Indelibly Marked part 8/8

Aug 31, 2010 22:44



Indelibly Marked
By
Dawnwind

Part eight of eight

"I'm for storming that door up top," Bodie said with a slight smile, brushing one hand against the snake tattoo as he bent to pick up the cuff. "Looks like the buckle pin slipped partway out when you dropped it."

"Think we could pick the lock with that?" Doyle mused.

"We shall just have to find out." Bodie bent the leather cuff backward until the whole buckle housing popped completely out of the frayed stitching. "Hey, presto!"

"All my hard work, that," Doyle said, snatching the pin away from his partner. "Cowley's probably got a vanguard heading this way already."

"Be much more of a feather in our caps if we got out on our own." Bodie reclaimed the pin, heading down the corridor to the stairs. "How did you get that key for the ankle cuff, anyway?"

"Mosby tucked it into my hand, last thing." Doyle walked closely behind him, waiting two steps down when Bodie slipped the slender piece of metal into the keyhole of the door at the top of the stairs. "Can't fathom either of Daniels' minions. Thomson's got smarts coupled with violence and Mosby…"

"Master/slave relationship." Bodie grunted slightly as he manipulated the lock. He tweaked the probe very slightly and then grinned over his shoulder. "Less than 30 seconds."

"Don't flatter yourself." Doyle smacked him on the back. "Forty five."

"How were you counting, Einstein?" Bodie placed one hand flat on the door and eased it open a crack. "You're not wearing a watch." He peered out before widening the gap and squeezing through. "Come on."

"The war room is at the end of the corridor," Doyle said barely above a whisper. "Bedroom in the middle. Didn't get the rest of the estate tour."

"There was a hired girl, maybe Ukrainian-she didn't speak ze Anglis," Bodie said with an exaggerated accent, "brought me a couple chip butties." He moved cautiously down the hall, hugging the wall, visually sweeping the area for danger. "Any other servants?"

"Probably, in a place this size, but I only saw Burley, Daniels and his two hangers-on." Doyle thought back, trying to remember if he'd seen Daniels actually carry the Browning semi-automatic pistol with him to the war room. Was the gun still in the bedroom? "Bodie!" he hissed. "In here."

The bedroom was still deserted, the smell of recent sex overpowering, and for a moment, Doyle thought he'd be sick right on the expensive rug. He breathed in, focusing hate directly at Daniels, and the nausea abated.

Bodie crowded in behind him, snicking the door shut. "You thinking of a kip?" He whistled softly through his teeth, taking in the rich décor. "Nice accommodations if you can get 'em."

"Not gettin a Michelin rating out of me." Doyle wrinkled his nose in disgust, seeing exactly what he'd hoped. The Browning was lying on the bed, half hidden under one of the pillows. "Actually, I had in mind a scavenger hunt, and already found the first item." He scooped up the gun, checking the magazine for bullets.

"Now who's born under a lucky star." Bodie winked saucily at him. "This is just like being in a holiday camp-what's next on the list?"

"A telephone." Doyle tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans, debating whether to take the two wrist cuffs, too. He'd love to see them on Daniels but he nowhere to carry them. Just as well because the brush of the leather cuff against his arm sent a chill down his spine.

"One in the foyer," Bodie said. "Too exposed."

"Another gun for you?" Doyle focused on what they had to do instead of what had just happened in this room.

"How about a knife?" Bodie inched open the door and slid down the hallway, his partner at his back. "There's an archway just past the war room, you reckon it's the kitchen?"

Doyle stayed low, pistol gripped in his fist. He was armed, thus he was the one to guard Bodie. "You just want something to eat before the shoot out at the OK corral, John Wayne."

"Ye of little faith," Bodie scoffed, dashing past the war room door and into the dim passage that led down a different wing of the house. "Can I help it if my beautiful physique needs constant fueling? Besides, the Ukrainian girl likes me."

The Ukrainian girl was nowhere in sight, but the kitchen was spotlessly clean and completely deserted. There were knives, a plethora of them, jutting handle up from a large knife block set next to a stove big enough to roast an entire stag.

"A veritable smorgasbord." Bodie snatched up a wickedly long blade.

"And a phone," Doyle said, locating the instrument on the wall beside a large refrigerator. "We may just win this scavenger hunt yet."

"Especially with reinforcements on our side," Bodie said in an amused voice, crossing the room to the back door. "Hello, Murph."

"What?" Doyle grunted in surprise and saw Murphy through the glass pane in the kitchen door that led out to a mud room. 6.2 looked equally surprised to see him. "Bloody hell, let him in," Doyle snarled.

"Do come in my good fellow," Bodie greeted their colleague, swinging the door open for him. "Did you bring reinforcements? Extra guns?"

"Shoulda known the two of you wouldn't need help getting out of a scrape," Murphy said with good-natured sarcasm, pointing his pistol muzzle down to the floor.

"Where the hell have you been?" Doyle exploded, lunging for the other agent, all the pent-up anger mingled with relief battering at the dams that held his emotions in check.

Bodie caught him, pressing one hand against Doyle's wildly beating heart. "Steady on, angelfish, he's one of the good guys," he said softly.

"Even with Cowley's old boys connections and Janssen's information, took us a while to actually locate where Daniels brought you," Murphy said defensively, taking a step back.

Doyle grit his teeth, trying to get himself under control again. If he wasn't careful, he was going blow the entire mission before they brought in Daniels and company. He nodded an apology at Murphy. Bodie gave an ironic chuckle and patted Doyle on his flat abdomen.

"Weren't you supposed to be all wound with chains, suffering in some cell?" Murphy asked, glancing around the well appointed kitchen.

"You've read The Count of Monte Cristo one too many times." Bodie gave him an indulgent look, flourishing the knife like a rapier. He stabbed it back into the knife block.

The multi-colored bruises around his eye gave him a rakish air. Doyle had to look away from his partner for a moment, thoroughly rattled by a sudden and overwhelming desire to ravage him right then and there on the old-fashioned linoleum. Where the hell had that come from? He was going mental, that was for certain. Who else would counter rape with arousal for his battered lover?

"4.7 and 6.5 are out back, along with Lucas and McCabe," Murphy explained, producing a second gun from his jacket pocket for Bodie. "You two planning on taking prisoners or scuttling out while you can?"

"I think you can answer that one yourself." Doyle was primed for a fight. He wanted to personally put Edward Daniels into irons and spread-eagle him naked on a bed for a slap and reaming out. "Come on, we've been lolling around long enough, they're expecting Cowley."

"Hey, why don't we give them a little show?" Bodie waggled his fingers. "Give us your R/T, Murphy."

"What for?" Murphy asked, looking perplexed.

"Like the American song." Doyle knew his partner. Feeling reckless and dangerous, he sang, "And the rockets red glare, bombs bursting on air…"

"And he sings, too." Bodie grinned, all teeth and peaked eyebrows, pressing the R/T button to give his instructions to McCabe. "Give us two minutes to get into position," he finished with. "Tally-ho, mates, let's go fox hunting."

Creeping back along the corridor to the war room, Doyle could hear the blood throbbing in his ears. All the aches and pains of the last day fell away as if they had never been. He looked down at the Browning gripped in his right hand, and then up his arm, past the forked tongue of the blood-eyed snake, to the delicately inked black and red scales of the snake's body. This was part of him now. He had to separate it from Eddy Daniels and all that the snake stood for, or he'd rip his skin clean off right after they finished this obbo.

The sound of voices in the vestibule froze all three CI-5 agents. Bodie held a finger to his lips, silently mouthing, "one more minute."

"So much for that," Daniels said from up ahead, obviously annoyed. "Did think the old fart in charge of CI-5 would come after his own by now but we'll just have to serve them the papers…" Three sets of footprints tramped further down the corridor.

"It's later now, Eddy," Mosby said hopefully.

"Don't interrupt me, prat!" Daniels shouted, and there was the dull thud of a fist striking flesh.

"Shall I give it a go?" Thomson asked with pure malevolence.

Seconds later, all hell broke loose.

Doyle had to give it to Lucas and McCabe-they put a rousing display. Automatic weapon fire peppered the front of the house, punctuated by a double roar of two grenades going off-one to the side, one directly in front of the main door. Bright orange fire lit up the foyer, silhouetting Daniels, Mosby and Thomson like shadow puppets. Mosby fell to the floor and Thomson was bowled over in the maelstrom.

"Damn!" Daniels screamed as backlash from the firestorm slammed him to his knees. "Where's my gun?" He scrambled up, pulling Thomson with him.

"They're here!" Burley shouted with manic glee, running out of the war room, brandishing his Walther. He pulled off a single shot in the direction of the burning door as Bodie and Doyle dashed down the hall.

Murphy brought up the rear and collared Mosby instantly. Bodie faced off with the old man. It took a single karate chop to Burley's gun hand and he dropped his pistol with a cry of despair. Bodie shoved him against the wall, patting him down for other weapons.

Flames flicking up the draperies to each side of the front door turned the entryway into the gates of hell. Doyle had eyes for only one person-Edward Daniels. He and Thomson had disappeared into the bedroom, probably in search of the gun Doyle held in his fist.

Berserker rage blotting out all thought, Doyle charged after his prey.

"Doyle!" Bodie yelled, holding onto a struggling Burley. "Get McCabe, Lucas! Where's the back-up?"

The hallway was filling with choking smoke, but the bedroom still had relatively fresh air. Doyle pulled the door shut behind him, advancing furiously on Daniels and Thomson. "Looking for this?" Doyle growled, holding the Browning with his finger on the firing mechanism.

Thomson pulled the trigger of a small, blue steel gun.

Doyle didn’t flinch when the bullet slammed into the doorframe millimetres from his right ear. He returned fire, blowing the pistol out of Thomson's hand with a single shot.

"Shite!" Thomson gasped, cradling his bleeding hand. He backed away, wearing a hostile expression.

"On the floor, hands behind your neck," Doyle instructed, voice pitched low and dark, raising the pistol to keep a bead on his other enemy.

Thomson knelt, and clasped his hands around his head, blood trickling down his wrist, covering the letters on his fingers with gore.

"Come back for more, Little Ray?" Daniels goaded as if he wasn't looking down the barrel of his own gun. He took a step forward with a savage smile. "You like it rough, I knew from the first."

"Don't you move, Eddy-boy, or you'll get the same," Doyle warned, directing a shot about six inches from Daniels' bare feet. "Rough and hard."

The bullet plowed a divot in the plush rug and Daniels jumped back with an exclamation. "We could be good together!" He was beginning to sound desperate. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"How does it have to be then?" Kicking Thomson's .22 under the bed, Doyle kept his pistol pointed at Daniels. He was running on pure adrenaline fueled rage, without a care for the consequences. He grabbed Thomson by his good hand, hauling him a few feet to the bed. "You tell me, Eddy, how should it be?"

"I think you've got the wrong idea…" Daniels started, pulling his purple robe more tightly around his slender body.

"What you doing?" Thomson glowered, trying to jerk away but Doyle kicked him hard in the cockles. Thomson gave a strangled yelp, his face a sickly gray.

Grabbing his opportunity, Doyle wrapped one of the cuffs chained to the bed around Ned's wrist. He didn't think, just kept moving forward, doing what felt right.

Daniels sidled to the left, making a break for the door.

"Don't try it, Eddy," Doyle growled, putting a bullet into a panel in the mahogany door. "Come over here like you're eager, love. It's your turn to shine now." He kept the gun trained on Daniels until he'd walked slowly across the room, uncharacteristically silent. "Sit down on the bloody bed and don't move," he directed, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back. It was getting hotter in the room, probably from the fire, and the air was heavier, making it harder to breathe.

"Strip," Doyle said very softly when Daniels perched on the edge of the mattress, the tight muscles in his long jaw twitching. "Take off that ponce dressing gown. I want t'see where I bit you. My mark on you." It was tricky buckling the cuff onto Thomson while holding a gun steady, but Doyle managed, keeping his eyes on his other prey.

"You marked me?" Daniels gave a tight chuckle, but with a dawning realization that he was about to be on the receiving end. "Just a scratch, old son. Nothing to write home about." He shrugged his shoulders as if settling the purple satin robe more firmly around him.

"I said strip." Doyle pulled off another shot, barely missing Thomson's left shoe.

Thomson howled in rage, jerking his restrained arm.

"I could have shot off one of his toes, but I'm saving a bullet for a very special part of your anatomy, Eddy-boy," Doyle said quietly, the need for retribution all consuming. "Take off the robe and put that bleeding cuff around your wrist, now." The next shot blasted right into a pillow, sending up a spray of goose down.

"This is not the way it was supposed to go down!" Daniels shouted, his dark eyes going wide. "Ned, get off your fucking arse and do what you do best!"

"This is between you and me, Eddy-boy." Ignoring the man bleeding on the floor, Doyle took another step, pointing the Browning mere centimetres from Daniels' groin. "Take it off, or I'll take it off."

Daniels gasped, his cocky superiority vanishing with a gun between his thighs. He fumbled with the sash of his dressing gown and let the slick fabric glide off his shoulders. Totally nude, Daniels trembled, causing the upper trio of snakes on his body to vibrate like live pythons. "You can't…" He started to cover his genitals and Doyle shoved the gun into his pubis, almost into the mouth of the gold and green cobra tattooed there.

"I can," Doyle said very slowly. He felt nothing inside. No elation at besting his opponent. No fear, just nothing. He was absolutely empty, drained of humanity. "And I will unless you do what I tell you. Now."

"Yeah, okay!" Daniels snatched the remaining wrist cuff hanging from the bedpost and closed it around his left wrist. With clumsy fingers, he buckled it into place. The thick cuff beheaded the red and black serpent on his left arm. "I did it!"

"Good." Doyle stepped back, aiming almost without thought. There, just about midway down on Daniels' willie was a faint scrape with a few drops of dried blood. Just there…

"Ray," Bodie said from behind him.

Doyle recognized the name as his own, but he was no longer that man. He'd been altered irrevocably. Marked forever. He looked squarely at his target, breathing out prior to pulling the trigger one last time.

"Raymond," Bodie said more loudly. He touched Doyle's right arm, fingers lightly placed on the serpent's red and black scales. "This is not you."

"Make him stop!" Daniels shrieked just as Doyle pulled off the shot.

The bullet went wide, slamming into an ankle cuff chained to the foot of the bed. Doyle handed Bodie the gun and walked out of the room, engulfed by the billowing smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"His Lordship is complaining to all who will listen that we destroyed his home," Cowley said with a faint smile. "That he had the right to defend his property against marauders."

"No mention whatsoever about the penalties for keeping prisoners in his cellar? Or that he kept enough weapons in the gun cabinet to start another world war?" Bodie asked, glancing over at Doyle. "Certainly has his priorities straight."

"Och, well, he hasn't a leg to stand on." Cowley shook his head, his mouth in a grim line. "Now that we've pointed the investigators in the right direction; Scotland Yard, Interpol, MI-5 and even some American and European agencies are opening the books on unsolved cases and bringing charges against Lord Burley and his son." He gestured at a pile of manila folders with the logos of myriad intelligence agencies stamped on the front. "The man has been gun running for years, coupled with multiple criminal activities of every sort. However, his crimes pale in comparison to what his son has done." Cowley massaged his temple, a look of deep sorrow on his face. "I've spoken at length to the Lebeouff boy, but we may never know the extent of Edward Daniels' depravities. I doubt most of the victims-especially those of upstanding families -- will ever come forth."

"And Janssen?" Doyle asked, leaning against the wall. He wasn't sure if he could stand up on his own any longer. He'd moved so far past exhaustion there wasn't a word for how he felt.

Cowley had insisted a doctor examine both Doyle and Bodie first thing, but Doyle had only admitted to a beating and drugging, not rape. He still shied at the mere thought of the word. Even after acknowledging the prospect of abuse at Daniels' hand, he couldn't move past the reality of it. The CI-5 physician, accustomed to anything from poisoning to gun shot wounds, had given Doyle and Bodie a superficial once over. He'd signed them off with a clean bill of health and the proviso to take it easy for a day or two.

As if that was remotely possible. There would be reams of reports to fill out, along with countless debriefings and meetings with representatives from all the other intelligence agencies and legal counsels. Doyle always found those kind of all-day questionings, sitting at a table with a host of skeptical barristers and investigators, vastly more tiring than a session with Macklin on the obstacle course.

He tried to remember when he had last eaten. The remains of the Hunter's chicken at the pub with Daniels and company hovered in front of his eyes, and nausea welled up unexpectedly. That was over 18 hours ago. Possibly even longer for Bodie.

"4.5?" Cowley asked loudly. "You've gone pale."

"Didn't mean to." Doyle swallowed with difficulty, faced with two pair of blue eyes staring fixedly at him. Damn, he'd zoned out when he should have been listening. "Janssen?" He latched on to the last thing he could remember saying.

"He's in the nick for now," Bodie said, his concern blatantly evident. He brushed the back of his knuckles against Doyle's thigh, an almost accidental movement of his hand, but Doyle felt a little of his weariness melt away. "Awaiting deportation," Bodie finished.

He didn't look all that good either, and Doyle chided himself for only focusing on his own harrowing experience-Bodie had been kidnapped for four days, for God's sake.

"How did he…" It was incredibly hard to think logically and ask intelligent questions. Doyle rubbed his sore arm. The tattoo was beginning to itch. "How was it that the lodge was on the Burley property but not listed as such?"

"Ah, yes." Cowley smiled, ever fascinated with puzzles and secrets. "Apparently, his Lordship's father also had frequent dalliances with-shall we say, ladies and gentlemen not accepted in aristocratic society. During World War Two, he claimed the building was bombed." He nodded, the tip of his forefinger just tapping his chin. "Which had a kernel of truth, one German plane did drop a bomb in the Cuddesdon area, causing destruction to a small portion of the Burley property on the far northern end, miles from the main house. However, apparently the hunting lodge was not damaged as seriously as reported, and the men of the family have used the place as a secret spot for trysting and other less legal activities ever since without penalty."

"Rule Britannia, all hail the bar sinister," Bodie said sardonically. "But you were still able to locate us."

"Just because it's not included in the family withholdings doesn't mean it's been completely forgotten," Cowley continued. "No, in fact, when asked directly, several members of Parliament admitted to having been there a time or two. His Lordship told me he was going hunting, I just had to call in a few favours to ascertain exactly where he usually went…"

"Grease a few palms," Bodie quipped in a bad American accent. "Very glad you did, sir."

"Quite so, Bodie." Cowley nodded to the both of them. "CI-5 would not be as efficient without its two finest agents."

Doyle suspected that was as much praise that they were likely to get. He took a deep breath, coughing when the action twinged sore ribs and his aching back. Damned kidneys, he'd already gone to the loo and peed red, although he wasn't about it admit that to present company.

Bodie straightened the stained and ripped suit jacket he'd been wearing since his original meeting with Janssen as if he was preparing for Ascot. "Sir, I think both of us are in need of a washing up and a lie-in. Perhaps we could have a fortnight off, with pay?"

"Bodie, you do try to push the limits," Cowley said wryly. "You two were the lead on this operation, and as such, will have many duties in the days ahead."

"I thought you'd assigned Bodie and Murphy as lead," Doyle brought up. "I was on limited."

"Well, that stipulation didn't hold very long, did it?" Cowley waggled a finger at him. "Your instincts proved right on the money, Doyle, and for that, you have earned your keep. The both of you are due back here on Monday, with sleeves rolled up and ready to work."

"One and a half days?" Bodie shot out of his chair. "That's criminal!"

"Accepted, sir," Doyle said, finally standing without support. He elbowed the still fuming Bodie in the ribs. "There's a small matter of new flats. Daniels' lot know about the Lillian Court address, and quite possibly Bodie's, as well."

Bodie shot him a glance that asked, when you were at my place?

"We are well aware of that, 4.5." Cowley nodded. "I've taken the precaution of having your things boxed up already. Bodie's flat will be closed out, and you'll both receive keys to new quarters on Monday." He pressed the intercom button for his secretary. "Betty, was a small case left for Doyle and Bodie?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice tinny over the speaker. "It's here at my desk."

"There, you see? Even a change of clothing for the both of you," Cowley said, obviously dismissing them. "Everything neat and tidy."

"You only moved into Lillian Court two months ago," Bodie said, following Doyle out the door.

"Yeah, just found a decent greengrocer, too." Doyle concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until he could collapse on a bed.

"You and your rabbit food. What we need is a huge plate of fish and chips. Something to stick to the ribs, fill you up."

"All that fat, Bodie!" It was so easy to fall into the usual banter, letting the normalcy lull him into a calm.

Bodie must have realized how done in Doyle was. He collected the suitcase and steered his partner out to the street. Amazingly, the Capri was parked at the kerb, although Doyle hadn't the faintest idea who had recovered the car from where he'd parked it outside the tattoo parlor. Just sliding into the passenger seat felt like coming home. The weather hadn't changed from the day before, a drizzly, cold rain coming down steadily, swathing all of London in a padding of gray fog.

"Where to?" Bodie asked lightly.

"Haven't a clue," Doyle dropped his head back, closing his eyes. "Somewhere other than here."

"I know just the spot," Bodie said, patting his thigh.

Doyle closed his fingers around Bodie's left hand and held on whilst he drove them out of London.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rain was drumming on the roof when the Capri bumped over a drive and into a car park. Doyle came awake abruptly, his breath catching in his throat. He opened one eye blearily but there was nothing to see. It was dark and dismal outside the warm oasis of the car.

"Where are we?" he asked, feeling gruff and out of sorts.

"Brighton," Bodie said helpfully.

"Brighton?" That woke him up quickly enough. "Bodie, it's the middle of February-and raining. It was cold in London. Probably isn't more than 7 Celsius with the wind coming off the bleeding ocean!"

"Thank you, Mr. Weatherman." Bodie waited another moment as if expecting Doyle to continue with his rant.

Wisely, Doyle shut up.

"You toss all those protests my way without even getting out of the car." He glanced out the windscreen. "It is quite blustery, but we'll be warm and snug in a holiday cabin, with our own electric fire and a cooker."

"How did you know about this place?"

Bodie grinned and placed one finger alongside his nose like Paul Newman in The Sting. "I have my ways." He opened the car door. "Let me collect the keys and the directions. Back in a tick."

Doyle felt like a complete rotter for putting his needs ahead of Bodie's after he'd been so hell-bent to find his partner. Bodie had to be just as knackered as he was. Squinting through the rain, he could see the street lights down the way. He'd been to Brighton often enough to recognize Grand Junction Road, the main thoroughfare. The sight of brightly lit signs advertising restaurants and take-away shops intensified his hunger. By the time Bodie returned, Doyle was ravenous and willing to eat anything, even fish and chips.

Wiser heads prevailed. Doyle persuaded Bodie to get Indian take-away, which they ate in the car on the way to a small cottage at the end of a narrow lane. The rain held off just long enough for them to get into the place and collapse onto the sofa.

"Nice, isn't it?" Bodie said, sleepily, waving a hand at the overly floral décor.

"Looks like the lid on a box of chocolates," Doyle said, just to keep up his sour disposition, but in truth, he was feeling some better. Good vindaloo did that to him. Some of the adrenaline and tension that had kept him moving forward since he was shackled to Daniels' bed was draining away, and he wanted to clean up and get some sleep, in that order.

"I'm going to shower…" he said, without looking at his partner, bits and pieces of the dream he'd had in the car coming back in a rush. Bodie, chained in the basement prison, beaten, with Daniels thrusting into him in a wild lust. Hell! He hadn't even considered that Daniels might have done the same to Bodie. Bile burned in his throat at the thought.

"Doyle?" Bodie asked cautiously. "If you sick up all over the rug, I'll have to pay extra."

"Sod off." Doyle leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees so he could brace his head in his hands. Now he really didn't want to look at Bodie. Didn't want to know-except that he had to.

"I'll take the bath first, then, shall I?" Bodie stood up, sounding annoyed, and collected the remains of dinner.

"Did Daniels…?" Doyle said quickly, his belly tight with anguish.

"No." Bodie's answer was totally assured. He wasn't lying. "No, sunshine, I don't think I was his type," he said very softly, sitting down on the sofa again.

"What'd you mean?"

"I saw a picture of that Lebeouff, in the files." Bodie looked him square in the eyes.

Doyle found it disconcerting to look at Bodie's ravaged face and had to force himself to meet his partner's gaze.

"Blond hair, almost angelic face if not for his nose." He tweaked his own with a sad smile. "Fucked up little Mosby-sweet, cherubic face with those mismatched, crooked teeth. You…." He trailed off as if uncertain how to continue, and touched Doyle's bruised jaw. "Like some saint who's lost his halo, broken cheekbone and all. My handsome visage is too perfect, I expect, for the likes of him. Kate Ross would have a field day with his Lordship's son. Daniels liked the flaws, scars-maybe because he has so many of 'em himself."

The feel of Bodie's palm against his cheek was almost painful and yet Doyle wouldn't have moved for the world.

"I was just leverage, the incentive to get you to come." Bodie pressed his thumb gently against Doyle's split lip.

"I dreamed…" Doyle shrugged, grimacing. "The whole time you were missing, I kept dreaming about you-almost like you were haunting me. But it was good, because I knew you were there with me."

"That's me, the ghost of CI-5." Bodie waggled his eyebrows and trailed his hand down Doyle's cheek to his throat, fingering the bruises there.

"Then, today, after it's all said and done, I dream that he…"

"Raped me?" Bodie said with quiet intensity.

Doyle clenched his teeth, angry at bringing up his own pain again, angry that the subject even had to be discussed at all.

"You ever thought of…" Bodie touched the fading marks on Doyle's wrists. "Talking to someone?"

"Who, Kate Ross?" Doyle said. Not likely. Her psycho-babble made his head spin, she'd stick him on the disabled list for all eternity. "No thank you. I'm talking to you, and that's as far as it goes. No hint of…what Eddy bloody Daniels did in the reports, do you hear me?"

"Always." Bodie nodded. "I wouldn't think of it. But…"

"It's done, Bodie, buried in the past like the first time." Doyle stood up wearily. "We both survived. In my book, that's enough."

"Don't you want more?"

Bodie stood, almost too close. Doyle could feel all his defenses spring into place, as if protecting him from the one person he could be open with. He had to breathe deep, delve into his soul and tumble down the walls. "Just…" He wanted the easiness between them. The fun, uninhibited sex up against a wall, and the laughter. God, he wanted the laughter that only Bodie gave him. "Give me time."

"That's what this holiday cottage, with all the dinky antimacassars, silk flowers and Royal Doulton figurines is about, Ray," Bodie said softly, one hand on Doyle's waist. "Time. We've got 'til Monday morning."

"Yeah." Doyle nodded. It was enough.

"Come, get wet with me?" Bodie inclined his head toward the loo. "Doubt there's a shower, but we can both squeeze into the bathtub, compare bruises."

"Hard to refuse an offer like that." Doyle laughed, surprised that he could. A big part of him wanted to curl up and close out the world, which was the last thing he should do. Instead, he let himself be towed into a bathroom with ghastly pink and orange tile.

He watched Bodie undress, waiting for some internal sign that this was right. He wanted it to be so incredibly badly, but all he felt when he saw the marks Thomson's fists had made on Bodie's pale skin was anger. In a rush, he shed his own clothes, watching the green t-shirt fall onto the floor with a kind of apathy. The odd combination of fury and indifference left him feeling cut in two.

"I'd say we just about match." Standing naked, Bodie looked him up and down. "Bruise and cuts galore. Should have nipped out to a shop for the industrial sized bottle of paracetamol."

"Hot water'll do the trick." Doyle leaned down to turn on the taps and fill the enormous claw footed tub with water, using the feint to get himself under control. "Macklin swears by a good rub down and a soak. I've had to suffer through his rub downs often enough of late."

"Tick that one off the list, then." Bodie clicked his tongue, checking off an imaginary list. He reached out, touching Doyle's right arm, stroking the snake. "Makes you look new, different," he said, his voice catching, a hint of erotic interest spiraling up through the words.

"I'd get rid of it if I could," Doyle ground out, surprised at his response to Bodie's caress. He was actually becoming aroused. "It's…a nightmare."

Bodie continued to trace the curves of the serpent, touching individual scales. Some areas were still tender, others beginning to scab and peel. Doyle shivered, caught between his left over fears and the plethora of conflicting emotions swamping him.

"It's sexy," Bodie said, kissing a particularly inflamed area. "I've never felt a new tattoo before, didn't know it would have…" He kissed directly over the head of the snake, just at Doyle's inner elbow, where the skin was tender and soft. Where the bite of the tattoo gun had been the worst. "Texture."

Doyle breathed in, stunned that such simple tactile stimulation could strip away most of his inhibitions. The lines of the tattoo were still raw and sensitive, almost the way his scars had been a month or two ago. "Bodie…" he whispered, wanting more.

"It'll be flat to your skin once it heals," Bodie continued, moving in closer, his body perpendicular to Doyle's, his right shoulder tucked into Doyle's left. "Had a couple of mates in the Congo with tattoos. You can't feel the ridges on older ones."

All Doyle had to do was curve his arm around Bodie's waist and drop his head against the side of Bodie's face. He didn't see the ugly yellow/green bruising that way, but he kissed Bodie's eyelid anyway.

Still running the flat of his thumb along the inside of Doyle's elbow, Bodie turned his head to catch Doyle's mouth and kiss him properly.

"All for you, Bodie," Doyle vowed against his lips. "All for you."

"I'll hold you to that." Bodie pressed his chest to Doyle's, breathing hard against him, their hearts hammering in sync. "This is all mine."

"I want you," Doyle said with sudden clarity.

"Glad you do, sunshine." Bodie gave a bawdy wink, their slight height difference causing his eyelashes to brush the slope of Doyle's temple.

"Now-in the water," Doyle insisted, need engulfing him. If he didn't do this right this instant, he might never be able to move forward. "Now." Still holding Bodie with both arms around his waist, Doyle stepped into the bathtub, sloshing water onto the ugly tile.

Bodie climbed in after him, managing to turn the water off with a quick screw of the taps.
Doyle looked down their bodies, so close together, and marveled at his own erection. It was the last thing he'd expected. And yet, the brief fantasy of taking Bodie on the floor of Burley's kitchen came back, banishing all other memories. He settled into the hot water, looking up at Bodie still standing. At Bodie's long, thick shaft.

He couldn't tolerate having that thing up inside him, not yet, anyway. Very soon, but not today.

But the alternative was exactly what he needed. What he could do.

"Bodie?" Doyle reached up.

There was no need for explanations. Bodie knew exactly how to manoeuvre his legs to position himself. He smiled, not the cocky, smug grin that Doyle sometimes wanted to smack right off his face, but a different one, meant only for his partner-full of need, and hope, and love.

Bodie lowered smoothly, pausing only once when Doyle's stiffness breached his tight, muscular anus. He stared into Doyle's eyes, and Doyle tightened his hold on Bodie's hips, keeping him there, even when the stretching had to be the most intense. Bodie could take it, had done so many times in their past.

Doyle gasped as he was sucked into that tight, warm sheath. His breath caught in his chest and he cried out, something inside of him releasing all the pain and anger into the cosmos. This was home, this was healing.

He thrust up, fitting himself into Bodie until they were one.

Bodie said, "Ray," like a benediction.

Doyle felt a single tear on his damaged cheekbone before he came, pumping into his partner. His orgasm was as fast and hard as a bullet shot from a gun. He felt his partner jerk, his inner muscles spasming as Bodie climaxed, too.

Laying back against the smooth porcelain tub with his eyes closed, Doyle was too tired even to pull out. Bodie floated free moments later, laughing a little as his movement made more water splash onto the bathroom floor.

"We've created a lake," he said. "It'll take all the towels in the place to mop this up."

"That's what happens when worlds collide," Doyle said weakly. "Where's the plug?"

"I think you're sitting on it." Bodie poked one foot under Doyle's bum, grasped the chain with his toes and pulled the rubber plug free.

Doyle shifted, feeling the swirling vortex of water sucking downward against the tight skin of his thigh. "Ta," he said.

"What for?" Bodie got out, wading through the flood waters on the floor to catch up two large towels from the towel rod. He tucked one around his hips.

"Waiting for me. Not giving up." Doyle climbed out.

"Could never do that, Petal," Bodie said, draping a towel around Doyle's shoulders, almost obscuring the snake on his arm. "Because I've…" he warbled an old tune. "Got you under my skin…"

FIN

professionals fic

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