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discoveredinaljThe scene was chaos. They were in a cul-de-sac facing three, maybe four, thugs with guns. There was just enough light to keep their eyes from adjusting to the darkness; light from windows, from a few dingy street lamps. Bodie and Doyle crouched behind a rubbish bin, a fine metaphor for the whole day.
“Where are those buggers?” muttered Doyle, his mouth inches from Bodie’s ear, behind him. There were cars, hedges, unidentifiable shadows, giving their quarry cover.
“There!” said Bodie, as someone shot. The shots hit the kerb a couple of feet away from them, too far to hit them, too close for comfort. Doyle swore. Bodie saw a shadow move across the way; he jumped up and shot in one fluid motion, as Doyle leaped up behind him.
It was a good shot, he was sure. But there was a sudden sharp pain in his head, and he knew he’d been hit. This is it then, he thought. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He was falling into a deep, dark, endless hole. Doyle, he wanted to say. Doyle.
Doyle.
He could not be dead, because there were dreams. Fragmented, chaotic things. Dreams about guns and Doyle. Cowley and Doyle. Mum, Kenny who lived next door, Krivas, Doyle. He couldn’t wake up. Do the dead dream? He didn’t think so.
He had drowned in darkness, and was too heavy to move.
It might have been a thousand dreams or a thousand years, but the time came when he heard real sounds. He knew they were real, though they made no sense. There was a hissing sound somewhere, and faraway voices. An office? A hospital.
A hospital was better than a morgue. His head hurt.
He opened his eyes. Doyle was the first thing he saw. Doyle, slumped over in a chair, so he’d probably had a sore neck when he woke up. The lights were dim - was it night, or were his eyes bad? Without moving, Bodie couldn’t see the window, and he wasn’t going to move, because of the pain in head. He was more interested in Doyle, anyway.
He cleared his throat.
Doyle was awake instantly, alert. Good reflexes, that boy. Quick.
“What happened?” asked Bodie.
“You bastard,” said Doyle. “Think you’re a hero, do you? Let me tell you straight, suicide isn’t heroic, and jumping into the path of a bullet is just daft. What am I going to do if you’re dead, tell me that? Where would I find another partner like you, tell me that?”
Bodie blinked slowly. It was tempting to fall asleep again. “What are you on about?”
Doyle said, more quietly, “You jumped in the path of a bullet aimed at me. Stupidest thing I ever saw.”
That wasn’t what Bodie remembered. He remembered Doyle close behind him, the traffickers across the road, the hedges in the way, the trash bin, the darkness, the confusion. Someone had shouted. Or had he made that up?
“Must’ve worked,” he said. “You’re alive, aren’t you? And so am I. What happened?”
“The men from the precinct turned up, and Cowley hot on their heels when he heard you were unconscious. We took them down through sheer force of numbers, and I drove you here for a few stitches on your noggin.”
“Won’t be the first time we leave blood on the pavement.”
“Yeah, mate, but it’s not supposed to be ours.”
“Cute nurse?”
“Frankenstein’s sister.”
“Liar. She’s gorgeous, and you want her for yourself.”
Bodie realized his eyes had slipped shut when Doyle didn’t answer at once. He forced them open to see Doyle standing close by the bed. He said fiercely, “All I want’s for you to stay alive.”
“You’ve taken risks for me,” said Bodie reasonably. “And you will again. And I will again, for you. And we’ll live forever, because we’re invincible. In-vincible.” He turned it into two words.
“Prat,” said Doyle, taking his hand.
“Invincible,” said Bodie firmly, as he fell back into sleep.
~ ~ ~
“Where are those buggers?” muttered Doyle, his mouth inches from Bodie’s ear, behind him. There were cars, hedges, unidentifiable shadows, giving their quarry cover.
“There!” said Bodie, as someone shot. The shots hit the kerb a couple of feet away from them, too far to hit them, too close for comfort. Doyle swore. Bodie saw a shadow move across the way; he jumped up and shot in one fluid motion, as Doyle leaped up behind him.
It was a good shot, he was sure. But there was a sudden sharp pain in his head, and he knew he’d been hit. This is it then, he thought. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He was falling into a deep, dark, endless hole. Doyle, he wanted to say. Doyle.
Doyle.
He could not be dead, because there were dreams. Fragmented, chaotic things. Dreams about guns and Doyle. Cowley and Doyle. Mum, Kenny who lived next door, Krivas, Doyle. He couldn’t wake up. Do the dead dream? He didn’t think so.
He had drowned in darkness, and was too heavy to move.
It might have been a thousand dreams or a thousand years, but the time came when he heard real sounds. He knew they were real, though they made no sense. There was a hissing sound somewhere, and faraway voices. An office? A hospital.
A hospital was better than a morgue. His head hurt.
He opened his eyes. Doyle was the first thing he saw. Doyle, slumped over in a chair, so he’d probably had a sore neck when he woke up. The lights were dim - was it night, or were his eyes bad? Without moving, Bodie couldn’t see the window, and he wasn’t going to move, because of the pain in head. He was more interested in Doyle, anyway.
He cleared his throat.
Doyle was awake instantly, alert. Good reflexes, that boy. Quick.
“What happened?” asked Bodie.
“You bastard,” said Doyle. “Think you’re a hero, do you? Let me tell you straight, suicide isn’t heroic, and jumping into the path of a bullet is just daft. What am I going to do if you’re dead, tell me that? Where would I find another partner like you, tell me that?”
Bodie blinked slowly. It was tempting to fall asleep again. “What are you on about?”
Doyle said, more quietly, “You jumped in the path of a bullet aimed at me. Stupidest thing I ever saw.”
That wasn’t what Bodie remembered. He remembered Doyle close behind him, the traffickers across the road, the hedges in the way, the trash bin, the darkness, the confusion. Someone had shouted. Or had he made that up?
“Must’ve worked,” he said. “You’re alive, aren’t you? And so am I. What happened?”
“The men from the precinct turned up, and Cowley hot on their heels when he heard you were unconscious. We took them down through sheer force of numbers, and I drove you here for a few stitches on your noggin.”
“Won’t be the first time we leave blood on the pavement.”
“Yeah, mate, but it’s not supposed to be ours.”
“Cute nurse?”
“Frankenstein’s sister.”
“Liar. She’s gorgeous, and you want her for yourself.”
Bodie realized his eyes had slipped shut when Doyle didn’t answer at once. He forced them open to see Doyle standing close by the bed. He said fiercely, “All I want’s for you to stay alive.”
“You’ve taken risks for me,” said Bodie reasonably. “And you will again. And I will again, for you. And we’ll live forever, because we’re invincible. In-vincible.” He turned it into two words.
“Prat,” said Doyle, taking his hand.
“Invincible,” said Bodie firmly, as he fell back into sleep.
~ ~ ~
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Date: 2021-12-26 07:45 pm (UTC)Learn more about LiveJournal Ratings in FAQ (https://www.dreamwidth.org/support/faqbrowse?faqid=303).