Day 29 - Post #1
Dec. 29th, 2006 01:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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discoveredinaljA Bodie Carol
By Ancasta
Darlene Love wailed from the dashboard speakers, begging her sweetheart to return in time for Christmas. Given the condition of the roads, Bodie couldn't help but think she ought to cut the poor bugger a break.
Doyle and he had reached the outskirts of
Would have reckoned the wintry weather to have kept most indoors, Bodie thought, grimacing when Darlene Love finished and the Chipmunks began. Reaching over, he silenced the singing rodents. He had had about all he could take of Christmas carols for one day. About all he could take of Christmas, period. What a miserable day. Since early afternoon, sheet after sheet of sleet and ice had rattled against the windshield glass like bones, chased there by gusty winds. He had been driving in the wet and gloom for hours, all the way south from the peaks of
Bodie supposed he could have insisted Doyle do his share of the driving. Bloody Doyle with his too tight jeans, his too blind eyes and his all too bleeding heart. He could have, but he hadn't. Bodie might be dancing on the skinny edge of collapse, but Doyle was nursing a head wound. In their line of business, injury always trumped fatigue. Even a minor one.
The blow had come courtesy of Maeve McDonough, an auburn-haired slip of a girl who had greeted them at the entrance to her brother's rented farmhouse with a rifle. Following procedure, they had ducked for cover, even as their backup units had come racing down the lane to offer support. Their weapons in hand, they had demanded she drop hers. She had refused. Instead, she had fired the weapon with surprising skill for one so young, not hitting any members of CI5, but rather the rock wall behind which Bodie and Doyle had taken refuge.
One of her shots had caught the very edge of their hiding place, chipping off a bit of sandstone the size of an arrowhead. It was just Doyle's luck the projectile had ricocheted in his direction. The fragment had caught him on the forehead, startling the hell out of the man and opening an impressive gash an inch above his left brow. The wound had bled freely, initially spurring Bodie's concern. But the injury hadn't even slowed Doyle down. Handkerchief pressed to his head with one hand, he had fired off enough shots with the other to provide cover for the newly arrived agents, drive Maeve back into the house, and force her brother and his IRA cronies to take cover.
Careful not to be observed, Bodie glanced over at his partner. Doyle sat slouched in his seat, legs splayed, arms crossed, a square of gauze taped to his forehead. His coat pressed into service as a pillow, he leaned against the passenger side door, eyes shut, his body twisted in a way that made Bodie's spine throb just to look at him. The set of Doyle's jaw told Bodie the headache that had dogged the other man since his injury had not yet faded. That same headache had kept conversation sparse since they had got on the M1 hours before.
Almost as if he had somehow sensed Bodie's silent regard, Doyle murmured, "What are you going to do with our unexpected bounty?" His voice was husky with disuse. He didn't open his eyes.
Frowning, Bodie asked, "What, the day off?"
"Not just any day," Doyle said, lashes lifting. "Christmas Day." He smothered a yawn behind his hand and stretched, carefully, as if he were unsure what the movement might do to his sore head. "Couldn't believe it when the words left the old man's mouth. Don't remember the last time we had Christmas off."
"Our just reward for a job well done," Bodie said, steering the car around a Mini waiting for a parking space to open.
"Not so sure how 'well done' the job was," Doyle said, sitting up and putting his jacket back on.
Typical, Bodie thought with a scowl. So very typical. "What are you on about? We intercepted the shipment of guns and captured Lorcan McDonough, as well as three of his mates. Most important, we got out alive. All our blokes did. If that's not the definition of a job well done, I don't know what is."
Shooting Bodie a sideways glance, Doyle said, "All of our blokes got out okay. That's true. But you can't say the same for McDonough's sister."
"Oh, for Christ sake, Doyle. Don't make her out to be a victim," Bodie growled, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel in annoyance. "Did you not notice the rifle in her hand?"
"Did you not notice she was fifteen?" Doyle countered with a growl of his own, his glare even fiercer than his voice.
They had spent the last two bloody weeks holed up on the parcel of land adjacent to the one McDonough had rented. Bodie had had nothing to do day after blessed day but stare across the field separating their dwellings, binoculars ringing his eyes like manacles. He had gotten to know the McDonoughs well. They both had.
"Yeah," he said, turning the wheel with more vigor than was strictly necessary. "I noticed."
The cottage Cowley had secured for the obbo had been small to the point of miniature, with one central room combining the functions of lounge, bedroom and kitchen. The only privacy afforded the two agents had been behind the door of a pint-sized loo, whose plumbing, Bodie would have wagered, dated back to Victoria's reign.
Their lookout point had been chosen because of its close proximity to McDonough's property and the open visibility between the two. Ironically, such advantages had proved a double-edged sword. While CI5 had benefited from an excellent view of McDonough and the road leading to his hideaway, McDonough had enjoyed, in turn, the same excellent view of them.
Acting on a tip, Bodie and Doyle had moved into the house prior to McDonough's arrival in the country and set up shop. Once ensconced, however, the two agents had soon come to feel like rats in a trap. They couldn't turn on the lights, couldn't pull open the curtains, couldn't open a window or step outside, not even under cover of night. Cowley had strictly forbid such activities, worried the Irishman across the way might figure out their purpose there.
Feeling as he did about his partner, the fortnight had been Bodie's very own private hell.
For fourteen solid days, Doyle and he had traded off shifts, watching and waiting, with only the occasional comings and goings of the McDonough siblings to divert them. Bodie had had nowhere he could go to escape the man with whom he worked. No matter where he had looked or what he had done, Doyle had always been there…
Nestled, sleeping beneath the blankets on the bed in which they had taken turns. Doyle's hand would sometimes slip free of the covers to lay palm up, fingers curled softly in a way that made Bodie long to capture them in his own hand and hold on tight.
The smell of Doyle, his sweat, his soap, his very skin had seemed to permeate the air, the scent concentrated most heavily in the tiny lavatory, where the heat and steam had worked alchemy, distilling the essence into a kind of perfume.
Even when they had exhausted conversation and gone about their duties, silent as falling shadows, the sounds of Doyle had called to Bodie. He would lie on the bed, eyes closed, and listen to the hush of his partner's breath, Doyle's sighs, the rustle of his clothes as he had moved around their cramped quarters, the clip of his boots against the hardwood floor. All had disclosed secrets about Doyle's moods, his thoughts, his actions, and Bodie had hungered for such information, eager to take anything Doyle had been willing to share, no matter how unwittingly.
Helpless against such intense and prolonged exposure, Bodie had become painfully conscious of his partner in a way he never had been before. Though that wasn't strictly true. Bodie's awareness of Doyle had always been high. It could be nothing else, given what they did for a living and how much they relied on each other to survive.
Yet in the months leading up to the McDonough obbo, that knowledge, that sensitivity, had started changing in unforeseen and insidious ways. The affection he had felt towards Doyle since the early days of their pairing had grown into something more…earthy. Their time in the cottage had only confirmed for Bodie what he had begun to fear and could not control. He no longer wanted only his partner's friendship. He wanted more of him than he was certain Doyle would ever be willing to give.
"I know she had a gun," Doyle said, his weary voice breaking through Bodie's ruminations. "I know I didn't have a choice. But every time I think about it, all I keep remembering is her, over and over again, throwing the Frisbee to that damned dog."
Bodie didn't look at Doyle, all too well aware of what he would see. After all, he had the same memories, didn't he? Just because he didn't broadcast his emotions the way the man sitting beside him did, didn't mean he lacked them entirely. Why the hell did Doyle have to scratch at something until it bled?
"Where do you suppose it ran off to?" Doyle asked. "The dog, I mean. I looked for it afterwards. Just for a bit while Cowley was ordering everyone about. But I couldn't find it."
Bodie shrugged, unwilling to wonder. "Don't know, do I? It's a good-looking animal. I imagine someone took it in."
If there had been one consolation during their two week confinement, it had been that Lorcan McDonough had seemed every bit as bored as his watchers. Bodie had lost count of the number of times McDonough had stood, his shoulder propped against the farmhouse doorway, cigarette dangling from his lips, staring out over the landscape like Heathcliff contemplating the moors.
His sister, on the other hand, had seemingly had an easier time keeping herself entertained. Her amusement had been helped in no small part by a border collie mix, intent on fetching anything and everything his mistress threw. If the girl hadn't been flicking a Frisbee across the front yard, she had been tossing a stick or a ball. And every single time, the pup had brought it back, tail wagging with gleeful canine abandon. The two had been inseparable.
That is until a bullet from Doyle's Walther had ended Maeve's life and the dog had bolted out the kitchen door in terror. While the shot might have been necessary to save Bodie, neither man had fully absolved himself of guilt.
"Still don't understand what the hell she was doing there," Doyle murmured. Bodie glanced over to see his partner's eyes focused blindly now out the passenger side window. "Who invites their little sister along to a gun buy?"
"It's the holidays, innit? Maybe he thought a trip to the
"Don't joke about something like that, Bodie," Doyle said, looking his way. "Don't bloody joke."
"Fine," Bodie said, hitting the brakes when the car in front of them came to an abrupt halt. "I won't. Just don't you be breaking out the sackcloth and ashes."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means much as you enjoy playing the martyr now and again, it's not a role I relish," Bodie said, pounding the horn, at that moment, frustrated by more than just the traffic. "Stop trying to cast me in it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Doyle insisted.
"I'm talking about you being so determined to feel guilty over the death of that girl." Bodie said, pinning his partner with his gaze. Doyle met his eyes unflinchingly, no less resolute.
"Determination has nothing to do with it, Bodie," Doyle argued. "That's how I feel. I'm sorry if you'd rather I didn't. What would you have me do?"
"Your job, Doyle," Bodie said, turning off of
"Thought that's what I was doin' when I stopped you from taking a bullet to the belly," Doyle muttered.
Bodie pressed his lips flat, holding back the tirade lurking there, just waiting to be unleashed. The funny thing was, he couldn't say for certain who would wind up the target of such a harangue—his partner for being who and what he was or Bodie, himself, for allowing a schoolgirl to get the drop on him.
"That's right. Your job is to guard my back—or belly, come to that—same as I do yours," Bodie said, finally, wanting to end this ridiculous conversation once and for all. "And that's what you did. It all came down to a simple choice, her or me. And I'll tell you right now—I'm not at all sorry you chose me."
Seemingly having no rebuttal to that, Doyle pressed his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Bodie wondered how badly his headache was bothering him.
They drove another block before Doyle spoke again, his eyes open and looking in Bodie's direction. "Look, I don't want to fight. All right? We're both knackered, half starved and my head feels like a particularly well-used football. Let's have this out another time. What do you say?"
"You won't get any argument from me," Bodie replied, easing the
"Good."
They inched along in silence until Doyle said in an offhanded manner, "You know…I've been thinking about us having the holiday off. Here we are, two mates. Both single, neither with any family about. Why don't you come over and spend Christmas with me?"
Hearing Doyle's suggestion, it was all Bodie could do to keep from rear-ending the car in front of them. "Spend it with you?"
"Yeah," Doyle said, warming to the topic. "Why not? You don't have a better offer, do you?"
"We only just found out this morning we had the day free," Bodie reminded him before he could think better of it. "When would I've found the time to get a better offer?"
Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? Having other plans would have been the perfect out.
"Well all right, then," Doyle said, obviously pleased by the idea. "It's settled. Drop me at the Sainsbury's round the corner from my flat. I'll stock up on provisions. You go home and pack a bag. I'll leave mine in the car and pick it up later."
"Wait a minute," Bodie protested with equal parts exasperation and dread. He couldn't spend any more time in the man's company. He would never survive it. Neither would their partnership. "Wait just one minute. Did you ever stop to think I might want to spend the day at my own place—sleep in, get some rest?"
"All right," Doyle said with an agreeable shrug. "Spend the night in your own bed and pop over in the afternoon. Probably for the best anyway. It'll give me the chance to straighten up the place. If you recall, we left in quite a hurry."
"For God sake, Doyle. I didn't say yes, did I?" Bodie said, wondering how the hell everything had suddenly got so out of control. "Is this the same technique you use with your birds? 'Cause I have to tell you, mate—I don't think much of it."
"More subtle with the birds, aren't I?" Doyle said, smiling now. Bodie could only imagine Doyle believed he was joking, having a bit of a laugh. Bodie had never been so serious in all his life. "They need to be handled delicately. Never noticed restraint worked all that well with you, though."
"After the last couple of weeks, think of me as a Wedgwood teacup," Bodie retorted, turning on to Doyle's street. He was almost there. Almost safe.
"Oh, I get it," Doyle said, edging closer. Sliding his arm around the back of Bodie's seat, he leaned in, so close his breath kissed Bodie's ear. "You need to be wooed."
"Doyle…" Bodie warned through gritted teeth.
Doyle ignored him. "How does this sound then?
Spying an open stretch of curb, Bodie slid the
"Listen, mate," he said, throwing the car into park and glaring at the man beside him. "Get this through your curly-headed skull—I don't want to spend Christmas with you. All right? Don't know how much plainer I can put it."
It looked at first as if his words didn't make sense to Doyle. But when Bodie said nothing further, Doyle's confusion slowly cleared. All that was left behind was hurt. His wounded expression pricked Bodie's conscience. But Bodie refused to budge, refused to say anything more at all. If he did, Doyle would win and everything would be lost.
Yet it was Doyle who spoke. "Why not?"
"Oh, for the love of God," Bodie exploded, shifting behind the wheel to confront the man seated beside him, all his good intentions well forgotten. "Leave the fuck off. Mind telling me where in Cowley's all-important small print it says I have to explain my every action to you? We're partners, Doyle. Not husband and wife. I am allowed a certain measure of privacy. One day, one bloody day. Alone. That's all I'm askin'. After fourteen straight with you, I think I've earned it."
Doyle didn't say anything right away. His eyes fell, focusing somewhere around the dashboard ashtray. "Right," he said, quietly, nodding, almost to himself. "Okay." Saying nothing further, he opened the car door and climbed out.
"Wait," Bodie said, surprised by his leave-taking. "Where you goin'?"
"Home," Doyle said, simply. Leaning into the car, he reached into the back seat to retrieve his duffle bag. Cold air rushed through the open door, reminding Bodie how truly miserable it was outside.
"I'll drive you," Bodie said, something perverse inside him now not wanting to part with Doyle's company. At least not like this.
Doyle shook his head. Bodie couldn't read what he saw in his partner's eyes. "It's not far. I can walk."
Bodie was going to thump him one. He really was. "Doyle, don't be stupid—"
Duffle slung over his shoulder, Doyle bent down to give Bodie a smile that had nothing to do with happiness. "That's what I'm trying to avoid. Happy Christmas, mate." Closing the door, he walked away, his long legs eating up pavement, his shoulders hunched against the wind.
Bodie sat there, the car engine idling, watching until Doyle disappeared at the end of the block, swallowed there by the dark and sleet.
All right, Bodie thought. That's good. He could breathe easy now. He would have no Doyle to bother and bewitch him, just peace and quiet for the holiday.
"Bah humbug," Bodie muttered, shifting the car into park and pointing it towards home.
*******
(to be continued)
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 02:50 pm (UTC)Even when they had exhausted conversation and gone about their duties, silent as falling shadows, the sounds of Doyle had called to Bodie. He would lie on the bed, eyes closed, and listen to the hush of his partner's breath, Doyle's sighs, the rustle of his clothes as he had moved around their cramped quarters, the clip of his boots against the hardwood floor. All had disclosed secrets about Doyle's moods, his thoughts, his actions, and Bodie had hungered for such information, eager to take anything Doyle had been willing to share, no matter how unwittingly.
Lovely image of them together, with Bodie almost mesmerised just by Doyle's physical presence. I'm looking forward to reading the rest!
Many thanks for sharing your work.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-30 12:30 am (UTC)