(no subject)
Visions of Bodie and Doyle. Heroism: the highest and purest form of romance.
... someone had rumbled Doyle, or thought they did... sentenced to death in someone’s flat by a firing squad of two he had kept up his facade to the end, fighting and protesting to the very moment he was left... tied, against the wall.
Then he had gone quite silent.
Bodie, sweating ice, did not have to imagine what that silence cost him; he was fighting the same battle. Clearly Doyle was thinking along the lines he was: that the whole execution setup was a bluff, to get Doyle talking. But if it was not-?
He would blow the gaffe on Cowley’s op. just like that, no question of it, if it would save Doyle’s life. But it seemed to Bodie that there would be no spirit of generous forgiveness in the room. And then they might both end up dead.
So…they had sweated on it. Ice and blood.
Eyes on that jeaned figure against the wall, defiant and cold to the last, perhaps ten seconds away from death with the barrels of two Lugers trained on him, Bodie would not have blamed Doyle for breaking down, falling to his knees, crying out for mercy; he had seen the strongest of men turn into children when they realised death was there for them. But Doyle had shown the deepest, steadiest courage: he had simply waited, without a word, or a breath. Wonderful Tonight:Sebastian
It took just fifteen minutes to get everything and everyone in place. A quarter of an hour's delay, and then events would inexorably unfold to determine Bodie's fate. Doyle positioned himself close to Murphy, kneeling on the rooftop behind a low parapet. They waited in silence. The binoculars were a familiar bulk in his hands, reminding him of duty, of training. Bodie would know they'd try something to save him. Unfortunately, Becker would know that, too...
As he trained the binoculars on the shop door, Doyle saw movement... There was a moment's pause, and then Bodie appeared... filling Doyle's vision. He seemed so close. Bodie's eyes scanned the roofline, and it was hard to believe he couldn't see Doyle; couldn't connect with him. But his gaze fell away, and the binoculars revealed the gun pressed to Bodie...
Murphy had been right: Becker was behind Bodie and to his right. His left arm held Bodie's arm, pressed nearly double behind his back. They shuffled towards the car. He suspected Becker was keeping an eye on Anson, and sweeping the rooftops and cars for snipers, or any surprises. Doyle kept his focus on that gun... He needed an inch; half an inch...
Well Matched at Christmas:PFL(msmoat)
Doyle's skin itched. He felt like a thousand eyes were boring into him and expected his game to be up, to get a bullet in his back any minute. He just hoped Bodie had made it in time because he did not have a plan B. Oh, he wouldn't go down without a fight, would try to take as many as he could down with him. He just hoped to God that it wouldn't come to that. It never even crossed his mind to leave without his partner or to carry on the mission until he received orders that said otherwise. If it was just his own life on the line he wouldn't be half as nervous as this. But he couldn't bear the thought of Bodie going down while he just stood there and watched...
He forced himself to slow down as he walked to the car... God he hoped Bodie had made it, he had to have, they wouldn't get another chance at this. He wished he couldn't check but knew he couldn't without arousing suspicion.
With his hands shaking ever so slightly he unlocked the car... What if Bodie really hadn't made it? If he left now, alone, he knew he would never see Bodie again alive...
Love in Strange Places:Faoil
Doyle started his move, but he caught a flash of light in the hole of a window on the the first floor of the warehouse-metal reflecting the dying rays of the sun- He lunged for Bodie, dragged him back before he broke cover. Bodie stumbled, off-balance, and Doyle flung an arm around him, bearing him to the ground behind the tyres. The gunfire came again, loud and sharp, then stopped. Doyle could hear his own breaths, feel his adrenaline-fuelled heartbeat, and the skin of Bodie’s cheek beneath his fingers. What did this pause mean? Had the gunman cut his losses and run? Or was he baiting the trap? Doyle’s gut told him there was a third gunman hidden in the warehouse, perched high in order to have a line of fire down to the lorry. They’d been drawn to the lorry’s illusion of safety by the other gunmen.
They should move-two different directions to confuse and distract. But he lay still, held on to Bodie, absorbed the quiet as the moment stretched. They were alive, and they knew it was a trap. And then he realised he was stroking Bodie’s cheek. Fuck. He closed his eyes, swallowed, then pushed away from Bodie... A Silent Moment:PFL
“Skellen,” Bodie shouted. He paused for a second, then shouted again. “I’m here to do a deal.”
Laughter came back at them. “You’re joking!”
“You don’t want Doyle, you know you don’t. You want me. Well I’m here.”
“If I’d wanted you, I’d have taken you from your bed this morning.”
“You wanted to make me suffer, well you succeeded. And now I’m here.”
“And what do I have to do to get you?” called Skellen.
“Give me Doyle.” There was a pause. “Alive, Skellen...”
Brecon Beckons:ILWB
Bodie dragged himself back to alertness, hissed a breath of pain as Doyle shifted and he was eased back against the wall...
Just a fluke, their chance of salvation. The chance not to die after god knows how much interrogation. The chance not to live crippled and broken. Three usable bullets in the gun that had been tossed after him in contemptuous jest, believed empty. Incredible amateurs...
Doyle wiped as much blood as he could off his chilled hands, but it clung and caked without water for washing. They seemed steady now, but it would all have to be done in a moment. Three of them to take out. Nothing to waste.
He could probably do it anyway. Cold, hungry, thirsty, tired, fretted with anxiety for Bodie, none of these should affect his deadly accuracy. But any of them might...
"Keepin' that pressure on?"
"Yeah yeah. You don't get rid of me without a fight, you know." Bodie's eyes were watchful, shadowed in his white, strained face.
Doyle checked the gun once more, then settled back beside him...a car pulled up, doors slamming.
"Come on, then, you bastards." Doyle strained to follow the sounds. "Keep that pressed tight, yeh? Don't try jumpin' about bein' heroic, all right? Just keep still and - "
"You'll save me..." The Last Cherry:The Hag (Hagsrus)
He didn’t need Doyle for the boisterous banter or the quiet moments of introspection. He didn’t even need a bloody partner. There were people for all that.
No, none of that was the gaping hole Doyle had left in his life...
Sometimes, when you looked up, just before you fell, there was a pair of eyes holding you steady. The look that promised you were coming back from whatever bloody fool thing you were about to do. The invisible armour plating you carried into battle and out the other side. The Vikings probably had a word for it - it probably meant Doyle...
The Long Trick:Fiorenza_a
Another couple of steps and he was at the door of the sitting room...
Kennedy standing in front of him, the gun in his hand pointed at Bodie’s head...
Kennedy was speaking, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “Dougherty, go and see what those other two are doing. If they haven’t found Doyle by now it’s too late.”
Kennedy’s back was to Doyle but he could see Bodie’s face. It was calm, resigned almost, until he saw Doyle and surprise lifted his eyebrows. Doyle lifted his finger to his lips. Bodie’s nod was a slight movement of his head.
A side table stood next to the doorway, dark stained mahogany, polished until it shone. But Doyle was more interested in the heavy statue of a rather incongruously modernist cupid that rested on top. He carefully picked it up.
“Bodie, down...”
Cold Water Morning:Fictionwriter
The shot, when it came, sent Bodie straight for the stairs, gun in one hand, R/T in the other. He took the steps two, three at a time, his own speed the only thing that kept him from falling down them, emerged into the damp night as an engine roared to life somewhere behind the farmhouse. In the distance he heard another vehicle hurtling in their direction - the buggy-boo no doubt, abandoning its telephone repair tent by the road, ready to disgorge its own agents.
He was too far away, couldn't run any faster, couldn't get there in time... There was shouting from the house, but he couldn't make out Doyle's voice, or Benny's. There'd only been one bullet.
It would be alright, there'd only been one bullet.
He slid on wet grass at the corner of the building, slammed into the old stonework with a thud that he barely felt, paused only long enough for a single breath and then rounded the side of the wall, gun first, ready to fire at anything that wasn't Doyle...
Just Another Valentine's Day: Slantedlight
... Doyle said quietly ‘Bodie I’ve been shot.”
Of all the things Doyle might have said, Bodie hadn’t expected that. It was his turn to stare back. He was going to ask when that had happened but, of course, it could only have happened back there in the woods when Bodie had fallen. His mind rapidly backtracked over the events of the last 20 minutes or so. Doyle had taken Bodie’s weight through the woods, so the legs were sound. He’d helped with the tourniquet, so the upper limbs were ok, too. Doyle confirmed Bodie’s fears when he said. “Lower ribs. Left side. The bullet’s still there. I’ve found that I can’t drive with it stuck in. I'd lose too much feeling in my legs to be able to drive far. I could try to take it out myself, but you’d make a better job. I’m really sorry.” Bodie wondered what Doyle was sorry about - it wasn’t his fault he’d been shot. In fact, the bullet had had Bodie’s name on it.
“Look, mate,” Bodie countered. “We can get help. Flat down a passing car or something..."
“Bodie… I do know what I’m asking of you - but there isn’t another way...”
No case to answer:Sylvie Orp
"Who were you calling in that phone box?"
"My local betting shop," Bodie whispered. "Had a dog I wanted to lay a wager on."
"Liar!" Liam cuffed his head with an open palm, hard enough that the edges of his vision went grey.
"No need to hit me. I'd've told you the dog's name..."
Bodie looked up and held Dec's eyes. Dec returned his gaze with the same look of avuncular concern that had impressed Bodie on their first meeting. "You do want to talk, Will. Don't you?"
Repulsed that he had ever thought he could admire this man, Bodie's only answer was to spit in his face. Dec stared at him... and it was then that Bodie finally saw his veneer of civility and affability crack.
Dec wiped his face and cleaned his hand on Bodie's shirt. Then he stepped back and turned to Liam.
"Break him," he said, his voice calm and cold and sharp as a blade.
Exile:PR Zed
For a few seconds the tableau held as the echoes of the twin shots died away... There was no sound of pursuit--there wouldn't be, not from these hunters--but they had to be closing fast, drawn by the sound of gunfire...
"Get going... You know you won't make it if you try to drag me along."
The shrill note of a whistle jerked Bodie's head up; he glanced back at his partner, nodded once, then turned and ran, pushing his nervous charge ahead of him into the undergrowth.
Silence fell. Bodie had gone, and as yet there was still no sound of the hunters...
Damn stupid way to end up! A revolution in one of those ten-a-penny countries whose fate, since Independence, had been to become the bloody battle-ground for one warring faction after another. A deposed leader, no better and no worse than all the others, who had to be rescued from the new regime; of little importance in himself, the information he carried in his head would give the government an edge with his successors. No official involvement, of course; send in a couple of men... and Bodie knew the country, had fought over it in his mercenary days...
Bodie was safe... that was something...
Long Shadows: N N West(raynewton)
It's gonna happen. Dear God, this is it. Bodie . . .
Ray turned his head enough to see his lover. Blue eyes met green. Terror, longing, love, and farewell flashed between them.
"Bodie . . ." Doyle choked; the words wouldn't come.
"I know. The same." Bodie's voice was soft, a gruff whisper, but carried enough passion to ease Doyle's aching chest. "Goodbye, Ray. It's been fun."
Doyle tried to smile, and failed miserably. "Hadn't it though. No
regrets?"
"Only one. Didn't take any of them with us."
Doyle couldn't hold down a weary chuckle. "Maybe next time."
The click of the Walther's released safety was as loud as a shot.
Doyle gave Bodie a final faltering smile then looked away. He couldn't bear to watch Bodie's death. Nor, if Schneider shot Doyle first, did he want Bodie to witness his.
He wanted to close his eyes, to pull away from the shot he knew would come, yet he didn't move. He would not give their killers the satisfaction of seeing him cringe...
Ransom:Vicki L Martin:Proslib & Professional B & D, published by Satyr D'Nite Press, 1993)
Beefy man gave him a knowing grin, and raised two casual fingers in the air.
Doyle bounced to his feet again.
This time, Bodie was too slow. Oh no. Oh, Ray-
Grimacing, Bodie rushed into the fray after Doyle. Too late for half measures now, he went at it with his fists, clocking anyone who got near, doing his best to watch Doyle’s back...
A fist caught Bodie in the eye. He saw stars, went down, then popped up, delivered two for good measure, laid about him like a fiend. Everyone ignored the landlord.
Bodie was down again...
Pub Fight:Hutchnystarsk
< “What did you think you were doing out there, eh?” Bodie raised an arm to point at the still smouldering warehouse... Did you even think at all? Giving yourself up to Kendall like that-without a fight?”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “My cover was blown. Kendall’s new man knew I was CI5. There was no point in dragging it out.” He scowled. “I didn’t want him askin’ questions that might have exposed you as well.”
“I can take care of myself, mate. Don’t need you sacrificing yourself for me.” Bodie sucked in a deep breath and stared at him. He didn’t look happy with what he saw. “That’s it, isn’t it? You put me ahead of the job. Cowley’s going to have your guts for garters.”
“Yeah, well I figured it was bloody well worth it,” Doyle snarled. “Couldn’t have him needin’ to replace two agents-expensive, that is.”
The attempt at humour fell flat... “It’s not a joke, Ray. We can’t let the fact that we’re having it off with each other interfere with the job.”
Doyle looked away. “I know that.”
“Then why? Why’d you just let them take you?”
“Couldn’t see you get hurt. Not when I could do something to protect your back. It’s what partners do,” he said defiantly. “And it’s more than getting a leg over-”
Balanced on the Edge of Autumn: merentha13
For the third day in a row Doyle sat in his car watching the upscale mews, trying to find the courage to ask for forgiveness. It had been three years since he’d last seen Bodie. He needed closure. C’mon Doyle - if you’re going to do it, get moving. Doyle shifted himself from the car and walked to the door. He hesitated for several seconds...
Someone said doors provided opportunities. Answer the bell and accept the challenge. So he opened doors and took chances. Sometimes it didn’t work out - art school and Ann Holly among the biggest of his missed ‘opportunities’. But sometimes things went right - at least for a while. He’d been content as a policeman - until he could no longer deal with the corruption. The doorbell had rung again and George Cowley was on the other side. A man who shared the same sense of right and wrong, a man who believed in justice for everyone, a man he could trust. In the end that door had closed, too. Manton, Molner, Brian Cook - Doyle began to question Cowley and his own ability to continue in the job. And then his world fell apart. He opened the one door he shouldn’t have, by-passed the one bell he should have rung and walked into his home to find Bodie with Jimmy Keller.
Years ago, he chided himself. Get over it... For Whom the Bell Tolls:merentha13
"Cover me," he said tersely. "I'm goin' in."
Doyle spat and wiped his mouth. "The fuck you are." They had never, not since the first days of training, played it that way. Doyle, faster and smaller, had always gone in first, ably and expertly covered by his partner, the better long-range shot.
In that second, looking into Doyle's dead, cold eyes, Bodie knew and understood that there were harder ways of losing Doyle than seeing him fall.
Eyes hard and bleak, he drew up his gun, gestured Doyle on his way...
For a moment no-one moved...
November:Sebastian
Before I knew it, Ray was crouched over a real atom bomb. All of us were sweating like pigs, and the fear in that room was like air pollution. You could feel it, taste it, smell it. It had my heart beating, my lungs constricted, my head throbbing.
Or that could have been love.
Even with the fate of London in our hands, I found myself thinking of...that. Even with the stink of fear in the air, I could smell Ray's sweat. It was different. Exciting. Sexy. Warm. I was across the room, holding a gun to the head of a world-class arsehole, but my eyes were on Ray's every move. I told myself that if there was a mistake and the bomb went off, I was going to shoot that fool even as the world ended. Shoot him for ruining my world, for killing Ray Doyle before I could even tell him....
Thinking about it was something I couldn't do during the worst moments. About loving Ray. I resented the terrorists because I couldn't think about what I wanted to think about. I had to stand there and worry about being blown to hell.
Post-Stakeout:DVS
"Ray?"
One croaky, but unmistakable word.
Doyle slid forward to kneel beside him, holding on tightly to the stretcher to steady himself against the erratic movements of the speeding vehicle.
Bodie fought to open his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, his words heavily slurred.
"Am I all right?" Doyle repeated.... Yes, I'm fine. You're the one being rushed to hospital at ninety miles an hour, you know. Don't worry, you're going to make it, with everything intact."
"The others?" Bodie questioned.
"Not a scratch, mate. Thanks to you."
Bodie felt his eyes close involuntarily. "You won't leave me?" he asked, already partially under again.
"I'm sticking to you like glue, sunshine," Doyle reassured his unconscious partner.
Holding Out for a Hero:Claire Dobbin
“We’re not young Turks anymore... What if I can’t save you, Ray? Can’t back you up? You think I was scared when we were so over-trained we could hardly rest, knew every way to shoot up every room in the venue, and not now? I’m fuckin’ terrified, mate, even without Operation bloody Susies when anybody could be shooting at us...
“Eight years we’ve been partners, and you’ve fought for me, fought Cowley for me, found me when I was lost, kidnapped, shot-there’s nothing more. Nothing better you could have done..."
Build with the Stones We Have:jat_sapphire
The idea that Doyle was to be lashed the next day was all he could think about... It was a rite of passage, proof of strength. He’d endured his trial, absurdly proud that he’d taken five strikes without crying...
Doyle’s punishment would be far worse. Bodie had seen the occasional whippings in the Buckingham pavilion, usually because he had to be seen there for an investigation. Floggings were not the sort of entertainment he preferred. Footy and a good lager at the pub were his choice of spectator sports. Most mandated floggings were twenty-five or more strikes on naked flesh. All over, not only the upper back.
He’d grappled with the idea of spiriting Doyle away all afternoon. Hell, he was an operative, with multiple passports, hidden caches of money, and contacts all over the world. Wouldn’t take an hour to disappear. Cowley might never find them...
Parsing the Sentence:Dawnwind
Gradually, as his awareness grew, he realised the commotion had stopped and the only sound he could hear now was heavy breathing. He forced his eyes open...
“Christ Ray, you made a right cock up of that,” he said between laboured breaths... gathering momentum as he slid his arm behind Doyle’s shoulders to lever him up. “Come on, you’re alright.”
Sitting up with Bodie’s help he saw the thug laid out cold... “What happened?”
“The bastard took a dislike to you and, naturally, I took a dislike to him,” was the cheerful reply...
Doyle closed his eyes and nodded. “Cowley will kill us.”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course, I can bloody walk,” he grumbled hoarsely...
“Come on.” Bodie said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Looks like you need to brush up on your undercover skills my son.”
Smoke and Mirrors:ci5mates
< My attention shifted abruptly to Bodie's face. Ravaged... it suddenly crumpled, the granite melting away like limestone in acid. Stark and revealing in the brief glimpse I got, it rocked me into realisation of a truth I should have known before... How had I failed to understand that Bodie had never been the strong one of the pair? That Doyle's need for Bodie had never exceeded Bodie's for him. That, very possibly, Bodie was even more bereft without Doyle than Doyle was without Bodie. How had I failed to realise the magnitude of the sacrifice Bodie had made in trusting Doyle to the imagined power of my obsessive devotion?
We'd got it wrong, both of us. We'd both failed to understand that Doyle had never needed someone who could be strong for him. What Doyle had only and always needed, and needed now, was someone he could be strong for
Dancing in the Rain:istia
... someone had rumbled Doyle, or thought they did... sentenced to death in someone’s flat by a firing squad of two he had kept up his facade to the end, fighting and protesting to the very moment he was left... tied, against the wall.
Then he had gone quite silent.
Bodie, sweating ice, did not have to imagine what that silence cost him; he was fighting the same battle. Clearly Doyle was thinking along the lines he was: that the whole execution setup was a bluff, to get Doyle talking. But if it was not-?
He would blow the gaffe on Cowley’s op. just like that, no question of it, if it would save Doyle’s life. But it seemed to Bodie that there would be no spirit of generous forgiveness in the room. And then they might both end up dead.
So…they had sweated on it. Ice and blood.
Eyes on that jeaned figure against the wall, defiant and cold to the last, perhaps ten seconds away from death with the barrels of two Lugers trained on him, Bodie would not have blamed Doyle for breaking down, falling to his knees, crying out for mercy; he had seen the strongest of men turn into children when they realised death was there for them. But Doyle had shown the deepest, steadiest courage: he had simply waited, without a word, or a breath. Wonderful Tonight:Sebastian
It took just fifteen minutes to get everything and everyone in place. A quarter of an hour's delay, and then events would inexorably unfold to determine Bodie's fate. Doyle positioned himself close to Murphy, kneeling on the rooftop behind a low parapet. They waited in silence. The binoculars were a familiar bulk in his hands, reminding him of duty, of training. Bodie would know they'd try something to save him. Unfortunately, Becker would know that, too...
As he trained the binoculars on the shop door, Doyle saw movement... There was a moment's pause, and then Bodie appeared... filling Doyle's vision. He seemed so close. Bodie's eyes scanned the roofline, and it was hard to believe he couldn't see Doyle; couldn't connect with him. But his gaze fell away, and the binoculars revealed the gun pressed to Bodie...
Murphy had been right: Becker was behind Bodie and to his right. His left arm held Bodie's arm, pressed nearly double behind his back. They shuffled towards the car. He suspected Becker was keeping an eye on Anson, and sweeping the rooftops and cars for snipers, or any surprises. Doyle kept his focus on that gun... He needed an inch; half an inch...
Well Matched at Christmas:PFL(msmoat)
Doyle's skin itched. He felt like a thousand eyes were boring into him and expected his game to be up, to get a bullet in his back any minute. He just hoped Bodie had made it in time because he did not have a plan B. Oh, he wouldn't go down without a fight, would try to take as many as he could down with him. He just hoped to God that it wouldn't come to that. It never even crossed his mind to leave without his partner or to carry on the mission until he received orders that said otherwise. If it was just his own life on the line he wouldn't be half as nervous as this. But he couldn't bear the thought of Bodie going down while he just stood there and watched...
He forced himself to slow down as he walked to the car... God he hoped Bodie had made it, he had to have, they wouldn't get another chance at this. He wished he couldn't check but knew he couldn't without arousing suspicion.
With his hands shaking ever so slightly he unlocked the car... What if Bodie really hadn't made it? If he left now, alone, he knew he would never see Bodie again alive...
Love in Strange Places:Faoil
Doyle started his move, but he caught a flash of light in the hole of a window on the the first floor of the warehouse-metal reflecting the dying rays of the sun- He lunged for Bodie, dragged him back before he broke cover. Bodie stumbled, off-balance, and Doyle flung an arm around him, bearing him to the ground behind the tyres. The gunfire came again, loud and sharp, then stopped. Doyle could hear his own breaths, feel his adrenaline-fuelled heartbeat, and the skin of Bodie’s cheek beneath his fingers. What did this pause mean? Had the gunman cut his losses and run? Or was he baiting the trap? Doyle’s gut told him there was a third gunman hidden in the warehouse, perched high in order to have a line of fire down to the lorry. They’d been drawn to the lorry’s illusion of safety by the other gunmen.
They should move-two different directions to confuse and distract. But he lay still, held on to Bodie, absorbed the quiet as the moment stretched. They were alive, and they knew it was a trap. And then he realised he was stroking Bodie’s cheek. Fuck. He closed his eyes, swallowed, then pushed away from Bodie... A Silent Moment:PFL
“Skellen,” Bodie shouted. He paused for a second, then shouted again. “I’m here to do a deal.”
Laughter came back at them. “You’re joking!”
“You don’t want Doyle, you know you don’t. You want me. Well I’m here.”
“If I’d wanted you, I’d have taken you from your bed this morning.”
“You wanted to make me suffer, well you succeeded. And now I’m here.”
“And what do I have to do to get you?” called Skellen.
“Give me Doyle.” There was a pause. “Alive, Skellen...”
Brecon Beckons:ILWB
Bodie dragged himself back to alertness, hissed a breath of pain as Doyle shifted and he was eased back against the wall...
Just a fluke, their chance of salvation. The chance not to die after god knows how much interrogation. The chance not to live crippled and broken. Three usable bullets in the gun that had been tossed after him in contemptuous jest, believed empty. Incredible amateurs...
Doyle wiped as much blood as he could off his chilled hands, but it clung and caked without water for washing. They seemed steady now, but it would all have to be done in a moment. Three of them to take out. Nothing to waste.
He could probably do it anyway. Cold, hungry, thirsty, tired, fretted with anxiety for Bodie, none of these should affect his deadly accuracy. But any of them might...
"Keepin' that pressure on?"
"Yeah yeah. You don't get rid of me without a fight, you know." Bodie's eyes were watchful, shadowed in his white, strained face.
Doyle checked the gun once more, then settled back beside him...a car pulled up, doors slamming.
"Come on, then, you bastards." Doyle strained to follow the sounds. "Keep that pressed tight, yeh? Don't try jumpin' about bein' heroic, all right? Just keep still and - "
"You'll save me..." The Last Cherry:The Hag (Hagsrus)
He didn’t need Doyle for the boisterous banter or the quiet moments of introspection. He didn’t even need a bloody partner. There were people for all that.
No, none of that was the gaping hole Doyle had left in his life...
Sometimes, when you looked up, just before you fell, there was a pair of eyes holding you steady. The look that promised you were coming back from whatever bloody fool thing you were about to do. The invisible armour plating you carried into battle and out the other side. The Vikings probably had a word for it - it probably meant Doyle...
The Long Trick:Fiorenza_a
Another couple of steps and he was at the door of the sitting room...
Kennedy standing in front of him, the gun in his hand pointed at Bodie’s head...
Kennedy was speaking, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “Dougherty, go and see what those other two are doing. If they haven’t found Doyle by now it’s too late.”
Kennedy’s back was to Doyle but he could see Bodie’s face. It was calm, resigned almost, until he saw Doyle and surprise lifted his eyebrows. Doyle lifted his finger to his lips. Bodie’s nod was a slight movement of his head.
A side table stood next to the doorway, dark stained mahogany, polished until it shone. But Doyle was more interested in the heavy statue of a rather incongruously modernist cupid that rested on top. He carefully picked it up.
“Bodie, down...”
Cold Water Morning:Fictionwriter
The shot, when it came, sent Bodie straight for the stairs, gun in one hand, R/T in the other. He took the steps two, three at a time, his own speed the only thing that kept him from falling down them, emerged into the damp night as an engine roared to life somewhere behind the farmhouse. In the distance he heard another vehicle hurtling in their direction - the buggy-boo no doubt, abandoning its telephone repair tent by the road, ready to disgorge its own agents.
He was too far away, couldn't run any faster, couldn't get there in time... There was shouting from the house, but he couldn't make out Doyle's voice, or Benny's. There'd only been one bullet.
It would be alright, there'd only been one bullet.
He slid on wet grass at the corner of the building, slammed into the old stonework with a thud that he barely felt, paused only long enough for a single breath and then rounded the side of the wall, gun first, ready to fire at anything that wasn't Doyle...
Just Another Valentine's Day: Slantedlight
... Doyle said quietly ‘Bodie I’ve been shot.”
Of all the things Doyle might have said, Bodie hadn’t expected that. It was his turn to stare back. He was going to ask when that had happened but, of course, it could only have happened back there in the woods when Bodie had fallen. His mind rapidly backtracked over the events of the last 20 minutes or so. Doyle had taken Bodie’s weight through the woods, so the legs were sound. He’d helped with the tourniquet, so the upper limbs were ok, too. Doyle confirmed Bodie’s fears when he said. “Lower ribs. Left side. The bullet’s still there. I’ve found that I can’t drive with it stuck in. I'd lose too much feeling in my legs to be able to drive far. I could try to take it out myself, but you’d make a better job. I’m really sorry.” Bodie wondered what Doyle was sorry about - it wasn’t his fault he’d been shot. In fact, the bullet had had Bodie’s name on it.
“Look, mate,” Bodie countered. “We can get help. Flat down a passing car or something..."
“Bodie… I do know what I’m asking of you - but there isn’t another way...”
No case to answer:Sylvie Orp
"Who were you calling in that phone box?"
"My local betting shop," Bodie whispered. "Had a dog I wanted to lay a wager on."
"Liar!" Liam cuffed his head with an open palm, hard enough that the edges of his vision went grey.
"No need to hit me. I'd've told you the dog's name..."
Bodie looked up and held Dec's eyes. Dec returned his gaze with the same look of avuncular concern that had impressed Bodie on their first meeting. "You do want to talk, Will. Don't you?"
Repulsed that he had ever thought he could admire this man, Bodie's only answer was to spit in his face. Dec stared at him... and it was then that Bodie finally saw his veneer of civility and affability crack.
Dec wiped his face and cleaned his hand on Bodie's shirt. Then he stepped back and turned to Liam.
"Break him," he said, his voice calm and cold and sharp as a blade.
Exile:PR Zed
For a few seconds the tableau held as the echoes of the twin shots died away... There was no sound of pursuit--there wouldn't be, not from these hunters--but they had to be closing fast, drawn by the sound of gunfire...
"Get going... You know you won't make it if you try to drag me along."
The shrill note of a whistle jerked Bodie's head up; he glanced back at his partner, nodded once, then turned and ran, pushing his nervous charge ahead of him into the undergrowth.
Silence fell. Bodie had gone, and as yet there was still no sound of the hunters...
Damn stupid way to end up! A revolution in one of those ten-a-penny countries whose fate, since Independence, had been to become the bloody battle-ground for one warring faction after another. A deposed leader, no better and no worse than all the others, who had to be rescued from the new regime; of little importance in himself, the information he carried in his head would give the government an edge with his successors. No official involvement, of course; send in a couple of men... and Bodie knew the country, had fought over it in his mercenary days...
Bodie was safe... that was something...
Long Shadows: N N West(raynewton)
It's gonna happen. Dear God, this is it. Bodie . . .
Ray turned his head enough to see his lover. Blue eyes met green. Terror, longing, love, and farewell flashed between them.
"Bodie . . ." Doyle choked; the words wouldn't come.
"I know. The same." Bodie's voice was soft, a gruff whisper, but carried enough passion to ease Doyle's aching chest. "Goodbye, Ray. It's been fun."
Doyle tried to smile, and failed miserably. "Hadn't it though. No
regrets?"
"Only one. Didn't take any of them with us."
Doyle couldn't hold down a weary chuckle. "Maybe next time."
The click of the Walther's released safety was as loud as a shot.
Doyle gave Bodie a final faltering smile then looked away. He couldn't bear to watch Bodie's death. Nor, if Schneider shot Doyle first, did he want Bodie to witness his.
He wanted to close his eyes, to pull away from the shot he knew would come, yet he didn't move. He would not give their killers the satisfaction of seeing him cringe...
Ransom:Vicki L Martin:Proslib & Professional B & D, published by Satyr D'Nite Press, 1993)
Beefy man gave him a knowing grin, and raised two casual fingers in the air.
Doyle bounced to his feet again.
This time, Bodie was too slow. Oh no. Oh, Ray-
Grimacing, Bodie rushed into the fray after Doyle. Too late for half measures now, he went at it with his fists, clocking anyone who got near, doing his best to watch Doyle’s back...
A fist caught Bodie in the eye. He saw stars, went down, then popped up, delivered two for good measure, laid about him like a fiend. Everyone ignored the landlord.
Bodie was down again...
Pub Fight:Hutchnystarsk
< “What did you think you were doing out there, eh?” Bodie raised an arm to point at the still smouldering warehouse... Did you even think at all? Giving yourself up to Kendall like that-without a fight?”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed. “My cover was blown. Kendall’s new man knew I was CI5. There was no point in dragging it out.” He scowled. “I didn’t want him askin’ questions that might have exposed you as well.”
“I can take care of myself, mate. Don’t need you sacrificing yourself for me.” Bodie sucked in a deep breath and stared at him. He didn’t look happy with what he saw. “That’s it, isn’t it? You put me ahead of the job. Cowley’s going to have your guts for garters.”
“Yeah, well I figured it was bloody well worth it,” Doyle snarled. “Couldn’t have him needin’ to replace two agents-expensive, that is.”
The attempt at humour fell flat... “It’s not a joke, Ray. We can’t let the fact that we’re having it off with each other interfere with the job.”
Doyle looked away. “I know that.”
“Then why? Why’d you just let them take you?”
“Couldn’t see you get hurt. Not when I could do something to protect your back. It’s what partners do,” he said defiantly. “And it’s more than getting a leg over-”
Balanced on the Edge of Autumn: merentha13
For the third day in a row Doyle sat in his car watching the upscale mews, trying to find the courage to ask for forgiveness. It had been three years since he’d last seen Bodie. He needed closure. C’mon Doyle - if you’re going to do it, get moving. Doyle shifted himself from the car and walked to the door. He hesitated for several seconds...
Someone said doors provided opportunities. Answer the bell and accept the challenge. So he opened doors and took chances. Sometimes it didn’t work out - art school and Ann Holly among the biggest of his missed ‘opportunities’. But sometimes things went right - at least for a while. He’d been content as a policeman - until he could no longer deal with the corruption. The doorbell had rung again and George Cowley was on the other side. A man who shared the same sense of right and wrong, a man who believed in justice for everyone, a man he could trust. In the end that door had closed, too. Manton, Molner, Brian Cook - Doyle began to question Cowley and his own ability to continue in the job. And then his world fell apart. He opened the one door he shouldn’t have, by-passed the one bell he should have rung and walked into his home to find Bodie with Jimmy Keller.
Years ago, he chided himself. Get over it... For Whom the Bell Tolls:merentha13
"Cover me," he said tersely. "I'm goin' in."
Doyle spat and wiped his mouth. "The fuck you are." They had never, not since the first days of training, played it that way. Doyle, faster and smaller, had always gone in first, ably and expertly covered by his partner, the better long-range shot.
In that second, looking into Doyle's dead, cold eyes, Bodie knew and understood that there were harder ways of losing Doyle than seeing him fall.
Eyes hard and bleak, he drew up his gun, gestured Doyle on his way...
For a moment no-one moved...
November:Sebastian
Before I knew it, Ray was crouched over a real atom bomb. All of us were sweating like pigs, and the fear in that room was like air pollution. You could feel it, taste it, smell it. It had my heart beating, my lungs constricted, my head throbbing.
Or that could have been love.
Even with the fate of London in our hands, I found myself thinking of...that. Even with the stink of fear in the air, I could smell Ray's sweat. It was different. Exciting. Sexy. Warm. I was across the room, holding a gun to the head of a world-class arsehole, but my eyes were on Ray's every move. I told myself that if there was a mistake and the bomb went off, I was going to shoot that fool even as the world ended. Shoot him for ruining my world, for killing Ray Doyle before I could even tell him....
Thinking about it was something I couldn't do during the worst moments. About loving Ray. I resented the terrorists because I couldn't think about what I wanted to think about. I had to stand there and worry about being blown to hell.
Post-Stakeout:DVS
"Ray?"
One croaky, but unmistakable word.
Doyle slid forward to kneel beside him, holding on tightly to the stretcher to steady himself against the erratic movements of the speeding vehicle.
Bodie fought to open his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, his words heavily slurred.
"Am I all right?" Doyle repeated.... Yes, I'm fine. You're the one being rushed to hospital at ninety miles an hour, you know. Don't worry, you're going to make it, with everything intact."
"The others?" Bodie questioned.
"Not a scratch, mate. Thanks to you."
Bodie felt his eyes close involuntarily. "You won't leave me?" he asked, already partially under again.
"I'm sticking to you like glue, sunshine," Doyle reassured his unconscious partner.
Holding Out for a Hero:Claire Dobbin
“We’re not young Turks anymore... What if I can’t save you, Ray? Can’t back you up? You think I was scared when we were so over-trained we could hardly rest, knew every way to shoot up every room in the venue, and not now? I’m fuckin’ terrified, mate, even without Operation bloody Susies when anybody could be shooting at us...
“Eight years we’ve been partners, and you’ve fought for me, fought Cowley for me, found me when I was lost, kidnapped, shot-there’s nothing more. Nothing better you could have done..."
Build with the Stones We Have:jat_sapphire
The idea that Doyle was to be lashed the next day was all he could think about... It was a rite of passage, proof of strength. He’d endured his trial, absurdly proud that he’d taken five strikes without crying...
Doyle’s punishment would be far worse. Bodie had seen the occasional whippings in the Buckingham pavilion, usually because he had to be seen there for an investigation. Floggings were not the sort of entertainment he preferred. Footy and a good lager at the pub were his choice of spectator sports. Most mandated floggings were twenty-five or more strikes on naked flesh. All over, not only the upper back.
He’d grappled with the idea of spiriting Doyle away all afternoon. Hell, he was an operative, with multiple passports, hidden caches of money, and contacts all over the world. Wouldn’t take an hour to disappear. Cowley might never find them...
Parsing the Sentence:Dawnwind
Gradually, as his awareness grew, he realised the commotion had stopped and the only sound he could hear now was heavy breathing. He forced his eyes open...
“Christ Ray, you made a right cock up of that,” he said between laboured breaths... gathering momentum as he slid his arm behind Doyle’s shoulders to lever him up. “Come on, you’re alright.”
Sitting up with Bodie’s help he saw the thug laid out cold... “What happened?”
“The bastard took a dislike to you and, naturally, I took a dislike to him,” was the cheerful reply...
Doyle closed his eyes and nodded. “Cowley will kill us.”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course, I can bloody walk,” he grumbled hoarsely...
“Come on.” Bodie said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Looks like you need to brush up on your undercover skills my son.”
Smoke and Mirrors:ci5mates
< My attention shifted abruptly to Bodie's face. Ravaged... it suddenly crumpled, the granite melting away like limestone in acid. Stark and revealing in the brief glimpse I got, it rocked me into realisation of a truth I should have known before... How had I failed to understand that Bodie had never been the strong one of the pair? That Doyle's need for Bodie had never exceeded Bodie's for him. That, very possibly, Bodie was even more bereft without Doyle than Doyle was without Bodie. How had I failed to realise the magnitude of the sacrifice Bodie had made in trusting Doyle to the imagined power of my obsessive devotion?
We'd got it wrong, both of us. We'd both failed to understand that Doyle had never needed someone who could be strong for him. What Doyle had only and always needed, and needed now, was someone he could be strong for
Dancing in the Rain:istia