Altruism
by Marrie
To Eva, as always
1. Everything Illuminated
I didn't know what I was doing, not at first anyway. And by then I was already bound so completely to him that I still have no idea how to break free. It just happened. Or, more precisely, Ray Doyle just happened. Allowing him into my life was not a conscious effort or a logical step to build the partnership I had accepted as part of CI5.
Most of my past I had followed a simple credo: look after number one first. And it worked just fine for me and the universe, thank you very much. Ah, don't get me wrong, I'm not a loner. Even years ago as a mercenary I benefitted from teamwork, because in all honesty there's only so much you can do on your own to guarantee your survival. Playing well in a team certainly has its strategic advantages, like a multitude of favours you can reclaim tit for tat. I'm good at collecting them, too. That's basic human nature, I guess.
It's just that...things aren't tit for tat between Ray and me. There's no account balancing favours. More like him tugging me in one direction and me following blindly, almost from day one. Like an overgrown puppy with his master. But Ray's good at leading, I give you that. A natural in fact. Granted I've to keep him from knowing or the golli would trample all over my interests. Well, more than he already does.
I remember the early days in fragments, the harsh details of the cases glossed over with shared pleasure, shared pain. But in retrospect even the worst days are illuminated by easy laughter. People usually don't connect with me, in the end they all walk off into the night. The day I met Ray that changed.
Copper, I thought at first glance. Doing good, sticking to the rules--what a bore. That little miscalculation lasted mere minutes. Ray's larger than life, his stroppy personality and nasty temper had us at odds even before we started training. But gradually we adjusted to each other, probably because we always had trust in each other's abilities. We matched as partners and that carried on outside of work. I'd have followed him to the end of the world, even then. I didn't notice, of course, I was too busy thinking about the potential favours I'd gain from Cowley for creating the best partnership in CI5.
Sometimes life's like that: You act all normal and feel happy and suddenly the secure wire you've been holding on to all the time snaps and you land pretty hard on your arse. For me that rather painful moment finally came when I realised I had wasted a whole holiday getting caught up in a crime solved years ago. And when I had to admit that I hadn't minded Jill Hayden's scheme, but the effect it had on my partner.
The problem was that the mess she'd left Ray in didn't affect our partnership. No, workwise we were still top of the class. The only visible strain was Ray being unhappy for getting used. Considering how moody he is on ordinary days that was hardly any concern for me. Except that I did care. And not in any indirectly selfish way either. I cared because I don't want Ray Doyle to be hurt. Ever.
I'd have really prefered not realising that while unpacking my holdall. One moment I was staring at my shirts and the next I started shaking. Suddenly I couldn't imagine a life without him. At least Ray was not close by, he was still sorting out Hayden while I threw clothes around in a fit. Perhaps kicking the furniture until security broke down my front door was actually a tad too much. When I finally assured control that yes, everything was fine, I had just decided to redecorate my flat, the fight instincts had fled. And left me collapsed on my bed.
Oh well, tomorrow morning I'll face the Cow's wrath for acting like the dumb crud Ray always claims I am. My pay certainly will get docked until I've paid for the cost of my little tantrum. But the habits of a lifetime of destruction are not easily dismissed when you have an epiphany of epic proportions about your place in the world. And what a relevation to have for a 30-year-old self-declared cynic: I actually care about someone besides myself. In addition to the rather uncomfortable feeling that this time the joke really was on me, I felt like a berk. Seriously, how long had I fooled myself into believing I was still free to leave anytime I wanted? How could I have missed that this partnership was not another phase of life I went through unscarred?
From day one everything about us screamed "permanent". The instant dislike and competition between me and Ray had needed real involvement on both sides, to be cushioned with casual banter. And as volatile as the fledgeling partnership had been, it had felt too good to be discarded. I had wanted it to work even back then, for whatever obscure reason I could come up with. Like proving "we" could become the Cow's finest. What a joke. Although we succeeded of course. Nowadays the partnership is stable and nothing short of a bullet can threaten it. I wonder if Ray knows. Probably never has doubted that we are permanently partnered anyway.
And now it's 4 a.m. and sleep still eludes me. Pounding the cushion, tossing and turning underneath the sheets doesn't help. You can't unlearn knowledge once you've got it. Cowley once called knowledge Pandora's curse for opening the box. In my box I found a commitment I never expected to make. One day I found Ray by my side and the more I tried to pull away, the closer he got. I changed. And I'm still reeling with the knowledge how much I changed. It's strange but until today I never thought about Ray and me apart. Not even in the distant future. He's a constant, never quite fading from my peripheral vision. And after I've caught up with the facts of life, I might survive admitting the addendum to my credo. Surprisingly it's rather easy to include the well-being of a certain curly haired golli into my long term plans. Feels natural, too. Like fate has been illuminated.
2. The Other Side
Post-Rogue
I can't keep from laughing as I walk from the kitchen to the living room and realise that I've been talking to myself the whole time. Bodie has fallen asleep on the couch. He was still idly flipping from BBC 1 to BBC 2, when I left him to prepare some dinner. I should have known that the knife wound would knock him out as soon as he got comfortable. Lingering in the doorway I take my time to study him. All the coiled energy that usually inhabits his body has left. Bodie's pretty solid, but all those defined lines are smoothed in utter relaxation now. Eyes closed in deep slumber he has sunk sidewards into the rough upholstery. Cheek pressed into a corner of the couch he looks deceptively calm, like a small kid. Even the blaring telly doesn't disturb him.
With military precision he has laid out the table--doing his best to please me even if he'd rather succumb to sleep, that's so typically Bodie. The plates and forks are lined up in a perfect row, very neat.
I walk silently over to the table and sit down on the floor hoping against hope that I won't wake him.
"Ray?" His head jerks up sluggishly. God, I sometimes wonder about the positions he can fall asleep in. He's struggling to sit up.
"Take a kip, mate. Dinner's ready in twenty." Blue eyes blink twice and he's unfolding on the couch. Should get him a blanket. He's asleep before I have a chance tug it around him.
Switching off the telly, I give my plate a slight shove to upset the table's order. Can't explain why perfection always makes me itch. I need to mess with it until the neatness gives way to something more natural, more raw. The clatter doesn't disturb Bodie, he's attuned to most of my actions. Maybe even foresees most of them nowadays.
It's something I hadn't planned, for I expected to scratch forever on the surface of Bodie's impenetrable cool. I was quite sure that despite my best efforts, I couldn't suceed. It was a game I never intended to win because I'm not into full commitments either. Cowley and I had a long talk before he assigned me to Bodie, about looking past the obvious, about understanding and all the other crap that makes up a pair of Bisto Kids. But until I really had Bodie as my partner, I didn't know what Cowley tried to tell me. In short, partnerships are about commitment. And Bodie doesn't do commitment. Competing or sharing the benefits of teamwork, that's o.k.. But any kind of longterm dependency isn't his scene. I was so sure that this would never change that I played the odds for all I am worth. So I pushed him. I wore my heart on my sleeve, trying my best to force him to adjust--and to my utter amazement he did just that. That's one of the things about Bodie that shocks me still: his adaptability is limitless. He simply gave in and started to care. When I tried to change him in order to forge the partnership I needed for my daily survival and, even if this sounds presumptious, for my future career, I started a chain reaction. The last part of that chain was revealed today. Bodie isn't even a killer anymore. A killer would have foreseen Jack's move and shot that millisecond sooner. But a Bodie who cares?
Emotions are dangerous. They get in the way--and it's my fault that Bodie can't channel his like he used to. Caring opens up a way to other feelings. There's a bottomless depth awaiting anyone who gets emotionally involved on the job. It gets all mixed up and confusing, especially because we have practically no downtime--we are on a permanent adrenaline high, waiting, thinking. The lines between Bodie and me are all blurred, we don't have separate lives anymore. It's all tangled: work, pain, pleasure, home. But it was my choice. I'll adjust to it, one way or another.
"Wakey, wakey! Dinner's waiting, mate."
3. Instant Pleasure
During Hunter/Hunted
Your lover is beautiful. Mounds and mounds of alabaster skin stretched out before you. Yours to mark. Yours to claim.
In a show of unashamed submission muscles shudder on velvety sheets. You watch them ripple all down the back, curling in anticipation of pleasure. A deliciously curved thigh rising, turning around and a pair of eyes meet your stare head on. They beckon you. Dare you.
Stripping out of your clothes, you switch off the light. As much as you appreciate the beauty on display, you need the darkness. When you finally touch, you moan in pure desire. Darkness helps you concentrate. Lips barely touching your lover's throat, you lick, taste. It's salty, tainted with the sweetness of perfume. You ignore the sweetness for the moment and chase the heady tang of salt.
If you close your eyes now, you can see him more clearly than any light would allow. The taste of sweat intensifies the sensory memory of a more muscular body. He tastes so good. Just as you knew he would.
Smooth skin begs for caresses and you trace it with your fingertips, the curves remodelling your memories. But not quite. It's so easy to follow slender wrists and get lost in silken touches. Your effort isn't in vain--almost detached you listen to the gasps, the broken breaths indicating that yeah, you're doing it right. Hips arch off the mattress and grind into your hand. Blinding lights go off in your head when your tongue is encased in warm flesh. But it's all wrong, the sweetness too flat, and you stop sucking. On the rounded curve of the tummy you finally encounter new, salty sweat and it calms you. It runs slowly, oh so slowly and you lap it right up, hoping for more. Hoping for the difference.
You've dreamt about this closeness to him for the past months. You have no idea when the need started. It's in the way he smiles crookedly at you sharing with a glance so much more than you ever hoped for. But it's not enough. It's never enough. You need so much to touch him. You crave all that sensuality, all that cool aloofness that has intrigued you from day one with such a strong pull that you're slipping on the job. At least now you're honest enough to admit what you've known all along. You need him. You need to absorb his warmth, his smell, his taste.
On most days casual touches are sufficient. A ruffle of your curls, a pat or a restraining hand on your shoulder. But on days like today, when he gently pushes you away and you look back and see him flirt outrageously with a cabaret star, you almost can't turn your back on him.
You can't make up your mind about him. It all comes down to the fact that he's your mate. Your companion for all and every adventure. You have finally adjusted to all the murky feelings. But to say anything about them would let everything crash down and you're not ready to face life without him in it.
So, night after night, you drown all the impulses you don't dare to speak of in foreign touches. Firmly you bury yourself in your lover, relishing the smooth slide of skin on skin. And as the pleasure rises, your last coherent thought borders on pain. It's not his name you can shout when you come in her, for you were only pretending.
4. Not Exactly By the Rules
Post-Hunter/Hunted
"How did you get Kathy to talk?" A pair of green eyes blink amusedly up at me, while I fuss over the wood splinter in Ray's hand. "And watch it! That hurts!"
Minor injuries don't sit well with the other half of this partnership. I have seen Ray Doyle ignore wounds for any length of time during the heat of an op, but when it's just the two of us waiting on a debrief session, even small pains get to him. And as much as both of us hate hospitals we've easily come to an agreement: Bruises, minor cuts and assorted similar friends, like for instance nasty splinters, we manage between the two of us. Violent as Ray tends to be, I've spent hours dressing his wounds, waiting on Cowley. And finding new uses for our handy Swiss army knife. It's true I end up with a fair share of injuries as well. But at least I don't complain constantly.
"Let's just say I convinced her. --Hah!" With a triumphant shout I twist the splinter and pull. Ignoring Ray's scowl and loud commentary on my total lack of medical abilities I smirk and show the bloodied culprit to him.
Really, the opportunity is too good to miss. "Aw, ducky! What a beauty, he looks just like you! Bit torn on the edges and thin like a stick.... Wait, it is a stick! Wonder what...."
"Can the comedian act and answer the question." Taking the splinter out of my hands Ray disposes it neatly into the bin and pockets his knife. One of these days I'm going to remind him who actually bought that knife.... Nah. It's too much fun watching him with it. And it would spoil the line of my trousers anyway.
Rising up from the floor I sit down on the chair on the other side of the table. "The Cow was present all the time."
"Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking for more information?" As usual Ray is merely entertained by my evasive strategies. There are days I wish he'd accept certain boundaries. Not everything is meant to be shared in a partnership.
"I'm hurt, sunshine. Don't you trust me? Or Cowley?"
A snort indicates Ray's opinion on the last part of my little speech. "I trust you, mate. I trust you with my life. I just don't trust the exceptionally good mood you're in."
"Then don't ask." I slit my eyes and play bored. I'm not sure I can put the truth into pretty words. Words pretty enough that both of us can accept that I'd kill for Ray. There's no question in my mind about that fact. Unfortunately Ray isn't that accepting when it comes to choices he has no control over.
"Bodie!"
"Oh well. I used my charm and...." Before I can finish he demands hotly: "And what? Did you threaten her?"
"At first. She wasn't ready to compromise."
"You dumb crud, that can cost us the partnership!" Picking up a pen from between us, he starts stabbing the desk. Luckily, it's not me he's putting holes into. Yet.
Even to my ears my next words are barely apologetic. "There's nothing visible on her. No bruises, just a bit of pressure on the right spots." But hell, I'm not going to offer an excuse for saving his arse.
The stabbing gets a little less threatening. "And the Cow?"
"Seconded my decision."
"That doesn't make it right." And we're back to stabbing. The rate he's going we'll have to pay for the desk. I can spot three marks on the surface from here. At least the replacement won't be that expensive. Not as expensive as a new partner.
But honesty hasn't hurt anybody in this partnership yet. So I catch his hand mid-stab across the table and say calmly: "Look it's not going to be in the official report, so shut your gob. It was your life, Ray."
He's getting that look again. Pensive, remorseful, but ultimately accepting.
I swear Ray could be counted among the angels if it weren't for his acceptance of everything that makes me one of the fallen few. I remember my catechism lessons well. Devils are angels with dirty faces. Soldiers, the lot of them, fallen for acts not deemed to be done in the name of love. Which doesn't mean that they weren't fighting and killing their bethren for love. Fighting and killing is all I know anyway.
"Bodie, I'm not ungrateful." Like a skittish kitten Ray reaches out to toy with the pen again, monitoring my next reaction out of the corner of his eyes. So I say something light, something inane enough to let that last remark slip through. We are not ready for anything else.
"I knew that, given time, akaido would be an useful asset to my perfect looks." He looks up, pushing the pen in my direction. I catch it easily and close my hand around it. I'm willing to give him any confirmation he needs.
With a snap he demands his pen back, and if there's a lingering brush of fingers, neither of us would comment on it. "To rely on blunt force to chat with a girl, that's disgusting."
"3.7, 4.5!" A too well-known call resounds in the break room. Ray's already half through the door when I pick up the pen and slide it in my pocket. Might need it to stab Marty when he learns he won't get his gun back.
5-I. The Final Act
Post-First Night
I can feel her muscles tensing as she sobers up. At the moment she's still only half-realising that she is in bed with two men. Two men, who after fucking her, turned to each other. If she can dream of the sweet and tender passion lavished upon her, if she can ignore the reality a little bit longer then she's lucky. It's more than I can say for myself. I know I'm not asleep. I know exactly who's spooned behind me. There's only one man I trust enough to allow him to drape himself over my back when he's too shagged out to come to his senses.
It all started with Doyle and me ending up in the 'Lion' after the Biebermann Op. After getting confirmed that we had been ditched simultanously, we decided to go on a pub crawl. Not the best of ideas, considering the state of affairs lately. Things have been strained for awhile. I can't trust myself around Doyle anymore, I'm switching from indulgent to overprotective in the blink of an eye. And Doyle? I can only guess what goes on under all those curls. He's wanted me for a long time. For certain as long as our official partnership lasts. But even with both of us occasionally indulging in other men, we never turned to each other. Something was missing all that time.
What made the difference tonight? Maybe it was me. Maybe it was just that for once I made the first step. For once I ignored the woman between us and touched Ray. Not accidentally in the heat of a half forgotten night and not in any way that would allow for mocking come morning.
A few precious seconds was all it took to grab Doyle off the bed and press him against the wall. I relied on the fact that my body would block any escape route and then I kissed him. Kissed Ray Doyle the way he was meant to be kissed. Fiercely, sweetly, and giving up any pretense of technique. It felt good to realise that caring could be so much more given a chance.
Only that feeling didn't turn out to be mutual.
I knew something was amiss the minute we broke apart. Ray's pupils were slightly dilated, and, instead of meeting my eyes, he looked right through me. Shaking I reached for him again and he pulled me close, tumbled me down next to that girl onto the bed. And suddenly I drowned in touches, in careless and harsh movements that left bruises in their wake. I became a spectator watching myself yield. It was disconcerting, to say the least. But Ray had become untouchable in any way that mattered, so I didn't even try, just let him have what he wanted.
Oh. She's leaving. Sneaking out of my bed, just like Doyle will, as soon as he thinks I'm asleep. Or not. Right now he's clinging almost forcefully to me, pulling me closer when I dare the slightest movement. I reckon he's afraid. Afraid of the implications this night will have on our partnership. He likes the status quo and doesn't care much for change. But life's never coming to a standstill. You can't unchange things.
But that's what he's fighting against. Change. Life. Fate.
A lost cause anyway, because you can't fuck with fate. Fate's what fucks you. I guess he'll come up with quite a few reasons why fucking is a very bad idea in any connection with us. Hell, even I can come up with reasons why this is the worst thing that could happen to our partnership. But there's some part of me that has already accepted that we have been gradually changing towards a point. There's no way back now.
Whatever happens when I give Ray the chance to dissect this night, at least I have the time in between to savour a taste of what I never thought I'd get. Belonging. I feel like I belong with Ray. But that's mostly the partnership, not the sex. I don't care that Doyle will be gone come morning. I've been alone since he couldn't meet my eyes after the first kiss anyway. But chances are, given time, I can belong to someone else. And maybe that someone will belong to me, too.
5-II. Safe Escape
Post-First Night
Bodie has finally fallen asleep now that Dana has left. I've got to pull myself together, too, and leave before dawn settles fully. There is already enough light to see his silhouette before me. The sheet only partially reveals his body, but his skin still glows in the darkness, starkly contrasting with the dark room. So beautiful.
If I stay, Bodie will want an answer I'm not ready to give. An answer I'm not ready to give any man. Not even Bodie.
I have feared for some time that it would only take one good opportunity and I'd succumb to the temptation to bed him. Nobody in their right mind would refuse a tumble with Bodie. Apart from being one of the few men I'd call beautiful, he's a skilled lover.
And when the Biebermann Op ended with one happy Cowley, it also left Bodie and myself unhappy and bereft of girlfriends. Seducing him along with some faceless girl we picked up in a pub was in no way a hardship, though. He's passionate and while the girl was soon satisfied, neither of us were. With all the adrenaline coursing through us, we needed quite a bit more to quiet down enough to rest.
But I was just fooling around, and Bodie..., Bodie was not. I could see it in his eyes when he kissed me the first time. I could feel it every time we touched. And yet I couldn't stop myself. I'd always wanted what was on offer tonight, and altered conditions, like making love instead of fucking, seemed a minor change. I easily got him back on the right track, too. I kissed him to shut him up, to deflect any word he was going to say. Didn't work though. No matter how I touched and caressed his body, his eyes always sought mine and silently conveyed a promise. In turn I countered with frantic need and near panic. I wasn't gentle. No, gentleness didn't enter into the picture. It was all about control, and the fact that I didn't have to do anything to make Bodie yield. His heartbeat, steady as it usually is, faltered when he realised I would be gone in the morning. And he still didn't stop me.
If I concentrate I can hear the first bird singing. It's time to go.
But only in a little while.
As long as I can hold him, I'll protect him. From myself most of all. And from realising in between waking and dreaming what I did. Bodie's in love. With me. And I used that. What does that make of Ray Doyle?
I knew I was playing with fire all along, but fool that I am I thought I could control his emotions. Teach him all about trust and its emotional rewards without ever getting lost in the murky depths caring leads to. It took awhile, but with my humble assistance Bodie unlearnt all the harsh lessons Africa had taught him in the course of two years. I could write a book on the Care and Feeding of Traumatised Mercenaries. Make a fortune, that would.
Anyway, I coaxed and pushed him, until he accepted me as a permanent fixture in his life. And my reason for making him care was of course totally altruistic.
Our careers would profit from a strong partnership.
And tonight had been nothing but a small miscalculation on my part.
Yeah, right.
But not even a prolonged mea culpa can change the fact that Bodie cares too much. Too damn much. Maybe even too much to accept that I won't change too. The terms for last night weren't discussed, but I know the partnership will survive the morning light. Weakened, because Bodie will hurt, but it will still be there, because he didn't stop me.
Carefully, I untangle myself from him. Pressing a last kiss to his neck I take the sheets and cover him properly. He shouldn't have to wake up freezing on top of being alone. The bed creaks and I can feel myself tense up, waiting intently for Bodie's senses to pick up the disturbance. But he slumbers on, and I guiltily search for my clothes on the floor. I can't resist taking Bodie's poloneck instead of my shirt. And that has nothing to do with trophies or any such sentimental nonsense. It's cold outside.
It shouldn't hurt to do the right thing. We both need the distance. We can't afford the cost of a full commitment. I never meant for all of this to become so complicated. This was nothing but comfort in a time of need.
Turning my head, I allow myself a last look at what I leave behind.
Bodie. God, Bodie. Blue eyes stare at me resignedly when I sigh. So he's been awake as well. It shouldn't hurt so much not to love somebody. And then, not saying anything on my way out of his apartement, I walk on home.
6. Just an Ordinary Day
Post-First Night
The sun is just lurking behind London's morning skyline. Another picture perfect summer day, or so the weather forecast promised. And just after 5 am the day really seems sweet, even paints grey stone and old glass with fairy gold.
I like early mornings. I like greeting a brand new day in all its red and golden glory. The last few days have been an exception.
It's been almost a week since Bodie and I shared a bit more than his bed and the first morning after we set a pattern I've come to hate.
Unlike me, Bodie is a late riser. He likes the comfort of sleeping in and being as late as possible for work. I have no idea how many times I had to collect him on my way to work because he conveniently forgot to take his RT to bed with him.
Only lately Bodie hasn't slept much. I caught him nodding off leaned against a wall on stakeout yesterday, but I guess he didn't sleep at all the night I left. Not that I did, but me losing sleep because I'm lingering on thoughts isn't an uncommon occurence. It seems that Bodie has taken up my game and made a sport out of it.
He must have waited until I got out of his apartement and then driven to the shooting range. And while Bodie broke most score records of the CI5 target practices that night, I finished and filed reports we hadn't completed in the past two months. Cowley didn't comment on my presence in the office when he arrived, but sent me to pick up my partner, who to quote the Cow, "terrorized Macklin". I didn't think that possible, but Macklin met me at the entrance and the poor guy was bewildered indeed.
Well, I have to admit that Bodie's dangerous and calculating smile while he fired in rapid sucession was eery. Outside of work I have never seen him shoot that focused. I worried he had shot like this without pause for hours. If Macklin was correct, Bodie had put on the light at 2.30 am at the shooting range and not stopped except to load the Sig or change the distances. Cowley sent me over at 6 am. Three hours the stupid berk had stood in the same position: Feet planted slightly apart, his arms extended with straight elbows, the gun aligned with his target. Shot, then reloaded, not even checking the score.
The moment I walked onto the range, Bodie simply stopped shooting, unloaded and holstered the Sig. I've seen these motions countless times and in automatic response I had picked up his jacket and given it to him before I could utter a word. Still wordless both of us turned simultanously to the door and passed a gaping Macklin. We didn't banter and we didn't shout at each other on our drive back. There was just no room for accusations. And both of us have been lost in this vacuum of words ever since. We work together and we walk to the pub together as is expected, but neither of us speaks up. From the outside we, as in the working unit 3.7/4.5, stand united. Our work hasn't suffered yet, but I miss Bodie. And the way I used to be with him. In short--I miss us.
Shooting is something Bodie and I both like when everything else becomes too much. It's repetitive and if done correctly clears your mind. We used to share that time on the range. In order to shoot, you have to completely shut off the tension and stress of the moment. If you're too worked up you simply can't hit a target. But in a stressful situation the subconscious mind copies the repetitive scheme of stance, grip, target alignment, and deep breathing, and so allows for a safe shot. Since that first night Bodie's shooting hasn't been the same. He has spent his free mornings and, if I haven't misunderstood Ruth, most of the nights on the range. I guess he is trying to recreate the serenity of a perfect shot that never existed. Whatever happened that night didn't have anything to do with serenity or perfection.
If the score records are to be believed Bodie hasn't even hit 8 out of 10 lately. Not everybody is a great marksman, but Bodie used to be good, and he lost quite a lot of his skill. And I can't stand any more of this morning routine--I need an ordinary day with my partner. I've picked him up on the shooting range each morning, not commenting on this absurd drama. I've accepted his sulking for not getting his way, but hell, enough is enough. I want my partner back. With a quick look on the clock in the locker room I confirm that it's still over an hour until Bodie will expect me to stroll down the range.
From the entrance I can see that Bodie is the only one there. Part of his profile is obscured by shadows, but I can tell the killer is just below the surface today. All his sleek grace, all his casual elegance is wiped off his face by a cold scowl. It's time to break through that facade. And I have the advantage that Bodie still needs me somehow. I've tried to give him space to cope with the necessary distance between us, but in retrospect I can see that it was a mistake not to explain why I couldn't stay. I hadn't planned that night, hadn't foreseen what to say to make things right. I don't want Bodie's forgiveness. That I left didn't have anything to do with me caring less than him. I had to leave in order to keep any semblance of balance between us. In our partnership there's no room for the kind of commitment Bodie wants. Still solving the problem with an apology would never work--it would be way too simple. Or too imperfect. I can't make up my mind which.
Silently I walk up to Bodie and reach for his shoulder. The Sig is in my face before I can touch him. I'm strangely relieved by this reaction. At least he hasn't lost his instincts, even if his shooting needs work. I raise my hands and lower his ear protection.
"Careful mate. Never point a gun at someone you're not willing to kill."
With a slight smile Bodie turns back to align gun and target again. Due to the sudden movement, he needs to take a few calming breaths. In and out. In and out. Just keep breathing mate. I count his breaths until I'm sure his heartbeat is back to normal. But when Bodie shoots again, he misses the black by almost an inch. I tap him again and he lowers the ear protection.
"You're getting worse."
"Nah. Just need more practice."
I walk back to the safe zone, cover my ears and wait for him to finish his clip. Watching as he misses three more times, I come to a decision. Time for a lesson in trust for both of us.
When Bodie reloads the gun, I step behind him, snaking both arms around his waist. I can feel him tense up, but he doesn't force me away. Good. Bodie relaxes into a classical shooting position before me and, pressing myself to his back, I completely copy his stance. With my right hand I grip the Sig, covering his hand and with my left I stabilize his wrists. I try to remain passive, only offering support while Bodie concentrates on the target. I can't see well over his shoulders, but after some delicate adjustments, he seems ready to go. Enhancing the stability of our stance, I move my index finger together with his along the frame onto the trigger. I can feel us breathing in complete union and then, in one smooth rolling motion, we touch the trigger. And again. With both of us stabilizing the gun, the recoil is minimal and we don't even need a new alignment after the first shot. In quick succession we shoot, fully emptying the clip.
For awhile we keep on dry firing and I have no problem leaning against Bodie's back close as we are. Pressing my head in between his shoulderblades I take deep, gulping breaths. "I'm sorry." I'm not sure he can hear my muffled sentence, but I know he feels my hands slipping from his grip on the pistol. In my arms he turns, pressing the warm gun between our chests and wearing that lopsided grin I missed so much. Both of us lean forward, foreheads almost touching and--it's done. I have my partner back. Just like that.
"10 out of 10." He mouths. I smile back.
I was wrong, you know. There is serenity in a perfect shot. A serenity nobody can share. Except for us.
7-I. Crime by Crime
During The Rack
The bell had rung only once, but I get out of the bed in a flash, hoping against hope that this isn't another crisis headed my way. It's been one of these days that make you wonder why you got out of bed in the first place. It must have been the promise of a paycheck, because neither love nor vengance could justify getting caught up in the disaster that hit all of us, even Cowley, with the Coogan brothers. And lucky me, it does seem as if the surprises aren't over yet. On my way to the door I hastily put on a sweater and risk a glance at my watch. Great, it's not even morning.
Surprise indeed. When I open up the door, Ray brushes past me carrying a suit. Resignedly I close the door behind him. Whatever brought him into my flat has to be serious. Ray has avoided being in here as much as possible. Not that I can blame him. Seeing him here reminds me strongly of how easy it would be to slam him into a wall and hold the nightmares at bay for one more night. The way his green eyes slant I know I could count on the wildness within him to follow the most basic invitation. Not even Ray Doyle's ambition would save him from me tonight. I can have him, I can. But with us it's not so much about the possibility of having. Having Doyle in my arms is not enough. I can have that and still not have him at all. I'm no saint, but I respect my partner's wishes. And I don't want to live crime by crime. It's not worth losing my best mate to mourn something I've not yet had.
He walks into the living room, draping the suit casually over the sofa. "Took you long enough to answer that door."
"I didn't take the time to roll out the red carpet, so quit complaining." I stare into his eyes and can still see the contempt I saw there this afternoon. Not so much directed at me, but at himself. Hunger for forgiveness, self-hatred and a bit of the good old guilt he feels each time for giving in to violence. I'll never understand his need to blame himself instead of fighting for his rights.
"Ah well, I knew something was missing." While I slump against the frame of the kitchen door, Ray has started pacing. Step, step, step--cupboard. Fingers scraping along the wooden surface. Quick turn. Step, step, step--sofa. Stop. Long look down at the suit. Step, step, step and he's standing right before me. That show of excessive energy is making me dizzy just watching it. Jesus, I'm so tired.
"Something happened, mate? You accidentally killed your neighbours, or something?"
"No." Whoops, wrong thing to say. But not much more reaction than a sharp intake of breath from him. And he's coming closer still. "Look Bodie. I can't tie these things."
What? I have the suspicion I lost track of our conversation. There's no other explanation for him standing in front of me, arms crossed and green eyes silently begging. "Ray, it's in the middle of the night--so what the fuck are you doing in my flat?"
"Cowley said to wear a conservative suit, that means I have to wear a tie." Maybe if he draws a diagram with lots of notes and arrows, I'll have a chance to figure this out.
"I still don't understand." Backing into the kitchen, I get a glass of water. The floor is cold beneath my feet and I wonder if I should get socks. It's useless to push Ray when he doesn't want to talk. I swallow the cold water, trying to wake myself up.
"Want some?" He takes a glass from the sink, cleans it and pours water into it. I haven't switched on the light in the kitchen. Ray leans beside me on the counter, his hip not quite touching mine. It's quiet. The only sound is a soft buzzing from the fridge that mingles with our breathing.
"I stay with you to save myself a trip tomorrow morning." Ray breaks the silence.
I grin at him. "I'm sure somewhere in your head that makes sense."
"The tie. You know I can't get the knot right." Ah. Ray's eyes close when he hears my soft chuckle.
I give his thigh a pat and move off the counter. "I'll have to, huh? Can't let you scare that Mathers woman looking like an uncivilised killer."
"Thanks." He follows me back into the living-room, watching as I switch off the light there as well. "So what are you doing right now?"
The last of the light is gone and I need a few seconds to find his silhouette. "Sleeping."
"Oh."
"Ray?" I quietly ask.
"Yeh." Softly he walks up to me. I'm not sure what he'd do if I pull him closer. So I make up my mind and cross my arms in front of me.
"Come to bed with me."
"But...."
"To sleep. You need all the beauty rest you can get. S'o.k, you know, I'm not going to touch you."
He's still standing there like Little Doyle Lost. Impatiently I take his hand and drag him to the bedroom, motioning for him to strip. He's docily kicking his shoes off and out of his jeans before I can lend a hand to help. Shirt follows the same way and looking at the heap on the floor Ray quietly mumbles: "What if I want you too?"
He doesn't need to specify. It's written all over him. But fucking doesn't work for us, and I can't allow for any distractions. Not now. Slipping under the sheets I throw him one of my patently bored looks I usually reserve for Cowley. "Forget it. It's a good night's sleep for you, my son."
It's amusing to see that Ray can still blush. Even with only the moonlight lighting the bedroom I can see the stain on his cheeks. If I wasn't so tired, I might have been charmed into playing by his rules for another night.
He crawls in after me, settling his head on my pillow. Face to face, I can see the lines of stress the death of Paul Coogan has left on him. And for the first time I notice that he's shivering. Small tremors shake his whole body, and I reach out, gently tracing his broken cheekbone with a single fingertip. Closing my eyes I can feel the difference in the bone structure that sets Ray's face apart from so many others. There's no perfect curve beneath his eye. My finger collects wetness as it glides over his skin. I can't tell if Ray's crying for himself, or for us. Maybe a little of both.
I've killed too many people to feel more than sympathy for his remorse. If our positions were reversed, things would be easier. Cowley for instance wouldn't be as worried. Me killing Paul Coogan could never have cost CI5. Explaining the accident away without endangering the concept of the organisation by having hired me, would have worked a treat. But with Ray? I certainly understand why the Cow worries.
I continue tracing his profile, stroking with light touches. It's calming to follow the bow of his lips, the soft skin around his mouth already raspy with stubble. The shaking has subsided slowly, and I can feel his face slacken with sleep. Moving closer still, I put my head in the crook of Doyle's neck and wait for the night to claim me too.
7-II. Anything at All
Post-The Rack
Cowley sent me home after a few pints and a scotch. He even paid for my cab. Making sure that CI5's budget was spared a new car, I guess. The moment I get out I see Ray's Capri parking in front of my flat in the lights of the cab. Ever so briefly I am tempted to get back into the cab, but cowardice never saved anybody. Maybe he's come to accept that he didn't kill the younger Coogan. Right. And maybe Cowley will give us a rise first thing tomorrow morning.
With a sigh I take out my keys and sprint up the stairs to my flat. No point in delaying the inevitable any longer. And I'm not that good at lying to myself that I can obscure my desire to offer what little comfort he takes from me. Turning the key I listen to the safety locks clicking into position. Good, that means Ray's alone in here.
Huh, it's pitch black. I switch on the light and take off my jacket before I walk to the living room.
"Bodie?"
"You expecting someone else?"
I flop down next to him on the sofa. The light from behind gives him an unearthly halo. And he looks pale. My own version of a fallen angel. A slayer of evil. And yeah, I'm definitely drunk. His eyes are still closed and while I wait for him to start talking, I pick up the can of Lager from the table and take a swallow. It's stale. And lukewarm.
"I can't sleep." He half turns to me, inching closer.
"So, now I'm a remedy for insomnia?" I'm on my feet and across the room before he can cut through my defense.
Ray blinks and licks his lips. "Let's not fight."
He's casual about standing up and for a second our gazes lock. I'm not sure if I like the predatory gleam in his eyes. However, I'm not in the mood to give in this time.
With a little shake of my head I give him the answer he deserves: "Let's fight, Doyle."
I switch off the light behind me and the last thing I see is the look of frustration on Ray's face. Sweet. And then I pounce.
We circle each other in the dark, both too skilled to give an obvious opening. I know Ray's got more speed, but in hand to hand combat he can't beat me. For Ray fighting is all about style and strategy. In contrast I'm free of any confinement except my own survival in battle.
He's trying to move over to the light switch, trying to change the rules again because one does different things in the dark. Things one would not consider in harsh light.
I do what comes naturally and taunt Ray to distract him from his target. "Scared yet, petal?"
"You've got an unfair advantage, Bodie. You're armed. Can't match bullets with my bare hands, can I?"
"If that's your only objection...." I take off the holster and throw it with the gun in the general direction of the sofa. The soft clack is the last sound I hear before the darkness swallows everything but the faintest indication of breathing.
I lunge forward the second Ray twitches in my direction and we collide midair. With a satisfyingly painful groan Ray hits the carpet, my weight surely knocking the air out of his lungs. But he's not that easily bested. He twists and changes our positions, crashing us into the table. I relish to hear Ray's laboured breathing when I start forcing his arm behind his back. And am painfully reminded that Ray Doyle is certainly not going down without getting in a few kicks of his own. The last punch to my stomach is so vicious that I have to let go--the little devil seizes his chance immediately and puts his hands around my throat. He's choking me with the right amount of pressure to keep up the pretense of a real fight and I go limp. I can't suppress a snort of amused tolerance when he eases off immediately. Typical that he'd fall for that trick. Sitting up, I yank him down onto my lap. Groins pressed together there's no doubt that he's as aroused as I am. The only question that remains is what I'm going to do with that knowledge.
"Ray, I don't need your reasons why this is wrong. I have enough problems with my own."
His hands slide down my back and with a rolling motion his hips relax against me. He's straddling me, wriggling down to get into a more comfortable position. The resulting friction makes me arch up helplessly and with a moan my hands tangle in his curls and bring him down closer. Closer. I don't want to hurt him, but I need him so much. I can't resist his plea to forget his own problems, drown them in touches until he won't be able to think anymore. Until there's only scorching heat, blinding light that makes thought impossible.
When I kiss him, it's tentatively tender. Just the barest brush of lips against lips. But it's enough. Bittersweet, and so much better than our first kiss because Ray doesn't shy away from my gentle exploration, merely smiles against my lips. I feel him whisper something into the kiss, and, moving closer still, he playfully nips my lip. And then I grab for his clothes, baring his torso while Ray's tongue is caressing my jawline. His skin is warm and the silky hair on his chest begs to be touched. I try to slow down, rolling us over until he's beneath me, legs locked around my waist, but it's futile. There's no fighting the steady rise of desire, not with Ray out of control. He's stroking and caressing, making throaty gasps delicious to hear. I lean up again, stealing his breath and claiming all those sounds for my own. When I trail a bruising line of kisses down to his collarbone I hear him chuckle.
"What?"
"I'm drawing the line of my duties as your partner at undressing you."
"Oh, yes?" I flip us over again, kissing his temple. "You're just not able to do two things at once, sunshine."
That declaration earns me a forceful kiss and pain mingles with pleasure so intoxicatingly that I almost miss my skillful undressing. Layer by layer my clothes come off and each new part is sweetly caressed. Until Ray comes to a complete standstill, sitting up on my legs. I grin, recognising his problem. Reaching for the buckle of my trousers, I ask sweetly: "Shall I lend you a hand?"
Ray, fighting with his own trousers, pauses for a second and pecks my nose: "I'd be most delighted if you did that."
Both of us are done quickly, and, reaching for each other again, I get another taste of Ray. He tastes so good on my tongue, and rubbing against me I can feel him pulse with heavy arousal. Filled with adrenaline from the fight we're close to that point when skin contact becomes too much. I bend down and grasp his length, pressing myself into the cradle of his hip and it's all powerful thrusts and clicking teeth and blood on my tongue. I stop biting on his tongue as Ray starts thrashing, sinking my teeth into his shoulder instead when release shudders through my body.
I hear Ray screaming my name when he tenses too, then I feel his seed spill over me. Mindless I feel him relax, ready to fall asleep right now. Even though I'm shaky with exhaustion I ease him off me. He limply rolls down on the carpet, and, before I stand up, I take the time to smooth the curls from his face.
When he doesn't stir, I give his side a soft kick and pull him up from the floor.
"C'me on. Bed's this way. After all, sleeping is what you came here for."
8. Teatime
Post-Man Without a Past
"Evening."
Ray!
"You already cleared, sunshine?"
Missed me, mate? I certainly missed you. And gosh, you've lost weight. Didn't you eat anything during the last week? You really need a keeper, Bodie. Time and again I'm surprised that you can hurt as much as I do. You just hide it better. It's like a punch every time I realise that I've fallen for your macho act. I wish you'd believe that your secret is safe with me. I'm not going to use that against you.
"Yeah, but only for desk duty. You'd like some tea?"
Don't look at me like that, Ray. There's no need to fix me, I'm not broken. I'm not you. I don't lose sleep over yesterdays. At least not this time. Maybe I'm getting used to being rejected, who knows. And I'm not feeling guilty or anything. Not your fault that Claire can't cope with me either. I'm not relationship material. Just leave it, mate.
"Yeh."
Bodie, why do you always end things the hard way?It's not as if you'd have kept Claire around if the bombing hadn't happened. You aren't known for stability when it comes to relationships anyway. And mate, she knew that. She's too smart to get caught in your strange commitments. Smarter than me by far.
"Milk in it?"
Ray, I don't like you any better because we slept together once. And for sure that night doesn't give you any right to judge my affairs. You don't do altruistic very convincing anyway. You couldn't stand Claire from the start. And it shows still. I never thought the day would come when you deemed a woman unworthy of my attention. The other way around, sure, but me too good for someone? You probably just couldn't stand to come second in my priorities.
"Hm. You done with the report?"
Very smooth, Bodie. But we're not changing the subject. You've acted like a love struck fool with Claire. And I'm not talking about your crusade to find that bomber. You would have bought her flowers at Luigi's. Romantic antics with an almost stranger? What the hell were you thinking?
"Almost. I'll finish it tomorrow morning with you."
Is it so difficult to believe I'd much rather not be alone? You made it clear that you're not willing to deepen our partnership. And Claire is so beautiful. From the first day I set my eyes upon her, I knew I couldn't completely cut the strings you've caught me with--but with her I was willing to try to wait for the day I wouldn't miss your presence the moment we part. It wasn't fair to her. Doomed to fail from the start.
"Fine by me, I'm still suspended from active duty."
You're not fine. Don't lie to me, you'd not even convince Cowley with that carefree expression. Even the shallow super soldier you like to impersonate so much would be allowed to smart from the way Claire flinched from your contact.
"I know."
Stop pushing, Ray. You made the rules. I'll follow them to the last letter. Realising I'm no joyful lover was hard, but I'll adjust. Claire won't come home to the knight avenging her. So what?
"Cowley."
I almost wish I could make Claire love you. But for you she's just an excuse to get hurt, isn't she? This was never really about Claire, was it? It was you showing me that we haven't stopped fighting. Not about the rules of partnership we're going to follow in the future.
"Bloody Cowley."
Don't try to manipulate me, Ray. I didn't like the misery you put me through just because you had to escape your own life, if only for a little while. And I'm not trying that again, Claire showed me that much.
"Same old."
Don't shut me out, Bodie. Please. We need some time together.
"Are you coming to the pub? Couple of the lads are on the way to the 'Lion."
Forget it, I won't try again. Especially not for you.
"Nah. Too tired."
Are you tired of us, too?
"Well then."
Ah, don't look so lost. It's not as if I'm gone. I'm just sleeping with the ghost of a soulmate I never had. And I need a little time, Ray. Time to get used to living without that fantasy. You had me almost convinced that your way would work. Now I'm almost over it. Some things are better left unsaid.
"Take care Ray."
Bodie?
9. Misery Likes Company
Post-In the Public Interest
I feel trepidation sneaking up on me, as I slow down on the street that leads to my flat. It's almost dark outside and if I want us to get any sleep later I'll have to wake Bodie now. Granted that is, if he'll accept my suggestion. If not, the burning need to have Bodie will consume another night and then another. Amusingly I can sate that hunger for touch with any bird I pull. What truly gets to me is my need to hear him breathing next to me. I'm even happy for overnight observations or odd undercover assignments. As long as I can listen to him breathing at night I can fall asleep. But insomnia is my friend. Sleep is overrated anyway and I'm sure it will ease given time.
I park the car in an empty parking lot while Bodie still sleeps on. Head blissfully pressed to the sidewindow, he's even snoring a bit. I'm almost tempted to get the camera and take a few good shots of him drooling on his leather jacket. Macho. But he'll already have a headache when he wakes up, and I don't want to aggravate him any more than strictly necessary. It'll need a lot of goodwill on his part to get us through the upcoming discussion without punches. Fumbling with the keys, I switch on the light inside the car.
"Bodie?" I shake his shoulder gently.
He's grunting, and I ignore the few rude mumblings that accompany his waking. Headache's his own fault for sleeping leaned against the window. I'm not to blame for that.
Having enough of his grumblings I poke him right into his unprotected stomach. "Wake up!" Hmm. Solid muscle. Seems Bodie has listened to Cowley's recent threats.
"What? We home?" his head turns to the window and he blinks owlishly at the apartment block.
"Nah. This is my flat."
"Huh?"
I confirm his suspicious question. "Well, I've been thinking."
"Yeah?" With a yawn he slumps back into the seat.
"I'd like to make you an offer."
"About what?"
I choose my next phrase very carefully. "That thing between you and me." I pause and wait for the inevitable reply.
"You really have a way with words, Ray...."
Before he can say anything more I add: "No don't interrupt me. You're my best mate and I like sleeping with you."
Oh. Bodie's straightening. Seems as if he's interested. "Just sleeping?"
"Oh, shut up you dumb crud. No strings, but we could have an affair." There I've said it.
Bodie's eyes are unreadable in the suffuse evening light. They look black. But there's a slight frown. "An affair?" he states incredulously. Yeah, I'm sure you didn't see that one coming.
"Think about it, Bodie. It would be a logical solution. We can't keep having a row of one-night stands with each other. I like you too much for that. And a relationship? Trust me, you might like the abstract idea of us permanently together, but it would never work. Neither of us could be faithful, not with our job, and neither of us would want to give up birds. And the blackmail potential would only be gone if we put it in the files. Do you want me on your record? Do you want me to tarnish your precious reputation? Do you want Cowley to break the partnership? Maybe even fire us? Because that is what would happen!" I'm rushing my argument, but the first signs of Bodie losing his temper are already visible.
"What the...Cowley wouldn't!"
"You sure? But that isn't the point. If we try a true commitment, we're going to end up separated. If not for any of these reason then because I'm not in love with you, mate. I care are about you, we are close, but that's not the kind of love I'd look for in a life long companion." That came out harsher than planned. But there's no denying the truth. Not in my head.
"Ta, ever so much. Am I allowed to say anything to this? Like fuck you?" He's almost out of the car before I can grab his leather jacket and haul him back on his seat. I'll have bruises from that stunt, I can already feel them forming along my hip.
Bodie is still half out of the car, but he hasn't broken my grip yet. "Please, Bodie. Just listen."
"And what's in it for me?"
"Me. You'll have me. As long as it lasts you'll have me."
"For what, Ray? For what? Casual use? A convenient fuck when nothing better comes along?" he shouts, trying to stand up again.
But I don't let him go. I can't. I'd lose him for good. "Bodie, there's nothing casual or convenient about us!"
"Great. Either it's casual or it's not! You can't have it both ways!" We're fighting for his release. And this time I can't hold him.
"Oh forget it." I'm so furious that I let him go apruptly. He crashes into the frame headfirst. I wince in sympathy at his pained gasp. He's sitting down again, hands pressed to his temple and muttering curses in a language I don't quite understand.
"Sorry."
Bodie leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. In the distance a siren is wailing, but in the car there's not a sound. Finally he reaches over and tilts up my chin.
"No."
He's studying my face, probably trying to read every flicker of emotion displayed. And I let him. But only for a time, then I shrug of his hands. "No what?"
"No, I'm not forgetting your offer. It's at least honest. And better than our current arrangement." His voice has turned low, barely above a seductive whisper.
"What you don't like the fight and fuck routine? You're in the wrong job." The joke is weak, but Bodie smiles anyway. Sadly. I wish I could save him from getting hurt, but I'm too selfish. I need him. On my terms though.
"Of course I bloody like it. Fell for you, didn't I?" No. Don't say things like that, mate. I'm not strong enough to break your heart. You'll have to do that on your own. I'm not letting you turn martyr on me. I know you've been raised catholic, and if you want me, you have to admit you know the stakes.
I take a steadying breath and ask. "We agreed on the terms then?"
He pauses ever so slightly. "Yeah."
"So." It's his choice. He's still free to go. That's what no strings implies. You don't have any obligations, except those you already had before. So no hurt feelings when it will eventually end.
He smiles like a lunatic, baring his teeth. There's nothing tame or relaxed about Bodie now, he's fully predator. I can hardly breathe watching the change in him. In all the time I've known Bodie I never managed to break his cool. I'm not sure I can handle the dangerous creature I've just unleashed.
"Yeah, I'll come up with you." He answers my silent question coldly. There's a scream caught in my mind, raging against the rules we just agreed on. No! It's wrong, it's all wrong. I thought this solution would help, but I've made everything worse. He's out of the car and opening my car door in a few seconds while I'm still staring numbly at the steering wheel.
"Snap out of it, Ray."
It's only the harsh electronic light irritating me when I have to blink to get tears out of my eyes. I take the hand he offers and get out of the car.
10. Enough for Now
During Not a Very Civil Civil Servant
We don't have many moments like this one in our lives. Something resembling sated lassitude has settled on us. It feels good, like a lazy day in summer. Best days of my childhood were spent lying in knee high grass, away from all the noise and hustle of home, watching the clouds go by. Ray's presence in my bed is just as warm and undemanding. He's curled up next to me on his stomach, his deep breathing indicating that he's on the verge of sleep. There's some residual moisture on his back, pearling just above his arse. I dip my fingers in it and when the taste melts on my tongue I get what I've been searching for. The sweet tang of sex and blood. Hmm. That taste is one of the fixtures of my life. Blood and sex. Sex and blood. The order doesn't matter, one surely follows the other. They are intrinsically interwined in my book. But I like it that way. Come to think of it, I crave it. I crave it because it means nowadays that Ray will follow me home eventually.
I don't get off on violence, but to a certain degree Ray does. Not that I'd say that to his face. Ray is all about control. It's fundamental to his character. Most days he keeps himself firmly in check, not allowing his volatile temper to get in the way. But from time to time that control slips. Like today, when he fought alongside me in that seedy pub. It oozed off him in waves, the want to continue the fight, to draw it out. I enjoyed his reaction as much as the fight. The way he was out of breath and posing against that bar counter, was almost too much given the untimely remark of Halloran. But instead of ravishing Ray and allowing Halloran to see just how bent we really are, we went for chips. And much later, Ray followed me home. We weren't all that excitable tonite. At least for me the day had stretched endlessly, starting too early and lasting too long. So nothing but a mutual wank and then a kip.
I wonder if Ray knew that a large part of our bargain would become his sleeping with me. Just sleeping while I guard his dreams.
I pet him to sleep, luxurating in the feel of sleek muscles contrasting with the sharp edges of bones. No softness on that lean frame of his. But there's that smile, half visible on his face, that speaks of gentleness. He knows I don't sleep much when he's with me, but I guess that's fair because he doesn't seem to sleep when we are apart.
But Ray's asleep now. I wish I could follow him into his dreams. Maybe in his dreams I'd have a chance to have him. Permanently. Exclusively. In reality I've got nothing but borrowed time with him. Because even if I go to sleep with him in my dreams, he isn't there when I wake up. I am firmly following the old route of using women like there's no tomorrow though. Trying to forget the deal I have with my partner, I choke off the memory of his body with foreign touches. But no amount of cuddling and sweet perfume can erase nights like this. It only leads me to waking up in strange beds, drunk and hurting. I didn't even know the name of my last conquest. And yet, when I wrap myself around Ray the pain is still there. It's pathetic.
If this is really love, shouldn't I feel better having Ray in my arms? At least with every other lover the pain came in the aftermath, not while I still had them. If this is truly love, why am I suffering insomnia? Shouldn't I feel better knowing that Ray's keeping a promise he never made me?
Because that really is the punchline of this greek tragedy. Ray is being faithful, while I sleep my way through the secretary pool. Ray is faithful to me, but he's not in love. On the other hand I'm using other bodies with the same casual disregard the protocol of our affair demands for us. But I can't use Ray.
He's doing his best to be oblivious about my continued emotional need. Very impressive that. I'm about as subtle as the cookiemonster in my attempts to force him to need me. I've used any weapon imaginable from sexual blackmail to seduction. And honorable sod that he is, Ray refuses to lie to me. Sometimes, I wish he would. Just for one night, so that I can sleep and dream beside him. But it's just sex. Only more so, if you take our friendship into consideration.
And still, I long for more. I don't have that much time left to search. I'm going to die in the field, no doubt about that. And certainly sooner rather than later the way Cowley assigns the covert ops. I have no death wish, but I'm not naive either. I need more than a casual affair to face death calmly. But it's enough to get me through tomorrow. And the day after that.
11. Flip a Coin
During A Stirring of Dust
I hate surveillance. Ian Fleming has no idea just how boring a spy's ordinary fight with the KGB is. It's the battle of who's awake when the target arrives, that's all. No sneaking through the night, no entertaining talks with the enemy, just plain stupid waiting. And Bodie is going to fall asleep if I don't get his mind working a bit. My fault that he's so tired anyway. I know he won't sleep if I'm in his bed, but I really couldn't resist him yesterday night. The spy business amuses him and he's been more playful than in ages. Last time I've seen him fool around that much was when Preston tried to kill me. He's been almost subdued since Claire, not at all like the overgrown silly berk that is so much part of him.
But yesterday he chased Charlie through HQ pretending to try and reform him to a better life. Charlie had no idea Bodie had picked him as his communist counterpart in some sort of roleplay. I could have enlightened Charlie, but his stony silence to Bodie's dramatic antics was too enjoyable. And when Cowley sent us home early, not able to stand that "racket" anymore, we got chinese takeaway on the way and watched the wednesday match on the telly. It felt good, drifting in the mood of the evening. Sex was just the icing on that night, almost too easy. Addictive. Even knowing that Bodie would need sleep badly to be alert on our meet with the Soviets I couldn't make myself leave. Couldn't pass up the chance of an undisturbed night of holding and being held.
Still no movement outside.
Maybe Bodie will stop yawning long enough to wake up fully if I get him going on the spy thing again.
"I wonder just how good they were."
"Who?" Ah, a tiny bit of interest there.
"The old brigade. The spies that came in from the cold. Brigadier Stadden's mob." I elaborate.
"It's all dark corners, back alleys, grey dust." Is that disgust in his voice? Already bored with the spy game? That's fast, even for him. I change the subject slightly.
"Cowley reckons they were good. He was just starting, then."
Bodie grins and declares: ""Never send a boy on a man's errand. They'll pinch his bike." George Cowley, Words of Wisdom, Chapter One. You know, Cowley came in just after Darby went missing, which means Darby pinched his bike."
Bloody Cowley. "Yeah, well, I wish Cowley had stayed right where he was. He knows this general surveillance gets right up my nose." And I can't stand being kept in the dark about the true dimension of an op.
"Ah, relax." He snuggles into the seat, getting disgustingly comfortable. If I don't keep on talking he'll be asleep in seconds.
"What, lift my mind onto a higher transcendental plane?" It takes all my better instincts not to poke him in his unprotected side when he closes his eyes briefly.
"Yeah. Like who won the two-thirty at Haydock."
Time to bring out the big weapons. "I just had a very nasty thought."
"You forgot to phone your bookie?"
"Somebody ought to go and check that place." Sometimes I have to congratulate myself on my own brilliance. Bodie will have to be awake to get into that house. It'll give him the right kick of adrenaline to get through the rest of the day.
The look of exasperation on his face is pitiful. "What, the Pierce place?"
"Mmm."
"She's not in. Miller said-" I interrupt him impatiently.
"I know she's not in. That doesn't mean to say there's not somebody waiting for her inside." I really should have gone home last night. He's usually not that slow on the uptake to see the merits of a plan. Ah Bodie, the things you do for me.
"Look, Cowley said nothing about turning the place over." And now he's playing dumb. Lazy sod.
"Callinari and O'Leary are pros, mate. They're not just gonna walk up and down in broad daylight, are they? Somebody's got to go and check."
I take out a coin from my pocket and flip it.
"Call."
"Heads." Predictable answer. And he still looks tired. If O'Leary is in there Bodie might get hurt in that state. I'm not going to risk that. I take a quick look at the coin. Heads. Good thing, I lie fairly well.
"Tails. Ah, well, I bet Flirty Gert wasn't even placed."
"Eh?" He's really out of it. I'd let him take a kip, but it's out of question with this op. We need to keep our eyes peeled or this will end in a mess. Graveyard's already full with Forrester.
"Two-thirty, Haydock Park." I remind him.
I take the R/T out of the glove compartement and hand it to him, putting the right amount of displeased admonishment in my voice to irk him.
"Two bleeps if anyone shows, okay? For God's sake, try and stay awake, will you?"
With a pat to his leg, I'm out of the car and across the street.
"Doyle!" he calls me back.
"Yeh?"
"Flirty Gert?" I wondered why he didn't pick that up. Just shows that Bodie's not up to this. Some days I'm sure I'll get him killed eventually. Just by taking more than I need because he doesn't seem to mind. It's a price I'm not willing to pay.
I smile at him. "Yeah. Twenty-five to one. I got a tip." I turn and walk up to the Pierce house. And I am not surprised to feel his eyes on me all the way.
12. Intimacy, Passion, Commitment
Pre-Blind Run
1.
"You o.k.?" Ray's sitting across from me, all limbs stretched out like a stranded octopus. And I bet he has about as much strength left in them.
I saunter over and flop down next to him on the training grounds, doing my best to make it look easy. "I'm not done picking my missing pieces off the floor, Doyle."
The gym is deserted, hopefully all those able to run took off after the torture session had started. Well, they should have if they know what's good for them. I'm not in the mood to scare off spectators. I'm not in the shape to, either.
"If you find some of mine, let me know." He's tired. I scoot closer, coming into contact with his sweat soaked t-shirt.
"Like your brains?"
"That's unfair. How should I know that unsupervised training meant that Macklin would regulary check up on us?" Ray's leaning heavily against my shoulder, increasing our contact. It's comfortable.
"Maybe Cowley agreeing to your suggestion should have warned you?"
"Yeah. It should have." He's inhaling deeply and suddenly starts laughing. "Ugh. We stink."
I crawl to my feet and grin down at Ray. Even his auburn curls are streaked with sweat and hanging downward. He looks quite the mess. But that's o.k. with me. I'm not up to perfection after the afternoon's tests.
"Still can't believe that Macklin decided that checking up on us in his free time equals fun."
"Sadist. Only explanation that makes sense." I haul his sorry arse up the floor, wincing when I feel the pull in all my muscles.
Ray smirks at my wince, patting my shoulder. "Shower's this way, darlin'."
I flutter my eylashes at him. "Not tonight. I have a headache."
For a second he stares stupefied at me. "Now, I have really heard everything!"
By the time we reach the shower, we're almost hysterical with laughter. And it's good.
2.
I wake from the clicking that signals the cuffs are secured around my wrists. For a moment I struggle blindly against them, against the weight pressing me down into the matress, not knowing where I am or why I am bound to the bedposts. But when I open my eyes, I can see Ray looming above me. I try to avert my face, embarrassed. He's not having any of this, taking my face into his hands and forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Morning, handsome."
I can't reply. There's nothing I can say that would make this easier for me to bear. He caresses my face and smiles at me, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the setting.
"Trust me."
I manage a nod and then it's quicksilver pouring all over me. While I'm bound beneath him, Ray unleashes his every desire. His mouth is travelling over my body on a journey that takes me from reality to a place where I am reduced to a shivering mess, moaning and rattling at the cuffs. His tongue trails over my throat, slowly progressing towards my lips. He's soothing the bitemarks he left there just a few minutes ago, but it doesn't help. Not really, not when he's turned my skin raw with sheer pleasure. I'm trying to capture him with my legs, holding him still, but he's too fast wriggling free and when he kisses me, I know I'm lost. Skin on fire, I buck up, wanting at least what little friction I can achieve, but Ray doesn't allow me to cheat. In an instant he's rolled off me and grabs the lube from the night desk. So that's it. New game, old routine.
But then I realise he's not using the lube on me. Ray's stretching himself, right beside me and I can't reach for him, can't touch him, I can only wait for him to finish. Gasping with each of his sighs, hips arching of the mattress in time with his fingers, I burn for him. And then he's straddling me, his thighs sliding cool over my fevered skin. He rises up above me and whispers: "Trust me."
And then it's tightness and heat. And god, so good. I squeeze my eyes shut, not able to watch Ray sink fully onto me. It's too much. But the image of his tense body, head thrown back in wild abandon, curls flying, is already burnt in my memory.
It's beautiful.
I manage a few thrusts into him before Ray clamps down on me and I feel him come. I push upwards a last time, slipping deeper and deeper still. Then as deeply connected to Ray as I can be, I can feel myself fall over the brink into ecstasy.
3.
It flashes through me while I do the dishes and Ray dries the pots. The vague feeling that this, this is the way to live.
Together.
24/7.
I want us to work together, I want us to go to his flat together. I want Ray cooking and me doing the dishes afterwards. I want us to fight over the progamme on the telly or beat him playing cards. I want Ray to shout at me for getting us behind in the schedule, every morning. I want to fall asleep knowing that this will be our bed for at least 1 more day. I want him to edge me on during training, forcing me to go that last mile that'll make me fit. I want to teach him not to pull his punches, least of all with me. I want us squabbling when it's time to do the laundry. I want us going on the shooting range, comparing scores. I want us to be apart only to come together again. I want us to tear into each other. I want us to make up. I want us to be together.
I want him. I want him to want me, too.
It's not what he wants though.
When Ray asks if I found the dishwater somehow enlightening, I laugh. There's a tight knot in my chest. And I want to tell him. But instead I pull the plug.
12. Ready or Not
During Blind Run
"...You are emotionally involved."
And just like that I leave Bodie behind me. He's taken the dismissal quite calmly. Well, he had no choice but to let me go. Couldn't cause a scene in public, could he? Tried to anyway with that feeble argument on how he saved the day. He knew the stakes from the beginning though, no strings, no ties, no emotional involvement.
I firmly walk to Leila, not looking back. It's time to remember the rules. We agreed on a casual affair and that's what we get. All this proximity in the last two weeks hasn't changed that. I just lost perspective.
The proximity is what gets to me. Life and death situation aside, I've had sex with Bodie for months now. Exclusively. I suppose it's normal to feel a twinge of regret letting him go. Prolonged exposure to dangerous substances does that to you. And Bodie certainly qualifies as a lethal adicction. When we are together everything intensifies to the point of painful clarity. It's too much.
I wish there was something I could have said to Bodie, to make him understand. I can't hold on any longer or I'm going to lose the little distance that is still between us. There's so much more I want in life. It's not fair to let him wait on the sideline for any time off I need. Doesn't mean that I care for him any less. But ready or not, we've got to stop fucking up the partnership while we still can. I thought an affair would work out for us. But instead of giving both of us enough to help us starve off our problems, it's all wrong. While Bodie establishes himself as CI5's pendant of Don Juan, I grow more and more used to need him. But needing someone is one step too much into the murky depths of caring. It implies a commitment in the making. And I don't want that.
From the ambulance I throw a glance back at Bodie. He's waving and mouthing something. It takes awhile until I understand reading from his lips.
"It's O.K." Is what he says. But I know it's not. And that's why we'll end this affair today.
13. Rewind and Erase
Post-Fall Girl
To me there's not much of a difference between a lover leaving or dying. At first you feel anger that crams up all your organs, cuts your insides and consumes you with rage. And then you reach out for anybody, trying to make them hurt, trying to make them share the pain that suddenly wells up in you. You hurt so much that you want to rid yourself from every happy memory you possess because happiness itself has gone from your life. And then you crawl inside any bottle you can reach, wanting to forget so bad that drunken stupor seems to be the path of salvation. It never works. Yet that knowledge didn't keep me from trying until I passed out on the kitchen floor.
Ray must have picked me up, and carried me to bed this morning. Because I remember thinking on the floor, how can the sun rise again? How can this night end? And I'm not on the floor anymore. I'm in my bed cocooned in Ray's body heat.
Don't remember him finding me. Which is a good thing, because I might have decked him if I had been still awake. There was so much rage in me, that I just might have killed the only thing left in my life worth anything. Friendship. It's wrapped all around me, like a secure blanket, keeping the memories at bay. Ray will be gone in a few hours, but that's alright too. I've long come to accept that warmth, however temporarily available, is better than lone suffering. He hasn't slept with me since he decided it would be better to forget the idea of a casual affair. But I missed the way his body curled around mine every night.
I missed the closeness so much that I fell a second time for Marika. Hard. I knew from the outset that it was nothing but three days that we could hope to spend together. But at least for those three day I would not have been alone. And maybe we could have worked something out...some kind of illusion that would have allowed me continued hope. But with Marika that last illusion has been stripped from my mind. Love's not meant for me, period.
The only person I can see by my side in the not so distant future is Ray Doyle, and he was never mine anyway. So maybe it's time to let that last shred of hope I still have inside my heart die. I didn't believe there was a thing like altruism in this world, before I met Ray. I knew only what I had experienced time and time again: For every action there is a motivation, even if it appears to be selfless on the outside. Even if you fool yourself into thinking you're doing something out of generosity or goodwill, you still have a motive in your heart of hearts. But then I met Ray. And though he wanted me, he chose to befriend me instead. All the competition between us was eased with laughter and friendly banter. I never imagined I would meet somebody I trusted enough to cry in his arms. I never imagined I'd ever feel this way. I guess I was wrong. Losing Marika like that forced me to bury the last memory I had of love. And now I have only to erase the idea of love from my life with Ray. Our partnership is the only relationship I can accept if I want at least a bit of free and easy affection in my life. But free and easy doesn't exactly come to mind thinking of the last year. Ray's right about that. An affair doesn't work for us. And so I'm contemplating a bit of altruism. Just letting go. Putting someone else's wishes first. Easy to let Ray Doyle come first in my priorities. He's been on the top of the list anyway. And so I choose friendship over love.
I turn in Ray's embrace and put us face to face. He's still awake, and I can feel the tension building up in him. He's afraid that it will start all over again. I can hear it in the small hitch of his breathing when I lean in closer. Ray is not moving away. He would let me have another night of comfort, of sex. But I don't want that anymore. I close the gap between us, pulling him into a strong hug. Nothing more. I realise amazed that nothing is missing. It's all still here in my arms: loyality, trust, obligation. Everything I want bound to me in an individual named Ray Doyle. He chuckles and mumbles something about how daft the two of us are. And he's right. I shiver and he pulls me closer still. Resting my head in the crook of his neck I smile.
I always wondered what Oscar Wilde meant when he said that friendship was much more tragic than love. I know now. It's more tragic, because it can continue, even when love is long gone.
-- THE END --
September 2005
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