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discoveredinaljIt is just after midnight lads' time, and I have to get started right away because I have two stories for you today! Sort of. Well, yes, two stories--two complete (if short) stories. But…well, I'll explain later! *g*
First up, a story I wrote for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
murphybabe, to a prompt she didn't know she gave me: Bodie/Doyle, Murphy, Macklin. You'll find it below the cut, along with an illustration by the wonderful elizabethoshea. I hope you enjoy it!
Family
By PFL
To Murphybabe for Christmas, 2011
Murphy looked up when the rest room door opened, expecting to see Julia from Dispatch. They could share a whinge about working at Christmas. Instead, it was Macklin who walked into the room, carrying two glasses and a bottle.
Murphy groaned. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.” But he readily accepted one of the glasses from Macklin.
“And so you have.” Macklin sat down at the table next to Murphy. He opened the bottle that looked suspiciously like one of Cowley’s stock of particularly fine malt whisky. “Until the new year. And annual assessments.”
“What about Jack Craine?” Murphy watched as Macklin poured a small amount of whisky into his glass. He wasn’t going to ask how Macklin had procured it. Plausible deniability was the bright way to go.
“Jack will have his area of assessment and I’ll have mine. He’s too easy on you lot.” Macklin poured a larger amount of whisky into his own glass.
“Maybe we need it. Sometimes” Murphy thought about the months he’d spent in rehabilitation, first with Jack, then with Macklin.
“Not that I’ve noticed.” Macklin leant back in his chair, eyed the whisky in his glass.
Murphy set his glass on the table. “What are you doing here?” He wouldn’t have made it back to the squad without Macklin. He knew that. But the man still unsettled him.
“What are you doing here?” After a moment, Macklin lifted his gaze to Murphy’s.
He’d seen that look before. It hadn’t been when he’d been ready to quit, but afterwards—when he hadn’t. There was a sort of steadiness to it, and an unflinching honesty. It was as if Macklin understood; as if he acknowledged what it took to stay in CI5. It was an expression Murphy hadn’t expected to see then, and it gave him pause now. It was early on Christmas morning. Why was he here?
*****
“Tell me, you fucking bastard!”
Murphy felt a certain faint triumph at the sheer frustration in Foster’s voice. Foster’s restraint wouldn’t last much longer, and that meant a quicker end to it. Before he broke, and told Foster what he wanted to know. Another blow from Foster’s fist sent Murphy crashing to the floor. He was helpless with his hands tied behind his back. He couldn’t protect himself; he couldn’t get at Foster. Useless. He lay still on the floor, dazed. Foster was breathing heavily. It was hard work beating a man to death.
Foster approached him, and Murphy was wrenched up from the floor, pushed into the chair again. It was all he could do to keep from crying out as pain lanced through him. “Why hold out?” Foster asked. “It’s just money, not lives.”
Murphy lifted his head and peered at Foster through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “CI5.”
“You should’ve stayed with the force.” Foster stretched, loosening his muscles, demonstrating how ready he was to continue. “Maybe you would’ve had sense then. What good is CI5 to you now? Makes you stubborn. They’re not going to find you, you know.”
Murphy closed his eyes, let his head drop. He was supposed to be on holiday. It would be two days before anyone would notice he was missing. He wouldn’t last last two days.
“They won’t know where to look.” Foster grabbed Murphy’s head. Murphy did his best to hold Foster’s stare. “Think death will help you? I can be a patient man when needs be. I won’t kill you. I’ll just make you wish you were dead.”
Foster had waited over three years for his opportunity, long after Tyson’s death. No one would connect Murphy’s disappearance to him. They’d look at Murphy’s CI5 cases. Even if they looked back, there were other, more senior, officers who had worked on Foster’s case.
“It’s just you and me, and all the time in the world.” Foster let go, and Murphy let his head sag forward.
He was tired, so fucking tired. He was in pain. No one would miss him. He was on his own. He always had been. All Foster wanted was the exact location where he’d found Tyson.
“Save yourself.” Foster was nearly whispering now. “Tell me where to look….”
He’d die alone. No one would ever know. He lifted his head. But he would die well. “Go to hell. You’re nothing.”
Foster’s face flushed. “We’ll see who—“ He broke off as the door was unlocked and opened behind him. Foster’s accomplice Bailey entered the room, pushing—Bodie!—ahead of him.
Murphy tried to straighten as Bodie fell to the floor. There was blood on Bodie’s face and neck, but his eyes met Murphy’s.
“Who the hell is that?” Foster demanded.
“CI5, I reckon. Met him at the pub. Said Varney sent him about a job, but—“
“And you brought him here?” Foster’s voice was urgent. “You stupid—“
Bodie suddenly rolled and shouted: “Down, Murphy!”
Murphy reacted instantly, lunging off his chair to the floor, hitting his head in his haste. His sight darkened for a few minutes. He heard gunfire, shouting— When he could see again, he discovered Doyle was in the room. Doyle was handcuffing Foster, who lay on the floor groaning.
Doyle had one knee in Foster’s back, but it was Bodie he was glaring at. “What kind of lunatic tactic was that?” Doyle pushed off Foster to get to his feet.
“A successful one,” Bodie put a small handgun back into an ankle holster.
“You were supposed to infiltrate the gang, not get captured, you bloody idiot.” Doyle sprang to his feet and walked to Murphy. “You okay, mate? Here—stay down. Ambulance is on its way.” Doyle eased Murphy back to the floor.
“Brought me here, though, didn’t they?” Bodie moved towards them.
Doyle rose to his feet, holstered his gun. “Took a blow to the head, too, I see.” There was no give to his voice.
“Worked a treat to get me in.” Bodie gripped Doyle’s upper arm briefly, and their eyes met, before he moved on to Murphy.
It was like a fire brought suddenly under control, Murphy thought, his eyes on Doyle. “Well, at least they didn’t hit anything vital,” Doyle said.
“Cheers, mate. You still with us, Murphy?”
Doyle’s R/T squawked as Murphy nodded. He ached everywhere, and he couldn’t have moved himself from the floor, but he was alive.
“Yeah, we’re fine. Where the hell’s the ambulance?” There was a pause. Murphy couldn’t make out what was said over the R/T. “He’s alive. Two dead, three injured.” Doyle thumbed the R/T switch. “Bodie. I’m going to guide them in. Don’t let this one escape, eh?” He left the room.
“He’s on…form.” Murphy was surprised at the weakness of his voice. He wanted to close his eyes.
“He lost the toss.” Bodie sat beside Murphy on the floor. “I play a better mercenary, anyway.”
“How’d…know?”
“About you? Mrs Miller mentioned to Ray she hadn’t heard from you.”
Murphy nodded. Tony Miller, who’d died so uselessly his first year in CI5. They’d been friends on the force, and in the wake of Tony’s death, Murphy had set his sights on CI5. The mob looked after its own.
“We went by your place. They grabbed you there, didn’t they?”
Murphy frowned. “How…?”
“The light was on in your kitchen. That’s not the one you leave on.”
“Oh.” Murphy closed his eyes.
“Cowley latched on to Foster. Varney owed me a favour, and Bob’s your uncle, here we are.”
They’d found him. Murphy heard Doyle’s voice outside the room, and Bodie was guarding him inside. He’d been missed. There was a warmth inside him that beat back the chill of the floor, soothed the injuries. He was known.
“Cowley’s going to have a word with you about your security, mate.”
Murphy groaned. But he smiled, just the same.
*****
In the restroom on Christmas morning, Murphy shrugged. “It was my turn.”
Macklin raised his eyebrows. “Bad luck.”
It had been Bodie’s turn to be Duty Officer over Christmas. No doubt they were in Doyle’s flat now, arguing over the Christmas menu, or the proper order of things, or Liverpool’s chances. Or not. Murphy felt a slight smile tug at his mouth; remembered the look they had exchanged. Let them have their time. “And why are you here, then, early on Christmas morning?”
Macklin copied Murphy’s shrug. “It was my turn.”
Murphy tilted his head, and thought about Cowley. CI5 took care of its own. He reached out and raised his glass. “To family.”
Macklin clicked his glass to Murphy’s.
END
December 2011
Trailer
Title: Family
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash (B/D)
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes (will send file)
Notes: No warnings needed!
And stay tuned for Story Two!
First up, a story I wrote for
murphybabe, to a prompt she didn't know she gave me: Bodie/Doyle, Murphy, Macklin. You'll find it below the cut, along with an illustration by the wonderful elizabethoshea. I hope you enjoy it!Family
By PFL
To Murphybabe for Christmas, 2011
Murphy looked up when the rest room door opened, expecting to see Julia from Dispatch. They could share a whinge about working at Christmas. Instead, it was Macklin who walked into the room, carrying two glasses and a bottle.
Murphy groaned. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.” But he readily accepted one of the glasses from Macklin.
“And so you have.” Macklin sat down at the table next to Murphy. He opened the bottle that looked suspiciously like one of Cowley’s stock of particularly fine malt whisky. “Until the new year. And annual assessments.”
“What about Jack Craine?” Murphy watched as Macklin poured a small amount of whisky into his glass. He wasn’t going to ask how Macklin had procured it. Plausible deniability was the bright way to go.
“Jack will have his area of assessment and I’ll have mine. He’s too easy on you lot.” Macklin poured a larger amount of whisky into his own glass.
“Maybe we need it. Sometimes” Murphy thought about the months he’d spent in rehabilitation, first with Jack, then with Macklin.
“Not that I’ve noticed.” Macklin leant back in his chair, eyed the whisky in his glass.
Murphy set his glass on the table. “What are you doing here?” He wouldn’t have made it back to the squad without Macklin. He knew that. But the man still unsettled him.
“What are you doing here?” After a moment, Macklin lifted his gaze to Murphy’s.
He’d seen that look before. It hadn’t been when he’d been ready to quit, but afterwards—when he hadn’t. There was a sort of steadiness to it, and an unflinching honesty. It was as if Macklin understood; as if he acknowledged what it took to stay in CI5. It was an expression Murphy hadn’t expected to see then, and it gave him pause now. It was early on Christmas morning. Why was he here?
*****
“Tell me, you fucking bastard!”
Murphy felt a certain faint triumph at the sheer frustration in Foster’s voice. Foster’s restraint wouldn’t last much longer, and that meant a quicker end to it. Before he broke, and told Foster what he wanted to know. Another blow from Foster’s fist sent Murphy crashing to the floor. He was helpless with his hands tied behind his back. He couldn’t protect himself; he couldn’t get at Foster. Useless. He lay still on the floor, dazed. Foster was breathing heavily. It was hard work beating a man to death.
Foster approached him, and Murphy was wrenched up from the floor, pushed into the chair again. It was all he could do to keep from crying out as pain lanced through him. “Why hold out?” Foster asked. “It’s just money, not lives.”
Murphy lifted his head and peered at Foster through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “CI5.”
“You should’ve stayed with the force.” Foster stretched, loosening his muscles, demonstrating how ready he was to continue. “Maybe you would’ve had sense then. What good is CI5 to you now? Makes you stubborn. They’re not going to find you, you know.”
Murphy closed his eyes, let his head drop. He was supposed to be on holiday. It would be two days before anyone would notice he was missing. He wouldn’t last last two days.
“They won’t know where to look.” Foster grabbed Murphy’s head. Murphy did his best to hold Foster’s stare. “Think death will help you? I can be a patient man when needs be. I won’t kill you. I’ll just make you wish you were dead.”
Foster had waited over three years for his opportunity, long after Tyson’s death. No one would connect Murphy’s disappearance to him. They’d look at Murphy’s CI5 cases. Even if they looked back, there were other, more senior, officers who had worked on Foster’s case.
“It’s just you and me, and all the time in the world.” Foster let go, and Murphy let his head sag forward.
He was tired, so fucking tired. He was in pain. No one would miss him. He was on his own. He always had been. All Foster wanted was the exact location where he’d found Tyson.
“Save yourself.” Foster was nearly whispering now. “Tell me where to look….”
He’d die alone. No one would ever know. He lifted his head. But he would die well. “Go to hell. You’re nothing.”
Foster’s face flushed. “We’ll see who—“ He broke off as the door was unlocked and opened behind him. Foster’s accomplice Bailey entered the room, pushing—Bodie!—ahead of him.
Murphy tried to straighten as Bodie fell to the floor. There was blood on Bodie’s face and neck, but his eyes met Murphy’s.
“Who the hell is that?” Foster demanded.
“CI5, I reckon. Met him at the pub. Said Varney sent him about a job, but—“
“And you brought him here?” Foster’s voice was urgent. “You stupid—“
Bodie suddenly rolled and shouted: “Down, Murphy!”
Murphy reacted instantly, lunging off his chair to the floor, hitting his head in his haste. His sight darkened for a few minutes. He heard gunfire, shouting— When he could see again, he discovered Doyle was in the room. Doyle was handcuffing Foster, who lay on the floor groaning.
Doyle had one knee in Foster’s back, but it was Bodie he was glaring at. “What kind of lunatic tactic was that?” Doyle pushed off Foster to get to his feet.
“A successful one,” Bodie put a small handgun back into an ankle holster.
“You were supposed to infiltrate the gang, not get captured, you bloody idiot.” Doyle sprang to his feet and walked to Murphy. “You okay, mate? Here—stay down. Ambulance is on its way.” Doyle eased Murphy back to the floor.
“Brought me here, though, didn’t they?” Bodie moved towards them.
Doyle rose to his feet, holstered his gun. “Took a blow to the head, too, I see.” There was no give to his voice.
“Worked a treat to get me in.” Bodie gripped Doyle’s upper arm briefly, and their eyes met, before he moved on to Murphy.
It was like a fire brought suddenly under control, Murphy thought, his eyes on Doyle. “Well, at least they didn’t hit anything vital,” Doyle said.
“Cheers, mate. You still with us, Murphy?”
Doyle’s R/T squawked as Murphy nodded. He ached everywhere, and he couldn’t have moved himself from the floor, but he was alive.
“Yeah, we’re fine. Where the hell’s the ambulance?” There was a pause. Murphy couldn’t make out what was said over the R/T. “He’s alive. Two dead, three injured.” Doyle thumbed the R/T switch. “Bodie. I’m going to guide them in. Don’t let this one escape, eh?” He left the room.
“He’s on…form.” Murphy was surprised at the weakness of his voice. He wanted to close his eyes.
“He lost the toss.” Bodie sat beside Murphy on the floor. “I play a better mercenary, anyway.”
“How’d…know?”
“About you? Mrs Miller mentioned to Ray she hadn’t heard from you.”
Murphy nodded. Tony Miller, who’d died so uselessly his first year in CI5. They’d been friends on the force, and in the wake of Tony’s death, Murphy had set his sights on CI5. The mob looked after its own.
“We went by your place. They grabbed you there, didn’t they?”
Murphy frowned. “How…?”
“The light was on in your kitchen. That’s not the one you leave on.”
“Oh.” Murphy closed his eyes.
“Cowley latched on to Foster. Varney owed me a favour, and Bob’s your uncle, here we are.”
They’d found him. Murphy heard Doyle’s voice outside the room, and Bodie was guarding him inside. He’d been missed. There was a warmth inside him that beat back the chill of the floor, soothed the injuries. He was known.
“Cowley’s going to have a word with you about your security, mate.”
Murphy groaned. But he smiled, just the same.
*****
In the restroom on Christmas morning, Murphy shrugged. “It was my turn.”
Macklin raised his eyebrows. “Bad luck.”
It had been Bodie’s turn to be Duty Officer over Christmas. No doubt they were in Doyle’s flat now, arguing over the Christmas menu, or the proper order of things, or Liverpool’s chances. Or not. Murphy felt a slight smile tug at his mouth; remembered the look they had exchanged. Let them have their time. “And why are you here, then, early on Christmas morning?”
Macklin copied Murphy’s shrug. “It was my turn.”
Murphy tilted his head, and thought about Cowley. CI5 took care of its own. He reached out and raised his glass. “To family.”
Macklin clicked his glass to Murphy’s.
END
December 2011
Trailer
Title: Family
Author: PFL
Slash or Gen: Slash (B/D)
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes (will send file)
Notes: No warnings needed!
And stay tuned for Story Two!
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