Day 29 - Part #4

[ancastar.livejournal.com]

A Bodie Carol
by Ancasta
(continued)

Then someone said, "She's a bit of all right, that Maeve." The voice was familiar and shaped by a Manchester childhood.  "Pity she's too young for me."

 

Bodie's eyes flew open.  Fumbling in the dark, he reached over and turned on the floor lamp at the end of the couch.  This was one guest he wanted to see, in more ways than one.  "Charlie?" he asked as he turned.

 

"That's Mr. Sam Houseman to you," said the man standing in Bodie's entryway.  Short and slender with medium brown hair and a mustache that threatened to overwhelm his narrow face, the departed CI5 agent was a sight for sore eyes.

 

Bodie grinned in welcome.  "Good to see you, mate."

 

"How you doin', Bodie?" Charlie asked with an answering smile.  He looked healthier than Bodie had ever seen him.  Dressed in navy trousers and suit jacket with a white, open-collared shirt, he could have been heading out for a night on the town.  "You look well."

 

"I'm fine," Bodie said.  "I'm doing fine.  I'd ask the same…"

 

Charlie nodded, his smile undimmed.  "But I'm dead."

 

"There is that, yeah," Bodie agreed, amused by the exchange, yet saddened by the memory that accompanied it.

 

Charlie had spent his last day on Earth doing the job he had loved.  Unfortunately, on that particular day, the job had not loved him back.  Masquerading as an assassin's target, he had been shot, with only Bodie on hand to provide comfort and care.  Gravely wounded, Charlie had bled out before the ambulance could reach them.  Bodie had held him while he had died.

 

"How long's it been, mate?" Charlie asked.

 

Bodie thought about it.  "Two years come April."

 

Charlie shook his head as if amazed.  "Time really does fly."

 

"Faster and faster, the more mature one grows."

 

"In that case, you've no worries."

 

Bodie chuckled.  "So why're you here?" he asked, crossing to sit in the corner of the couch, his arm stretched out along its back.  "Keller tried to scare me, Maeve tried to charm me.  What's your racket?"

 

"No racket to speak of," Charlie said, taking a seat in the wing chair nearby.  He crossed his ankle over his knee, and got comfortable, as if he might be sticking around awhile.  Bodie approved of the plan.  "Can't a bloke look in on an old friend?"

 

Bodie shook his head.  "Not in this dream."

 

"You still think this is a dream, do you?"

 

"All evidence points to it."

 

"Listen to you!"  Charlie sniggered.  "'All evidence points to it.'  You sound like a right copper.  I guess ol' Ray must've rubbed off on you after all these years."

 

Bodie shrugged, not at all certain how he felt about Charlie's observation.  "I suppose he's had his influence.  I like to think I've had mine as well."

 

"Of course," Charlie said, nodding sagely.  "Stands to reason, doesn't it?  Two men working together as close as you two have done.  The relationship is bound to become…symbiotic.  That's the word, innit it?"

 

"That's a word," Bodie allowed, biting back another smile.  "A rather posh word, come to that.  You enroll in university on the other side?"

 

Charlie shook his head.  "Crosswords.  They were my salvation during obbos.  Can't get enough of them."

 

"And it shows," Bodie murmured with mock admiration.

 

"But enough of that," Charlie said with a wave of his hand.  "You're gettin' me off track.  We were talkin' about you and Ray."

 

Bodie sighed and tipped back his head to look up at the ceiling.  "Oh, here it comes."

 

"Here comes what?"

 

"Don't play the innocent with me," Bodie said, bringing his head level again, so he could arch his brow in Charlie's direction.  "I'm on to you, you know."

 

"Here's another word for you, Bodie.  Paranoid.  Look it up."

 

"Listen here, Shakespeare.  I wasn't born yesterday," Bodie said, giving Charlie his best 'don't mess with me' mien.  His friend didn't appear terribly impressed by the effort.  It seemed familiarity really did breed contempt, or at the very least amusement.  "You've been gone awhile now, Charlie.  Nearly two years.  And I've never once dreamed about you.  Now suddenly you show up, wanting to chat about Ray and me on a night I'm doing my damnedest not to think about him—"

 

"And why exactly is that?"

 

"Leave off!" Bodie barked, Charlie's persistence beginning to annoy.  Christ, why couldn't he dream about getting laid, like any normal bloke?  "I don't want to talk about it.  All right?"

 

"Sorry, Bodie," Charlie said, shifting in his seat, leaning forward so his hands were clasped between his knees.  "But it's not all right."  He pushed to his feet.  "Look, I wouldn't stick my nose in it, only you and Ray are mates.  And I'm here to tell you, as a mate, you keep on as you are, and you're going to mess up the best thing that's ever happened to you."

 

"What—Doyle?" Bodie queried, surprised in spite of himself.  The best thing that's ever happened to you.  Could that be true? 

 

"Doyle and you," Charlie corrected.

 

"There is no Doyle and me," Bodie said, standing now as well.  He wasn't going to just sit there and let himself be berated, not in his own lounge.

 

And certainly not in his own dream.

 

"Don't you get it?" Bodie continued.  "Doyle and I are partners.  We work well together, we're friends.  Sure, I'll go to his local for a pint occasionally, play a game of darts, shoot some snooker.  Or maybe we'll go out together with a couple of birds, spend the evening doubling.  But that's all it is.  That's all it can ever be."

 

"So, if the Cow were to…say tomorrow…break up the team," Charlie said, "pair you instead with Anson or Jax maybe, you wouldn't be bothered?"

 

Bodie tried to ignore the little surge of panic Charlie's words inspired.  "'Course I'd be bothered.  We're a good team.  I don't want us split up."

 

"What's it matter?" Charlie said with studied nonchalance.  "Anson and Jax are good.  Both are CI5 vets, no blemishes on their records.  They're mates of yours, right?  You've worked well with each in the past.  What's the difference?"

 

"You know damned well what the difference is," Bodie said, turning and crossing away from his guest, recognizing his buttons were being pushed and why, but still unable to keep from reacting.  "I'm used to Doyle.  Know the way he thinks, how he works.  Anson and Jax are good, but he's the best.  And that's what I want watching my tender backside.  The best."

 

"Oh, so this is about you then?" Charlie queried in a way that sounded more like a statement.

 

"I'll let you in on a little secret, mate," Bodie said, stopping to look back at Charlie, his manner intentionally cheeky.  "It's always about me."

 

"That was certainly true this evening," Charlie said, his tone mild, his expression not.

 

Bodie dropped his eyes and sighed, his hand rubbing restlessly over the nape of his neck.  "That wasn't intentional."

 

"Was he really asking so much?" Charlie asked gently, taking a step closer, his hand outstretched.  "All he wanted was to spend the day with you.  You cut him off at the knees."

 

"Because he pushed."  Lifting his head, Bodie met Charlie's eyes, determined to defend himself.  "That's what Doyle always does.  As bad as a bloody battering ram, he is.  He pushes and pushes and pushes."

 

"And you push back."

 

"'Course I do," Bodie said, more loudly than he had intended.  "That's all you can do with a bloke like that."

 

"Like what?" Charlie asked.

 

Bodie answered without thinking, caught up in the conversation, in justifying behavior he wasn't at all certain was justifiable.  "Passionate.  He gets all worked up by things he shouldn't.  Jumps in feet first without paying any mind.  And I'm the one who has to drag him back out again."

"You like that about him," Charlie said knowingly.  "Like the way he feels everything so deeply.  The way it all matters to him."

 

"Like it?" Bodie said in amazement.  "It's a bloody nuisance.  I'll tell you right now—metaphorically speaking, Ray Doyle is the sort who could bleed to death from a paper cut."

 

"What do you mean by that?"

 

Bodie paced, trying to get his thoughts in order.  "Lets little things get to him, doesn't he?    Gives 'em way too much importance.  He's a brooder, Doyle is, blames himself for everything.  Takes the weight of the entire world on his shoulders without anyone asking him to."

 

Charlie watched him roam, his gaze measuring.  "So naturally, a bloke like that will let a little thing like his best mate tearing into him roll right off his back."

 

Christ.  Charlie was right.  Even though he was innocent of any wrongdoing, Doyle would find a way to blame himself for Bodie's outburst. 

 

"I'll make it up to him," Bodie mumbled, looking anywhere but at Charlie.  "He's knows I was tired, out of sorts.  He'll get over it.  We'll be good as new by Boxing Day."

 

Charlie nodded, his lips pursed thoughtfully, before saying, "Let's see what we're up against, shall we?"  Without waiting to see if Bodie was following, he headed for the door.

 

"Where you goin'?" Bodie said, staring after him.

 

"Out.  Come on."

(to be continued)