Fic: (Im)Patient--Obbo #15, Sick
Title: (Im)Patient
Author: Sarah K
Proslib: Yes
Circuit Archive: Yes
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle (pre-relationship)
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: None needed.
Word Count: 1,000
Notes: Thanks to Squeeful for coming up with a great title and then stealing it away for herself. ;)
Summary: Doyle is not having a good night.
Bodie always slept lightly, the one exception being when he was shagged-out. So he wasn't surprised to wake up on Doyle's ratty sofa to the sound of footsteps from upstairs. It was the sound of the loo door slamming open and the following retching noises that had him on his feet, taking the stairs three at a time.
He tapped on the open door and then came in anyway--the knock was less of a request than an announcement of his presence. "What's all this, then?" he said, taking in the sight of his half-naked partner kneeling in front of the toilet.
"Go 'way," Doyle mumbled miserably.
"You didn't get takeaway at that dodgy Indian place, did you? I told you, mate--"
"No, you berk, I--" Doyle's retort was cut off by another round of heaving.
Bodie winced in sympathy. Being ill was just about the fastest way, short of a gut-shot, to turn a hard bloke into a little boy again. He hunkered down next to Doyle, one hand gentle on his bare shoulder. Doyle's skin was cool and clammy, and Bodie could feel him shivering. He found himself talking softly, the sort of soothing nonsense his mum had used to say when he'd been ill. "'S all right, mate. Don't fight it, yeah?"
Doyle gagged again, and Bodie braced him, one hand on his shoulder and the other pushing the sweat-sodden curls off his forehead. "Let it go. You'll feel better when it's done, I promise."
Doyle was shaking harder now, and what Bodie could see of his face was pale enough to have taken on a sort of greyish tinge. Doyle scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat and the traces of involuntary tears along with it. Then he reached out grimly and pushed the lever of the toilet.
Finished, then, at least for now. "Here, hang on," Bodie said, and he let go just long enough to fill a glass with tap water. He sat back down next to Doyle and handed it over.
The look in Doyle's eyes was a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment that Bodie couldn't bear to meet for long. "Go on," he ordered. "Rinse your mouth."
Doyle did as he was told, then carefully sipped at the cold water. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to lie down where he was and sleep for a week. Bodie knew it was bloody miserable, that aching weariness of fighting against your own body. He curled a hand around Doyle's hip to hold him closer, but Doyle shifted and pulled back.
"I told you to go away."
Bodie sighed in exasperation. "Christ, Ray. You'd think nobody'd ever held you when you were sick."
The look Doyle gave him was wry and regretful, and Bodie cursed whatever family had cared so little about his partner as to leave him sick and alone as a lad. "Best start now then," he said briskly, and reached out again. This time Doyle gave in and curled up against him, his back cool against Bodie's chest and his forehead tucked up against the side of Bodie's neck.
Bodie tugged a clean towel off the rack behind them and draped it over Doyle's bare chest. The shivering subsided slowly, and Doyle's breath ghosted slow and warm over Bodie's collarbone as he drifted off. Bodie's fingers traced soothing circles along Doyle's side.
He could already feel his legs going numb with the awkwardness of the position, here on the freezing tiles of the bathroom floor, but nothing short of an atom bomb was going to move him now. Not while Ray was leaning against him, too sick and miserable to be prickly about it.
He was almost sorry when Doyle stirred and lifted his head. "Dozed off, there, didn't I?"
"It's all right. Feeling any better?"
"Yeah, a bit. Sorry I woke you with...all this."
"Oh, shut up," Bodie said gently. "Think you can make it back to the bedroom? You don't want to sleep out here."
Doyle nodded and climbed slowly to his feet. Bodie started to guide him back towards the bedroom, but Doyle stopped and reached for his toothbrush.
"Let me?"
Bodie nodded, but he stood a step behind him, just in case. Doyle spat out a mouthful of foam and gave Bodie's reflection a stern look. "You don't have to hover like that, you know. I'm not going to fall over."
"Yeah, of course not. You're just hanging on to the basin for style."
Doyle turned around and shot him a glare, but didn't object when Bodie slid an arm around his waist on the way back down the hall to the bedroom.
Bodie let Doyle crawl back into bed while he arranged things. Wastebasket by the bed, in case it happened again and he couldn't make it to the loo. Door open, so Bodie could hear him if he called. And--better than that--Bodie fished Doyle's R/T out of his jacket pocket and laid it on the bedside table. "I've got mine downstairs. If you need anything, just give it a bleep. Don't even have to say anything."
"And you'll come runnin', will you?"
"Of course I will."
"Mm." Doyle was more than half asleep already.
Bodie leant down and kissed Doyle's forehead, too quick to be tender but not theatrical enough to be a joke. He didn't wait around to see if Doyle had been awake enough to notice.
He went back downstairs to the sofa and lay down.
Then the R/T bleeped, and Bodie was halfway to the stairs by the time he registered Doyle's voice. "Bodie?"
He scooped up the R/T. "Yeah?"
There was a second of silence, and Bodie nearly went dashing up the stairs again, before the receiver clicked again. "Thanks, mate."
Bodie glanced up the stairs and shook his head. "Go to sleep, Ray."
"Yeah. G'night."
"Good night."
Bodie set the R/T aside, still within easy reach, and he slept.
Author: Sarah K
Proslib: Yes
Circuit Archive: Yes
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle (pre-relationship)
Rating: Everyone
Warnings: None needed.
Word Count: 1,000
Notes: Thanks to Squeeful for coming up with a great title and then stealing it away for herself. ;)
Summary: Doyle is not having a good night.
Bodie always slept lightly, the one exception being when he was shagged-out. So he wasn't surprised to wake up on Doyle's ratty sofa to the sound of footsteps from upstairs. It was the sound of the loo door slamming open and the following retching noises that had him on his feet, taking the stairs three at a time.
He tapped on the open door and then came in anyway--the knock was less of a request than an announcement of his presence. "What's all this, then?" he said, taking in the sight of his half-naked partner kneeling in front of the toilet.
"Go 'way," Doyle mumbled miserably.
"You didn't get takeaway at that dodgy Indian place, did you? I told you, mate--"
"No, you berk, I--" Doyle's retort was cut off by another round of heaving.
Bodie winced in sympathy. Being ill was just about the fastest way, short of a gut-shot, to turn a hard bloke into a little boy again. He hunkered down next to Doyle, one hand gentle on his bare shoulder. Doyle's skin was cool and clammy, and Bodie could feel him shivering. He found himself talking softly, the sort of soothing nonsense his mum had used to say when he'd been ill. "'S all right, mate. Don't fight it, yeah?"
Doyle gagged again, and Bodie braced him, one hand on his shoulder and the other pushing the sweat-sodden curls off his forehead. "Let it go. You'll feel better when it's done, I promise."
Doyle was shaking harder now, and what Bodie could see of his face was pale enough to have taken on a sort of greyish tinge. Doyle scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat and the traces of involuntary tears along with it. Then he reached out grimly and pushed the lever of the toilet.
Finished, then, at least for now. "Here, hang on," Bodie said, and he let go just long enough to fill a glass with tap water. He sat back down next to Doyle and handed it over.
The look in Doyle's eyes was a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment that Bodie couldn't bear to meet for long. "Go on," he ordered. "Rinse your mouth."
Doyle did as he was told, then carefully sipped at the cold water. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to lie down where he was and sleep for a week. Bodie knew it was bloody miserable, that aching weariness of fighting against your own body. He curled a hand around Doyle's hip to hold him closer, but Doyle shifted and pulled back.
"I told you to go away."
Bodie sighed in exasperation. "Christ, Ray. You'd think nobody'd ever held you when you were sick."
The look Doyle gave him was wry and regretful, and Bodie cursed whatever family had cared so little about his partner as to leave him sick and alone as a lad. "Best start now then," he said briskly, and reached out again. This time Doyle gave in and curled up against him, his back cool against Bodie's chest and his forehead tucked up against the side of Bodie's neck.
Bodie tugged a clean towel off the rack behind them and draped it over Doyle's bare chest. The shivering subsided slowly, and Doyle's breath ghosted slow and warm over Bodie's collarbone as he drifted off. Bodie's fingers traced soothing circles along Doyle's side.
He could already feel his legs going numb with the awkwardness of the position, here on the freezing tiles of the bathroom floor, but nothing short of an atom bomb was going to move him now. Not while Ray was leaning against him, too sick and miserable to be prickly about it.
He was almost sorry when Doyle stirred and lifted his head. "Dozed off, there, didn't I?"
"It's all right. Feeling any better?"
"Yeah, a bit. Sorry I woke you with...all this."
"Oh, shut up," Bodie said gently. "Think you can make it back to the bedroom? You don't want to sleep out here."
Doyle nodded and climbed slowly to his feet. Bodie started to guide him back towards the bedroom, but Doyle stopped and reached for his toothbrush.
"Let me?"
Bodie nodded, but he stood a step behind him, just in case. Doyle spat out a mouthful of foam and gave Bodie's reflection a stern look. "You don't have to hover like that, you know. I'm not going to fall over."
"Yeah, of course not. You're just hanging on to the basin for style."
Doyle turned around and shot him a glare, but didn't object when Bodie slid an arm around his waist on the way back down the hall to the bedroom.
Bodie let Doyle crawl back into bed while he arranged things. Wastebasket by the bed, in case it happened again and he couldn't make it to the loo. Door open, so Bodie could hear him if he called. And--better than that--Bodie fished Doyle's R/T out of his jacket pocket and laid it on the bedside table. "I've got mine downstairs. If you need anything, just give it a bleep. Don't even have to say anything."
"And you'll come runnin', will you?"
"Of course I will."
"Mm." Doyle was more than half asleep already.
Bodie leant down and kissed Doyle's forehead, too quick to be tender but not theatrical enough to be a joke. He didn't wait around to see if Doyle had been awake enough to notice.
He went back downstairs to the sofa and lay down.
Then the R/T bleeped, and Bodie was halfway to the stairs by the time he registered Doyle's voice. "Bodie?"
He scooped up the R/T. "Yeah?"
There was a second of silence, and Bodie nearly went dashing up the stairs again, before the receiver clicked again. "Thanks, mate."
Bodie glanced up the stairs and shook his head. "Go to sleep, Ray."
"Yeah. G'night."
"Good night."
Bodie set the R/T aside, still within easy reach, and he slept.