Another year, another set of holidays. He hardly marked its passing. Bodie'd learned a long time ago that Christmas came and went like any other day. On the boat, it had meant a single better meal; on the sun-drenched African plains it had meant nothing at all, except another day to live or die.
And now it meant only a warm pub meal, a flood of hot rum to soothe the chill from aching bones, and the fleeting solace of pleasure in a stranger's arms. The women were a blur to him, all so much the same, none allowed an instant's closeness to the buried center of his soul. He'd learned that lesson in blood and anguish, watched them die on city streets. Johannesburg or London, the concrete soaked up blood with equal indifference. Katerina... Marikka - the faces were equally indistinguishable from each other, the wounded cry of shock the same, haunting his dreams. Ghosts of the past and present sitting by his side.
No. He'd never take that chance again.
Downing the remainder of his drink, he eyed the pretty barmaid, considering. Her smile wandered in his direction and held. She'd wait for him, he knew with instant certainty, and yet...
The emptiness of it all struck home, and he grabbed for his coat, leaving her staring wistfully at his back. The cold night air met him hard, his breath misting in a silvery cloud. Church bells clanged in the distance as he sought his car.
The heater provided some relief from the damp chill, and he snuggled into his wool coat as he drove with absent deftness, skill so innate it guided for itself, landing him at his door long before he'd noticed. He stopped the engine and sat for a moment too long, considering the empty flat waiting for him, the prospect unappealing.
But there was little else to do, Cowley had insisted he take the time off. And certainly he deserved it, especially with Ray absent. Family called at this time of year, as long as you had one, and Ray was overly gifted in that regard. Bodie'd never tried to take count of the Doyle clan, and luckily Ray tended to avoid them as the societal menace that they obviously were. But duty was duty, and Ray was meeting his, leaving his partner to a now-familiar routine.
Sleep was the answer. Christmas would be gone within the round of hours spent in slumber, and he wouldn't have to consider it again for another year. It really didn't matter anyhow...
He moved like an automaton through bed-time preparations. Brush your teeth, wash your face, empty your bladder; as a long-time soldier, he knew the value of the simple routines. They filled the empty spaces between action and reaction, gave the mind time to relax before facing another spurt of danger...
The doorbell rang, loud, shattering in the quiet stillness of the darkened bedroom. Bodie paused, an instant from climbing into his bed. He turned a frown towards the shuttered main room of his flat, tempted to ignore the interruption. He wasn't in the mood for maudlin socializing, he wanted the easy, honest oblivion of sleep. But the bell was insistent, chiming again and again, warring for his attention.
So he went, wrapping his dark blue robe tightly around him. Flipping on the light as he reached the doorway, he undid the locks and opened the door to peer sullenly into the brightly lit hall.
"About time!" Ray groused at him, shoving past his startled partner to enter the well-heated apartment. "God, it's cold out there!" He dropped onto the sofa and sprawled himself out, shaking his headful of brown curls like a wet dog.
Bodie glared at him, unnoticed, then shut and relocked the door.
"What're you doing 'ere?" he demanded, moving over to stand above his partner.
Doyle looked up at him though half-shuttered eyelids. "Couldn't take another moment at 'ome. All they wanted to know was when I was gonna settle down and get married, or simply to sound off about the immorality of my job." He flopped back again, groaning. "You're lucky, mate, not to 'ave to put up with all that bloody interfering..."
Something broke silently inside Bodie, the barriers holding back the anguished flood of buried memories finally shattering beneath the pressure.
"Shut up!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "And get out!" He turned half away from Doyle, his shoulders hunched the effort not to explode into violence. His hands clenched with the need to strike something, anything at all.
Ray was stunned. He jerked upwards, staring with widened green eyes. He shook his head slowly, as though not quite believing he'd heard what he thought he had.
"Wha..." he began, but was cut off abruptly.
"You 'eard me. Get the 'ell out!" Bodie stalked to the door, began fumbling with the bolt he'd just shut.
Doyle was up in an instant, he ran over to seize Bodie's shoulder.
"Bodie..." He didn't get a chance to finish, the touch was the last straw. Bodie pivoted and slammed a fist into Ray's belly. The ex-cop doubled over, the breath torn from his lungs. He collapsed, gasping, to the floor. His bigger partner loomed over him, the hard bones of his face tightened into an angry snarl.
"Bo..." Doyle tried to speak, rolling over on his side to try to escape the dark-haired, raven-eyed thunderbolt aiming for him. He didn't make it. Bodie was in a mindless rage, years of pent up emotion welling up into a maelstrom of fury.
He hit out, kicked out, smashed into furniture. Doyle somehow managed to scramble out of the way, and Bodie turned on the inanimate objects around him, hardly noticing the absence of his original focus. Glass made a satisfying noise, and he gave a feral laugh as a chair took out the front window. Cold air rushed in, steaming moisture on the shattered fragments of the pane.
Bodie turned, looking for something else to smash, and was hit from behind by a wiry bulldozer. Doyle slammed him to the floor, seizing his wrists and fighting to hold him down. It was like riding a rodeo bronco, Bodie fought like a madman, kicking, scratching, using years of training, a lifetime's experience in hand-to-hand combat. But Doyle held on desperately, fiercely, obstinately, never letting go, taking each blow, and returning it as gently as he could, trying to stop the other man without hurting him, wincing when he couldn't.
Then abruptly it just stopped. Bodie slumped, went still, limp, unresisting, unresponsive. Doyle drew in a staggering breath, bruises erupting across the length of his body. He lay on top of his partner for a tense while, then slowly lifted himself up to a crouch.
"Bodie?" he whispered.
No response.
"Bodie!" Louder this time, but still no reply. Fear sparking in his eyes, Doyle fumbled for a pulse, and to his relief, it was there. The vein pulsed fervently in Bodie's throat, signifying life, but unanswered by the mind and soul it fed.
Doyle dragged Bodie up into his lap, tried to ease back the eyelids to check the shuttered blue eyes. But Bodie reacted this time, he shoved Doyle away and scrambled to his feet. His voice was more broken than the window when he spoke.
"Will you leave now?"
"No." Doyle's refusal was simple and adamant. Bodie's hunched shoulders froze, then shrugged in a forced movement. His voice was shaky in its apparent unconcern.
"Suit yourself," he turned and fled for the bedroom. The door slammed shut just as Doyle reached it, the lock clicked loudly into place.
"Damn you, Bodie...open the door!"
Silence answered.
Furious now himself, Doyle didn't bother arguing further, he stepped back then swiftly delivered a sharp kick to the door, carefully aimed. The door broke open with a satisfying crunch, and Doyle leapt through, instinctively falling into a fighter's crouch.
But Bodie wasn't paying him any attention. He was sprawled out on the bed, face buried into the white pillow, the muscles of his forearms bulging with the strength of his grip on the soft cushion.
Doyle relaxed and moved to sit down beside him. His hand hovered over the broad expanse of Bodie's back.
"Bodie..." he called out, his own emotions in a turmoil. Unable to figure out what had set his normally placid partner into a blind killing rage, he was in a state of near panic. Usually relying on Bodie to provide the steady center of his own life; the unfamiliar role-reversal was a peculiar sensation. But he *wanted* to help, wanted desperately to find the right words to say to comfort his distraught partner. A rush of tenderness overwhelmed him, stunning him with its intensity. If only he knew the right thing to say...
Bodie ignored him, his body motionless except for a small tremour. His fingers curled and uncurled, and then lay still. He didn't look up, didn't speak. Doyle hovered, anxious, waiting, struggling... then with characteristic directness, he lost his patience.
Plopping himself down heavily beside Bodie, he took hold of the larger man's shoulders and shook him.
"Damn it, Bodie! Talk to me!"
"Go away," Bodie replied, his words muffled in the pillow.
"Unh uh...forget it. I'm not going anywhere's until you talk to me. So you might as well get started, so's we don't 'ave to sit 'ere all night long."
Bodie was still and silent for another long moment, then a soft, breathless sigh of pure resigned irritation emanated up from the direction of his mouth. Slowly, he turned, wriggled upwards, then curled up against the headboard of the bed, drawing the pillow up between his chest and his knees.
"All right," he spit out between gritted teeth, his eyes still averted from Doyle's face. "I'm sorry. I apologize deeply and sincerely. Can you go now?"
Doyle shook his head, ran a weary hand through his tangled curls. Then he moved up to sit facing Bodie on the bed.
"Nope. Not going anywhere, I told you."
"You ought to," Bodie replied, resting his chin on the pillow, his eyes dropping towards his feet.
"Why?" Doyle encouraged softly, willing Bodie to just keep talking.
Bodie shrugged, and Doyle leaned in closer, hoping that proximity might stimulate some kind of reaction. He didn't get much.
"Why?" he asked again.
"Safer for you, innit it..." Bodie actually jerked his head up for a moment, a flash of surprise on his closed features at his own words, but the instant of emotion was shut away with rapid efficiency. Doyle seized on it, however, like a dog given a fresh, meaty bone.
"Why safer?"
Bodie somehow managed to close in tighter on himself, his voice growling out from his gut.
"Just forget it, OK? I apologize for knocking you around. I just needed to let off some steam. Let it go!"
"I can't," Doyle shook his head, then reached out to tap Bodie's knee. "Won't you please talk to me?" he pleaded.
Bodie gave a long-suffering sigh. "You never know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Doyle?"
Doyle grinned, happy at the almost sound of normality in that comment. "Nope, never could. So you'd better give in now, 'adn't you?"
Bodie shook his head, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of Doyle's stare on him. He shrugged again, struggled to find something his insatiably curious partner might accept.
"Look, I don't know, do I. Just felt...itchy...I don't know!" His voice broke again, and he clamped his mouth shut, but Doyle was on him again.
"It was something I said...What did I say? About my bloody family..." Bodie grimaced as Doyle's eyes turned inwards, and the determined ex-constable began to recall the conversation. "I said you're lucky..."
Doyle's eyes flew wide open, and focused intently on his partner's face. His words trailed off, and a look of pure sadness transfixed his battered features.
"Oh God, Bodie...I didn't...I'm sorry..."
"Forget it," Bodie insisted, just a tad too loudly. He stopped short, took a deep breath, then rubbed at his eyes. "Look, can't we just leave it alone get some sleep. I'm tired."
But Doyle was preoccupied, a rush of guilt and concern flooding over him. He shuffled over to sit beside Bodie and reached out to hug him close. Bodie stiffened and tried to pull away, but Doyle wouldn't let him go.
"I'm sorry," Doyle whispered in his ear, his breath hot on Bodie's neck. "I didn't mean it like that. My family just gets on my nerves sometimes, and I ... well, you know how I get sometimes. I can be a right prat, Bodie. But it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you..."
Bodie wriggled, trying to free himself from the protective embrace, but couldn't quite get loose. He really didn't try all that hard, the closeness to another human being was seductive, and the heat of Ray's body felt obscenely good next through his thin cotton robe. He sighed and sat still, submitting to the embrace.
"Look, Ray, I don't blame you. It's just the time of year. Gets to me a little, tha's all."
The blase tone in his voice didn't quite hold, the biting edge still apparent. Doyle's reaction was instantly protective. He was finding that he very much liked being the one offering support and comfort for a change, especially after years of leaning on his apparently solid partner. That brought a rush of guilt too, he knew there was pain in Bodie's past, but the ex-merc was so closed-mouthed about his life before CI5 that Doyle had let most of it slide by without pushing the issue.
He wanted to push it now. But he knew how stubborn his partner was; Bodie wouldn't play until he was ready. That powerful jaw was jutting, tight-set. Getting him to admit anything more would be worse than pulling teeth. Still, Ray badly wanted to give something back to his partner, to let the man know he wasn't alone. Above all, he wanted to ease the aching tension in that hard-muscled body, to bring a smile back to that shuttered face. Perhaps the digging out of emotional sores might have to wait; but there were other avenues to explore. His mind sparked with hidden delight, plans began to take fruit in the fertile soil of his imagination.
"OK," he replied, noting with some amusement the startled look his easy acquiescence created on his partner's surprising mobile features. 'For now,' he amended silently, promising himself they'd return to the subject later. He knew there was more to Bodie's outburst than simple holiday loneliness, and he was bound and determined to find out what. However, that could wait - he had other plans for the present.
Releasing Bodie, he got around to the edge of the bed and quickly divested himself of his jacket and shoes. Happy to be let go, Bodie didn't realize immediately what Doyle was doing, but when he did, he protested.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Putting you to bed!" Doyle replied happily.
"What?" Bodie replied somewhat inanely. Doyle turned a toothy grin on him.
"You said you were tired..."
"Yeh..."
"So come on, into bed with you." Doyle reached out to tug down the covers, forcing Bodie to lift up first his hips and then his legs to allow Doyle to finish. Doyle held up the covers, indicating that Bodie should lay down. He gave Doyle a suspicious look, then did so, pushing his legs under the sheets. Doyle brought the covers up to his neck, then took the pillow from Bodie's hands.
"Head up!" he commanded. Bodie pouted, but the emotional explosion had left him exhausted, and he was a bit curious as to what was going on beneath Doyle's too-placid exterior. Deepening the suspicious glare he was training on his partner's face, Bodie obediently lifted his dark-capped head, letting Doyle slide the pillow beneath him. Doyle then pushed Bodie down, settling him into bed and securing the blanket and sheets around him.
"Close your eyes," Doyle commanded. Bodie refused for a moment, still glaring at him, but Doyle was adamant. Pursing his lips, Bodie obeyed again, closing his eyes and settling back against the pillow. He wriggled, overly aware of Doyle's presence, and finally turned to present Doyle with the back of his head and shoulders.
Doyle sat silently, watching and waiting. Bodie pretended to sleep for a while, but slowly and surely, the tiredness crept up on him, and his breathing began to slow down and even out. He slipped gently into slumber, but still Doyle remained seated by his side. Once he was sure Bodie was fully asleep, he leaned down to gently brush his lips on Bodie's cheek.
"Happy Christmas, sunshine," he whispered, carefully stroking the short, silken hair. Then he got up, walked noiselessly around the bed, and carefully settled himself down on the other side. Curling up close to the other man's bulk, he shut his eyes. The next day was Christmas, and if Ray Doyle had anything to say about it, this would be a Christmas that William Andrew Philip Bodie would never forget. His head full of wondrous, inventive plans, Doyle happily followed his best mate into sleep.
The End