discoveredinalj | loyseofverlaine - Discovered in a Christmas Pud

Uriah

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab, and sent it by the hand of Uriah. In the letter he wrote, "Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting and then draw back from him, so that he may be struck down and die."

Bodie's finally asleep, thank God. I've got him settled on the broken-down settee in the corner, bundled up in both our jackets. I'd give him my jumper too if I dared, but it won't help either of us if I get sick in this freezing hole. Bodie needs a doctor and a hospital. What he's got is me, and a tin of aspirin and a half bottle of the worst brandy to ever come out of France.

What's scared me is that it only took a glass of the filthy stuff to knock him out.

The bullet's still in his side. At first, he was all big talk and hard man attitude. "Ha, ha, no worries mate, used to catch bullets in me teeth back in Africa." But as the hours went by, he went quieter and quieter, and whiter and whiter. By the time I got us in here, he could barely walk.

Come morning, when there's light, I'll have to douse my knife in that brandy and dig the bullet out. Makes me sick just thinking about it, but there's no help for it. If the bullet doesn't come out he won't last long, given where we are.

This place is a right rathole: grease caked on the cooker, bog that would make a camel gag (according to Bodie, anyway, and he should know), mice in the cupboards, mattress stinking of mildew. I raided cleaner squats in the old days. The gas and electric are turned off, so we've got no light or heat or water.

Not that I'd dare put a light on even if I could. Between me and Bodie we know all the tricks for losing tails and going to ground, and the second stolen car should have muddied the waters completely. But then it's the A Squad after us, and they know every one of those tricks just as well as we do. Anson and Murphy could be outside, ready to kick the door in right now.

I take a sip of the brandy, coughing over the raw burn of it. I'm cold and sore and so fucking tired I feel dizzy, but I know I'm too jumpy to sleep yet. I'll have to get some rest before morning though, because I can't be cutting into Bodie in the state I'm in now.

"Ray?" Bodie's voice is soft, but alert.

"Right here, sunshine." I squat down so he can see me without having to strain his neck. "How you feeling?"

"Bloody awful." His eyes squeeze shut, then pop open. "Ray, you have to get out of here. They could have followed us."

"Followed me? You must be joking."

Bodie flails around with one hand, as if he's trying to push himself up, and I grab hold, pinning him down as gently as I can.

"Keep still, Bodie. I've just stopped you bleeding all over the furniture, don't start it up again."

He settles back down, but I can tell it's more from exhaustion and pain than because he's listening to good sense.

"Ray." I can barely hear him. "How could he do it?"

Slowly, I shake my head. I don't have an answer to that. Cowley's always been a ruthless old bastard, but I'd thought him fair. Honourable. A man who knew how to deal with the temptations that power puts in his way.

"Could he have . . . far back as Mayli?"

The hurt in Bodie's voice makes my fists clench with the need to rip into Cowley. He knew how hard-won Bodie's trust and respect was; that he couldn't accept that as enough—

Oh, yeah, old man. You and I will have words on this someday, and the bullet in Bodie's side will be the least of what you owe.

I ease myself up and carefully shift Bodie so I can slide in behind him. With me at his back and our jackets over us both, it's a bit warmer, and he huddles down gratefully against me. I put both our guns in easy reach, and as I do, get a glimpse of my watch.

Two-thirty in the morning.

Sixteen hours to turn my world — our world — into a kalaidoscope.

The bell had dragged me out of bed yesterday morning, still so tired from the day before I was staggering like a drunk. I swore loudly as I unlocked the door, prepared to let Bodie know how I felt about being knocked up hours before we were supposed to meet for our squash game.

One look at him sobered me up like a judge. He was bone-pale, except for two bright red patches high on his cheeks, and his eyes showed white all round like a startled horse. He kept looking over his shoulder, twitching like a nervous junkie.

"We need to get out of here." In contrast to his looks, his voice was flat and cold.

"We need to get you a drink."

I turned to get a bottle, but he lunged forward and grabbed hold of me. I could feel his hand tremble slightly even though his grip was tight enough to bruise.

"No time, Ray. I've fucked up and we have to run. Now!"

"What's happened?"

"Cowley made a pass at me."

I shook my head, feeling as if I were falling off a wall.

"What?"

"He called me into his office this morning. Said he wanted to discuss my future." He ran his fingers through his hair, sending it upright in all directions. "My future with him."

"What did you say?"

"Told him no, what do you think I said?" he exploded. Then he dropped onto the couch and put his head in his hands. When he looked up, his eyes had something in them I couldn't quite read. "I lost my rag. Said something stupid."

"That's news?"

"I told him I wasn't interested because I already had a lover."

Now I could read what was in his eyes. Forget falling off a wall, I was out of the plane without a parachute.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I —"

"Don't you fucking dare apologise." I grabbed for him.

It wasn't much as first kisses go: too fast, too rough, neither of us quite sure where hands and noses and tongues really should go. But it was everything I'd been wondering about for months, and a lot more.

When we managed to drag ourselves apart, I took a deep breath and scrubbed my hands over my face. "How long do we have?"

Bodie laughed harshly. "I was half expecting to be shot down on the doorstep."

"Nah." I tried to make myself sound confident, but there was more than trace of whistling past the graveyard in it. "Even Cowley has to have some time to come up with an excuse to hit us."

"Ray —"

"Save it. What have you got?"

"Went by the lock-up on the way here."

"Right then. Give me five minutes. And start packing my bag."

Sometime after our first operation Suzy, I started making plans for a rainy day, just like Bodie did. By the time he had my sports bag full, I was crawling out from behind the cooker with an envelope holding money and passports. I scrambled into my warm jacket and boots, while Bodie hauled my waterproofs out of the wardrobe.

I took one look around the flat, at everything I'd leave behind, and then slammed the door and ran down the stairs behind Bodie.

We almost made it. We were actually in the car, and Bodie was pulling into the road when our time ran out. The only warning we got was one squeal of tyres as a car rounded the corner and came at us like an express train. Bodie threw himself sideways, pushing me down against the seat.

The sound of bullets breaking glass always brings home just how fragile the barrier is between life and death. As Bodie slammed the gears into reverse I struggled up and fired after the car. I could see blonde hair and a blue jacket on the driver, and I realized it was Ruth Pettifer. I had time for one bullet through the window and one at the petrol tank, and then Bodie had the car wrenched around and we were hurtling round the corner and out of sight.

It wasn't until we were streets away that I looked over at Bodie and saw the blood.

Bodie mutters a little as my arms tighten, and I ease off a bit.

I hope to Christ I didn't kill Ruth. I don't know what story Cowley spun them: we've gone rogue, we're selling out to the Russians, who knows. But they trust him, just like we used to, and they believe him. They'll obey him, too, maybe with a qualm for old times' sake, but if the Cow says shoot us, they'll shoot.

I hope we never set eyes on any of them again. They were our friends. And if the choice is one of them or Bodie, I know where I'll aim.

You want to know the fucking cosmic irony?

Cowley was wrong.

Well, he was wrong sixteen hours ago. When he decided to kill us because he couldn't have what he wanted.

He's not wrong now.

Mind you, we've had a grand total of four kisses, and three of those after Bodie got shot, so I'm going to assume he wasn't at his best.

Four kisses.

Damn Cowley. Damn him to every circle of hell he's ever even imagined, and when we're done with his, we'll start on mine.

I take another sip of the brandy and then cork the bottle back up. I'll need the rest of it come morning. Bodie's head is tucked under my chin, his breathing slow but steady. When I touch the side of his neck, I can feel his pulse, still strong and even. He's lost some blood, but he'll live. I'll damn well make sure of it.

In the morning, we'll get the bullet out. We'll lie low for a bit, make some plans. Between the two of us, we know enough of the wrong side of the law to find a way out of the country, away from that jealous old man, away from CI5.

And someday Cowley will answer to me.

Title: Uriah
Author: Verlaine
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: No, thanks
Disclaimer: Not mine, no infringement.