New Year's Eve was much more Bodie's style. A holiday devoted to the simple pleasures - free spirits, plentiful food, good fellowship and the joy of having survived another year - it was a time to celebrate being alive. And there was no better way to do so than with his compatriots from CI5.
The Squad's parties were always a wild frolic. They worked hard and they played even harder. Living on the edge of death as they did, when it came time to let off steam, they let loose with unabashed fervor. Awash in a bright sea of champagne, succored by sweet chocolates and berried tarts, Bodie was in his element. Doyle was close by his side, Murphy was leading a rousing song, even Cowley was approaching a hint of good humor.
Bodie swigged the rest of his champagne, tugged at his partner's sleeve, then wandered off in chase of another bottle. He got stopped twice along the way, once to share a minty kiss with Susan, the second to mediate a bet between Anson and McCabe. Sending them satisfied upon their way, he rounded the corner to the tiny kitchen, and drunkenly began to rustle through the cupboards.
"'S not in there," Doyle warned, leaning lazily against the doorjamb, the sounds of merriment loud behind him.
"Wha's not in where?" Bodie asked, suddenly forgetting what it was he was looking for. He settled back against the table, surreptitiously trying to use it as support. The world swam pleasantly around him; he was suffused with simple contentment.
Doyle grinned widely at him, baring a mouth full of slightly crooked, pearly-white teeth. The expression made him look obscenely young, childlike with his halo of bronzed curls and the vivid too-large eyes. They were dilated now, deep hazy pools of green, focusing blearily in Bodie's general direction.
"The champagne, silly," Doyle responded, wavering a bit as he eased forward. "Tha's what you wanted, innit?"
Bodie blinked for a moment, then beamed with the memory. He HAD wanted another of the bubbly drinks.
"Of course it is, idiot, what else would I be looking for?" He attempted to look annoyed that Doyle would think he didn't know what he was doing, even if he had actually forgotten for a moment. It didn't make an impression, though, Doyle approached him with balanced, careful step of a man who realizes he's drunk.
"Well, it's not 'ere, is it?" Doyle said. "They put it outside, to keep it cold."
"Outside?" Bodie frowned. "Wha's wrong with the fridge?"
"Not enough space, not with all the food," Doyle informed him gravely. He'd gotten close enough to peer directly into Bodie's eyes, and he did so with serious intent.
Bodie glared back at him for a moment, then sighed and shoved at Doyle's chest.
"Move it. Gotta find the champagne."
"I told you, it's outside," Doyle said firmly.
"I know that," Bodie responded, taking hold of Doyle's arm and dragging him towards the back door. "So le's go get it."
"Ahh..." That did make sense to Doyle, and he moved along willingly enough, though not without pressing in closer to his partner's body. Bodie gave off heat through the thick wool of his sweater, and Doyle sopped it up. Swaying against Bodie, he buried his nose in the bigger man's chest.
"Doyle, what the 'ell you doing?" Bodie demanded, struggling to hold both of them upright even as the room began to sway around him worse than a ship at sea. Doyle clutched at him, somehow managing to snuggle even closer.
"Feel good, you do. Warm..." he murmured.
"Lemme go!" Bodie grunted with frustration, though the combination of too much champagne and a night's worth of good fellowship had mellowed him out considerably. Besides, he wasn't the only one who felt good - in fact, Doyle not only felt nice, he smelled wonderful as well. His hair tickled Bodie's chin, and the taller man leaned down to bury his nose in those thick wayward curls, sniffling up the warm, soapy scent of them. It brought back memories, the two of them curled up on a drowsy Christmas Day...
Oh no, oh no, oh no... An instinctive flare of panic chased the alcoholic haze from Bodie's mind, dropping him into a emotional pit of icy water. He stiffened, shoved at Doyle's shoulders, ignored the sorrowful look he received as he turned away towards the door. Squaring his shoulders, he reached for the doorknob and wrestled it open.
Behind him, a not-so-steady Ray Doyle was gazing after him, a mixture of frustration, anguish, and concern filling his wide green eyes. His mouth drooped, his shoulders clenched, but he forced the emotion aside. Joining Bodie at the door, he pushed past his partner and reached for the snow-dusted cardboard box that held the remaining bottles of champagne. Unfortunately, the white layer of snow hid the slick of ice below, and his feet slid out from under him with abrupt loss of control.
Ray gasped with surprise, his feet sliding across the slippery surface, then rising up in the air as he fell. He hit bottom hard, too close to the edge of the building to miss striking the brick wall. His skull impacted with a loud crack, and he slumped to the ground, instantly unconscious.
It had all happened so quickly, Bodie didn't even realize it was happening until Doyle was sprawled out on the ground before him. He yelled, "RAY," and was on his knees a heartbeat later...a heartbeat too late.
Hands trembling more with shock than with cold, Bodie felt for a pulse, his breath of relief at the gentle throb beneath his fingers misting in the air before him. He gathered Doyle up into his laps, cradling the wounded head against his thigh.
"Ray?" he demanded, more softly this time, then his voice rose again, "RAY!"
The limp body in his arms didn't move, and panic struck. Under better circumstances, perhaps, Bodie would have reacted with more reason and less emotion, but he was fuzzy with the alcohol, and twisted by the frightening mix of emotions that had troubled him since the recent, explosive Christmas Eve. All he could think of was the possibility that once again he could lose the one thing in his life worth living for.
Finding it difficult to get to his feet and carry Doyle at the same time, Bodie settled for crawling backwards on his hands and knees, dragging Doyle with him. It took a seemingly endless struggle, but he finally got them both inside the door. Kicking it shut behind him, he reached out to gather Doyle up into his arms. Quickly ascertaining that the pulse was still beating, Bodie looked anxiously around him. Loud music filtered through from the other room, and Bodie's shout for help was drowned in a rousing, ragged chorus of a prurient drinking song.
Doyle moaned and shifted in Bodie's grip, fighting his way back to awareness of his surroundings.
"Ray?" Bodie asked again, and was rewarded with another groan. Cradling the curly-haired head against his belly, he touched every inch of his partner he could reach.
"Ray, can you 'ear me, mate? Answer me, sunshine!"
"Oooh, don' shout," Doyle muttered, one hand fluttering up to probe at his skull - an action he regretted the instant his fingers made contact. Bodie seized the offending appendage instantly.
"Don't mess around with it. You've probably got a concussion! What the 'ell were you playing at out there...you could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice broke on the last word, dragging Doyle's attention away from the hammer pounding on his brain. He tried to look up at Bodie without moving his head, but even the slightest motion was enough to stir another moan from his lips.
"And don't move!" Bodie told him crossly, his voice rising with irritation. Doyle simply couldn't help it, as bloody painful as it was, he started to smile, the smile became a toothy grin, and then the laughter began to bubble out of him, frothier than the champagne they'd been searching for.
The sound only irritated Bodie further. He frowned deeply, his mouth pursing into a thrusting pout. Doyle laughed all the harder, until it simply hurt too much, and he stuttered towards silence.
"You've gone hysterical," Bodie complained, trying to ease Doyle down towards the floor. Doyle clutched at him, wincing at the motion, but insistent on keeping Bodie close.
"No, 's just funny. All the times we've been shot at or beaten up, or almost blown up in the past few months, and what 'appens? I nearly kill myself on a bleeding patch of ice!"
"'S not funny!" Bodie shouted, his entire body tensing. He turned his head away, refusing to meet Doyle's gaze. But his partner reached up and pulled him down again, boring into Bodie's back and shoulder with emerald drills until the weight of his regard forced the trembling man to turn around.
"Bodie, I'm OK. Really. I'm fine," Doyle reassured him.
"But you could've..." Bodie couldn't finish the sentence.
"Yes, I could've," Doyle repeated with blunt honesty. Bodie tried again to pull away, but again found himself trapped by insistent hands. "Look, I told you before, anyone can go at any time. Tha's just the way it is. So you have to take what you've got, when you've got it. Only way to live, mate. If you don't you're not really living and you might as well just go ahead and die."
Bodie shook his head, a pounding certainty in the center of his chest that this accident was somehow his own fault. Doyle read it easily, and thumped him hard in the belly.
"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, you 'ear me? Try it and I'll kick your ass from 'ere to Scotland."
"Ray!" Bodie's voice was torn, uncertain, his face closed tightly in on itself, though confusion bled from his dark blue eyes.
Doyle tugged on him, indicating he needed help sitting up, and Bodie gave it willingly, drawing him up into a sitting position, wrapping powerful arms around his shoulders to support him. Ray leaned into that proffered strength for a moment, then drew the pale face down closer to him so that they could taste each other's breath.
"Is it really that hard to say, Bodie? What if I had died a few minutes ago? Wouldn't you have felt better if you'd said something to me beforehand? Or would you rather bury me without ever saying how you feel?" That was a rough demand to make, but Doyle had been storing it up for over a week, struggling not to push, testing the limits of his patience. He KNEW from a thousand little signs and signals that his feelings for his partner were returned in equal measure, and the inability to speak it aloud had been driving him nuts. Afraid of driving Bodie into running away, he'd held back, but this accident had been the last straw. Even if Bodie wouldn't say it, he damn well would.
"Well, I can't live with that," Doyle continued, ruthlessly ignoring the anguish twisting Bodie's mobile mouth. "I can't go on not knowing if I'll ever get the chance to say how I feel before you die. Could 'appen any time; you could fall down like I did, or get hit by a car, or 'ave a bloody 'eartattack, or anything. I dunno, and it doesn't matter. I love you, you irritating, arrogant, impossible bastard, and I'm going to tell you so whether you want to 'ear it or not!"
With that finally off his chest, Doyle closed his aching eyes and snuggled deeper into the comforting warmth of Bodie's lap. The room was abruptly silent, except for the strains of music and laughter echoing in from the party, and the steady sounds of their breath. So the whisper, when it came, buried into the auburn curls at the crown of his head, seemed both too loud and far too faint at once.
"Love you too..."
And at that very same instant, as though in brilliant confirmation, a multitude of bells chimed, a vigorous round of cheers erupted from the neighboring room, the popping crack of fireworks sounded from the streets.
Doyle struggled to turn his head, to meet Bodie's eyes, to verify his senses against the power of his own need. Bodie refused to look up, simply tightened his embrace and dug his nose deeper into the curve of Doyle's neck. Ray sighed, but snuggled closer. A rough whisper was hardly the stuff that dreams were made of, but this one was, if nothing else, a beginning.
The End