discoveredinalj | Mountain

veronicaluv.livejournal.com posting in

And finally, the last part. Thanks for reading, you've all been lovely, as usual *g*.

Who Fell For God and King

"Right, now we can start the ascent from here, here, or here."

"Which one is the most difficult?"

"Bodie—"

"Doctor said I needed to get more exercise and that's why you've dragged me to the godforsaken wilds of the Lake District, right? So c'mon, let's have it, do your worst. I'll just sit here and suffer in silence."

Doyle leaned back in his chair, pinning on a look of patent disbelief at Bodie's aggrieved tone. It was hard to take him seriously with a roaring fire at their feet and two drams of fine Scottish whisky holding down the corners of their walking map. They'd just finished a hearty dinner and wandered into the Hiker's Pub to plan for the next day, Bodie's halting step more pronounced as the hours of travel began to take their toll.

Ascending Scafell Pike had been Cowley's idea, one that Doyle had initially dismissed as too hazardous. The doctors had assured them that it wasn't beyond Bodie's capabilities and as long as they were cautious, it would serve to strengthen and tone the healing muscles in his hip and thigh. It would be slow going, taking twice as long than if they'd been in their prime, but now that they were committed, Doyle was anxious for the new challenge. It also amused him that Cowley, long relegated to a wheel chair and the terror of his retirement villa, still had the ability to make them do exactly what he wanted them to do.

Looking across the table at Bodie, Ray felt his ephemeral annoyance fade away. Bodie, damn him, was ageing well, the grey at his temples only making him more handsome to Ray's affectionate gaze. His enviable bone structure was holding up well beneath the onslaught of middle age, and the blue of his eyes remained as deep and compelling as the day they'd met. And Ray had to admit, as Bodie tipped him a knowing wink, the Bodie he'd loved all these years hadn't changed at all.

Picking up his glass, Doyle took a sip of the whisky, grimacing with pleasure as he let it slide down his throat.

"Wouldn't want you to suffer," he said with a thoughtful frown. "Could always leave you behind, let you sit here by the fire with a blanket on your lap and a pot of warm milk at your side. Might even find the inn's moggy to keep you company."

Bodie's face screwed up with distaste. "You do that, Doyle, and I'll chase your scrawny arse all the way back to London."

"Then quit complaining and help me plan our hike, you lazy git."

That did it, that brought the pout to Bodie's lips even as his eyes glinted with amusement. "M'not lazy, I'm injured, you insensitive sod, and why you think that gives you the right to order me about, I'll never know."

"You gave me the right," Doyle pointed out. He held up two fingers for the barman then leaned across the table with his half-empty glass. "You gave it to me nineteen years ago this September and I'll thank you to remember it."

"Ah, the day Cowley burdened me with a green copper for a partner." Bodie lifted his own glass and touched it lightly to Doyle's. "Yeah, I remember it. I remember it all."

"You got the better end of the deal, mate. I was stuck with an arrogant SAS man who was prettier than my current bird."

"And every bird since?"

"Every one, I swear." He paused, brow furrowing. "Cept maybe Marge."

Bodie shrugged. "Reckon I can live with that."

They lifted their glasses in a brief salute and then tossed back the contents, no more than a glance needed between them to convey the weight of meaning that hid behind their nonsense. They'd used every one of those nineteen years to build and refine a world comprised of only two, a world often battered by circumstance and invaded by things they couldn't control, yet for all that had stood every test. They hadn't been easy years, especially in the beginning, when the pressures of their job had made their personal commitment nearly impossible at times, but they'd won through and been the stronger for the battle.

The barman came and cleared away their empties, setting down two full glasses in their place. As the whisky began to loosen muscles still tight from the long drive, Doyle's gaze turned to the fire. Beside him—and with charming predictability—Bodie had skewed the map his way and was already muttering over which path they'd take on their first hike. He even dozed for a bit, the warmth from both fireside and spirits lulling him into a lovely state of contentment.

He roused himself when Bodie nudged his elbow. He looked over to see the map had been folded and set aside, his second glass of whisky replaced with a third.

"Drifted off for a bit," he said with a sleepy smile.

"Could see that," Bodie replied indulgently. "Listen."

At first all Doyle could hear was the crackle of the fire and the low conversation the barman was having with another customer. Then he was able to pick it out, the unmistakeable sound of raindrops spattering against the inn's windows.

"Oh, my God," he moaned. He turned a wide-eyed gaze on Bodie, whose grin had more than a hint of mischief to it. "Do you know what that means?"

Bodie rubbed his hands together, nodding happily. "Mud. Lots and lots of mud."

"Bodie," Ray warned, "don't even think about it. For one thing, you've got a bum leg so you've no business rolling around in a mud puddle, and for another—" His voice trailed off when he saw that Bodie was laughing at him. Rolling his eyes in disgust, he picked up his glass and took a sip. "Serve you right if I did trip you into a mud puddle, you mad bastard."

"Yeah, but I'm your mad bastard. As long as you're rolling around with me, don't really care what you trip me into."

The simple statement brought an all too familiar tightness to Ray's throat. Bodie wasn't one for sentimental declarations or flowery language, preferring instead to blindside his partner with offhand remarks that meant more to Doyle than any profound testimonies of undying love.

"All right," he cleared his throat and affected a scowl, "let's see the plan for tomorrow."

"What makes you think I've got it all planned?"

Ray reached over and tapped his finger to Bodie's nose, a fleeting caress hidden in a teasing touch. "As you said, you're my mad bastard, and that means you've picked out all the spots you want to stop for either a snog or a snack."

Bodie shook his head with regret. "A snog will get us arrested, so we'll have to settle for snacks, instead."

They spent the rest of the evening going over the course Bodie had chosen, with Ray putting up token protests at various points just to keep Bodie on his toes. After receiving assurances from the innkeeper that their path would be clear, they retired to the privacy of their small suite, both comfortably mellow with not only the whisky, but with the sum of the years they'd shared together and the love that had found its beginning in a puddle of mud.