bodie looked at him. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said quietly. “Not my type, but…”
“But what?” he snarled. But I could tell something wasn’t right. But you wouldn’t listen. But it was obvious she was hiding something…
“But I could tell you liked her…”
Doyle turned then, to stare at him. Glare at him. And that meant she was a wrong ‘un.
“…so there had to be something about her.”
“Something about her,” Doyle repeated flatly. The rain was coming down a little harder now, he could hear it on the leaves, and dribbling its way into a drain somewhere.
“Something decent,” Bodie said, hunching his coat closer around his neck. “Something you saw in her.”
A girl, Doyle thought. She’d been a beautiful girl, all dark hair and eyes and slow smiles. A girl who wore t-shirts that said Save the whale, and cried when she heard about seals being clubbed in Canada, and wouldn’t eat meat or anything an animal had been forced to produce. A girl who couldn’t stand that calves were crammed into lorries and shipped overseas still alive, to be terrified and then slaughtered, or that geese were force-fed until they choked, just because people with too much money liked the way their crushed up stomachs tasted on toast.
A girl who didn’t mind the death of innocent people if it meant that no one would eat pâté de foie gras ever again.
He brushed angrily at the dampness across his face, eyes stinging. Bloody rain.
“She cared,” he said, turning abruptly away, because they’d left the Capri somewhere, a few streets away, somewhere past the corner shop with its bright blue neon sign in the window. “She was a killer because she cared.” He didn’t look up, but he could feel Bodie striding along beside him. “That’s why she did it.”
That was why she took up with a copper she probably couldn’t really stand, because she’d needed information, and she cared so much that she’d do anything to get it.
Bodie was silent. Well, you couldn’t say much to that, could you.
Doyle paused at the corner by the shop, peered down the road beside it. No Capri.
“It’s not what I saw in her that’s the problem,” he said reluctantly, not knowing if he said it to Bodie or was saying it to himself.
It was the same thing in the end, he supposed.
Bodie jostled against him again, nudging him to cross the street, dodging the spray sent up by passing cars. The Capri was right there, just where they’d left it, and he felt in his pocket for the keys automatically, even as Bodie produced them from his own jacket, dangling them in the air for a moment, and then unlocking his door. Doyle waited in the rain as Bodie slid in, then reached across and unlocked the passenger side. Rain, and rain, and rain.
“Yeah,” Bodie said at last, as Doyle clambered in beside him. “But we know she wasn’t thinking clearly, don’t we. Can’t ‘ave been.”
Doyle raised his eyes to the roof of the car, and took another breath. He wasn’t mad at Bodie. Not really. “What do you mean?”
“Well if she thought you’d be right there beside her, priming the fuses, she didn’t know you that well, did she.”
“She knew I was a copper,” Doyle reminded him. “Prentice told her. ‘s why she went out with me to start with.”
Bodie tipped his head in acknowledgement, one hand on the gear stick, the other holding the key in the ignition, but he didn’t start the engine.
Doyle closed his eyes, rubbed hard at his face with both hands. “Come on then, what are you waiting for?”
Bodie glanced at him, then turned the ignition at last, looking in the mirrors and behind to the empty, rain-washed street, and then he pulled out and drove.
“I knew you were a copper,” he said, turning them onto the main road. “Didn’t stop me, did it?”
It hadn’t stopped Bodie making a pass at him, one dark, drunken night when the day had been too much for either of them to think more about. Hadn’t stopped six months of them rushing home after that, of falling into bed, or onto the sofa or the floor, or anywhere that was private and convenient.
It was Doyle who had stopped that, because Cowley almost knew, because he’d wanted CI5 since he’d heard about them. Because he’d always thought, despite everything, that one day he’d have a beautiful wife who loved him, and beautiful children, and a life that he’d made for himself, and for them.
And now that was over, all over, because he knew he’d never cared enough for Penny, that he was sorry she was dead, sorry that she’d been shot because she would have killed more people, but he wasn’t utterly, completely broken for her. His heart hadn’t torn itself in two the way it had when he thought Bodie was going to outrun him one misty autumn afternoon with a bomb strapped to his chest.
He’d never run as hard as he’d run that day.
Nothing stopped Bodie, except Doyle.
“Yeah,” Doyle said, and now he did look at Bodie as he drove, at the light that crossed his face from the streetlamps that flashed past, sodium orange against the shadowed brown in the car, and Bodie’s skin turned golden for fleeting moments. “I suppose you weren’t thinking clearly either.”
The car slowed for a traffic light, and Bodie returned his look. “Never thought clearly about you, Doyle,” he said. “But I know you.”
It was over, Doyle thought. He had to give in. Like the end of summer, and leaves falling off trees, and knowing that the depths of winter were always there, waiting for you to reach them. Nothing but autumn between now and then.
“You care,” Doyle said, watching steadily as Bodie nodded minutely, seriously, definitely, and then turning away to gaze out at the chill of the night again. The engine idled between them, and the traffic lights changed from red to orange to green again, and after a while, back to orange and back to red, and still Bodie waited.
“I know, mate,” Doyle said at last. “Me too.” He looked back at his partner, patient and beautiful, and he thought about the whole of the life they’d made together when Doyle had barely been paying attention, still wondering when summer would start.
He thought about autumn stretching out ahead of them, all fire and light and lazy weekends while the rain lashed down around them, and he chanced a half-smile. “You know it’s cold out here - ‘ow about shifting this thing and getting us back somewhere warm?”
Bodie raised an eyebrow, and Doyle nodded back to him, minutely, seriously, definitely. Bodie turned to grin at the windscreen and put the car in gear, jostling Doyle’s elbow as he did it, so that Doyle growled at him, and found himself grinning back, and then they were away, heading home. It was all over, and it was all about to start again.
🍂🍂
🍂
Title: Every Day is Autumn
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash
Archive at ProsLib: Certainly. *g*
Disclaimer: The lads still aren't mine, and I'm only admiring and playing.