Fic: Le Chat Noir (superstition)
I wasn't sure I was quite done with this fic, but then a stray black cat literally crossed my path this evening and I decided it was a sign. After all, this week's all about superstitions, right?
Title: Le Chat Noir
Author: Sarah K
Proslib: yes
Circuit Archive: yes
Pairing and/or characters: early Bodie/Doyle
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: None needed.
Word Count: 800
Summary: A black cat adopts Doyle, but the luck might not be as bad as Bodie thinks...
Notes: Thanks to Squeeful for giving the fic a cat-owner's eye.
She followed him home. They'd left the pub round the corner from Doyle's place, and a skinny black cat had immediately begun twining herself around Doyle's legs. He bent down to pet her, and Bodie sighed.
"Bad luck, you know, sunshine. I don't know if we can take much more of that, in our line of work." He grinned as he said it, but he rubbed absently at the new scar below his collarbone, courtesy of Martin's thrown knife.
"You sound like me gran," Doyle chided, straightening up and curling his hands into his jacket pockets.
They parted ways at Bodie's parked Capri. But when Doyle went to open the garden gate, a pathetic mewling sounded behind him.
He didn't stand a chance.
***
It didn't take Bodie long to catch on. As soon as he stepped through the door, the cat was rubbing up against his legs, determined to trip him before he made it down the hall.
He didn't have to say anything; the look he turned to Doyle spoke volumes.
"She followed me home," he said defensively. "And what was I supposed to do, leave her out there in the cold?"
"She's an alley-cat, Ray. She would have survived."
Doyle ignored him and set a tin of tuna on the kitchen floor for the cat. He waited until after the takeaway and the late film to bring up the subject again. Not that the cat was ever far from their attention, since she was purring like a Harley Davidson on the sofa between them.
"Wanted to ask you something. I drew that obbo up north--I'll probably be gone most of the week. I was wondering if--"
"I'm not babysitting your damned moggy, Doyle."
"Oh, come on. I'm not asking you to keep her. Just let her out in the garden for a while, make sure there's food and water for her."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. The things I do for you, mate..."
"Yeah, you're a right martyr, you are."
Bodie snorted, but as he shrugged on his jacket he glanced back at Doyle. "Take care of yourself," he said.
Doyle looked up, a faint smile on his face. "Always do, don't I?"
***
The whole operation was a bust--five days in the freezing mud and rain, and all for naught. The drug-runners probably weren't even in the country any longer. Doyle dropped his rucksack in the hall and stopped only long enough to kick off his muddy boots before half-stumbling towards the bedroom.
He took two steps into the room and froze. A huddled mass of blankets on the bed revealed itself, in the dim light from the hall, to be Bodie, fast asleep.
Perched on the pillow, curled against the top of Bodie's head, was the cat.
Doyle bit his lip sharply to keep from startling them both awake with a burst of laughter. He shifted his weight so that the floor creaked loudly underfoot, and Bodie's eyes opened.
"Something wrong with your own flat?"
Bodie grinned sheepishly. "Nah, but I was here already, and--" He stirred and made to sit up, then hesitated. "Doyle. Is there a cat on my head?"
"Yeah," he said, finally giving way to laughter. He crossed to the other side of the bed and dropped onto it without bothering to undress.
Bodie shifted and tried to disentangle himself from the duvet.
"No, don't get up," Doyle muttered, already half asleep. "You wouldn't make it any further than the sofa anyway, and you'll wake the cat."
"Can't have that," Bodie mumbled, and they slept.
***
Doyle woke in a shaft of early-morning sunlight to find that the cat was now a mound of fur curled up on his chest, purring contentedly.
Bodie's arm was slung over his hip.
Doyle lay very still, knowing that as soon as Bodie woke he'd pull away, and Doyle would pretend that he'd been asleep and had never noticed.
Then Bodie's sleep-slackened grip, against all expectation, tightened slightly. Doyle turned his head, careful not to dislodge the cat.
"Morning," Bodie said, lashes nearly hiding the sleepy blue of his eyes.
"Not morning yet." He couldn't see the clock from here, but the pale light suggested they still had a few hours before they were expected at headquarters.
"Good." Bodie's head dropped back onto the pillow, close enough that his breath ruffled Doyle's curls. "Don't go anywhere," he muttered. "You'll wake the cat."
And just like that he was back to sleep, as though waking up in bed with his arm around his partner was a perfectly normal occurrence.
Maybe someday it would be. But for now Doyle just settled back into bed and closed his eyes.
It didn't matter what Bodie said. Doyle thought the cat might not be such bad luck after all.
Title: Le Chat Noir
Author: Sarah K
Proslib: yes
Circuit Archive: yes
Pairing and/or characters: early Bodie/Doyle
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: None needed.
Word Count: 800
Summary: A black cat adopts Doyle, but the luck might not be as bad as Bodie thinks...
Notes: Thanks to Squeeful for giving the fic a cat-owner's eye.
She followed him home. They'd left the pub round the corner from Doyle's place, and a skinny black cat had immediately begun twining herself around Doyle's legs. He bent down to pet her, and Bodie sighed.
"Bad luck, you know, sunshine. I don't know if we can take much more of that, in our line of work." He grinned as he said it, but he rubbed absently at the new scar below his collarbone, courtesy of Martin's thrown knife.
"You sound like me gran," Doyle chided, straightening up and curling his hands into his jacket pockets.
They parted ways at Bodie's parked Capri. But when Doyle went to open the garden gate, a pathetic mewling sounded behind him.
He didn't stand a chance.
***
It didn't take Bodie long to catch on. As soon as he stepped through the door, the cat was rubbing up against his legs, determined to trip him before he made it down the hall.
He didn't have to say anything; the look he turned to Doyle spoke volumes.
"She followed me home," he said defensively. "And what was I supposed to do, leave her out there in the cold?"
"She's an alley-cat, Ray. She would have survived."
Doyle ignored him and set a tin of tuna on the kitchen floor for the cat. He waited until after the takeaway and the late film to bring up the subject again. Not that the cat was ever far from their attention, since she was purring like a Harley Davidson on the sofa between them.
"Wanted to ask you something. I drew that obbo up north--I'll probably be gone most of the week. I was wondering if--"
"I'm not babysitting your damned moggy, Doyle."
"Oh, come on. I'm not asking you to keep her. Just let her out in the garden for a while, make sure there's food and water for her."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. The things I do for you, mate..."
"Yeah, you're a right martyr, you are."
Bodie snorted, but as he shrugged on his jacket he glanced back at Doyle. "Take care of yourself," he said.
Doyle looked up, a faint smile on his face. "Always do, don't I?"
***
The whole operation was a bust--five days in the freezing mud and rain, and all for naught. The drug-runners probably weren't even in the country any longer. Doyle dropped his rucksack in the hall and stopped only long enough to kick off his muddy boots before half-stumbling towards the bedroom.
He took two steps into the room and froze. A huddled mass of blankets on the bed revealed itself, in the dim light from the hall, to be Bodie, fast asleep.
Perched on the pillow, curled against the top of Bodie's head, was the cat.
Doyle bit his lip sharply to keep from startling them both awake with a burst of laughter. He shifted his weight so that the floor creaked loudly underfoot, and Bodie's eyes opened.
"Something wrong with your own flat?"
Bodie grinned sheepishly. "Nah, but I was here already, and--" He stirred and made to sit up, then hesitated. "Doyle. Is there a cat on my head?"
"Yeah," he said, finally giving way to laughter. He crossed to the other side of the bed and dropped onto it without bothering to undress.
Bodie shifted and tried to disentangle himself from the duvet.
"No, don't get up," Doyle muttered, already half asleep. "You wouldn't make it any further than the sofa anyway, and you'll wake the cat."
"Can't have that," Bodie mumbled, and they slept.
***
Doyle woke in a shaft of early-morning sunlight to find that the cat was now a mound of fur curled up on his chest, purring contentedly.
Bodie's arm was slung over his hip.
Doyle lay very still, knowing that as soon as Bodie woke he'd pull away, and Doyle would pretend that he'd been asleep and had never noticed.
Then Bodie's sleep-slackened grip, against all expectation, tightened slightly. Doyle turned his head, careful not to dislodge the cat.
"Morning," Bodie said, lashes nearly hiding the sleepy blue of his eyes.
"Not morning yet." He couldn't see the clock from here, but the pale light suggested they still had a few hours before they were expected at headquarters.
"Good." Bodie's head dropped back onto the pillow, close enough that his breath ruffled Doyle's curls. "Don't go anywhere," he muttered. "You'll wake the cat."
And just like that he was back to sleep, as though waking up in bed with his arm around his partner was a perfectly normal occurrence.
Maybe someday it would be. But for now Doyle just settled back into bed and closed his eyes.
It didn't matter what Bodie said. Doyle thought the cat might not be such bad luck after all.