discoveredinalj | Day 12 - Discovered Among the Reindeer - A Good Fit by Felicity M. Parkinson

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f_m_parkinson today - a real treat! *g*

A Good Fit
by Felicity M. Parkinson

Bodie heard the click of the catch as the door opened and looked round as Richardson came quietly into the room. Changeover time. He got up from his chair, relieved it was the end of his shift. He hated obbos – they were boring for the most part and this one had already turned into the most unproductive yet in terms of information or action.

“It’s all yours.” He gestured to Richardson, even though the room was in semi-darkness. “Have fun.” He stretched, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms to ease the tension, before rubbing his eyes, tired from spending long intervals staring through night vision binoculars trained on the pebbly beach of the small cove that stretched from the house to the next outcrop of rocks. “I doubt if Mackenzie’ll show his face tonight, even though the tide’s comin’ in again. There’s too much light from the moon. It might be easier for him but he won’t want to risk a landing with all of us showing an interest in this stretch of coastline. What with CI5, MI6, and the coastguards crawlin’ all over the area, the place is swarming with security personnel, worse than a disturbed termite colony. He’s probably going to offload the guns somewhere more isolated.”

“We can’t watch every inch of the coast,” replied Richardson, taking his seat on the hard chair to start his shift. “Not enough manpower. We’re too thin on the ground as it is along here. MI6 can’t cover every beach or inlet along the south coast and CI5 can’t do any more either. The coastguards are doing their bit but it’s a mammoth undertaking. We did have a whisper, to put it no more strongly, that this section was a likely landing place.”

“Yeah.” Bodie said without much enthusiasm. He had his views on joint ops involving the various services, Intelligence or otherwise, this one in particular, and had unwisely voiced them in Cowley’s office.

“Why is MI6 involved, sir?” he’d asked when he and Doyle had been called in and given specific instructions after the general briefing of all the CI5 agents. “What’s their interest in the case? Surely we don’t need ’em to keep a look-out alongside us? The man’s not a spy, he’s a gun-runner. It’s a domestic matter – nothing to do with the security service.”

Cowley removed his glasses and favoured his agent with a basilisk stare. “Since when did you assume responsibility for this operation, 3.7? When I require your opinion on the matter, I’ll ask for it. Until then, you will keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“If we’re havin’ to cover so many places along the south coast, extra pairs of eyes’ll be a bonus,” Doyle put in, glancing at his partner. “We can’t be certain where he’ll come ashore.”

“I still think –” Bodie began but Cowley cut him off.

“Are you still questioning my orders, 3.7?”

“No, sir,” said Bodie quickly.

“Then liaise with your counterparts and go to your assigned location. If I hear of anything other than your full cooperation with MI6 and the other services, Bodie, you’ll find yourself facing disciplinary proceedings before you can blink. I won’t have my agents bringing CI5 into disrepute by causing this operation to be anything other than successful in its outcome. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then that’s all there is to the matter, gentlemen.” Cowley motioned to them to leave and they both hastily made for the door.

Outside in the corridor, Bodie turned to his partner. “You angling for a Christmas bonus or somethin’?”

Doyle raised his eyebrows. “Don’t be a prat. The Cow isn’t happy if you start questioning his decisions. It’s a joint op and we have to go along with it. Stop yanking his tail.”

“Cowley commands and we obey.” Bodie held up his hands in a submissive gesture. “Okay, professor. I can follow orders. Let’s get out of here. Cowley won’t want to see my handsome face for a while.”

Giving a snort, Doyle walked off down the corridor, Bodie following in his wake.

If Cowley had decided on a joint op, there was nothing further to be said.

Bodie glanced down in the gloom to where Richardson was seated, the agent’s eyes already gazing through the binoculars. “I’m going to get some kip.”

“Okay, Charlie and me’ll be checking in with Ops HQ later. We’ll let you and Doyle know if there’re any developments.”

“You do that,” said Bodie, and left the MI6 agent to his watch.

Bodie first went into the kitchen and made himself a mug of tea. It was a striking house, perched on a rock outcrop, overlooking the Channel. The bow windows at the front allowed a first-class panorama up and down the coast, ideal for keeping an eye out for an arms dealer and his merchandise. A perfect location, built – when? – twenties? thirties? – with its flat roof and whitewashed exterior. Not that Bodie cared much about its age, or its architecture; he had other considerations on his mind.

He wondered where his partner was, as Doyle would have come off his shift at the same time. He and Coles, the MI6 agent who had accompanied Richardson, were keeping a lookout from the window in the other room at the front of the house, that gave them a vista of the coastline stretching away to the east. Finishing his tea, Bodie climbed the stairs, made use of the facilities, and went into one of the back bedrooms they were using.

Doyle was fast asleep on the double bed, sprawled on his back on top of the counterpane, fully-clothed. He had not bothered to remove his laced ankle boots.

Always ready for action, thought Bodie with wry gentleness, standing at the foot of the bed and contemplating his partner who was clearly visible even in the dimmed light from the landing. He mentally catalogued the individual features that made Doyle what he was, at least in terms of outward exotic beauty. Lying quiescent, with his eyes closed, his appearance gave no indication of the whirlwind that the man could be, as well as the difficult, bloody-minded and moody bastard that was Ray Doyle.

Bodie remained by the bed for some time, thinking about the two of them. He owed Doyle an answer to the question his partner had asked him a while ago. Had asked outright, without being subtle about it. But Bodie wasn’t sure, didn’t know how to answer, one way or the other. If it worked out, then it was what he’d wanted for a long time now, though admittedly not when they’d first been partnered. That had been a bruising, abrasive experience until they’d become used to each other’s ways. But within a short while, they’d understood each other, had become a dynamic partnership, the best in CI5. And now Doyle wanted more. Yet if it went wrong, then they’d be finished, probably no longer able to work together successfully, thus destroying the partnership. Perhaps it would be better not to risk what they already had.

Quietly, Bodie went back out onto the landing, collected two blankets from a cupboard. Although the heating was on in the house to give a bit of relief from the December chill, extra blankets would be a bonus during the night. He returned to the bedroom, switching off the landing light as he did so. He could still see Doyle’s outline well enough in the gloom. Unfolding a blanket, he spread it over the sleeping man, resting his hand for a moment against the damaged cheekbone, then took the second blanket, went round to the other side of the bed and lay down on it, pulling the blanket over himself before turning on his side away from his partner, and closing his eyes.

He did not remove his trainers.

In the morning, they went to their respective lookouts.

“What’s going on?” Bodie asked, noting that Richardson was already dismantling the equipment. He looked out towards the beach. “The tide’s on the ebb again. Terrible when that’s all the excitement there is.”

Richardson looked up from his task. “Just heard from Ops HQ. It’s a wrap. They picked up Mackenzie and his cargo last night near Deal.”

“Told you this wasn’t a likely location,” Bodie said. “Waste of our time. Should’ve put a bet on it; I’d’ve cleaned up.”

“Well, you were right.” Richardson shrugged and started packing everything, ready to be taken out to the MI6 agents’ car. “They want us back in London this afternoon for a joint departmental debriefing.”

“Do Doyle and Coles know?”

“I told Coles the moment the call ended. He’ll have told Doyle. We’re taking the gear back to our HQ. The boss wants to talk to us before the debriefing.” He waved in the direction of the kitchen. “You and Doyle’ll have to do the washing up and tidy the place. There’s bound to be a frilly pinny in one of the kitchen drawers.”

Bodie raised two fingers at him, though without malice, and went through to the other room to find his partner.

“He’s gone up to pack his kit,” Coles told him, busy packing the equipment they’d had in the room. “See you boys back in the Smoke for the joint debriefing.”

“Okay.” Bodie took himself upstairs and found Doyle putting his clothes in a holdall. “The MI6 lads are taking everything back to their HQ.”

“So Coles said,” Doyle responded, putting his spare trainers in the bag, “and leaving us to empty the ashtrays.”

Bodie shrugged. “Not much to clear up. Won’t take long.” He fetched his shaving kit and toiletries from the bathroom. “Isn’t there a way down to that strip of shingle I’ve been starin’ at for the past week?” he asked, coming back into the bedroom. “I quite fancy seeing it close-up - a beach to walk on an’ all that - before we go back. We’ve got the time, the debriefing isn’t till this afternoon. Cowley hasn’t said he wants a report beforehand, not that there’s anythin’ to tell ’im.”

“There’s a path and steps down to it from the garden,” Doyle said, zipping up his holdall. “At least, they were on the plan of the place when I looked at it. Why the sudden urge to be beside the sea?”

“I just fancy a bit of sea air. All that ozone’s good for you.” Bodie folded his clothes into a neat pile and began packing his own holdall. “We’ve been cooped up in here, watchin’ the tide going in and out. Let’s stretch our legs before we head back.”

Doyle shrugged. “I’d’ve brought me bucket and spade if I’d known, and a net. Could’ve done a bit of rock-pooling. Catch a few crabs.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want to know about catchin’ crabs.”

“But get a move on,” Doyle continued, ignoring the comment. “You know what Cowley’ll be like if we’re late back for the debriefing – he’s not goin’ to accept getting snarled up in traffic as an excuse.”

“Running all the way,” replied Bodie automatically, and continued with his packing.

Once Richardson and Coles had departed and the cups, plates and cutlery had been washed up, they let themselves out through the gate at the far end of the garden where the land dropped away down to the water. Bodie looked around. “Okay, professor, where’s the path to the shore?”

“Down here,” said Doyle, disappearing over the edge of an outcrop and beginning to descend a line of steps cut into the rock, taking the path at an almost sheer angle in the direction of the beach.

Bodie peered over the rim of the ground he was standing on. “Bloody hell, Doyle, I’m not goin’ down those.” He gestured towards the steps below him. “They’re not just steep, they’re fuckin’ precipitous. I’m not a mountain goat, you know.”

“Did you swallow a dictionary for breakfast?” Doyle looked back up at him. “’Course you can get down ’em. They’re not as bad as they look from up there.” He turned away and continued following the steps.

Bodie grunted in disagreement and gingerly began his descent.

Once down on the strip of beach of the cove, they walked its length, the tide having gone out sufficiently, leaving a line of seaweed and a strip of wet sand. Bodie stopped for a moment and leaned down, picking out a scallop shell from amongst the shingle. He turned it over, examining the ridges that fanned out from the base to form the shell’s structure.

“Not much cop without its other half,” he commented, looking around for a shell to match up with his find. “Aha, you’ll do.” He picked up another scallop of much the same size and fitted the two halves together. “A perfect match. Or at least a good fit,” he amended as they walked on.

Reaching the far end of the cove, they turned back, retracing their steps along the tideline.

“Which is better?” Doyle said into the silence, seeming to be in a philosophical frame of mind.

“You what?”

He indicated the two pieces of shell that Bodie still held. “What you said. A perfect match, or a good fit?”

Bodie thought for a moment and realised he had his answer - to that, and to his other preoccupation. “There’s no such thing as perfection. But a good fit will work and you can always try and improve on it.” He slid the two scallop halves into the side pocket of his leather jacket.

Doyle slanted a speculative look at him but said nothing further till they reached the base of the steps that would take them back to the house. He looked up at the building perched high above them. “Interestin’ place. I wonder what it’d be like to live in a house like that. Would you ever get tired of lookin’ out at the sea and the sky?”

“Maybe one day we’ll find out,” Bodie said, then he added, “but one step at a time, eh?”

Doyle transferred his gaze to his partner and gave him an enigmatic stare. “You think so?”

Now that he had made his decision, Bodie felt relaxed about it. “Of course. No point in rushin’ things. Savour the moment.”

“Okay,” Doyle agreed. “One step at a time.”

They looked down at the steps that would take them up the hillside and back to their reality, and then grinned at each other.

Those might be the first steps on what could yet turn out to be a very rocky road, Bodie thought. He was clear-minded enough to know that the two of them were not going to find it easy, given their respective natures, never mind what their political masters or CI5’s head might have to say on the matter. Yet it felt right, and they would go forward from that.

And yet … Bodie had every intention of taking his partner up on his offer now that they had come to an understanding. He looked up at Doyle’s denim-clad rump as the man climbed the steps in gazelle-like fashion. And yet … why delay unnecessarily? Yes, they would take things slowly, would see how matters developed, whether their relationship could be a lasting one. But they needed to start somewhere, so why not take that first step he’d promised Doyle? He put his hand in his pocket, his fingers curling round the shells. He drew them out, fitting the two halves together, admiring the nearness of the fit. No, not perfection, but life was the more interesting for its absence. He put the scallops back in his pocket and thought about the immediate future. Christmas was coming, good will to all men, and all that. With a bit of luck, Cowley might feel generous enough to give them the evening off after the debriefing, and if so, any writing up of their reports could wait till the morning. An ideal opportunity, then.

“Hang on a moment,” he called to Doyle, bounding up the steps after him, very much like a mountain goat. “Wait for me at the top.”

“What is it?” Doyle asked once they were both back in the garden. He glanced at his watch. “You’ve had your beach to walk on. Come on, we need to go or we’ll end up bein’ late.”

“Not the way I drive,” Bodie said with supreme confidence. “Anyway, it was this.” He moved close to Doyle. “Just wanted to say, one step at a time but don’t let’s wait too long,” and placed his hand on Doyle’s shoulder. “The bed’s not yet stripped. We could make use of it.” He gave his partner an assessing look. “We’ll still have plenty of time to get back to HQ.”

Doyle turned towards him. Gripping Bodie’s shoulders he pulled him closer, then tilted his head back and looked at him intently. “Feel that?” He pressed himself against Bodie who could not help but react to the sensation. “We’re a very good fit. But better tonight, Cowley and the man in the red socks permitting. I’m goin’ to take my time over this. You won’t be capable of drivin’ anywhere when I’ve finished with you.”

Bodie slid his other arm around Doyle and pushed against him, equally hard. He smirked. “Okay - till tonight, sunshine, but no longer. I’ll be waiting for the fireworks - I’m a bit of a rocket man, meself.” He loosened his hold on Doyle, holding up his hands in a placatory gesture.

“Bodie…” Doyle leaned forward and kissed his partner on the mouth, delicately but with intensity, before relaxing his grip on the leather jacket. He stepped back. “Tonight.”

A promise.

Without another word, they walked back towards the house, once more on duty as agents of CI5.

~o0o~

Title: A Good Fit
Author: Felicity M. Parkinson
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: Yes please
Disclaimer: Pros doesn't belong to us, we're just borrowing gently.
Notes: Written for WriteTime 2023, story prompts being: a sense of time; a building which is significant to the story, and the word ‘precipitous’. Revised and expanded for DIALJ’s Discovered Among the Reindeer, Dec. 2023.