(Written for the_safehouse Livejournal community quotation challenge. Quote: "My work here is done." (Dan Brown, The DaVinci Code))


"My work here is done!" Twang - the arrow bounced off the wall above a suddenly lowered head and fell impotently to the floor. "Bugger!"

"I'd say that parted his curls, darling. Need any help?"

Cupid glared at his mother/lover and curled one delicate lip. "The day I need your help to get these two to fall in love, we'll know it's all over."

With a flick of her fingers, Venus disregarded his facetious comment and leaned over the edge of the cloud. "If you hadn't been so cavalier with your arrows in the first place, you wouldn't now be playing catch-up."

"It wasn't my fault the bloody idiot got in the way. I was aiming at the bird."

Venus, eyes gently glowing, inclined her head. "Is that type of language truly necessary? Honestly, my dear, you're starting to sound no better than the gutter trash below."

"Better that than some sort of stuffed up, stuffed shirt, holier than thou toff," Cupid muttered and tugged another arrow petulantly from his quiver. This time - this time he'd get the bastard, if it was the last thing he did.

The curly-headed figure staggered to its feet, bleeding from sundry small wounds - none of which were due to Cupid's arrows. Oh no, that wound graced the other man, the one currently lying like a discarded rag over the banister rail. Sprouting between his shoulder blades, its tip buried deep in his human heart, was Cupid's arrow. Loosed in haste and aimed with fault, it had missed its target by a mile and thrust them all into this ridiculous situation.

Nocking his latest offering, Cupid pulled back on the bowstring and then dropped his hands, letting it point to the ground. They'd moved, too close now to risk a shot. If it hit the original target, the human, thus injured, would not survive. He must choose his time more carefully.

Down below, in the realm of men....

"Bodie! Bodie, mate, are you all right?" Slowly turning his stunned partner over, Doyle heaved a sigh of relief when long-lashed eyelids fluttered open. Blue eyes fixed on him. So deeply blue they might be slices of a midnight sky. And for a moment, they filled with something Doyle thought he would never see, before the shutters came down and Bodie groaned.

"A bit of warning might be nice."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't get much myself." Doyle wiped the thin trickle of blood from Bodie's forehead, smearing some of his own there in the process. "Bastard needs a lesson in manners."

"You hold him, I'll hit him," Bodie answered, struggling to his feet in a macho display that ended with Doyle's shoulder being commandeered.

"Have to scrape him up first." Together, they limped towards the door, ignoring the splatter of gore spread across the walls and floor.

Three hours and over half a bottle of whisky later, three sheets to the wind but with reports completed, the pair hit the couch in a synchronised slump and dug into a take-away meal for two.

"Know what?" Bodie said a few minutes later, waving his fork around and dripping sweet and sour sauce over Doyle's upholstery. "That was a bloody set-up."

"Yuhuh," Doyle mumbled, more interested in chicken chow mein than conspiracy theories.

"Some git wanted us separated long enough to take us both out."

Shrugging, Doyle wove noodles with his fork and said, "Good strategy, innit. Wouldn't want to take us both on, not with that bomb ticking away behind him."

Bodie swallowed. "Not talking about the bomber. It was someone else."

Okay, that was going too far. Doyle put down his fork and fixed his partner with a sceptical eye. "That hit on the head harder than you let on?" he asked. "There wasn't another soul in there except Wittering. And he wasn't much of a risk, post big bang."

"Just `cause you can't see `em, doesn't mean they're not there."

True, but still. "You're just making excuses for wild goose chasing."

"No wild gooses... geeses." Bodie paused, frowned, and gave up. He knew what he'd felt, and heard, in that house, and maybe when he'd sobered up, he might find the words. Yeah, like he'd find the words to tell Doyle that he loved him. With a disgusted snort he said, "Fancy a beer?"

"Fridge."

Two cans joined the detritus of the meal on the coffee table and, as alcohol, food and excitement worked its magic, pretty soon the only sound was that of harmonious snoring.

The door opened and two figures, as un-alike as any ever seen, wrestled each other to enter. "Shhh," Venus hissed at her bewinged companion, who was busy bemoaning his well-trodden foot.

"Easy for you to say," Cupid answered. "You're not the one who just had the infinite weight of a goddess planted on his pinkie." He stopped in front of the couch and glared down at the entwined men. "Will you look at that? I still can't get a decent shot! Anyone would think these two were related to Castor and Pollox."

"Pffft, who needs arrows." Taking a pouch from her belt, Venus crept closer to the couch. "A drop of this and the deed will be done."

"A love potion? Mother, I didn't think you stooped to such things."

Venus awarded him a cool glare. "Short-sighted fool," she snapped. "You should know better than I, that there is no forcing love where it does not already reside. Your arrows do no more than pierce the vulnerable heart. This, on the other hand," she held up a vial filled with a fluid glowing the same gold as her eyes. "This will show them their hearts' desire. Remove the scales from their eyes and allow love to speak its name."

Conceding defeat, Cupid watched morosely as the sprinkled potion created a nimbus of light around the sleepers. It wasn't fair. Venus always got the best jobs. And these two were definitely a good job. They'd been dancing around each other for years until that Ann bird showed up and Cupid got his aim wrong. Or maybe not so wrong. If his arrow had pierced the young bloke's heart, perhaps it was simply Fate taking a hand and turning his arrow where it was meant to be. If so, Venus was their only hope, short of death. History was littered with lovers who had died of a broken heart.

The light faded, leaving nothing but an echo, and on its heels, the gods fled back to Olympus. On the couch, the partners, still deep in Morpheus' embrace, sighed and smiled - love surrounding them as well as any shroud.

-- THE END --

August 2005