Pros: Ever At Your Service
Post-“Discovered in a Graveyard” story
Doyle recovery; Bodie’s POV
Gen; tender
2,690 words
with beta thanks to anna060957
Author's note: This story is for dangelos_song, who first told me about the Pros. Ta, mate.
Ever At Your Service
by Allie
“When can I see him?” Bodie asked.
He’d been pacing the hall outside Doyle’s room, and pounced on the nurse when she exited the room and shut the door behind her.
Doyle had a private room. He was awake, but still in a very delicate state after his surgery and since emerging from his coma.
“As soon as you like, if you understand he won’t be up for much conversation yet.”
“Of course.”
He strode for the door, long strides tense and purposeful. With a hand on his arm, she stopped him.
“Mr Bodie.”
“Yes?”
“He’s-not well.”
“I know.”
“You don’t understand. He’s not himself yet. The painkillers affect people sometimes, make them very emotionally raw and… vulnerable. He was close to tears when I left. We-we can only give him so much, enough to dull the pain but not completely take it away. His heart is too delicate yet to use a higher strength pain relief.”
“So he’s hurting,” said Bodie in a flat voice. “Modern medicine.”
“Modern medicine saved his life, Mr Bodie. But I’m not concerned what you think of modern medical procedures, merely that you do not overstress him.”
“I won’t,” promised Bodie, and went in.
Doyle lay on the bed like a crumpled thing beneath the sheets. One of his hands was on top of the blanket. The white cloth was crinkled up where he’d gripped and released, gripped and released, flexing his hand against the pain. His eyes were closed, but his brow and the tightness of his face showed he was hurting.
He entered the room on quiet feet and moved to Doyle’s bedside. He put a smile on his face, or tried to. “Hello Doyle,” said Bodie gently. “She said you’re hurting. If you want me to go…”
“No.”
“Ah. Then I won’t.” He lowered himself to the visitor chair, feeling far too big and sturdy, and sat watching Doyle. “Anything I can get you, mate?”
Doyle shook his head. “It hurts.”
I’m glad it hurts. I’m glad you’re alive. But I’d take your pain away if I could. “I know, mate.”
He sat in silence, hands clenched in his lap, watching Doyle. That fist flexed. Flexed. Flexed.
“Bodie.” The hand opened, reaching blindly.
“Mate.” He moved forward quickly, drawing the chair closer and leaning over the edge of the bed, staring down at Doyle. “Anything I can do?”
Doyle didn’t say anything, but his hand moved with imperious need.
“Ah.” Bodie reached out, and took it, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, mate.”
Doyle’s hand gripped his, hard, as he rode out the pain. There were tears showing at his eyelashes, even though he didn’t open his eyes or let them fall. He didn’t say another word, not till he fell asleep. But his grip was tight and desperate.
#
“He’s not eating today, Mr Bodie.”
“Anything I can do?” He asked this a lot. The answer usually seemed to be “no.” But this nurse always encouraged him to stay as long as he could, to be by Doyle’s side.
“Coax him to eat, certainly, if you can. But don’t upset him for it. We can always put him back on intravenous if we must.” Her gaze caught his, and he took in the silent message: Doyle was close to being returned to intravenous feeding.
Bodie nodded.
He entered the room almost on tiptoe, watchful for Doyle’s mood and his pain level.
“Mate,” said Bodie softly, when he saw Doyle was awake. He sat down in the chair and reached out for Doyle’s hand.
Doyle shook it away, frowning. Ah. The pain was not that bad today, then: more a niggling discomfort than an elephant on the chest. Bodie removed his hand gracefully. “You’re not eating.”
“Not you, too. Go away,” growled Doyle through gritted teeth, sounding emotionally close to the edge.
“Not even any of your fruit basket?” asked Bodie, keeping his voice light and teasing. He glanced at the overflowing wicker basket, stuffed with goodies and notes from their CI5 co-workers. He spied Doyle’s lunch, left abandoned on the small table next to the fruit. Hadn’t touched it.
Doyle said nothing and his face was turned away, but his hand tightened on his sheet, in that familiar gesture. Pain. He was hurting too much to eat.
“Eat a pear for me, mate,” coaxed Bodie, his voice gentle. Hardly realising he did it, he reached for the red pear on top of the pile, and then the knife on Doyle’s plate. He sliced off a piece and walked around the bed to face Doyle.
He knelt by the edge of the bed. “Ray. Just a bite.” He held it out, pushing it towards his partner’s face, raising his eyebrows appealingly.
“Don’t, Bodie,” growled Doyle, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Hurts too much.”
“To swallow? Not this, mate. Sweet as honey. You’ll feel better for it. Don’t want the needle in your arm again, do you mate? Do you? Hm?” With his free hand, he reached up, and pushed Doyle’s curls back gently from his forehead.
Doyle’s eyelids fluttered open. Bodie raised his eyebrows, and held out the pear.
Doyle regarded it with distaste, and then, reluctantly opened his mouth.
Bodie had been expecting him to accept it and eat it on his own. He moved the pear to Doyle and let him take a bite, watched him chew slowly and swallow, and held out the rest of the slice. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Hmph.” Doyle finished eating it and closed his eyes again.
“Good lad.” He smoothed back Doyle’s hair again gently. “I’ll give you the rest later.”
Doyle was already falling into sleep.
#
“You’re not the only visitor today,” said the nurse.
Somehow he had the feeling she’d been waiting for him. Once again, her eyes were trying to tell him something.
“Oh yeah? Who?”
She nodded towards the door, not saying anything. The tilt of her head told him to hurry.
A trim, gray-haired lady sat in the chair next to Doyle’s bed, leaning over it, holding his hand.
“Of course you’re going to quit CI5 after this.”
“I don’t know.” Doyle’s voice sounded raspy, gravelly, as if he had a cold. He also sounded aggravated and exhausted.
“Of course you know! You’ll certainly never be strong enough for that kind of work again. And if they can’t protect you...”
Doyle sighed. “Mum...”
Bodie strode in. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re Doyle’s mother? I’m charmed.” He took her hand and bowed over it extravagantly. “I’m his partner, and I can promise you, I’ll do my best to protect him whether he stays with CI5 or not.
“You’re Bodie?” She looked him over as if not seeing what she expected.
“Yes, Mrs Doyle, the one and only.” He bowed again, giving her his silliest, charmingest smile. “But I would caution you about telling my partner he can’t do anything. That’s the surest way to make him do something, as I’m sure you know.”
A wrathful green gaze glared up at him from the bed. Bodie smiled pleasantly back.
For a moment, Doyle’s mum looked a bit put out. Bodie thought he saw stubbornness as great as her son’s flash across her face. He smiled stupidly, benignly back, giving her his most innocent look.
“It’s time for his nap, by the way,” he added, when she made no move to speak to him further or to leave. “He always has one about this time of day. Like a toddler, our Raymond.”
“Bodie!” growled Doyle.
“He wouldn’t want you to know. He’s too proud by half. Don’t get me wrong, I admire his restraint, not telling you how exhausted he is. Had a lot of physiotherapy today, you know.”
She cast Doyle a worried look, assessing. “Oh. Well, I’ll be back to see you tomorrow, then.” She touched his forehead, as if feeling for a temperature, then his shoulder. She rose. “Goodbye, Ray. Sleep well.”
Bodie walked her back to the door, chatting amiably all the while. “I certainly hope I’ll see more of you soon,” he added in sincere tones.
She cast him a look that made him think she wasn’t fooled. “I’ll see you soon, Ray,” she called to her son.
Bodie closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Exaggeratedly, he wiped the back of his hand over his forehead.
“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” growled Doyle, eyes narrowed and mean-looking.
“Didn’t say a word, did I?”
“Yeah, you told her I take naps!”
“Well you do, mate. And you’re about due.” He walked over to the bed, and poked Doyle gently in the arm. “Eat today?”
Doyle nodded, looking sulky. His eyelids were heavy, but his gaze had by no means given up the grudge. “You and me, we’re talking about this later. You don’t go telling my mum I’m stubborn and tired.”
“Or that you do the opposite of what you’re told. Be fair, mate. If she doesn’t know already, I’m not going to convince her.” He laughed at the weak fist that aimed at him, and edged back slightly. “Beat me up later, mate. Time for your nap, you know. Oh-sorry, I forgot. I meant you’re definitely NOT allowed to take a nap.” He grinned down at Doyle with a twinkling gaze.
“Jerk,” said Doyle. The smallest flicker of a smile escaped him, as his eyelids fell shut.
Bodie pulled the sheet up around him and tucked it in carefully.
#
“Baby steps, baby steps.” Bodie rubbed his hands together in glee. He was keeping pace with Doyle, which wasn’t hard.
Doyle shot him an affronted glare, and continued his incredibly slow walk down the hospital hall. He wore a hospital gown and Bodie was guarding his back as he walked. (Despite his sometimes-exhibitionistic nature, Doyle seemed to find the forced lack of privacy from hospital gowns highly embarrassing.)
Bodie was also there to catch Doyle if he proved unsteady on his feet. As overjoyed as Bodie felt-he was bouncing a little on his feet as he walked-he kept a close eye on Ray, not wanting him to overdo and strain himself.
Once Doyle got an idea into his head, well, there was no budging it. Today he had the idea he wanted to walk down to the hospital caff and get his own lunch.
Bodie was just glad to tag along. It was so good to see Doyle out of bed, standing on his own two feet, even if he was tottering a bit, wobbly, and going ashen around the face.
“All right?” asked Bodie, springing forward level with him and catching his eye, examining his face.
Doyle cast him an evil look. He was too tired to reply, obviously. Their eyes met for three seconds, long enough for Bodie to assess and Doyle to send his silent message (“Don’t you dare!”).
“All right, mate.” Bodie caught his arm and turned him gently round. “Lean on me. We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?”
Doyle didn’t have the strength to argue, even though he clearly wanted to. He ended up leaning on Bodie rather a lot before they reached his room again. Bodie opened the door, holding an arm round Doyle’s shoulder and keeping him upright. “Come on, mate. Into bed. You did a lot, really.”
Doyle sort of crumpled into bed and laid there, chest heaving, fingers plucking uselessly at the covers. Bodie fixed them for him, pulling them halfway up Doyle’s chest the way he liked, so they didn’t reach his neck and feel restrictive. He squeezed Doyle’s arm and gave him a smile. “How about I get lunch, eh? It’s on me today. Well-not literally, I hope.”
Doyle’s eyes were bleak with exhaustion; he was still struggling, both to catch his breath and with something else, some intense emotion on his face. Whatever it was twisted him up with pain and disappointment, things Bodie didn’t like to see.
“Don’t do this to yourself, mate. You did enough. Now go on, relax and I’ll bring you your room service.” Another quick squeeze of his arm, and Bodie walked away, confident and sure.
The moment his back was turned, his smile disappeared. He felt as bleak as Doyle had looked. It hurt to see him try so hard, and not be able to do what he wanted. It hurt so much.
But, there had been days when they said Doyle would never survive, wake up, or walk. He’d proved them wrong about each one so far. For one thing, he was too stubborn to die. But only once he’d decided to live...
Some days Bodie was afraid he would change his mind, give up because it proved so hard. Those days were the ones where he was most afraid.
#
“Bodie,” said Doyle, as if he’d been practicing a speech and finally got up his nerve to deliver it.
“Yeah?” He looked up from the magazines he was sorting through on the side table. Doyle practically had a magazine library. Most of them Bodie had bought for him, but not all. This art one was new, for one thing.
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Bodie made a put-upon face, but it didn’t last long; he had to grin, and was pleased by the return grin it elicited from Doyle. “What, mate?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you get my flat ready for me? Won’t be long now.” He arranged the sheet around his chest, taking longer about it than he needed to, looking down at it instead of up at Bodie. “They said it wouldn’t be long now. I wouldn’t trust just anybody to do it right.”
“Flatterer. Sure, I’ll get things ready,” said Bodie.
“I’ll need the carpet cleaned of blood stains, if it hasn’t been.” Doyle was still examining his sheet, picking at their edges.
Bodie smiled. “Well, sunshine, I could, but you’re not going back to that flat. Cowley’s got your new place nearly ready, but of course I’ll do the final checks for you.”
Doyle glanced up, relief obvious on his face.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll still need my laundry picked up. And I’ll need food,” continued Doyle. “But no milk.”
Bodie swept a dramatic bow. “‘My heart is ever at your service.’” He spoke in a regal voice that made Doyle grin reluctantly.
“You’re very poetic today.” He sounded relieved to be past the blood and milk issues.
“Not me, mate. It was Shakespeare who wrote it. Besides, I’m not the one with a poem framed in my flat.” He gave Doyle a pleased, cheeky grin. “It’s a nice one.”
“Thanks.” Doyle grimaced as if he felt awkward about it, but Bodie didn’t know why he should.
“Just glad I’m not one of the loud and aggressive persons you’re supposed to avoid.” He smirked.
“Oh, well, never said I followed its advice, did I, mate?”
Bodie swatted him with a magazine.
#
A special day: the day Doyle and Bodie went together to pick up his washing. Because they wouldn’t give it to Bodie alone. Far too diligent for that.
So here was Doyle, using his newly recovered strength, which Bodie didn’t know how much to trust just yet, for a silly errand Bodie should’ve been able to do in his sleep.
But it felt surprisingly wonderful being able to walk by his partner’s side again, trade verbal jabs, even make light of Doyle’s miraculous survival. Bodie felt buoyant as a feather, could’ve smiled at any joke, no matter how dumb.
“Bodie.” Doyle glanced at him with smiling eyes. “Mine’s at yours, and all.”
“Huh?” Bodie stared at him. “What?”
“My heart. At your service, too.” His smile broadened, revealing his cracked tooth and big, goofy grin. “I didn’t come back just for Cowley, you know.” He reached over and punched Bodie lightly on the arm.
And then his steps lengthened and he hurried ahead, curls bobbing. Bodie hurried to catch him up, an unstoppable grin on his face.
The sun shone as bright as it would in a poem.
<<<<>>>>
Doyle recovery; Bodie’s POV
Gen; tender
2,690 words
with beta thanks to anna060957
Author's note: This story is for dangelos_song, who first told me about the Pros. Ta, mate.
Ever At Your Service
by Allie
“When can I see him?” Bodie asked.
He’d been pacing the hall outside Doyle’s room, and pounced on the nurse when she exited the room and shut the door behind her.
Doyle had a private room. He was awake, but still in a very delicate state after his surgery and since emerging from his coma.
“As soon as you like, if you understand he won’t be up for much conversation yet.”
“Of course.”
He strode for the door, long strides tense and purposeful. With a hand on his arm, she stopped him.
“Mr Bodie.”
“Yes?”
“He’s-not well.”
“I know.”
“You don’t understand. He’s not himself yet. The painkillers affect people sometimes, make them very emotionally raw and… vulnerable. He was close to tears when I left. We-we can only give him so much, enough to dull the pain but not completely take it away. His heart is too delicate yet to use a higher strength pain relief.”
“So he’s hurting,” said Bodie in a flat voice. “Modern medicine.”
“Modern medicine saved his life, Mr Bodie. But I’m not concerned what you think of modern medical procedures, merely that you do not overstress him.”
“I won’t,” promised Bodie, and went in.
Doyle lay on the bed like a crumpled thing beneath the sheets. One of his hands was on top of the blanket. The white cloth was crinkled up where he’d gripped and released, gripped and released, flexing his hand against the pain. His eyes were closed, but his brow and the tightness of his face showed he was hurting.
He entered the room on quiet feet and moved to Doyle’s bedside. He put a smile on his face, or tried to. “Hello Doyle,” said Bodie gently. “She said you’re hurting. If you want me to go…”
“No.”
“Ah. Then I won’t.” He lowered himself to the visitor chair, feeling far too big and sturdy, and sat watching Doyle. “Anything I can get you, mate?”
Doyle shook his head. “It hurts.”
I’m glad it hurts. I’m glad you’re alive. But I’d take your pain away if I could. “I know, mate.”
He sat in silence, hands clenched in his lap, watching Doyle. That fist flexed. Flexed. Flexed.
“Bodie.” The hand opened, reaching blindly.
“Mate.” He moved forward quickly, drawing the chair closer and leaning over the edge of the bed, staring down at Doyle. “Anything I can do?”
Doyle didn’t say anything, but his hand moved with imperious need.
“Ah.” Bodie reached out, and took it, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, mate.”
Doyle’s hand gripped his, hard, as he rode out the pain. There were tears showing at his eyelashes, even though he didn’t open his eyes or let them fall. He didn’t say another word, not till he fell asleep. But his grip was tight and desperate.
#
“He’s not eating today, Mr Bodie.”
“Anything I can do?” He asked this a lot. The answer usually seemed to be “no.” But this nurse always encouraged him to stay as long as he could, to be by Doyle’s side.
“Coax him to eat, certainly, if you can. But don’t upset him for it. We can always put him back on intravenous if we must.” Her gaze caught his, and he took in the silent message: Doyle was close to being returned to intravenous feeding.
Bodie nodded.
He entered the room almost on tiptoe, watchful for Doyle’s mood and his pain level.
“Mate,” said Bodie softly, when he saw Doyle was awake. He sat down in the chair and reached out for Doyle’s hand.
Doyle shook it away, frowning. Ah. The pain was not that bad today, then: more a niggling discomfort than an elephant on the chest. Bodie removed his hand gracefully. “You’re not eating.”
“Not you, too. Go away,” growled Doyle through gritted teeth, sounding emotionally close to the edge.
“Not even any of your fruit basket?” asked Bodie, keeping his voice light and teasing. He glanced at the overflowing wicker basket, stuffed with goodies and notes from their CI5 co-workers. He spied Doyle’s lunch, left abandoned on the small table next to the fruit. Hadn’t touched it.
Doyle said nothing and his face was turned away, but his hand tightened on his sheet, in that familiar gesture. Pain. He was hurting too much to eat.
“Eat a pear for me, mate,” coaxed Bodie, his voice gentle. Hardly realising he did it, he reached for the red pear on top of the pile, and then the knife on Doyle’s plate. He sliced off a piece and walked around the bed to face Doyle.
He knelt by the edge of the bed. “Ray. Just a bite.” He held it out, pushing it towards his partner’s face, raising his eyebrows appealingly.
“Don’t, Bodie,” growled Doyle, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Hurts too much.”
“To swallow? Not this, mate. Sweet as honey. You’ll feel better for it. Don’t want the needle in your arm again, do you mate? Do you? Hm?” With his free hand, he reached up, and pushed Doyle’s curls back gently from his forehead.
Doyle’s eyelids fluttered open. Bodie raised his eyebrows, and held out the pear.
Doyle regarded it with distaste, and then, reluctantly opened his mouth.
Bodie had been expecting him to accept it and eat it on his own. He moved the pear to Doyle and let him take a bite, watched him chew slowly and swallow, and held out the rest of the slice. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Hmph.” Doyle finished eating it and closed his eyes again.
“Good lad.” He smoothed back Doyle’s hair again gently. “I’ll give you the rest later.”
Doyle was already falling into sleep.
#
“You’re not the only visitor today,” said the nurse.
Somehow he had the feeling she’d been waiting for him. Once again, her eyes were trying to tell him something.
“Oh yeah? Who?”
She nodded towards the door, not saying anything. The tilt of her head told him to hurry.
A trim, gray-haired lady sat in the chair next to Doyle’s bed, leaning over it, holding his hand.
“Of course you’re going to quit CI5 after this.”
“I don’t know.” Doyle’s voice sounded raspy, gravelly, as if he had a cold. He also sounded aggravated and exhausted.
“Of course you know! You’ll certainly never be strong enough for that kind of work again. And if they can’t protect you...”
Doyle sighed. “Mum...”
Bodie strode in. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re Doyle’s mother? I’m charmed.” He took her hand and bowed over it extravagantly. “I’m his partner, and I can promise you, I’ll do my best to protect him whether he stays with CI5 or not.
“You’re Bodie?” She looked him over as if not seeing what she expected.
“Yes, Mrs Doyle, the one and only.” He bowed again, giving her his silliest, charmingest smile. “But I would caution you about telling my partner he can’t do anything. That’s the surest way to make him do something, as I’m sure you know.”
A wrathful green gaze glared up at him from the bed. Bodie smiled pleasantly back.
For a moment, Doyle’s mum looked a bit put out. Bodie thought he saw stubbornness as great as her son’s flash across her face. He smiled stupidly, benignly back, giving her his most innocent look.
“It’s time for his nap, by the way,” he added, when she made no move to speak to him further or to leave. “He always has one about this time of day. Like a toddler, our Raymond.”
“Bodie!” growled Doyle.
“He wouldn’t want you to know. He’s too proud by half. Don’t get me wrong, I admire his restraint, not telling you how exhausted he is. Had a lot of physiotherapy today, you know.”
She cast Doyle a worried look, assessing. “Oh. Well, I’ll be back to see you tomorrow, then.” She touched his forehead, as if feeling for a temperature, then his shoulder. She rose. “Goodbye, Ray. Sleep well.”
Bodie walked her back to the door, chatting amiably all the while. “I certainly hope I’ll see more of you soon,” he added in sincere tones.
She cast him a look that made him think she wasn’t fooled. “I’ll see you soon, Ray,” she called to her son.
Bodie closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Exaggeratedly, he wiped the back of his hand over his forehead.
“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” growled Doyle, eyes narrowed and mean-looking.
“Didn’t say a word, did I?”
“Yeah, you told her I take naps!”
“Well you do, mate. And you’re about due.” He walked over to the bed, and poked Doyle gently in the arm. “Eat today?”
Doyle nodded, looking sulky. His eyelids were heavy, but his gaze had by no means given up the grudge. “You and me, we’re talking about this later. You don’t go telling my mum I’m stubborn and tired.”
“Or that you do the opposite of what you’re told. Be fair, mate. If she doesn’t know already, I’m not going to convince her.” He laughed at the weak fist that aimed at him, and edged back slightly. “Beat me up later, mate. Time for your nap, you know. Oh-sorry, I forgot. I meant you’re definitely NOT allowed to take a nap.” He grinned down at Doyle with a twinkling gaze.
“Jerk,” said Doyle. The smallest flicker of a smile escaped him, as his eyelids fell shut.
Bodie pulled the sheet up around him and tucked it in carefully.
#
“Baby steps, baby steps.” Bodie rubbed his hands together in glee. He was keeping pace with Doyle, which wasn’t hard.
Doyle shot him an affronted glare, and continued his incredibly slow walk down the hospital hall. He wore a hospital gown and Bodie was guarding his back as he walked. (Despite his sometimes-exhibitionistic nature, Doyle seemed to find the forced lack of privacy from hospital gowns highly embarrassing.)
Bodie was also there to catch Doyle if he proved unsteady on his feet. As overjoyed as Bodie felt-he was bouncing a little on his feet as he walked-he kept a close eye on Ray, not wanting him to overdo and strain himself.
Once Doyle got an idea into his head, well, there was no budging it. Today he had the idea he wanted to walk down to the hospital caff and get his own lunch.
Bodie was just glad to tag along. It was so good to see Doyle out of bed, standing on his own two feet, even if he was tottering a bit, wobbly, and going ashen around the face.
“All right?” asked Bodie, springing forward level with him and catching his eye, examining his face.
Doyle cast him an evil look. He was too tired to reply, obviously. Their eyes met for three seconds, long enough for Bodie to assess and Doyle to send his silent message (“Don’t you dare!”).
“All right, mate.” Bodie caught his arm and turned him gently round. “Lean on me. We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?”
Doyle didn’t have the strength to argue, even though he clearly wanted to. He ended up leaning on Bodie rather a lot before they reached his room again. Bodie opened the door, holding an arm round Doyle’s shoulder and keeping him upright. “Come on, mate. Into bed. You did a lot, really.”
Doyle sort of crumpled into bed and laid there, chest heaving, fingers plucking uselessly at the covers. Bodie fixed them for him, pulling them halfway up Doyle’s chest the way he liked, so they didn’t reach his neck and feel restrictive. He squeezed Doyle’s arm and gave him a smile. “How about I get lunch, eh? It’s on me today. Well-not literally, I hope.”
Doyle’s eyes were bleak with exhaustion; he was still struggling, both to catch his breath and with something else, some intense emotion on his face. Whatever it was twisted him up with pain and disappointment, things Bodie didn’t like to see.
“Don’t do this to yourself, mate. You did enough. Now go on, relax and I’ll bring you your room service.” Another quick squeeze of his arm, and Bodie walked away, confident and sure.
The moment his back was turned, his smile disappeared. He felt as bleak as Doyle had looked. It hurt to see him try so hard, and not be able to do what he wanted. It hurt so much.
But, there had been days when they said Doyle would never survive, wake up, or walk. He’d proved them wrong about each one so far. For one thing, he was too stubborn to die. But only once he’d decided to live...
Some days Bodie was afraid he would change his mind, give up because it proved so hard. Those days were the ones where he was most afraid.
#
“Bodie,” said Doyle, as if he’d been practicing a speech and finally got up his nerve to deliver it.
“Yeah?” He looked up from the magazines he was sorting through on the side table. Doyle practically had a magazine library. Most of them Bodie had bought for him, but not all. This art one was new, for one thing.
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Bodie made a put-upon face, but it didn’t last long; he had to grin, and was pleased by the return grin it elicited from Doyle. “What, mate?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you get my flat ready for me? Won’t be long now.” He arranged the sheet around his chest, taking longer about it than he needed to, looking down at it instead of up at Bodie. “They said it wouldn’t be long now. I wouldn’t trust just anybody to do it right.”
“Flatterer. Sure, I’ll get things ready,” said Bodie.
“I’ll need the carpet cleaned of blood stains, if it hasn’t been.” Doyle was still examining his sheet, picking at their edges.
Bodie smiled. “Well, sunshine, I could, but you’re not going back to that flat. Cowley’s got your new place nearly ready, but of course I’ll do the final checks for you.”
Doyle glanced up, relief obvious on his face.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll still need my laundry picked up. And I’ll need food,” continued Doyle. “But no milk.”
Bodie swept a dramatic bow. “‘My heart is ever at your service.’” He spoke in a regal voice that made Doyle grin reluctantly.
“You’re very poetic today.” He sounded relieved to be past the blood and milk issues.
“Not me, mate. It was Shakespeare who wrote it. Besides, I’m not the one with a poem framed in my flat.” He gave Doyle a pleased, cheeky grin. “It’s a nice one.”
“Thanks.” Doyle grimaced as if he felt awkward about it, but Bodie didn’t know why he should.
“Just glad I’m not one of the loud and aggressive persons you’re supposed to avoid.” He smirked.
“Oh, well, never said I followed its advice, did I, mate?”
Bodie swatted him with a magazine.
#
A special day: the day Doyle and Bodie went together to pick up his washing. Because they wouldn’t give it to Bodie alone. Far too diligent for that.
So here was Doyle, using his newly recovered strength, which Bodie didn’t know how much to trust just yet, for a silly errand Bodie should’ve been able to do in his sleep.
But it felt surprisingly wonderful being able to walk by his partner’s side again, trade verbal jabs, even make light of Doyle’s miraculous survival. Bodie felt buoyant as a feather, could’ve smiled at any joke, no matter how dumb.
“Bodie.” Doyle glanced at him with smiling eyes. “Mine’s at yours, and all.”
“Huh?” Bodie stared at him. “What?”
“My heart. At your service, too.” His smile broadened, revealing his cracked tooth and big, goofy grin. “I didn’t come back just for Cowley, you know.” He reached over and punched Bodie lightly on the arm.
And then his steps lengthened and he hurried ahead, curls bobbing. Bodie hurried to catch him up, an unstoppable grin on his face.
The sun shone as bright as it would in a poem.
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