Pros fic - Having his Cake (Chapter One) by Slantedlight
From a prompt left by siskiou - thank you! (And even though it says Chapter One, it's complete in itself).
Having his Cake (Chapter One)
by Slantedlight
It was one of those May mornings where the sun shone, the birds sang, and because it was 6.30am on a Sunday, Doyle thought, swinging out the door to his flat, and pausing to take a breath of fresh air, you could actually hear them. He’d slept well the night before - unexpectedly alone, but at least that meant he had tonight to look forward to - and even with Cowley’s early and cryptic call to arms, he felt wide awake and cheerful, looking forward to the day ahead.
The Capri started easily, and he pulled out and headed for Bodie’s flat, turning on the radio and singing along with the Boomtown Rats as he drove. In an ideal world, Bodie would have gone home alone last night too, straight from the pub, no longer impressed by the delights of Loretta, or whatever her name was, under the eyes of Murph and the lads or not. He knew it wouldn’t have happened though, no way, not with her snuggling up close like she had been. Doyle’d shrugged off her mate, all big dark eyes and French promise, much to everyone’s surprise, but he hadn’t had it in him, not when he’d been expecting a night at Bodie’s instead.
Bloody air hostesses, bloody airlines letting ‘em swap shift whenever they fancied it, bloody Bodie for having half an eye to their reputations in the squad.
But they’d have tonight instead, and in the meantime he wasn’t averse to giving Lorraina a surprise of his own.
There was even parking right in front of Bodie’s flats, and when he got out the birds were still singing. Perfect.
He let himself in with the spare key he wasn’t supposed to have, and paused to glance at the cubby holes for post against one wall - empty of everything except leaflets advertising the Bengal Tiger that had just opened down the road. They’d have to try it sometime.
Bodie’s place was three flights up, but he ignored the lift in favour of the stairs, and practically floated up. The doorbell was one of the old-fashioned porcelain kind, and he leant joyfully into it. It gave a good ring too - he could hear it chiming nice and clear and long.
It was almost a minute before he heard footsteps thumping along the hallway, and then the door was wrenched open in a whirlwind of perfume and indignation. “You must be Lola…” he began, but the girl was halfway back down the corridor already. He ambled along after her, into the big living room space separated from the kitchen by only a long counter - wasted on Bodie, although there was what looked like a homemade pie of some kind on it now, topped with meringue or something similar. Trust Bodie to get an unhealthy breakfast out of the girl too.
“It damn well is him! I said it would be!” He could hear her strident American tones. “It’s not even seven o clock, for fuck’s sake!”
“It’ll be work…” There was Bodie, trying to placate her.
“If it was work why didn’t your phone ring? Why didn’t your goddamn telephone ring, Bodie?”
“Well they sometimes…”
“No. That’s it Bodie, I’ve had it with this. A quarter till seven, Bodie! I don’t know why I should have to get up at quarter till seven just because he’s turned up! I’m flying tonight!”
Doyle leaned back on the counter, next to the pie, and folded his arms, waiting calmly for her to run out of steam and then run out the door.
“Come on Lou…”
She appeared then, dressed in the tight jeans and blouse she’d turned up in last night, pulling on a blazer with fast, sharp movements, white shoulder bag flying dangerously around as she did it. Her eyes lit on Doyle, and then on the counter beside him. “Oh yeah…”
Instead of heading straight for the door, she turned sharply into the kitchen, rummaged for a moment in a drawer, and then came up with a long, shining knife. Doyle stood abruptly straight, and Bodie, who’d been just a few paces behind her, stopped just as abruptly beside him.
“I spent twenny minutes just looking for you last night!” she said, all but spitting with fury. “I baked for you! Do you know how hard it is to buy blueberries in this goddamned country?” She lifted the knife, and despite himself Doyle took a step backwards, coming up hard against the back of the white sofa. Bodie raised his hands placatingly.
“Lou…”
“This is too good for you,” she said, bringing the knife down across the pie with an audible crunch, and then letting it clatter onto the counter. “Way too good for you. So ya know what?”
She was going to take half the pie and just walk out with it, Doyle thought, wondering whether he should make a grab for the knife just in case. He’d seen cups and plates both thrown at Bodie in the past - he’d ducked a few himself - but knives were something new.
“Look, Louella…” Bodie took a step forward, lips curving into the smile that had probably given his mother a thousand sleepless nights.
“Good bye, Bodie!” Louella said, and she picked up one half of the pie and threw it at Bodie. She was only a couple of feet away from him - he didn’t have time to duck, and it turned out to be whipped cream rather than meringue, spraying out from the perfect centre of Bodie’s face, and stuck for a moment with thick purple blueberries, until they began to drip down onto his shirt, his trousers, and to the creamy carpet below.
Doyle was laughing before he knew it, at the look on Bodie’s face, like his pet cat had started to sing, and that was why he didn’t realise that the other half of the pie was aimed at him until it was too late. It hit him dead-on too, so that for just a moment he was suffocating in sweetness.
“I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
The whole room seemed to shudder as the door slammed behind her, and then all was quiet, except, Doyle realised, wiping the sticky muck carefully from his eyes, for the birds singing outside.
Bodie was just staring at him, face scraped half clean, hands full of blueberries and cream.
“You bastard.”
“Lucky escape, mate,” Doyle said, unaccountably light-hearted considering one of his favourite shirts was probably ruined. “Blueberry pie could have been the least of your worries.” He shook cream from his fingers, then lifted one to his lips and sucked it thoughtfully. “Actually, that’s not bad…”
Bodie’s weight hit him full on, so that he fell backwards and down onto the sofa, even while handfuls of blueberries and cream were being scrubbed thoroughly into his hair.
o0o
Title: Having his Cake
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash!
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse are only borrowed for a bit of fun
Notes: From a prompt by siskiou (surprised, blueberry pie, assault, white sofa) one of a series that I will be continuing with - though they should each be complete in themselves, too.
Having his Cake (Chapter One)
by Slantedlight
It was one of those May mornings where the sun shone, the birds sang, and because it was 6.30am on a Sunday, Doyle thought, swinging out the door to his flat, and pausing to take a breath of fresh air, you could actually hear them. He’d slept well the night before - unexpectedly alone, but at least that meant he had tonight to look forward to - and even with Cowley’s early and cryptic call to arms, he felt wide awake and cheerful, looking forward to the day ahead.
The Capri started easily, and he pulled out and headed for Bodie’s flat, turning on the radio and singing along with the Boomtown Rats as he drove. In an ideal world, Bodie would have gone home alone last night too, straight from the pub, no longer impressed by the delights of Loretta, or whatever her name was, under the eyes of Murph and the lads or not. He knew it wouldn’t have happened though, no way, not with her snuggling up close like she had been. Doyle’d shrugged off her mate, all big dark eyes and French promise, much to everyone’s surprise, but he hadn’t had it in him, not when he’d been expecting a night at Bodie’s instead.
Bloody air hostesses, bloody airlines letting ‘em swap shift whenever they fancied it, bloody Bodie for having half an eye to their reputations in the squad.
But they’d have tonight instead, and in the meantime he wasn’t averse to giving Lorraina a surprise of his own.
There was even parking right in front of Bodie’s flats, and when he got out the birds were still singing. Perfect.
He let himself in with the spare key he wasn’t supposed to have, and paused to glance at the cubby holes for post against one wall - empty of everything except leaflets advertising the Bengal Tiger that had just opened down the road. They’d have to try it sometime.
Bodie’s place was three flights up, but he ignored the lift in favour of the stairs, and practically floated up. The doorbell was one of the old-fashioned porcelain kind, and he leant joyfully into it. It gave a good ring too - he could hear it chiming nice and clear and long.
It was almost a minute before he heard footsteps thumping along the hallway, and then the door was wrenched open in a whirlwind of perfume and indignation. “You must be Lola…” he began, but the girl was halfway back down the corridor already. He ambled along after her, into the big living room space separated from the kitchen by only a long counter - wasted on Bodie, although there was what looked like a homemade pie of some kind on it now, topped with meringue or something similar. Trust Bodie to get an unhealthy breakfast out of the girl too.
“It damn well is him! I said it would be!” He could hear her strident American tones. “It’s not even seven o clock, for fuck’s sake!”
“It’ll be work…” There was Bodie, trying to placate her.
“If it was work why didn’t your phone ring? Why didn’t your goddamn telephone ring, Bodie?”
“Well they sometimes…”
“No. That’s it Bodie, I’ve had it with this. A quarter till seven, Bodie! I don’t know why I should have to get up at quarter till seven just because he’s turned up! I’m flying tonight!”
Doyle leaned back on the counter, next to the pie, and folded his arms, waiting calmly for her to run out of steam and then run out the door.
“Come on Lou…”
She appeared then, dressed in the tight jeans and blouse she’d turned up in last night, pulling on a blazer with fast, sharp movements, white shoulder bag flying dangerously around as she did it. Her eyes lit on Doyle, and then on the counter beside him. “Oh yeah…”
Instead of heading straight for the door, she turned sharply into the kitchen, rummaged for a moment in a drawer, and then came up with a long, shining knife. Doyle stood abruptly straight, and Bodie, who’d been just a few paces behind her, stopped just as abruptly beside him.
“I spent twenny minutes just looking for you last night!” she said, all but spitting with fury. “I baked for you! Do you know how hard it is to buy blueberries in this goddamned country?” She lifted the knife, and despite himself Doyle took a step backwards, coming up hard against the back of the white sofa. Bodie raised his hands placatingly.
“Lou…”
“This is too good for you,” she said, bringing the knife down across the pie with an audible crunch, and then letting it clatter onto the counter. “Way too good for you. So ya know what?”
She was going to take half the pie and just walk out with it, Doyle thought, wondering whether he should make a grab for the knife just in case. He’d seen cups and plates both thrown at Bodie in the past - he’d ducked a few himself - but knives were something new.
“Look, Louella…” Bodie took a step forward, lips curving into the smile that had probably given his mother a thousand sleepless nights.
“Good bye, Bodie!” Louella said, and she picked up one half of the pie and threw it at Bodie. She was only a couple of feet away from him - he didn’t have time to duck, and it turned out to be whipped cream rather than meringue, spraying out from the perfect centre of Bodie’s face, and stuck for a moment with thick purple blueberries, until they began to drip down onto his shirt, his trousers, and to the creamy carpet below.
Doyle was laughing before he knew it, at the look on Bodie’s face, like his pet cat had started to sing, and that was why he didn’t realise that the other half of the pie was aimed at him until it was too late. It hit him dead-on too, so that for just a moment he was suffocating in sweetness.
“I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
The whole room seemed to shudder as the door slammed behind her, and then all was quiet, except, Doyle realised, wiping the sticky muck carefully from his eyes, for the birds singing outside.
Bodie was just staring at him, face scraped half clean, hands full of blueberries and cream.
“You bastard.”
“Lucky escape, mate,” Doyle said, unaccountably light-hearted considering one of his favourite shirts was probably ruined. “Blueberry pie could have been the least of your worries.” He shook cream from his fingers, then lifted one to his lips and sucked it thoughtfully. “Actually, that’s not bad…”
Bodie’s weight hit him full on, so that he fell backwards and down onto the sofa, even while handfuls of blueberries and cream were being scrubbed thoroughly into his hair.
o0o
Title: Having his Cake
Author: Slantedlight
Slash or Gen: Always slash!
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Certainly
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and the CI5-verse are only borrowed for a bit of fun
Notes: From a prompt by siskiou (surprised, blueberry pie, assault, white sofa) one of a series that I will be continuing with - though they should each be complete in themselves, too.