Discovered at a Wedding - Something Borrowed...
Something Borrowed…
Even Bodie would've admitted that he'd be hard pushed to find a worse time to realise he was in love with his partner.
"Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."
"Yes," Bodie immediately thought, savagely. "He's mine." And the shock of that thought, sprung so fully-formed into his brain, completely froze him. Which, he supposed, was just as well; as the mental paralysis served to carry him through the vows and halfway through the signing of the register. Only when his fingers started to tighten round the barrel of the pen thrust at him did he hesitate, a deep sense of loss welling up inside him.
He didn't have to sign. He really didn't. He could walk out of here right now and keep on walking.
He glanced over at Ray, who in turn was gazing adoringly at his bride. No, he couldn't do it. Ray looked so happy and, in acknowledging his own love, Bodie had acknowledged to himself that Ray's happiness was greater than his own. So, accepting the truth for what it was, he bent over the register and signed his name next to the irately tapping finger of the crusty, old vicar.
Throughout the last hymn and closing prayers, Bodie tried to convince himself it was merely jealousy. A fear that the new-minted Mrs. Doyle would destroy their friendship. But, as the organist started the recessional and the congregation stood to let the happy couple pass, Ray caught his eye for a moment, his ecstatic smile melting Bodie from the inside.
Nope, Bodie thought morosely, trailing up the nave after them, it was definitely love.
He helped marshal the guests outside for the official photos and, while silent in the midst of the storm, Bodie's inner thoughts wouldn't quit. How long had this being coming on? How hadn't he noticed before this, until too late to say anything? Survival technique, he chuckled morosely, Ray would've knocked his block off if he'd said anything.
No, this had been coming on for months, perhaps years. He had noticed the growing friendship between them, the increasing reliance they had of the other on the job. But Bodie had brushed that aside as unimportant, a mere nuisance of the job. He'd left friends behind before.
Bodie immediately stamped down on that thought with ease of long practice. That was definitely not a train of thought to be indulged in on Ray's wedding day.
But love? He could understand lust. That certainly hadn't crept up on him. That had hit Bodie the moment he had laid eyes on a certain Ray Doyle. Even the Cow's lecture on non-fraternisation didn't really prepare him for the news that the spitting ball of fury he'd ferried back from a job-gone-spectacularly-wrong was to be his partner. Even Cowley's lecture wouldn't have mattered, Bodie had acknowledged, if Ray had ever shown any interest in a tumble. But Ray was resolutely straight, had never even shown a hint of curiosity in bedding another man.
Bodie finally shook himself. It was all well and good to indulge in a spot of introspection in your own home and, preferably, in the company of a good single malt. But here was not the time or the place. For one thing, single malts were likely to be thin on the ground here and now that Cowley had rushed off.
So he threw himself into the spirit of things, ensuring that the groom got confetti down his back, while sparing the bride the more usual handful down her cleavage, before hustling the party over to the Brunswick Hotel in time for the wedding breakfast.
With Ray wrapped up, quite rightly, in his bride and neither of the happy couple having any family to speak of, Bodie found conversation sparse on the top table. The only bridesmaid of eligible age, and almost clone of the blushing bride - cool and superior, spared little conversation on her friend's new husband's thuggish mates. And Bodie had little energy to turn on the patented charm, almost dreading the reward more than the effort.
Why the bloody hell had Ray wanted to marry Ann Holly of all women? She was a cold fish and her colleagues and friends were as bad. Okay, so when she walked back into Ray's life he had been glad. Ray had been down in the dumps about something or other and Ann had put the smile back on his face. But to marry her? It was blatantly obvious to all and sundry that Ray was still only a project to her. He had a nice face, now he needed the right lifestyle to go with it. Bodie was sure it would all end in tears, but what was a bloke supposed to do? The last time he'd tried to broach the subject with Ray, he'd got a bloody nose for his trouble. He'd gone with his second instinct second time round and stayed out of it. And if Ray had noticed that Bodie had become distant, well he hadn't said anything.
It had all changed now, hadn't it? Love. The ever-fixed mark.
Bodie sighed again. All he really wanted to do now was get steaming drunk and try to forget that he'd ever met Raymond Doyle.
But there were things for Bodie, as best man, still to do. So he hauled himself upright and silenced the merry throng in time-honoured tradition with fork and glass before dragging out an unfeasibly large stack of notes and launching into his speech.
Even seconds after he had finished, Bodie would've been hard-pushed to have given anyone a report of what had been said. He had been practising in front of the mirror for weeks, though he had informed Ray that he wasn't going to write one and instead trust to his imagination. The speech therefore was delivered from memory, allowing the majority of the brain to continue on its earlier course. But, from the sour look on the bride's face and the raucous laughter from the agents table, Bodie was pretty sure he hit the right note. More importantly, though Ray's face was stern with admonishment, his eyes were alight with laughter and that, in the end, was all that mattered.
Time moved on. The tables were cleared and the evening entertainment, a disco, set up. Bodie hung around with the remains of the agents table, Lucas and McCabe having left abruptly between dessert and coffee, and chatting to McCabe's date more out of that which was expected than interest. Ray had swooped by with a "I'll get you for that speech, cully" before being whisked off by the bride for their first dance. As the beer flowed, others joined them. Murphy vanished on a call-out, leaving Bodie propping up the bar on his own. As best man, Bodie had been stood down for the day in order to ensure Doyle's big day went without a hitch. Well, assuming nothing really big broke. An assassination attempt at the Palace would probably ensure Doyle was called in. As it was, Bodie was left ever-so-slightly envious of Murphy.
As darkness fell, Bodie stepped out on to the little terrace, eager to cool down after the heat of the main room. He turned to the right and immediately came face to face with Ann. He immediately tried to withdraw, but she grabbed at his wrist, pulling him in close.
"Aren't you going to congratulate me, Bodie?" Her breath ghosted over his cheek, smelling of sweet wine.
Bodie stiffened. "And why would I do that?"
"I won our little game. That deserves congratulations, don't you think? Ray's mine now and you can't do anything about it."
Something wound tight snapped inside Bodie. He twisted his hand, capturing her wrist between his fingers, thumb pressing into the palm. Steadily he piled on the pressure, watching her face as the pain grew. He pressed forward, close enough for her to see the look in his eyes and smiled slowly as her arrogance finally slipped, revealing, for a moment, the frightened girl inside.
"On the contrary, my sweet. I'm merely allowing you to borrow Ray for a while. Do remember to return him in the same condition that you got him in when you get bored, won't you?" He immediately dropped her arm and spun on his heel, refusing to look behind him at the silly bitch, most likely still standing there, rubbing her sore wrist, tears in her eyes.
He stalked back through to the disco, going through the ritual of social niceties while a litany of 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit' ran through his head. He collected his coat and keys, escaping to his car and drove into the night.
He would have to talk to Ray when the happy couple got back. But for now there was a bottle of whisky somewhere with his name on it.
* * * * *
But, by the time Ray had come back from honeymoon, Bodie had vanished up North on a long-term undercover assignment. And by the time Bodie had satisfactorily wrapped up his case, Ray had resigned.
Title: Something Borrowed…
Author: Andromeda
Warnings: Doyle/Female
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: Written for the discoveredinalj Discovered at a Wedding Challenge. My prompts were 'confetti' and 'something borrowed, something blue'. It looks like I'm working my way through my standard tropes. Many apologies about that. Just look out for the inevitable rentboy!fic and the one where Ray really *loves* his car… *cough*
Even Bodie would've admitted that he'd be hard pushed to find a worse time to realise he was in love with his partner.
"Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."
"Yes," Bodie immediately thought, savagely. "He's mine." And the shock of that thought, sprung so fully-formed into his brain, completely froze him. Which, he supposed, was just as well; as the mental paralysis served to carry him through the vows and halfway through the signing of the register. Only when his fingers started to tighten round the barrel of the pen thrust at him did he hesitate, a deep sense of loss welling up inside him.
He didn't have to sign. He really didn't. He could walk out of here right now and keep on walking.
He glanced over at Ray, who in turn was gazing adoringly at his bride. No, he couldn't do it. Ray looked so happy and, in acknowledging his own love, Bodie had acknowledged to himself that Ray's happiness was greater than his own. So, accepting the truth for what it was, he bent over the register and signed his name next to the irately tapping finger of the crusty, old vicar.
Throughout the last hymn and closing prayers, Bodie tried to convince himself it was merely jealousy. A fear that the new-minted Mrs. Doyle would destroy their friendship. But, as the organist started the recessional and the congregation stood to let the happy couple pass, Ray caught his eye for a moment, his ecstatic smile melting Bodie from the inside.
Nope, Bodie thought morosely, trailing up the nave after them, it was definitely love.
He helped marshal the guests outside for the official photos and, while silent in the midst of the storm, Bodie's inner thoughts wouldn't quit. How long had this being coming on? How hadn't he noticed before this, until too late to say anything? Survival technique, he chuckled morosely, Ray would've knocked his block off if he'd said anything.
No, this had been coming on for months, perhaps years. He had noticed the growing friendship between them, the increasing reliance they had of the other on the job. But Bodie had brushed that aside as unimportant, a mere nuisance of the job. He'd left friends behind before.
Bodie immediately stamped down on that thought with ease of long practice. That was definitely not a train of thought to be indulged in on Ray's wedding day.
But love? He could understand lust. That certainly hadn't crept up on him. That had hit Bodie the moment he had laid eyes on a certain Ray Doyle. Even the Cow's lecture on non-fraternisation didn't really prepare him for the news that the spitting ball of fury he'd ferried back from a job-gone-spectacularly-wrong was to be his partner. Even Cowley's lecture wouldn't have mattered, Bodie had acknowledged, if Ray had ever shown any interest in a tumble. But Ray was resolutely straight, had never even shown a hint of curiosity in bedding another man.
Bodie finally shook himself. It was all well and good to indulge in a spot of introspection in your own home and, preferably, in the company of a good single malt. But here was not the time or the place. For one thing, single malts were likely to be thin on the ground here and now that Cowley had rushed off.
So he threw himself into the spirit of things, ensuring that the groom got confetti down his back, while sparing the bride the more usual handful down her cleavage, before hustling the party over to the Brunswick Hotel in time for the wedding breakfast.
With Ray wrapped up, quite rightly, in his bride and neither of the happy couple having any family to speak of, Bodie found conversation sparse on the top table. The only bridesmaid of eligible age, and almost clone of the blushing bride - cool and superior, spared little conversation on her friend's new husband's thuggish mates. And Bodie had little energy to turn on the patented charm, almost dreading the reward more than the effort.
Why the bloody hell had Ray wanted to marry Ann Holly of all women? She was a cold fish and her colleagues and friends were as bad. Okay, so when she walked back into Ray's life he had been glad. Ray had been down in the dumps about something or other and Ann had put the smile back on his face. But to marry her? It was blatantly obvious to all and sundry that Ray was still only a project to her. He had a nice face, now he needed the right lifestyle to go with it. Bodie was sure it would all end in tears, but what was a bloke supposed to do? The last time he'd tried to broach the subject with Ray, he'd got a bloody nose for his trouble. He'd gone with his second instinct second time round and stayed out of it. And if Ray had noticed that Bodie had become distant, well he hadn't said anything.
It had all changed now, hadn't it? Love. The ever-fixed mark.
Bodie sighed again. All he really wanted to do now was get steaming drunk and try to forget that he'd ever met Raymond Doyle.
But there were things for Bodie, as best man, still to do. So he hauled himself upright and silenced the merry throng in time-honoured tradition with fork and glass before dragging out an unfeasibly large stack of notes and launching into his speech.
Even seconds after he had finished, Bodie would've been hard-pushed to have given anyone a report of what had been said. He had been practising in front of the mirror for weeks, though he had informed Ray that he wasn't going to write one and instead trust to his imagination. The speech therefore was delivered from memory, allowing the majority of the brain to continue on its earlier course. But, from the sour look on the bride's face and the raucous laughter from the agents table, Bodie was pretty sure he hit the right note. More importantly, though Ray's face was stern with admonishment, his eyes were alight with laughter and that, in the end, was all that mattered.
Time moved on. The tables were cleared and the evening entertainment, a disco, set up. Bodie hung around with the remains of the agents table, Lucas and McCabe having left abruptly between dessert and coffee, and chatting to McCabe's date more out of that which was expected than interest. Ray had swooped by with a "I'll get you for that speech, cully" before being whisked off by the bride for their first dance. As the beer flowed, others joined them. Murphy vanished on a call-out, leaving Bodie propping up the bar on his own. As best man, Bodie had been stood down for the day in order to ensure Doyle's big day went without a hitch. Well, assuming nothing really big broke. An assassination attempt at the Palace would probably ensure Doyle was called in. As it was, Bodie was left ever-so-slightly envious of Murphy.
As darkness fell, Bodie stepped out on to the little terrace, eager to cool down after the heat of the main room. He turned to the right and immediately came face to face with Ann. He immediately tried to withdraw, but she grabbed at his wrist, pulling him in close.
"Aren't you going to congratulate me, Bodie?" Her breath ghosted over his cheek, smelling of sweet wine.
Bodie stiffened. "And why would I do that?"
"I won our little game. That deserves congratulations, don't you think? Ray's mine now and you can't do anything about it."
Something wound tight snapped inside Bodie. He twisted his hand, capturing her wrist between his fingers, thumb pressing into the palm. Steadily he piled on the pressure, watching her face as the pain grew. He pressed forward, close enough for her to see the look in his eyes and smiled slowly as her arrogance finally slipped, revealing, for a moment, the frightened girl inside.
"On the contrary, my sweet. I'm merely allowing you to borrow Ray for a while. Do remember to return him in the same condition that you got him in when you get bored, won't you?" He immediately dropped her arm and spun on his heel, refusing to look behind him at the silly bitch, most likely still standing there, rubbing her sore wrist, tears in her eyes.
He stalked back through to the disco, going through the ritual of social niceties while a litany of 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit' ran through his head. He collected his coat and keys, escaping to his car and drove into the night.
He would have to talk to Ray when the happy couple got back. But for now there was a bottle of whisky somewhere with his name on it.
* * * * *
But, by the time Ray had come back from honeymoon, Bodie had vanished up North on a long-term undercover assignment. And by the time Bodie had satisfactorily wrapped up his case, Ray had resigned.
Title: Something Borrowed…
Author: Andromeda
Warnings: Doyle/Female
Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: Written for the discoveredinalj Discovered at a Wedding Challenge. My prompts were 'confetti' and 'something borrowed, something blue'. It looks like I'm working my way through my standard tropes. Many apologies about that. Just look out for the inevitable rentboy!fic and the one where Ray really *loves* his car… *cough*