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discoveredinaljWhew! Just making it on time, by lads' time! I do hope you all enjoy this pressie!
A Pub at Christmas
By PFL
Mind you, once you start wondering why, I suppose that's the time to get out.
- Bodie “Discovered in a Graveyard”
Throwing the first punch was the most fun Bodie had had in over three years. The second punch was just as satisfying, and the villain knocked over the tatty Christmas tree as he fell. But the fight was soon over; it had been uneven from the start. Bodie shook his head as he looked at the two men on the floor, then glanced at Mrs Allen. “Sorry about the mess.”
“It’s understandable, Mr Doyle.” Her voice was calm, but she was staring at him, her hand against her chest.
“I just…erm….” He scrunched his face.
“Surprised us all.” There was a twinkle, now, in her faded blue eyes. “Brilliantly.” When she smiled, she reminded him of his gran. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You should call the police.”
“Yes.” She reached for the phone. “For all the good it will do.”
Thirty minutes later, Bodie had to agree with his landlady’s assessment. The police had arrived, but young Constable Jeffers seemed far more interested in Bodie than in the two men who had threatened Mrs Allen.
“I’ll take them down to the station to sleep it off,” Jeffers said, after escorting the two yobs to his car.
“They weren’t drunk.” Bodie folded his arms.
Jeffers smiled. “This is a pub, is it not?”
“You know perfectly well why they were here, Phil Jeffers.” Mrs Allen’s expression was fierce. “You know who they work for!”
“Do you have any proof of that? No? Then I will take them in as drunk and disorderly.” Jeffers turned to Bodie. “And you, sir? Rather ready with your fists, aren’t you? I’ll need your name for my report.”
Opening his mouth to reply, Bodie suddenly hesitated, Doyle’s name stuck in his throat.
“He’s a good Samaritan, that’s what he is. Now run along with you, since you’re not going to do anything useful.”
“I need it for my report.” Jeffers’ tone was dogged.
“Bodie.” It was odd to say it. “William Andrew Philip Bodie.” He felt something like an echo of the exhilaration from the fight. Let them come, if they would.
Mrs Allen looked at him quickly, but didn’t say anything. She righted the small tree by the bar, and reached for a fallen ornament.
“And where did you learn—?”
“Army.”
Jeffers’ eyes narrowed. “What business brings you here?”
“My business is my own, unless you’re charging me with something. Are you?”
Jeffers closed his note book. “Not at this time.”
Mrs Allen looked Jeffers in the eye. “What will it take for you to stop Sam Mills from harassing me?”
“You’ve no proof—“
Mrs Allen turned away.
Jeffers let out an explosive breath. “Why don’t you just sell up and be done with it? You don’t want to stay here! This is just—“
“Impeding progress?” Mrs Allen rounded on Jeffers. “Keeping Witchingham as we know it? Trapping you in a dead-end—“
“Yes!” Jeffers looked away, and his voice lowered in volume. “Dammit.”
“It’s my home, Phil. At least for now.” For the first time, in Bodie’s eyes, Mrs Allen looked the age he knew her to be.
Jeffers looked as if he wanted to say more, but he just nodded, and left the pub.
“His family used to come here for their celebrations. HIs older brother worked for us for a bit, until he moved into the city. Years ago, that was. When my Charlie was still alive.” She looked around the pub, then shook her head and took in a deep breath. “Well! It must be opening time by now, and we’ll have a crowd in here asking about the police car. Lucy’s late again, I see.” She turned to Bodie. “And what do I tell her your name is, then?”
“Bodie.”
“Just Bodie?”
“Yes, I’m—" He broke off, then sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Her eyes never left his. “Is Phil going to find something? Are you wanted by the police?”
“No.” He turned away, his stomach tight. “I’m not.”
Go on, then, go! Doyle had said to him. Bodie hadn’t been in his plans. It had been Christmas then, too.
*****
Bodie lay in his bed, arm under his head, gaze on the ceiling of his room. The pub was busier than usual, but he felt no desire to join in the pre-Christmas merriment. It was bad enough that the music fluctuated in volume, subjecting him on occasion to Slade or Wizzard or that bloody Last Christmas song. He wanted a drink, but he was becoming known in the pub—even more so now, after he’d stupidly interfered.
You know your trouble, don't you? Underneath that hard shell, you're just a...great big softie.
“Dammit, Ray. Stay out of my bloody head.” He rolled over onto his side, buried his head in the crook of his arm. A great big softie. That was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the whole fucking problem. He was useless to CI5. Useless to—
He should have minded his own business. What did it matter, in the end? The bullies who’d tried to intimidate Mrs Allen would be back—or others like them. He’d been in the village long enough to know there was a battle of wills raging over development. More and more commuters to Norwich were living in the village. Plans and deals were being made to build new houses, flats, services. There was talk of shifting the centre of the village and building a new town hall. Mrs Allen’s pub, and the houses and people around her stood in the way. Even if she held out, it was still a losing battle. You couldn’t stop change. Everything came to an end. Everything.
He pushed himself off the bed, put on his shoes and jacket, and went downstairs to the pub.
Lucy was at the bar. She smiled at him with real warmth, for once. “The usual?”
Bodie shook his head. “Beer.”
She pulled the beer and placed it before him. “On the house.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She shrugged. “Neither was what you did.”
He picked up his glass. “Ta.” He saw the questions in her eyes, maybe even a lingering astonishment. He turned his head. There were other covert glances from the locals, and a smile here and there. It was all because he’d knocked a couple of yobs’ heads together. But it hadn’t been a real fight. It wouldn’t leave him with nightmares.
“What do you reckon, Sarah? Is it over, now?” It was one of the locals—a white-bearded man who often presided at a corner table away from the draughts.
“Ah, Pete, I don’t know.” Mrs Allen smiled as she placed a plate of egg and chips on the table in front of him. “Mills is determined, isn’t he? Or that company from London. But everything is fine tonight, so there you go. Tuck in, now.”
“What will you do?”
“Carry on. What else can I do, eh?” She smiled at Bodie as she passed him, heading back to the kitchen.
Keep calm, carry on. Stand up to the bully. Go down fighting. Till death do us join. Bodie abandoned his beer, and walked outside into the dark. A cool, heavy mist enveloped him. He welcomed the anonymity. His breath quickened as he walked, but it wasn’t from the exertion. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to England. He shouldn’t have.
He stopped when the road ran out into a field. He could turn left or right, but he couldn’t carry on. It had felt good to fight. His body remembered the moves; it relished the activity, the sure competence. The people in the pub hadn’t expected it of him—they hadn’t a clue who he really was. They didn’t know who he had once been. Bodie. CI5. He stared into the dark, but he saw. In his mind he saw flashes of gunfire, a security-lit warehouse, and Doyle falling.
Christ. He closed his eyes, but the images remained, as clear as ever. Fear took his breath away, just as it always did. Why? He had put it behind him. It was over, dammit. But his body remembered his last true fight. He turned to his left, took a few steps, then stopped. He’d fled before. He’d gone to France, to Amsterdam, to the States. He’d given up his gun.
Go on, then, go!
Mrs Allen, Lucy—they hadn’t known who he was. How could they, when he didn’t know himself? Who was he, if not a soldier?
To detect, deter and prevent, and or take suitable action and or actions against those transgressors against the law outside the norm of criminal activity. To contain and render ineffective such by whatever means necessary.
Cowley’s voice, reciting his brief like a mantra—words Bodie had lived by. Until, with Doyle’s blood on his hands, he’d asked why.
Carry on.
He hadn’t been able to. He had lacked Mrs Allen’s courage. And she— If those yobs came back—and he was certain they would—would he be able to protect her? If they came with reinforcements? If they set fire to the pub? He was on his own.
To detect, deter and prevent, and or take suitable action…
He could swallow his bloody pride. Bodie took in a deep, cleansing breath. It hadn’t just been the fight that had felt good, had it? There had been the shared smiles, shared trust; there had been the joy of interfering with a bully. Something tight seemed to loosen in his chest. He turned round. On your bike, lad. Call for help. Interfere to the best of your ability.
*****
Bodie was prodding the logs in the fireplace when he heard the outside door open. He’d heard no cars in the car park, but then he wouldn’t, would he? He straightened, then moved into the shadow along one wall. He held the poker in one hand. The pub was quiet, devoid of all but him and whoever was at the door. He heard footsteps along the entry hall, then nothing.
“Only me.” It was Doyle’s voice at the doorway.
Bodie let out his breath, even as his heart leapt into his throat. He was thankful for the shadow that hid his expression as Doyle walked into the room. “About time you got here.” In truth, Doyle had made excellent time.
Doyle looked around the room as he strolled towards the fire. His jacket was unzipped, providing easy access to his handgun. “Everyone gone, then?" He turned back towards Bodie, his profile highlighted by the fire.
Bodie drew in his breath, hit by a desire he’d never forgotten. He managed to nod, and moved forward to put the poker in its stand. “Unexpected power cut. Had to close.”
“Ah. Well played.”
“Where are the lads?”
“They’ll be here soon.” Doyle took out an R/T and waggled it at Bodie.
“The local coppers are suspect—“
“Yeah, so Cowley said. We’re on a secure channel through Norwich.” On cue, the R/T squawked. Doyle pressed the button. “Yeah?”
“Peters, sir. Where should we—?"
“Park the car a few streets over and hoof it in. Cameron and Thomas at the back, you at the front. And for God’s sake, stay out of sight. Four-five out.”
“New men?”
Doyle looked at him. “Since your time, yeah.” Bodie’s stomach tightened. “You’ll find a lot has changed.”
“Good of you to come, then,” Bodie knew he sounded stiff.
Doyle turned away. “This Sam Mills of yours is working for a company in London that Cowley has his eye on.”
“So, it’s a piece of a bigger pie.”
“You could say that.”
Bodie nodded. “And you’re not going to tell me any more, are you?”
Doyle’s gaze was on the fire by his feet. “You’re not in CI5.” His voice was mild.
“No, I’m not in your bloody club.“ Quite suddenly he was angry, flaring up like a flame on dry tinder. “I’ve been out here on my own for three—
“Fucking years! And whose fault was that?“ Doyle was glaring at him now, and that, perhaps oddly, calmed Bodie.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, yes you did, sunshine.”
Bodie met Doyle’s gaze. He was in control again, and knew how to deflect Doyle. “Did I?” He held Doyle’s gaze.
After a moment, Doyle looked away, closing his eyes briefly. “Bodie….”
He didn’t want to hear it. “Look, we’re on a job, right?” He waited until Doyle looked at him. “Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
Bodie filled two glasses with beer from the tap. He brought them to Doyle, who had pulled two comfortable chairs nearer the fire. Bodie noted the lines of sight from the chairs with approval. Trust Doyle. That thought left him quiet as he handed a glass to Doyle.
“Ta.” Doyle settled back in a wingback chair.
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“Perks of command, as Cowley used to say.”
“And do.” Bodie sat in the other chair. “So, you get to sit in the nice, warm pub—“
“While they’re out in the cold, yeah.” Doyle raised his glass. “Cheers.”
Bodie drank some of his beer, then stared at the glass. “You’re in command now.”
“Operational.” Doyle’s head was against the back of his chair. “Cowley doesn’t go out in the field very often any more.”
“How is he?”
“Older.”
Bodie grimaced. “Aren’t we all?”
“Dunno, you handled those two villains, apparently.”
“Amateurs.”
Doyle glanced around. “You nobbled this place.”
“Turned off the electricity, you mean.”
“Got involved.” Bodie kept his eyes lowered. After a moment of silence, Doyle added: “Told them who you were.”
“Was.”
“Are.”
“I’m not coming back to CI5, Doyle.”
“I know. That’s not what defines you.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He spilt beer as he stood up. He set the glass down. “What’s this in aid of?”
Doyle stood as well. “I know you.”
Bodie turned on him. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know—“
“I know you’ve been running for three years! How’s that gone, then?”
“Sod you—you told me to go!”
“What, in that fight we had? Bloody hell, Bodie, you’d been biting my head off for a week!”
“Two days!”
“Well, it felt like a week!”
Bodie tried to keep from grinning, but he couldn’t. “Damn you, Ray.”
“You took that as your excuse, but I know—“
All the humour fled from Bodie, and fear filled the void. “You know why I left. You know.”
“You said you’d stick it. That it wouldn’t affect the partnership.”
Bodie turned away, towards the fire. “Yeah, well. I was wrong, all right?”
“So you waited till I was on my feet again, then needled me until I broke and you had an excuse, is that it?”
“I’d’ve stayed if—“ Bodie flung his arm out.
“What? We’d come out to Cowley?”
“That wasn’t going to happen. Was it?”
Doyle opened his mouth to respond, but the R/T went off. Scowling, Doyle pressed the button on the R/T. “Yeah, what?”
“Cameron, sir.” The voice at the other end was all business. “A blue van drove past twice. They’ve gone now, but they seemed to be looking the place over.”
“Right. Keep your eyes peeled. Peters?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Anything?”
“Not so much as a cat, sir. Probably because a cat has enough sense not to be out in this bloody cold—“
“Where’s your thermos?”
There was a pause. “Back at HQ.”
“Hope you brought your woollies, then. Doyle out.”
“You sound remarkably like Cowley,” Bodie said.
Doyle smiled. “Now we know how completely satisfying he found it, too.”
Bodie glanced toward the front of the pub. “They might not come tonight.”
“Cowley’s done some nudging.” Doyle sat down again and reached for his beer.
“Even so.” Bodie sat as well, feeling the tension ease. The job always had rescued them.
Doyle was looking at him, his head tilted. “Then we’ll stay.”
Bodie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, till the next crisis—which seems to be just about every day at the moment.”
Doyle smiled. “You’re well-informed.”
Bodie shrugged, looked down. He hadn’t meant to reveal that.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll stay.”
Bodie looked at him.
“I told you a lot has changed.” Doyle set his beer down.
“Ray—“ He watched as Doyle stood up, walked over to him. He only closed his eyes when Doyle kissed him. His heart was beating faster than it had in a firefight. He thought it would burst, as memories flooded his brain—sight, sound, smell, all triggered by the press of Doyle’s mouth to his. God, he had craved this! Hungered for it during three years of exile.
Doyle pulled back a few inches. “Some things don’t change. Oh, Christ, Bodie—“
Bodie moaned as he caught Doyle’s mouth with his, stopping his words. He reached for Doyle’s warmth and strength, needing them, needing him. His hand brushed against Doyle’s holstered gun. He gasped, and pushed Doyle away. Fuck, what was he doing? He couldn’t, couldn’t—
He stood up. “You made it plain before. There’s no future—“
“I was wrong. So, bloody stupid.” Doyle was wide-eyed, all his attention focused on Bodie. And Bodie wanted nothing more than to kiss him, take him, never leave—
“No.” He heard the pain in his own voice, and it froze Doyle as he started to take a step forward. Bodie cleared his throat. “You’ve got a career. You—“
“I don’t care—“
“You’ve always cared! You’re a copper through and through, Doyle. This is the life—“
“There are other ways I can serve. You’re—“
“I’m a soldier. Pure and simple. And there’s nothing more useless than an old—“
Doyle moved forward, his eyes narrowed. “I told you, that’s not what defines you. You were a soldier, for a time. But young or old, you’ve always been a…protector, if you like. Look at you! You couldn’t stand to see this pub owner being harassed, so you intervened.“
“Anyone would have—“
“No.” Doyle shook his head. “It’s in your bones. Bloody hell, Bodie, do you think I don’t know? You protected me for—“
“I didn’t bloody well protect you!” His throat closed too late to stop the words, stop the truth he’d held inside for too long.
Doyle blinked. “You did.” And then understanding flashed across his face.
Bodie closed his own eyes He felt Doyle’s hands on his arms, gripping him.
“All right. Tell me.” Doyle’s voice was low.
He opened his eyes and, finally, fully, looked into Doyle’s eyes. “At the warehouse. Our last case—“
Doyle’s fingers tightened on Bodie’s arms. “Yeah. You saved me.”
“I didn’t have a clear line of sight. My body was slower than my mouth when I told you to go. If you hadn’t stumbled—“ He broke off, seeing all too clearly what would have happened.
“Breiner would have got me. But—“
“If I hadn’t missed, I would have killed you.”
Doyle went still.
“It was my bullet that grazed you—not Breiner’s. I found his. The angle—“ He stopped speaking, the words choked him.
Doyle spoke slowly. “You didn’t tell Cowley.”
Bodie shook his head.
“Christ.” Doyle let go of Bodie’s arms. He moved away.
Bodie put a hand where one of Doyle’s had been. He felt empty, yet relieved as well. It was out. Maybe he could get on with his life. Doyle would stick through the mission. Mrs Allen would be free to make her own mind up about the pub. And— He looked at Doyle, and found it still hurt too much to think about the future.
They’d had such a short time—a scant two years between Mayli Kuolo’s bullet and his own. Two years between his nightmares. Shorter than that, really, if he dated it to when he’d stopped thinking about a future. He wanted Doyle; he supposed he always would. But a soldier took responsibility—
“I said you weren’t a soldier.” Doyle turned round.
Bodie frowned. “Wha—?’
“No excuses—isn’t that the soldier’s way? But you didn’t report it to Cowley.”
“I— I couldn’t lose you.” He would have been stood down at the least. Most likely he would have been off the squad after an assessment. “I stayed too long.”
Doyle nodded slowly, his eyes distant. “That night, months before—you talked about getting out of CI5.”
He remembered it very well. “Yeah.”
“But you’d just passed—“
“It was like Jack Craine always said—it happened suddenly.” He looked down. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I’d slammed that door shut,” Doyle whispered, still not looking at Bodie.
Bodie sighed. “I should have seen it. I should have left the squad. You’re a copper, Doyle. You like things planned out. I didn’t fit.”
“I’m not.” Doyle held unnaturally still for a moment, then he turned to Bodie. “We’re not. I’ve barely held on these three years. Without you, I—“ The R/T went off. Doyle froze, then looked down. “Dammit!”
Bodie grinned. “You’re still on the payroll, sunshine.” His voice sounded normal, but he felt a glimmer of something like euphoria inside him. He’d heard Doyle. He understood him—like he always had on the street.
Doyle shot him a look, and then his face softened as Bodie met his eyes. He pulled out the R/T. “Four-five.”
It was Peters’ voice. “They’re here, sir. Heading for the back. Four men.”
“Roger. Intercept them.” He pressed the button, his eyes still on Bodie.
Bodie nodded. “Right. Let’s go—“
“No.” Doyle put a hand on Bodie’s arm.
“I can handle—“
“Of course you can. But we’re going to stay here in this nice warm pub and let them handle it.”
He looked at Doyle, saw the challenge in his eyes. “Like Joe Public?’
“Like Cowley—at least for now.”
Bodie smiled slowly. He leaned forward and kissed Doyle. “Not quite like Cowley,” he murmured.
Doyle cleared his throat. “Well, thank God for that.”
Bodie picked up Doyle’s beer glass. “Here. And keep the channel open.”
Doyle nodded, put the R/T on the table between their chairs, and settled back with his beer.
Bodie took the other chair. It was easy to picture the op as it unfolded over the R/T. They heard the rustle as the men moved into position, then a waiting silence. Bodie felt the tension within his own muscles, and knew Doyle felt it, too. He reached across the table, and Doyle’s hand met his. They stayed that way through the sound of sudden movement, shouting, and one gunshot that echoed between R/T and the back of the pub. He sat in the fire-lit warmth of the pub, with Christmas decorations that promised magic, if you just believed. He held Doyle’s hand in his, and the tension fled away.
“Eight-six to Four-five.”
Doyle released Bodie’s hand and picked up the R/T. “Four-five.”
“Got ‘em, sir. Along with enough fuel, matches and accelerant to burn this place and several others.”
“Right.” Doyle smiled at Bodie.
“And, sir, Mills is with them.”
Doyle’s eyebrows went up. “Is he, now? Mr Cowley would like a word with him. Escort the others to Norwich. Take Mills to London.”
“Yes, sir.” There seemed to be a bit of doubt in Peters’ voice.
“You can use my car, if it’s a bit crowded.” Doyle’s eyes met Bodie’s.
“But….”
Bodie leaned forward and spoke into the mike. “Give Mr Cowley Three-seven’s compliments, and tell him Four-five will not be returning to duty.”
“But….”
“Four-five out.” Doyle pressed the button, and then he switched off the R/T. He looked at Bodie. “When’s your pub owner expected back?”
“Mrs Allen. In the morning. When the electricity is astonishingly mended.”
“Good. That gives us tonight.”
“To make plans? Find something for me to protect and you—“
“You’ve already got something to protect—lifelong job, that is. And it’s mutual. Right now, though, I’ve got a wrong to right.” Bodie felt Doyle tug on his arm. “Is your room this way?”
“Yeah. That’s mutual, too. Ray—“ Bodie stopped him, and put a hand on Doyle’s face. “You were coming to find me even before I called Cowley, weren’t you?”
He felt as well as saw Doyle smile. “Yeah, but I only beat the call by about half an hour.” He nudged Bodie’s hand. “Reckoned if you were using your own name again, maybe you’d be ready to talk. Ready to listen, too.”
“I rather liked using yours.”
“We’re going to talk about that.”
“Kept tabs on me, did you?”
“Like you did me. Bit of a challenge when you went off the old aliases, I admit.”
“Yeah.” He had come damn close to never coming home at all. “I mucked it up, Ray.”
“We mucked it up. Always were Cowley’s best team.”
“Overachievers.” He kissed Doyle, felt the response in Doyle’s body. His heart soared but he broke away, and held up a hand. “Wait. One thing. Stay here.”
“Bodie!”
“Just one moment,” he called over his shoulder. He went to the fuse box, flipped the switches to repair the few lines he’d nobbled for the sake of authenticity. When he returned to the bar, he found Doyle had emptied the glasses and banked the fire.
“Oh, back already, are you?” Doyle sounded testy.
Bodie grinned, kissed Doyle quickly, then plugged in the Christmas tree. White light gleamed on tinsel and evergreen, demonstrating the fact that all Christmas trees were beautiful under the right circumstances.
“Celebrating early?” Doyle’s arm slid around Bodie.
“Celebrating late. Three years late.” He felt Doyle’s arm tighten around him. Bodie turned and whispered in his ear: “Happy Christmas, Ray. At bloody last.”
END
December 2010
Title: A Pub at Christmas
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes, but I will send file later!
A Pub at Christmas
By PFL
Mind you, once you start wondering why, I suppose that's the time to get out.
- Bodie “Discovered in a Graveyard”
Throwing the first punch was the most fun Bodie had had in over three years. The second punch was just as satisfying, and the villain knocked over the tatty Christmas tree as he fell. But the fight was soon over; it had been uneven from the start. Bodie shook his head as he looked at the two men on the floor, then glanced at Mrs Allen. “Sorry about the mess.”
“It’s understandable, Mr Doyle.” Her voice was calm, but she was staring at him, her hand against her chest.
“I just…erm….” He scrunched his face.
“Surprised us all.” There was a twinkle, now, in her faded blue eyes. “Brilliantly.” When she smiled, she reminded him of his gran. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You should call the police.”
“Yes.” She reached for the phone. “For all the good it will do.”
Thirty minutes later, Bodie had to agree with his landlady’s assessment. The police had arrived, but young Constable Jeffers seemed far more interested in Bodie than in the two men who had threatened Mrs Allen.
“I’ll take them down to the station to sleep it off,” Jeffers said, after escorting the two yobs to his car.
“They weren’t drunk.” Bodie folded his arms.
Jeffers smiled. “This is a pub, is it not?”
“You know perfectly well why they were here, Phil Jeffers.” Mrs Allen’s expression was fierce. “You know who they work for!”
“Do you have any proof of that? No? Then I will take them in as drunk and disorderly.” Jeffers turned to Bodie. “And you, sir? Rather ready with your fists, aren’t you? I’ll need your name for my report.”
Opening his mouth to reply, Bodie suddenly hesitated, Doyle’s name stuck in his throat.
“He’s a good Samaritan, that’s what he is. Now run along with you, since you’re not going to do anything useful.”
“I need it for my report.” Jeffers’ tone was dogged.
“Bodie.” It was odd to say it. “William Andrew Philip Bodie.” He felt something like an echo of the exhilaration from the fight. Let them come, if they would.
Mrs Allen looked at him quickly, but didn’t say anything. She righted the small tree by the bar, and reached for a fallen ornament.
“And where did you learn—?”
“Army.”
Jeffers’ eyes narrowed. “What business brings you here?”
“My business is my own, unless you’re charging me with something. Are you?”
Jeffers closed his note book. “Not at this time.”
Mrs Allen looked Jeffers in the eye. “What will it take for you to stop Sam Mills from harassing me?”
“You’ve no proof—“
Mrs Allen turned away.
Jeffers let out an explosive breath. “Why don’t you just sell up and be done with it? You don’t want to stay here! This is just—“
“Impeding progress?” Mrs Allen rounded on Jeffers. “Keeping Witchingham as we know it? Trapping you in a dead-end—“
“Yes!” Jeffers looked away, and his voice lowered in volume. “Dammit.”
“It’s my home, Phil. At least for now.” For the first time, in Bodie’s eyes, Mrs Allen looked the age he knew her to be.
Jeffers looked as if he wanted to say more, but he just nodded, and left the pub.
“His family used to come here for their celebrations. HIs older brother worked for us for a bit, until he moved into the city. Years ago, that was. When my Charlie was still alive.” She looked around the pub, then shook her head and took in a deep breath. “Well! It must be opening time by now, and we’ll have a crowd in here asking about the police car. Lucy’s late again, I see.” She turned to Bodie. “And what do I tell her your name is, then?”
“Bodie.”
“Just Bodie?”
“Yes, I’m—" He broke off, then sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Her eyes never left his. “Is Phil going to find something? Are you wanted by the police?”
“No.” He turned away, his stomach tight. “I’m not.”
Go on, then, go! Doyle had said to him. Bodie hadn’t been in his plans. It had been Christmas then, too.
*****
Bodie lay in his bed, arm under his head, gaze on the ceiling of his room. The pub was busier than usual, but he felt no desire to join in the pre-Christmas merriment. It was bad enough that the music fluctuated in volume, subjecting him on occasion to Slade or Wizzard or that bloody Last Christmas song. He wanted a drink, but he was becoming known in the pub—even more so now, after he’d stupidly interfered.
You know your trouble, don't you? Underneath that hard shell, you're just a...great big softie.
“Dammit, Ray. Stay out of my bloody head.” He rolled over onto his side, buried his head in the crook of his arm. A great big softie. That was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the whole fucking problem. He was useless to CI5. Useless to—
He should have minded his own business. What did it matter, in the end? The bullies who’d tried to intimidate Mrs Allen would be back—or others like them. He’d been in the village long enough to know there was a battle of wills raging over development. More and more commuters to Norwich were living in the village. Plans and deals were being made to build new houses, flats, services. There was talk of shifting the centre of the village and building a new town hall. Mrs Allen’s pub, and the houses and people around her stood in the way. Even if she held out, it was still a losing battle. You couldn’t stop change. Everything came to an end. Everything.
He pushed himself off the bed, put on his shoes and jacket, and went downstairs to the pub.
Lucy was at the bar. She smiled at him with real warmth, for once. “The usual?”
Bodie shook his head. “Beer.”
She pulled the beer and placed it before him. “On the house.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She shrugged. “Neither was what you did.”
He picked up his glass. “Ta.” He saw the questions in her eyes, maybe even a lingering astonishment. He turned his head. There were other covert glances from the locals, and a smile here and there. It was all because he’d knocked a couple of yobs’ heads together. But it hadn’t been a real fight. It wouldn’t leave him with nightmares.
“What do you reckon, Sarah? Is it over, now?” It was one of the locals—a white-bearded man who often presided at a corner table away from the draughts.
“Ah, Pete, I don’t know.” Mrs Allen smiled as she placed a plate of egg and chips on the table in front of him. “Mills is determined, isn’t he? Or that company from London. But everything is fine tonight, so there you go. Tuck in, now.”
“What will you do?”
“Carry on. What else can I do, eh?” She smiled at Bodie as she passed him, heading back to the kitchen.
Keep calm, carry on. Stand up to the bully. Go down fighting. Till death do us join. Bodie abandoned his beer, and walked outside into the dark. A cool, heavy mist enveloped him. He welcomed the anonymity. His breath quickened as he walked, but it wasn’t from the exertion. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to England. He shouldn’t have.
He stopped when the road ran out into a field. He could turn left or right, but he couldn’t carry on. It had felt good to fight. His body remembered the moves; it relished the activity, the sure competence. The people in the pub hadn’t expected it of him—they hadn’t a clue who he really was. They didn’t know who he had once been. Bodie. CI5. He stared into the dark, but he saw. In his mind he saw flashes of gunfire, a security-lit warehouse, and Doyle falling.
Christ. He closed his eyes, but the images remained, as clear as ever. Fear took his breath away, just as it always did. Why? He had put it behind him. It was over, dammit. But his body remembered his last true fight. He turned to his left, took a few steps, then stopped. He’d fled before. He’d gone to France, to Amsterdam, to the States. He’d given up his gun.
Go on, then, go!
Mrs Allen, Lucy—they hadn’t known who he was. How could they, when he didn’t know himself? Who was he, if not a soldier?
To detect, deter and prevent, and or take suitable action and or actions against those transgressors against the law outside the norm of criminal activity. To contain and render ineffective such by whatever means necessary.
Cowley’s voice, reciting his brief like a mantra—words Bodie had lived by. Until, with Doyle’s blood on his hands, he’d asked why.
Carry on.
He hadn’t been able to. He had lacked Mrs Allen’s courage. And she— If those yobs came back—and he was certain they would—would he be able to protect her? If they came with reinforcements? If they set fire to the pub? He was on his own.
To detect, deter and prevent, and or take suitable action…
He could swallow his bloody pride. Bodie took in a deep, cleansing breath. It hadn’t just been the fight that had felt good, had it? There had been the shared smiles, shared trust; there had been the joy of interfering with a bully. Something tight seemed to loosen in his chest. He turned round. On your bike, lad. Call for help. Interfere to the best of your ability.
*****
Bodie was prodding the logs in the fireplace when he heard the outside door open. He’d heard no cars in the car park, but then he wouldn’t, would he? He straightened, then moved into the shadow along one wall. He held the poker in one hand. The pub was quiet, devoid of all but him and whoever was at the door. He heard footsteps along the entry hall, then nothing.
“Only me.” It was Doyle’s voice at the doorway.
Bodie let out his breath, even as his heart leapt into his throat. He was thankful for the shadow that hid his expression as Doyle walked into the room. “About time you got here.” In truth, Doyle had made excellent time.
Doyle looked around the room as he strolled towards the fire. His jacket was unzipped, providing easy access to his handgun. “Everyone gone, then?" He turned back towards Bodie, his profile highlighted by the fire.
Bodie drew in his breath, hit by a desire he’d never forgotten. He managed to nod, and moved forward to put the poker in its stand. “Unexpected power cut. Had to close.”
“Ah. Well played.”
“Where are the lads?”
“They’ll be here soon.” Doyle took out an R/T and waggled it at Bodie.
“The local coppers are suspect—“
“Yeah, so Cowley said. We’re on a secure channel through Norwich.” On cue, the R/T squawked. Doyle pressed the button. “Yeah?”
“Peters, sir. Where should we—?"
“Park the car a few streets over and hoof it in. Cameron and Thomas at the back, you at the front. And for God’s sake, stay out of sight. Four-five out.”
“New men?”
Doyle looked at him. “Since your time, yeah.” Bodie’s stomach tightened. “You’ll find a lot has changed.”
“Good of you to come, then,” Bodie knew he sounded stiff.
Doyle turned away. “This Sam Mills of yours is working for a company in London that Cowley has his eye on.”
“So, it’s a piece of a bigger pie.”
“You could say that.”
Bodie nodded. “And you’re not going to tell me any more, are you?”
Doyle’s gaze was on the fire by his feet. “You’re not in CI5.” His voice was mild.
“No, I’m not in your bloody club.“ Quite suddenly he was angry, flaring up like a flame on dry tinder. “I’ve been out here on my own for three—
“Fucking years! And whose fault was that?“ Doyle was glaring at him now, and that, perhaps oddly, calmed Bodie.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, yes you did, sunshine.”
Bodie met Doyle’s gaze. He was in control again, and knew how to deflect Doyle. “Did I?” He held Doyle’s gaze.
After a moment, Doyle looked away, closing his eyes briefly. “Bodie….”
He didn’t want to hear it. “Look, we’re on a job, right?” He waited until Doyle looked at him. “Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
Bodie filled two glasses with beer from the tap. He brought them to Doyle, who had pulled two comfortable chairs nearer the fire. Bodie noted the lines of sight from the chairs with approval. Trust Doyle. That thought left him quiet as he handed a glass to Doyle.
“Ta.” Doyle settled back in a wingback chair.
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“Perks of command, as Cowley used to say.”
“And do.” Bodie sat in the other chair. “So, you get to sit in the nice, warm pub—“
“While they’re out in the cold, yeah.” Doyle raised his glass. “Cheers.”
Bodie drank some of his beer, then stared at the glass. “You’re in command now.”
“Operational.” Doyle’s head was against the back of his chair. “Cowley doesn’t go out in the field very often any more.”
“How is he?”
“Older.”
Bodie grimaced. “Aren’t we all?”
“Dunno, you handled those two villains, apparently.”
“Amateurs.”
Doyle glanced around. “You nobbled this place.”
“Turned off the electricity, you mean.”
“Got involved.” Bodie kept his eyes lowered. After a moment of silence, Doyle added: “Told them who you were.”
“Was.”
“Are.”
“I’m not coming back to CI5, Doyle.”
“I know. That’s not what defines you.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He spilt beer as he stood up. He set the glass down. “What’s this in aid of?”
Doyle stood as well. “I know you.”
Bodie turned on him. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know—“
“I know you’ve been running for three years! How’s that gone, then?”
“Sod you—you told me to go!”
“What, in that fight we had? Bloody hell, Bodie, you’d been biting my head off for a week!”
“Two days!”
“Well, it felt like a week!”
Bodie tried to keep from grinning, but he couldn’t. “Damn you, Ray.”
“You took that as your excuse, but I know—“
All the humour fled from Bodie, and fear filled the void. “You know why I left. You know.”
“You said you’d stick it. That it wouldn’t affect the partnership.”
Bodie turned away, towards the fire. “Yeah, well. I was wrong, all right?”
“So you waited till I was on my feet again, then needled me until I broke and you had an excuse, is that it?”
“I’d’ve stayed if—“ Bodie flung his arm out.
“What? We’d come out to Cowley?”
“That wasn’t going to happen. Was it?”
Doyle opened his mouth to respond, but the R/T went off. Scowling, Doyle pressed the button on the R/T. “Yeah, what?”
“Cameron, sir.” The voice at the other end was all business. “A blue van drove past twice. They’ve gone now, but they seemed to be looking the place over.”
“Right. Keep your eyes peeled. Peters?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Anything?”
“Not so much as a cat, sir. Probably because a cat has enough sense not to be out in this bloody cold—“
“Where’s your thermos?”
There was a pause. “Back at HQ.”
“Hope you brought your woollies, then. Doyle out.”
“You sound remarkably like Cowley,” Bodie said.
Doyle smiled. “Now we know how completely satisfying he found it, too.”
Bodie glanced toward the front of the pub. “They might not come tonight.”
“Cowley’s done some nudging.” Doyle sat down again and reached for his beer.
“Even so.” Bodie sat as well, feeling the tension ease. The job always had rescued them.
Doyle was looking at him, his head tilted. “Then we’ll stay.”
Bodie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, till the next crisis—which seems to be just about every day at the moment.”
Doyle smiled. “You’re well-informed.”
Bodie shrugged, looked down. He hadn’t meant to reveal that.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll stay.”
Bodie looked at him.
“I told you a lot has changed.” Doyle set his beer down.
“Ray—“ He watched as Doyle stood up, walked over to him. He only closed his eyes when Doyle kissed him. His heart was beating faster than it had in a firefight. He thought it would burst, as memories flooded his brain—sight, sound, smell, all triggered by the press of Doyle’s mouth to his. God, he had craved this! Hungered for it during three years of exile.
Doyle pulled back a few inches. “Some things don’t change. Oh, Christ, Bodie—“
Bodie moaned as he caught Doyle’s mouth with his, stopping his words. He reached for Doyle’s warmth and strength, needing them, needing him. His hand brushed against Doyle’s holstered gun. He gasped, and pushed Doyle away. Fuck, what was he doing? He couldn’t, couldn’t—
He stood up. “You made it plain before. There’s no future—“
“I was wrong. So, bloody stupid.” Doyle was wide-eyed, all his attention focused on Bodie. And Bodie wanted nothing more than to kiss him, take him, never leave—
“No.” He heard the pain in his own voice, and it froze Doyle as he started to take a step forward. Bodie cleared his throat. “You’ve got a career. You—“
“I don’t care—“
“You’ve always cared! You’re a copper through and through, Doyle. This is the life—“
“There are other ways I can serve. You’re—“
“I’m a soldier. Pure and simple. And there’s nothing more useless than an old—“
Doyle moved forward, his eyes narrowed. “I told you, that’s not what defines you. You were a soldier, for a time. But young or old, you’ve always been a…protector, if you like. Look at you! You couldn’t stand to see this pub owner being harassed, so you intervened.“
“Anyone would have—“
“No.” Doyle shook his head. “It’s in your bones. Bloody hell, Bodie, do you think I don’t know? You protected me for—“
“I didn’t bloody well protect you!” His throat closed too late to stop the words, stop the truth he’d held inside for too long.
Doyle blinked. “You did.” And then understanding flashed across his face.
Bodie closed his own eyes He felt Doyle’s hands on his arms, gripping him.
“All right. Tell me.” Doyle’s voice was low.
He opened his eyes and, finally, fully, looked into Doyle’s eyes. “At the warehouse. Our last case—“
Doyle’s fingers tightened on Bodie’s arms. “Yeah. You saved me.”
“I didn’t have a clear line of sight. My body was slower than my mouth when I told you to go. If you hadn’t stumbled—“ He broke off, seeing all too clearly what would have happened.
“Breiner would have got me. But—“
“If I hadn’t missed, I would have killed you.”
Doyle went still.
“It was my bullet that grazed you—not Breiner’s. I found his. The angle—“ He stopped speaking, the words choked him.
Doyle spoke slowly. “You didn’t tell Cowley.”
Bodie shook his head.
“Christ.” Doyle let go of Bodie’s arms. He moved away.
Bodie put a hand where one of Doyle’s had been. He felt empty, yet relieved as well. It was out. Maybe he could get on with his life. Doyle would stick through the mission. Mrs Allen would be free to make her own mind up about the pub. And— He looked at Doyle, and found it still hurt too much to think about the future.
They’d had such a short time—a scant two years between Mayli Kuolo’s bullet and his own. Two years between his nightmares. Shorter than that, really, if he dated it to when he’d stopped thinking about a future. He wanted Doyle; he supposed he always would. But a soldier took responsibility—
“I said you weren’t a soldier.” Doyle turned round.
Bodie frowned. “Wha—?’
“No excuses—isn’t that the soldier’s way? But you didn’t report it to Cowley.”
“I— I couldn’t lose you.” He would have been stood down at the least. Most likely he would have been off the squad after an assessment. “I stayed too long.”
Doyle nodded slowly, his eyes distant. “That night, months before—you talked about getting out of CI5.”
He remembered it very well. “Yeah.”
“But you’d just passed—“
“It was like Jack Craine always said—it happened suddenly.” He looked down. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“I’d slammed that door shut,” Doyle whispered, still not looking at Bodie.
Bodie sighed. “I should have seen it. I should have left the squad. You’re a copper, Doyle. You like things planned out. I didn’t fit.”
“I’m not.” Doyle held unnaturally still for a moment, then he turned to Bodie. “We’re not. I’ve barely held on these three years. Without you, I—“ The R/T went off. Doyle froze, then looked down. “Dammit!”
Bodie grinned. “You’re still on the payroll, sunshine.” His voice sounded normal, but he felt a glimmer of something like euphoria inside him. He’d heard Doyle. He understood him—like he always had on the street.
Doyle shot him a look, and then his face softened as Bodie met his eyes. He pulled out the R/T. “Four-five.”
It was Peters’ voice. “They’re here, sir. Heading for the back. Four men.”
“Roger. Intercept them.” He pressed the button, his eyes still on Bodie.
Bodie nodded. “Right. Let’s go—“
“No.” Doyle put a hand on Bodie’s arm.
“I can handle—“
“Of course you can. But we’re going to stay here in this nice warm pub and let them handle it.”
He looked at Doyle, saw the challenge in his eyes. “Like Joe Public?’
“Like Cowley—at least for now.”
Bodie smiled slowly. He leaned forward and kissed Doyle. “Not quite like Cowley,” he murmured.
Doyle cleared his throat. “Well, thank God for that.”
Bodie picked up Doyle’s beer glass. “Here. And keep the channel open.”
Doyle nodded, put the R/T on the table between their chairs, and settled back with his beer.
Bodie took the other chair. It was easy to picture the op as it unfolded over the R/T. They heard the rustle as the men moved into position, then a waiting silence. Bodie felt the tension within his own muscles, and knew Doyle felt it, too. He reached across the table, and Doyle’s hand met his. They stayed that way through the sound of sudden movement, shouting, and one gunshot that echoed between R/T and the back of the pub. He sat in the fire-lit warmth of the pub, with Christmas decorations that promised magic, if you just believed. He held Doyle’s hand in his, and the tension fled away.
“Eight-six to Four-five.”
Doyle released Bodie’s hand and picked up the R/T. “Four-five.”
“Got ‘em, sir. Along with enough fuel, matches and accelerant to burn this place and several others.”
“Right.” Doyle smiled at Bodie.
“And, sir, Mills is with them.”
Doyle’s eyebrows went up. “Is he, now? Mr Cowley would like a word with him. Escort the others to Norwich. Take Mills to London.”
“Yes, sir.” There seemed to be a bit of doubt in Peters’ voice.
“You can use my car, if it’s a bit crowded.” Doyle’s eyes met Bodie’s.
“But….”
Bodie leaned forward and spoke into the mike. “Give Mr Cowley Three-seven’s compliments, and tell him Four-five will not be returning to duty.”
“But….”
“Four-five out.” Doyle pressed the button, and then he switched off the R/T. He looked at Bodie. “When’s your pub owner expected back?”
“Mrs Allen. In the morning. When the electricity is astonishingly mended.”
“Good. That gives us tonight.”
“To make plans? Find something for me to protect and you—“
“You’ve already got something to protect—lifelong job, that is. And it’s mutual. Right now, though, I’ve got a wrong to right.” Bodie felt Doyle tug on his arm. “Is your room this way?”
“Yeah. That’s mutual, too. Ray—“ Bodie stopped him, and put a hand on Doyle’s face. “You were coming to find me even before I called Cowley, weren’t you?”
He felt as well as saw Doyle smile. “Yeah, but I only beat the call by about half an hour.” He nudged Bodie’s hand. “Reckoned if you were using your own name again, maybe you’d be ready to talk. Ready to listen, too.”
“I rather liked using yours.”
“We’re going to talk about that.”
“Kept tabs on me, did you?”
“Like you did me. Bit of a challenge when you went off the old aliases, I admit.”
“Yeah.” He had come damn close to never coming home at all. “I mucked it up, Ray.”
“We mucked it up. Always were Cowley’s best team.”
“Overachievers.” He kissed Doyle, felt the response in Doyle’s body. His heart soared but he broke away, and held up a hand. “Wait. One thing. Stay here.”
“Bodie!”
“Just one moment,” he called over his shoulder. He went to the fuse box, flipped the switches to repair the few lines he’d nobbled for the sake of authenticity. When he returned to the bar, he found Doyle had emptied the glasses and banked the fire.
“Oh, back already, are you?” Doyle sounded testy.
Bodie grinned, kissed Doyle quickly, then plugged in the Christmas tree. White light gleamed on tinsel and evergreen, demonstrating the fact that all Christmas trees were beautiful under the right circumstances.
“Celebrating early?” Doyle’s arm slid around Bodie.
“Celebrating late. Three years late.” He felt Doyle’s arm tighten around him. Bodie turned and whispered in his ear: “Happy Christmas, Ray. At bloody last.”
END
December 2010
Title: A Pub at Christmas
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes, but I will send file later!
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Date: 2010-12-23 10:29 am (UTC)