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discoveredinalj2007-10-21 12:14 am
przed.livejournal.com) wrote in discoveredinalj2007-10-21 12:14 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Substitute, Part Two
Continued from Part One
Substitute, Part Two
As soon as Bodie arrived at headquarters Cowley tracked him down and grilled him about Charlie Teale. By the time all the other agents were assembled, Cowley had a detailed profile of Teale available for everyone. The briefing was blessedly short, the Cow obviously knowing that everyone was eager to get on the streets and find the one person who might know what had happened to Doyle. Might know if he was a body in the morgue or alive somewhere else.
All the teams and solos were assigned different areas of the city, with senior teams being given the areas immediately around Stepney, Teale's patch.
"I don't want any of you back here until someone's found Teale," were Cowley's final words as he released them onto the streets.
Bodie made for the car pool, his mind on Doyle and Teale and where the stupid little git had got to. Which, he reckoned, is why Murphy took him by surprise when he grabbed him by the arm as he neared his car.
"Watch it, Murph." Bodie pulled his arm away. "Never know what I might do."
"Sorry," Murphy said. "We just wanted to talk to you before you left."
"We?" Bodie looked past Murphy and saw most of the other senior agents--Anson and Susan, Lucas and McCabe, Jax and Ruth--standing behind him. To the last man and woman they looked grim-faced and determined. "What is this?"
"Well, we wanted you to know…that is… we were talking…" Murph was practically stuttering. Bodie was in no mood to put up with pissing about from anyone, not even Murph. Not when it kept him from finding Teale.
"Oh, give over, Murph. You're making a cock up of it." Ruth pushed forward. "We think that you should be the first one to take a crack at Teale, when he's found. We think you'd have the best chance of finding out what he knows."
Bodie was definitely listening now. "I think Cowley might have something to say about that."
"He might if he knew anything about it. But he doesn't." Ruth looked as steely as she did under fire.
"And how do you propose to manage it?"
"One of us finds Teale, we call you on the R/T, let you know there's a package to be delivered. Anson knows a derelict dock in Wapping that should do."
"And why would you lot do that?"
"We liked Doyle," Anson said, then gave an oof as Susan elbowed him in the ribs.
"We like Doyle," Susan said. "And we don't half mind you. And we want very much to help you find out what happened to him."
"Tempting though it is, I don't want you lot to risk your own careers for us."
"Bollocks," Ruth said. "We look after our own, Bodie."
Bodie couldn't speak for a moment. He looked at the men and women who surrounded him, who were ready to throw everything away to make sure Doyle got the justice he deserved, and he felt unreasonably proud of them all.
"Thanks," was all he could say in the end, but he could see that they knew what he really meant.
"That's settled, then." Murph had finally got his voice back.
The crowd of agents dispersed, each to his or her own car, leaving Bodie standing there alone. When the last roar of an engine had dissipated down the street he finally got into his own Capri and headed for his hunting ground.
In the end, it wasn't Bodie who found Teale, or Murphy, or Ruth or Jax. It was Anson.
Bodie was searching yet another dismal squat in Limehouse, with just as much success as the last ten he'd gone through, when his R/T went off.
"3.7."
"5.2." And that was Anson. "Package picked up and ready for delivery."
"Understood," Bodie said calmly, even as he felt adrenaline flood his system. He put his R/T back in his jacket and picked his way carefully out of the squat. Wouldn't do to go through one of the rotten floorboards this place was littered with now that Teale was caught.
Bodie made it to Wapping and Anson's derelict dock in record time. He was the first one there, and waited impatiently for Anson to appear. As soon as Anson's car entered the area he was out of the car. He felt the cold wrath that he'd held onto the last few days begin to burn away, to be replaced by a hotter fury. But he knew better than to unleash that fury. Wouldn't do him, or Doyle, any good if Teale ended up dead.
"Where is he?" Bodie asked once Anson had made his way over to where he stood.
Anson nodded at his boot.
"Well?" Bodie's voice was all impatience.
Jingling his keys in his hand, Anson walked over and popped open the boot. Teale was inside looking terrified, his eyes bugged out, his hands straining against the rope that bound him.
Bodie allowed himself to show no emotion as he hauled Teale out of the boot, flicked open a vicious-looking jackknife and cut the ropes binding the little git. A flick of his wrist and he'd pulled off the tape Anson had used to gag him.
"Fuckin' 'ell, that hurt." Teale put a hand tenderly to his face, then rubbed tentatively at his wrists. "You'd no cause to do that. No cause at all."
"Shut it, Charlie," Bodie said, keeping his voice a frozen wasteland. "You know what we're looking for."
"I've no idea. No idea at all. One minute I'm minding me own business, the next Butch over there's grabbed me and stuck me in his car. In the boot of his car. The boot."
Teale was winding up to a nice little bout of hysteria, Bodie could tell. He'd seen Doyle deal with the little toe-rag often enough. Any second and he'd start blubbing or screaming or something undignified. Bodie couldn't let that happen, so he moved.
He grabbed Teale by the front of his jacket, swung him around and pushed him against his own car. Bent him backwards over the hood.
"What happened to him?" Bodie was surprised at how calm his own voice was, given the rage he felt running through every nerve ending he had.
"Who are you talking about?" Teale tried the gibbering idiot defence. Bodie was having none of it.
"Ray Doyle, you little bastard. Where is he?"
"Don't know. 'Aven't seen him for months."
"'Course you have, Charlie. You called him last night."
"I never."
"From a phone box. In Stepney. We know everything, Charlie. Everything but what happened to Doyle."
Bodie could see Teale deflate and he knew that they had him. He only hoped that he wasn't going to tell them that the body in Finsbury had been Doyle. Because if he told them that, Bodie knew he was going to kill the little bastard, and Cowley be damned.
"I don't know where he is." It was the last gasp of a man who knew the game was over. They all knew it, but Teale seemed determined to play the game out to the end.
"But you did call him." Bodie tightened his grip on Teale's jacket and pushed him again. A small movement, but one calculated to convey the leashed power behind it. Teale's face drained of its last drop of blood and he finally nodded.
"Yeah. I called 'im."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you. 'E'll kill me."
"I'll kill you first if you don't tell me why you called Doyle."
"'E asked me to. Told me what to say, where to send Doyle. And you don't turn 'im down."
"Who?" Bodie finally let the anger, the heat he had hidden under layers of ice to come through in his voice. He could see from the look on Teale's face that it petrified him.
"Donal McGann." Teale practically screamed the name. "That's who. Donal fucking McGann."
"McGann?" Bodie let go of Teale's jacket, letting the other man collapse on the ground. "But the message was about McGann."
"'E knew that would get Doyle out in the middle of the night, didn't 'e? Knew you two were looking for 'im. But 'e was lookin' for you, too." Teale picked himself up off the ground and brushed dirt from his hands and trousers before grabbing Bodie by the sleeve. "You've got to protect me. If 'e finds out I grassed on 'im, 'e'll kill me."
"So Doyle's not dead?" Bodie hadn't even realized how much he was hoping Doyle was alive until this moment.
"No, not dead. McGann wanted him alive. Needed some information from 'im, 'e said." Teale put his head in his hands. "Christ, I can't believe I told you that. I'm a dead man for sure."
"Tell me where he's taken Doyle and I'll make sure George Cowley himself stands guard over you."
"I can't."
"Teale." Bodie's voice was a clear warning.
"I really can't. They didn't tell me nothin'." He held out his hands piteously. "Would you tell me anything? If you were 'im?"
"He's got a point," Anson said.
"He knows something, Anson. Don't you, Charlie?" Bodie leaned in closer until Teale must have felt the heat of his breath.
Teale shook his head frantically.
"C'mon, Charlie." Bodie's hand went around Teale's throat and he wondered what he'd do if Teale didn't talk. Would he actually kill him? Would he be able to stop himself? But that was enough for Teale. He finally revealed the last scrap of information he knew.
"They didn't tell me, but I did hear 'em talking. They mentioned a country house they'd borrowed. Belonged to some mad lord or other with Irish sympathies."
"That doesn't help much, Charlie."
"Essex. The house was in Essex." Teale drew in a ragged breath. "I think it was near the coast."
Bodie drew his hand back and stepped away from Teale as if he'd only just woken from a bad dream.
"Good lad, Charlie," Bodie said, then looked over at Anson. "House in Essex owned by a peer with Irish sympathies. That oughta be a doddle for Cowley to find, shouldn't it?" Bodie bloody hoped so.
Anson nodded and threw Teale into his car--the back seat this time--and followed Bodie to headquarters.
It was slightly more than a doddle, but Cowley had a location for Teale's country house by late afternoon. East Mersea was owned by Baron Cyril Gurney. He'd been given his peerage for various unspecified services rendered the Crown and from what Bodie read in his file seemed to fall into the pleasant and stupid end of the aristocracy. He also had a secret sympathy for the Catholics in Ireland and had made a few less than savoury friends, including Donal McGann. How Cowley had winkled out that information Bodie didn't want to know. He'd bet the old man had a secret file on the Queen herself, just in case.
As soon as they had a location, Cowley assembled the team, gave them a quick briefing and had them all on the road for Essex. Cowley threw Bodie the keys to his car, which made Bodie grind his teeth. The last thing he needed was Cowley lecturing him on restraint all the way to Essex. Fortunately Cowley sat in the back and stayed silent for most of the trip. The few times Bodie chanced a look in the rear view mirror, Cowley was staring out the window with a furrowed brow and a grim-set mouth.
The trip wasn't long, just over two hours. Their little convoy pulled out of headquarters as the sun was setting. By the time they reached the A12 full darkness had well and truly fallen. They made Baron Gurney's neighbourhood just before 21.00.
Not that they headed straight for the house. It was surrounded by flat farmland, the only cover being a thin line of trees that ran beside the road. No doubt that was one of the reasons McGann had chosen the place to hide.
Cowley had set a rendezvous point a mile away, in a grove of trees that would easily hide their force. Bodie pulled the car into the trees. The other cars pulled in behind him, their headlights providing the only illumination on this moonless night, casting eerie shadows that shuddered and jumped.
Bodie shut off the engine and was just about to get out of the car when Cowley finally spoke.
"Bodie." And that was the gentlest Bodie had ever heard the Cow's voice.
"Yes, sir?"
"We'll get him back."
"Yes, sir." Bodie didn't quite trust himself to say more.
"And Bodie."
"Yeah?"
"By the book, lad."
"Every bloody page, sir," he said, knowing he didn't mean it, knowing that if they found Doyle dead in that house he'd break every rule in the fucking book and a few that hadn't even been written yet to make sure his killers didn't draw breath much longer than Doyle. Because if Doyle were dead, there'd be nothing left holding him to England and he could burn every bloody bridge he had on the whole damn island.
Cowley didn't say any more, and neither did Bodie. They left the car and the rest of the team gathered around for a final talk from Cowley.
"You all know what you're to do," Cowley said gruffly. "There's the main house and two outbuildings. Team One, with Jax in charge, will take the stable. Team Two under Ruth will take the equipment shed."
"Lucky Team Two, to be under Ruth," Bodie heard McCabe say with rude humour.
"I'm sure you're referring to Miss Pettifer's superior leadership skills, McCabe," Cowley said without missing a beat. Even in the unnatural light of the headlights, Bodie could see McCabe flinch. "Team Three, led by Murphy, will take the front of the main house. Which leaves Team Four and Bodie to take the rear."
"Get ready to move out in ten minutes. Once all four teams are in position and have reported in, you're to move in. Give them a short, sharp shock, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, it's believed that they're holding 4.5, so confirm your target before you shoot. Any questions?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Then good luck everyone."
It took less than ten minutes for the four teams of CI5 agents to get kitted up and make their way in darkness and silence to Baron Gurney's property. Bodie led his team, with Anson, Susan and Whitfield following.
The four of them took their place in a hedgerow. When they were settled, Bodie called in their readiness on the R/T.
"Team Four in place."
He waited as they heard each of the other three teams call in, their voices sounding distant and tinny in the darkness. He didn't look at his team. They knew their job and he couldn't bear to see the sympathy he knew would be lurking in their eyes.
When the last team was in place, Cowley gave the final order.
"Go, go, go."
Bodie felt his heart begin to race as adrenaline flooded his system but then training took over and he wasn't thinking at all.
He broke through the back door with all the force of his fury behind him and nearly knocked it off its hinges. He moved into the house, knowing without checking that his team was behind him.
They cleared the main floor in record time, meeting Murph's team in the middle. Experience told him the place to look for a prisoner was the basement, but instinct drove him up, his team following him. First floor, second floor, attic, and a door at the end with a great bloody lock on it. No lock had been made that could have withstood Bodie's boot just then. One kick and the door went flying.
Bodie stopped cold.
He knew what he'd been expecting. He'd played the nightmare scenarios over in his head enough times: Doyle beaten or broken, drugged or dead. What he hadn't expected was Doyle, in a pair of his ratty jeans made rattier by days of dirt and abuse but otherwise barefoot and shirtless, standing with a makeshift club that looked like it might once have been part of a chair in one raised hand and Donal McGann himself laid out cold at his feet.
"'Bout fucking time you turned up, Bodie," Doyle snarled.
Once he managed to pick his jaw up from the floor, Bodie started laughing, his relief at finding Doyle alive jumbled with just a little hysteria. Doyle, looking oddly ferocious and exposed at the same time, stared at him as if he were a madman.
"Oi, Susan, has Bodie gone off his nut while I've been gone?"
"That would presume he was sane to begin with," Susan said, her tone was dry, but it still revealed her own relief. "I've always thought the two of you were certifiable."
And that only made Bodie laugh harder.
"What happened, Ray?"
The two of them were alone in the attic while Cowley and the other teams put the wraps on McGann and his men. Doyle was wrapped in Bodie's jacket and a blanket Murphy had produced from one of the bedrooms. No one had been able to find any shoes that fit him, so his feet were still bare. That, more than anything, made Bodie keenly aware of Doyle's vulnerability.
And vulnerable he was. Bodie'd thought at first when they burst into the room that Doyle had been remarkably untouched by his misadventure, but now he'd had the leisure to really look at Doyle. He saw the bruises, some a few days old, some fresh, on face and torso, and he could see the pain they were causing in the way Doyle had shrugged gingerly into his jacket. Nothing Doyle wouldn't recover from, and quickly, but a reminder that so much worse could have happened.
"It was a setup and I was stupid."
"Don't be so hard on yourself." Bodie wanted nothing more than to put an arm around Doyle, but he was as afraid of inflicting further damage on Doyle as he was of what that would make him feel, so he stayed still. "Could have happened to any of us."
"I should have known Charlie wouldn't want a meet in the middle of the night in a deserted squat. Likes daylight, Charlie does. And crowded markets. His choice of meeting place runs to Portobello Road on a Saturday." Doyle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was more of a rat's nest than usual and his fingers caught in the tangles.
"Bloody hell, I could use a shower."
"I didn't want to say..." Bodie said with a grin.
"Go on, you daft sod. You try being kidnapped for days and see how sweet you smell." A cloud drifted across Doyle's expression. "It is days, isn't it?" Bodie nodded. "Lost track after a while."
"You were explaining what happened." Bodie prompted him. Best not to let Doyle dwell on the details; he knew that after far too long as his partner.
"Yeah, I suppose I was." Doyle pulled the blanket more tightly around him and staved off a shiver. That was more than Bodie could tolerate and this time he really did put a careful arm around Doyle's shoulder and drew him closer. "Arrived at the squat. A total tip."
"You should see it now, mate."
Doyle snorted quietly. "I'll bet. Decorated in early dynamite, is it? Anyway, I wasn't expecting any trouble. I mean, it was Charlie. Charlie's scared of his own shadow at the best of times. Only it wasn't Charlie waiting there, was it? It was Donal McGann and his merry men."
"Got the drop on you, did they?"
"Mate, I was down and out before I knew there was a fight on. Cowley'll have me in Macklin's tender care before the bruises have healed."
"I won't let him."
"Fat lot you'll have to say about it. He'll have you alongside me."
"Christ, you're probably right."
"I'm always right." He gave a grin that was comfortingly Ray. "Anyway, they had me trussed up and gagged in no time. Felt a bloody fool and there was nothing I could do about it. I do remember thinking I hoped McGann killed me quick, because it would be better than the bollocking Cowley would give me."
"Don't say that, Ray. Not even as a joke." Doyle gave him a piercing look, just then, and Bodie felt as if his partner had sussed out all his secrets in that one moment. But if he had, Doyle didn't press his advantage. He even looked sympathetic.
"Sorry, mate. Forgot what you must have gone through."
"Yeah, well, it was probably a piece of piss compared to your time with McGann." Bodie stopped for a second and then brought up the one thing he didn't really want to think about. "Ray, there was a body. In the house. Malone and his lads found a body."
"Suppose you thought it was me." Doyle sounded tired.
"Of course we bloody thought it was you. And the pathologist couldn't prove different." Bodie swallowed hard as he flashed back to what he'd seen in the morgue. "Who was it?"
"Some poor bloke McGann found who had the bad luck to be about my size and age. McGann's mates got him pissed, made sure he wouldn't be missed, checked his blood type--though how they knew mine in the first place I'll never know--and then used his body as a decoy for you lot."
"Fuckin' hell."
"You can say that again. They killed the poor bastard right in front of me. Put my leather jacket, chain and bracelet on 'im. Let me know it was me next if I didn't give them what they wanted." Doyle stopped and got a wide-eyed look on his face. "Christ, I never thought…Meg and Mum, did Cowley tell them about the body?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'll have to call them. Let them know I'm okay."
"Or at least no more cracked than usual."
"Ha bloody ha. Still working on killing Vaudeville, I see."
"You just don't appreciate my sense of humour, Doyle."
"I would if you had any."
"Since you're wounded, I'll let that pass."
"You don't want to argue because you know I'm right."
Bodie opened his mouth to argue, but made the mistake of looking at Doyle. Doyle's face held a deadly serious expression for all of five seconds before he broke out into an infectious grin. Bodie couldn't help but smile back.
"Good to have you back, mate," Bodie said, squeezing Doyle's shoulders just a bit tighter.
"Good to be back. I really did think I was for the chop. Heard them talking about what to do with me if I didn't talk. Current thinking was to kneecap me for fun and then drop me in the sea." Doyle shuddered. "Didn't fancy that."
"How'd you get clear?"
"Let them think I was worse off than I was. They stopped being quite so vigilant, and I managed to get free. Used an old scrap of wire to nobble the handcuffs they had me in, broke up a chair for the club. Would have been tough, but I reckon I could have made it."
"And then we had the bad manners to rescue you."
"I'm not complaining. Better you lot riding to the rescue than me running cross country with no shirt and no trainers."
"There's an inspirational image," Bodie said before he could stop himself. He looked at Doyle, wondering if he'd given too much away, but Doyle only raised an eyebrow at him. "So what did they want, McGann and his lot?"
"Information on the CI5 armoury. Thought it'd be an easy way of arming the cause."
Bodie whistled. "They didn't think much of themselves, did they?"
"A right bunch of nutters, they are. Plus McGann viewed it as a personal vendetta. Remember that bloke we put away a year back? Rory Callan? Turns out he was one of McGann's best mates. And Donal's good at holding a grudge."
"Yeah, Charlie mentioned something like that."
"You found the little toe-rag?"
"Yeah, he's the one who put us onto this place. After I put the frighteners onto him."
"Good old Charlie, can always count on him when cowardice is needed."
They fell into a contented silence, Bodie taking simple pleasure in the fact that Doyle was alive and mostly well and at his side. He couldn't know for sure, but he would have sworn that Doyle was experiencing similar feelings. At least he would have, until he turned to Doyle and found his partner looking at him with a speculative expression that somehow managed to send a flutter through his stomach.
"What is it?" he asked with a frown.
Doyle stayed silent for a good long minute, then he took a deep breath and began to speak. "Bodie, how long…"
He was interrupted by a clattering on the stairs and then Murphy poked his head in. Whatever Doyle had been about to say died on his lips.
"Cowley's sent me up. We're finished with McGann's men and the baron. Seems that in the end Baron Gurney didn't fancy having a lot of bogtrotters taking over his estate for the cause so he's shopped them all. The local coppers are coming 'round to take them in for the night."
"Well, that's good news, at least," Doyle said.
"And Cowley's asked me to give Bodie the keys to my car so you can go back to London now. Though why you two rate an early escape from the tedium of Essex, I'm not sure."
"Have a heart, Murph," Doyle said. "I've been wounded in the cause."
"Yeah, well you don't look that bad." He threw his keys to Bodie. "There you go, mate. Mind you don't prang it. That car's still signed out under my name."
"I'm an excellent driver, Murph."
"That's not what the blokes in the car pool say." He looked back at Doyle. "Glad to have you back, Ray. You're the only one who can keep this maniac under control."
Bodie aimed a two-fingered salute at Murphy, who returned it with a wave before disappearing back downstairs.
"You were saying?" Bodie wasn't sure he wanted to hear Doyle's interrupted question, but he had the feeling he also didn't want it hanging over his head.
"Nothin' important." Doyle shook his head. "You go on and get the car. I'll wait downstairs."
"You okay to get down on your own?"
"Don't play bloody mother hen with me, Bodie. I'm fine."
"Can't help myself. You look like a wayward chick." A quick chuck under Doyle's chin and Bodie was off, Doyle's indignant shouts sounding in his ears.
It was nearing dawn when Bodie reached the outskirts of London. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and he reckoned it was a lucky thing he'd made it this far without driving them off the road.
He'd made most of the drive in silence. Doyle'd dropped off before they were five miles away from East Mersea and Bodie had let him sleep, wrapped in Murph's blanket, his feet in trainers two sizes too large propped up on the dash. Even kipped out he looked ready for the knacker's yard, his face bruised and drawn. Bodie resisted the urge to reach out and smooth away the frown that creased Doyle's brow. Wouldn't do to touch him. Might never want to stop, and then where would he be? Bloody well stuffed, no mistake about it. Because he wasn't sure what he wanted from Doyle any more: a quick fuck or love everlasting. All he knew was how gutted he'd felt when he'd thought Doyle was dead.
He shut down those thoughts and concentrated on the roads. Not that he needed to. There was barely any traffic yet.
Doyle's flat in Islington was closest, but Bodie headed straight for his own in Kensington. For once he'd drawn the better flat, with bright sunny windows, an airy kitchen and a sofa big enough to comfortably nap on. Doyle had always been popping 'round when there was a good match on the box. He'd also taken to appropriating his kitchen, complaining that his own was too small with no light to speak of and anyway Bodie never used it so why shouldn't he. Bodie never minded those evenings. He always got good grub out of them and the pleasure of Doyle's company.
The pleasure of Doyle's company…it kept coming back to that. No matter how hard he tried not to think of him, the annoying scruff was too firmly entangled in his life not to.
"You're losing it, my son," he whispered as he pulled in front of his block of flats.
"What?" Doyle jerked awake beside him, though whether it was Bodie's voice that had woken him or the sudden silence of the engine, Bodie wasn't sure.
"We're here," Bodie said.
Doyle rubbed his eyes and turned to Bodie. "'S not my flat."
"Heat's off in your flat, and I bet all he food's gone mouldy. Besides, you like my flat better. And you have a change of clothes stored here."
"I do, don't I?" Doyle visibly brightened. "Hope you have an infinite supply of hot water, too. I'll be taking the world's longest shower."
"Not before time." Bodie wrinkled his nose.
"Bastard," Doyle said, but with a smile.
Once in the flat, Doyle disappeared into the bathroom with the promised change of clothes and Bodie headed into the kitchen to throw together what breakfast he could. Checking his supplies he reckoned he could just about manage eggs and toast. The toast was in the rack and the eggs were nearly done when he heard the shower stop, followed by the low tones of Doyle swearing.
"You all right, mate?" There was a long pause, so Bodie turned off the cooker and moved down the hallway in concern. "Ray?"
The door to the bathroom opened, to reveal Doyle, his hips wrapped in a towel, a look of frustration on his face.
"Don't suppose you have anything for burns? Only I forgot what a mess McGann made of my back, and I don't want put my shirt on before I deal with it."
Doyle's back was marked by nearly a dozen small circular burns. Too late Bodie remember one of McGann's victims telling them of his fondness for burning traitors with cigarettes. He felt sick that he hadn't taken better care of Doyle when they found him.
"Fucking hell, Doyle. Why didn't you say?"
"I stopped noticing it after a while. Is it really that bad?" He twisted to try and look at it.
"It's not good, though I suppose I've seen worse. Now stop that." He batted away Doyle's hand. "I'm going to get the first aid kit. Go sit in the bedroom, why don't you. I'll fix you up there."
When Bodie got to the bedroom, Doyle was sitting on the bed as meekly as he could, which is to say not very meekly at all. He'd abandoned the towel and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His feet were still bare.
"Where do you want me?" Doyle asked with a grin.
"You might as well lie down. It'll make it easier for both of us."
"Easy. I like easy." Doyle waggled his eyebrows and flopped down on the bed, exposing the burns on his back. Several of the older ones had already scabbed over and started to heal, but there were some that looked fresh, and those wept blood and a watery yellow fluid.
"I'll just bet you do." Bodie bit his lip. "McGann forget to bring an ashtray with him?"
"Yeah. Bastard smoked like a chimney, too. Worse than Anson."
"I hope Cowley scares a few years off his life." He sat on the bed beside Doyle and soaked a piece of gauze in the saline solution that too many years earning his living with a gun had taught him to keep in the house. "Sorry about this, sunshine. This is going to hurt like fuck."
To his credit, Doyle didn't flinch. Not when Bodie cleaned the burns, and not even when he put antiseptic cream on them and covered them with gauze. He did, however, swear most inventively. Even after experience with soldiers and battlefields on three continents, Bodie was impressed.
"There you go sunshine," Bodie said as he taped the last bit of gauze in place. "I reckon you'll be sleeping on your stomach for a few days."
"More than a few days, by the feel of it." Doyle sat up gingerly. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Bodie opened a drawer and threw a t-shirt at Doyle. "You can wear this. It's an old one. I won't mind if it gets a bit of blood on it. Be a shame to ruin yours."
Doyle shrugged into the t-shirt with a grimace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bodie was glad he wasn't to be subjected to Doyle's bare chest for the evening. That he didn't think he could bear, not without wanting to run his hands over the exposed skin.
"C'mon." He moved past Doyle toward the door. "I've got breakfast waiting for you."
"Bodie." He was stopped as Doyle snagged his wrist in passing. "Hold up a minute." Doyle's fingers were warm against his skin and he pulled his hand away quickly before the temptation to feel more of Doyle overwhelmed him.
"Breakfast is getting cold."
"Breakfast can wait." Doyle's voice was firm. "C'mon. Sit down for a minute, would you. You're putting a crick in my neck."
Though the last thing in the world he wanted to do was sit beside Doyle on his bed, Bodie did it anyway. Sooner begun, and all that.
"How long…" Doyle stopped and looked down at his hands playing with the frayed bottom of the t-shirt. "Christ, this is hard. Harder than I thought."
A wave of cold swept Bodie, from his head to the soles of his feet. He didn't know exactly what Doyle was going on about, but he was certain he wasn't going to like it. "Just say it, why don't you. Whatever it is."
"Right, then." Doyle stilled his hands and looked steadily at Bodie. "I know."
"Know what?"
"I followed you. That night. Before Charlie and McGann and the explosion."
"Jesus, Doyle." Bodie felt the muscles in his jaw clench, felt his hands clench into fists, as he wondered what exactly Doyle had seen and desperately searched for a way to explain it away. He badly wanted to be somewhere else, to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. He wanted to lash out, but he couldn't hit Doyle. Not at the best of times. And certainly not after all Doyle'd been through. But if he couldn't strike out with his fists, he could certainly do it with words.
"Who gave you the fucking right?" Bodie felt the heat in his face, felt the racing of his heart. "Not getting enough invasion of privacy on the job so you thought you'd start in on your partner."
"It wasn't like that." Doyle's eyes were wild and desperate.
"Oh, yeah. Well why don't you tell me what it was like?"
"Started as a lark. Wanted to find out what you were hiding. I reckoned you were seeing a stunning bird and didn't want me to steal her. But then you ended up in Soho, and you walked into that place."
"Wasn't quite what you expected to find, was it Doyle? That you're partner's a fucking ponce."
Doyle's face twisted into an angry grimace. "Shut up, Bodie. I told you it wasn't like that."
"Jesus, Doyle. We're supposed to trust each other, not sneak around looking for each other's secrets."
"Trust?" Doyle's voice rose and hung on the word. "That's rich, coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You expect me to trust you, but you didn't trust me enough to tell me this."
"All right. I like blokes. Every once in a while."
"Not that, Bodie. I think I knew that before."
"Then what?" Bodie backed against his wardrobe. He felt cornered, like a suspect they'd run to ground and trapped in a blind alley.
"I saw him, Bodie. The bloke you pulled."
Bodie's gaze darted around the room like it would on an op when he was checking a room's exits. But he knew there'd be no easy exit from this situation.
"Curly hair." Doyle slowly stood. "Skinny body." With each word he took another step toward Bodie. "Tight jeans. Leather jacket." He was standing right in front of Bodie, now, so close that Bodie could feel the heat of his body, could smell the scent of his shampoo. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" The charade had gone on this long, and Bodie couldn't see a way of stopping it that wouldn't end in violence.
"Tell me you wanted this." Doyle stood looking at him, his eyes gone wide, his nostrils flared, his mouth open just enough that Bodie could see his tongue flicking against his bottom teeth.
"Want wha..."
Bodie's words broke the spell that kept Doyle still. He grabbed Bodie's shoulders, leaned forward and kissed him. Of all the ways Bodie had thought this would end, this option had never crossed his mind. Though perhaps it should have. Doyle was a randy sod, after all. All the doubts he'd ever had about getting involved with Doyle assaulted him. Because maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been worried about Doyle wanting a relationship. Maybe he'd been worried about Doyle just wanting a quick leg over, a meaningless fuck.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Doyle just used that to press his advantage and Bodie found Doyle's tongue invading his mouth, making him gasp, making him feel things he shouldn't.
He wrenched his head away. "No," he whispered. Then he broke Doyle's hold on his shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. "I won't be a mercy fuck."
"Oh, there won't be anything merciful about it, Bodie." Doyle licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, looking like a wanton, if slightly battered, angel. "Do you know what I did that night? When I saw you and that bloke go into a hotel?" He raised his shirt with one hand and rubbed a lazy circle on his bare belly. "I went home and brought myself off while I thought about you fucking him. You did fuck him, didn't you? It wasn't the other way 'round?"
Bodie could only nod. His mind was in turmoil and he had no idea what he could say in this situation. His cock, on the other hand, had no doubts about what it wanted. He could feel it stir and lengthen, could feel it push against his trousers.
Doyle's eyes flicked down, and then he smiled, a slow, seductive expression that made Bodie's blood boil even more.
"Nearly rubbed myself raw that night. Thinking about you fucking. Except it was me I imagined you pounding into--long and hard--not that bloke." Doyle dipped the tips of his fingers below the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. "Is that what you were thinking, too? That it was me you were fucking instead of him."
"You don't know what you're playing with, Doyle," Bodie said between clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to strip the clothes from Doyle's body and fuck him raw. Only the knowledge of Doyle's injuries and what little common sense he had remaining stopped him.
"I know exactly what I'm playing with."
Doyle stood again and moved toward Bodie. He grabbed Bodie by his belt buckle and swung him toward the bed. Just that little thing and Bodie's cock throbbed in anticipation.
"You can't do this, Doyle. Don't want to hurt you. Your burns..."
Doyle stopped his mouth with another kiss, one that was deep and hot and made Bodie's pulse race.
"You won't hurt me, Bodie. Not all sex has to be athletic. For what I'm thinking of, I'm in just the right sort of shape." And then Doyle pushed him onto the bed.
Bodie let himself fall, fearing, hoping he knew what Doyle had in mind. Doyle was beside the bed in a single step, and on his knees in a second. Then Bodie's hopes and fears bloomed at Doyle opened his flies and pulled down his trousers and pants far enough to expose Bodie's now rampant cock.
Doyle smiled at him, a beatific, glorious smile, and then he skinned back the foreskin, wrapped one hand around Bodie's cock and lightly mouthed the head. Bodie tried to hold still, but it was beyond him and his hips bucked. In response, Doyle used his free hand to hold him down by the hipbone. That contact was even more glorious and Bodie arched back his neck and moaned.
"Like that?' Doyle rubbed a thumb across the sensitive skin of Bodie's inner thigh. Bodie could only moan again in response. "How about this?" And now Doyle took the full length of Bodie's cock in his mouth, into that astonishing heat. Bodie clutched the bedspread in an attempt not to thrash. As fantastic as Doyle's mouth felt, Bodie still retained enough control to want to keep from hurting Doyle.
He looked down and saw Doyle's curls, saw Doyle's mouth taking in his cock and it was all too much. A final moan and he could feel his balls tighten, feel his cock pulse, feel himself going over the edge. Doyle didn't pull back, he only sucked harder and then swallowed when Bodie came.
Bodie lay there for a minute, gasping, feeling exhilarated and exposed and complete confused. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see Doyle quite yet, not quite knowing how to face him.
He felt the bed dip beside him, felt a familiar hand, rough with calluses, stroke his hair. He opened his eyes and there was Doyle, sitting beside him with a look on his face that was heartbreaking in its openness. Bodie didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve being the recipient of that look.
He sat up and looked at Doyle in wonder. He reached out a hand and drew two fingers across Doyle's bottom lip. Doyle opened his mouth and played his tongue lightly across the fingers in a way that made Bodie's cock twitch hopefully again.
"Christ, Doyle. That was..."
"Amazing? Wonderful? The best you've ever had?" Doyle grinned wide enough to show his chipped tooth.
"Not far off." Bodie swallowed once, hard. "Didn't entirely know if you went in for that sort of thing. Not for a certainty."
"Haven't in a long time. Haven't been interested. But for you, I made an exception." Doyle leaned forward and licked under the line of Bodie's jaw and pushed him to the bed. "Apparently you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Except without the bicycle and with another bloke. And with both of you naked." Doyle pushed up Bodie's shirt, exposing his belly to the cool air of the bedroom. "I quite fancy seeing you naked. Always buttoned up, you are."
Bodie grabbed at the hand stroking at his side and held it firmly. "That all I am, Doyle? An exception?"
"You're a bit more than that."
"How much more?" And that was more than he'd ever asked for from any of his birds. Or from anyone, come to that.
Doyle twisted his hand and twined his fingers with Bodie's. "I had a lot of time to think, in Essex. In between McGann and his blokes having a go at me. Made me think about what's important. What really matters. Who really matters." Doyle paused and Bodie could see the dip of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "You matter, Bodie. More than anyone else in my life. More than family. More than friends. More than George fucking Cowley. You."
Bodie smiled then, because he knew it was all right. Knew they both wanted the same thing. Knew that there'd be no more need for substitutes, not for either of them.
Title: Substitute
Author: P.R. Zed
Slash/Gen: Slash
Circuit/ProsLib: Yes, but only after I've heard from my last beta
Disclaimer: Bodie and Doyle belong to someone else.
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
msmoat for structural suggestions that saved me another ten thousand words. And to faramir_boromir for beta duties above and beyond the call.
Substitute, Part Two
As soon as Bodie arrived at headquarters Cowley tracked him down and grilled him about Charlie Teale. By the time all the other agents were assembled, Cowley had a detailed profile of Teale available for everyone. The briefing was blessedly short, the Cow obviously knowing that everyone was eager to get on the streets and find the one person who might know what had happened to Doyle. Might know if he was a body in the morgue or alive somewhere else.
All the teams and solos were assigned different areas of the city, with senior teams being given the areas immediately around Stepney, Teale's patch.
"I don't want any of you back here until someone's found Teale," were Cowley's final words as he released them onto the streets.
Bodie made for the car pool, his mind on Doyle and Teale and where the stupid little git had got to. Which, he reckoned, is why Murphy took him by surprise when he grabbed him by the arm as he neared his car.
"Watch it, Murph." Bodie pulled his arm away. "Never know what I might do."
"Sorry," Murphy said. "We just wanted to talk to you before you left."
"We?" Bodie looked past Murphy and saw most of the other senior agents--Anson and Susan, Lucas and McCabe, Jax and Ruth--standing behind him. To the last man and woman they looked grim-faced and determined. "What is this?"
"Well, we wanted you to know…that is… we were talking…" Murph was practically stuttering. Bodie was in no mood to put up with pissing about from anyone, not even Murph. Not when it kept him from finding Teale.
"Oh, give over, Murph. You're making a cock up of it." Ruth pushed forward. "We think that you should be the first one to take a crack at Teale, when he's found. We think you'd have the best chance of finding out what he knows."
Bodie was definitely listening now. "I think Cowley might have something to say about that."
"He might if he knew anything about it. But he doesn't." Ruth looked as steely as she did under fire.
"And how do you propose to manage it?"
"One of us finds Teale, we call you on the R/T, let you know there's a package to be delivered. Anson knows a derelict dock in Wapping that should do."
"And why would you lot do that?"
"We liked Doyle," Anson said, then gave an oof as Susan elbowed him in the ribs.
"We like Doyle," Susan said. "And we don't half mind you. And we want very much to help you find out what happened to him."
"Tempting though it is, I don't want you lot to risk your own careers for us."
"Bollocks," Ruth said. "We look after our own, Bodie."
Bodie couldn't speak for a moment. He looked at the men and women who surrounded him, who were ready to throw everything away to make sure Doyle got the justice he deserved, and he felt unreasonably proud of them all.
"Thanks," was all he could say in the end, but he could see that they knew what he really meant.
"That's settled, then." Murph had finally got his voice back.
The crowd of agents dispersed, each to his or her own car, leaving Bodie standing there alone. When the last roar of an engine had dissipated down the street he finally got into his own Capri and headed for his hunting ground.
In the end, it wasn't Bodie who found Teale, or Murphy, or Ruth or Jax. It was Anson.
Bodie was searching yet another dismal squat in Limehouse, with just as much success as the last ten he'd gone through, when his R/T went off.
"3.7."
"5.2." And that was Anson. "Package picked up and ready for delivery."
"Understood," Bodie said calmly, even as he felt adrenaline flood his system. He put his R/T back in his jacket and picked his way carefully out of the squat. Wouldn't do to go through one of the rotten floorboards this place was littered with now that Teale was caught.
Bodie made it to Wapping and Anson's derelict dock in record time. He was the first one there, and waited impatiently for Anson to appear. As soon as Anson's car entered the area he was out of the car. He felt the cold wrath that he'd held onto the last few days begin to burn away, to be replaced by a hotter fury. But he knew better than to unleash that fury. Wouldn't do him, or Doyle, any good if Teale ended up dead.
"Where is he?" Bodie asked once Anson had made his way over to where he stood.
Anson nodded at his boot.
"Well?" Bodie's voice was all impatience.
Jingling his keys in his hand, Anson walked over and popped open the boot. Teale was inside looking terrified, his eyes bugged out, his hands straining against the rope that bound him.
Bodie allowed himself to show no emotion as he hauled Teale out of the boot, flicked open a vicious-looking jackknife and cut the ropes binding the little git. A flick of his wrist and he'd pulled off the tape Anson had used to gag him.
"Fuckin' 'ell, that hurt." Teale put a hand tenderly to his face, then rubbed tentatively at his wrists. "You'd no cause to do that. No cause at all."
"Shut it, Charlie," Bodie said, keeping his voice a frozen wasteland. "You know what we're looking for."
"I've no idea. No idea at all. One minute I'm minding me own business, the next Butch over there's grabbed me and stuck me in his car. In the boot of his car. The boot."
Teale was winding up to a nice little bout of hysteria, Bodie could tell. He'd seen Doyle deal with the little toe-rag often enough. Any second and he'd start blubbing or screaming or something undignified. Bodie couldn't let that happen, so he moved.
He grabbed Teale by the front of his jacket, swung him around and pushed him against his own car. Bent him backwards over the hood.
"What happened to him?" Bodie was surprised at how calm his own voice was, given the rage he felt running through every nerve ending he had.
"Who are you talking about?" Teale tried the gibbering idiot defence. Bodie was having none of it.
"Ray Doyle, you little bastard. Where is he?"
"Don't know. 'Aven't seen him for months."
"'Course you have, Charlie. You called him last night."
"I never."
"From a phone box. In Stepney. We know everything, Charlie. Everything but what happened to Doyle."
Bodie could see Teale deflate and he knew that they had him. He only hoped that he wasn't going to tell them that the body in Finsbury had been Doyle. Because if he told them that, Bodie knew he was going to kill the little bastard, and Cowley be damned.
"I don't know where he is." It was the last gasp of a man who knew the game was over. They all knew it, but Teale seemed determined to play the game out to the end.
"But you did call him." Bodie tightened his grip on Teale's jacket and pushed him again. A small movement, but one calculated to convey the leashed power behind it. Teale's face drained of its last drop of blood and he finally nodded.
"Yeah. I called 'im."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you. 'E'll kill me."
"I'll kill you first if you don't tell me why you called Doyle."
"'E asked me to. Told me what to say, where to send Doyle. And you don't turn 'im down."
"Who?" Bodie finally let the anger, the heat he had hidden under layers of ice to come through in his voice. He could see from the look on Teale's face that it petrified him.
"Donal McGann." Teale practically screamed the name. "That's who. Donal fucking McGann."
"McGann?" Bodie let go of Teale's jacket, letting the other man collapse on the ground. "But the message was about McGann."
"'E knew that would get Doyle out in the middle of the night, didn't 'e? Knew you two were looking for 'im. But 'e was lookin' for you, too." Teale picked himself up off the ground and brushed dirt from his hands and trousers before grabbing Bodie by the sleeve. "You've got to protect me. If 'e finds out I grassed on 'im, 'e'll kill me."
"So Doyle's not dead?" Bodie hadn't even realized how much he was hoping Doyle was alive until this moment.
"No, not dead. McGann wanted him alive. Needed some information from 'im, 'e said." Teale put his head in his hands. "Christ, I can't believe I told you that. I'm a dead man for sure."
"Tell me where he's taken Doyle and I'll make sure George Cowley himself stands guard over you."
"I can't."
"Teale." Bodie's voice was a clear warning.
"I really can't. They didn't tell me nothin'." He held out his hands piteously. "Would you tell me anything? If you were 'im?"
"He's got a point," Anson said.
"He knows something, Anson. Don't you, Charlie?" Bodie leaned in closer until Teale must have felt the heat of his breath.
Teale shook his head frantically.
"C'mon, Charlie." Bodie's hand went around Teale's throat and he wondered what he'd do if Teale didn't talk. Would he actually kill him? Would he be able to stop himself? But that was enough for Teale. He finally revealed the last scrap of information he knew.
"They didn't tell me, but I did hear 'em talking. They mentioned a country house they'd borrowed. Belonged to some mad lord or other with Irish sympathies."
"That doesn't help much, Charlie."
"Essex. The house was in Essex." Teale drew in a ragged breath. "I think it was near the coast."
Bodie drew his hand back and stepped away from Teale as if he'd only just woken from a bad dream.
"Good lad, Charlie," Bodie said, then looked over at Anson. "House in Essex owned by a peer with Irish sympathies. That oughta be a doddle for Cowley to find, shouldn't it?" Bodie bloody hoped so.
Anson nodded and threw Teale into his car--the back seat this time--and followed Bodie to headquarters.
It was slightly more than a doddle, but Cowley had a location for Teale's country house by late afternoon. East Mersea was owned by Baron Cyril Gurney. He'd been given his peerage for various unspecified services rendered the Crown and from what Bodie read in his file seemed to fall into the pleasant and stupid end of the aristocracy. He also had a secret sympathy for the Catholics in Ireland and had made a few less than savoury friends, including Donal McGann. How Cowley had winkled out that information Bodie didn't want to know. He'd bet the old man had a secret file on the Queen herself, just in case.
As soon as they had a location, Cowley assembled the team, gave them a quick briefing and had them all on the road for Essex. Cowley threw Bodie the keys to his car, which made Bodie grind his teeth. The last thing he needed was Cowley lecturing him on restraint all the way to Essex. Fortunately Cowley sat in the back and stayed silent for most of the trip. The few times Bodie chanced a look in the rear view mirror, Cowley was staring out the window with a furrowed brow and a grim-set mouth.
The trip wasn't long, just over two hours. Their little convoy pulled out of headquarters as the sun was setting. By the time they reached the A12 full darkness had well and truly fallen. They made Baron Gurney's neighbourhood just before 21.00.
Not that they headed straight for the house. It was surrounded by flat farmland, the only cover being a thin line of trees that ran beside the road. No doubt that was one of the reasons McGann had chosen the place to hide.
Cowley had set a rendezvous point a mile away, in a grove of trees that would easily hide their force. Bodie pulled the car into the trees. The other cars pulled in behind him, their headlights providing the only illumination on this moonless night, casting eerie shadows that shuddered and jumped.
Bodie shut off the engine and was just about to get out of the car when Cowley finally spoke.
"Bodie." And that was the gentlest Bodie had ever heard the Cow's voice.
"Yes, sir?"
"We'll get him back."
"Yes, sir." Bodie didn't quite trust himself to say more.
"And Bodie."
"Yeah?"
"By the book, lad."
"Every bloody page, sir," he said, knowing he didn't mean it, knowing that if they found Doyle dead in that house he'd break every rule in the fucking book and a few that hadn't even been written yet to make sure his killers didn't draw breath much longer than Doyle. Because if Doyle were dead, there'd be nothing left holding him to England and he could burn every bloody bridge he had on the whole damn island.
Cowley didn't say any more, and neither did Bodie. They left the car and the rest of the team gathered around for a final talk from Cowley.
"You all know what you're to do," Cowley said gruffly. "There's the main house and two outbuildings. Team One, with Jax in charge, will take the stable. Team Two under Ruth will take the equipment shed."
"Lucky Team Two, to be under Ruth," Bodie heard McCabe say with rude humour.
"I'm sure you're referring to Miss Pettifer's superior leadership skills, McCabe," Cowley said without missing a beat. Even in the unnatural light of the headlights, Bodie could see McCabe flinch. "Team Three, led by Murphy, will take the front of the main house. Which leaves Team Four and Bodie to take the rear."
"Get ready to move out in ten minutes. Once all four teams are in position and have reported in, you're to move in. Give them a short, sharp shock, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, it's believed that they're holding 4.5, so confirm your target before you shoot. Any questions?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Then good luck everyone."
It took less than ten minutes for the four teams of CI5 agents to get kitted up and make their way in darkness and silence to Baron Gurney's property. Bodie led his team, with Anson, Susan and Whitfield following.
The four of them took their place in a hedgerow. When they were settled, Bodie called in their readiness on the R/T.
"Team Four in place."
He waited as they heard each of the other three teams call in, their voices sounding distant and tinny in the darkness. He didn't look at his team. They knew their job and he couldn't bear to see the sympathy he knew would be lurking in their eyes.
When the last team was in place, Cowley gave the final order.
"Go, go, go."
Bodie felt his heart begin to race as adrenaline flooded his system but then training took over and he wasn't thinking at all.
He broke through the back door with all the force of his fury behind him and nearly knocked it off its hinges. He moved into the house, knowing without checking that his team was behind him.
They cleared the main floor in record time, meeting Murph's team in the middle. Experience told him the place to look for a prisoner was the basement, but instinct drove him up, his team following him. First floor, second floor, attic, and a door at the end with a great bloody lock on it. No lock had been made that could have withstood Bodie's boot just then. One kick and the door went flying.
Bodie stopped cold.
He knew what he'd been expecting. He'd played the nightmare scenarios over in his head enough times: Doyle beaten or broken, drugged or dead. What he hadn't expected was Doyle, in a pair of his ratty jeans made rattier by days of dirt and abuse but otherwise barefoot and shirtless, standing with a makeshift club that looked like it might once have been part of a chair in one raised hand and Donal McGann himself laid out cold at his feet.
"'Bout fucking time you turned up, Bodie," Doyle snarled.
Once he managed to pick his jaw up from the floor, Bodie started laughing, his relief at finding Doyle alive jumbled with just a little hysteria. Doyle, looking oddly ferocious and exposed at the same time, stared at him as if he were a madman.
"Oi, Susan, has Bodie gone off his nut while I've been gone?"
"That would presume he was sane to begin with," Susan said, her tone was dry, but it still revealed her own relief. "I've always thought the two of you were certifiable."
And that only made Bodie laugh harder.
"What happened, Ray?"
The two of them were alone in the attic while Cowley and the other teams put the wraps on McGann and his men. Doyle was wrapped in Bodie's jacket and a blanket Murphy had produced from one of the bedrooms. No one had been able to find any shoes that fit him, so his feet were still bare. That, more than anything, made Bodie keenly aware of Doyle's vulnerability.
And vulnerable he was. Bodie'd thought at first when they burst into the room that Doyle had been remarkably untouched by his misadventure, but now he'd had the leisure to really look at Doyle. He saw the bruises, some a few days old, some fresh, on face and torso, and he could see the pain they were causing in the way Doyle had shrugged gingerly into his jacket. Nothing Doyle wouldn't recover from, and quickly, but a reminder that so much worse could have happened.
"It was a setup and I was stupid."
"Don't be so hard on yourself." Bodie wanted nothing more than to put an arm around Doyle, but he was as afraid of inflicting further damage on Doyle as he was of what that would make him feel, so he stayed still. "Could have happened to any of us."
"I should have known Charlie wouldn't want a meet in the middle of the night in a deserted squat. Likes daylight, Charlie does. And crowded markets. His choice of meeting place runs to Portobello Road on a Saturday." Doyle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was more of a rat's nest than usual and his fingers caught in the tangles.
"Bloody hell, I could use a shower."
"I didn't want to say..." Bodie said with a grin.
"Go on, you daft sod. You try being kidnapped for days and see how sweet you smell." A cloud drifted across Doyle's expression. "It is days, isn't it?" Bodie nodded. "Lost track after a while."
"You were explaining what happened." Bodie prompted him. Best not to let Doyle dwell on the details; he knew that after far too long as his partner.
"Yeah, I suppose I was." Doyle pulled the blanket more tightly around him and staved off a shiver. That was more than Bodie could tolerate and this time he really did put a careful arm around Doyle's shoulder and drew him closer. "Arrived at the squat. A total tip."
"You should see it now, mate."
Doyle snorted quietly. "I'll bet. Decorated in early dynamite, is it? Anyway, I wasn't expecting any trouble. I mean, it was Charlie. Charlie's scared of his own shadow at the best of times. Only it wasn't Charlie waiting there, was it? It was Donal McGann and his merry men."
"Got the drop on you, did they?"
"Mate, I was down and out before I knew there was a fight on. Cowley'll have me in Macklin's tender care before the bruises have healed."
"I won't let him."
"Fat lot you'll have to say about it. He'll have you alongside me."
"Christ, you're probably right."
"I'm always right." He gave a grin that was comfortingly Ray. "Anyway, they had me trussed up and gagged in no time. Felt a bloody fool and there was nothing I could do about it. I do remember thinking I hoped McGann killed me quick, because it would be better than the bollocking Cowley would give me."
"Don't say that, Ray. Not even as a joke." Doyle gave him a piercing look, just then, and Bodie felt as if his partner had sussed out all his secrets in that one moment. But if he had, Doyle didn't press his advantage. He even looked sympathetic.
"Sorry, mate. Forgot what you must have gone through."
"Yeah, well, it was probably a piece of piss compared to your time with McGann." Bodie stopped for a second and then brought up the one thing he didn't really want to think about. "Ray, there was a body. In the house. Malone and his lads found a body."
"Suppose you thought it was me." Doyle sounded tired.
"Of course we bloody thought it was you. And the pathologist couldn't prove different." Bodie swallowed hard as he flashed back to what he'd seen in the morgue. "Who was it?"
"Some poor bloke McGann found who had the bad luck to be about my size and age. McGann's mates got him pissed, made sure he wouldn't be missed, checked his blood type--though how they knew mine in the first place I'll never know--and then used his body as a decoy for you lot."
"Fuckin' hell."
"You can say that again. They killed the poor bastard right in front of me. Put my leather jacket, chain and bracelet on 'im. Let me know it was me next if I didn't give them what they wanted." Doyle stopped and got a wide-eyed look on his face. "Christ, I never thought…Meg and Mum, did Cowley tell them about the body?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'll have to call them. Let them know I'm okay."
"Or at least no more cracked than usual."
"Ha bloody ha. Still working on killing Vaudeville, I see."
"You just don't appreciate my sense of humour, Doyle."
"I would if you had any."
"Since you're wounded, I'll let that pass."
"You don't want to argue because you know I'm right."
Bodie opened his mouth to argue, but made the mistake of looking at Doyle. Doyle's face held a deadly serious expression for all of five seconds before he broke out into an infectious grin. Bodie couldn't help but smile back.
"Good to have you back, mate," Bodie said, squeezing Doyle's shoulders just a bit tighter.
"Good to be back. I really did think I was for the chop. Heard them talking about what to do with me if I didn't talk. Current thinking was to kneecap me for fun and then drop me in the sea." Doyle shuddered. "Didn't fancy that."
"How'd you get clear?"
"Let them think I was worse off than I was. They stopped being quite so vigilant, and I managed to get free. Used an old scrap of wire to nobble the handcuffs they had me in, broke up a chair for the club. Would have been tough, but I reckon I could have made it."
"And then we had the bad manners to rescue you."
"I'm not complaining. Better you lot riding to the rescue than me running cross country with no shirt and no trainers."
"There's an inspirational image," Bodie said before he could stop himself. He looked at Doyle, wondering if he'd given too much away, but Doyle only raised an eyebrow at him. "So what did they want, McGann and his lot?"
"Information on the CI5 armoury. Thought it'd be an easy way of arming the cause."
Bodie whistled. "They didn't think much of themselves, did they?"
"A right bunch of nutters, they are. Plus McGann viewed it as a personal vendetta. Remember that bloke we put away a year back? Rory Callan? Turns out he was one of McGann's best mates. And Donal's good at holding a grudge."
"Yeah, Charlie mentioned something like that."
"You found the little toe-rag?"
"Yeah, he's the one who put us onto this place. After I put the frighteners onto him."
"Good old Charlie, can always count on him when cowardice is needed."
They fell into a contented silence, Bodie taking simple pleasure in the fact that Doyle was alive and mostly well and at his side. He couldn't know for sure, but he would have sworn that Doyle was experiencing similar feelings. At least he would have, until he turned to Doyle and found his partner looking at him with a speculative expression that somehow managed to send a flutter through his stomach.
"What is it?" he asked with a frown.
Doyle stayed silent for a good long minute, then he took a deep breath and began to speak. "Bodie, how long…"
He was interrupted by a clattering on the stairs and then Murphy poked his head in. Whatever Doyle had been about to say died on his lips.
"Cowley's sent me up. We're finished with McGann's men and the baron. Seems that in the end Baron Gurney didn't fancy having a lot of bogtrotters taking over his estate for the cause so he's shopped them all. The local coppers are coming 'round to take them in for the night."
"Well, that's good news, at least," Doyle said.
"And Cowley's asked me to give Bodie the keys to my car so you can go back to London now. Though why you two rate an early escape from the tedium of Essex, I'm not sure."
"Have a heart, Murph," Doyle said. "I've been wounded in the cause."
"Yeah, well you don't look that bad." He threw his keys to Bodie. "There you go, mate. Mind you don't prang it. That car's still signed out under my name."
"I'm an excellent driver, Murph."
"That's not what the blokes in the car pool say." He looked back at Doyle. "Glad to have you back, Ray. You're the only one who can keep this maniac under control."
Bodie aimed a two-fingered salute at Murphy, who returned it with a wave before disappearing back downstairs.
"You were saying?" Bodie wasn't sure he wanted to hear Doyle's interrupted question, but he had the feeling he also didn't want it hanging over his head.
"Nothin' important." Doyle shook his head. "You go on and get the car. I'll wait downstairs."
"You okay to get down on your own?"
"Don't play bloody mother hen with me, Bodie. I'm fine."
"Can't help myself. You look like a wayward chick." A quick chuck under Doyle's chin and Bodie was off, Doyle's indignant shouts sounding in his ears.
It was nearing dawn when Bodie reached the outskirts of London. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and he reckoned it was a lucky thing he'd made it this far without driving them off the road.
He'd made most of the drive in silence. Doyle'd dropped off before they were five miles away from East Mersea and Bodie had let him sleep, wrapped in Murph's blanket, his feet in trainers two sizes too large propped up on the dash. Even kipped out he looked ready for the knacker's yard, his face bruised and drawn. Bodie resisted the urge to reach out and smooth away the frown that creased Doyle's brow. Wouldn't do to touch him. Might never want to stop, and then where would he be? Bloody well stuffed, no mistake about it. Because he wasn't sure what he wanted from Doyle any more: a quick fuck or love everlasting. All he knew was how gutted he'd felt when he'd thought Doyle was dead.
He shut down those thoughts and concentrated on the roads. Not that he needed to. There was barely any traffic yet.
Doyle's flat in Islington was closest, but Bodie headed straight for his own in Kensington. For once he'd drawn the better flat, with bright sunny windows, an airy kitchen and a sofa big enough to comfortably nap on. Doyle had always been popping 'round when there was a good match on the box. He'd also taken to appropriating his kitchen, complaining that his own was too small with no light to speak of and anyway Bodie never used it so why shouldn't he. Bodie never minded those evenings. He always got good grub out of them and the pleasure of Doyle's company.
The pleasure of Doyle's company…it kept coming back to that. No matter how hard he tried not to think of him, the annoying scruff was too firmly entangled in his life not to.
"You're losing it, my son," he whispered as he pulled in front of his block of flats.
"What?" Doyle jerked awake beside him, though whether it was Bodie's voice that had woken him or the sudden silence of the engine, Bodie wasn't sure.
"We're here," Bodie said.
Doyle rubbed his eyes and turned to Bodie. "'S not my flat."
"Heat's off in your flat, and I bet all he food's gone mouldy. Besides, you like my flat better. And you have a change of clothes stored here."
"I do, don't I?" Doyle visibly brightened. "Hope you have an infinite supply of hot water, too. I'll be taking the world's longest shower."
"Not before time." Bodie wrinkled his nose.
"Bastard," Doyle said, but with a smile.
Once in the flat, Doyle disappeared into the bathroom with the promised change of clothes and Bodie headed into the kitchen to throw together what breakfast he could. Checking his supplies he reckoned he could just about manage eggs and toast. The toast was in the rack and the eggs were nearly done when he heard the shower stop, followed by the low tones of Doyle swearing.
"You all right, mate?" There was a long pause, so Bodie turned off the cooker and moved down the hallway in concern. "Ray?"
The door to the bathroom opened, to reveal Doyle, his hips wrapped in a towel, a look of frustration on his face.
"Don't suppose you have anything for burns? Only I forgot what a mess McGann made of my back, and I don't want put my shirt on before I deal with it."
Doyle's back was marked by nearly a dozen small circular burns. Too late Bodie remember one of McGann's victims telling them of his fondness for burning traitors with cigarettes. He felt sick that he hadn't taken better care of Doyle when they found him.
"Fucking hell, Doyle. Why didn't you say?"
"I stopped noticing it after a while. Is it really that bad?" He twisted to try and look at it.
"It's not good, though I suppose I've seen worse. Now stop that." He batted away Doyle's hand. "I'm going to get the first aid kit. Go sit in the bedroom, why don't you. I'll fix you up there."
When Bodie got to the bedroom, Doyle was sitting on the bed as meekly as he could, which is to say not very meekly at all. He'd abandoned the towel and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His feet were still bare.
"Where do you want me?" Doyle asked with a grin.
"You might as well lie down. It'll make it easier for both of us."
"Easy. I like easy." Doyle waggled his eyebrows and flopped down on the bed, exposing the burns on his back. Several of the older ones had already scabbed over and started to heal, but there were some that looked fresh, and those wept blood and a watery yellow fluid.
"I'll just bet you do." Bodie bit his lip. "McGann forget to bring an ashtray with him?"
"Yeah. Bastard smoked like a chimney, too. Worse than Anson."
"I hope Cowley scares a few years off his life." He sat on the bed beside Doyle and soaked a piece of gauze in the saline solution that too many years earning his living with a gun had taught him to keep in the house. "Sorry about this, sunshine. This is going to hurt like fuck."
To his credit, Doyle didn't flinch. Not when Bodie cleaned the burns, and not even when he put antiseptic cream on them and covered them with gauze. He did, however, swear most inventively. Even after experience with soldiers and battlefields on three continents, Bodie was impressed.
"There you go sunshine," Bodie said as he taped the last bit of gauze in place. "I reckon you'll be sleeping on your stomach for a few days."
"More than a few days, by the feel of it." Doyle sat up gingerly. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Bodie opened a drawer and threw a t-shirt at Doyle. "You can wear this. It's an old one. I won't mind if it gets a bit of blood on it. Be a shame to ruin yours."
Doyle shrugged into the t-shirt with a grimace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bodie was glad he wasn't to be subjected to Doyle's bare chest for the evening. That he didn't think he could bear, not without wanting to run his hands over the exposed skin.
"C'mon." He moved past Doyle toward the door. "I've got breakfast waiting for you."
"Bodie." He was stopped as Doyle snagged his wrist in passing. "Hold up a minute." Doyle's fingers were warm against his skin and he pulled his hand away quickly before the temptation to feel more of Doyle overwhelmed him.
"Breakfast is getting cold."
"Breakfast can wait." Doyle's voice was firm. "C'mon. Sit down for a minute, would you. You're putting a crick in my neck."
Though the last thing in the world he wanted to do was sit beside Doyle on his bed, Bodie did it anyway. Sooner begun, and all that.
"How long…" Doyle stopped and looked down at his hands playing with the frayed bottom of the t-shirt. "Christ, this is hard. Harder than I thought."
A wave of cold swept Bodie, from his head to the soles of his feet. He didn't know exactly what Doyle was going on about, but he was certain he wasn't going to like it. "Just say it, why don't you. Whatever it is."
"Right, then." Doyle stilled his hands and looked steadily at Bodie. "I know."
"Know what?"
"I followed you. That night. Before Charlie and McGann and the explosion."
"Jesus, Doyle." Bodie felt the muscles in his jaw clench, felt his hands clench into fists, as he wondered what exactly Doyle had seen and desperately searched for a way to explain it away. He badly wanted to be somewhere else, to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. He wanted to lash out, but he couldn't hit Doyle. Not at the best of times. And certainly not after all Doyle'd been through. But if he couldn't strike out with his fists, he could certainly do it with words.
"Who gave you the fucking right?" Bodie felt the heat in his face, felt the racing of his heart. "Not getting enough invasion of privacy on the job so you thought you'd start in on your partner."
"It wasn't like that." Doyle's eyes were wild and desperate.
"Oh, yeah. Well why don't you tell me what it was like?"
"Started as a lark. Wanted to find out what you were hiding. I reckoned you were seeing a stunning bird and didn't want me to steal her. But then you ended up in Soho, and you walked into that place."
"Wasn't quite what you expected to find, was it Doyle? That you're partner's a fucking ponce."
Doyle's face twisted into an angry grimace. "Shut up, Bodie. I told you it wasn't like that."
"Jesus, Doyle. We're supposed to trust each other, not sneak around looking for each other's secrets."
"Trust?" Doyle's voice rose and hung on the word. "That's rich, coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You expect me to trust you, but you didn't trust me enough to tell me this."
"All right. I like blokes. Every once in a while."
"Not that, Bodie. I think I knew that before."
"Then what?" Bodie backed against his wardrobe. He felt cornered, like a suspect they'd run to ground and trapped in a blind alley.
"I saw him, Bodie. The bloke you pulled."
Bodie's gaze darted around the room like it would on an op when he was checking a room's exits. But he knew there'd be no easy exit from this situation.
"Curly hair." Doyle slowly stood. "Skinny body." With each word he took another step toward Bodie. "Tight jeans. Leather jacket." He was standing right in front of Bodie, now, so close that Bodie could feel the heat of his body, could smell the scent of his shampoo. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" The charade had gone on this long, and Bodie couldn't see a way of stopping it that wouldn't end in violence.
"Tell me you wanted this." Doyle stood looking at him, his eyes gone wide, his nostrils flared, his mouth open just enough that Bodie could see his tongue flicking against his bottom teeth.
"Want wha..."
Bodie's words broke the spell that kept Doyle still. He grabbed Bodie's shoulders, leaned forward and kissed him. Of all the ways Bodie had thought this would end, this option had never crossed his mind. Though perhaps it should have. Doyle was a randy sod, after all. All the doubts he'd ever had about getting involved with Doyle assaulted him. Because maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been worried about Doyle wanting a relationship. Maybe he'd been worried about Doyle just wanting a quick leg over, a meaningless fuck.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Doyle just used that to press his advantage and Bodie found Doyle's tongue invading his mouth, making him gasp, making him feel things he shouldn't.
He wrenched his head away. "No," he whispered. Then he broke Doyle's hold on his shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. "I won't be a mercy fuck."
"Oh, there won't be anything merciful about it, Bodie." Doyle licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, looking like a wanton, if slightly battered, angel. "Do you know what I did that night? When I saw you and that bloke go into a hotel?" He raised his shirt with one hand and rubbed a lazy circle on his bare belly. "I went home and brought myself off while I thought about you fucking him. You did fuck him, didn't you? It wasn't the other way 'round?"
Bodie could only nod. His mind was in turmoil and he had no idea what he could say in this situation. His cock, on the other hand, had no doubts about what it wanted. He could feel it stir and lengthen, could feel it push against his trousers.
Doyle's eyes flicked down, and then he smiled, a slow, seductive expression that made Bodie's blood boil even more.
"Nearly rubbed myself raw that night. Thinking about you fucking. Except it was me I imagined you pounding into--long and hard--not that bloke." Doyle dipped the tips of his fingers below the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. "Is that what you were thinking, too? That it was me you were fucking instead of him."
"You don't know what you're playing with, Doyle," Bodie said between clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to strip the clothes from Doyle's body and fuck him raw. Only the knowledge of Doyle's injuries and what little common sense he had remaining stopped him.
"I know exactly what I'm playing with."
Doyle stood again and moved toward Bodie. He grabbed Bodie by his belt buckle and swung him toward the bed. Just that little thing and Bodie's cock throbbed in anticipation.
"You can't do this, Doyle. Don't want to hurt you. Your burns..."
Doyle stopped his mouth with another kiss, one that was deep and hot and made Bodie's pulse race.
"You won't hurt me, Bodie. Not all sex has to be athletic. For what I'm thinking of, I'm in just the right sort of shape." And then Doyle pushed him onto the bed.
Bodie let himself fall, fearing, hoping he knew what Doyle had in mind. Doyle was beside the bed in a single step, and on his knees in a second. Then Bodie's hopes and fears bloomed at Doyle opened his flies and pulled down his trousers and pants far enough to expose Bodie's now rampant cock.
Doyle smiled at him, a beatific, glorious smile, and then he skinned back the foreskin, wrapped one hand around Bodie's cock and lightly mouthed the head. Bodie tried to hold still, but it was beyond him and his hips bucked. In response, Doyle used his free hand to hold him down by the hipbone. That contact was even more glorious and Bodie arched back his neck and moaned.
"Like that?' Doyle rubbed a thumb across the sensitive skin of Bodie's inner thigh. Bodie could only moan again in response. "How about this?" And now Doyle took the full length of Bodie's cock in his mouth, into that astonishing heat. Bodie clutched the bedspread in an attempt not to thrash. As fantastic as Doyle's mouth felt, Bodie still retained enough control to want to keep from hurting Doyle.
He looked down and saw Doyle's curls, saw Doyle's mouth taking in his cock and it was all too much. A final moan and he could feel his balls tighten, feel his cock pulse, feel himself going over the edge. Doyle didn't pull back, he only sucked harder and then swallowed when Bodie came.
Bodie lay there for a minute, gasping, feeling exhilarated and exposed and complete confused. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see Doyle quite yet, not quite knowing how to face him.
He felt the bed dip beside him, felt a familiar hand, rough with calluses, stroke his hair. He opened his eyes and there was Doyle, sitting beside him with a look on his face that was heartbreaking in its openness. Bodie didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve being the recipient of that look.
He sat up and looked at Doyle in wonder. He reached out a hand and drew two fingers across Doyle's bottom lip. Doyle opened his mouth and played his tongue lightly across the fingers in a way that made Bodie's cock twitch hopefully again.
"Christ, Doyle. That was..."
"Amazing? Wonderful? The best you've ever had?" Doyle grinned wide enough to show his chipped tooth.
"Not far off." Bodie swallowed once, hard. "Didn't entirely know if you went in for that sort of thing. Not for a certainty."
"Haven't in a long time. Haven't been interested. But for you, I made an exception." Doyle leaned forward and licked under the line of Bodie's jaw and pushed him to the bed. "Apparently you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Except without the bicycle and with another bloke. And with both of you naked." Doyle pushed up Bodie's shirt, exposing his belly to the cool air of the bedroom. "I quite fancy seeing you naked. Always buttoned up, you are."
Bodie grabbed at the hand stroking at his side and held it firmly. "That all I am, Doyle? An exception?"
"You're a bit more than that."
"How much more?" And that was more than he'd ever asked for from any of his birds. Or from anyone, come to that.
Doyle twisted his hand and twined his fingers with Bodie's. "I had a lot of time to think, in Essex. In between McGann and his blokes having a go at me. Made me think about what's important. What really matters. Who really matters." Doyle paused and Bodie could see the dip of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "You matter, Bodie. More than anyone else in my life. More than family. More than friends. More than George fucking Cowley. You."
Bodie smiled then, because he knew it was all right. Knew they both wanted the same thing. Knew that there'd be no more need for substitutes, not for either of them.
Title: Substitute
Author: P.R. Zed
Slash/Gen: Slash
Circuit/ProsLib: Yes, but only after I've heard from my last beta
Disclaimer: Bodie and Doyle belong to someone else.
Notes: Thanks to
msmoat for structural suggestions that saved me another ten thousand words. And to faramir_boromir for beta duties above and beyond the call.
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"We liked Doyle," Anson said, then gave a oof as Susan elbowed him in the ribs.
"We like Doyle," Susan said. "And we don't half mind you. And we want very much to help you find out what happened to him."
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"Bodie." And that was the gentlest Bodie had ever heard the Cow's voice.
"Yes, sir?"
"We'll get him back."
"Yes, sir." Bodie didn't quite trust himself to say more.
"And Bodie."
"Yeah?"
"By the book, lad."
"Every bloody page, sir," he said, knowing he didn't mean it, knowing that if they found Doyle dead in that house he'd break every rule in the fucking book and a few that hadn't even been written yet to make sure his killers didn't draw breath much longer than Doyle. Because if Doyle were dead, there'd be nothing left holding him to England and he could burn every bloody bridge he had on the whole damn island.
You get Bodie and Cowley's relationship in a nutshell here, *and* Bodie's rage, control, sense of vengance, unswerving focus and passion for all that is his life with Doyle.
Thank you so much. A very, very, enjoyable story.
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Story flowed beautifully, felt like an episode *should* have been. Loved the solidarity of the older agents; Bodie's reactions; the hints about D's feelings; Cowley's support; the fact B reined himself in until he knew for certain.
Loved the way he finds D ready with that chair leg. Their reactions felt spot-on. And from then on it was sheer bliss.
Thanks
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And I'm glad you felt that the story worked like an episode. I've always been a fan of plot-heavy stories and write them for a preference.
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Agree with hgdoghouse, this read like an ep
Awww, you all make me very happy with that. *g*
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You got me so hooked on the story, I forgot to drink my coffee and were biting my nails!
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That was wonderful! I love the fact that Doyle was able to free himself. I love the fact that he forgot entirely about the burns on his back, and that he had already sussed out for himself what Bodie's problem was. You set up the story with Doyle as the victim in need of rescue, and it turns out he's more in control of the situation than Bodie is.
And, uh... I think the eggs got cold. ;-)
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Sorry about the eggs. ;-)
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I enjoyed this so much:)
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And for lines with real impact - "Oh, there won't be anything merciful about it, Bodie." Doyle licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, looking like a wanton, if slightly battered, angel. *thud*
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As for that last line, all I'm going to say is my Doyle muse seems to be permanently randy, god bless 'im.
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Glad I could give you day a nice start.
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Like
Thanks for the great read.
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I thoroughly enjoyed this. I always do expect a good story from you, but this was especially good for me. There were so many bits I liked, but I wanted to mention these in particular:
He thumbed off his R/T far harder than necessary and threw it onto the passenger seat, the place Doyle should have been sitting.
Because, you know, it's all part of the partner-worry kink. *g*
And the: "Every bloody page, sir," he said, and the whole paragraph after that. Whee! I love that. *g*
And, really, the whole scene in the attic. It was just so them and so right. Thank you! This was a great story to come home to! (And I stand by my structure advice. *g* But you're the one who pulled off a great story!)
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Glad I could hit your partner-worry kink. It's obviously one I share.
Now that I've finished the bastard, I just have to find time to read all the other stories. Including yours!
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"'Bout fucking time you turned up, Bodie," Doyle snarled.
Once he managed to pick his jaw up from the floor, Bodie started laughing, his relief at finding Doyle alive jumbled with just a little hysteria. Doyle, looking oddly ferocious and exposed at the same time, stared at him as if he were a madman.
"Oi, Susan, has Bodie gone off his nut while I've been gone?"
"That would presume he was sane to begin with," Susan said, her tone was dry, but it still revealed her own relief. "I've always thought the two of you were certifiable."
A really good plot and tension incredibly sustained, very authentic voices from the other characters, the agents with their understated moral support, and Bodie's original doubts all so convincingly resolved at the end. Very satisfying, thank you so much for this. Definitely one that will go onto my "early re-read" list.
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*loves you and your story*
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Thank you.
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Thank you for posting this wonderful story! I really really enjoyed it. You wrote CI5 agents quite well! I was almost moved to tears when the lads and ladies surrounded Bodie. Really nice fic. It'd be one of my favorites. Thank you!
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loved all the team interactions too.
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I love writing about the other team members. Makes the whole CI5 more real, somehow.
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