Fountain

[veronicaluv.livejournal.com]

From Which All Distances Are Measured

"Anyone seen Bodie?"

It was the fifth time Doyle had asked the question in three minutes, in a voice hoarse with fatigue and unspent tension. The man he'd asked, someone on loan from the Yard, nodded his head toward the National Gallery and then turned away, stepping over one of the three plastic-covered bodies that littered Trafalgar Square.

Doyle turned a burning, bleary-eyed gaze toward the Gallery, peering through the red-streaked gloom of pre-dawn toward the solitary figure sitting hunched at the top of the steps. One hand on his hip, he lowered his head and rubbed at his stinging eyes, weariness dragging at every bone. When he looked again, Bodie was still there, head lowered as if oblivious to the carnage that was virtually at his feet. Behind him, Doyle could hear Cowley alternately barking orders and arguing with his MI5 counterpart, both of them trying to find reasons for the disaster that had befallen their teams. Normally, Doyle would be right in there with them, but at that moment, it didn't matter. He knew that sooner or later they'd suss out the explanation—a grass gone rogue, a leak in someone's department—but right now, he had only one responsibility, and that was the condition of his partner.

Throwing back his aching shoulders like a man about to do battle, he strode across the rainswept Square, through icy droplets of fountain water that the breeze caught up and tossed like sharp-edged pebbles. Taking the steps as quickly as his bruised muscles would allow, he reached Bodie's side and sat down beside him, the concrete cold and unforgiving to his abused body. Bodie didn't move, his hands hanging between his knees, his eyes now restlessly scanning Trafalgar Square as if searching for someone he recognized. When he didn't acknowledge Ray's presence, Doyle gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

"All right, Bodie?"

Bodie's eyes flicked toward him, then went back to staring at the scene below them. Doyle didn't push—he didn't know what had upset Bodie, but he knew that patience often worked better with his partner than an out and out interrogation.

A few minutes passed, then Bodie let out a soft grunt.

"Does it hurt?"

Doyle started to lift his hands toward his neck and the circle of burns and bruises that decorated his throat, then stuffed them in the pockets of Bodie's borrowed leather jacket.

Shrugging, Doyle pretended to join Bodie in his ongoing observation of the mop up across the Square. "Yeah."

"You need to see a—"

"Forget it," Doyle growled, then softened his tone. "What are we doing up here, anyway? Cowley's going to go spare if we're not there for the post mortem—"

"Fuck Cowley."

Doyle carefully turned his head to stare at Bodie. The flat tone of Bodie's voice told him that whatever it was going on in Bodie's head, it was bad, but Ray couldn't tell if it was the debacle of this night's work or something else that had Bodie so tense.

They'd been separated for most of this operation, with Doyle working undercover and Bodie assigned to work as liaison between the various departments involved. It'd been a gruelling two weeks for Doyle, who'd had to walk a fine line playing his role—a drug-addicted dock worker with terrorist connections—while maintaining contact with his CI5 handler. Something had gone wrong the night before and Ray's cover had been blown, and for the first time in a long time, he'd feared for his life. Grabbed from his undercover apartment wearing only a ripped under shirt and jeans, he'd been trussed up with rope and tossed into the back of a lorry, his only hope that someone on his side knew what the hell had happened.

In the end, someone had, resulting in a chase through the empty London streets that had terminated at Trafalgar Square, with the lorry carrying Doyle overturning and crashing into the steps of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. He'd had no idea what was happening, trying desperately to follow the sound of gunfire as he lay as flat as he could inside the lorry. He'd barely had time to realise that the noise had stopped before there was a loud crash, followed by the sliding door of the lorry being wrenched aside by a white-faced Bodie.

The bodies scattered across the Square had told their own story. Ray had accepted the offer of Bodie's jacket after he'd been untied but shrugged off his helping hand once he'd crawled out onto the street, heartsick and angry at the loss of life. His kidnappers were both dead, as well as an MI5 man, and all the work they'd put into the last weeks was irretrievably lost.

None of which really explained the silent rage pouring off of Bodie as they sat together on the National Gallery steps, a grey, hazy dawn blotting the sky in the east. Doyle had survived worse and so had Bodie, but this was different. He'd rarely seen Bodie like this, this cold, granite-edged fury that turned his eyes to ice. He was on the verge of trying to get Bodie to move when Bodie stood up and ran down the steps, directly toward a man who'd just shown up to the scene. His muscles having stiffened up from the brief rest, Doyle had just made it back on his feet when he watched Bodie grab hold of the man's suit coat lapels and shove him against the car. Before any of the other agents or Cowley could reach him, Bodie cocked his fist and smashed it into the man's face.

That got Doyle's feet moving and he ran down the steps, his only goal to reach Bodie as quickly as possible. Shoving aside the gathering crowd, Doyle found Bodie held fast by Cowley, who was yelling at Bodie to stand down as he dragged him away from the other man, who was in turn being restrained. Doyle didn't spare his bloodied face more than a glance as he advanced on a still struggling Bodie. Placing himself squarely in Bodie's path, he waited until Bodie finally looked at him, the anger fading from his eyes to be replaced with an emptiness that scared Doyle more than the blind rage.

"Bodie! What the hell's wrong with you?" He glanced at Cowley, who nodded sharply and released his hold on Bodie's arm, though he stayed close. "Who is he?"

"Kramer there," Bodie spat, "is the reason you ended up wearing a rope necklace."

Doyle whirled to stare at the other man. "What?"

"S'not true!" Kramer yelled back. "Cowley, get your man under fuckin' control!"

Bodie lunged at Kramer and Doyle placed his hands on Bodie's chest to shove him back. "Wait, Bodie! Listen to what he has to say!"

"It was an accident," Kramer continued more calmly, "a slip of the tongue about Doyle's fake background. We didn't think they'd notice—"

"But they did, didn't they?" Bodie sneered. "Now three men are dead!"

"Bodie, that's enough!" Cowley stepped into the fray as everyone started talking at once. His sharp voice rang through the noise, stilling it instantly. Into the silence, he spoke quietly to Bodie as Ray stood by, ready to tackle his partner if that was what was required to keep him out of trouble.

"Listen to me, Bodie. We'll get to the bottom of this but right now, you've got an injured partner who should've been taken to Casualty an hour ago." Doyle started to baulk at that, but bit his lip instead as Cowley continued. "If you feel you are unable to provide that service, I'll have someone else take Doyle in."

Bodie was still staring daggers at Kramer, but Cowley played it well, going so far as to gesture toward another agent before Bodie relented. He gave Cowley a weary nod before gathering Doyle with a glance and a jerk of his head toward his car.

Half an hour later, Doyle was keying the lock to his front door, a silent Bodie behind him. Once in the car, he'd told Bodie he'd no intention of seeking medical assistance and Bodie hadn't argued, a flash of humour in his eyes telling Ray he knew that Cowley had used Doyle's minor injuries as a diversion. Then the anger returned, communicated by the sharp movements Bodie used to manoeuvre the Capri through the quiet streets to Doyle's Chelsea flat.

He'd just tossed his keys onto the counter when he felt Bodie's hands fall heavily on his shoulders. The unusual touch startled him and he froze, waiting to see what this unpredictable Bodie would do next. The gesture wasn't uncommon, any more that a friendly arm slung around his shoulders on occasion, or the infrequent and teasing pat on his bum, but this was anything but a casual touch.

Feeling the tug of fabric across his shoulders, Doyle realised that Bodie wanted him to remove his jacket. Lifting his arms, he allowed Bodie to slide the jacket away, understanding instinctively what was coming next. As the jacket flew past him to land on a nearby chair, Ray turned to face Bodie, the bright red abrasions circling his neck and wrists now in plain sight.

"See?" he said with a small smile. "No real damage."

Bodie ignored him, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the raw skin of Doyle's throat. A single finger was raised to the abused skin, ghosting over the burns but not touching. Doyle stood still through the examination, finding himself caught up in the same strange spell that seemed to hold Bodie captive. This wasn't how they ended any op, good or bad. This wasn't how they dealt with the bruises and the blood and the fear that shadowed their days and nights. To show this kind of vulnerability was a line they rarely crossed, the bending of an unspoken vow to never care so much that it broke you inside.

And right now, Bodie was nearly broken, and Doyle knew he had to fix him. Unless he found a way to take that fear and channel into something manageable, Doyle would lose him.

"Bodie," he said gently, "there's a jar in the loo, under the sink."

Bodie looked up. "What?"

"Get it for me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Bodie moved past him and Doyle closed his eyes. He was just about to step toward the cabinet that held his liquor when he felt the lightest touch at the back of his neck, well above the welts caused by the chafing rope. It was so fleeting he was almost sure he'd imagined it but for the telling creak of the floorboard as Bodie turned to walk down the hall.

Doyle swallowed and looked around, almost panicked. He wanted desperately to get them back on their normal footing, to get some kind of typical Bodie response to the situation, because the alternative meant dealing with something Doyle wasn't sure he could handle.

The truth of it was he knew exactly why Bodie was reacting this way. Helplessness, fear, anger—potent, dangerous emotions that came with the job and could be diffused in a myriad of different outlets, but this was different. This long, tragic night had broken down the last of the walls they'd pretended existed between them, the final barrier that had separated partners and friends from something much more.

That's when it clicked for Ray, when the scales of denial fell away from his eyes. Bodie had every reason to believe that Doyle had died in that lorry, and finding him alive had made him more vulnerable than ever. Had their positions been reversed, Ray would've reacted much the same, willing to strike out in anger instead of facing the truth of what his partner's death—or life—meant to him.

Hearing Bodie's heavy tread returning from the bathroom, Ray turned to face him, suppressing a fond smile at the picture Bodie presented. His tough, pragmatic partner had the jar of ointment in one hand, a wet cloth in another, and a dry towel draping his shoulder. It looked as though he'd taken the opportunity to get a grip on his emotions as he set everything aside before turning to Doyle, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Right, let's get this over with. Where d'you want to start, wrists or neck?"

"Neither." Doyle let his smile break through and held out his hand. "I've got another suggestion."

Warily, Bodie took Ray's hand, glancing at the wounds on his wrist before giving his fingers a tentative squeeze. "Yeah?"

With a deep breath and a prayer aimed toward the heavens, Doyle gave the hand in his a firm tug.

"Yeah."

Comments

[sc-fossil.livejournal.com]

I must admit I have a real love of either man coming unglued on somebody over some injury or slight or harm that comes to their partner. I could so see Bodie doing exactly that, being cold and hard because he's so relieved Doyle is still alive after knowing without a doubt that he'd find his partner dead in that lorry.

I really like Doyle's bravery in going that final step after everything lands in place:


"Right, let's get this over with. Where d'you want to start, wrists or neck?"

"Neither." Doyle let his smile break through and held out his hand. "I've got another suggestion."

Thank you, V.

[przed.livejournal.com]

Protective Bodie always does it for me, and you've done a particularly nice protective Bodie. I enjoyed seeing Doyle work out what's going on in Bodie's head, and then Doyle taking that final leap of faith. Lovely!

[greengerbil.livejournal.com]

Ohh. Just - ohh. *sighs*

That's lovely. It's all established so vividly - especially Trafalgar Square and those bloody fountains!

...droplets of fountain water that the breeze caught up and tossed like sharp-edged pebbles...

Yes! That's exactly what they're like - it's horrible, crossing the Square in any kind of breeze.

And then, Doyle slowly realising what's up with Bodie, and poor Bodie, so clamped-down and self-controlled because of his reaction to Doyle's near-death - maybe even a little frightened of the strength of his reaction?

And then Doyle, brave enough to take that final step - beautifully done!

Thank you!

[erushi.livejournal.com]

This hit a few of my secret soft spots - protective Bodie, either of the lads becoming unglued because the other had nearly died or something to the equivalent. Bodie being all upset literally made me hold my breath, Doyle's gradual realisation of how Bodie must have been feeling was lovely, and the ending, where Doyle takes the final leap is full of promise and simply wonderful.

Thanks for the lovely read!

[byslantedlight.livejournal.com]

Ooh... I've got another idea... *g* I like Doyle's leap alot too - and always one of them upset that the other is injured... *sighs happily* Thank you!

[msmoat.livejournal.com]

Oh, I do love partner worry--and partner worry angst! *g* That image of Bodie sitting on the steps...especially after we know how he wrenched the door open, white-faced. Yes, very nice. Thank you!

[snailbones.livejournal.com]

Oh yeah! ::joins in with the happy sighs::

Protective and angry Bodie is up there on my list of the best things in life, and you've done it beautifully. Thank you!

[gilda-elise.livejournal.com]

Wow, that's really brave of Doyle, though it's perfectly obvious what Bodie feels. I love how it all just falls into place and Doyle's willingness to take that final step.

[heliophile-oxon.livejournal.com]

Very convincing detailed scene-setting in Trafalgar Square, and extremely believable implacable Bodie fury at the incompetence that put Doyle in danger and got three other people killed. I particularly like Cowley's method for defusing the situation without having to reprimand him!

And of course I love Doyle taking the leap ... thank you!

[callistosh65.livejournal.com]

The partner worry and angst is so beautifully done here. I especially love that moment when Bodie inspects Doyle's injuries more closely with is finger, "ghosting over the burns but not touching." Gorgeous writing, my dear.

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Really nice done. Bodie's worry leading to the flash of action where he punches Kramer and then Ray's figuring out and making the next more.

Thank you! :D

[veronicaluv.livejournal.com]

LOL, thank you! That's what I remember about Trafalgar - I was there on a cold spring day and yes, it was beautiful, but brrr!

I'm glad you enjoyed this (and your icon is delicious!), so thanks again and I want you to know that I really appreciate your comments!

take care - V

Very late but catching up

[saintvic.livejournal.com]

Bodie's worry here feels very real and I like how Doyle works out how to deal with him and manages to take that step to bring them together.