The Professionals Fic: They Say It's Your Birthday
Title: They Say It's Your Birthday
Author: Mistress Kat / kat_lair
Fandom: The Professionals
Pairing/Category: Bodie/Doyle, first-time fluff
Rating: PG
Word count: 2,100
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing.
Summary: Doyle has some surprises in store for Bodie.
Author notes: I don’t write in this fandom (drabbles don’t count, so there). I rarely even read in this fandom. Turns out you make exceptions for the people who matter. This is a (late!) fluffy birthday fic for my wonderful friend moth2fic, who is one of the loveliest people I've ever met. Hope you like this, dear. Thank you very much to pushkin666 for all the canon consultation and cheerleading and to margaret_r for a first class beta. Title comes from Birthday Song by The Beatles, because sometimes subtlety is just over-rated.
“What’s this?” Bodie stared at the proffered paper cup with raised eyebrows.
“It’s coffee,” Doyle said, pushing the drink into Bodie’s hand. “Anyone would think I’m trying to poison you. Just take it, will you?”
Bodie grabbed the piping hot beverage, almost burning his tongue on the first sip. “I can smell it’s coffee, Sunshine. Got a first class conker on me,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “I mean, what’s it for? I don’t usually get my morning brew delivered to the door.”
Ray rolled his eyes, hustling Bodie down the stairs and outside, where the Capri was waiting at the curb.
“Eh, needed one myself today,” he said, nodding at the cup precariously sitting on the dashboard. “There’s bacon butties too.”
Bodie’s mouth literally dropped open when he spotted the grease stained bag waiting for him on the passenger seat. “Ray, my friend,” he said, beaming. “You are a saint among men.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ray grumbled. “Get into the car already, before we’re late and the Cow decides we need a refresher session with Macklin.”
Bodie clapped him on the back cheerfully, climbing in and tearing into his breakfast with the sophistication of a hungry wolf. Doyle sighed, more fondly than anything, and gunned the engine. Another day, another dollar, as they said in America.
***
The Old Man was waiting for them outside.
“Crap,” Doyle said. “Told you your dawdling around would get us into trouble.”
“It’s not even half seven! Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Bodie was mostly right. Cowley’s driver had fallen prey to a particularly nasty flu and he needed someone to accompany him to the Soviet Embassy.
“One of you will do,” he said, tapping his watch impatiently. “No use wasting more manpower than necessary.”
Bodie and Doyle exchanged knowing looks. The Cow rushing off to talk to the Ruskies this early in the morning was never a good sign. Usually, the whole thing ended in the kind of skull and dagger business both of them hated. Give him a nice clean gunfight over these damned spy games any day. Bodie liked knowing who the bad guys were from the get-go, not have the rug pulled from under his feet midway through the case.
“You go,” Doyle said, already walking inside with a backward wave.
Bodie cursed his partner silently for abandoning him to what was little more than glorified baby-sitting duty.
It was not until a couple of hours later when he was standing outside a closed meeting room door, keeping watch, that Bodie remembered the pile of overdue reports that had been waiting for them back at the base. Seemed like Ray’s plan had backfired on him and he was stuck doing paperwork whereas Bodie was out with at least a vague chance of some action.
***
When Bodie got back he was expecting to get barraged with complaints and whining - anticipating really, if he was honest with himself; an irritated Ray was a sight to behold, one that Bodie enjoyed immensely even when it was directed at him.
Instead, he found Doyle sitting in the rec room, amiably chatting with some of the other agents. “There you are,” he greeted Bodie. “Was waiting for you. We’ve got a couple of witnesses to interview in Clapham Common.”
Bodie had been hoping for a leisurely lunch, but apparently it wasn’t to be. However, Doyle took an indirect route, stopping to grab them tea and sandwiches from a caff, which quieted Bodie’s rumbling belly.
“Right then,” Ray said as they were sitting outside an old terraced house. “Two witnesses: Mrs Wilson, sixty-three, and her granddaughter Miss Keane, twenty. Both live at this address and have reported seeing a man who matches the description of one Patrick O’Brian, wanted for questioning over some suspected IRA connections.”
Bodie crumpled the sandwich wrapper, tossing it onto the already littered backseat. “Dibs on the granddaughter,” he said, expecting Ray to at least demand they flip a coin for it.
Instead he only smirked, telling Bodie to behave himself, got out of the car and jogged to the front door.
Well, that was unusual, Bodie thought before following. Still, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Miss Keane proved to be a lovely young lady with curves in all the right places and some damn good information to provide to boot so all in all it was hardly the worst way to spend one’s afternoon.
***
After the interviews, they returned to base. Doyle had somehow managed to finish most of the reports while Bodie was Cowley-watching that morning, but there were still Is to dot and Ts to cross.
It was raining by the time they were finally able to call it a day. Bodie popped his collar, hunching deeper into the jacket and casting a baleful eye at the sky.
“Days like these I really miss Africa,” he said. “At least the rain was warm, when it happened.”
Ray grinned at him; a white flash of teeth from under sodden curls. “The company is better though, right?” he remarked, elbowing him on the side. “The food too I bet.”
Bodie thought about the depressing state of his cupboards - there was probably a tin of beans and some stale bread - and grimaced.
“How about it then?” Ray asked.
“How about what?”
“Food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Ray patted his flat stomach, Bodie’s eyes tracking the movement involuntarily and then taking a long meandering route back up to Ray’s face, now oddly inscrutable.
“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the car. “I know just the place.”
***
Bodie had been half expecting a salad bar and sprouts, but instead everything on the menu was making his mouth water - and his wallet cringe. Oh well, he’d just have to skip the after work pint for a few days.
“There’s no rabbit food here,” he commented, looking at Doyle over the top of the menu. “How will you cope?”
Ray shrugged, unconcerned. “Thought I’d order a steak,” he said. “They’re supposed to be really good here.” He leaned forward, the dim light of the room making his face look softer, more open. “Get what you want, Bodie. My treat.”
Before he could protest or demand a reason for his partner’s sudden generosity, Ray had beckoned the waitress over and was already placing his food order. “Oh, and a bottle of house red too, don’t you think?” He glanced at Bodie quickly, but didn’t wait for his opinion, nodding decisively at the waitress.
The steak was, as advertised, delicious. Bodie closed his eyes, chewing in bliss and unable to stop the groan of pleasure at the taste.
He was half-way through his dinner before he even noticed how unusually quiet Doyle was being. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Yours overdone or something?”
“What?” Ray blinked at him, eyes a little glazed - must be the wine, Bodie thought. “No, no, just...” He licked his lips, hand clenching around the fork. “Savouring it like a civilised person.”
Bodie snorted at the dig, kicking Ray’s feet gently under the table and topping his glass. “Well get a bit more uncivilised then. They have this frankly sinful looking Black Forest gateaux I want to try and we won’t have the time if you keep daydreaming like that.”
“You glutton,” Doyle said, but started cutting into his steak obediently.
***
After dinner, Doyle drove them to Bodie’s current flat slowly, careful behind the wheel even though the hearty food had more than likely soaked up most of his two glasses of wine.
Bodie was feeling pleasantly warm and full, so when Doyle parked the car and followed him inside, he couldn’t find it in himself question it. He made a brief detour to the lounge, grabbing a bottle of semi-decent brandy from the cabinet and dropping it onto the coffee table.
“Help yourself, mate. I’ve got to take a leak,” he said, heading to the bathroom.
Coming back a couple of minutes later, he found Ray standing by the window with his back to the room. On the table, a ready poured glass was waiting, and next to it, a white envelope.
“What’s this then?” Bodie asked, picking up both and walking over.
Doyle glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a quick, assessing look that Bodie was more used to seeing aimed at potential terrorists. “There’s an easy way to find out.”
Bodie took a sip of his drink, putting the glass down onto the windowsill before tearing the envelope open. Inside it there was a pair of tickets to the Oval.
“Bloody hell, Ray! These things are like gold dust, how did you...?” He looked up to find Doyle watching him with an amused twinkle in his eyes, and behind that; something softer, more dangerous. “Why did you?”
“Happy Birthday, Bodie.”
“It’s not my birthday for another...” he did a quick count in his head, “six weeks. Have the numerous knocks to your head finally dislodged something important?” He tapped the tickets against Doyle’s forehead lightly.
“Get off,” Ray laughed. “Wanted to surprise you, didn’t I? If I’d given it to you on your actual birthday, you’d have been expecting something special, a self-important git like you.”
Bodie stared at his partner in amazement, the puzzle pieces falling into place; the extravagant dinner, the little favours like finishing the paperwork, the careful attention he’d been paying to Bodie all day. Doyle had wanted to surprise him, and, even after several years of partnership, that’s exactly what he’d managed to do.
It hadn’t been some spur of the moment kind of thing either. Doyle had clearly planned this; the tickets were for this Saturday’s match and would’ve had to been bought well in advance and in retrospect the restaurant hadn’t seemed like a place one walked into without a reservation. And then - most damning of all - there was the way Ray was watching him now; happy and openly affectionate, like he’d been the one given a day’s worth of gifts and not the other way around.
Bodie grinned, something very much like hope and simmering anticipation curling in his chest. Perhaps it was time he surprised his partner right back, now that he had cause to believe this particular kind of surprise would be well received.
“Ray, Ray, Ray,” he said, tugging on Doyle’s curls a little. “You’ve really gone above and beyond here, my friend. Thank you. There’s one thing missing though.”
Ray frowned. “What?”
“A birthday kiss. A man deserves one of those to celebrate surviving another year, don’t you think?”
Doyle’s expression cleared, though the smile he flashed at Bodie looked somewhat false. “The night is still young. We could go hit some clubs, find you nice bird to snog and bring home, eh?”
“No,” Bodie said, crowding closer until he was curving around Doyle’s smaller frame, pressing him against the window. “I don’t think I should leave my nice warm flat to get a birthday kiss.”
Ray blinked, confused. “Wha-?”
Bodie raised his hand to cup the side of Doyle’s face, thumb brushing over the broken cheekbone and trailing down to the tempting swell of his bottom lip. “I don’t want it from anyone else, Ray,” he whispered. “C’mon, Sunshine. You’ve already wined and dined me tonight, we both know what comes next. Unless,” he dragged his gaze back to Doyle’s eyes, “I’ve got this completely wrong?”
The few seconds of silence that followed were possibly the most nerve-racking in Bodie’s life, both of them unmoving, barely daring to breathe. And then Ray relaxed, his whole body slumping slightly forward until he was almost resting against Bodie’s chest.
“No, you haven’t,” Ray said, his smile crooked and a little self-deprecating. “Guess I wasn’t very subtle.”
“Nah, you’ve been subtle, mate. It’s just that I’m very observant-like,” Bodie said, affecting his most arrogant voice. “Superior deducing abilities, keen analytical skills, the best of the be-”
Doyle kissed him; his wide mouth slanting over Bodie’s, tongue coming out to swipe at his lips, teasing, asking, promising. It went on for a long time and when Ray finally backed off they were both breathing hard, Bodie’s arms tight around Doyle’s waist, Doyle’s hands fisted in Bodie’s jumper.
“Modest too,” Ray said, eyes dancing with laughter. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How about I show you instead?” Bodie suggested and, at Ray’s enthusiastic nod, started walking them toward the bedroom. If his six weeks early birthday was this amazing, Bodie couldn’t wait to see what the actual date would bring.
Fin.