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discoveredinaljAn idea that came from re-reading Great Proswatch commentaries at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_safehouse, where ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byslantedlight noticed that Doyle/MS had a cold during the filming of the episode.
His throat had been scratchy and sore for a couple of days so of course he'd ignored it, spreading germs willy-nilly across London while they worked on the hospital sniper case. Now Doyle found himself caught between a cough and a sneeze of Vesuvian proportions. He smothered both with a handkerchief across nose and mouth, but a sudden flare of pain - sinusitis, sharp needles stabbing vengefully - struck and made his eyes water. He covered up as much as he could by looking out the car window; at grey skies, grey buildings, and the grey, rainy streets going by, until the agony receded.
"You need a doctor, mate." Bodie offered concern, or possibly a streak of gallows humour overriding his earlier serious mood.
"Nah, I just... forfucksake, Bodie, it's just a cold." Doyle had been in a temper, and holding it back had left his nerves feeling abraded and raw. Not even the probability that his partner was also working his way through a post-operation slump helped his frame of mind. Dead doctors and fatherless doctors' kids. How many? He couldn't recall a number.
He did remember Bodie grabbing him by the shoulders as they crossed the Convention Centre foyer, forcibly steering him away from the policeman who had shot Hamilton. Bloody Shannon. Stupid, irresponsible twerp. And other words, but he didn't get to say them with Bodie doing his brick outhouse impression and blocking the way. Maybe he'd have a chance at the enquiry.
And now they were heading home. Bodie, driver, would drop Doyle at his flat first before proceeding (alone) to his. Doyle was feeling hot and cold by turn, and headachy. He tried unsuccessfully to remember if he had any painkillers in his bathroom cupboard.
Half a mile further on Bodie stopped the car outside a pharmacy, going inside only to emerge some time later with a large paper bag which he tossed at Doyle before getting back in the driver's seat and continuing their journey. Doyle opened the bag with some care - it was flimsy and full almost to bursting. Bodie appeared to have bought everything in the pharmacopoeia to fill it.
"Cold remedy, asprin, Vitamin C," Doyle catalogued items as he dug through the bag's contents. "Garlic tablets... achoo!..."
"Bless you..."
"I think these are supposed to prevent colds, not cure them," he continued, recovering. "And... cod liver oil?"
Bodie shrugged. "Need to strengthen your immune system. Cod liver oil'll build you up - at least that's what my gran used to say."
Doyle had a relative or two with similar opinions and ways of sharing them, so he let that slide with a mere grunt. Besides, he'd found the Fisherman's Friends at the bottom of the bag (next to the VapoRub). He hurriedly opened the packet and popped two of the strong lozenges into his mouth. Eyes closed, he sucked slowly as the tiny pellets suffused his senses with the hot-cool aromas of liquorice and menthol.
A short while later they reached Doyle's flat. He'd sucked both lozenges into oblivion by then, and for the moment was feeling slightly better, confident that he could at least turn the heating on and have a hot bath before an early night. Not content with overstocking Doyle's medicine chest with his purchases however, Bodie followed him indoors.
"Tea?" he enquired, all serious business, taking the pharmacy bag out of his hands and filling the kettle before Doyle got around to giving an answer.
"Best thought you ever had." Doyle went through into the lounge and sank down on the settee full-length. He dropped his head back, a mistake that unleashed a flood of unpleasant sensations in his nose and the back of his throat, and forced him to sit up again and adjust his position so he was only slightly reclined.
Sounds of clinking mugs and shuffled packages drifted through from the kitchen. Doyle found it comforting. The damp chill of an unoccupied dwelling dissipated as the room temperature climbed. This was his home, it was nothing like the one where the damaged man who had died this afternoon had lived. But Doyle had witnessed the moment of death and Mickey Hamilton's pale face and last words replayed in his mind while he waited for his tea.
Someone had known. Someone had been given a clue but hadn't acted, hadn't seen what it meant.
Doctors got things wrong sometimes. There were bad doctors, who supplied drugs or injured patients, who ought to be struck off the register, but who were somehow permitted to continue treating people. Then there were always those in the know who did nothing.
On the other hand there were incurable diseases. There were children born who would never grow up, through no fault of the physicians.
People killed themselves and the living took on the blame.
Perhaps in dying Mickey Hamilton had created his own trap for the living.
Bodie came out of the kitchen a little later, smiling and holding two steaming mugs, one of which he held out to Doyle.
"Get that down you."
Doyle accepted the drink. At the first sip he tasted alcohol and honey.
"Nice." He toasted the maker with a gesture, and drank again. This time he detected something medicinal along with the booze and the sweetener. He'd missed it at first because he still had some of the lozenge taste in his mouth.
"Just some Night Nurse in with the brandy. Help you get some rest"
It probably wasn't a good idea to mix the two, but what the hell - just this once wouldn't hurt. He swallowed as much of the mixture as he could. The medicine wasn't all that pleasant-tasting, but the honey helped, and the combination would probably knock him right out.
Bodie was watching him over the rim of his own mug, looking fondly as he sometimes did. Pleased with the success of his nursemaiding efforts, probably. It was good to see him in a mellow mood. It made Doyle feel warm inside, making Bodie happy like that. Would do it all the time if he could...
He started to feel tired, as though he could sleep for a week, then remembered he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Maybe Bodie would make them a sandwich, if he asked nicely.
"Umm, Doyle?"
He must have drifted off, because Bodie was suddenly much closer. He was grasping Doyle's hand. His eyes were still smiling, with a tender affection that caught at Doyle's heart. Doyle wondered how deep that emotion went, whether it was strong enough to hold if he did the unthinkable and moved nearer still.
He leaned forward.
He felt the cup slip in his - in Bodie's - grip, and some of the remaining contents spilled over his boot and onto the carpet. He pulled his hand back, placed the cup on the table.
"Damn."
"Sorry." That was Bodie, sounding rueful. He'd pulled a handkerchief out and was dabbing at the spillage. There hadn't been much left, and what there was had already soaked in. A proper clean up would need water and a sponge.
"I should go to bed." Bugger the sponge; he was falling asleep on his... on his bum.
Bodie helped him to stand. "C'mon then. I'll walk you there. See myself out."
A prickle of nameless fear ran down Doyle's spine at Bodie's words. "Don't go."
"Better if I did." Oddly spoken.
"Your plumber waiting up for you, is she?" he said, caustic with disappointment.
Bodie sighed and shifted, almost imperceptibly. Nothing personal in the way he was supporting Doyle now. His own fault, that. Still... second chances were for the living.
"I'm sorry. Just - I'm feeling like shit tonight, alright? Stay here."
He hoped Bodie would recognise the implicit plea. They had both been in that tower flat, seen the obsession and what became of it at first hand. It wasn't wrong to reach out now, even if it was almost certainly wrong to hope for more than the staunch support due a partner. Even if he'd imagined there was more and been mistaken, he could manage. As long as Bodie stayed tonight.
"All right, Doyle," Bodie said heavily. "I think I remember where the spare quilt is."
Doyle was lying in bed, on the verge of slumber, when Bodie paused in the doorway on his way back from the bathroom. He stood quietly, watching but saying nothing, although he must have known that Doyle was watching him too. He stayed there until Doyle fell asleep. It was the last image that Doyle saw that evening, and the first that he remembered when he woke the next day.
Title: Night Nurse
Author: KWS
Slash or Gen: Slash (pre-Slash might also apply)
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Notes: mentions suicide. Completely unscientific application of cold remedies. Partner caring.
the_safehouse, where byslantedlight noticed that Doyle/MS had a cold during the filming of the episode.His throat had been scratchy and sore for a couple of days so of course he'd ignored it, spreading germs willy-nilly across London while they worked on the hospital sniper case. Now Doyle found himself caught between a cough and a sneeze of Vesuvian proportions. He smothered both with a handkerchief across nose and mouth, but a sudden flare of pain - sinusitis, sharp needles stabbing vengefully - struck and made his eyes water. He covered up as much as he could by looking out the car window; at grey skies, grey buildings, and the grey, rainy streets going by, until the agony receded.
"You need a doctor, mate." Bodie offered concern, or possibly a streak of gallows humour overriding his earlier serious mood.
"Nah, I just... forfucksake, Bodie, it's just a cold." Doyle had been in a temper, and holding it back had left his nerves feeling abraded and raw. Not even the probability that his partner was also working his way through a post-operation slump helped his frame of mind. Dead doctors and fatherless doctors' kids. How many? He couldn't recall a number.
He did remember Bodie grabbing him by the shoulders as they crossed the Convention Centre foyer, forcibly steering him away from the policeman who had shot Hamilton. Bloody Shannon. Stupid, irresponsible twerp. And other words, but he didn't get to say them with Bodie doing his brick outhouse impression and blocking the way. Maybe he'd have a chance at the enquiry.
And now they were heading home. Bodie, driver, would drop Doyle at his flat first before proceeding (alone) to his. Doyle was feeling hot and cold by turn, and headachy. He tried unsuccessfully to remember if he had any painkillers in his bathroom cupboard.
Half a mile further on Bodie stopped the car outside a pharmacy, going inside only to emerge some time later with a large paper bag which he tossed at Doyle before getting back in the driver's seat and continuing their journey. Doyle opened the bag with some care - it was flimsy and full almost to bursting. Bodie appeared to have bought everything in the pharmacopoeia to fill it.
"Cold remedy, asprin, Vitamin C," Doyle catalogued items as he dug through the bag's contents. "Garlic tablets... achoo!..."
"Bless you..."
"I think these are supposed to prevent colds, not cure them," he continued, recovering. "And... cod liver oil?"
Bodie shrugged. "Need to strengthen your immune system. Cod liver oil'll build you up - at least that's what my gran used to say."
Doyle had a relative or two with similar opinions and ways of sharing them, so he let that slide with a mere grunt. Besides, he'd found the Fisherman's Friends at the bottom of the bag (next to the VapoRub). He hurriedly opened the packet and popped two of the strong lozenges into his mouth. Eyes closed, he sucked slowly as the tiny pellets suffused his senses with the hot-cool aromas of liquorice and menthol.
A short while later they reached Doyle's flat. He'd sucked both lozenges into oblivion by then, and for the moment was feeling slightly better, confident that he could at least turn the heating on and have a hot bath before an early night. Not content with overstocking Doyle's medicine chest with his purchases however, Bodie followed him indoors.
"Tea?" he enquired, all serious business, taking the pharmacy bag out of his hands and filling the kettle before Doyle got around to giving an answer.
"Best thought you ever had." Doyle went through into the lounge and sank down on the settee full-length. He dropped his head back, a mistake that unleashed a flood of unpleasant sensations in his nose and the back of his throat, and forced him to sit up again and adjust his position so he was only slightly reclined.
Sounds of clinking mugs and shuffled packages drifted through from the kitchen. Doyle found it comforting. The damp chill of an unoccupied dwelling dissipated as the room temperature climbed. This was his home, it was nothing like the one where the damaged man who had died this afternoon had lived. But Doyle had witnessed the moment of death and Mickey Hamilton's pale face and last words replayed in his mind while he waited for his tea.
Someone had known. Someone had been given a clue but hadn't acted, hadn't seen what it meant.
Doctors got things wrong sometimes. There were bad doctors, who supplied drugs or injured patients, who ought to be struck off the register, but who were somehow permitted to continue treating people. Then there were always those in the know who did nothing.
On the other hand there were incurable diseases. There were children born who would never grow up, through no fault of the physicians.
People killed themselves and the living took on the blame.
Perhaps in dying Mickey Hamilton had created his own trap for the living.
Bodie came out of the kitchen a little later, smiling and holding two steaming mugs, one of which he held out to Doyle.
"Get that down you."
Doyle accepted the drink. At the first sip he tasted alcohol and honey.
"Nice." He toasted the maker with a gesture, and drank again. This time he detected something medicinal along with the booze and the sweetener. He'd missed it at first because he still had some of the lozenge taste in his mouth.
"Just some Night Nurse in with the brandy. Help you get some rest"
It probably wasn't a good idea to mix the two, but what the hell - just this once wouldn't hurt. He swallowed as much of the mixture as he could. The medicine wasn't all that pleasant-tasting, but the honey helped, and the combination would probably knock him right out.
Bodie was watching him over the rim of his own mug, looking fondly as he sometimes did. Pleased with the success of his nursemaiding efforts, probably. It was good to see him in a mellow mood. It made Doyle feel warm inside, making Bodie happy like that. Would do it all the time if he could...
He started to feel tired, as though he could sleep for a week, then remembered he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Maybe Bodie would make them a sandwich, if he asked nicely.
"Umm, Doyle?"
He must have drifted off, because Bodie was suddenly much closer. He was grasping Doyle's hand. His eyes were still smiling, with a tender affection that caught at Doyle's heart. Doyle wondered how deep that emotion went, whether it was strong enough to hold if he did the unthinkable and moved nearer still.
He leaned forward.
He felt the cup slip in his - in Bodie's - grip, and some of the remaining contents spilled over his boot and onto the carpet. He pulled his hand back, placed the cup on the table.
"Damn."
"Sorry." That was Bodie, sounding rueful. He'd pulled a handkerchief out and was dabbing at the spillage. There hadn't been much left, and what there was had already soaked in. A proper clean up would need water and a sponge.
"I should go to bed." Bugger the sponge; he was falling asleep on his... on his bum.
Bodie helped him to stand. "C'mon then. I'll walk you there. See myself out."
A prickle of nameless fear ran down Doyle's spine at Bodie's words. "Don't go."
"Better if I did." Oddly spoken.
"Your plumber waiting up for you, is she?" he said, caustic with disappointment.
Bodie sighed and shifted, almost imperceptibly. Nothing personal in the way he was supporting Doyle now. His own fault, that. Still... second chances were for the living.
"I'm sorry. Just - I'm feeling like shit tonight, alright? Stay here."
He hoped Bodie would recognise the implicit plea. They had both been in that tower flat, seen the obsession and what became of it at first hand. It wasn't wrong to reach out now, even if it was almost certainly wrong to hope for more than the staunch support due a partner. Even if he'd imagined there was more and been mistaken, he could manage. As long as Bodie stayed tonight.
"All right, Doyle," Bodie said heavily. "I think I remember where the spare quilt is."
Doyle was lying in bed, on the verge of slumber, when Bodie paused in the doorway on his way back from the bathroom. He stood quietly, watching but saying nothing, although he must have known that Doyle was watching him too. He stayed there until Doyle fell asleep. It was the last image that Doyle saw that evening, and the first that he remembered when he woke the next day.
Title: Night Nurse
Author: KWS
Slash or Gen: Slash (pre-Slash might also apply)
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes
Notes: mentions suicide. Completely unscientific application of cold remedies. Partner caring.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 04:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 10:17 pm (UTC)And just imagine being looked after by Bodie *g*. Of course he'll come down with the cold next, and Doyle will have to look after him, which won't be quite as easy for either of them, I imagine. Also, sorry for the late reply, but I had to sleep, then go to a work do - I didn't quite do an all-nighter to finish this on time but it came close!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 05:20 pm (UTC)(BTW I'm full of sympathy for Doyle, being in my second week of an absolute stinker of cold, which happens to be my second in two months. I regard that as UNFAIR.)
no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 10:18 pm (UTC)Thank you! I appreciate your very kind comments. Bodie can be a mother hen, can't he - although not all the time. Sometimes Doyle gets moody and Bodie yells at him and tells him to snap out of it. But this time he needs to take care of his partner, and we can all enjoy some of that:-)
Ack! I hope your cold gets better soon!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 05:36 pm (UTC)Colds are evil, and we all ought to have a Bodie that sweet to take care of us.
Thank you so much. Next time I'm in the throes of the sniffles, I can fish this out to read all over again.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 07:22 pm (UTC)Poor Doyle, I do hope they get together soon, shouldn't take them that long, after all this.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-17 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 01:38 am (UTC)Lovely! :D
no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 05:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 03:39 am (UTC)I've seen a few things on the internet, generally lads saying they've used a mix of Night Nurse & alcohol to sleep off the flu or a bad cold. As Night Nurse apparently has (had?) a fair amount of alcohol in it already, along with the other meds in the mix it would be pretty potent. We don't have anything similar, at least not over the counter. Thank you for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 08:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 05:43 am (UTC)It's a Lad remedy for Lad Flu, I think, at least according to t'internets. Knock yourself out with medicine and alcohol, wake up recovered - although probably dehydrated.
I found an early/original advertisement too:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DL82q0SeM94
no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 09:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 12:09 pm (UTC)But don't mind me, because I'm very happy with what I got! It's a really lovely story that shows the deep caring between them. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 05:51 am (UTC)Glad you liked it even as a snippet :)
no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 06:02 pm (UTC)Had a friend who was once quite out of it on red wine with something appalling - benylin, Night Nurse, something like that - in it. Can imagine Doyle quite well as a result!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 06:55 am (UTC)And also of course - plausible deniability, if required. Or maybe not! *g*
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-18 08:12 pm (UTC)All those hidden emotions have to come to the fore sooner or later, don't they? Sooner, preferably...
Lovely fic, thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-19 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-20 07:40 am (UTC)Actually, it's a very good ep with lots to ponder. I'm not really a H/C fan, but I do like partner caring lots, and Bodie does it well when called upon (not all the time, thankfully, he's not a saint). So all depends on how they both wake up in the morning *g*.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-22 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-22 11:33 pm (UTC)