Obbo 341: Put Away Wet
There, that's better.
Put Away Wet
The sky looked like a sheet of paper that had fallen in dirty water. It wasn't really raining, but there was a wet mist settling into drops on all of them, collecting on Cowley's glasses until he took them off and slipped them into his coat pocket, then squinted at each of them, frowning. It always made him irritable to be unable to see clearly.
Bodie didn't care, not about Cowley's glasses or the weather in general. Until he had Ray back where he belonged, beside him, safe, nothing else was important.
They stood on the riverside, between blank warehouse walls and brown water, trash underfoot and the sludgy sky above. It hadn't changed since morning, when they'd arrived-the surroundings were the same, but Bodie had overlooked how grim they were, while he glanced aside to meet Doyle's eyes, while they moved together in that smooth harmony they had, like a powerful machine, pounding at the yobs and opening the ops like walnuts.
But this one had crushed to defeat, like a peanut shell with a withered, musty kernel inside instead of a sound nut. He'd only lost sight of Doyle for a few minutes, moments, nothing, but in that time the human trafficking scum they'd been stalking got round behind them and just stole Doyle.
Now the other agents were standing around awkwardly, looking sideways at Bodie and getting glares in return. He’s not in the river, Bodie’s frowns said, though they all knew it was the most likely place.
But if Ray’d been in the river all this time, he was dead. The temperature had been dropping all day, and now was much too close to freezing.
Susan put a hand on Bodie’s arm, and he shook it off. Ray was not dead. “Was it right here?” she asked.
“How would I fucking know?” Bodie growled. “If I’d been looking, it wouldn’t have happened at all!”
When he found Ray, he'd pound him for being so careless.
Bodie snorted, and Susan stepped back. That was all right: her eyes had been too kind anyway. But Bodie knew he wouldn't pound Ray no matter how foolish he'd been.
Just that morning, he'd woken to Ray propped up on his pillow, one arm over his head, smiling at the ceiling. Bodie had thrown one arm across his lover's body, hair and muscles and scars, and put his mouth on the skin that smelled so good, sucked a little and then blew a juicy raspberry. They both laughed.
That could not have been their last morning together. Bodie turned away from the greyish brown water to the grey warehouse wall and spoke his thought. "Maybe inland. Maybe they're in one of these."
"The Docklands." Cowley's voice was thoughtful. "It's a lot to search, laddie."
"Get the plods over here. Thames Division, right? Sir?"
Cowley shrugged. "I'll call the Commissioner."
The weather--the mist--clung into the afternoon. It seemed to get colder, though probably it only felt like it because they were all wetter and wetter. Cowley was coordinating from his car. Bodie was ranging the riverside harrying police and CI5 searchers alike.
"Do sod off, Bodie," Murphy said at last. "Have a nice cuppa. Stay out of the way."
Bodie bared his teeth. It really could not be considered a smile. He didn't trust anyone else to find Ray.
Murphy's RT and Bodie's own went off almost simultaneously. "A lot of storage containers here," said Ruth's voice. "A lot, Bodie."
The warehouse had been gutted, the containers stacked as high as they could go. Hundreds, there must be. For a moment, they were as daunting to look at as the indifferent surface of the Thames.
But then Bodie thought, They'd have to get to it too. There was no crane here. Even if Ray were unconscious, there was no way to hoist him ten, twenty, forty feet in the air. The image made him shake his head and drive it out with a yell. "Ray!" His voice bounced back from the corrogated steel. The searchers paused. Bodie heard nothing but the remote exhalation of wind.
Searchers began to move again. Anson and a Thames Division officer moved to the right, began rapping on the doors of the containers, one, another--and then answering thuds like fists came from the first one.
Wanting to run, Bodie took measured steps. Wanting to tear into that grey stuff that looked like papier-mache with the strength of Superman, he stood back and let the plod unlatch and pull the door ajar.
He made himself look. Ray was not alone. In fact, he was almost buried in young children, kids who looked around eight to ten years old, little girls with plaits or horsetails or little knots of hair, who lay on him or on each other, clinging and speaking, only some in English. Ray stroked their shoulders and heads, told them over and over that they were safe, they were saved. Looking at Bodie all the while.
The two largest, who had banged on the container door, were greeted and praised by agents and officers, and even Cowley, who shook their small, slack hands and called them Miss Patel and Miss Cuffaro.
Eventually, the children were gone, the plods faded away, Cowley reminded Bodie and Doyle that they needed to turn in their reports by the end of the day if not sooner, and Bodie took the last few clanking steps to where Ray still sprawled against the container wall, smiling as he leaned his head against the steel.
"Have a nice kip, did you, while we ran about searching?"
"Course. Told fairy stories and sang to 'em."
Bodie shook his head, then held out one hand, so Ray could swing to his feet, and Bodie could reel him in. "So scared," he murmured into Ray's hair.
"I knew you'd come." His voice was as soft.
The RT in Bodie's pocket went off. Doyle pulled it out. "Yes, sir?" Bodie said.
"Bring 4-5 to my car, 3-7. We have two miscreants whom I suspect of abducting him, and perhaps some of the young ladies as well. With luck, he can identify them."
"Running all the way, sir."
"Or not," Ray said. He put a cautious hand to his ribs. "A pipe, this was."
"Macklin'll be disappointed."
"Macklin can do the other thing."
Bodie didn't even ask himself why Ray's cross scowl made him cup both hands around Ray's jaw and kiss him, slowly, sweetly, until he heard the rumble in Ray's throat and paused to hear him speak.
"Cow's waiting. An' we can do this all night, yeah?"
"Yeah," Bodie said, gazing in the tilted eyes. "Yeah." He stepped back, put his hands in his pockets, gripped the RT, and still could not turn away until Ray pulled up the collar of his jacket and moved toward the container door.
The container had not been warm, but it had been out of the mist and wind. "Christ," said Ray, hunching his shoulders. "'Running all the way' is right."
They still didn't, mindful of Ray's ribs. The sky was still bleak, growing darker as dusk fell, and the air still cut fiercely through buttons and zips, even the ones like Bodie's that were done up, not to mention Ray's, gapping open as if his chest hair could keep him warm. Bodie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, turned him back, zipped up the jacket and ruffled his wet hair. "Pillock," he said fondly. Ray grinned back.
Bodie felt so euphoric that he almost didn't want to kill the yobs who'd taken Ray and slung him in a steel box. Fortunate, that, since he wouldn't be permitted. He'd be sure to scare the stuffing out of them, though, when they were interrogated. Cowley never minded that.
Then home. Ray's tub was big enough for both of them. Bodie would even take the tap end to see Ray relax, feel the ache of his ribs ease, watch the flush spread over his skin. They'd warm up together and then catch fire together in the bed. Tomorrow morning, the sun should come up again, and they'd laugh again, skin to skin.
Title: Put Away Wet
Artist: jat_sapphire
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive to Proslib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle, Murphy, Susan, Ruth and Cowley do not belong to me.
Put Away Wet
The sky looked like a sheet of paper that had fallen in dirty water. It wasn't really raining, but there was a wet mist settling into drops on all of them, collecting on Cowley's glasses until he took them off and slipped them into his coat pocket, then squinted at each of them, frowning. It always made him irritable to be unable to see clearly.
Bodie didn't care, not about Cowley's glasses or the weather in general. Until he had Ray back where he belonged, beside him, safe, nothing else was important.
They stood on the riverside, between blank warehouse walls and brown water, trash underfoot and the sludgy sky above. It hadn't changed since morning, when they'd arrived-the surroundings were the same, but Bodie had overlooked how grim they were, while he glanced aside to meet Doyle's eyes, while they moved together in that smooth harmony they had, like a powerful machine, pounding at the yobs and opening the ops like walnuts.
But this one had crushed to defeat, like a peanut shell with a withered, musty kernel inside instead of a sound nut. He'd only lost sight of Doyle for a few minutes, moments, nothing, but in that time the human trafficking scum they'd been stalking got round behind them and just stole Doyle.
Now the other agents were standing around awkwardly, looking sideways at Bodie and getting glares in return. He’s not in the river, Bodie’s frowns said, though they all knew it was the most likely place.
But if Ray’d been in the river all this time, he was dead. The temperature had been dropping all day, and now was much too close to freezing.
Susan put a hand on Bodie’s arm, and he shook it off. Ray was not dead. “Was it right here?” she asked.
“How would I fucking know?” Bodie growled. “If I’d been looking, it wouldn’t have happened at all!”
When he found Ray, he'd pound him for being so careless.
Bodie snorted, and Susan stepped back. That was all right: her eyes had been too kind anyway. But Bodie knew he wouldn't pound Ray no matter how foolish he'd been.
Just that morning, he'd woken to Ray propped up on his pillow, one arm over his head, smiling at the ceiling. Bodie had thrown one arm across his lover's body, hair and muscles and scars, and put his mouth on the skin that smelled so good, sucked a little and then blew a juicy raspberry. They both laughed.
That could not have been their last morning together. Bodie turned away from the greyish brown water to the grey warehouse wall and spoke his thought. "Maybe inland. Maybe they're in one of these."
"The Docklands." Cowley's voice was thoughtful. "It's a lot to search, laddie."
"Get the plods over here. Thames Division, right? Sir?"
Cowley shrugged. "I'll call the Commissioner."
The weather--the mist--clung into the afternoon. It seemed to get colder, though probably it only felt like it because they were all wetter and wetter. Cowley was coordinating from his car. Bodie was ranging the riverside harrying police and CI5 searchers alike.
"Do sod off, Bodie," Murphy said at last. "Have a nice cuppa. Stay out of the way."
Bodie bared his teeth. It really could not be considered a smile. He didn't trust anyone else to find Ray.
Murphy's RT and Bodie's own went off almost simultaneously. "A lot of storage containers here," said Ruth's voice. "A lot, Bodie."
The warehouse had been gutted, the containers stacked as high as they could go. Hundreds, there must be. For a moment, they were as daunting to look at as the indifferent surface of the Thames.
But then Bodie thought, They'd have to get to it too. There was no crane here. Even if Ray were unconscious, there was no way to hoist him ten, twenty, forty feet in the air. The image made him shake his head and drive it out with a yell. "Ray!" His voice bounced back from the corrogated steel. The searchers paused. Bodie heard nothing but the remote exhalation of wind.
Searchers began to move again. Anson and a Thames Division officer moved to the right, began rapping on the doors of the containers, one, another--and then answering thuds like fists came from the first one.
Wanting to run, Bodie took measured steps. Wanting to tear into that grey stuff that looked like papier-mache with the strength of Superman, he stood back and let the plod unlatch and pull the door ajar.
He made himself look. Ray was not alone. In fact, he was almost buried in young children, kids who looked around eight to ten years old, little girls with plaits or horsetails or little knots of hair, who lay on him or on each other, clinging and speaking, only some in English. Ray stroked their shoulders and heads, told them over and over that they were safe, they were saved. Looking at Bodie all the while.
The two largest, who had banged on the container door, were greeted and praised by agents and officers, and even Cowley, who shook their small, slack hands and called them Miss Patel and Miss Cuffaro.
Eventually, the children were gone, the plods faded away, Cowley reminded Bodie and Doyle that they needed to turn in their reports by the end of the day if not sooner, and Bodie took the last few clanking steps to where Ray still sprawled against the container wall, smiling as he leaned his head against the steel.
"Have a nice kip, did you, while we ran about searching?"
"Course. Told fairy stories and sang to 'em."
Bodie shook his head, then held out one hand, so Ray could swing to his feet, and Bodie could reel him in. "So scared," he murmured into Ray's hair.
"I knew you'd come." His voice was as soft.
The RT in Bodie's pocket went off. Doyle pulled it out. "Yes, sir?" Bodie said.
"Bring 4-5 to my car, 3-7. We have two miscreants whom I suspect of abducting him, and perhaps some of the young ladies as well. With luck, he can identify them."
"Running all the way, sir."
"Or not," Ray said. He put a cautious hand to his ribs. "A pipe, this was."
"Macklin'll be disappointed."
"Macklin can do the other thing."
Bodie didn't even ask himself why Ray's cross scowl made him cup both hands around Ray's jaw and kiss him, slowly, sweetly, until he heard the rumble in Ray's throat and paused to hear him speak.
"Cow's waiting. An' we can do this all night, yeah?"
"Yeah," Bodie said, gazing in the tilted eyes. "Yeah." He stepped back, put his hands in his pockets, gripped the RT, and still could not turn away until Ray pulled up the collar of his jacket and moved toward the container door.
The container had not been warm, but it had been out of the mist and wind. "Christ," said Ray, hunching his shoulders. "'Running all the way' is right."
They still didn't, mindful of Ray's ribs. The sky was still bleak, growing darker as dusk fell, and the air still cut fiercely through buttons and zips, even the ones like Bodie's that were done up, not to mention Ray's, gapping open as if his chest hair could keep him warm. Bodie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, turned him back, zipped up the jacket and ruffled his wet hair. "Pillock," he said fondly. Ray grinned back.
Bodie felt so euphoric that he almost didn't want to kill the yobs who'd taken Ray and slung him in a steel box. Fortunate, that, since he wouldn't be permitted. He'd be sure to scare the stuffing out of them, though, when they were interrogated. Cowley never minded that.
Then home. Ray's tub was big enough for both of them. Bodie would even take the tap end to see Ray relax, feel the ache of his ribs ease, watch the flush spread over his skin. They'd warm up together and then catch fire together in the bed. Tomorrow morning, the sun should come up again, and they'd laugh again, skin to skin.
Title: Put Away Wet
Artist: jat_sapphire
Slash or Gen: Slash
Archive to Proslib/Circuit: Yes
Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle, Murphy, Susan, Ruth and Cowley do not belong to me.