Written for "Discovered in the Brandy Butter," on the discoveredinalj livejournal community, to the prompt of "Mince Pie"

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Tommy looked at his mum, sister Susie in her arms crying away. He could hardly hear for all the din.

"Third floor, second door. Mind you remember your delivery."

"Yes, Mum, of course, Mum," Tommy mumbled under his breath as he picked up the pie on his way out. He wanted this done quick. He had a football match to get to. He yelled back to confirm, "Yeah, yeah, second floor, third door."

The lift didn't work again and he could hear Susie's screaming all the way to the stairs. Tommy started his climb to complete his drudgery.

---

Bodie wanted to throw the alarm clock across the room but he couldn't reach it. Its annoying beep blared in repetitious torture. After he tossed a pillow at it and missed he was forced to roll out of bed and confront it himself.

With quiet finally restored, Bodie returned to bed but found it impossible to fall back asleep. He rolled out of bed once more and headed for the bog.

Half an hour and four pieces of jam toast later, Bodie left his flat only to stumble over a blockage in his doorway.

A pie.

He picked it up and took a quick sniff before returning to inhale a deep breath of the aromatic pie. This was not just any pie; it was a mince pie. Freshly baked, if Bodie was any judge and he definitely considered himself a good judge of pie. He knew he was holding a masterpiece.

He looked about for a note or something to identify the giver but nothing could be found. So how did it get here?

Of course, he didn't have to be a bloody Sherlock to figure it out. Doyle!

Silly blighter! Must have regretted the blow-up yesterday. So, in typical Doyle fashion, he chose a voiceless way to apologise.

The blow--up hadn't really been about anything, except maybe Christmas. Cowley had been decent for once and they both had the holiday off -- to say his partner hadn't been pleased was putting it mildly, and his own over reaction had only added fuel to the Doyle temper bonfire.

He couldn't figure Doyle. His partner knew they needed the break. Doyle's reasoning had been rubbish, let the agents with family off instead. With that kind of reasoning they'd never have the holidays off.

Bodie didn't have family, but Doyle had some, never saw them much, but still. . . well, anyway, he wanted the fairy lights and the plum pudding with Doyle on the day for once.

Doyle had left in a huff and a few choice words. So, Bodie guessed the pie was a peace offering and one couldn't complain in the face of a mince pie. He stuffed a slice into his mouth and grabbed a second on his way out.

---

Third day, third pie and Bodie felt like that proverbial cat with the canary in his belly already.

Doyle was sure playing it close to the chest but a smile had begun to crack through by the end of the day. Bodie knew a thaw was happening on the work front at last. There hadn't been any home front between long stakeouts or chasing all over London on a grass' say so. There had been no time for a meal out or even a pint at the local.

Just the morning pie.

After an all nighter in the files room, Bodie was looking forward to his bed, even if only for a few hours. Fairly drooping, he made his way up the stairs only to feel rejuvenated at the sight of the pie by his door. In spite of their day, Doyle had managed, yet again, to surprise him.

Bodie decided on the spot to fully decorate for Christmas, the whole works. Lots of tinsel strung about the place, paper chains, fairy lights, big tree, and food, lots of food. It was the least he could do. It just went to show how well Doyle knew him. Mince pie was one of his Christmas favourites. His partner must have remembered the story about how his mum would make them when he was a little boy.

Doyle really did know him. It created a warm feeling to realise that there was a real special person in his life. It would be good to spend the holiday with Doyle. He wouldn't have to pretend or put on airs. Just the two of them, like it should be.

Bodie climbed into bed with a smile.

---

The pub was noisy but as none of it was directed at him. Doyle took comfort in it. The only person who expected him to converse was Bodie and he seemed to be in a talking frenzy. He was certainly in a good mood, had been all day. Still was, this was the third round he'd bought.

The evening passed as he half listened to his partner. The holidays were still uppermost on Bodie's mind and his attention had been so focused on just him. No birds had entered the field and Bodie hadn't yet gone looking.

Speaking of looks . . . well he wasn't really speaking, he was thinking. Well, thinking of looks . . . it might be more accurate but it didn't fit as well. So, back to the original, speaking of looks . . . there was something about that last look in Bodie's eyes. It told him Bodie was serious; it also told Doyle he had missed something important.

He replayed the conversation over in his head. What exactly had Bodie said? It was about the mince pies. He'd thought it was just a Bodie food thing, but his partner had meant something more and now he had to figure it out.

Bodie had thanked him for the pie early last week. He hadn't known what Bodie was going on about, and he still didn't know, but it was certainly time to find out.

He remembered that Bodie had accepted his apology. What apology?

Bodie kept going on about their Christmas day plans and even boxing day - now his eyes had that little boy hurt quality and Doyle knew he had missed something bloody important.

Bodie hailed a cab but Doyle declined and opted to walk home, hopefully it would help clear his head and help discover what he'd missed.

Doyle woke with no earth-shattering conclusions, just a mish-mash of jumbled impressions. He needed to talk with his partner. Early though it was, he headed over to Bodie's flat.

He arrived to find a young lad leaving a pie at Bodie's door before running off. A slip of paper escaped the lad's pocket but he was gone before Doyle could alert him. The paper had just a half sentence on it.

The way to a man's heart . . .

The lost conversation fell into place. Bodie's actions of the last week fit as well. Bloody hell, Bodie thought he'd taken a fancy to him and was making a pass. Corker was, Bodie was evidently agreeable.

Before Doyle could digest his revelation the door opened. Bodie's eyes lit up and his body language changed as he watched.

"Caught you red-handed," Bodie smiled at his partner. "Knew I wasn't wrong." He walked back in, leaving the door for Doyle.

Doyle worked the locks slowly so his thoughts could race about unhindered. He had heard Bodie's mumble of not being wrong. Bodie really thought he wanted to try it on with him. What Doyle couldn't figure out in this whole mess was why he wasn't running away screaming?

Why wasn't he running away?

Because Bodie was too important to hurt that way; Doyle knew this was true. Bodie was important. It was more than having each other's back. It was the trust that went with that. Doyle couldn't remember the last time he trusted someone the way he trusted Bodie. And it wasn't just in trust of life, it was a trust of self and now Bodie wanted a trust of heart.

Doyle knew it wasn't to be a one-off. Bodie would never hurt the partnership that way.

And Bodie thought he wanted the same because of a pie?

A pie and a note.

Doyle's world tilted and realigned itself as he watched Bodie cut into the pie and share it. He could see them sharing a life just like they shared everything else. He felt a great weight lift from his shoulders as the burden of his future was halved by Bodie's commitment.

Relying on instinct rather than reason, Doyle moved intently across the kitchen and pinned Bodie back against the counter. Bodie didn't react except with a quizzical look at his partner. Doyle knew he had the initiative and he kept it. He leaned in to press his lips against Bodie's.

Bodie's surprised O- shaped lips allowed Doyle an easy entrance, which confirmed for him that this was indeed what Bodie had expected. Practice on hundreds of birds had honed Doyle's skill and Bodie received the full benefit of it.

Bodie was stunned. He hadn't seen this coming, but now that it was here, he wasn't that surprised. His ruffian partner had been struggling with something for weeks and this must have been it. Instead of being affronted by his audacity he was awed by the courage Doyle displayed. He has laid his heart on the line; it would be nothing less for Doyle to make this kind of move. It also spoke of trust. Ray Doyle must trust him in a way he'd never realised.

Bodie knew he couldn't let him down at this late date. Others had hurt Doyle, he never would. He gathered Doyle close and answered the kiss with the same intense passion bestowed on him. As he felt Doyle's body react the move a shot of arousal like he'd never experienced suffused his being and Bodie knew he'd come home.

His hand moved down the solid back and rested to cup and squeeze the bum that had always fascinated him. He pulled Doyle even closer and ground his aching hardness against like.

Passion ruled action and the next clear thought found fluids mixed against warm skin of the other. The stupefying grin on Doyle's face matched the one on Bodie's own. Bodie kissed the top of Doyle's nose before looking to straighten himself up.

Everything had changed, but nothing had changed. It was time to go to work.

That evening, Bodie decorated as he waited for Doyle.

Doyle had volunteered to pick up takeaway on his way over. He bounded up the stairs of Bodie's flat, soon to be their flat and heard the yelling from beyond the lift.

"Third floor, second door, Tommy. Collect what's owed."

A young lad carrying a pie rushed by him in the stairwell mumbling, "Yes, mum, yes mum, second floor, third door. I know already."

When Doyle arrived at Bodie's door, the lad with the pie stood there as well. Doyle knew in a flash what mix up had happened and he reached into his pocket for money.

Tommy turned to Doyle, "My mum says I've been delivering to the wrong door."

Doyle smiled as he handed twenty quid to the lad. "Your delivery was perfect, son, just perfect." Doyle carried the mince pie inside.

-- THE END --

December 2007