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discoveredinalj2008-08-30 09:11 am
callistosh65.livejournal.com) wrote in discoveredinalj2008-08-30 09:11 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Time Will Tell
Squeaking in under the wire here. My prompts were the Greek islands and suntan lotion.
Um...
Time Will Tell
Not doing anything was the worst. He hadn’t been this still for this long since Belfast. He hadn’t eaten in about six hours and he hadn’t even looked at the busty nurse as she’d leant over to fiddle with the IV. When Doyle woke up he’d tell him and they’d have a laugh. Doyle would tell him she was off limits anyway, that the diet would do him good, and that... Well, maybe Bodie wouldn’t tell him about Belfast, or about how long he’d been sitting here.
First things first.
Ray, you bastard, wake the fuck up...
********
“You what?”
“You heard.”
“You’re giving me a plane ticket?”
“Trust you to hear it like that. I am not giving you a plane ticket. I’m just giving you a good deal. Julie can’t go and the whole thing’s booked and paid for. You’re paying for the plane ticket, mate. And the food. Well, for half the food anyway.” A wicked grin. “More than half, probably.”
Bodie studied his partner. Took his eyes off the road for a good ten seconds and even turned towards Doyle from the passenger seat to take it in. He’d been offered many things in life, but never this. And, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. He searched around for something to say.
“Bit sudden, innit?”
“What, Cowley giving us a week off? Yeah, only took four years. Really sudden, Bodie.”
“No, I mean us. Going away.” He stopped the word ‘together’ coming out just in time. He brushed his hands briskly down his cords, aware that Doyle had turned his head. “It’s nice of your sister and everything, but I might have plans, sunshine. You never asked... Oh, what? I can’t find it a bit fucking sudden?”
The glare he was getting through Doyle’s sunglasses heated him up nicely. Typical Ray. The man could complicate a boiled egg if you let him. Bodie bit down his first response and turned his attention back to the rainy streets of Watford. He had feared this from the very beginning. That Doyle would take whatever it was between them and turn it–-turn Bodie–-into a romantic attachment. Someone he had to wine, dine, and apparently, take on bloody holiday.
“We need to keep our heads about this, mate. We agreed to be discreet and under the radar. Not exactly under the radar if the two of us go poncing off to Rhodes together, is it?”
Regretting his word choice as his partner’s profile tightened, he nevertheless decided to press the point while he could.
“Look, we don’t…I like what we have, what we’re doin’. You fucking know that. It’s just...” He lowered his voice to what he hoped was a soothing register. “Never sunbathed a day in me life, sunshine. I do burn like a peach, you know.” He laid his right hand on Doyle’s knee and squeezed. He really did like what they had and didn’t want—
“Fine. Was just a thought. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” The smile that came his way was as remote as only Doyle’s could be sometimes. Bodie took his hand back. “No worries, Bodie. I’ll ask Sandra. I’m sure she’s done her fair share of sunbathing.”
And at that, Bodie could say nothing. His rules after all. He felt his own jaw clench.
“As you wish.”
“Yeah. As I bloody wish.”
Bodie kept his eyes on the traffic after that. This morning he’d had one of the best blow jobs of his life from the man on his right. Now he wondered if he’d get so much as a Rich Tea biscuit out of him when they got to work.
Yet it wasn’t entirely Doyle’s fault. Because whatever else had been happening these past two months, one thing for sure was that Doyle hadn’t acted alone.
******
“Don’t. Ah, Jesus, Bodie, don’t.”
Bodie left his hand where it was, because the bulge he had his hand on was saying anything but don’t. He twisted on the sofa, a little more into Doyle, and his heart picked up in time to the one hammering just a T-shirt away.
He swallowed. “You mean that?” He could hardly get the words out. Doyle’s head was tilted back on the sofa, eyes shut, the line of his neck beautifully exposed as his chest rose and fell. Jesus. Bodie’s cock twitched hard and fast, caught by the surprise of how erotic the simple act of rapid breathing was in this man. Still, it couldn’t all be from him, from his hand, his late night advance on the sofa. Otherwise there’d be hell to pay when those eyes opened. Reluctantly he schooled his face for what was to come, and began to withdraw.
Fathomless green eyes opened.
He opened his mouth to deflect whatever was coming and had no idea what to say. And then it didn’t matter because suddenly his mouth was full of Doyle. Literally, tongue thrusting in, lips grinding. The taste of coffee and alcohol mixed with the sweat of the day and kicked his heart into an unprecedented moment of panic. He pulled back and tried to breathe.
“’M not...giving up things.”
By things he meant birds, though the word never quite made it out.
“Who’s bloody asking you to? Come back here.” A hand clamped the back of his neck, drawing him down. And down he went; to his partner, to the sofa, and to a world he thought he’d left behind on sunburnt African shores.
He had not stayed the night, despite a careless arm slung across his chest in the mess of Doyle’s bed that seemed to say that he could. And he had determinedly arranged a date with Sylvie for the following evening as soon as he’d crashed through his own front door again. A moment or two of tension and throat clearing in the car the next day had set things straight–-so to speak–-and the relief at not having fucked up the best partnership he’d ever known had rendered surprisingly enjoyable a day of mindless informant-chasing. There had been grins, terrible puns, and even a chip fight between the two of them at one point.
So they still did the birds. They dated, they double dated, they fucked each other occasionally, they broke up a spy ring Cowley had been after for years, they got drunk to celebrate and threw up in the same gutter, they had sex against the living room wall as soon as they were clean and sober again. And Bodie had never known anything like it, a headiness and lust for the brand new morning of each day which made him sunnier with the world and its occupants than he could ever remember being.
******
Which brought him back to the beep of a machine threatening to take it all away. And to the knot in his chest, and to the confusing desire to kiss and thump his partner till those eyes finally opened. Because of Doyle, he now had a balance in life he’d never believed in. He had birds for conventional get-togethers and social niceties, he had a partner for watching his back and keeping him sane on the job as few ever had, and he had a bedmate in that same partner for literally making him howl with pleasure when the urge possessed them. And if that urge had been possessing him more and more of late, that was just Ray being more of a complete package, wasn’t it? With Ray he got conversation he didn’t have to fake an interest in, someone who had no interest in sweet nothings and fancy dinners, and someone who would watch Match of the Day with him, right through to the end, and then take him to bed.
If you were lucky enough to ever find that balance, you didn’t fuck it up by jumping in with both feet and taking off to a Greek island, for Christ’s sake. And you certainly didn’t fuck it up by falling off a scaffold.
******
On the ground, a horrified Bodie saw it go. He heard the splintering cracks and groans as derelict wood and steel never meant for the tussles of two brawling men simply yielded to the laws of physics and went down, with one of its cargo still trying to land the last punch.
Stevens, in true weasel style, got up and walked away, coughing and spluttering through the dust and debris. He got as far as Bodie’s fist, which turned out to be the last punch after all.
Doyle, on the other hand, got two broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a head wound which looked like nothing at all but which had the doctors pursing their lips, spreading their arms apologetically and muttering ominous phrases like ‘time will tell’.
So far time was telling Bodie how long three full days and three empty nights could be.
******
He checked his watch. Sod it. He’d managed to get this close to the hospital during rush hour, Anson and the changeover would survive another ten minutes without him. Double parking, he dashed through the rain to the large double doors and nearly bowled over one of the nurses from Doyle’s ward.
“Mr Bodie!”
He caught her arm just in time, smiled and righted her. Warm and matronly, she had a son soldiering overseas in a regiment Bodie knew, and this had allowed his winks and charm all sorts of leeway regarding visiting hours. Not to mention cups of tea in the nurses’ room and the occasional attempt at a motherly chat.
“Just Bodie, love. I keep telling you. Sorry about that. How is he?”
She squeezed his arm. “Oh, I’m so pleased I got to run into you before I go home. He woke up this morning, Mr Bodie! Knew his name, where he worked, then off to sleep again as calm as you please, and--there’s no use you rushing in, Mr Bodie, he’s fast asleep–-Mr Bodie!”
But Mr Bodie would not be stopped.
Indeed, on his way out of the hospital a few minutes later, Mr Bodie paused in the car park and took a second to just lean back against a hospital wall and look at the sky. The rain had stopped, a watery sunshine was trying its damnedest to get through, and Doyle had done it. He had woken the fuck up. Bodie hadn’t even gone that near his bed. He hadn’t really needed to, because Doyle looked pretty much the same asleep as he did in a coma. But there was a tube less coming in and out of him now, one of the machines had been wheeled away and two nurses had smiled at Bodie, patting his shoulder in turn. Well, all fucking right then, time to get back to Anson and Streatham before Cowley caught up with him. Only once outside and looking at that sky, he couldn’t stop the sentimental lightness that grabbed hold, causing him to close his eyes and just stand there with his hands in his pockets a moment, head tilted back against the wall.
The golly had woken up.
He shook himself, opened his eyes and caught sight of the Boots opposite the car park entrance. If anything, his smile got wider as an idea came to him. He made a mad dash through the traffic and went in. Five minutes later, purchase safely stashed on the dashboard, he was back in the Capri and lying to Anson on the R/T about a flat tyre.
******
Six hours later...
“Heya, sunshine.”
Bodie had a couple of tight little put-downs all ready for that first moment, but he couldn’t make his voice sharp enough. So he hooked the plastic chair with his foot, pulled it in close, and managed two quiet words instead.
Doyle was propped up in a kind of semi-sitting position and liquid green eyes followed his every move.
“..’odie.”
And that was enough for a moment or two. Then Bodie coughed and surprised them both by taking Doyle’s warm, slightly clammy fingers in his. Another moment passed before Bodie found the courage to look up from their hands together on the bedsheet, past the bandaged ribs, and into that steady gaze. He took a deep breath, reached into his jacket pocket with his free left hand and drew out what he’d purchased earlier. He held it up, turned it slowly so that Doyle could see it, then put it gently down on his partner’s lap.
“For you, sunshine. Well, for both of us really. Me more than you probably. And I thought I’d get it here rather than over there. Not putting any of that foreign muck on my delicate skin.”
“I...cancelled.”
“Eh?”
Doyle took another concentrated inhalation and spoke slowly. “I cancelled. Didn’t...want to get sunburnt without...with Sandra after all.”
Bodie’s smile wavered a little. “You wouldn’t have, sunshine.” He squeezed Doyle’s fingers and leant in, willing him to understand. “That’s bloody good stuff, Ray. The most expensive suntan lotion they had. For you.” He swallowed. “I wanted to make it right again. To just...well, to tell you...”
The liquid gaze was on him again, and his words were failing. He had a sudden urge to stand, to flee this room, this hand, and those eyes that were tying his tongue in knots. Christ, why could he never just say this stuff to anyone? Just get it out there, out the fucking way once and for all. Jesus, how did people do this? Have anything that went beyond—
“How d’you feel...about Bognor Regis then?”
Bodie’s head snapped up, not sure he’d heard right. Doyle’s face was impassive but the voice was definitely stronger. Bodie looked at him, in all his washed out glory, listing sideways a little on the pillows. His curls were matted and everywhere, he was trying to breathe oh so steadily just for Bodie, and most importantly of all, both corners of his mouth were trying not to twitch too hard. And all the while he was holding on, gripping Bodie’s hand tightly enough to bring the sweat and tears out in both of them.
A nurse came in to fiddle with something behind them and Bodie didn’t care. The entire surgical team could have walked in and nothing would have stopped him, because discreet, he decided, could now go and fuck itself. He let his head fall forward until his forehead touched their clasped hands and stayed there for a long breath before straightening back up.
The nurse left, and he still had Doyle’s hand in his. Clearing his throat, he played along. “Don’t know, never met him.”
“Got a mate...with a caravan.”
“’Course you have, sunshine.”
Doyle smiled and tried to say something back, but he fell instantly asleep again.
Bodie, once upright, sure that all was well, and on his third cup of tea with Sister, was left to marvel at how a caravan in Bognor Regis could sound like the exotic promise of Arabia.
******
Title: Time Will Tell
Author: Callisto
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: HUGE hugs and smooches to my two betas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
izzie7 and ancastar, who tug my ear so sweetly when I need to do better. An, especially was very patient, and had some fabulous suggestions. Anything not realised properly is down to me.
Um...
Time Will Tell
Not doing anything was the worst. He hadn’t been this still for this long since Belfast. He hadn’t eaten in about six hours and he hadn’t even looked at the busty nurse as she’d leant over to fiddle with the IV. When Doyle woke up he’d tell him and they’d have a laugh. Doyle would tell him she was off limits anyway, that the diet would do him good, and that... Well, maybe Bodie wouldn’t tell him about Belfast, or about how long he’d been sitting here.
First things first.
Ray, you bastard, wake the fuck up...
********
“You what?”
“You heard.”
“You’re giving me a plane ticket?”
“Trust you to hear it like that. I am not giving you a plane ticket. I’m just giving you a good deal. Julie can’t go and the whole thing’s booked and paid for. You’re paying for the plane ticket, mate. And the food. Well, for half the food anyway.” A wicked grin. “More than half, probably.”
Bodie studied his partner. Took his eyes off the road for a good ten seconds and even turned towards Doyle from the passenger seat to take it in. He’d been offered many things in life, but never this. And, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. He searched around for something to say.
“Bit sudden, innit?”
“What, Cowley giving us a week off? Yeah, only took four years. Really sudden, Bodie.”
“No, I mean us. Going away.” He stopped the word ‘together’ coming out just in time. He brushed his hands briskly down his cords, aware that Doyle had turned his head. “It’s nice of your sister and everything, but I might have plans, sunshine. You never asked... Oh, what? I can’t find it a bit fucking sudden?”
The glare he was getting through Doyle’s sunglasses heated him up nicely. Typical Ray. The man could complicate a boiled egg if you let him. Bodie bit down his first response and turned his attention back to the rainy streets of Watford. He had feared this from the very beginning. That Doyle would take whatever it was between them and turn it–-turn Bodie–-into a romantic attachment. Someone he had to wine, dine, and apparently, take on bloody holiday.
“We need to keep our heads about this, mate. We agreed to be discreet and under the radar. Not exactly under the radar if the two of us go poncing off to Rhodes together, is it?”
Regretting his word choice as his partner’s profile tightened, he nevertheless decided to press the point while he could.
“Look, we don’t…I like what we have, what we’re doin’. You fucking know that. It’s just...” He lowered his voice to what he hoped was a soothing register. “Never sunbathed a day in me life, sunshine. I do burn like a peach, you know.” He laid his right hand on Doyle’s knee and squeezed. He really did like what they had and didn’t want—
“Fine. Was just a thought. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” The smile that came his way was as remote as only Doyle’s could be sometimes. Bodie took his hand back. “No worries, Bodie. I’ll ask Sandra. I’m sure she’s done her fair share of sunbathing.”
And at that, Bodie could say nothing. His rules after all. He felt his own jaw clench.
“As you wish.”
“Yeah. As I bloody wish.”
Bodie kept his eyes on the traffic after that. This morning he’d had one of the best blow jobs of his life from the man on his right. Now he wondered if he’d get so much as a Rich Tea biscuit out of him when they got to work.
Yet it wasn’t entirely Doyle’s fault. Because whatever else had been happening these past two months, one thing for sure was that Doyle hadn’t acted alone.
******
“Don’t. Ah, Jesus, Bodie, don’t.”
Bodie left his hand where it was, because the bulge he had his hand on was saying anything but don’t. He twisted on the sofa, a little more into Doyle, and his heart picked up in time to the one hammering just a T-shirt away.
He swallowed. “You mean that?” He could hardly get the words out. Doyle’s head was tilted back on the sofa, eyes shut, the line of his neck beautifully exposed as his chest rose and fell. Jesus. Bodie’s cock twitched hard and fast, caught by the surprise of how erotic the simple act of rapid breathing was in this man. Still, it couldn’t all be from him, from his hand, his late night advance on the sofa. Otherwise there’d be hell to pay when those eyes opened. Reluctantly he schooled his face for what was to come, and began to withdraw.
Fathomless green eyes opened.
He opened his mouth to deflect whatever was coming and had no idea what to say. And then it didn’t matter because suddenly his mouth was full of Doyle. Literally, tongue thrusting in, lips grinding. The taste of coffee and alcohol mixed with the sweat of the day and kicked his heart into an unprecedented moment of panic. He pulled back and tried to breathe.
“’M not...giving up things.”
By things he meant birds, though the word never quite made it out.
“Who’s bloody asking you to? Come back here.” A hand clamped the back of his neck, drawing him down. And down he went; to his partner, to the sofa, and to a world he thought he’d left behind on sunburnt African shores.
He had not stayed the night, despite a careless arm slung across his chest in the mess of Doyle’s bed that seemed to say that he could. And he had determinedly arranged a date with Sylvie for the following evening as soon as he’d crashed through his own front door again. A moment or two of tension and throat clearing in the car the next day had set things straight–-so to speak–-and the relief at not having fucked up the best partnership he’d ever known had rendered surprisingly enjoyable a day of mindless informant-chasing. There had been grins, terrible puns, and even a chip fight between the two of them at one point.
So they still did the birds. They dated, they double dated, they fucked each other occasionally, they broke up a spy ring Cowley had been after for years, they got drunk to celebrate and threw up in the same gutter, they had sex against the living room wall as soon as they were clean and sober again. And Bodie had never known anything like it, a headiness and lust for the brand new morning of each day which made him sunnier with the world and its occupants than he could ever remember being.
******
Which brought him back to the beep of a machine threatening to take it all away. And to the knot in his chest, and to the confusing desire to kiss and thump his partner till those eyes finally opened. Because of Doyle, he now had a balance in life he’d never believed in. He had birds for conventional get-togethers and social niceties, he had a partner for watching his back and keeping him sane on the job as few ever had, and he had a bedmate in that same partner for literally making him howl with pleasure when the urge possessed them. And if that urge had been possessing him more and more of late, that was just Ray being more of a complete package, wasn’t it? With Ray he got conversation he didn’t have to fake an interest in, someone who had no interest in sweet nothings and fancy dinners, and someone who would watch Match of the Day with him, right through to the end, and then take him to bed.
If you were lucky enough to ever find that balance, you didn’t fuck it up by jumping in with both feet and taking off to a Greek island, for Christ’s sake. And you certainly didn’t fuck it up by falling off a scaffold.
******
On the ground, a horrified Bodie saw it go. He heard the splintering cracks and groans as derelict wood and steel never meant for the tussles of two brawling men simply yielded to the laws of physics and went down, with one of its cargo still trying to land the last punch.
Stevens, in true weasel style, got up and walked away, coughing and spluttering through the dust and debris. He got as far as Bodie’s fist, which turned out to be the last punch after all.
Doyle, on the other hand, got two broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a head wound which looked like nothing at all but which had the doctors pursing their lips, spreading their arms apologetically and muttering ominous phrases like ‘time will tell’.
So far time was telling Bodie how long three full days and three empty nights could be.
******
He checked his watch. Sod it. He’d managed to get this close to the hospital during rush hour, Anson and the changeover would survive another ten minutes without him. Double parking, he dashed through the rain to the large double doors and nearly bowled over one of the nurses from Doyle’s ward.
“Mr Bodie!”
He caught her arm just in time, smiled and righted her. Warm and matronly, she had a son soldiering overseas in a regiment Bodie knew, and this had allowed his winks and charm all sorts of leeway regarding visiting hours. Not to mention cups of tea in the nurses’ room and the occasional attempt at a motherly chat.
“Just Bodie, love. I keep telling you. Sorry about that. How is he?”
She squeezed his arm. “Oh, I’m so pleased I got to run into you before I go home. He woke up this morning, Mr Bodie! Knew his name, where he worked, then off to sleep again as calm as you please, and--there’s no use you rushing in, Mr Bodie, he’s fast asleep–-Mr Bodie!”
But Mr Bodie would not be stopped.
Indeed, on his way out of the hospital a few minutes later, Mr Bodie paused in the car park and took a second to just lean back against a hospital wall and look at the sky. The rain had stopped, a watery sunshine was trying its damnedest to get through, and Doyle had done it. He had woken the fuck up. Bodie hadn’t even gone that near his bed. He hadn’t really needed to, because Doyle looked pretty much the same asleep as he did in a coma. But there was a tube less coming in and out of him now, one of the machines had been wheeled away and two nurses had smiled at Bodie, patting his shoulder in turn. Well, all fucking right then, time to get back to Anson and Streatham before Cowley caught up with him. Only once outside and looking at that sky, he couldn’t stop the sentimental lightness that grabbed hold, causing him to close his eyes and just stand there with his hands in his pockets a moment, head tilted back against the wall.
The golly had woken up.
He shook himself, opened his eyes and caught sight of the Boots opposite the car park entrance. If anything, his smile got wider as an idea came to him. He made a mad dash through the traffic and went in. Five minutes later, purchase safely stashed on the dashboard, he was back in the Capri and lying to Anson on the R/T about a flat tyre.
******
Six hours later...
“Heya, sunshine.”
Bodie had a couple of tight little put-downs all ready for that first moment, but he couldn’t make his voice sharp enough. So he hooked the plastic chair with his foot, pulled it in close, and managed two quiet words instead.
Doyle was propped up in a kind of semi-sitting position and liquid green eyes followed his every move.
“..’odie.”
And that was enough for a moment or two. Then Bodie coughed and surprised them both by taking Doyle’s warm, slightly clammy fingers in his. Another moment passed before Bodie found the courage to look up from their hands together on the bedsheet, past the bandaged ribs, and into that steady gaze. He took a deep breath, reached into his jacket pocket with his free left hand and drew out what he’d purchased earlier. He held it up, turned it slowly so that Doyle could see it, then put it gently down on his partner’s lap.
“For you, sunshine. Well, for both of us really. Me more than you probably. And I thought I’d get it here rather than over there. Not putting any of that foreign muck on my delicate skin.”
“I...cancelled.”
“Eh?”
Doyle took another concentrated inhalation and spoke slowly. “I cancelled. Didn’t...want to get sunburnt without...with Sandra after all.”
Bodie’s smile wavered a little. “You wouldn’t have, sunshine.” He squeezed Doyle’s fingers and leant in, willing him to understand. “That’s bloody good stuff, Ray. The most expensive suntan lotion they had. For you.” He swallowed. “I wanted to make it right again. To just...well, to tell you...”
The liquid gaze was on him again, and his words were failing. He had a sudden urge to stand, to flee this room, this hand, and those eyes that were tying his tongue in knots. Christ, why could he never just say this stuff to anyone? Just get it out there, out the fucking way once and for all. Jesus, how did people do this? Have anything that went beyond—
“How d’you feel...about Bognor Regis then?”
Bodie’s head snapped up, not sure he’d heard right. Doyle’s face was impassive but the voice was definitely stronger. Bodie looked at him, in all his washed out glory, listing sideways a little on the pillows. His curls were matted and everywhere, he was trying to breathe oh so steadily just for Bodie, and most importantly of all, both corners of his mouth were trying not to twitch too hard. And all the while he was holding on, gripping Bodie’s hand tightly enough to bring the sweat and tears out in both of them.
A nurse came in to fiddle with something behind them and Bodie didn’t care. The entire surgical team could have walked in and nothing would have stopped him, because discreet, he decided, could now go and fuck itself. He let his head fall forward until his forehead touched their clasped hands and stayed there for a long breath before straightening back up.
The nurse left, and he still had Doyle’s hand in his. Clearing his throat, he played along. “Don’t know, never met him.”
“Got a mate...with a caravan.”
“’Course you have, sunshine.”
Doyle smiled and tried to say something back, but he fell instantly asleep again.
Bodie, once upright, sure that all was well, and on his third cup of tea with Sister, was left to marvel at how a caravan in Bognor Regis could sound like the exotic promise of Arabia.
******
Title: Time Will Tell
Author: Callisto
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: HUGE hugs and smooches to my two betas
izzie7 and ancastar, who tug my ear so sweetly when I need to do better. An, especially was very patient, and had some fabulous suggestions. Anything not realised properly is down to me.