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discoveredinaljLooks like I'm first cab off the rank... my little offering for the Discovered in Poetry challenge, with thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byslantedlight for the prompt I was given!
Things that go 'bump' in the night
Should not really give one a fright.
It's the hole in each ear
That lets in the fear,
That, and the absence of light!
Bump - by Spike Milligan
Doyle's eyes sprang open and he listened intently. The furtive noise that had woken him sounded again. There was no light at all coming in around the edges of the curtains and Doyle peered fruitlessly into the total blackness, trying to make out more than vague outlines of the furniture in the bedroom.
The noise came again and Doyle slipped soundlessly out of bed, easing his gun out of the holster hanging on the headboard. Moving cautiously, he approached the bedroom door, glad now that he'd left it slightly ajar when he'd gone to bed.
Carefully he eased the bedroom door open enough to allow him to slip out into the hall. He could hear the intruder in the lounge, shuffling through papers, and Doyle silently cursed himself as he realized he'd left his notes about the last op on the coffee table.
He'd thought it would be perfectly all right. After all, this was a CI5 flat with double security. No one should have been able to get in without triggering the alarms, and definitely not without waking him long before they'd gained entrance.
The wall on the right side would offer him the most protection, so Doyle pressed his body tightly against it and held his gun ready as he crept down the hall. His heart was pounding in his chest with a combination of fear and adrenaline.
He didn't know what he would find when he reached the lounge, but his body remembered the impact of the bullets as they hit his chest the last time he'd had an intruder and a fine sweat broke out on his forehead. Pausing briefly to still the tremor that shook his body, Doyle took a slow, careful breath and crept further down the hall.
It felt like it was taking forever to reach the lounge. At last he was in position to peek around the corner and see a dark figure bent over the coffee table, shuffling through his notes, a tiny flashlight scanning over the pages as though the intruder was seeking some specific information.
Doyle opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention and he looked over at the balcony doors to see a smaller silhouette, with a very distinctive wedge-shaped haircut, standing in front of the doors, arms raised with a gun pointing at his chest.
Before Doyle could react to the new threat, he heard the shots and saw the flash from the muzzle before he felt the bullets enter his body.
“NOOOOO!”
Doyle sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, his hand pressed over the incision that was still an angry red line on his chest.
“It was a dream, Ray. It's okay. You're safe. Come on back now.”
Doyle glanced wildly about him, his hand flailing for the gun he'd had gripped tightly only a moment before.
“Ray, come on, come back to me, sunshine.”
“Bodie?” Doyle croaked out, finally awake enough to realize that he was in bed and Bodie was right beside him.
“You back with us now, sunshine?”
Weak light from the new moon filtered through the sheer curtains on the window, allowing Doyle to see the concern on his partner's face.
“A dream,” Doyle said, blinking in confusion. “I was shot.”
“Yeah,” Bodie agreed. “Four months ago.”
“Christ, my chest hurts.” Doyle pressed his hand against his chest, and then realized the pain wasn't from where he'd been shot. It was slightly higher and more to the centre of his chest. “Sodding curry,” he groaned.
Bodie grinned. “Told you that last serving was going to give you trouble.”
“That's only because you weren't quick enough to grab it and were hoping to convince me to let you have it,” Doyle replied.
“Stay here,” Bodie said as he got out of bed. He padded across the room and Doyle almost forgot about his indigestion as he admired the way the moon gilded his partner's creamy skin and kissed across the sweet rounded cheeks of his bare arse.
Bodie returned in a trice and handed Doyle a tablet and glass of water before crawling back into bed.
Doyle obediently took the medication and then pushed aside the clutter on the nightstand to make a space for the empty glass. He leaned back against Bodie's chest and sighed with satisfaction as his partner's arms encircled him.
“Want to tell me about the dream while we're waiting for the medication to work?” Bodie suggested, shifting just a little to find a more comfortable position leaning against the headboard.
“It was dark,” Doyle said. “I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, but I could hear someone moving about in the lounge. I grabbed my gun and moved out into the hall to check it out.”
“When you couldn't see?”
“I could see enough to not walk into the wall,” Doyle amended. “I couldn't work out how someone had gotten into the flat because I knew bloody well that I'd set both sets of locks. When I got to the lounge, there was an intruder looking at the papers I had left there with my notes from the last op... Fuck! That was my first clue, wasn't it? But before I could do anything, I saw...”
“Father Christmas, coming to leave you a lump of coal?” Bodie suggested when Doyle didn't continue.
“Moron,” Doyle chuckled, and then his laughter died away and he shivered a little. “Her. She was standing in front of the balcony windows, aiming a gun at me. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only remember what it felt like when the bullets hit...”
“Fuck!” Bodie tightened his grip on his partner, trying to chase away the spectre of the past that had crept into the room to haunt them both.
“And then I woke up with my bloody chest on fire and you telling me to come back,” Doyle continued softly. “I was scared, Bodie. I didn't want to go out there and see what was happening, I didn't... Scared of being shot again,” he finished on a whisper. He would rather eat razor blades than admit his fear to anyone but Bodie. But he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, Bodie would never condemn him for being frightened.
“No one's going to hurt you again,” Bodie declared vehemently.
“You can't stop it, Bodie-love,” Ray said, putting his hand over Bodie's on his chest. “If I go back out on the streets, I'll get hurt again, it's the nature of the job. The thing is, I don't know if I can do it – don't know if I have the nerve to go back out there, knowing that I could get shot again, and maybe next time I won't be so lucky.”
“It's only been four months,” Bodie said. “Give it time, Ray. You'll come back.”
Doyle shook his head and turned to press a kiss to Bodie's cheek. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, love, but it was too close. I'm not ready to die, Bodie. Not now, not when...”
“Then we go see the old man,” Bodie said. “If he doesn't have something for us to do off the streets, then we'll get out.”
“We?”
“We,” Bodie said firmly, “We're the bisto kids, Ray. Never far apart – a mobile ghetto, remember?”
“I remember,” Doyle said with a soft smile.
“How's your indigestion?”
“Better,” Doyle replied. “Could sleep now.”
Bodie shuffled them down in the bed so that they were lying down once more. He kept his arms wrapped firmly around his lover. “Go to sleep, angelfish,” he said. “I'll guard your dreams.”
Doyle sighed and relaxed, turning to cuddle against his partner. He'd be fine as long as Bodie was watching his back and he knew he always would be.
Title: In the Quiet Hours of the Night
Author: Liriel
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true
byslantedlight for the prompt I was given!Things that go 'bump' in the night
Should not really give one a fright.
It's the hole in each ear
That lets in the fear,
That, and the absence of light!
Bump - by Spike Milligan
Doyle's eyes sprang open and he listened intently. The furtive noise that had woken him sounded again. There was no light at all coming in around the edges of the curtains and Doyle peered fruitlessly into the total blackness, trying to make out more than vague outlines of the furniture in the bedroom.
The noise came again and Doyle slipped soundlessly out of bed, easing his gun out of the holster hanging on the headboard. Moving cautiously, he approached the bedroom door, glad now that he'd left it slightly ajar when he'd gone to bed.
Carefully he eased the bedroom door open enough to allow him to slip out into the hall. He could hear the intruder in the lounge, shuffling through papers, and Doyle silently cursed himself as he realized he'd left his notes about the last op on the coffee table.
He'd thought it would be perfectly all right. After all, this was a CI5 flat with double security. No one should have been able to get in without triggering the alarms, and definitely not without waking him long before they'd gained entrance.
The wall on the right side would offer him the most protection, so Doyle pressed his body tightly against it and held his gun ready as he crept down the hall. His heart was pounding in his chest with a combination of fear and adrenaline.
He didn't know what he would find when he reached the lounge, but his body remembered the impact of the bullets as they hit his chest the last time he'd had an intruder and a fine sweat broke out on his forehead. Pausing briefly to still the tremor that shook his body, Doyle took a slow, careful breath and crept further down the hall.
It felt like it was taking forever to reach the lounge. At last he was in position to peek around the corner and see a dark figure bent over the coffee table, shuffling through his notes, a tiny flashlight scanning over the pages as though the intruder was seeking some specific information.
Doyle opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention and he looked over at the balcony doors to see a smaller silhouette, with a very distinctive wedge-shaped haircut, standing in front of the doors, arms raised with a gun pointing at his chest.
Before Doyle could react to the new threat, he heard the shots and saw the flash from the muzzle before he felt the bullets enter his body.
“NOOOOO!”
Doyle sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, his hand pressed over the incision that was still an angry red line on his chest.
“It was a dream, Ray. It's okay. You're safe. Come on back now.”
Doyle glanced wildly about him, his hand flailing for the gun he'd had gripped tightly only a moment before.
“Ray, come on, come back to me, sunshine.”
“Bodie?” Doyle croaked out, finally awake enough to realize that he was in bed and Bodie was right beside him.
“You back with us now, sunshine?”
Weak light from the new moon filtered through the sheer curtains on the window, allowing Doyle to see the concern on his partner's face.
“A dream,” Doyle said, blinking in confusion. “I was shot.”
“Yeah,” Bodie agreed. “Four months ago.”
“Christ, my chest hurts.” Doyle pressed his hand against his chest, and then realized the pain wasn't from where he'd been shot. It was slightly higher and more to the centre of his chest. “Sodding curry,” he groaned.
Bodie grinned. “Told you that last serving was going to give you trouble.”
“That's only because you weren't quick enough to grab it and were hoping to convince me to let you have it,” Doyle replied.
“Stay here,” Bodie said as he got out of bed. He padded across the room and Doyle almost forgot about his indigestion as he admired the way the moon gilded his partner's creamy skin and kissed across the sweet rounded cheeks of his bare arse.
Bodie returned in a trice and handed Doyle a tablet and glass of water before crawling back into bed.
Doyle obediently took the medication and then pushed aside the clutter on the nightstand to make a space for the empty glass. He leaned back against Bodie's chest and sighed with satisfaction as his partner's arms encircled him.
“Want to tell me about the dream while we're waiting for the medication to work?” Bodie suggested, shifting just a little to find a more comfortable position leaning against the headboard.
“It was dark,” Doyle said. “I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, but I could hear someone moving about in the lounge. I grabbed my gun and moved out into the hall to check it out.”
“When you couldn't see?”
“I could see enough to not walk into the wall,” Doyle amended. “I couldn't work out how someone had gotten into the flat because I knew bloody well that I'd set both sets of locks. When I got to the lounge, there was an intruder looking at the papers I had left there with my notes from the last op... Fuck! That was my first clue, wasn't it? But before I could do anything, I saw...”
“Father Christmas, coming to leave you a lump of coal?” Bodie suggested when Doyle didn't continue.
“Moron,” Doyle chuckled, and then his laughter died away and he shivered a little. “Her. She was standing in front of the balcony windows, aiming a gun at me. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only remember what it felt like when the bullets hit...”
“Fuck!” Bodie tightened his grip on his partner, trying to chase away the spectre of the past that had crept into the room to haunt them both.
“And then I woke up with my bloody chest on fire and you telling me to come back,” Doyle continued softly. “I was scared, Bodie. I didn't want to go out there and see what was happening, I didn't... Scared of being shot again,” he finished on a whisper. He would rather eat razor blades than admit his fear to anyone but Bodie. But he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, Bodie would never condemn him for being frightened.
“No one's going to hurt you again,” Bodie declared vehemently.
“You can't stop it, Bodie-love,” Ray said, putting his hand over Bodie's on his chest. “If I go back out on the streets, I'll get hurt again, it's the nature of the job. The thing is, I don't know if I can do it – don't know if I have the nerve to go back out there, knowing that I could get shot again, and maybe next time I won't be so lucky.”
“It's only been four months,” Bodie said. “Give it time, Ray. You'll come back.”
Doyle shook his head and turned to press a kiss to Bodie's cheek. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, love, but it was too close. I'm not ready to die, Bodie. Not now, not when...”
“Then we go see the old man,” Bodie said. “If he doesn't have something for us to do off the streets, then we'll get out.”
“We?”
“We,” Bodie said firmly, “We're the bisto kids, Ray. Never far apart – a mobile ghetto, remember?”
“I remember,” Doyle said with a soft smile.
“How's your indigestion?”
“Better,” Doyle replied. “Could sleep now.”
Bodie shuffled them down in the bed so that they were lying down once more. He kept his arms wrapped firmly around his lover. “Go to sleep, angelfish,” he said. “I'll guard your dreams.”
Doyle sighed and relaxed, turning to cuddle against his partner. He'd be fine as long as Bodie was watching his back and he knew he always would be.
Title: In the Quiet Hours of the Night
Author: Liriel
Slash or Gen: slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: yes
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true
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Date: 2011-02-12 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-02-12 01:13 pm (UTC)“Sodding curry,” *roflol*
That made me laugh out loud!
And just because Bodie got a grip on himself!
Thanks for sharing!
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Date: 2011-02-12 11:55 pm (UTC)*g* You gotta watch those late night feeds - they play havoc with your system. ;)
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Date: 2011-02-12 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-12 02:05 pm (UTC)Thank you! I love them cuddling up together in the night - and the 'sodding curry' is the perfect touch *g*
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Date: 2011-02-14 11:05 pm (UTC)