Bodie's Take on Things Drabbles



"That's the reality of it," Doyle snaps to the CI5 accountant, "dry cleaners don't like stains from mashed brains."

Bodie mentally applauds his partner as he stalks out.

Reality in CI5, he thinks. That just about sums it up. Clothes get ruined. People get killed.

"That's the reality of it..." Bodie mocks him, because sometimes it's the only way to cope.

"This is a fucking crazy job," Doyle says, still on the defensive.

"...but at least we're..."

"Don't get mushy, Bodie," Doyle warns, but his eyes say he understands.

You can get new jackets, but not new partners. Or lovers.


You don't get blasť about killing. Shrug when others get killed. Or do you? Bodie lies there feeling apathetic, drained.

"Thinking?" Doyle's just woken up.

"Nah. Too much like hard work"

"Pull the other one. About?"

"Apathy. Are we apathetic?"

"Only when we're totally shagged out."

"That's known as the afterglow, not apathy. But..."

"I know what you mean." Doyle's serious. "And no, we're not. Not often anyway."

"You feeling apathetic right now?" Bodie grins.

"No," Doyle grins. "Got ideas, have you"

Bodie tucks the dark thoughts away. Apathy is suddenly the last thing on his mind.

Until next time.


"You're a grim sort of person, Bodie," Ross says.

"Me? I'm the life and soul of the party, love."

"Rubbish. You only lose that cold attitude around your partner."

"Well, he likes a joke as well. It's a grim sort of job you know. You get shot at. That sort of thing."

"So you need somebody who understands all that. In your... "

Bodie doesn't automatically say 'bed'. He's not stupid.

"Doyle watches my back, I watch his."

"As long as the sex isn't grim," she says coolly.

Bodie stares.

"You're lucky bastards. Keep watching each other's back. Now get out."

-- THE END --

July 2006

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