(no subject)
Visions of Bodie and Doyle: other times and other places
A few more story suggestions. I've also posted this at https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912569.
And many thanks to hyael45 for permission to use her beautiful creation of Doyle to illustrate the quote from Long Trick.
...
Bodie had the head start, and he knew Algiers. Doyle had already discovered the city was a labyrinth. It would be fatal to let Bodie get out of sight. Doyle was lucky enough to glimpse him running around a corner, and was desperate enough to half catch up with him before Bodie had rounded another corner and was out of sight again.
Running was one of Doyle's finest talents, and he was fresh from a training session with Macklin and Towser. Bodie was not going to escape him.
They raced down several streets, over a wall...
Algiers:Fajrdrako
“Well how did we end up in Switzerland then?” said Doyle..
“I don’t know, do I?”
“You’re supposed to be the experienced International traveller.”
“Yeah, well even International traveller’s make mistakes.”
“So let me get this right. We’re meant to be in France?”
“Correct...”
“And our coach leaves from France.”
“Yep.”
“But we’re in Switzerland.”
“Er, yeah. We’ll have to find our way back across the border somehow..."
Winter Demons:assemblanceoflove, DementedPixie
The vista was glorious and Ray would have loved it...
As I continued to climb the French Pyrenees, the clouds rose to meet me. It was an ethereal sight, like walking through heaven. The mist ebbed and swirled, a watery quicksilver, changing the temperature with lightning speed. When the sunshine broke through, I could see for miles. The whole world was lush and green. Far-off farm buildings looked like tiny Swiss cottages. Eagles soared as might Chilean Condors and ferns brushed my legs as they well might in Dorset. I could be anywhere in the world, such was the view.
Buen Camino, Bodie: Sharon Ray (Boothros)
Bodie strode quickly after Doyle as he pressed on to catch the vaporetto that would take them up the Grand Canal to the district of Cannaregio. But as they stood waiting at the stop, along with the first of the day’s pickings of tourists eager to pass under the Rialto bridge, he frowned and gave Doyle a light nudge.
“Three o’clock. That man’s following us.”
... “Yes, I know... Don’t worry, we expect him to be there.”
“Is he yours? Fierstron’s?”
Doyle raised an eyebrow; he seemed to be back in a stubborn mood: “I’m not sure you’re cleared for that information.”
“Oh good, because I enjoy guessing if someone is about to start shooting me,” Bodie hissed back...
Orpheus Turns Around:halotolerant
He paid little heed to the shadow passing over the sun, a cloud between him and the life giving light, both his conscious and sub-conscious recognising the transient nature of the intrusion. Little heed, that is, right up until the cloud spoke…
‘’Hello, Sunshine.’’
Doyle sat bolt upright, adrenalin pumping through his system, all his nightmares made manifest.
Bodie dropped to his haunches, taking in the feral, wild eyed creature before him.
Even under the ill tailored clothing, it was obvious Doyle had lost weight. He had kept an aura of scrawny strength, but he was nothing but sinew and bone. Every vein and artery stood out where the flesh had retreated, every plane and angle of bone. He looked just this side of starving.
A grim horror crept through Bodie...
The Long Trick:Fiorenza_a
“Onwards” Cowley said happily...
It was a very pleasant walk. The sea breeze was keeping the temperature down and the cry of gulls and sough of sea was very relaxing. Ahead was their destination - St.Michael’s Mount - a site of pilgrimage for centuries. Once they’d come to the end of the easy, flat walk to the island, the climbing began to the church on top of the steep hill. Cowley had been given them a little history of the island as they’d walked along the causeway and, despite their earlier reservations, the agents were now getting into the holiday spirit.
“Out of breath?” Cowley was going to add “3.7”, but remembered in time where he was. He tried not to sound out of breath himself...
Sermon on the Mount:Sylvie Orp
*Jack and Jill - noon*.
The writing could have been Bodie’s, or it could have been forged. Doyle remembered that Terry had been taken and could be telling the Flak all sorts of interesting information - or as much as he knew. Anyone would talk under those conditions... how much could Terry actually tell them. He knew of Bodie certainly, but did he know all the codes used by some members of the cell to others? Doyle wasn’t sure. There was only one way to find out - be there at noon and see what happened.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. So went the nursery rhyme. There was a pub at the top of Masons Hill where you could get more than a pail or two of water, or whatever else you fancied. That was where Bodie meant...
In a Different Time: Sylvie Orp
And this time the stone moved properly, lifting and sliding just far enough sideways so that they could tug it clear of the space below, and when they looked into the depths of the hole they'd uncovered, they could see what was underneath...
Stairs.
A familiar tattoo pounded at his heart, his veins, into his stomach. It was like being a kid again, like running away to sea - and just when he'd wondered whether there was anything new left in the world to be excited about.
They peered cautiously down, half wondering, after the well, whether it would all give way and send them plummetting to a dark death, but once the dust and sand had settled down again, all was still and solid and safe. A steep flight of stairs, cut out of the rock itself, led downwards, disappeared into some underworld that can't have been seen for over a hundred years...
Two on a Treasure Island: Slantedlight(Byslantedlight)
Had he once boasted that he had never gone hungry? Well, it was beginning to be an all too familiar sensation. And it wasn't as romantic as he'd once envisioned. It was uncomfortable at best and at worst . . .
Doyle sat up, refusing to think of that. It was pointless... At this moment he knew the true meaning of the phrase "pride goeth before a fall." Well, he had finally hit bottom. It was nearly impossible to even remember he had come to France to be an artist. For one thing he had discovered quite soon that his devotion to art didn't extend to sacrificing his next meal in order to buy canvas and paint. Perhaps that signified he wasn't a true artist. Hopefully, it only meant he was an artist who simply didn't fancy starving to death.
Either way, it hardly mattered. The one unshakable imperative was to survive...
Arabian Nights:Pamela Rose
"Did you know that, strictly speaking, a ship has to have at least three masts, be square-rigged on them all and a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember?"
"Thank you for enriching my knowledge. I can't see it's ever going to come in useful but thank you anyway... How do you know that?"
"Merchant navy. The first mate was mad about tall ships and I was too young and naive to work out how to shut him up without getting myself slung off the ship."
"Did you work it out in the end?" Doyle asked, interested.
"Yeah," Bodie drawled, amusement plain.
"Well?" Doyle prompted.
"You don't want to know."
"I do. Might work on the old man."
Bodie gave a snort of laughter. "Try it if you like. Blow job..."
Trying to Understand:deryderrydown
American breakfasts were the best part about visiting the States...
"Bodie?"
The voice was surprised, a little uncertain. Bodie turned his head and saw a woman approaching him. She was of medium height and build, well-dressed, and middle-aged. He raised his eyebrows.
"It is you, isn't it? Her eyes searched his face and his body.
It was her perfume that finally triggered the memory. "Ann Holly." He felt the echo of old worries, old fears, as he said her name.
She smiled and it seemed a little self-conscious. "Johnson now."
"Ah. Married a Yank, did you?"
"Yes." She was looking at him if she couldn't quite believe he was there...
Old Fears and Temptations:PFL (msmoat)
“Why are they killing innocents? They must know it won't help them in the eyes of the population...”
.."We were thinking at first that they had chosen people with some connection with perhaps East Germany or Poland. But there was no evidence. Then one of the newspaper reporters noted that this is a progressive area. The people always elect politicians at both a local and a national level who will pass good, tolerant laws and make the world more modern, more peaceful. I think these Wolves do not like this. They think the local people are the enemies of the state.”
The English agents stared at him. It barely made sense even though the man spoke excellent English. Doyle was about to reply but the officer smiled and continued.
“I know; it sounds insane. That is the conclusion we have come to. These Wolves are insane or at least their leaders are insane..."
Wolfkammer:moth2fic
.. He is thin, probably underfed, and his tunic, belted loose, is dingy and threadbare. But somehow he -- he is beautiful. There is no other word for it. His hair, curled like that of a cinaedus should be, is a pleasing auburn colour, and his eyes, bright green, stunning in their intensity, could only belong to a Celt. The man's face is exotic, a combination of features half-delicate and half-rough that intrigues him...
... He moves with the exaggerated, showy gestures of the cinaedus, probably trained into him, but there is a true grace under the artifice, a power. They may have beaten him, but they haven't broken him. Bellonus wants this one...
Miles Scortillusque:Sineala
The Palace of Versailles was as exquisite as all had proclaimed. The gardens begged to be investigated, the halls to be explored. Bodie did it all with a spring in his step.
This hyper-awareness of Doyle was extraordinary. It was just as satisfying to know that he could comport himself professionally when all he wanted to do was bury his fingers in Doyle's hair and kiss his lips soundly. It was equally intoxicating to know that Doyle was in the same place if the smouldering stares were anything to go by. Bodie was still stunned at how simple the answer had been. Doyle.
They could work, do the job, and they could love, have someone at home...
The Things You Need Come Slow:krisserci5
Bloody typical.
When you came to Spain, you came for sun, sand and sangria, didn’t you? That's what all the adverts said. It didn't matter what it was like in Blighty, it would always be balmy on the Costa del Sol, even the middle of winter. I mean, why else would there be palm trees?
Doyle gazed out onto the rain-lashed marble of the swimming pool terrace, the pool itself a mass of white horses whipped up by the easterly gale that was thundering its way down the Mediterranean. The famous palm trees were throwing their branches up in surrender, and the Michael Fish-equivalent on the telly in the bar was wittering on about 'bizarro' weather for the time of year.
You don’t mean to say so, thought Doyle glumly...
The Spy Who Couldn't Quite Come In From The Cold:unbelievable2
A few more story suggestions. I've also posted this at https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912569.
And many thanks to hyael45 for permission to use her beautiful creation of Doyle to illustrate the quote from Long Trick.
...
Bodie had the head start, and he knew Algiers. Doyle had already discovered the city was a labyrinth. It would be fatal to let Bodie get out of sight. Doyle was lucky enough to glimpse him running around a corner, and was desperate enough to half catch up with him before Bodie had rounded another corner and was out of sight again.
Running was one of Doyle's finest talents, and he was fresh from a training session with Macklin and Towser. Bodie was not going to escape him.
They raced down several streets, over a wall...
Algiers:Fajrdrako
“Well how did we end up in Switzerland then?” said Doyle..
“I don’t know, do I?”
“You’re supposed to be the experienced International traveller.”
“Yeah, well even International traveller’s make mistakes.”
“So let me get this right. We’re meant to be in France?”
“Correct...”
“And our coach leaves from France.”
“Yep.”
“But we’re in Switzerland.”
“Er, yeah. We’ll have to find our way back across the border somehow..."
Winter Demons:assemblanceoflove, DementedPixie
The vista was glorious and Ray would have loved it...
As I continued to climb the French Pyrenees, the clouds rose to meet me. It was an ethereal sight, like walking through heaven. The mist ebbed and swirled, a watery quicksilver, changing the temperature with lightning speed. When the sunshine broke through, I could see for miles. The whole world was lush and green. Far-off farm buildings looked like tiny Swiss cottages. Eagles soared as might Chilean Condors and ferns brushed my legs as they well might in Dorset. I could be anywhere in the world, such was the view.
Buen Camino, Bodie: Sharon Ray (Boothros)
Bodie strode quickly after Doyle as he pressed on to catch the vaporetto that would take them up the Grand Canal to the district of Cannaregio. But as they stood waiting at the stop, along with the first of the day’s pickings of tourists eager to pass under the Rialto bridge, he frowned and gave Doyle a light nudge.
“Three o’clock. That man’s following us.”
... “Yes, I know... Don’t worry, we expect him to be there.”
“Is he yours? Fierstron’s?”
Doyle raised an eyebrow; he seemed to be back in a stubborn mood: “I’m not sure you’re cleared for that information.”
“Oh good, because I enjoy guessing if someone is about to start shooting me,” Bodie hissed back...
Orpheus Turns Around:halotolerant
He paid little heed to the shadow passing over the sun, a cloud between him and the life giving light, both his conscious and sub-conscious recognising the transient nature of the intrusion. Little heed, that is, right up until the cloud spoke…
‘’Hello, Sunshine.’’
Doyle sat bolt upright, adrenalin pumping through his system, all his nightmares made manifest.
Bodie dropped to his haunches, taking in the feral, wild eyed creature before him.
Even under the ill tailored clothing, it was obvious Doyle had lost weight. He had kept an aura of scrawny strength, but he was nothing but sinew and bone. Every vein and artery stood out where the flesh had retreated, every plane and angle of bone. He looked just this side of starving.
A grim horror crept through Bodie...
The Long Trick:Fiorenza_a
“Onwards” Cowley said happily...
It was a very pleasant walk. The sea breeze was keeping the temperature down and the cry of gulls and sough of sea was very relaxing. Ahead was their destination - St.Michael’s Mount - a site of pilgrimage for centuries. Once they’d come to the end of the easy, flat walk to the island, the climbing began to the church on top of the steep hill. Cowley had been given them a little history of the island as they’d walked along the causeway and, despite their earlier reservations, the agents were now getting into the holiday spirit.
“Out of breath?” Cowley was going to add “3.7”, but remembered in time where he was. He tried not to sound out of breath himself...
Sermon on the Mount:Sylvie Orp
*Jack and Jill - noon*.
The writing could have been Bodie’s, or it could have been forged. Doyle remembered that Terry had been taken and could be telling the Flak all sorts of interesting information - or as much as he knew. Anyone would talk under those conditions... how much could Terry actually tell them. He knew of Bodie certainly, but did he know all the codes used by some members of the cell to others? Doyle wasn’t sure. There was only one way to find out - be there at noon and see what happened.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. So went the nursery rhyme. There was a pub at the top of Masons Hill where you could get more than a pail or two of water, or whatever else you fancied. That was where Bodie meant...
In a Different Time: Sylvie Orp
And this time the stone moved properly, lifting and sliding just far enough sideways so that they could tug it clear of the space below, and when they looked into the depths of the hole they'd uncovered, they could see what was underneath...
Stairs.
A familiar tattoo pounded at his heart, his veins, into his stomach. It was like being a kid again, like running away to sea - and just when he'd wondered whether there was anything new left in the world to be excited about.
They peered cautiously down, half wondering, after the well, whether it would all give way and send them plummetting to a dark death, but once the dust and sand had settled down again, all was still and solid and safe. A steep flight of stairs, cut out of the rock itself, led downwards, disappeared into some underworld that can't have been seen for over a hundred years...
Two on a Treasure Island: Slantedlight(Byslantedlight)
Had he once boasted that he had never gone hungry? Well, it was beginning to be an all too familiar sensation. And it wasn't as romantic as he'd once envisioned. It was uncomfortable at best and at worst . . .
Doyle sat up, refusing to think of that. It was pointless... At this moment he knew the true meaning of the phrase "pride goeth before a fall." Well, he had finally hit bottom. It was nearly impossible to even remember he had come to France to be an artist. For one thing he had discovered quite soon that his devotion to art didn't extend to sacrificing his next meal in order to buy canvas and paint. Perhaps that signified he wasn't a true artist. Hopefully, it only meant he was an artist who simply didn't fancy starving to death.
Either way, it hardly mattered. The one unshakable imperative was to survive...
Arabian Nights:Pamela Rose
"Did you know that, strictly speaking, a ship has to have at least three masts, be square-rigged on them all and a bunch of other stuff that I can't remember?"
"Thank you for enriching my knowledge. I can't see it's ever going to come in useful but thank you anyway... How do you know that?"
"Merchant navy. The first mate was mad about tall ships and I was too young and naive to work out how to shut him up without getting myself slung off the ship."
"Did you work it out in the end?" Doyle asked, interested.
"Yeah," Bodie drawled, amusement plain.
"Well?" Doyle prompted.
"You don't want to know."
"I do. Might work on the old man."
Bodie gave a snort of laughter. "Try it if you like. Blow job..."
Trying to Understand:deryderrydown
American breakfasts were the best part about visiting the States...
"Bodie?"
The voice was surprised, a little uncertain. Bodie turned his head and saw a woman approaching him. She was of medium height and build, well-dressed, and middle-aged. He raised his eyebrows.
"It is you, isn't it? Her eyes searched his face and his body.
It was her perfume that finally triggered the memory. "Ann Holly." He felt the echo of old worries, old fears, as he said her name.
She smiled and it seemed a little self-conscious. "Johnson now."
"Ah. Married a Yank, did you?"
"Yes." She was looking at him if she couldn't quite believe he was there...
Old Fears and Temptations:PFL (msmoat)
“Why are they killing innocents? They must know it won't help them in the eyes of the population...”
.."We were thinking at first that they had chosen people with some connection with perhaps East Germany or Poland. But there was no evidence. Then one of the newspaper reporters noted that this is a progressive area. The people always elect politicians at both a local and a national level who will pass good, tolerant laws and make the world more modern, more peaceful. I think these Wolves do not like this. They think the local people are the enemies of the state.”
The English agents stared at him. It barely made sense even though the man spoke excellent English. Doyle was about to reply but the officer smiled and continued.
“I know; it sounds insane. That is the conclusion we have come to. These Wolves are insane or at least their leaders are insane..."
Wolfkammer:moth2fic
.. He is thin, probably underfed, and his tunic, belted loose, is dingy and threadbare. But somehow he -- he is beautiful. There is no other word for it. His hair, curled like that of a cinaedus should be, is a pleasing auburn colour, and his eyes, bright green, stunning in their intensity, could only belong to a Celt. The man's face is exotic, a combination of features half-delicate and half-rough that intrigues him...
... He moves with the exaggerated, showy gestures of the cinaedus, probably trained into him, but there is a true grace under the artifice, a power. They may have beaten him, but they haven't broken him. Bellonus wants this one...
Miles Scortillusque:Sineala
The Palace of Versailles was as exquisite as all had proclaimed. The gardens begged to be investigated, the halls to be explored. Bodie did it all with a spring in his step.
This hyper-awareness of Doyle was extraordinary. It was just as satisfying to know that he could comport himself professionally when all he wanted to do was bury his fingers in Doyle's hair and kiss his lips soundly. It was equally intoxicating to know that Doyle was in the same place if the smouldering stares were anything to go by. Bodie was still stunned at how simple the answer had been. Doyle.
They could work, do the job, and they could love, have someone at home...
The Things You Need Come Slow:krisserci5
Bloody typical.
When you came to Spain, you came for sun, sand and sangria, didn’t you? That's what all the adverts said. It didn't matter what it was like in Blighty, it would always be balmy on the Costa del Sol, even the middle of winter. I mean, why else would there be palm trees?
Doyle gazed out onto the rain-lashed marble of the swimming pool terrace, the pool itself a mass of white horses whipped up by the easterly gale that was thundering its way down the Mediterranean. The famous palm trees were throwing their branches up in surrender, and the Michael Fish-equivalent on the telly in the bar was wittering on about 'bizarro' weather for the time of year.
You don’t mean to say so, thought Doyle glumly...
The Spy Who Couldn't Quite Come In From The Cold:unbelievable2