Pros Bingo! 2016 - Individual - Bodie 'Flu - Pt I
Yea, Yea and Thrice Yea! I have my very own Pros Bingo card and, serendipitously, two squares are already filled by WIP. How Yea is that?
So here is my first offering - it's a bit long (a little over 17,000 words) and Lj has thrown all kinds of wobbly about that - so I've split it up into parts:
''Atchoo!''
Doyle looked across at his passenger; Bodie was busy fishing a voluminous cotton hanky from his pocket, which looked as if it would be more at home providing the motive power for the Cutty Sark.
As Bodie raised the crumpled sheet to his nose he was ambushed by another sneeze of such heroic proportions, it probably had the needles on Antipodean seismographs jumping to attention.
''Dust?'' enquired Doyle sardonically, unimpressed by his partner's unilateral decision to press his dashboard into service as a petri dish.
''Next time Doyle, you can crawl under the furniture and I'll take the windows.''
''It was a fair toss.''
A pair of red rimmed blue eyes turned unenthusiastically in Doyle's direction as their owner ordered ''Just get me home.''
''Yes, your Lordship. Anything you say, your Lordship.''
Unmoved by such predictable provocation, Bodie settled back in his seat and shut his eyes.
The rest of the journey continued in a wheeze filled silence as Bodie displayed his not inconsiderable talents for sulking like a petulant three year old.
Having deposited the invalid outside his flat, Doyle took off, darkly plotting to avenge himself by disinfecting his mobile second home with enough Ibcol to put every germ within the Greater London Metropolis on high alert.
And so, as the late evening sun turned chill, promising a cloudless return, Doyle ignored his more rational instincts and assuaged his ire by scrubbing away every trace of Bodie's latest, and most literal, attempt to get up his nose with forensic industry.
Then, after a warming shower to remove the vulgar floral odour of the disinfectant, and the grime of planting electronic ears in the nooks and crannies of a long mothballed, soon to be occupied, pied-à-terre, Doyle rewarded himself by taking a mug of tea and his latest paperback to bed. Finally drifting into eight hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep.
He awoke to the first day of a long overdue leave and the sort of glorious sunshine normally reserved for advertisements for breakfast cereal. Stretching with the lissom self-indulgence of a cat, Doyle hauled himself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, scratching absently at the sleep dishevelled hair on his abdomen as he went.
Bodie was due to join him for a late breakfast and a trip out to the coast. Doyle had booked three days at a spot which Bodie claimed was so secluded it would be beyond even Cowley's reach, thus ensuring the overture to their temporary manumission against abrupt termination.
Doyle put the kettle on and surveyed the contents of his fridge. Freedom made Bodie hungry and a hungry Bodie was carnivorous. Sausage and bacon, he decided, should hold the ravening beast.
Doyle retrieved his mug from the bedroom and made himself some tea, which he drank basking in the primrose light streaming into the kitchen. Then, having showered, shaved and dressed, he set about making the sort of breakfast which would have Bodie sunny-side up for the rest of the day.
Expecting interruption at any moment, Doyle became increasingly puzzled as his partner failed to appear. When Bodie still hadn't put in an appearance by the time he was ready to plate up, Doyle picked up the 'phone and rang his partner.
When Bodie didn't answer, Doyle found his jacket, pulled his transmitter from the pocket and tried contacting his partner that way. Still no response. It seemed Bodie wasn't at home and he wasn't in transit. Circumstantial though the evidence was, Doyle still felt a lick of concern uncurl in his stomach.
''Overslept'' he put to the kitchen clock.
It didn't look convinced.
''I dropped him off myself'' argued Doyle.
The clock stared imperiously back.
''He wasn't well'' insisted Doyle ''probably just overdid the Night Nurse.''
The clock ticked on in silent judgement.
''Okay, I'll go and check on him, but if he's tucked up with some medicinal blonde, your next stop is Oxfam, mate.''
Doyle pulled on his jacket, shoving his transmitter back in the pocket, and left the appetising aromas of his flat for the chemical bouquet of his disinfected capri. Muttering dire imprecations under his breath, liberally salted with contradictory terse supplications for Bodie's continued good health, Doyle drove through the morning traffic on distracted autopilot, arriving at Bodie's flat some twenty minutes later.
Eyeing Bodie's present abode from the comfort of his four wheeled potpourri, Doyle's trained senses detected nothing amiss. The place looked respectably and completely deserted.
''Bodie'' Doyle exhaled in frustration through his teeth ''Where the hell are you?''
The respectable stucco facade of Bodie's residence was no more forthcoming than Doyle's kitchen clock had been.
''Alright, Sunshine'' Doyle informed his absent partner ''By the book. Leave or no leave, I'm checking your place out and if I don't come up with anything, I'm calling it in.''
Bodie currently occupied a smart ground floor flat. It was set back a little from the street behind black railings and still had most of the original tilework, laid in lieu of the greenery deemed to be impractical in such a confined space. There were two flats above it with wrought iron balconies and finally a garret topping the edifice.
Locking the car, Doyle approached Bodie's building, looking for a way in. To one side of the front door was the window to Bodie's living room, to the other, the window to his kitchen. Behind those were the bedroom and the bathroom.
Impenetrable double glazing had long since made the living room windows impassable, but the kitchen still retained a window capable of being opened.
Presently, however, the kitchen window was closed. Doyle gave the window an experimental prod and it rattled in its frame. Doyle cast a quick glance up and down the street, but at this time of day, the quiet avenue was deserted. Doyle gave the window frame a good thump and the polish-worn brass window-stay jumped, another thump and it jumped again. A persistent onslaught caused it to jump free of its peg. Pleased with this development Doyle reached into his back pocket and retrieved his penknife. Unfolding the fish scaler from the multi-bladed array Doyle worked it into the gap in the loose fitting window frame at a point just above the latch. A few minutes of determined wiggling persuaded the agèd fitting to disengage sufficiently for Doyle to pull the window open, bruising the wood in the process.
Another quick scan of the street to ensure his housebreaking had gone unnoticed, then Doyle re-pocketed his knife and climbed in over the sink. He refastened the window and headed for the bedroom.
Flinging open the door, he was greeted by the sight of a bedridden, puffy eyed Bodie.
''Gone deaf, have we?'' Doyle demanded uncharitably.
''Have a heart, Doyle. I feel terrible.''
''Too terrible to pick up the 'phone?''
''What d'you want, Doyle?''
''You were supposed to be at my flat an hour ago. We were going to the coast, remember?''
''You go. And take that face with you.''
''This face, mate'' protested Doyle ''is because you left me high and dry. Why didn't you 'phone? Or at least answer the bloody thing?''
''That was you?''
Doyle's eyes flew wide with astonishment ''Who the hell did you think it was? Tried you on this too'' Doyle pulled his transmitter from his pocket and lobbed it at Bodie. It landed on the bed between his partner's quilt covered knees.
Bodie eyed it morosely ''Didn't hear it, me head's bunged up. Me ears are bunged up. Me nose is bunged up...''
''I don't need the full list, Camille. I get the picture, but you did hear the 'phone.''
Bodie looked doleful ''It's in the hall, could've been anybody. Not gonna drag meself out there for anybody, am I?'' he asked, adding as he prodded the transmitter ''Figured they could get me on this if world war three broke out.''
''And where is yours?''
''Dunno, think it's in me jacket.''
''And where's your jacket?''
Bodie's line of sight transferred itself from Doyle's face to the wardrobe doors.
Doyle followed his partner's gaze ''What's it doing in there?''
Bodie's contempt for that question was self evident.
Doyle rolled his eyes ''Not the jacket, Beau Brummell, the radio. How were you expecting to hear it in there?''
''Wasn't expecting to hear it, was I? Was hoping to avoid it. Don't want Cowley having an attack of the imperatives before I've had a chance to enjoy me leave, do I?''
''And are you enjoying your leave?''
''No. How did you get in here, Doyle? Do I have any glass left?''
''Didn't break any'' announced Doyle smugly.
Bodie looked confused, his face screwing up in concentration as he tried to fathom this conundrum and then smoothing out again as he gave up.
''Jemmied the window'' revealed Doyle ''You need to look at that mate, me Gran could bust in here with her eyes shut.''
''If she brought a cuppa with her, she'd be welcome. Bloody parched. Make yourself useful, Doyle. Can't expect an invalid to fetch his own.''
''You have to be kidding.''
''I'm ill.''
''Milking it, more like'' accused Doyle.
''Go on, Doyle'' countered Bodie, deploying his most plaintive be-a-mate puppy dog expression ''Make you feel all charitable. You know you always get a kick out of feeling better than the rest of us.''
''I'm on leave, thought we were going to the coast? Can't you be ill there?''
''Can't you use a doorbell?'' Bodie suddenly demanded.
''What?''
''Out there, little white button, you know 'Ding dong, Avon calling'.''
Doyle blanched as he realised that he had overlooked the most obvious means of ingress to Bodie's home.
Bodie settled back against his pillows with a smugness barely marred by his puffy, bloodshot eyes and obstructed breathing.
''Would you have answered it?'' asked Doyle.
''Probably not'' conceded Bodie ''Not the point though, is it? Cowley would still string you up by the unmentionables.''
Doyle nodded miserably.
Never able to withstand Doyle dejection for any length of time, Bodie relented ''Look, I do feel rough, but you do the driving and you've got a deal. Can't promise to be my usual scintillating company, though.''
''You've got breakfast back at mine.''
Bodie shook his head as he climbed out of bed ''Couldn't eat it. Just get me some orange juice, I think there's some in the fridge. I'll make meself presentable. Your bag packed?''
''It's at me flat.''
'''S not gonna do much good there'' admonished Bodie ''Look, I'll sort meself out. Get your bag, secure your flat and get back here before I can change me mind.''
Doyle nodded obediently and headed for the front door.
''All the locks, Doyle'' Bodie called after him.
Doyle bounced into the street and across to his car full of happy energy and drove off muttering about Mother hens and teaching your Grandmother to suck eggs.
When he returned fifty minutes later Bodie was just climbing out of his own car.
''Where've you been?'' asked Doyle.
Bodie held up a discreet white and blue paper bag ''Boots.''
''You wanna watch that mate, you're gonna end up addicted'' warned Doyle as Bodie grabbed his holdall, locked his car and moved to join his partner.
''Get a lot of Night Nurse fiends on the drugs squad, did you?'' enquired Bodie as he slung his bag on Doyle's back seat and settled himself into the passenger seat.
''Yeah'' confirmed Doyle, eyes on the road as he pulled away ''Streets littered with 'em, real epidemic. Slippery slope, see? Starts out innocent enough, the odd barley twist of a weekend, people think they can handle it, but then it's not enough, they need the extra kick and, before they know it, it's Sanatogen, and then it's only a matter of time before someone offers them Night Nurse. It's a real Rake's Progress. Modern tragedy.''
''You did pass your last psychiatric evaluation, didn't you, Doyle?''
Doyle kept his eyes pinned to the road, grinning like a lunatic. Three days in Bodie's company, even an under-the-weather Bodie, with nothing to do but recharge their batteries and remember why they were mates, was just what the doctor had ordered. Literally, in point of fact. Which was the only reason Cowley had agreed to it. And the incident with the doorbell proved just how off his game he really was.
Doyle glanced across the car. Having offered his opinion on Doyle's sanity, Bodie had slumped down in his seat, nestled his chin on his chest and looked to have settled in for a good long snooze. Well Bodie asleep was hardly a new phenomenon. But Bodie asleep on leave wasn't common. Bodie felt it a point of honour to do his sleeping on CI5's time, he had better uses for his own.
Doyle felt an echo of his earlier concern flicker through him, but then they both needed a break. Bodie more than he. It had been Bodie's condition uppermost in the doctor's mind and Bodie was dosed up and suffering. Sometimes it was easy to forget Bodie wasn't Superman. Especially when his he-man clot of a partner rarely remembered it himself.
''Make you a decent bit of broth when we get there, pick up supplies at the shop'' Doyle assured his comatose partner ''How does cock-a-leekie sound? Name'll put a smile on your face if nothing else.''
Bodie snuffled obliviously through swollen airways and continued his sojourn in the land of Nod.
Doyle smiled contentedly. Despite his temperament and his job, there was a part of him that craved the humdrum pleasures of family life. His few attempts at settling down had failed miserably and painfully. He lived with the shadow of regret. But in Bodie he had found some semblance of that yearned for existence. To know and be known by another human being, to be accepted and valued, warts and all. Conflict without fear of loss, devotion without fear of rejection, vulnerability without fear of exploitation. Bodie was simply with him and for him. Always. Even when he was at his worst, sometimes because he was at his worst.
Bodie's flotsam soul had found a harbour in him and he was both warmed and humbled by the responsibility.
Bodie slept soundly, if not silently, for the whole journey. Nearing journey's end, Doyle left his partner parked outside the local co-op while he went in to buy some supplies and pick up the keys to their accommodation. He returned to find a large black labrador on its hind legs slobbering over the passenger window.
''He usually prefers blondes'' Doyle informed the dog as he opened the driver's door and leaned in to sling the groceries into the rear passenger footwell behind Bodie. Righting himself to manoeuvrer his frame behind the steering wheel, he caught the dog's gaze.
Something indefinable lurked there, something he'd seen in working dogs. Some canine premonition communicating itself to the human.
''It's okay'' he found himself telling the dog ''He'll be fine with me.''
The labrador hesitated, studying him with dark, depthless eyes. Then it dropped out of sight and Doyle watched in the wing mirror until it was a safe distance from the car, before pulling away. Unaccountably unsettled, he glanced intermittently at the rear view mirror until both the co-op and the dog were out of sight.
Their destination was a few miles outside the village, literally on the coast. In a few decades the pretty unassuming cottage would become part of the coast. Erosion had already taken most of the tiny hamlet. The few remaining houses were unsaleable, but they had a few years left in them yet, as homes and holiday lets. Before erosion made even that untenable and they were abandoned to their fate.
Doyle pulled up outside the little gate at the front of the cottage and got out, squinting in the afternoon sun and savouring the breeze blowing warm briny air through the grass. Seagulls lifted on the thermals and less raucous birds twittered in the foliage behind the cottage.
It was typical of this part of England that the Constable picturesqueness terminated abruptly in the salty swell of the sea.
His musings were interrupted by the slamming of the capri's passenger door, he turned to see Bodie grinning at him like a kid.
''Nice here, innit?'' observed Doyle, grinning back.
''Thought you'd like it'' replied Bodie ''We going in or what?''
Doyle fished in his pocket for the keys he'd picked up at the co-op ''We'll have to leave the car out here. Nowhere to park.''
''What are you worried about, Doyle? No meters, no single yellow lines, no double yellow lines, no fire hydrants or exits to obstruct, no drains or manhole covers, no loading restrictions, nothing out here but grass and adders.''
''That's a comfort.''
''Not worried about a few snakes, are you?'' asked Bodie mischievously.
''Stop having me on'' ordered Doyle testily ''and help me get the stuff into the cottage.''
Bodie's grin widened ''You are worried, aren't you?''
''When's the last time anyone saw an adder?'' demanded Doyle ''You'll have to try harder than that.''
''Have to check the wheel arches every morning, they like little nooks like that and then of course there's the garden. All those quiet little corners...''
''Bodie!'' snapped Doyle ''I'm not falling for it. Adders are practically extinct, I've never met anyone who's actually seen one.''
''Well, you wouldn't, would you?'' reasoned Bodie perversely ''They're all shy and retiring, not your sort at all.''
''You ever seen one, then?'' asked Doyle ''And I don't mean in Africa.''
''Actually, yes.''
''When?'' challenged Doyle, unconvinced.
''When I was a kid.''
''This isn't going to be another one of your tall tales from the Merchant Navy, is it? 'Cos as far as I can tell, all you ever did, when you weren't getting your end away, was throw up. Hardly in the finest tradition, is it?''
''Do I ever complain about all that guff you come out with about your days in the Met?''
''What guff?'' demanded Doyle
''Well, to hear you tell it, you were a cross between Serpico and Dirty Harry.''
''Just because your idea of undercover work is getting your lecherous bonce on some bird's pillow'' retorted Doyle.
''Do you want to hear about this, or not?''
Having no clear idea why he was arguing with his partner, Doyle relented ungraciously ''Okay, but help me get this stuff inside as we go.''
Bodie grabbed his bag from the back seat, pulled Doyle's from the boot and then waited patiently while Doyle retrieved the groceries, locked the car, opened the garden gate and led the way to the front door.
''Go on, then'' encouraged Doyle truculently as he unlocked the front door and headed for the kitchen clearly visible at the end of the hallway.
Bodie made a silent prayer for patience and continued his story ''We were down this neck of the woods. Sun shining, birds singing and I had a bit of leave. Few hours really, not much more. Not a full day at any rate, so I - ''
''What, in England?'' interrupted Doyle.
''Doyle, you're not a copper now'' warned Bodie ''I'm not being interviewed under caution by my own partner.''
''Yeah, I know, but I thought you were in Africa?''
''I was, but I started out here. How d'you think I got to Africa? I was just a kid, remember?''
Doyle nodded, more because he recognised the particular tone of exasperation in Bodie's voice than because he accepted the plausibility of the explanation. Contrary to popular belief, Bodie's patience with him was not limitless.
''Right, so there I am'' said Bodie ''Pasty in one hand, bottle of beer in the other. Flat on me back in this field. No one around for miles, see?''
Doyle nodded and continued putting the groceries away and familiarising himself with the contents of the kitchen.
''So I'm eating me pasty and contemplating the glory of creation, and how I'm gonna get the bird at the bakery to come across before the ship sails, when I see this pile of dead leaves in the middle of the field.''
''So?'' asked Doyle, distracted now by the preparations for his soup.
''Middle of the field, Doyle. In summer.''
Doyle paused mid chop and pointed the knife at Bodie to emphasise the magnitude of his epiphany ''Where did the leaves come from?''
''Exactly. Where did the leaves come from? So I get up to have a look.''
''And?''
''And, it was an adder. Sunning itself on this patch of bare earth. Looked like leaves from a distance.''
''What, just out in the open like that?''
''Told you, it was this empty field. No one around except me. It must have felt safe.''
''It felt safe?'' repeated Doyle incredulously ''Bodie, they're poisonous.''
Bodie made a concerted effort to hold his tongue.
''If you say anything about Africa'' said Doyle, jabbing the knife pointedly in Bodie's direction ''I will show you exactly what I can do with one of these things.''
Bodie tried manfully to stifle the disloyal giggle this elicited in him, but his congested lungs and restricted airways conspired against him and his mirth exploded from him in a wheezing coughing fit which had him doubled over and teary eyed.
Doyle laid down his weapon and hauled his partner out of the kitchen into the only other room on the ground floor, the living room. He manhandled Bodie into an armchair and pulled the matching chintz pouffe over to prop his partner's legs on. Bodie continued to splutter gleefully throughout the entire operation.
''Stay there and breathe'' ordered Doyle, grabbing an out of date Woman's Weekly from the coffee table and shoving it into his partner's hands ''Here, improve your mind.''
Bodie dutifully opened the magazine at random, landing on an article about a woman who had set up a genteel gap-in-the-market agency to put lonely middle aged men in touch with respectable single ladies with a view to matrimony.
''Look at this, Doyle'' Bodie wheezed as his breathing slowly calmed ''Reckon she could do anything for the Cow? Says here she thinks no gentleman is beyond hope.''
Doyle craned his head round to see the article for himself ''Dating Agency?''
''Matrimonial Agency'' corrected Bodie ''We could send off Cowley's details and find him a nice respectable bride.''
''You do that'' replied Doyle ''Let me know where you want to be buried.''
''He might like it'' objected Bodie, as Doyle returned to his soup ''Mellow him out a bit.''
''I'm still hoping for kids, mate. You're on your own with this one'' Doyle called back from the kitchen.
Bodie continued to flick through the magazine, stopping every now and then to peek into the world inhabited by the other half of the planet and sharing his findings with his kitchen-bound partner with as much volume as he could muster ''Here Doyle, says here that stockings are making a come back.''
''Not with the birds I meet'' Doyle responded from the kitchen.
''Would you wear stockings if you were a bird?''
''Dunno'' replied Doyle, having finally got his soup on to simmer and returning to the living room with two cans of lager ''Would you?''
Bodie took the can Doyle offered him and pondered this as he popped the ring pull ''You'd have to wear suspenders.''
''Arrested a bloke who wore suspenders once.''
''Yeah?''
''Yeah'' confirmed Doyle ''Got called to this shop, they said he'd been shop lifting. Anyway, turns out he was too embarrassed to buy the stuff. So he'd been nicking it, used to get off on wearing ladies underwear.''
''What, bras as well?''
''Dunno'' said Doyle, shrugging disinterestedly.
''Reckon wearing a bra is like wearing a shoulder holster?''
''Dunno'' repeated Doyle.
''Don't reckon it'd fit'' mused Bodie ''I mean, bird's aren't built the same, are they?''
''That bird you stuck me with at Easter was, built like the proverbial.''
''So, this bloke?'' asked Bodie, with his usual selective deafness for his partner's ingratitude in such matters.
''What bloke?''
''The one who was nicking underwear'' clarified Bodie.
''Yeah?''
''Couldn't he get his bird to buy it for him?''
''Would you ask?''
Bodie contemplated this for a few moments and then conceded ''Poor sod.''
''Feeling hungry?'' asked Doyle.
''Not very'' admitted Bodie ''Could do with a kip more than anything.''
''You slept all the way down here.''
''Told you I wasn't me usual sparkling self.''
''Well have a bit of soup first'' suggested Doyle.
''What is it?''
''Cock-a-leekie'' announced Doyle, drawing out every scintilla of innuendo.
Bodie rolled his eyes.
Unabashed, Doyle continued ''Couldn't do it full justice, had to cheat a bit with the chicken, but it should still taste alright and you haven't had anything else today.''
''Okay'' agreed Bodie ''But then I need me kip.''
''Make yourself useful then, big boy'' instructed Doyle, fluttering his lashes ''Lay the table.''
''You're not right, you'' observed Bodie as he struggled to his feet.
The living room ran the length of the cottage, although if it had ever been two rooms, the seam was invisible. To the rear a table and chairs overlooked the back garden.
Against the wall, a matching sideboard contained the cutlery in a baize lined drawer. The drawers either side contained place mats and coasters. The cupboards underneath held embroidered table linen, an assortment of inexpensive vases and an incongruous silver and cut glass cruet set.
Bodie ignored the cruet set, as it seemed had every other occupant of the cottage, judging from its spotless time dulled polish, and set about laying the table with the rest.
Doyle appeared shortly afterwards carrying a tray laden with two bowls of soup, some bread rolls, side plates and a butter dish, all of which he proceeded to place on the table.
Handing the tray to Bodie to deposit on the sideboard, he enquired ''There any butter knives in here? I couldn't find any in the kitchen.''
Bodie rummaged through the cutlery drawer and came up with two butter knives, which he laid on the side plates. The half finished cans of lager sat resplendently on coasters at each place setting.
''What, no flowers?'' queried Doyle as he took his seat.
''You gonna come across?'' asked Bodie.
''Nah, you're taller than me.''
''Then no flowers'' confirmed Bodie.
''Ah ha'' pounced Doyle ''So that's how I tell, no flowers, no score draw.''
''You can be very crude, Raymond'' admonished Bodie, in an accent befitting the cruet set.
The meal passed more slowly than Doyle would have expected. He was hungry, not having eaten much himself, so the soup was more stew than broth. Despite the cheerful warmth of the day, he'd been certain that their appetites would be sharp as mid-winter. Bodie had made a good start, but was flagging now. Clearly at the table more to please his partner than for his own comfort.
The sluggish droop to Bodie's eyelids piqued Doyle's ever present concern. Finally, he decided Bodie's need for sleep overrode his need for nutrition and he ordered his partner to bed.
Doyle stayed to clean up behind them. By the time he had the dining table and kitchen restored to order, Bodie had taken their luggage upstairs, put himself to bed and was deeply asleep.
Doyle stood in the doorway to his partner's bedroom contemplating Bodie's pasty complexion. Bodie really was ill. Not the sort of ill he cultivated for sympathy and advantage, but the sort of ill that made a grown man look like a little boy.
All sentimentality aside, Doyle found himself compelled to watch over his partner. Bodie had seen more and done more than most men his age, but somehow in the melee, he had neglected to grow up. Under the cynicism and pragmatism there still lurked the boy. Bodie was aware of it and used it. How many birds had he tumbled into bed on the strength of it? Subverting their motherly instincts for something more carnal.
Was he as aware of it when he charmed Cowley? Doyle doubted it, but it gave the foundations to Bodie's loyalty. Once given, given without reservation. His own always came with strings. Adult reservations circumscribing it.
''Better together, mate'' he advised his slumbering partner. Then he turned and headed for his own room to pick up one of the paperbacks he'd stowed in his holdall, savouring the prospect of being able to curl up with a good book.
Only, at this time of day, he favoured a sunny spot in the garden and a glass of chill white wine. How far had he come from that lost, angry young man, that life afforded him the grace of these little moments in paradise?
Sitting on a bench in the warmth of the waning sun, lulled by the industry of the bees and the scents of untended blossoms, Doyle worked his way through half a bottle of wine and several chapters of his latest obsession. Having lost yet another girlfriend to the accusation that, for all his modern veneer, he was actually a feminist luddite, which had stung given Bodie's unremarked and unreconstructed machismo, Doyle was now reading up on the history of the feminist movement. A happy side effect of which was the faint but distinct thaw he had observed in the few glacial lovelies he'd given up pursuing.
Bodie had been less than supportive of this endeavour.
Finally, tired and heartsore after another sour operation had left him sick of humanity, he had snapped. Demanding to know what Bodie's problem was. His partner's reasoning had somewhat shaken him.
''Stands to reason'' Bodie had said ''Birds aren't fellas, are they?''
Well that much he'd known and he'd been happily exploiting the difference since he'd found out about it.
''No point trying to be like them'' Bodie had continued ''They're a different mechanism. It's like guns, you have to get to know each weapon. Work out what the strengths and weaknesses are. What the wear and damage has done. Look after 'em like a gun, too. 'Cos you never know when you're going to need 'em. 'S what a bloke's for, that.''
Doyle had blinked in stupefaction. The mix of chauvinism and respect beyond his ability to analyse. But it explained a lot about Bodie's love life. Why women he'd known briefly years before were happy to call on him for help and equally happy to welcome him back to their beds. All he got were tears and carefully composed notes wishing him a happy life in exile from theirs.
The sun had dimmed almost to twilight and there was an edge to the breeze even in this protected spot. Doyle yawned and stretched and looked at his watch. It was late, the evening all but over. He collected his book, bottle and glass and headed back into the cottage. Bodie didn't appear to have stirred and Doyle decided a mug of tea would probably be gratefully received by the invalid.
He made one for himself while he was at it and took both steaming brews up the stairs. Bodie's door was open, as Doyle had left it, and he doubted Bodie had even been up to answer the call of nature. His partner was an habitual door closer. As with his own room, Bodie's room was furnished with a double bed, either side of the which, sitting on identical nightstands, were matching table lamps. Doyle moved to place Bodie's mug on the night stand closest to where Bodie was sleeping and shake his partner awake. But as he got close to Bodie his heart skipped several beats. Bodie was motionless and drenched in sweat. It was a sight with the power to utterly unnerve him. It was a nightmare from the past and he'd never wanted to see it again.
Upbraiding himself for being all kinds of fool, he kept reminding himself that this was just a cold, well probably 'flu by the looks of it, but that Bodie was uninjured. The infection unlikely to prove fatal in fit, healthy adult. But the fear refused to go away.
''Bodie?'' he called to his partner ''Bodie, you in there, mate?''
Bodie pulled sluggish eyelids apart and stared at him with starry bright eyes ''Doyle?''
''Yeah, brought you a cuppa.''
Bodie's gaze slid the short distance to the night stand and he nodded lethargically.
''Think you should have some, mate'' said Doyle ''Fluids and all that.''
Bodie nodded lethargically again and closed his eyes, gone for the space of a few heartbeats, then he opened them once more and said ''Maybe, in a bit.''
Doyle folded a leg under himself and sat on the edge of the bed, facing his partner ''I think you should have some now, sunshine. Can you sit up?''
Bodie stared at him blankly.
''Okay, Little Boy Blue, let's see if we can't give you a hand with that, shall we?'' Doyle got up and awkwardly manhandled his partner into a position more conducive to drinking tea.
Doyle could feel the sickness in Bodie's overheated skin and his muscles seemed to have lost all their formidable strength. Neither of which did anything to help Doyle's anxiety.
Doyle handed the tea into his partner's hands, Bodie cupped it but didn't seem to have the first clue what to do with it.
''Drink'' Doyle encouraged.
Bodie took a few sips and then moved to return the mug to Doyle. Doyle pushed it back towards his partner ''You need more, finish it.''
Bodie obediently sipped a little more and then tried to give the mug back again.
''Bodie, I can't fight you on this, but you're sweating like the proverbial. You need more fluids.''
The light of defeat appeared in Bodie's eyes and he took the mug back, sipping slowly. Doyle stayed with him, supping from his own mug, as Bodie struggled to finish his tea. Finally he reached the dregs at the bottom and Doyle took the mug from him. Bodie was exhausted and sank back against the lumpy mound of pillows Doyle's earlier manhandling of him had produced.
Doyle hauled his partner forwards again and held him in place with a thigh against Bodie's spine while he shook and plumped the pillows into something more comfortable.
Then he eased Bodie back against them, seeking assurance that he'd done right by his partner ''Better?''
Bodie's eyes were closed but he nodded and a few seconds later he was dead to the world again.
Title: Bodie 'Flu
Author: (Me!) Fiorenza_a
Category: Gen - (Sorry B/D devotees, but I like Gen too.)
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes - Anywhere you like really.
Author's Name for Archiving: Fiorenza_a
Disclaimer: Never been convinced of the utility of disclaimers, nonetheless I'm happy to declare that this is a devotional work of fan fiction, based on the characters created by Brian Clemens, without any desire to profit from them. Love not Lucre.
Spoilers of varying degrees for Involvement, Wild Justice, Klansman & Hunter Hunted
References:
Cutty Sark
Rake's Progress
John Constable
Little Boy Blue
Stannington Sanatorium
Jackanory
Suffrajitsu
Photo attribution:
Englannin matkakuvat 152 (cropped) by Paasikivi - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons.
Prompt: Beside the Sea
Also, I've had a 'mare proofing this, so if anyone spots a typo, or really awkward or nonsensical phrase, please let me know!
(P.S. Mods - If I've messed up posting, just let me know and I'll give it another go.)