B/D Slash Proliferation: Day 3...
The interaction between Bodie and Doyle in the episodes is a joy to watch. They regularly call into question each other's sanity and disparage each other's intellectual capacity, clothing, eating habits, and/or appeal to the opposite sex - it's all fair game. There are far too many memorable instances to enumerate - some of my favorites are in First Night - Bodie's "half an ear, perhaps"; the scenes on the bus and in the car... There's the "food through a goose" exchange in Lawson's Last Stand, and the "ears like a hawk" exchange in Everest. It's snarky at times, silly at times, and surprisingly suggestive at times ("I'm like a fine piece of machinery - I need lubrication" - Bodie in Heroes) - but it's always intimate, and the undertone of affection is ever-present and unmistakable. Their feelings for each other shine through it all, and their primary focus almost always seems to be on each other. It's wonderful to behold.
Some authors have a gift for capturing the spirit and tone of that banter - I can hear it in my head when I read, and it makes me smile. Here are a few examples...
"What've you been doing?"
"This and that." Doyle shifted and sped up to pass a slow-moving mini, then slowed again.
"Ah. Files, eh?"
Doyle grinned. "Yeah. Got out now and again, thank God."
"Who'd you work with?"
"No one. Well, Jax once. The Cow's mostly had me working solo."
"Ah. Sensible of the Old Man."
Doyle indulged him. "Sensible?"
"Gives him a hold over the rest of them, doesn't it. Get out of line and all he has to say is: 'Och, I'll partner you with Doyle, lad....'"
"Thanks. Friend."
"Knew you missed me. What else?"
"Uh...what else? Susan's been lumbered with Turner on obbo duty."
"Is he still walking?"
Doyle cut up a taxi and returned the driver's salute. "Funny you should mention that. He's been very polite to Susan in recent days."
"Always was a slow learner. Speaking of which, did Murphy have to testify?"
"Yeah. Best to keep a low profile with the Met just at present."
"Tell them to stop hiring coppers with the intelligence of your average slug."
"This is why Cowley didn't have you testify."
"Would've been glad to phone it in."
"I was a copper you know."
"Yes but you've had the advantage of working with me, Goldilocks."
Doyle snapped his fingers. "Knew I'd forgotten to tell you something."
"What's that then?"
"Cowley has a stack of your reports, this thick, that he wants you to re-do. Before you're back on duty."
"Re-do?"
"Seems that a report consisting of, 'At 1403 we went in. At 1409 five were dead' does not quite suffice."
"Clear and succinct that is."
"Be sure to tell him that."
"They have intelligence standards for the SAS, Doyle."
"Very low ones."
"Higher than slugs. Go on, tell me some more about the squad."
"Insatiable, that's your trouble," Doyle said knowingly.
"Never been told it was trouble before."
"Shouldn't boast about that if I were you--having difficulty keeping them satisfied, are you?"
--From Fait Accompli, by PFL
But Doyle had stopped typing and was focussed on some point deep beneath the building's foundations, hands still resting lightly on the keys. He was so pale he'd gone slightly grey with it. Bodie closed his mouth and went to drag a chair up beside him. He turned it around, straddled it and folded his arms across its backrest. "You sign it off, 'Love from Ray'."
Doyle didn't react for a second, then the set of his profile softened slightly, and one corner of his mouth twitched up. "Cretin," he advised, and Bodie gathered that he was to some extent forgiven. "God, I just can't finish this."
Bodie looked over his shoulder, read in silence for a few moments, then said, "Take a memo, Miss Doyle," and dictated for him a brief but acceptable concluding paragraph.
Doyle typed obediently - unlike his friend, he hadn't been too macho to learn how to do it by touch - and actually got a few words into Bodie's final sentence before realising it was going to read as a request for a change of partner. On grounds of his current one's extreme insensitivity.... A snort of laughter escaped him and he reached for the correction fluid.
"What, just when I've got you housetrained?"
Satisfied, Bodie straightened up. "Right, that's it. You wait in the car. I'll go and flash me charms at the nightshift secretary until she agrees to process this lot."
"In sheer terror, I should think. Yeah, alright. You don't mind dropping me off? It's - " He consulted his watch. "Bloody hell. Half past eleven."
"Maybe we'd better just curl up under Cowley's desk ready for tomorrow."
Doyle grinned; ran a hand across tangled curls. "Nah. There's not room for three under there."
--From Broken Cover, by Angelfish
"What's up with you then? Look like a bulldog chewing a wasp."
Bodie smirked despite himself, unwilling to encourage Doyle to believe, even for a second, that he was amusing.
"Thinking high thoughts, mate. Beyond your comprehension." And Doyle's grin widened, charged up and happy today, and crazily, making Bodie happy too, despite all his strictures to hold back, not to let Doyle run his life ...
"Bloody 'ell," Doyle breathed wonderingly, "more 'n two syllables there. You back on the injections, then?"
Bodie fought to find his most patronising tone. "I have tried to explain to you Doyle," he drawled, "that the superior mind doesn't need the aid of nefarious substances ..."
"Ne ...farious?" Doyle jeered, warming to the slagging match, "'S'at Egyptian then?"
--From Scenes from the Edge, by Kate MacLean (Unprofessional Conduct 5)
The Doctor had obviously received instructions by the time he reached the surgery-cum-medical unit, and the disgruntled agent was submitted to an examination more rigorous than the one that had got him back on duty.
It took a while to complete, and when he was finally allowed to leave, he found Bodie waiting outside in the corridor.
"What's up, then?" his other half demanded. "Fractured an eyelash?"
"Pack it in!" Doyle yelled, effectively startling him and several passers-by. "Nothing's up, sod it! That bloody witchdoctor checked me through from liver and lights to my bloody toenails!"
"Then why --"
"Don't ask me! I only bloody work here! Cowley got some bee in his bonnet just because this damned arm itched a bit, and I was railroaded down here so fast you'd think I had bubonic plague!"
"That's daft," Bodie said, puzzled. "New skin always itches."
"I know that!" Doyle raved. "So does bloody Cowley! So does that fuckin' doctor! All he did in the end was tell me not to scratch!"
"Well, at least you know now beyond a doubt that you're sound in wind and limb," Bodie pointed out.
"I knew that before!" It was another head-turning bellow, and Bodie towed the furious man into the conveniently near-by canteen.
"I hate to remind you," he said, pushing him into a chair, "but I'm the lunatic half of this team. Calm down."
"I am calm!"
"Yes, Ray. Anything you say, Ray."
"He must be off his rocker." This time it was muted to a growl. "What does he think I am? Made of Dresden china? Just because my bloody arm itched!" He raked at the injury angrily, and Bodie slapped his hand away.
"Don't scratch," he grinned. "Have a cup of coffee and cool off. Want something to eat?"
"No. How did you get on with Lucy?"
"Extremely well, of course. Got her eating out of my hand."
"Then she is simple..."
--From Of Tethered Goats and Tigers, by Tarot
Some authors have a gift for capturing the spirit and tone of that banter - I can hear it in my head when I read, and it makes me smile. Here are a few examples...
"What've you been doing?"
"This and that." Doyle shifted and sped up to pass a slow-moving mini, then slowed again.
"Ah. Files, eh?"
Doyle grinned. "Yeah. Got out now and again, thank God."
"Who'd you work with?"
"No one. Well, Jax once. The Cow's mostly had me working solo."
"Ah. Sensible of the Old Man."
Doyle indulged him. "Sensible?"
"Gives him a hold over the rest of them, doesn't it. Get out of line and all he has to say is: 'Och, I'll partner you with Doyle, lad....'"
"Thanks. Friend."
"Knew you missed me. What else?"
"Uh...what else? Susan's been lumbered with Turner on obbo duty."
"Is he still walking?"
Doyle cut up a taxi and returned the driver's salute. "Funny you should mention that. He's been very polite to Susan in recent days."
"Always was a slow learner. Speaking of which, did Murphy have to testify?"
"Yeah. Best to keep a low profile with the Met just at present."
"Tell them to stop hiring coppers with the intelligence of your average slug."
"This is why Cowley didn't have you testify."
"Would've been glad to phone it in."
"I was a copper you know."
"Yes but you've had the advantage of working with me, Goldilocks."
Doyle snapped his fingers. "Knew I'd forgotten to tell you something."
"What's that then?"
"Cowley has a stack of your reports, this thick, that he wants you to re-do. Before you're back on duty."
"Re-do?"
"Seems that a report consisting of, 'At 1403 we went in. At 1409 five were dead' does not quite suffice."
"Clear and succinct that is."
"Be sure to tell him that."
"They have intelligence standards for the SAS, Doyle."
"Very low ones."
"Higher than slugs. Go on, tell me some more about the squad."
"Insatiable, that's your trouble," Doyle said knowingly.
"Never been told it was trouble before."
"Shouldn't boast about that if I were you--having difficulty keeping them satisfied, are you?"
--From Fait Accompli, by PFL
But Doyle had stopped typing and was focussed on some point deep beneath the building's foundations, hands still resting lightly on the keys. He was so pale he'd gone slightly grey with it. Bodie closed his mouth and went to drag a chair up beside him. He turned it around, straddled it and folded his arms across its backrest. "You sign it off, 'Love from Ray'."
Doyle didn't react for a second, then the set of his profile softened slightly, and one corner of his mouth twitched up. "Cretin," he advised, and Bodie gathered that he was to some extent forgiven. "God, I just can't finish this."
Bodie looked over his shoulder, read in silence for a few moments, then said, "Take a memo, Miss Doyle," and dictated for him a brief but acceptable concluding paragraph.
Doyle typed obediently - unlike his friend, he hadn't been too macho to learn how to do it by touch - and actually got a few words into Bodie's final sentence before realising it was going to read as a request for a change of partner. On grounds of his current one's extreme insensitivity.... A snort of laughter escaped him and he reached for the correction fluid.
"What, just when I've got you housetrained?"
Satisfied, Bodie straightened up. "Right, that's it. You wait in the car. I'll go and flash me charms at the nightshift secretary until she agrees to process this lot."
"In sheer terror, I should think. Yeah, alright. You don't mind dropping me off? It's - " He consulted his watch. "Bloody hell. Half past eleven."
"Maybe we'd better just curl up under Cowley's desk ready for tomorrow."
Doyle grinned; ran a hand across tangled curls. "Nah. There's not room for three under there."
--From Broken Cover, by Angelfish
"What's up with you then? Look like a bulldog chewing a wasp."
Bodie smirked despite himself, unwilling to encourage Doyle to believe, even for a second, that he was amusing.
"Thinking high thoughts, mate. Beyond your comprehension." And Doyle's grin widened, charged up and happy today, and crazily, making Bodie happy too, despite all his strictures to hold back, not to let Doyle run his life ...
"Bloody 'ell," Doyle breathed wonderingly, "more 'n two syllables there. You back on the injections, then?"
Bodie fought to find his most patronising tone. "I have tried to explain to you Doyle," he drawled, "that the superior mind doesn't need the aid of nefarious substances ..."
"Ne ...farious?" Doyle jeered, warming to the slagging match, "'S'at Egyptian then?"
--From Scenes from the Edge, by Kate MacLean (Unprofessional Conduct 5)
The Doctor had obviously received instructions by the time he reached the surgery-cum-medical unit, and the disgruntled agent was submitted to an examination more rigorous than the one that had got him back on duty.
It took a while to complete, and when he was finally allowed to leave, he found Bodie waiting outside in the corridor.
"What's up, then?" his other half demanded. "Fractured an eyelash?"
"Pack it in!" Doyle yelled, effectively startling him and several passers-by. "Nothing's up, sod it! That bloody witchdoctor checked me through from liver and lights to my bloody toenails!"
"Then why --"
"Don't ask me! I only bloody work here! Cowley got some bee in his bonnet just because this damned arm itched a bit, and I was railroaded down here so fast you'd think I had bubonic plague!"
"That's daft," Bodie said, puzzled. "New skin always itches."
"I know that!" Doyle raved. "So does bloody Cowley! So does that fuckin' doctor! All he did in the end was tell me not to scratch!"
"Well, at least you know now beyond a doubt that you're sound in wind and limb," Bodie pointed out.
"I knew that before!" It was another head-turning bellow, and Bodie towed the furious man into the conveniently near-by canteen.
"I hate to remind you," he said, pushing him into a chair, "but I'm the lunatic half of this team. Calm down."
"I am calm!"
"Yes, Ray. Anything you say, Ray."
"He must be off his rocker." This time it was muted to a growl. "What does he think I am? Made of Dresden china? Just because my bloody arm itched!" He raked at the injury angrily, and Bodie slapped his hand away.
"Don't scratch," he grinned. "Have a cup of coffee and cool off. Want something to eat?"
"No. How did you get on with Lucy?"
"Extremely well, of course. Got her eating out of my hand."
"Then she is simple..."
--From Of Tethered Goats and Tigers, by Tarot