Fic: I Hold It True, Whate'er Befall

[erushi.livejournal.com]

Made it on time, thank goodness! For the Discovered on Summer Holiday Challenge, my prompts being "Isle of Wight" and "sailboat":

(mild spoiler for Discovered in a Graveyard)


i.

Standing just behind the crumbly parapet that overlooked the sea, Doyle was forced upon reflection to admit that agreeing on a week-long holiday on the Isle of Wight with Bodie was probably not one of his brighter ideas. A fine pair they made on the streets of this sunny seaside village of Freshwater, the both of them. One of them was still largely desk-bound on account of injuries received the year before that had since healed but not quite. The other smarted from newly-sustained ones that riddled his body with many patches of purple-yellow-green like a strange disease and that had left his left arm awkward in a light plaster cast.

The latter was now circling one of the squat old cannons that perched not twenty feet from where Doyle stood, running reverent hands over worn, tarnished metal. Recognising an opportunity when he saw one, Doyle seized this moment of inattention on the other man’s part to give his jacket an irritable twitch as he hunched deeper into the worn brown leather, acutely conscious of the bullet-shaped dull ache in his ribs and doing his best to ignore it.

It wasn’t that he minded his partner’s coddling, really; these days, the ex-mercenary’s fussing was the only sign he had that his partner still cared. Unfortunately, a bad case of throbbing ribs was bound to make even the best of men feel a trifle tetchy, and certainly did nothing to improve Doyle’s disposition.


ii.

“One bed, Bodie? One bed, when there’re two of us?”

“Didn’t think I’d be sharing with you, did I? Thought I’d be sharing this with a lovely blonde bird, not some rundown golly. ’Sides, getting a room here’s hard enough as it is.”

Bodie’s tone was making it perfectly clear that he thought Doyle was being unreasonable, and Doyle privately agreed. This certainly would not have been the first time both men were forced to share a bed, and the wide four-poster easily topped any of the crummy sleeping arrangements previously endured. But –

“It’s a small town, mate, and we ain’t on any case. People’ll talk.”

“Nonsense. There’ll be no scandal while we dine; just honest talk and wholesome wine.”

“Wha-?”

“Tennyson, sunshine. Lord Alfred Tennyson. He’s the famous bloke whose house we’re now stayin’ in.”

“Ah,” he said blandly, not really understanding just what his partner was nattering on about but, in light of present circumstances, dismissing it as easily as his fears about sharing a bed had been dismissed with that airily-waved hand. “But Bodiiee – ”

“You worry too much, Ray.”

It was rather alarming, Doyle thought as he watched his partner bend down to finish un-packing from the suitcase by the bed, how a good-natured ruffling of one’s curls could, if not actually dispel the worries, make one forget said worries for just a bit. He also noted quite clinically that things had been so much easier before he had started second-guessing himself, and that Bodie should wear his cream moleskin trousers more often.


iii.

Unfortunately, getting up was proving to be much more trouble than bending down for that bit of seashell was. Doyle winced as his left ribs made their displeasure known a tad too vocally, and waited fatalistically for the inevitable.

“Alright there, mate?”

Swallowing the familiar irritation he felt at the man-shaped shadow cast by his toes, Doyle slipped on his brightest grin before turning to face the owner of the shadow. “Never been better, Bodie. Know how to look after meself, don’t I? Unlike some.”

“This, my son,” and the plaster-cast arm was thrust into his face, “was got in the line of duty, I’ll have you know.”

Their laughter, though simultaneous and shared, rang forced and brittle in the muted glare of the late-afternoon sun before it died. Now familiar with their routine, Doyle watched Bodie as the latter’s face bore yet again that same troubled expression which was always eased away almost as swiftly and as abruptly as it had appeared. Companionable silence made awkward by their recently-concluded exchange, Bodie began studying the multi-hued walls of the chalk cliffs and Doyle resumed his covert study of Bodie, his mind absently scrambling for a way to break the tension that had insidiously snuck between them.

“Remind me to paint you against the sun like that some time, mate. Could use a profile like yours for practice...”

“What, my “broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d”? Cheers, laddie. Always knew I was born as tall, dark, and beautiful as Sir Lancelot.” He caught Doyle’s eye, allowing a self-satisfied smirk that was far from knightly to spread. “Dare say twice as engagingly modest too.”

Doyle blinked, a wry smile tugging at the unwilling corners of his lips because there stood before him a dark-haired man who was obviously taking the notion of staying at a poet’s home far too seriously. Making a mental note to look up the quote in the near future – or to ask Bodie about it at an opportune time, which amounted to the same thing, really – Doyle reached up with one seawater-chilled hand to caress the smooth, sun-kissed brow. Bodie was right, damn him; the man’s brow did seem to glow in the soft, amber-hued light.

The fast-rolling clouds tumbled across the almost-waning sun, throwing both men into shade and making them shiver. Oh, he thought, oh and Doyle found himself staring stupidly as a part of him subconsciously recognised that this was just them, blue eyes on green and green on blue and two men joined in a comically ridiculous position. Then, as abruptly as it came, the momentary dimness eased as unruly clouds were spurred onwards by the rising wind from the sea, and they jerked apart.

“C’mon, let’s get you indoors. Touched in your head, that’s what you are. Too much sun.”


iv.

Bodie, Doyle silently re-noted for the umpteenth time, slept like a bloody octopus, all arms and legs and shiftings of position every fifteen minutes. It made for very disrupted sleep. Fortunately, it did also come with certain fringe benefits, chief of which was waking up in the pale light and quiet of dawn with Bodie’s face mere inches from his and his arm having miraculously escaped a pinning under a heavy Bodie-limb.

He kept his fingers light as they roved over classically sculpted features that looked especially boyish in repose, feathering across the tips of impossibly long lashes and tracing over a pout that sleep did nothing to ease before finally pausing when a slight furrow slowly formed between the strongly-arched black brows. Fearing to commence any sudden, rapid movement lest he wake the stirring sleeper, Doyle found, very much to his dismay, blue eyes still muzzy with sleep locked on his face while his outstretched finger hovered somewhere over the other’s nose.

“... Ray?”

“Beautiful you are, mate.” Doyle blinked at the words that left his mouth unchecked, inwardly wincing at the soppy fool he knew he had sounded. Being thrown off-balance by the absence of censure was in his books never an excuse for a bloke to go flapping his tongue like a bloody big girl’s blouse, and what flip comment that had failed to make its expected emergence a few moments ago would be doing so with a vengeance over the next few seconds.

“Hm...” And those clever fingers were massaging his scalp through his curls, slowly urging his face forward; Doyle held his breath as he waited for the stinging rebuke to come –

“Thine are these orbs of light and shade... ”

A soft smile on those warm, pink lips, fingers of the other hand now carefully outlining trembling eyelids, sleep-clumsy but so kind and gentle –

“Thou madest Life in man and brute... ”

And Bodie’s lips, still smiling that strange, secret, whimsical smile, touched his in a chaste meeting; suddenly, Doyle understood for a brief moment what the ol’ cliché of forgetting to breathe truly meant. He then promptly forgot as his five senses finally caught up with the situation which was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

It was rather like learning how to ice-skate, really. Every movement was characterised by an air of tentativeness: warm lips rubbed and nuzzled against each other in a slow, careful rhythm; a careful tongue darted out now and then to run over an overly-full bottom lip first to taste and then to beg for entrance; small sips made with mouth slightly open and lips slightly parted. Bodie tasted warm and sleepy and so intrinsically Bodie that Doyle contentedly huffed a happy sigh, hand reaching out carefully to rest on smooth skin and firm muscle. He was dimly aware of a broad hand sliding down the curve of his back to rest on his tailbone and he revelled in the almost sensual feeling it conveyed, just as how he revelled snuggling against the supple, night-cool skin that was rapidly warming beneath his touch.

Doyle was still happily lost in a cocoon of warm, buoyant sensation when he suddenly found himself ingloriously shoved back by a firm hand to his chest. Any inclination to protest at being forced from that comfortable embrace died in his throat, however, at the growing horror that slowly spread across Bodie’s tightening features, all sleep chased from the latter’s eyes and replaced by a half-crazed panic.

Their combined breaths, hot and moist and heavy, rang harshly in the cool crispness of the early morning. The part of Doyle that was not too busy feeling hurt at his partner’s rejection began to count them detachedly – one, two, three, four.

“Thought for a moment you were a bird, sunshine. Guess I’ve been goin’ too long without, eh? Between the Cow and that bloody hospital...” Bodie’s face was now an impassive mask, the one he had worn in those first few weeks of their partnership when neither man was sure of the other, and the one which Doyle had always hated.

“Bodie, I...”

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to startle you.” A hand came up to comfortingly ruffle Doyle’s curls, and if the man’s carefree voice sounded a bit strained, his cheerful smile looked a bit tight, neither of them noticed. “Best get going – tide at eight, and I want a close-up of them Needles rocks. Said you wanted to go up the lighthouse to draw, yea?”

As he spoke, Bodie began wriggling himself into yesterday’s clothing and gathering the various odds and ends he foresaw himself needing in the course of the day, his motions quick and economical. Exactly how he thought a Bodie preparing to run away would be like, that bit of Doyle still bothering to take notes noted. The rest of Doyle merely stared blankly at the paisley-patterned wallpaper, dimly registering the sounds of Bodie’s imminent departure and all too miserably aware that Bodie had a long-standing reputation of running away the moment there was something about the situation in his life that he distinctly disliked.

The muffled thud of the closing door sounded strangely hollow in the suddenly-empty room.


v.

Their room was fifteen strides broad and eighteen strides long, a fact Doyle had become rather familiar with over the last half an hour of pacing. He had also made a passing acquaintance with the slim volume of poetry that graced the bedside table – Tennyson’s In Memoriam A.H.H., prefaced by a brief write-up on one Arthur Henry Hallam and said bloke’s debatable relationship with the poet. (He had also discovered where the lines of poetry which his partner had quoted at him just before the morning’s kiss; unfortunately, the bit of poetry that had been recited the day before whilst they were at the cliffs still eluded him.)

It wasn’t that he blamed Bodie. He was, after all, equally guilty of the private campaign of deliberate distancing that both men had separately undertaken after the whole incident with May Li. Staring blurrily through pain-clouded eyes at Bodie’s distraught features, and being forced to witness the weariness and tension that had seemed almost second nature to his partner over the days he had slowly recuperated, Doyle had sworn that he would do all that was within his power to prevent Bodie from undergoing such agony a second time.

Bodie must have had the same notion too – and this prompted a wry smile on Doyle’s part as he contemplated the sheer irony of it all – for the moment Doyle no longer had any need for a live-in caretaker in the form of his partner, the ex-mercenary had launched his own gradual but determined withdrawal. Death was unfortunately a constant companion in their line of business; not-caring was indeed a perfectly sensible thing to do to prevent more pain than what was strictly necessary from being felt upon either’s demise.

Then four nights ago, still largely desk-bound and thus limited mainly to back-up operations, Doyle had arrived with a third of CI5 to a construction site to helplessly watch from the ground as Bodie engaged in earnest combat high up the scaffolding. His partner had come out from the scuffle in a better position than his opponent, broken arm and bruises as opposed to being, well, dead. However, the damage was done, and he had emerged from the same scuffle (albeit as a bystander) determined that no amount of awareness of his and Bodie’s mortality was to ever override his enjoyment of the present and of Bodie.

A pity it was proving well nigh impossible to get Bodie, who was about as stubborn a bloke as they come, to see things from his point of view.

The problem, Doyle ruefully admitted to himself as he stared out of the latticed window, wasn’t that he still hadn’t found any of the red squirrels that were supposedly native to and populous on the Isle to sketch. Slumping into one of the two wicker chairs, he morosely picked at the half-filled sketchbook that was noticeably bereft of squirrels.

The problem was that Bodie still hadn’t returned despite it now being past noon, and how long could a bloody boat-ride take anyway?


vi.

The wharf was a bustling hive of human activity. Tourists stood in groups of twos and threes as they posed against green sea and blue sky for the numerous flashing cameras. Children scampered about the worn wooden surface, hands and mouths sticky with the ice-cream that perched precariously, glob-like and melting, on the sweet wafer cones clutched tightly in chubby little fists. One of them tripped over her feet, gaining a pair of scraped knees and sending a high-pitched wail to join the hubbub of the seaside.

Doyle absently bent to help the crying girl up, distractedly waving away the thanks of one grateful mother as he scanned the various boats tied to the quay. They bobbed on the current, straining at their ties and bumping into their neighbours like so many unruly puppies of white and grey with names painted in jaunty colours. None looked as though they had recently returned from a tour off the coast of this side of the island, and there was certainly no familiar dark head to be seen, however much he stood on his tiptoes, craned his neck and strained his eyes.

A ferry from the mainland docked, spilling a new wave of holiday-seekers. Amongst their number were a group of uniformed students, the second half of the attendees of what looked to be a school trip. They greeted their waiting companions with a boisterous delight better suited for a chance meeting after years of parting than the length of a ferry-ride the separation was. Feeling morosely apart from the laughter and back-slapping and all-around good cheer that surrounded him, Doyle wandered aimlessly through the crowd, at last managing to listlessly drift to the edge of the extended wooden platform. He was almost painfully aware of the Bodie-shaped space that existed somewhere on the island, on this wharf, by his side. The man was either still on a boat somewhere marvelling at the stunning geological sights the island had to offer, or he had simply chosen not to return to Doyle any earlier than necessary.

Very carefully, Doyle set about slowly un-tensing fists he had not realised were clenched.

“Ta very much.”

There – just behind him –

Turning cautiously lest he jostle this longed-for vision – did something that was purely auditory count as a vision? – Doyle watched as the familiar figure behind the familiar voice finished thanking a sailor-ly bloke before stepping out of a sailboat which quieter arrival had been masked by that of the rowdy ferry. From his vantage point, Doyle mutely looked on as Bodie, the latter, almost as though guided by that strange awareness of one another which long-term partners usually forged in (or rather, out) of the halls of CI5, glanced sharply to his left and met Doyle’s unwavering gaze. Hesitation briefly clouded the ex-mercenary’s features before resolve hardened them, and by the time he had expertly woven his way through the milling crowd to stand before Doyle, a broad smile was all that remained.

Doyle dimly realised that he, too, was sporting an equally silly grin.

“Ray, I – ”

“Bodie, I – ”

Laughter bubbled – first from his throat, then from Bodie’s – carefree and, Doyle realised with a start, sorely missed. It vaguely occurred to him that there was no longer any need to explain his line of reasoning to his partner, that Bodie already understood him and agreed with him, that the ol’ partner-instinct was once again fully alive between them, but he was grinning at Bodie and Bodie was grinning at him and they were both grinning and grinning like a pair of mad Cheshire cats and Doyle frankly couldn’t care more about the rest of the world.

Jaws eventually tired, but where the grins were lacking, the slightly silly look on Bodie’s face – reflected on his own too, Doyle was quite sure – more than made up for it. Glancing sideways and slightly up through his lashes, Doyle allowed himself a moment of uncharacteristic shyness. “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, eh?”

The corners of Bodie’s mouth lifted and deepened as his eye-lids lowered half-mast, though his voice, when he spoke, held all the despair a doctor might have had when instructing a nurse to terminate a patient’s life support. “That’s quoting out of context, mate.”

“Good thing I have you around to remind me, innit?” His bashful smile taking on a teasing edge, Doyle did his best imitation of a cheap tart as he batted his lashes and pursed his lips, laughingly ducking the mock-outraged cuff aimed at his head.

The walk back to Farringford House was made in companionable silence, shoulders rubbing, hips bumping, and left hand brushing right with every other step. Doyle never did successfully find a red squirrel for his sketchbook either, but all things considered (and after a few good-natured gripes were made), he didn’t really mind.


=-=-=

If one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touch’d the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,
And found thee lying in the port;

And standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,
And beckoning unto those they know;

And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,
And ask a thousand things of home;

And I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had droop’d of late,
And he should sorrow o’er my state
And marvel what possess’d my brain;

And I perceived no touch of change,
No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,
I should not feel it to be strange.

-- Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H., Canto 14



Title: I Hold It True, Whate’er Befall
Author: Erushi
Format: Short story. (3,155 words)
Circuit Archive / Pros-Lib: Yes, please.
Slash/Gen: Slash.
Disclaimer: This is an amateur work written purely for entertainment. No profit is gained from it, nor is any infringement of copyright intended. The poetry used was written by Lord Alfred Tennyson.

Author’s Note:

I’ve personally never been to the Isle of Wight before, so I do apologise if there're parts that are wrong. I did try to include some of its tourist attractions, though, and they are as follows:
- Bodie and Doyle are at The Needles Battery in (i)
- The beach with chalk cliffs of multi-coloured walls in (iii) is Alum Bay
- Any reference to pointy white rock things emerging from the sea points to The Needles
- The lads are staying at Farringford House, once Tennyson’s home and now a privately-run hotel, because staying at a poet’s house seemed like just the sort of thing poem-quoting Bodie would do

All poetry quoted here is by Tennyson, on account of Farringford House (which supposedly leaves volumes of Tennyson's poetry in the rooms). For the curious,
- The title and the lines Doyle quotes in (vi) are from Canto 27 of In Memoriam A.H.H.
- Bodie quotes in (ii) Tennyson’s description of Farringford in To the Rev. F.D. Maurice
- Bodie’s quote in (iii) is part of the description of Sir Lancelot in The Lady of Shallot, which I found quite very fitting; I’d have included “From underneath his helmet flow’d | His coal-black curls as on he rode” as well if I could! *laughs*
- The bit before the kiss in (iv) can be found in the prologue of In Memoriam A.H.H.
- The poem which ends of (vi) – and which the whole fic was shamelessly inspired by – is Canto 14 of In Memoriam A.H.H.

Thanks for reading!

Comments

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Yeah, you finished it and it's lovely! *g* There's such a delightful contrast between the poetry quotations and the the observations of that universal "British by the sea" experience, right down to hands and mouths sticky with the ice-cream that perched precariously, glob-like and melting, on the sweet wafer cones clutched tightly in chubby little fists.

Oh and the lovely confusion between the pair of them as they set out to deliberately distance themselves in the face of mortality, their utter failure in doing so, and the aching softness of that kiss, more comfort than passion.

Thank you! :D

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

Yeay, fic to wake up to! And lovely fic - I adore the idea of the lads on holiday together, and coping with all the things that make that up, like sticky ice cream, and fallen children and bobbing boats! There's something fab about the contrast of that with their normal life, and all those lovely touches made me feel as if I was right there watching them! And promise! Such promise in the ending! *g* Thank you!

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

It was rather like learning how to ice-skate, really. Well, quite. What an excellent image! I enjoyed this atmospheric piece very much, felt like I was right there with them - thank you for this.

[erushi.livejournal.com]

Thank you for your lovely comment! I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[erushi.livejournal.com]

And thank you for your lovely comment! I'm glad you enjoyed this. I certainly had quite a bit of fun trying to imagine what a beach holiday would be like with the lads in it. *g*

[erushi.livejournal.com]

I don't mind Tennyson too much because he's done those Arthurian poems and I'm an Arthurian geek. And I must admit I love In Memoriam - it's gorgeous. Unfortunately, writing this fic meant stuffing myself silly with Tennyson's poetry, and I don't think I'd be able to stomach anything of his over the next few months!

Thank you for reading, and for your lovely comment! Having only experienced the whole "British by the sea" thing through childhood books, I certainly had quite an interesting time trying to think up of possible scenarios. *laughs* I'm glad you enjoyed it. I admit I was having many doubts about just how successful I was in conveying what I wanted to convey.

(How's your DiaLJ fic coming along? she says hopefully.)

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Well you did a great job of capturing the sea side experience so never fear. As to conveying emotions I think part of the trick with the lads is what they don't say as much as what they do and again, really nicely done.

(I think my DIALJ story may be dead in the water. At a rough estimate I think I'm probably at least a few thousand words away from being done and it's a bank holiday weekend here -- Labour Day -- so I have social commitments. Bah! If I can get the thing finished at some point I'll post it somewhere. *g*)

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

I really like how you gave us two men who didn't quite know what to do with the closeness that came tending each other, first from Doyle's and now Bodie's injuries. I felt so bad for Doyle when Bodie bolted after the kiss, but the gentle way they found each other at the end worked so well. Realising that they knew each other inside and out reminded them of their partnership and how they felt about each other. Very nice. Thanks.

[erushi.livejournal.com]

Thanks for your lovely comment. :)

[erushi.livejournal.com]

Again, thank you! :)

(And oh dear. But social commitments should always take precedence. I'll just look forward to reading your fic when you do finish and post it, then. *g*)

[biani.livejournal.com]

I am so sorry for being so late, I am well behind my reading :-(. Having just finished this terrific story I just need to tell you that I really liked it. Especially because it´s slow paced, slowly building up the tension - that´s what I really like in a story. And I like that you mentioned how much Bodie must have suffered by the Mai Li incident and Doyle´s near death - that´s something that can´t be mentioned often enough. Thanks for a great read!

[erushi.livejournal.com]

No worries; it's never too late. *g* Thank you for reading, and for your lovely comment! I'm glad you liked it. To be honest, I was rather worried about my pacing and about not being able to convey how the lads might have felt after the May Li incident, so I'm really pleased that you liked it. :)

[msmoat.livejournal.com]

I am very, very slowly catching up (whilst falling further behind, actually), so I know this is much delayed. However, thank you! This was nicely evocative, and I liked all the twists and turns as they figured things out between them. I loved the partnership dynamics. But mostly, I really liked the sense of place--truly Isle of Wight or not. *g*

Thank you for sharing this with us!

[erushi.livejournal.com]

No worries about delayed comments and such, as I'm horribly behind everything and desperately trying to catch up too. I haven't even found the time to read your DVD-like commentary for Rules, depsite meaning to since the day you made a post about it on the_safehouse. *hangs head in shame* But I digress.

Thank you very much for reading, and for your wonderful comment. Somewhere between planning this fic and actually writing it, an obsession with the location had somehow managed to lodge itself in my brain - I blame the amount of tourism research I did to discovere just where the Isle was - and I was terribly determined to flesh it out. After all, a holiday's not a holiday without a location. So I'm incredibly glad that the sense of place worked for you, and the partnership dynamics. Thanks again! :)

[saintvic.livejournal.com]

Your descriptions are, as always, wonderfully vivid and pull the reader in. I loved lines like this:

It was rather like learning how to ice-skate, really. Every movement was characterised by an air of tentativeness:.

This was wonderful, gentle, inevitable and utterly lovely. Thank you.

[erushi.livejournal.com]

And thank you for reading and commenting, I'm terribly fond of works that have lush descriptions because I enjoy picturing the scenes in my mind, and I guess some of my reading preferences have rubbed off onto my writings.

Glad you enjoyed this! I think you've put a smile on my face that'll probably stay for the rest of the day.