Study #2: The Passion of St Bodie
Apr. 26th, 2011 12:09 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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discoveredinaljThe jungle can be a dangerous place; it's always wise to remember that fact.
Together, always together, William Andrew Philip Bodie and Raymond Doyle range its length and breadth: CI5’s best team, doing their bit to mitigate the danger and keep the homeland smelling of the roses and lavender that never actually grow along any paths they travel.
Their boss is one Major George Cowley, Controller of CI5. As Shiva sits astride Nandi the sacred bull, so too does the protection of the realm rest upon Cowley’s sturdy back. He in turn sends his agents out to do their jobs and do them well, no questions asked; he brooks little protest and offers even less background. Usually they do come back for more (though there is a line in the CI5 budget to provide plain wreaths for those who don’t). But however stern, Cowley garners respect from his agents and employees; what they do, they do for country – and for him.
Many in CI5 think that Bodie and Doyle are complete opposites. It is true that Bodie, panther-proud, quiet but always tensed to spring, is physically unlike Doyle, whose bursting energy remains in motion even when at rest. Doyle is known as the optimist (as much as one can be in their line of work) while Bodie’s usual starting point is believing the worst of his fellow man. And they are always at each other – name-calling, debating intelligence, horse-playing, competing in driving, drinking, women. But emotionally, inside, their different means result in the same ends: able to interpret each other without speaking a word, able to work as a seamless unit, able to kill at an instant’s notice.
As Cowley’s best team, they train, work, walk, drive, eat, shit, think, and just are together. A partnership that had begun on Cowley’s whim has grown into an organic part of both men - which no one notices any longer, much less questions.
And if from time to time Doyle sees possessiveness – and a kind of commitment – in Bodie’s deceptively baby blues as they track him, if he feels a response echo in his soul, he chalks it up to partnership and shared experience.
They live so deeply in each other’s pockets, that’s what it must be.
I. Betrayal
They’ve been taking turns tracking the suspect: Doyle trotting along the station concourse, distanced enough to blend in with the crowd; then Bodie picking up the creature’s scent to follow along the high street. Somehow, though, the prey twigs and takes flight, legs loping beneath him, far enough ahead that they can’t easily bring him to ground. They manage to tree him up a block of flats, but still need to flush him out into the open. With a nod and a sideways jerk of the head, Bodie peels off to take the lift to the roof and work his way down, while Doyle ascends the stairs, checking doors, inching his way up.
Creeping along, gun at the ready, a movement catches Doyle’s eye and he automatically trains his gun in that direction – but no, it’s Bodie, pointing his own weapon back at him, hair-trigger on pause. They both ease off, relaxing slightly, when –
A door opens, and the world changes.
Doyle spots the bird first, just a split second before Bodie. All gleaming red plumage, she startles at the two hunters, their guns drawn on her. Member of the public; stand down. “It’s okay, love, please go back inside.”
“WATCH OUT!” A roar behind him, and he’s already moving to cover the red body, as the panther leaps past to bring down the hyena, who had slunk out to take aim at them.
When it‘s over, Doyle carefully holds the bird at arm’s length, checking for injuries. The look across her face catches his attention: surprise, shock, disgust, but also a steely strength in the cornflower eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Bodie, Doyle. Do you want a ride back?” More a command than a question, as they stand by Cowley’s car, once everything has been wrapped up and they’ve been nearly gutted for killing a suspect they were merely supposed to follow.
Bodie easily slides into the passenger seat, but Doyle holds back. “No, I’ll see you later at headquarters.” And lower, to Bodie, “I need to check on something.”
Bodie gives him a knowing grin.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“May I come in?” Doyle keeps it light and friendly, to prevent the bird from flying away.
“Why have you come back? Looking to rid yourself of any and all witnesses?”
“No, as I explained before – we’re the good guys. You’ve had quite a shock; I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, and that you have someone to contact if you need company.”
”I’m hardly a shrinking violet, and I'm not about to shatter. Well, unless you are here to dispose of witnesses.”
“Yes, I see the hints of your sterner stuff. One request, though? Truce? Because I did come back to make sure you’re okay.”
She peers at him defiantly, but there’s a slight shiver along the line of her shoulders. “After the morning you’ve had, Miss Holly, anyone would feel off. It’s not a good idea to sit alone and risk going into shock. If you’ll let me in for a few minutes, I can at least go over some steps to help with the next few hours and days.” He gives her what he hopes is his most encouraging smile.
“Okay,” she’s wavering, “a few minutes won’t hurt. But before you do come in, there is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Your name.”
“Ah – of course. Doyle. Raymond Doyle.”
“Then, Mr. Raymond Doyle, in you come.” She holds the door open for Doyle to enter.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bodie steers the Capri into the stream of rush hour traffic.
“Where have you been, old son? Have missed you; no one to debate the finer points of Sartre and Camus with.”
Doyle snorts at the question. “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of them.”
“Not just a pretty face, you know.” Bodie flashes a smug grin. “But what have you been up to? Murphy was up for a pint last night, was even paying, but you were not to be found.”
“Was busy.”
“Yeah, apparently. So, who is she?”
Doyle stares out the window, his mouth a small frown.
“Not talking, eh, angelfish? Well, can’t be Sally; she left you. And – what was her name? Joan? Jane? yeah, Jane – Jane was out of the picture last time you brought her up, so not her… By the way, what happened with that bird from the Conway obbo? You never said.”
The frown tightens into a firm line.
“Hang on – it’s not her, is it? But that was weeks ago. C’mon, Doyle, confess. Or I’ll put you down for extra Christmas duty on the roster sheet.”
“You’re not going to drop this, I know. Yes, it’s the bird from the obbo. Her name is Ann Holly, she’s a nice girl, and I’ve seen her a few times. Happy?”
“A few times? Maybe we should stop off at Casualty, then.”
“Enough, Bodie. Or what I’ll do to you will make Christmas duty look like a walk in the park.”
Bodie just laughs at Doyle, his eyes twinkling.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Doyle can’t help but admire Ann Holly. A proud, sleek bird, with those startlingly blue eyes, her intelligence and self-assuredness strikes him like few other people he knows. Definitely Bodie, and Cowley,... and that's about all he can come up with. She tells bad jokes, and pulls pranks, and prods him into doing things he normally wouldn’t, and generally makes him feel comfortable – but isn’t afraid to tell him when he’s out of line.
He’s glad he’d decided to go back up to check on Miss Ann Holly after the obbo; he could grow to be really comfortable with her.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You know, Raymond Doyle, I may have had you all wrong.” Ann is looking straight at him now.
“Whaddya mean?”
“We didn’t get off to a great start - no, let me finish – but you’re much more complex that I first thought. You’re funny, you’re smart – “
“Gerrof –“
“No, you’ve done a lot, and there’s a bit of you, right in there – “ a blood-red talon pokes his chest, near his heart, “that cares.”
“I bet you say that to all the blokes. Of which there’d better not be any others around.” But he’s grinning.
“I’m serious, Ray. And I could see myself falling for you.”
He leans over and kisses her – not heated, but not chaste. Full of intent. “And I might’ve already fallen for you.”
She kisses him back, encouraging. One kiss leads to another, and another – and then their hands are running over each other, mapping out contours and textures and warmth. All of Doyle’s senses are engaged, as they progress from kisses and caresses to breaths and laughter and fumbling over buttons. He smells her scent, he sees those summer afternoon eyes increasingly drawing him in. Then Ann stands, shedding her plumage, holding her arms open in invitation. Accepting the offer, Ray grasps her wrist and pulls her back down to lie with him, wrapping himself in her warmth.
II. Crucifixion
“So – what do you think?”
“Lovely bird. Lovely bird. Knows her mind – and quite posh, to boot. Far too good for the likes of you, mind, but lovely.”
“Ta very much, mate. Just don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, angelfish. What?” in answer to Doyle’s sceptical bark. “I know there are boundaries in life, and the garden around your bird’s tree is fenced off, right and proper.” Bodie stops, taking a long, sinuous stretch. “Now, if she had a sister, I wouldn’t say no –“
“Don’t you think of it. Don’t want you anywhere near, unsupervised.” The smile fades from Doyle’s face. “Different, she is. I can’t describe it, Bodie. But she’s special, not the usual.”
Doyle glances down at his watch, does a doubletake. “Christ! Have to go, promised Ann I’d drop by.”
“I thought we were having a couple of pints, watching a little footie.” Someone who doesn’t know Bodie as well as Doyle does wouldn’t catch the feral look that flashes across his face. Doyle, however, is busy pulling pound notes from his wallet to slap on the table.
“Really sorry mate; I double-booked. Need to go over and sort out Ann’s kitchen; the one thing she’s pretty hopeless at, and this is the only time we can do it. Will make it up to you.” Doyle stands, shrugging his jacket on. “’M glad the two of you got on so well. You’re alike in a lot of ways. And we will have an evening of it yet.”
“Like you promised three times before?” Bodie replies. But Doyle is already halfway to the door, car keys in hand.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There are good and bad days at work. This one is shaping up to be one for the record books, firmly in the negative column.
Bodie is partially relieved he doesn’t have to tell Doyle Cowley’s assigned him to investigate Ann Holly. Well, if the berk had been thinking with the head on his shoulders, we might not be at this point. But he’s about had it with the whole Ann Holly situation: Doyle is nowhere to be found most of the time, Cowley is leaning on him to fix the situation, and his job has become a huge headache. What he wouldn’t do for a few days off and a case of the Cow’s malt scotch...
He strides into the office he shares with Doyle, where the eye of the storm that’s been blowing sits at his own desk, feet propped on the edge, reading a report. No idea of all the trouble he’s caused.
“Hello, sunshine. Was about to take off, but need to ask you about Tuesday’s obbo before I do. - And what shadow crossed your grave?”
All Bodie hears is, ‘about to take off.’ “Not to disrupt your social calendar, but we need to go through the Norfolk files. Now.” He grabs a stack of files and dumps them on Doyle’s desk. There’s a sharp look from the other man, but he‘s having none of that. “Sorry, sunshine, but tonight you will stay at your desk and you will work late, and you will finish reviewing the files. And only then when you have done your job and your duty to Crown and the Cow will you swan off to Miss Jean Brodie. Not before.” His voice remains even. But there is a growl behind the words.
“Piss off, Bodie.” Doyle has his own funereal shadows forming.
“Cowley’s orders.” Not quite true, but Bodie enjoys saying that too much.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Doyle’s partner, Bodie is tasked with managing the surveillance on Ann Holly. It’s easier than he thought to set up cameras and plant bugs, and go through records to reconstruct a life, although he insists on analysing the evidence himself. No, the hard part is paging through grainy pictures: Doyle laughing, Doyle smiling, Doyle showing the pain of bliss.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bodie is not in a good mood.
There’d been a double date the previous night; his idea. The restaurant had been fine, his date had been fine, the food had been fine, the conversation had been fine – but the evening had been a complete disaster. He’d made it through dinner, tearing through his bloody steak, maybe a little less charming than usual. The outing was clearly headed towards a cliff by time they’d walked into the club, until Bodie eventually sat alone watching his date Susan on the dance floor with Doyle and Ann, mingling with the other couples jerking through age-old mating rituals. And then he found himself driving Susan home, begging off any more private mating rituals, claiming stomach ache and promising to make it up to her – a promise he’s fairly sure he’ll never keep.
And now it’s the next afternoon and he sits in a car, observing a meeting on a bench in Hyde Park. He has to play this one especially carefully because the stakes are incredibly high, and the prey is Raymond Doyle.
Since Doyle can ID just about every vehicle in the motor pool, Bodie had got dispensation to hire a car. Since Cowley grants all dispensations, he is crammed into a rickety Mini, small and battered and blending in with the other vehicles parked along the road. As it is he’s parked as far away as he could get and still see the couple on the bench.
The couple are wrapped up in an argument. From time to time Doyle reaches out to touch Ann, but wings and talons show in response, although more to caution than injure. Bodie truthfully doesn’t wish Ann Holly any harm; but just as truthfully wishes she’d lose the argument, or slap Ray and walk off, or do something that ends this back-and-forth and unties the knots in his stomach, even if it ends the relationship as well. Maybe it’s because he’s never gone through this with any of his birds; in fact, Doyle’s birds have always stayed around longer than Bodie’s. But whatever is happening now, this is a foreign country to him.
His attention swings back to the bench, as Ann suddenly flutters up, as though about to leave. Doyle stands as well; holding her by the shoulders, he leans in to kiss her. She responds at first, leaning into him; then backs up, bringing up her hands to block Doyle’s arms. Whatever he then says is accompanied by an earnest look; she shakes her head briefly, apparently at a loss, then Doyle grabs her hand and tugs. This time she goes freely.
Bodie’s anger reaches a new peak, although he’s not quite sure why.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You spied on us, you dumb crud. And you thought I was too daft to notice you slinking about?”
“Think it over, Ray. The Cow is always going to look into anyone who gets close to any of us. Of course he’ll tell me to do it. Be glad it was me and not Anson – he’d’ve blabbed to the whole mob by now. Your business would be on the front page of this morning’s Daily Mail.”
Bodie’s calm – at least outwardly – but Doyle isn’t having any of it. Discretion now forgotten, he yells at the top of his lungs. “And did you order a bug in my bedroom? Did it give you a thrill – ‘share and share alike’? Or were you jealous, because I spend my time with Ann now? Because it’s her and not you? You do know it was you we were arguing about, don’t you?”
Something roars up inside Bodie, blinding him; he barely notices grabbing Doyle and slamming him against the wall, trapping him with a paw against the sternum, faces separated by inches. “Look, angelfish, this was going to happen. Part of the fine print, or did you forget the mob you signed up for? And we did find something on her.” Doyle pushes back, but the taller man leverages his position to hold him in place, leaning in further to snarl out more. “Did you even stop to think how this would play out with the Cow, how this would affect your position at CI5? What about how it would affect our partnership? Or were you just too busy dreaming of the wife, the house, and two-point-four kids?”
Bodie pauses, to catch his breath and stare into the blue-green eyes, looking for a sign that he’s getting through. It’s just long enough to loosen his grip, and just long enough to be reminded how lethal Doyle’s right hook can be, as pain explodes and he’s suddenly flying onto the office couch. Doyle stands over him, ready with more.
“That,” Bodie wiggles his jaw to get it working again, “that, mate, is how you can tell your mates, because only a mate would let you get away with that.”
“Fuck, Bodie. What is wrong with you? Out of sorts for weeks – “
“Hold on, sunshine. Look – I don’t believe your Ann is up to anything. I’m your partner; if it’s me on the obbo, I can keep a lid on it, at least for a bit. In the meantime, your job is to prove your bird’s innocence, and not give Cowley room to nose in.”
Bodie still sees anger dancing in the eyes, but Doyle seems slightly less deadly. “Look, you – just – Bodie – right now, you stay away from me and stay away from Ann, otherwise I’m liable to come back here and personally gut you. We will talk about this tomorrow, and you will tell me what you found. And we will prove that whatever it is, it isn’t Ann.
“But for tonight, just keep yer distance. No calls, no cameras, and no goddamned bugs. Because I’m this close to packing it in, and I may yet.” He turns, grabs his jacket, and strides from the room, trailing electric anger.
Caught in Doyle’s wake, Bodie wonders two things: how Raymond Doyle had got so far under his skin, and whether he’d just ended their partnership.
III. Resurrection
“Ann – wait!”
The bird perches on the door of the car, hovering before getting in. Red talons grasp the side of the door, pausing. The bluest eyes pierce him.
“Ann. Wait.” He's a little calmer; at least she’d stopped.
“You didn’t believe me, didn’t ask me. Didn’t trust me.”
“I believed you. But we had to check, I had to clear you.”
“No, Ray, I can’t do this. You are who you are. I don’t know if it’s me, or if it’s something you need me to be for you, to solve something within you. But I can’t do this for you, I can’t make it right and fine for you. We’re in two different worlds, and they don’t cross.”
She opens the car door, alights on the seat, turns the key in the ignition.
“Goodbye, Ray. I hope you find what you’re looking for. “
The car springs to life. He stands, just looking, as the vehicle arcs around him, then flies away.
He already misses the feel of her body, the comforting blue of her eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Doyle?” Blank; in someone else, there would’ve been an unsure note.
“Save me your speeches, Bodie. My performance isn’t off, and I can still cover your back like always.”
He looks at the other man, then freezes.“...the Cow.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Christ! I don’t need you telling tales, on top of everything else.”
“Hang on – I didn’t tell him anything. He asked how you were getting on; his exact words were, ‘And what of 4.5?’ I told him you were doing quite adequately.”
“Ringing endorsement, that.”
“Well, Doyle, you’re not at 110%. And if that doesn’t change, the old man will bundle you off to Ross. Or worse, Macklin. Got some self-interest with that, don’t want or need a new partner.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It ends up being Macklin, after all.
Cowley has assigned them to extensive training sessions, as Bodie had feared. He’d thought Doyle would be the only lucky one, but then Cowley had ordered he go as well and “make sure that 4.5 gets back to full fighting form.” If it breaks Doyle’s funk, he’s all for it; but there was a reason the agents referred to Macklin as the Marquis de Sade.
And Doyle is resisting. He must’ve known he had no choice; but he’s fighting against the training, as though he just can’t understand there’s a process and he has to follow it.
It’s late afternoon, that time just before things start getting interesting, and they sit on a bench, catching their breaths after a particularly intense session. Macklin is gone, having thrown a cursory “riiight - until tomorrow, then” in their direction and left them alone in the workout room.
Bodie turns to Doyle, studying the profile, the shadows around the cheek that make Doyle Doyle.
“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Doyle asks, turning to face him.
“What?”
“Why are you still here? Don’t you have a date with Sheila or Audra or whoever Flavour-of-the-Month is?”
“What are you on about?”
“Why are you here? Why do you care? I saved your arse three weeks ago. I can still cover you. What is the problem?”
“Because I’m trying to save your sorry arse from getting kicked out of this mob. Because you’re not at the level you need to be. Because Cowley ordered me here. And because you’re my partner, and I don’t want another one.”
“Because you feel sorry for little 'ol me, because I’m defective and human. Don't pity me, Bodie.”
“No, because you’re being a berk about it and pushing away everybody.”
Bodie glides to a standing position and, taking Doyle by the wrist, pulls him up as well. He’s just had a thought. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come on, hit me.”
“What? We just went through a full session.”
“Just hit me.”
“No.”
“Why – because you’re defective? Because you’re human? Because a true CI5 tough guy can’t feel anything?“
Doyle takes a half-hearted swing at him.
“Not good enough, angelfish. Did you think with your dick and it led you over a cliff? Did you trust your heart and have it handed back to you on a platter, sliced into bits? Did you put your cherished Ann before everyone and everything else, including your partner?”
Bodie knows he has him by the gleam in Doyle’s eye. Doyle gets another of his right hooks in, but Bodie is back on his feet and responding within seconds.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Doyle fights but also locks on Bodie’s vibrantly blue eyes boring into him, not allowing him to focus anywhere else.
The panther then leaps forward, locking its teeth around his neck. The grip is rock-like, unbreakable, but meant to hold, not injure. He is gathered up, and together they spring forward. Launching into a hard gallop, they travel past unseeing pedestrians; through the trees, around cabs and buses almost frozen in time, out to the plains; then speeding up, the miles flying beneath the black furred paws. Ray hangs on for dear life, their staccatoed breaths and tripping hearts the only sounds besides the wind. He can feel powerful muscles pulsing beneath his fingers, the feline form bearing him away; the tension building, their breaths becoming harsher, becoming closer and closer and closer until they are melded into one.
They slow, then stop when they crest a hill. Bodie releases him and stands, shedding his skin, his protection, holding his arms open in invitation. Accepting the offer, Ray grasps his wrist and pulls Bodie down to lie with him, wrapping himself in the other man’s warmth.
This sense of connectedness is what had been missing, what Ann would never have been able to give him.
He’d been mistaken. Bodie’s and Ann’s eyes are nothing alike.
Title: Study #2: The Passion of St Bodie
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
golden_bastet
Slash or Gen: Slash, with a touch of gen
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Both, pleez (although I have this crazy idea I'll get a chance to revise or something)
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television; this story is an amateur work, written purely for entertainment. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is made.
Notes: Bodie/Doyle, Doyle/Ann Holly
I’d also like to thankjaycat92 and joey112 for the incredibly helpful beta, bleedtoblue for the readthrough (during lunch – and she doesn’t even know the fandom!) , and theskimblishone for that great discussion about magic realism. This is not magic realism by any means, but it was still fun to discuss.
Edited: for Bad Usage, LOL.
Together, always together, William Andrew Philip Bodie and Raymond Doyle range its length and breadth: CI5’s best team, doing their bit to mitigate the danger and keep the homeland smelling of the roses and lavender that never actually grow along any paths they travel.
Their boss is one Major George Cowley, Controller of CI5. As Shiva sits astride Nandi the sacred bull, so too does the protection of the realm rest upon Cowley’s sturdy back. He in turn sends his agents out to do their jobs and do them well, no questions asked; he brooks little protest and offers even less background. Usually they do come back for more (though there is a line in the CI5 budget to provide plain wreaths for those who don’t). But however stern, Cowley garners respect from his agents and employees; what they do, they do for country – and for him.
Many in CI5 think that Bodie and Doyle are complete opposites. It is true that Bodie, panther-proud, quiet but always tensed to spring, is physically unlike Doyle, whose bursting energy remains in motion even when at rest. Doyle is known as the optimist (as much as one can be in their line of work) while Bodie’s usual starting point is believing the worst of his fellow man. And they are always at each other – name-calling, debating intelligence, horse-playing, competing in driving, drinking, women. But emotionally, inside, their different means result in the same ends: able to interpret each other without speaking a word, able to work as a seamless unit, able to kill at an instant’s notice.
As Cowley’s best team, they train, work, walk, drive, eat, shit, think, and just are together. A partnership that had begun on Cowley’s whim has grown into an organic part of both men - which no one notices any longer, much less questions.
And if from time to time Doyle sees possessiveness – and a kind of commitment – in Bodie’s deceptively baby blues as they track him, if he feels a response echo in his soul, he chalks it up to partnership and shared experience.
They live so deeply in each other’s pockets, that’s what it must be.
I. Betrayal
They’ve been taking turns tracking the suspect: Doyle trotting along the station concourse, distanced enough to blend in with the crowd; then Bodie picking up the creature’s scent to follow along the high street. Somehow, though, the prey twigs and takes flight, legs loping beneath him, far enough ahead that they can’t easily bring him to ground. They manage to tree him up a block of flats, but still need to flush him out into the open. With a nod and a sideways jerk of the head, Bodie peels off to take the lift to the roof and work his way down, while Doyle ascends the stairs, checking doors, inching his way up.
Creeping along, gun at the ready, a movement catches Doyle’s eye and he automatically trains his gun in that direction – but no, it’s Bodie, pointing his own weapon back at him, hair-trigger on pause. They both ease off, relaxing slightly, when –
A door opens, and the world changes.
Doyle spots the bird first, just a split second before Bodie. All gleaming red plumage, she startles at the two hunters, their guns drawn on her. Member of the public; stand down. “It’s okay, love, please go back inside.”
“WATCH OUT!” A roar behind him, and he’s already moving to cover the red body, as the panther leaps past to bring down the hyena, who had slunk out to take aim at them.
When it‘s over, Doyle carefully holds the bird at arm’s length, checking for injuries. The look across her face catches his attention: surprise, shock, disgust, but also a steely strength in the cornflower eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Bodie, Doyle. Do you want a ride back?” More a command than a question, as they stand by Cowley’s car, once everything has been wrapped up and they’ve been nearly gutted for killing a suspect they were merely supposed to follow.
Bodie easily slides into the passenger seat, but Doyle holds back. “No, I’ll see you later at headquarters.” And lower, to Bodie, “I need to check on something.”
Bodie gives him a knowing grin.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“May I come in?” Doyle keeps it light and friendly, to prevent the bird from flying away.
“Why have you come back? Looking to rid yourself of any and all witnesses?”
“No, as I explained before – we’re the good guys. You’ve had quite a shock; I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, and that you have someone to contact if you need company.”
”I’m hardly a shrinking violet, and I'm not about to shatter. Well, unless you are here to dispose of witnesses.”
“Yes, I see the hints of your sterner stuff. One request, though? Truce? Because I did come back to make sure you’re okay.”
She peers at him defiantly, but there’s a slight shiver along the line of her shoulders. “After the morning you’ve had, Miss Holly, anyone would feel off. It’s not a good idea to sit alone and risk going into shock. If you’ll let me in for a few minutes, I can at least go over some steps to help with the next few hours and days.” He gives her what he hopes is his most encouraging smile.
“Okay,” she’s wavering, “a few minutes won’t hurt. But before you do come in, there is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Your name.”
“Ah – of course. Doyle. Raymond Doyle.”
“Then, Mr. Raymond Doyle, in you come.” She holds the door open for Doyle to enter.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bodie steers the Capri into the stream of rush hour traffic.
“Where have you been, old son? Have missed you; no one to debate the finer points of Sartre and Camus with.”
Doyle snorts at the question. “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of them.”
“Not just a pretty face, you know.” Bodie flashes a smug grin. “But what have you been up to? Murphy was up for a pint last night, was even paying, but you were not to be found.”
“Was busy.”
“Yeah, apparently. So, who is she?”
Doyle stares out the window, his mouth a small frown.
“Not talking, eh, angelfish? Well, can’t be Sally; she left you. And – what was her name? Joan? Jane? yeah, Jane – Jane was out of the picture last time you brought her up, so not her… By the way, what happened with that bird from the Conway obbo? You never said.”
The frown tightens into a firm line.
“Hang on – it’s not her, is it? But that was weeks ago. C’mon, Doyle, confess. Or I’ll put you down for extra Christmas duty on the roster sheet.”
“You’re not going to drop this, I know. Yes, it’s the bird from the obbo. Her name is Ann Holly, she’s a nice girl, and I’ve seen her a few times. Happy?”
“A few times? Maybe we should stop off at Casualty, then.”
“Enough, Bodie. Or what I’ll do to you will make Christmas duty look like a walk in the park.”
Bodie just laughs at Doyle, his eyes twinkling.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Doyle can’t help but admire Ann Holly. A proud, sleek bird, with those startlingly blue eyes, her intelligence and self-assuredness strikes him like few other people he knows. Definitely Bodie, and Cowley,... and that's about all he can come up with. She tells bad jokes, and pulls pranks, and prods him into doing things he normally wouldn’t, and generally makes him feel comfortable – but isn’t afraid to tell him when he’s out of line.
He’s glad he’d decided to go back up to check on Miss Ann Holly after the obbo; he could grow to be really comfortable with her.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You know, Raymond Doyle, I may have had you all wrong.” Ann is looking straight at him now.
“Whaddya mean?”
“We didn’t get off to a great start - no, let me finish – but you’re much more complex that I first thought. You’re funny, you’re smart – “
“Gerrof –“
“No, you’ve done a lot, and there’s a bit of you, right in there – “ a blood-red talon pokes his chest, near his heart, “that cares.”
“I bet you say that to all the blokes. Of which there’d better not be any others around.” But he’s grinning.
“I’m serious, Ray. And I could see myself falling for you.”
He leans over and kisses her – not heated, but not chaste. Full of intent. “And I might’ve already fallen for you.”
She kisses him back, encouraging. One kiss leads to another, and another – and then their hands are running over each other, mapping out contours and textures and warmth. All of Doyle’s senses are engaged, as they progress from kisses and caresses to breaths and laughter and fumbling over buttons. He smells her scent, he sees those summer afternoon eyes increasingly drawing him in. Then Ann stands, shedding her plumage, holding her arms open in invitation. Accepting the offer, Ray grasps her wrist and pulls her back down to lie with him, wrapping himself in her warmth.
II. Crucifixion
“So – what do you think?”
“Lovely bird. Lovely bird. Knows her mind – and quite posh, to boot. Far too good for the likes of you, mind, but lovely.”
“Ta very much, mate. Just don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, angelfish. What?” in answer to Doyle’s sceptical bark. “I know there are boundaries in life, and the garden around your bird’s tree is fenced off, right and proper.” Bodie stops, taking a long, sinuous stretch. “Now, if she had a sister, I wouldn’t say no –“
“Don’t you think of it. Don’t want you anywhere near, unsupervised.” The smile fades from Doyle’s face. “Different, she is. I can’t describe it, Bodie. But she’s special, not the usual.”
Doyle glances down at his watch, does a doubletake. “Christ! Have to go, promised Ann I’d drop by.”
“I thought we were having a couple of pints, watching a little footie.” Someone who doesn’t know Bodie as well as Doyle does wouldn’t catch the feral look that flashes across his face. Doyle, however, is busy pulling pound notes from his wallet to slap on the table.
“Really sorry mate; I double-booked. Need to go over and sort out Ann’s kitchen; the one thing she’s pretty hopeless at, and this is the only time we can do it. Will make it up to you.” Doyle stands, shrugging his jacket on. “’M glad the two of you got on so well. You’re alike in a lot of ways. And we will have an evening of it yet.”
“Like you promised three times before?” Bodie replies. But Doyle is already halfway to the door, car keys in hand.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There are good and bad days at work. This one is shaping up to be one for the record books, firmly in the negative column.
Bodie is partially relieved he doesn’t have to tell Doyle Cowley’s assigned him to investigate Ann Holly. Well, if the berk had been thinking with the head on his shoulders, we might not be at this point. But he’s about had it with the whole Ann Holly situation: Doyle is nowhere to be found most of the time, Cowley is leaning on him to fix the situation, and his job has become a huge headache. What he wouldn’t do for a few days off and a case of the Cow’s malt scotch...
He strides into the office he shares with Doyle, where the eye of the storm that’s been blowing sits at his own desk, feet propped on the edge, reading a report. No idea of all the trouble he’s caused.
“Hello, sunshine. Was about to take off, but need to ask you about Tuesday’s obbo before I do. - And what shadow crossed your grave?”
All Bodie hears is, ‘about to take off.’ “Not to disrupt your social calendar, but we need to go through the Norfolk files. Now.” He grabs a stack of files and dumps them on Doyle’s desk. There’s a sharp look from the other man, but he‘s having none of that. “Sorry, sunshine, but tonight you will stay at your desk and you will work late, and you will finish reviewing the files. And only then when you have done your job and your duty to Crown and the Cow will you swan off to Miss Jean Brodie. Not before.” His voice remains even. But there is a growl behind the words.
“Piss off, Bodie.” Doyle has his own funereal shadows forming.
“Cowley’s orders.” Not quite true, but Bodie enjoys saying that too much.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Doyle’s partner, Bodie is tasked with managing the surveillance on Ann Holly. It’s easier than he thought to set up cameras and plant bugs, and go through records to reconstruct a life, although he insists on analysing the evidence himself. No, the hard part is paging through grainy pictures: Doyle laughing, Doyle smiling, Doyle showing the pain of bliss.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bodie is not in a good mood.
There’d been a double date the previous night; his idea. The restaurant had been fine, his date had been fine, the food had been fine, the conversation had been fine – but the evening had been a complete disaster. He’d made it through dinner, tearing through his bloody steak, maybe a little less charming than usual. The outing was clearly headed towards a cliff by time they’d walked into the club, until Bodie eventually sat alone watching his date Susan on the dance floor with Doyle and Ann, mingling with the other couples jerking through age-old mating rituals. And then he found himself driving Susan home, begging off any more private mating rituals, claiming stomach ache and promising to make it up to her – a promise he’s fairly sure he’ll never keep.
And now it’s the next afternoon and he sits in a car, observing a meeting on a bench in Hyde Park. He has to play this one especially carefully because the stakes are incredibly high, and the prey is Raymond Doyle.
Since Doyle can ID just about every vehicle in the motor pool, Bodie had got dispensation to hire a car. Since Cowley grants all dispensations, he is crammed into a rickety Mini, small and battered and blending in with the other vehicles parked along the road. As it is he’s parked as far away as he could get and still see the couple on the bench.
The couple are wrapped up in an argument. From time to time Doyle reaches out to touch Ann, but wings and talons show in response, although more to caution than injure. Bodie truthfully doesn’t wish Ann Holly any harm; but just as truthfully wishes she’d lose the argument, or slap Ray and walk off, or do something that ends this back-and-forth and unties the knots in his stomach, even if it ends the relationship as well. Maybe it’s because he’s never gone through this with any of his birds; in fact, Doyle’s birds have always stayed around longer than Bodie’s. But whatever is happening now, this is a foreign country to him.
His attention swings back to the bench, as Ann suddenly flutters up, as though about to leave. Doyle stands as well; holding her by the shoulders, he leans in to kiss her. She responds at first, leaning into him; then backs up, bringing up her hands to block Doyle’s arms. Whatever he then says is accompanied by an earnest look; she shakes her head briefly, apparently at a loss, then Doyle grabs her hand and tugs. This time she goes freely.
Bodie’s anger reaches a new peak, although he’s not quite sure why.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You spied on us, you dumb crud. And you thought I was too daft to notice you slinking about?”
“Think it over, Ray. The Cow is always going to look into anyone who gets close to any of us. Of course he’ll tell me to do it. Be glad it was me and not Anson – he’d’ve blabbed to the whole mob by now. Your business would be on the front page of this morning’s Daily Mail.”
Bodie’s calm – at least outwardly – but Doyle isn’t having any of it. Discretion now forgotten, he yells at the top of his lungs. “And did you order a bug in my bedroom? Did it give you a thrill – ‘share and share alike’? Or were you jealous, because I spend my time with Ann now? Because it’s her and not you? You do know it was you we were arguing about, don’t you?”
Something roars up inside Bodie, blinding him; he barely notices grabbing Doyle and slamming him against the wall, trapping him with a paw against the sternum, faces separated by inches. “Look, angelfish, this was going to happen. Part of the fine print, or did you forget the mob you signed up for? And we did find something on her.” Doyle pushes back, but the taller man leverages his position to hold him in place, leaning in further to snarl out more. “Did you even stop to think how this would play out with the Cow, how this would affect your position at CI5? What about how it would affect our partnership? Or were you just too busy dreaming of the wife, the house, and two-point-four kids?”
Bodie pauses, to catch his breath and stare into the blue-green eyes, looking for a sign that he’s getting through. It’s just long enough to loosen his grip, and just long enough to be reminded how lethal Doyle’s right hook can be, as pain explodes and he’s suddenly flying onto the office couch. Doyle stands over him, ready with more.
“That,” Bodie wiggles his jaw to get it working again, “that, mate, is how you can tell your mates, because only a mate would let you get away with that.”
“Fuck, Bodie. What is wrong with you? Out of sorts for weeks – “
“Hold on, sunshine. Look – I don’t believe your Ann is up to anything. I’m your partner; if it’s me on the obbo, I can keep a lid on it, at least for a bit. In the meantime, your job is to prove your bird’s innocence, and not give Cowley room to nose in.”
Bodie still sees anger dancing in the eyes, but Doyle seems slightly less deadly. “Look, you – just – Bodie – right now, you stay away from me and stay away from Ann, otherwise I’m liable to come back here and personally gut you. We will talk about this tomorrow, and you will tell me what you found. And we will prove that whatever it is, it isn’t Ann.
“But for tonight, just keep yer distance. No calls, no cameras, and no goddamned bugs. Because I’m this close to packing it in, and I may yet.” He turns, grabs his jacket, and strides from the room, trailing electric anger.
Caught in Doyle’s wake, Bodie wonders two things: how Raymond Doyle had got so far under his skin, and whether he’d just ended their partnership.
III. Resurrection
“Ann – wait!”
The bird perches on the door of the car, hovering before getting in. Red talons grasp the side of the door, pausing. The bluest eyes pierce him.
“Ann. Wait.” He's a little calmer; at least she’d stopped.
“You didn’t believe me, didn’t ask me. Didn’t trust me.”
“I believed you. But we had to check, I had to clear you.”
“No, Ray, I can’t do this. You are who you are. I don’t know if it’s me, or if it’s something you need me to be for you, to solve something within you. But I can’t do this for you, I can’t make it right and fine for you. We’re in two different worlds, and they don’t cross.”
She opens the car door, alights on the seat, turns the key in the ignition.
“Goodbye, Ray. I hope you find what you’re looking for. “
The car springs to life. He stands, just looking, as the vehicle arcs around him, then flies away.
He already misses the feel of her body, the comforting blue of her eyes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Doyle?” Blank; in someone else, there would’ve been an unsure note.
“Save me your speeches, Bodie. My performance isn’t off, and I can still cover your back like always.”
He looks at the other man, then freezes.“...the Cow.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Christ! I don’t need you telling tales, on top of everything else.”
“Hang on – I didn’t tell him anything. He asked how you were getting on; his exact words were, ‘And what of 4.5?’ I told him you were doing quite adequately.”
“Ringing endorsement, that.”
“Well, Doyle, you’re not at 110%. And if that doesn’t change, the old man will bundle you off to Ross. Or worse, Macklin. Got some self-interest with that, don’t want or need a new partner.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It ends up being Macklin, after all.
Cowley has assigned them to extensive training sessions, as Bodie had feared. He’d thought Doyle would be the only lucky one, but then Cowley had ordered he go as well and “make sure that 4.5 gets back to full fighting form.” If it breaks Doyle’s funk, he’s all for it; but there was a reason the agents referred to Macklin as the Marquis de Sade.
And Doyle is resisting. He must’ve known he had no choice; but he’s fighting against the training, as though he just can’t understand there’s a process and he has to follow it.
It’s late afternoon, that time just before things start getting interesting, and they sit on a bench, catching their breaths after a particularly intense session. Macklin is gone, having thrown a cursory “riiight - until tomorrow, then” in their direction and left them alone in the workout room.
Bodie turns to Doyle, studying the profile, the shadows around the cheek that make Doyle Doyle.
“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Doyle asks, turning to face him.
“What?”
“Why are you still here? Don’t you have a date with Sheila or Audra or whoever Flavour-of-the-Month is?”
“What are you on about?”
“Why are you here? Why do you care? I saved your arse three weeks ago. I can still cover you. What is the problem?”
“Because I’m trying to save your sorry arse from getting kicked out of this mob. Because you’re not at the level you need to be. Because Cowley ordered me here. And because you’re my partner, and I don’t want another one.”
“Because you feel sorry for little 'ol me, because I’m defective and human. Don't pity me, Bodie.”
“No, because you’re being a berk about it and pushing away everybody.”
Bodie glides to a standing position and, taking Doyle by the wrist, pulls him up as well. He’s just had a thought. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come on, hit me.”
“What? We just went through a full session.”
“Just hit me.”
“No.”
“Why – because you’re defective? Because you’re human? Because a true CI5 tough guy can’t feel anything?“
Doyle takes a half-hearted swing at him.
“Not good enough, angelfish. Did you think with your dick and it led you over a cliff? Did you trust your heart and have it handed back to you on a platter, sliced into bits? Did you put your cherished Ann before everyone and everything else, including your partner?”
Bodie knows he has him by the gleam in Doyle’s eye. Doyle gets another of his right hooks in, but Bodie is back on his feet and responding within seconds.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Doyle fights but also locks on Bodie’s vibrantly blue eyes boring into him, not allowing him to focus anywhere else.
The panther then leaps forward, locking its teeth around his neck. The grip is rock-like, unbreakable, but meant to hold, not injure. He is gathered up, and together they spring forward. Launching into a hard gallop, they travel past unseeing pedestrians; through the trees, around cabs and buses almost frozen in time, out to the plains; then speeding up, the miles flying beneath the black furred paws. Ray hangs on for dear life, their staccatoed breaths and tripping hearts the only sounds besides the wind. He can feel powerful muscles pulsing beneath his fingers, the feline form bearing him away; the tension building, their breaths becoming harsher, becoming closer and closer and closer until they are melded into one.
They slow, then stop when they crest a hill. Bodie releases him and stands, shedding his skin, his protection, holding his arms open in invitation. Accepting the offer, Ray grasps his wrist and pulls Bodie down to lie with him, wrapping himself in the other man’s warmth.
This sense of connectedness is what had been missing, what Ann would never have been able to give him.
He’d been mistaken. Bodie’s and Ann’s eyes are nothing alike.
Title: Study #2: The Passion of St Bodie
Author:
golden_bastetSlash or Gen: Slash, with a touch of gen
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Both, pleez (although I have this crazy idea I'll get a chance to revise or something)
Author's Name for Archiving (if different to above):
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television; this story is an amateur work, written purely for entertainment. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is made.
Notes: Bodie/Doyle, Doyle/Ann Holly
I’d also like to thank
jaycat92 and joey112 for the incredibly helpful beta, bleedtoblue for the readthrough (during lunch – and she doesn’t even know the fandom!) , and theskimblishone for that great discussion about magic realism. This is not magic realism by any means, but it was still fun to discuss.Edited: for Bad Usage, LOL.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-26 04:39 am (UTC)Cheers
Frances
Proslib business: proslib at gmail dot com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/proslib
http://www.livejournal.com/users/hagsrus/
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Date: 2011-04-27 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-26 10:45 am (UTC)Then Ann stands, shedding her plumage, holding her arms open in invitation.Accepting the offer, Ray grasps her wrist and pulls her back down to lay with him, wrapping himself in her warmth. to this:
Bodie releases him and stands, shedding his skin, his protection, holding his arms open in invitation. Accepting the offer, Ray grasps his wrist and pulls Bodie down to lay with him, wrapping himself in the other man’s warmth. and the repeated analogy of Ann as a bird of the feathered kind, and Bodie as a jungle cat. Nicely done.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-26 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 11:33 pm (UTC)And the in-canon is good, because the big bang is sooo not canon, LOL...
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Date: 2011-04-27 12:15 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing this!
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Date: 2011-04-27 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 10:04 am (UTC)Can I be cheeky and offer a quick Britism to exchange for an Americanism? In this nearly-last line: Accepting the offer, Ray grasps his wrist and pulls Bodie down to lay with him, wrapping himself in the other man’s warmth. it should really be "lie with him" instead of "lay with him"... *g*
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Date: 2011-04-27 06:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 11:36 pm (UTC)I'll fix that up right away. And thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2011-04-27 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 06:07 pm (UTC)