(no subject)
Visions of Bodie and Doyle: wounds of body and soul.
Overdosing on Bodie and Doyle *again*. But. I. Don't. Care. Have a good weekend!
“What’s my name?” he asked, voice a husk of itself, knowing that he should know, that he’d been told, he’d been told a dozen times before.
The man didn’t speak, didn’t say anything again, silent as he’d been when he first stepped into the flat, just watching him, the weight of his gaze as solid as that of his body.
“I remember the explosion,” he continued, “I remember the ambulance, and the hospital and every bloody minute of Cowley’s questions and the pictures they keep showing me - all of it. So why don’t I remember…?”
“Me…” the man whispered, “And you... You knew me just now... "
“Just you - that I do remember.” An important thing to remember, he knew that.
Nobody:Slantedlight
I was only wanting a quiet drink...
It had been one hell of a week, too much travel, too much paperwork and without the merest hint of excitement. I was jaded to the point of tiredness and bored to the point of depression. The barman soon huffily gave up his unsubtle attempts at conversation and I mentally waved away any guilt I felt about that. I might well be sad and lonely but that was a situation of my own making and nobody had ever said that getting older would be a bed of roses. After all, I’d only really wanted a quiet drink...
The bar was staring to fill and suddenly my senses prickled. Though I had no particular feeling of foreboding, I looked up sharply and then I saw him...
I continued to stare, long suppressed emotions fighting their way upwards, when he turned, as I knew he would and looked straight at me...
A Quiet Drink:Pale Rider (Boothross)
The body that was Bodie didn't move. Doyle was aware of himself demanding an ambulance over the RT. He was aware of himself sinking to his knees in a wide deep puddle... And blood. There was that, too. A gallon of bright red A positive. Doyle's heart hammered in his chest. He could hear breath rasping in his chest. He was aware that he hadn’t checked the perimeter, hadn't secured the area. For all he knew, hands now on Bodie's bloody jacket, there could be a nice, taut trip wire tightly stretched to a dirty great explosive. Ready to take him down; ready to turn what was left of him and his partner into tatty little bits of CI5 confetti.
Somewhere in the distance in unfamiliar streets an ambulance wailed...
Searching through hell for Bodie:Dollydaydream
Doyle had always known most of the other agents thought him cold. In some ways they were correct; he'd rather keep his distance. Few saw the self-protective instincts which motivated his sharp tongue and independent streak for what they were, choosing instead to view them as aloofness or lack of care. Bodie had always been the exception, the one person to see through the prickliness. Over the years he'd grown used to unloosing his tongue on his partner, ever confident that Bodie was capable of deflecting the venom and assuaging the hurt with his peculiar patience.
But Bodie didn't seem interested in raising his spirits anymore.
Double or Nothing:Tiranog (Rosemary Callahan)
When had Doyle stopped caring?
When had the furious blast of Doyle's temper become soul deep winter? When had the bitter frost first o'erspilled to fill contemptuous fists? When had Doyle learned this cold despite?
Bodie sipped his drink and tried to remember the first hasty word for which Doyle hadn't apologised. The first excuse invented to avoid his company. The first time Cowley had snapped at him and Doyle's eyes slid away, leaving him hanging.
No, there were no reasons, not any more. He should leave. Now, in the gathering twilight. Slink away, as he had all those years ago, to find his fortune in the blood and dust of another continent.
Doyle had never understood that part of him...
Quinquireme of Nineveh:Fiorenza_a
I rise to my feet, trying to ignore the cold, the smarting across my back, the dank smell of straw and the silver path of the moon, glowing on Bodie’s marble white skin. He’s very still, his powerful frame strangely subdued and it boosts my fury. He always says I have a lousy temper, but in this case I think I’m justified. It might be a long shot, but it’s the only shot. Not wasting any more time, I move to the door and I see him struggling to shift himself to a better position before subsiding again with a small moan.
“Open up. My partner…something’s wrong. Open up.”
Nothing but I don’t give up. Another glance at Bodie and the black stain of blood over one flank drives me over the edge. I kick at the door, again and again. It’s holding but I feel a slight give. Bodie shifts again, trying to gear himself up to help. I know he can’t.
“Open the door, or I swear I’ll kick it down, he needs a doctor...”
Doyle & Bodie - White Marble:Jaicen5
After all this time he could still recall the thud of his vengeful fist into Paulie Coogan's gut, though the pain of the kidney punch that had provoked it was no more than a wisp of memory.
Not my fault. He was already injured...
Yes, Paul had attacked him. Painful. But self-defence? No. That's what they'd claimed, but no. There'd been no real threat except to his pride, smarting from John Coogan's dismissive "Not enough weight."
Enough weight behind that punch...
"You know what they made of me, don't you?" he'd demanded of Bodie.
But when was I ever different?
..."I cut up another kid and I was just a kid meself," he'd told Bodie. "And I got away with it...."
Didn't get away with this one... Not proven, that's not a verdict of innocent. And I'll never know for sure if it was my fist that finished him off.
Through a glass, darkly:The Hag
The flip of a page brought Bodie face to face with himself. It was after that episode with Andrew Drake pretending to be a double agent. Drake's arm was still in the cast. Cowley's diffident invitation had mentioned something about strong backs and weak minds, but the three of them spent a pleasant weekend roughing it in Scotland...
In the picture he was holding an eight-pound bass, a smirk on his stubbly face. Drake sat the other side of the fire. Colorless, bland little Andy Drake. He'd wondered at the time what made Cowley drag him along.
Now he knew. Andy didn't sell out CI5, consort with international assassins, try to kill him, or sodomize his partner. It took pitifully little to earn Cowley's loyalty.
A slight shadow marred the picture as he started to turn the page. He took a closer look. On the picture, right beside his smiling face, there was a slight cut- The realization hit him like a shot in the solar plexus. Cowley had sat down to purposefully cut him out of the album. The phone had rung or the kettle had whistled, but the intention marred the photo. He didn't expect it to hurt this much...
The Greatest Treason:Lezlie Shell:D-Notice
He doesn't like killing people. It comes with the job, and the job needs doing, but he worries sometimes that he's not much different from the bastards on the other side.
Freedom is priceless, people say. What they mean is that freedom's fucking expensive. Sometimes you pay in insomnia and a seasick conscience; sometimes you pay in your own blood.
He died for his country. That's how his best friend's gravestone is going to read, once it's ready. They're still carving it. He got them to show him a drawing; he doesn't expect to see the real thing. In a few days he'll probably have the grave next door.
He's got a war to fight. Some of it's revenge, yeah, and he's going against orders, doing this. But some of it's plain cold duty. This is an enemy that's too knowledgeable and too ruthless to turn your back on.
He checks his weapon... He's ready...
Duty:kindkit
“Bodie?” he gasped.
“Yeah?” Bodie was having his own problems catching his breath, the sudden relief flooding over him like a tidal wave.
“Describe where we are...I need to know....”
Doyle had always been an incredibly observant person, with an eye for every detail, and now he couldn’t rely on that sense. Bodie understood this, and started to describe the scene. “It’s not far different from when we left,” he said, looking about. “Still no moon, very dark, no people about..."
“Can you still see the yacht?”
Bodie scanned the horizon looking for lights. “No...”
Finn Of The Yard:ILWB
Late July: The hour had already gone nine of the evening, but heat from the pavement rose like the humid breath of some vast underground creature, rising stifling and ill-scented to the open first floor window of Raymond Doyle's flat. It was the second day of a so-far remarkably sultry week; the forecasters said hope was in sight, but it would be another twenty four hours before cooling showers were anticipated...
There were children playing a ruthless game of kick-can. Their squeals of laughter and outrage had drawn him from his chores in the kitchen, a welcome diversion to the unrewarding process of scraping his broiling pan preparatory to fixing cod for dinner. A long time had passed since the pan had been used, and in the interim it had only been wiped clean prior to packing for the latest move. Sight of it had driven a spoke of reminiscent agony into Doyle out of all proportion to the expenditure of energy needed to set it to rights.
The last time he had used it, Bodie had been here with him. The last time he had used it, Bodie had still been alive... The Return:Ellis Ward
He turned from the window when he heard Ray deep in sleep. He stood there several minutes watching him slumber. Then a chill went up his spine.
He remembered another time when he had watched Ray sleep. That time he hadn't been sure that Ray would ever wake, but he did, and Bodie remembered.
Remembered how he felt those few hours when he thought Ray was lost to him, how simple his whole world became - Ray had been the only thing that had really mattered. He'd forgotten that until now, and as he watched Ray sleep he realised that nothing had changed, Ray was really the only thing that mattered now. Ray was more important than any job, or anyone. What should he do with knowledge like that?
The Things You Need Come Slow:KrisserCI5
"Nothing ever gets to you, does it?" It comes out harsh, more accusatory than he'd meant it.
"Not if I can help it, no," Bodie replies, but the brightness of his tone reveals it for a lie. He takes one look at Doyle's expression and hands over the glass of scotch that was clearly meant to be his own. He turns back to pour another for himself. "It's over now, though, isn't it?"
"Over? It'll never be over, after a verdict like that."
"What, not proven?"
"Yeah. Doesn't mean anything, does it? Not enough evidence for a conviction, that's all..."
"You were never on trial, Ray."
"You know better than that. We were all on trial in that room. Me, you, Cowley--all of CI5."
"And we survived."
But Paul Coogan hadn't...
Burden of Proof:Sarah K
Too many lives... And Bodie's.
Especially Bodie's.
He closed his eyes tightly, seeing only the tableau that had haunted him for hours.
Bodie and Karen.
Damn them both to hell...
But, oh God, if anything happened to Bodie...
This was insane; Bodie had betrayed him. It shouldn't matter anymore.
Except that it mattered more than anything had ever mattered before.
Well, maybe... oh, please... maybe he was wrong about Bodie and Karen... maybe Bodie'd be able to explain and...
Only there was other contradictory evidence. All his memories... all the assurance he should have needed that Bodie loved him...
Action of the Tiger:EPS (Lillian_Shepherd)
Bodie leaned against the window and watched his partner. Doyle had stopped in the middle of the car park. He stood unmoving, shoulders hunched against the rain, seemingly unaware of the water running off the fabric of the umbrella and soaking his boots. Bodie felt a tug at his heart and swallowed an affectionate smile. No one could look as wretched and dejected and lost as Doyle. Uneven cheekbones and long nose reddened by the brisk wind, damp curls dripping onto a tight t-shirt and jeans plastered against slim thighs left Doyle looking forlorn and miserable.
I’d help you if you’d let me, Ray. Want to. But you always shut me out.
On Offer:Merentha13
She was still yelling at him when he got to the car.
"Who do you think you are?"
Bodie was there, doing a fairly good imitation of the high-pitched voice...
She'd made him feel like a nameless thug. He'd been so tempted to stand there and tell her what he did for a living, and why, and exactly what the bombs they'd been making did to human bodies...
"Who do you think you are, you stupid little bastard? Get upstairs. Have you seen the time ...you carrying a knife again?"
"No, dad. But..."
"No buts. Get yourself chucked in borstal, you will, if you get involved in any more fights. And don't give me that crap about self-defence. "
"But Dad..."
"Get it into your head. Keep out of trouble and you might just come to something. God knows what, mind. Now bugger off."
Doyle shook his head, the images vivid.... Christ, half the people he'd met asked him that, when he thought about it... "Who do you think you are...?" Subject Closed:brenk
Cowley didn’t doubt himself very often in life, but at that very moment he was inwardly panicking. He had taken a huge risk, assuming that the Russian’s would use stun gas rather than a lethal alternative, after all, they had wanted to take Drake alive, hadn’t they? It had all gone so well. Bodie and Doyle were at the peak of physical fitness, they should recover from this with no ill effects. But was there a chance he had miscalculated?
It was a matter of seconds before Doyle reacted to the oxygen, but to Bodie it felt like hours...
Need:ILWB
There'd been nothing he could do. It had been a set up, right from the start. And not by Marikka, no, not even her, so that he could rage against her treachery.
Bloody Doyle...
The chase had gone out of him, had crumpled to the ground in front of him, had died as he looked on…
Load of melodramatic poppycock.
The chase had died as he'd kissed her in that hotel room, as he'd realised that he didn't love her again, couldn't, and worse than that - he didn't even want her again.
It had almost been a relief when those bastards crashed through the door. At least then he hadn't had to explain that she was doing nothing to him, nothing for him, that…
But he wouldn't have done that, would he? He'd have thought of somebody else, somebody who did turn him on, somebody who could make him hard with just a glance, or by licking his lips, or by sliding hands slowly across his own denim-clad buttocks.
His own.
Come End of Day:Slantedlight
Almond eyes. An enchanting little smile. Hair cut in an odd shape. Craftswoman's hands, competently wielding her tools. Killer's hands clasped around the silenced gun. She'd bent over him and stared into his face after the second bullet, and their eyes had met. The third bullet... Had she wanted to give him that slight chance? Or was it a deliberate cruelty, leaving him alone to bleed to death, withholding the mercy of the coup de grace, the futile battlefield shriving?
"....I could smell you sweating, so I knew you were real. I knew it was you even when I was still seeing her. Her and the gun. I knew it was you. Kept seeing her coming back, though. Kept seeing.... Keep seeing.... Then I couldn't see her at all... Dreamed about you, too--thought she'd go after you next. Keep thinking--"
Bodie had shifted him into the recovery position, staunched the blood, zoomed off down to the car to call an ambulance when the phone wasn't working, returned to kneel beside him. "They're coming, Ray. You'll be fine. Just hang on a bit, all right? You'll be fine." Over and over, words Doyle had clung to, the sound of his voice an anchor in the gathering blackness. He'd wanted to speak, to make amends, to say goodbye. "They're here, Ray, it's going to be fine, oh christ I love you, hang on, all right?" Then the expert hands took over, gathered him onto a stretcher, and the pain that had been hovering at the edge of his shocked awareness suddenly crashed in.. All Hallows Eve:The Hag
He was unarmed for this operation; it was required for the part he was to play. Murphy and Susan Fischer were covering him from hidden sites. Each held a high-power rifle as well as their standard Browning pistols. Doyle was to negotiate with Coogan, pretend to comply with the demands he had phoned into the Controller. It was their only chance to grab Bodie away from the madman who held him as hostage...
Paul Coogan had been found dead. Doyle had been cleared in the inquiry. Doyle clenched his teeth. Bodie had discussed the whole affair with him. Had enveloped him in his arms in bed, after they had become lovers. Doyle had never quite been able to exonerate himself for the death. It had been something he had simply been forced to live with.
Why did he have to bring Bodie into it? Doyle's desperate thoughts lanced through him. Did John Coogan know of the depth of their involvement? Doyle had kept close wraps on his relationship with Bodie for security's sake. As for himself, Doyle would be willing to let John Coogan have him, to do what he wished as expiation for the death. If it would save Bodie..
Closely Watched Trains:Susan Douglass
For a moment he stands there, fingers digging into the cold hand, harder than he should, but desperate to maintain some connection that tells him his partner is still alive, still in that motionless shell.
He's never spoken here, as if words will break the spell, tip the fragile balance toward death. But there's something burning in his throat, a word, a question, something bound together.
He sucks in a sharp breath before speaking the word he's never uttered since that day, the name he's never dared say, a word almost mystical.
"Sunshine?"
For a moment there's nothing and he knows he's been foolish, clinging to some phantom hope. There's no answer and he doesn't expect one, not now, not anymore. The optimistic will he clung to in the dark days when Doyle lay in the shadow world with a bullet in his heart has caved under harsh reality. There's no fairytale promises this time, no dreams to guide him back. Even his will isn't strong enough for this.
And then, in the instant before he's about to let go, the limp fingers tighten around his and faintly squeeze... Broken:D'Angelo's Song
Fifteen pounds, they'd said. Not even a fraction of what Bodie bench-pressed one handed when he was showing off. But weighed out in high explosives strapped securely over his heart, those fifteen pounds had dragged like the Rock of Gibraltar in as many seconds. With his hands tied behind his back, the ungainly press of it had threatened his balance as he ran hell-for-leather away from the gunfire, away from the chaos of voices, and away from the maniac pounding after him through the smoke.
Bodie had rarely known such impotent fury as he had at the sight of Doyle casting his lot like that, defying Bodie's instinct to keep him safe and give some meaning to the death he was undoubtedly seconds away from. He couldn't even remember the words they had spat at each other across the rapidly shrinking distance. And it wasn't that Bodie hadn't saved lives before or been saved by others. On the streets of Belfast and in the jungles of Africa, a timely shot or a shove on the shoulder had made the difference many a time. Hell, he and Doyle had done it so often their alert system was down to the fine art of a raised eyebrow and a head tilt.
Still, he had never been the focus of such single-minded determination to be rescued or have someone die trying. It was burned onto his retina: the flash of that ridiculous burgundy shirt when Doyle had thundered out across the grass, arms pistoning, jaw set, decision made there and then, though the heavens would... A Falling Off:Callisto
His head pounded, his body ached, and his stomach roiled. But something made this awakening much worse than the other times he'd been drugged: the taste of blood and the intensely aching throb in his mouth. Bodie vainly tried to rouse himself enough to assess his situation, but the drug held him firmly in its grasp. His brain felt sluggish, and his body was heavy and slow.
With a low groan, (he) finally managed to open his eyes. He glanced around slowly, thoroughly confused. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but before he could examine his situation further, he felt his stomach lurch. His gut clenched as he swallowed, and blood slid down his throat, making him choke. He coughed harshly, and more blood spurted from his nose in messy bubbles. He swiped at the muck and smeared it across his lips with the back of one shaky hand. He turned his head as his stomach rebelled and managed to raise himself up just enough to vomit onto the ground instead of himself. Even when his traitorous stomach was empty, dry heaves kept him retching for many moments until they finally abated.
Cold seeped into his bones while he slept until he woke abruptly, his teeth chattering. Pain jolted through his mouth, burning a path into his brain. He lay very still as he struggled to control it, focusing his hearing for the moment. Around him everything was quiet, save for the drip-drip-drip of water somewhere to his right. Shivering, his eyes opened, and he once again found himself in that same strange place he remembered from his brief surface to consciousness a while ago. Watery light seeped through broken spaces in the roof over his head, and he finally found the will to make himself take notice of his surroundings.
Cautiously he sat up and looked around. He was in some sort of disused warehouse...
Heaven Is A Place On Earth:LilyK
Overdosing on Bodie and Doyle *again*. But. I. Don't. Care. Have a good weekend!
“What’s my name?” he asked, voice a husk of itself, knowing that he should know, that he’d been told, he’d been told a dozen times before.
The man didn’t speak, didn’t say anything again, silent as he’d been when he first stepped into the flat, just watching him, the weight of his gaze as solid as that of his body.
“I remember the explosion,” he continued, “I remember the ambulance, and the hospital and every bloody minute of Cowley’s questions and the pictures they keep showing me - all of it. So why don’t I remember…?”
“Me…” the man whispered, “And you... You knew me just now... "
“Just you - that I do remember.” An important thing to remember, he knew that.
Nobody:Slantedlight
I was only wanting a quiet drink...
It had been one hell of a week, too much travel, too much paperwork and without the merest hint of excitement. I was jaded to the point of tiredness and bored to the point of depression. The barman soon huffily gave up his unsubtle attempts at conversation and I mentally waved away any guilt I felt about that. I might well be sad and lonely but that was a situation of my own making and nobody had ever said that getting older would be a bed of roses. After all, I’d only really wanted a quiet drink...
The bar was staring to fill and suddenly my senses prickled. Though I had no particular feeling of foreboding, I looked up sharply and then I saw him...
I continued to stare, long suppressed emotions fighting their way upwards, when he turned, as I knew he would and looked straight at me...
A Quiet Drink:Pale Rider (Boothross)
The body that was Bodie didn't move. Doyle was aware of himself demanding an ambulance over the RT. He was aware of himself sinking to his knees in a wide deep puddle... And blood. There was that, too. A gallon of bright red A positive. Doyle's heart hammered in his chest. He could hear breath rasping in his chest. He was aware that he hadn’t checked the perimeter, hadn't secured the area. For all he knew, hands now on Bodie's bloody jacket, there could be a nice, taut trip wire tightly stretched to a dirty great explosive. Ready to take him down; ready to turn what was left of him and his partner into tatty little bits of CI5 confetti.
Somewhere in the distance in unfamiliar streets an ambulance wailed...
Searching through hell for Bodie:Dollydaydream
Doyle had always known most of the other agents thought him cold. In some ways they were correct; he'd rather keep his distance. Few saw the self-protective instincts which motivated his sharp tongue and independent streak for what they were, choosing instead to view them as aloofness or lack of care. Bodie had always been the exception, the one person to see through the prickliness. Over the years he'd grown used to unloosing his tongue on his partner, ever confident that Bodie was capable of deflecting the venom and assuaging the hurt with his peculiar patience.
But Bodie didn't seem interested in raising his spirits anymore.
Double or Nothing:Tiranog (Rosemary Callahan)
When had Doyle stopped caring?
When had the furious blast of Doyle's temper become soul deep winter? When had the bitter frost first o'erspilled to fill contemptuous fists? When had Doyle learned this cold despite?
Bodie sipped his drink and tried to remember the first hasty word for which Doyle hadn't apologised. The first excuse invented to avoid his company. The first time Cowley had snapped at him and Doyle's eyes slid away, leaving him hanging.
No, there were no reasons, not any more. He should leave. Now, in the gathering twilight. Slink away, as he had all those years ago, to find his fortune in the blood and dust of another continent.
Doyle had never understood that part of him...
Quinquireme of Nineveh:Fiorenza_a
I rise to my feet, trying to ignore the cold, the smarting across my back, the dank smell of straw and the silver path of the moon, glowing on Bodie’s marble white skin. He’s very still, his powerful frame strangely subdued and it boosts my fury. He always says I have a lousy temper, but in this case I think I’m justified. It might be a long shot, but it’s the only shot. Not wasting any more time, I move to the door and I see him struggling to shift himself to a better position before subsiding again with a small moan.
“Open up. My partner…something’s wrong. Open up.”
Nothing but I don’t give up. Another glance at Bodie and the black stain of blood over one flank drives me over the edge. I kick at the door, again and again. It’s holding but I feel a slight give. Bodie shifts again, trying to gear himself up to help. I know he can’t.
“Open the door, or I swear I’ll kick it down, he needs a doctor...”
Doyle & Bodie - White Marble:Jaicen5
After all this time he could still recall the thud of his vengeful fist into Paulie Coogan's gut, though the pain of the kidney punch that had provoked it was no more than a wisp of memory.
Not my fault. He was already injured...
Yes, Paul had attacked him. Painful. But self-defence? No. That's what they'd claimed, but no. There'd been no real threat except to his pride, smarting from John Coogan's dismissive "Not enough weight."
Enough weight behind that punch...
"You know what they made of me, don't you?" he'd demanded of Bodie.
But when was I ever different?
..."I cut up another kid and I was just a kid meself," he'd told Bodie. "And I got away with it...."
Didn't get away with this one... Not proven, that's not a verdict of innocent. And I'll never know for sure if it was my fist that finished him off.
Through a glass, darkly:The Hag
The flip of a page brought Bodie face to face with himself. It was after that episode with Andrew Drake pretending to be a double agent. Drake's arm was still in the cast. Cowley's diffident invitation had mentioned something about strong backs and weak minds, but the three of them spent a pleasant weekend roughing it in Scotland...
In the picture he was holding an eight-pound bass, a smirk on his stubbly face. Drake sat the other side of the fire. Colorless, bland little Andy Drake. He'd wondered at the time what made Cowley drag him along.
Now he knew. Andy didn't sell out CI5, consort with international assassins, try to kill him, or sodomize his partner. It took pitifully little to earn Cowley's loyalty.
A slight shadow marred the picture as he started to turn the page. He took a closer look. On the picture, right beside his smiling face, there was a slight cut- The realization hit him like a shot in the solar plexus. Cowley had sat down to purposefully cut him out of the album. The phone had rung or the kettle had whistled, but the intention marred the photo. He didn't expect it to hurt this much...
The Greatest Treason:Lezlie Shell:D-Notice
He doesn't like killing people. It comes with the job, and the job needs doing, but he worries sometimes that he's not much different from the bastards on the other side.
Freedom is priceless, people say. What they mean is that freedom's fucking expensive. Sometimes you pay in insomnia and a seasick conscience; sometimes you pay in your own blood.
He died for his country. That's how his best friend's gravestone is going to read, once it's ready. They're still carving it. He got them to show him a drawing; he doesn't expect to see the real thing. In a few days he'll probably have the grave next door.
He's got a war to fight. Some of it's revenge, yeah, and he's going against orders, doing this. But some of it's plain cold duty. This is an enemy that's too knowledgeable and too ruthless to turn your back on.
He checks his weapon... He's ready...
Duty:kindkit
“Bodie?” he gasped.
“Yeah?” Bodie was having his own problems catching his breath, the sudden relief flooding over him like a tidal wave.
“Describe where we are...I need to know....”
Doyle had always been an incredibly observant person, with an eye for every detail, and now he couldn’t rely on that sense. Bodie understood this, and started to describe the scene. “It’s not far different from when we left,” he said, looking about. “Still no moon, very dark, no people about..."
“Can you still see the yacht?”
Bodie scanned the horizon looking for lights. “No...”
Finn Of The Yard:ILWB
Late July: The hour had already gone nine of the evening, but heat from the pavement rose like the humid breath of some vast underground creature, rising stifling and ill-scented to the open first floor window of Raymond Doyle's flat. It was the second day of a so-far remarkably sultry week; the forecasters said hope was in sight, but it would be another twenty four hours before cooling showers were anticipated...
There were children playing a ruthless game of kick-can. Their squeals of laughter and outrage had drawn him from his chores in the kitchen, a welcome diversion to the unrewarding process of scraping his broiling pan preparatory to fixing cod for dinner. A long time had passed since the pan had been used, and in the interim it had only been wiped clean prior to packing for the latest move. Sight of it had driven a spoke of reminiscent agony into Doyle out of all proportion to the expenditure of energy needed to set it to rights.
The last time he had used it, Bodie had been here with him. The last time he had used it, Bodie had still been alive... The Return:Ellis Ward
He turned from the window when he heard Ray deep in sleep. He stood there several minutes watching him slumber. Then a chill went up his spine.
He remembered another time when he had watched Ray sleep. That time he hadn't been sure that Ray would ever wake, but he did, and Bodie remembered.
Remembered how he felt those few hours when he thought Ray was lost to him, how simple his whole world became - Ray had been the only thing that had really mattered. He'd forgotten that until now, and as he watched Ray sleep he realised that nothing had changed, Ray was really the only thing that mattered now. Ray was more important than any job, or anyone. What should he do with knowledge like that?
The Things You Need Come Slow:KrisserCI5
"Nothing ever gets to you, does it?" It comes out harsh, more accusatory than he'd meant it.
"Not if I can help it, no," Bodie replies, but the brightness of his tone reveals it for a lie. He takes one look at Doyle's expression and hands over the glass of scotch that was clearly meant to be his own. He turns back to pour another for himself. "It's over now, though, isn't it?"
"Over? It'll never be over, after a verdict like that."
"What, not proven?"
"Yeah. Doesn't mean anything, does it? Not enough evidence for a conviction, that's all..."
"You were never on trial, Ray."
"You know better than that. We were all on trial in that room. Me, you, Cowley--all of CI5."
"And we survived."
But Paul Coogan hadn't...
Burden of Proof:Sarah K
Too many lives... And Bodie's.
Especially Bodie's.
He closed his eyes tightly, seeing only the tableau that had haunted him for hours.
Bodie and Karen.
Damn them both to hell...
But, oh God, if anything happened to Bodie...
This was insane; Bodie had betrayed him. It shouldn't matter anymore.
Except that it mattered more than anything had ever mattered before.
Well, maybe... oh, please... maybe he was wrong about Bodie and Karen... maybe Bodie'd be able to explain and...
Only there was other contradictory evidence. All his memories... all the assurance he should have needed that Bodie loved him...
Action of the Tiger:EPS (Lillian_Shepherd)
Bodie leaned against the window and watched his partner. Doyle had stopped in the middle of the car park. He stood unmoving, shoulders hunched against the rain, seemingly unaware of the water running off the fabric of the umbrella and soaking his boots. Bodie felt a tug at his heart and swallowed an affectionate smile. No one could look as wretched and dejected and lost as Doyle. Uneven cheekbones and long nose reddened by the brisk wind, damp curls dripping onto a tight t-shirt and jeans plastered against slim thighs left Doyle looking forlorn and miserable.
I’d help you if you’d let me, Ray. Want to. But you always shut me out.
On Offer:Merentha13
She was still yelling at him when he got to the car.
"Who do you think you are?"
Bodie was there, doing a fairly good imitation of the high-pitched voice...
She'd made him feel like a nameless thug. He'd been so tempted to stand there and tell her what he did for a living, and why, and exactly what the bombs they'd been making did to human bodies...
"Who do you think you are, you stupid little bastard? Get upstairs. Have you seen the time ...you carrying a knife again?"
"No, dad. But..."
"No buts. Get yourself chucked in borstal, you will, if you get involved in any more fights. And don't give me that crap about self-defence. "
"But Dad..."
"Get it into your head. Keep out of trouble and you might just come to something. God knows what, mind. Now bugger off."
Doyle shook his head, the images vivid.... Christ, half the people he'd met asked him that, when he thought about it... "Who do you think you are...?" Subject Closed:brenk
Cowley didn’t doubt himself very often in life, but at that very moment he was inwardly panicking. He had taken a huge risk, assuming that the Russian’s would use stun gas rather than a lethal alternative, after all, they had wanted to take Drake alive, hadn’t they? It had all gone so well. Bodie and Doyle were at the peak of physical fitness, they should recover from this with no ill effects. But was there a chance he had miscalculated?
It was a matter of seconds before Doyle reacted to the oxygen, but to Bodie it felt like hours...
Need:ILWB
There'd been nothing he could do. It had been a set up, right from the start. And not by Marikka, no, not even her, so that he could rage against her treachery.
Bloody Doyle...
The chase had gone out of him, had crumpled to the ground in front of him, had died as he looked on…
Load of melodramatic poppycock.
The chase had died as he'd kissed her in that hotel room, as he'd realised that he didn't love her again, couldn't, and worse than that - he didn't even want her again.
It had almost been a relief when those bastards crashed through the door. At least then he hadn't had to explain that she was doing nothing to him, nothing for him, that…
But he wouldn't have done that, would he? He'd have thought of somebody else, somebody who did turn him on, somebody who could make him hard with just a glance, or by licking his lips, or by sliding hands slowly across his own denim-clad buttocks.
His own.
Come End of Day:Slantedlight
Almond eyes. An enchanting little smile. Hair cut in an odd shape. Craftswoman's hands, competently wielding her tools. Killer's hands clasped around the silenced gun. She'd bent over him and stared into his face after the second bullet, and their eyes had met. The third bullet... Had she wanted to give him that slight chance? Or was it a deliberate cruelty, leaving him alone to bleed to death, withholding the mercy of the coup de grace, the futile battlefield shriving?
"....I could smell you sweating, so I knew you were real. I knew it was you even when I was still seeing her. Her and the gun. I knew it was you. Kept seeing her coming back, though. Kept seeing.... Keep seeing.... Then I couldn't see her at all... Dreamed about you, too--thought she'd go after you next. Keep thinking--"
Bodie had shifted him into the recovery position, staunched the blood, zoomed off down to the car to call an ambulance when the phone wasn't working, returned to kneel beside him. "They're coming, Ray. You'll be fine. Just hang on a bit, all right? You'll be fine." Over and over, words Doyle had clung to, the sound of his voice an anchor in the gathering blackness. He'd wanted to speak, to make amends, to say goodbye. "They're here, Ray, it's going to be fine, oh christ I love you, hang on, all right?" Then the expert hands took over, gathered him onto a stretcher, and the pain that had been hovering at the edge of his shocked awareness suddenly crashed in.. All Hallows Eve:The Hag
He was unarmed for this operation; it was required for the part he was to play. Murphy and Susan Fischer were covering him from hidden sites. Each held a high-power rifle as well as their standard Browning pistols. Doyle was to negotiate with Coogan, pretend to comply with the demands he had phoned into the Controller. It was their only chance to grab Bodie away from the madman who held him as hostage...
Paul Coogan had been found dead. Doyle had been cleared in the inquiry. Doyle clenched his teeth. Bodie had discussed the whole affair with him. Had enveloped him in his arms in bed, after they had become lovers. Doyle had never quite been able to exonerate himself for the death. It had been something he had simply been forced to live with.
Why did he have to bring Bodie into it? Doyle's desperate thoughts lanced through him. Did John Coogan know of the depth of their involvement? Doyle had kept close wraps on his relationship with Bodie for security's sake. As for himself, Doyle would be willing to let John Coogan have him, to do what he wished as expiation for the death. If it would save Bodie..
Closely Watched Trains:Susan Douglass
For a moment he stands there, fingers digging into the cold hand, harder than he should, but desperate to maintain some connection that tells him his partner is still alive, still in that motionless shell.
He's never spoken here, as if words will break the spell, tip the fragile balance toward death. But there's something burning in his throat, a word, a question, something bound together.
He sucks in a sharp breath before speaking the word he's never uttered since that day, the name he's never dared say, a word almost mystical.
"Sunshine?"
For a moment there's nothing and he knows he's been foolish, clinging to some phantom hope. There's no answer and he doesn't expect one, not now, not anymore. The optimistic will he clung to in the dark days when Doyle lay in the shadow world with a bullet in his heart has caved under harsh reality. There's no fairytale promises this time, no dreams to guide him back. Even his will isn't strong enough for this.
And then, in the instant before he's about to let go, the limp fingers tighten around his and faintly squeeze... Broken:D'Angelo's Song
Fifteen pounds, they'd said. Not even a fraction of what Bodie bench-pressed one handed when he was showing off. But weighed out in high explosives strapped securely over his heart, those fifteen pounds had dragged like the Rock of Gibraltar in as many seconds. With his hands tied behind his back, the ungainly press of it had threatened his balance as he ran hell-for-leather away from the gunfire, away from the chaos of voices, and away from the maniac pounding after him through the smoke.
Bodie had rarely known such impotent fury as he had at the sight of Doyle casting his lot like that, defying Bodie's instinct to keep him safe and give some meaning to the death he was undoubtedly seconds away from. He couldn't even remember the words they had spat at each other across the rapidly shrinking distance. And it wasn't that Bodie hadn't saved lives before or been saved by others. On the streets of Belfast and in the jungles of Africa, a timely shot or a shove on the shoulder had made the difference many a time. Hell, he and Doyle had done it so often their alert system was down to the fine art of a raised eyebrow and a head tilt.
Still, he had never been the focus of such single-minded determination to be rescued or have someone die trying. It was burned onto his retina: the flash of that ridiculous burgundy shirt when Doyle had thundered out across the grass, arms pistoning, jaw set, decision made there and then, though the heavens would... A Falling Off:Callisto
His head pounded, his body ached, and his stomach roiled. But something made this awakening much worse than the other times he'd been drugged: the taste of blood and the intensely aching throb in his mouth. Bodie vainly tried to rouse himself enough to assess his situation, but the drug held him firmly in its grasp. His brain felt sluggish, and his body was heavy and slow.
With a low groan, (he) finally managed to open his eyes. He glanced around slowly, thoroughly confused. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but before he could examine his situation further, he felt his stomach lurch. His gut clenched as he swallowed, and blood slid down his throat, making him choke. He coughed harshly, and more blood spurted from his nose in messy bubbles. He swiped at the muck and smeared it across his lips with the back of one shaky hand. He turned his head as his stomach rebelled and managed to raise himself up just enough to vomit onto the ground instead of himself. Even when his traitorous stomach was empty, dry heaves kept him retching for many moments until they finally abated.
Cold seeped into his bones while he slept until he woke abruptly, his teeth chattering. Pain jolted through his mouth, burning a path into his brain. He lay very still as he struggled to control it, focusing his hearing for the moment. Around him everything was quiet, save for the drip-drip-drip of water somewhere to his right. Shivering, his eyes opened, and he once again found himself in that same strange place he remembered from his brief surface to consciousness a while ago. Watery light seeped through broken spaces in the roof over his head, and he finally found the will to make himself take notice of his surroundings.
Cautiously he sat up and looked around. He was in some sort of disused warehouse...
Heaven Is A Place On Earth:LilyK