The Professionals Circuit Archive - Hepatitis       Hepatitis

 

by Anne Carr

  
 "You all right, mate?" Doyle cast a worried glance at his partner. Even
in the rosy evening light Bodie's face was pale and shone with sweat.

"No," Bodie answered. His voice was even enough, but deeper, with an edge.
"You'd better take the watch, I'm gettin' a little blurry."

Obediently Doyle took the glasses but his perusal of the house ahead was
brief. "This tears it. You're going to the doctor."

"It's just a touch of flu. Don't fuss." But even as he spoke Bodie's head
flopped back against the car seat as if it were too heavy to hold up a
second longer. "I'll be all right," he added.

"You said that two days ago."

"I'm still here."

"Don't be an ass," Ray began, irritated. "You don't eat, all you drink is
water--I ask you, *water*--hell, you've lost five pounds since we started
this case! Jack did not have this in mind when he told you to slim down,
you know. And if you're this sick you ought to be in bed. Not working, for
god's sake."

"Lay off," Bodie told him. "If I thought anything was going to happen I'd
of made sure you were covered."

"Damn it! That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Yeh, okay."

Doyle lowered the glasses, startled at the defeated tone in his partner's
voice. In the usual course of things Bodie would have given as good as he
got. "So what hurts?"

Without opening his eyes Bodie waved a hand vaguely over his stomach. "How
soon till Mac and Avery get here?"

"Anytime."

"Good."

It was far better to be sick yourself, Doyle reflected absently, than to
watch and do nothing. He frowned as Bodie fell into a restless sleep and
reluctantly turned back to the dark brick house where nothing but shadows
moved in the gathering night.

"Bodie. Come on, Sunshine. Wake up."

Bodie opened one eye and managed a passable glare.

"We're home, *your* home. Get out of the car."

"All my gear's at your flat," Bodie protested but rolled out to stand
none-too-solidly on the pavement.

"I'll pick it up later. Give us the key. I left mine at my flat, too."

Doyle stayed carefully behind his partner, ready to catch him should he
sway back, but Bodie negotiated the steps up to the outer door without
apparent difficulty. The four flights necessitated by the broken lift were
taken with just as much ease, but by the time they reached Bodie's door he
was sweat white again and shaking.

Inside the apartment he headed directly for the bath and with one ear
cocked toward the unmistakable sounds of retching, Doyle took matters into
his own hands and phoned CI5 HQ.

Cowley was in a meeting but some insistent prodding pushed the call
through.

"Yes, 4.5." Irritated. "What is it?"

"Bodie's sick."

"What's wrong with him?" Less irritated.

"He can't stop vomiting and just about collapses after ten minutes on his
feet," Doyle said succinctly. Behind him he heard running water. "He won't
eat, won't drink...."

"Get him to hospital." No irritation at all. "Gemma will call that you're
coming in."

Doyle hung up. That was the easy part. The hard part was getting Bodie to
agree. The tough ex-mercenary who could face a firefight or defuse a
ticking bomb without a tremor viewed the entire medical profession as an
institution created for the sole purpose of 'getting' him.

Doyle wandered into the darkened bedroom and made his way to the wide bed.
Bodie was sprawled on his back, still completely dressed and panting as if
he'd just done a ten mile run. Doyle sat beside him and laid a hand on his
forehead. "No fever. No cough. I'm no expert mate, but I don't think it's
flu."

Bodie looked at him silently.

"I called the Cow. I'm to take you to hospital."

"Forget it."

"Don't fight me, Bodie. I can't stand it when you're sick."

Bodie snorted but allowed Doyle to smooth his hair back, gradually
relaxing under the steady stroke of long fingers over his head.

Ray continued quietly, saying the first words that came to him. "You can't
work like this, mate. So the sooner they figure out what's wrong, the
sooner you're back on the streets with me."

"Ray...."

"Come on, Bodie," Doyle bent and brushed his lips against the waxed cheek.
"For me."

"Unfair."

"I distinctly remember *you* saying exactly the same thing to me about six
months ago..." Doyle began.

"Totally different. You were really sick."

"Bodie...."

Bodie stared into the bottomless green eyes only inches from his and
abruptly capitulated. "Okay, but I won't stay. Hospitals are for open
wounds and dead people, not me."

******

It was a position he maintained throughout the next two hours despite the
combined arguments of the doctor, two of the prettiest nurses Doyle could
find, and Ray himself. And Cowley, the only person on earth who could
order him, was locked away in a meeting with the PM. The diagnosis was
hepatitis (Probably contracted during that effing prison case--but he
could have got it on the bus), type as yet unknown, and the treatment was
simple: complete rest and plenty of fluids.

"I can do that at home," Bodie lay on the examining table, flinching as
the doctor poked him again. "Why do I hurt when you push there?"

"Swollen liver. You'd be better off staying here." The doctor moved his
hands and Bodie grunted. "We could set up a drip. You could get dehydrated
without it...."

"No."

"All right. Take two of these every day," the doctor handed him a bottle
of vitamin tablets. "Nothing else. *Nothing*. Your liver detoxifies your
body and you don't want to make it work any harder. Stay in bed all the
time. I mean it. The first sign of your getting worse and I'll have your
Mr. Cowley call in the SAS to plant you here."

There was a knock on the door and Doyle poked his head round the edge.
"How's the yellow peril?"

"Bugger off," Bodie growled. "I'm not yellow."

The doctor stood back and allowed him to sit up. "Not yet. You will be.
Take this," he handed Bodie a printed pamphlet. "It will explain far more
than you ever wanted to know about your condition."

"Gosh thanks, doctor," Bodie snapped his fingers at his partner. "Where'd
you hide the clothes?"

******

*WEEK ONE*

Doyle unloaded the groceries into the fridge by the simple expediency of
placing the basket inside on the shelf and looked around. Everything was
quiet and a fine layer of dust covered the flat surfaces of the untouched
living room. Good. That meant Bodie was obeying orders.

Or. It could mean he was too sick to *not* obey orders. Forgetting his
intention to fix a quick meal he crossed to the bedroom and peered through
the open door.

Bodie was asleep--again. He seemed to sleep ninety percent of the time,
awake only when Ray was actually talking, forcing him to swallow small
sips of anything nonalcoholic, catching him up on CI5 gossip, holding him
while he threw up the liquids....

True to the doctor's word, the waxy complexion had turned to a virulent
yellow almost overnight and as Doyle watched Bodie pushed the covers aside
restlessly and revealed a nearly lemon colored body. Other than that his
partner looked surprisingly healthy.

Until he stood up. Even trips to the bathroom exhausted him and one
excursion into the kitchen had caused a new mixture of facial tones--green
and yellow--and no argument when Doyle urged him back to bed.

*That's me*, Doyle thought with a grin. *Always urging Bodie into bed*. He
stared down at the unprepossessing body of his partner--lover. *Always
will, too. Even if you do cause me and Cowley and half the squad to have
to take those damn injections. Bloody thing hurt. * He rubbed his buttock
unconsciously. *And the nurse got too big a kick out of the whole
business. It was worth it though when the boss overheard Murph tease about
The Cow getting caught with his pants down.... *

He watched Bodie for a while, soothed him once when the sleeping man
moaned softly, then returned to the kitchen. Cowley had him on light
duties--boring duties that let him in HQ late and out early--though he'd
promised to put him back on the streets next week. It was an unspoken
concession to a relationship the Cow didn't approve of. But they both knew
Bodie. Chances were very good that no one but Doyle could keep his partner
still.

Ray was under no illusions. As soon as Bodie got better he'd be hell on
wheels. It was not a prospect he looked forward to.

******

*WEEK TWO*

Bodie grimaced at his face in the mirror. Even freshly shaved he
looked...like a banana. Or a lemon. Pick a fruit....

Finished with his once-a-day routine of shower and shave, he wandered back
to the bedroom and slumped on the bed.

Boredom. And pain. And unbelievable exhaustion. Even watching television
wore him out. He couldn't concentrate on anything for more than five
minutes, it seemed. Depression. He half heartedly fluffed the mound of
pillows Doyle had brought him when he'd found it more comfortable to sleep
sitting up.

Doyle.

Bodie lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Ray would be here
when he woke up. Would nag and conjole and generally cheer him up in spite
of himself.

The bionic golli.

Ray with his wild hair and green eyes that never held that hard look when
they met his own. Not anymore. Not like at first, when every move he'd
made was piercingly watched, examined under a jade microscope....

Being sick made him maudlin.

So--when had it changed? When questioned Doyle couldn't say. 'Just did,'
he'd answered and then talking went out the window and Bodie hadn't asked
again. He didn't like to ask. Being a romantic was not part of his image.

Whenever, now that look was saved for the street and all Bodie knew was he
was damn glad.

He shifted, already uncomfortable, the pressure of his enlarged liver
pushing all the other organs like dominoes out of place. As soon as he got
well he was going to find that carrier and shove his teeth down his bloody
throat. Or worse.

He amused himself contemplating suitable tortures for a while, then jumped
when the phone beside him sounded shrill in the quiet room. He reached for
the receiver. "Bodie."

"S'me," Doyle's voice, warm and soft. "How're you doing?"

"Okay." *I miss you. Come make me feel better. *

"Like hell. Did you drink that juice I left?"

"Not yet, but...."

"Damn it, Bodie, if I've got to fix it the least you can do is drink the
stuff!"

Bodie grinned. "Yes sir."

"Do it. Promise."

"Okay."

"Promise, you sod."

"Promise."

"Okay," there was a pause and Bodie waited. "I'll be late tonight."

"Okay." *What am I supposed to say? Don't be late. You're the only bright
thing around here that isn't yellow? *

"It's a stakeout. I'm going out with McCabe. Now listen...."

He could hear the pleasure in Ray's voice. Back on the streets again. He
didn't blame him, only wished.... "Well, be quiet when you get in. You
tiptoe like a bloody elephant."

Doyle gave a rich chuckle and the line disconnected. It drew a reluctant
smile from him. Reaching over, he hung up the receiver and poured a small
glass of fruit juice. He toasted his lonely bed, "Cheers," and sipped at
the drink, then lay back again and closed his eyes.

Uneasiness kept him awake. Doyle out on the streets with McCabe. *Without*
Bodie. Not that McCabe wasn't a good man--good agent. He was. But it
should be *he*, Bodie, guarding Ray's back, not some hotshot kid.

He and Ray. A self-sufficient team. Partners. They took care of each
other, each knowing without words what the other was thinking. Wanting.

It hadn't always been like that. Early on, when Cowley first teamed them,
they had barely tolerated each other. But over the months--years, mutual
antipathy had turned into acceptance, admiration,
understanding...dependence...and now....

And now Ray was (however temporarily) teamed with another operative. He
hoped McCabe was as good as he seemed. If not he'd have Bodie to answer
to.

******

*WEEK THREE*

"Stop scratching."

"It itches."

"The pamphlet said it's the bilirubin in your skin."

"I bloody *know* that, don't I? But thinks about skin down the throat or
inside the ears?" Bodie forced himself to relax.

Beside him on the bed Doyle stretched and winced. The drug runners were
safe behind bars but they hadn't given up without a fight and the girl
packed a wicked kick. He ached.

Bodie noted his movement and smiled. "We're a pair," he remarked.
"Cowley's best." Doyle laughed.

"At least," Bodie continued, "*You* can have a drink of something stronger
than tea."

"That reminds me," Ray motioned towards the living room. "The Cow sent you
a pressie."

"Yeh? What?"

"Paperwork. To extend your leave. Sign in triplicate please, and deliver
with a note from Mum."

"Mum being Dr. James, I presume?"

"Yeh." Doyle moved again and his bare legs twined easily with Bodie. "I
miss you."

"That's silly. I'm right here."

Ray's hand slid slowly across the flat surface of his partner's belly. "I
miss you on the job. And this," he stroked lower, enjoying the involuntary
quiver that shot through Bodie.

"You could always..." Bodie began.

"Don't even think it." Doyle kissed his chin, then lightly his mouth.
Bodie's lips parted eagerly but Ray pulled away. "if I can't have you, I
don't want anyone. And your idea of a little quiet sex...."

Reluctantly Bodie agreed. Even with Ray doing most of the moving, it wore
him out. He was incapable of not reaching to touch, to thrust against the
aroused body of his partner. It had been that way since the first time.

The first time. A year ago last month. Bodie hadn't been feeling well
then, either. Smarting from a heavy reprimand from Cowley, throbbing from
the beating the terrorists had given him, he had elected to go home and
get drunk. Doyle found him there, only on his third drink, staring out the
window into wet darkness.

"Bad is it?"

"Been worse."

"You should have one of those men at the gym rub it out. You'll get
stiff."

Bodie shrugged. "Friday night. I'm not calling in someone just for this."

"Come on, sunshine," Doyle led him to the sofa and pushed him down. "I'll
do it."

Just when the massaging fingers on his back and shoulders had turned to
caressing he had never afterwards been sure, but suddenly he was thinking
things he'd never thought before and Doyle was looking at him, and they
each reached for the other, pain forgotten as desire slashed through them
both.

His control had gone with that first kiss--the taste of Ray, the feel of
him--their clothes were off before he remembered undoing his zip and the
rest of the act was a blur of incredible passion. He had given so freely
of himself--never had anyone given so much to him...somehow they had made
it to the bed for the night. Not slept much. It was a long time before
they learned how to actually *sleep* together.

Beside him Doyle relaxed. He watched the almost imperceptible expressions
wash over his partner's face and smiled when Bodie glanced at him.

Bodie took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're here, mate."

"Me too," Doyle said and closed his eyes to sleep.

******

*WEEK FOUR*

"So how's 3.7 then?"

Doyle glanced up as Murphy came through the Rest Room door. "Better...I
think. He's getting up more than he should."

"Are you surprised?"

"I'd be surprised if he didn't. The man has a brain the size of a pea
sometimes. Here, have a cup of...coffee, I think it is," Doyle waved a
hand. "There's milk this time."

"Ta. So, is he still imitating a lemon?"

"Yeh. Even his tongue is yellow. It's weird."

Murphy finished doctoring his coffee and sat opposite his friend. "Knew a
man who had hepatitis once. Got it from a dirty needle. Anyway, I went to
see him in hospital. Strangest looking creature on earth."

"Yeh? So what happened to him?"

Murphy paused. "He died."

Doyle looked up silently.

"Hell," Murphy grimaced. "It's altogether different with Bodie. The feller
was a bloody junkie! Bodie's healthy as a horse Ray, and he got treatment
right from the start, didn't he? So get that look off your face. You'll
scare the secretaries."

"It's all right," Doyle stood up and stretched. "Think I'll be off. By the
way, Bodie told me to tell you thanks for the books. He likes poetry."

"No problem. Made his way through the Robert Service, did he then?"

"Yeh, and talked like the Cow for three days after. Do *me* a favor, will
you mate?" Doyle went to the door. "Next time stick to English poets, or
Irish, or German. Anything but *Scots*!"

Murphy laughed and made a pithy comment as Doyle shut the door behind
himself.

It was sunny for once and unseasonably warm. Doyle drove round Green Park
twice, then parked and ambled through the trees, ignoring the other
strollers, lost in his thoughts.

You could die from hepatitis. Somehow the idea had never occurred to him.
Out on the streets, yes. Hell they could go next week, tomorrow, in any
number of ways, each more grisly than the last. But on the street he was
there to back his partner up most times. The battle between Bodie and his
body was one he had to fight alone and there wasn't a damn thing Ray could
do to stop it.

And if Bodie died...he tried to picture his life without his partner and
failed. Everything went an odd shade of grey. Without Bodie there would be
no colour, no reason to go on. If that meant they were too close, too
bound with one another, well it was too late now.

He kicked a stone and watched it skitter away. "Don't die, Bodie. For
god's sake, don't leave me here alone."

******

*WEEK FIVE*

He was getting better. At long last the tests showed his liver was
beginning to heal. Of course most of his blood was gone. The nurses took
it away in three purple topped tubes once a week. He could swear they
dulled their needles just for him. Nurses shouldn't enjoy their work so
much. If loss of blood didn't kill him, their cheerfulness would.

He watched mournfully as this week's nurse left triumphantly bearing the
tubes, and rolled down his sleeve. "Well doctor?"

"Not yet, but I'll be surprised if your tests aren't showing more
improvement," Dr. James told him.

"So when can I go back...."

"You're not out of the woods yet. Don't push it, Bodie. Good god, you're
still completely jaundiced."

Since just the drive to the doctor's surgery had worn him out Bodie didn't
bother to argue. At least this week he was allowed to go to hospital.

Doyle unfolded himself from the stool in the corner. "Can he eat and drink
now? He's keeping things down sometimes."

"Anything but alcohol," the doctor confirmed.

Bodie began to speak, but Doyle interrupted. "And visitors?"

"Anxious to get back to the birds, is he?"

Doyle smiled faintly, "And exercise?"

"Not yet."

"I'm still here," Bodie reminded. "Remember me? The patient?"

"Shut up," Doyle told him kindly. "We're talkin' here."

"I think that covers everything. You have plenty of vitamins left? See
that he takes them," The doctor began to stroll out of the room, Ray at
his side. "Remember it's essential he come back slowly so as not to
overload the system...."

"Yes, I see."

They disappeared down the corridor and Bodie glared after them. When Doyle
reappeared a second later it was too quick for Bodie to wipe his face
blank.

Ray grinned. "You coming?"

"No," Bodie slid off the examining table and reached for his jacket. "I
*like* this room. I *enjoy* getting poked by dull needles and duller
nurses. I *adore* being yellow and tired and...."

"I know," Doyle said softly and it wasn't his words, but his look that
silenced his partner's irritable tirade.

"Dammit," Bodie reluctantly smiled. "Let's go home."

******

*WEEK SIX*

Doyle sat up gasping and fighting the hands that tried to hold him.
"*No*!"

"Ray, it's me. Wake up, come on...."

The calm voice slowly penetrated the depths of his nightmare and he opened
his eyes, blinking away riddled, blackened images. The room was brightly
lit and it took him a moment to adjust. "Oh...Murph."

Murphy stood back, relieved. "That was some dream, mate. You were yelling
loud enough to raise the whole building."

"Sorry," he swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and shook his head.
"What time is it?"

"Just after five. You've only been napping an hour or so," Murphy handed
him a cup of coffee. "I don't blame you for dreaming--I expect to have
nightmares for weeks after what we saw this morning."

"This morning? Oh, those kids. Yeah. Right." Doyle sipped the coffee,
noticed his hands were still unsteady and set the mug on the floor. Very
carefully. "I hadn't meant to drop off like that."

His eyes went to the phone on the Rest Room table then slid away.

"No problem. I finished the reports," Murphy had seen the look. "I'll just
go get em signed, shall I? Then we can go. Two days off--a miracle...." He
grinned and gathered the file by the phone. "Meet you here in--say--ten
minutes?"

"Yeh. Sure. Thanks." Ray hesitated, then remembered. "Wait a second. How's
McCabe? Have they said?"

"He'll be okay. They got the bullet out and he's already conscious. Sat up
and pinched the Ward Sister from all accounts."

"Good," Ray smiled faintly, his eyes on the phone.

"Ten minutes," Murphy reminded and left the room, pulling the door to
behind him.

He was dialing for an outside line before he remembered moving and
finished the numbers propped against the table.

"Bodie."

"Hello, 3.7." *It's good to hear your voice. I dreamed you were dead. I
dreamed I was alone. *

"You've been on the news," Bodie was saying. "It looked...bad."

"It was." *Murphy will have nightmares about it.... I have nightmares
about losing you. *

"Who took the hit? If I hadn't seen those bloody great curls of yours off
in the background I'd of thought it was you hot-shotting about like that."

"McCabe. He'll be okay though." *He was working as my partner. It could
have been you. *

"Ignorant kid," Bodie huffed. "Any fool could see he should've worked
right, not down the middle. I thought so at the time."

Ray glanced at the clock. "I'll be home soon. Murph and I'll probably stop
by hospital. What'd you want for dinner?" *God, I sound like a spouse. But
which am I, husband or wife? And who cares? *

"Chicken," Bodie told him promptly. "And it's already here. Your sister
dropped it by earlier so hurry up or I'll eat it all."

*You do that--get some meat on your bones. You've lost too much. You look
like the skeleton in my dream. * "You'd better not, you sod. See you in a
bit."

When Murphy came in a few minutes later Doyle was finishing his coffee and
trying to button his shirt at the same time.

"All ready? Good. Let's get going before the old man decides he has
something else for us to do."

******

*WEEK SEVEN*

"You did it again!"

Bodie looked up innocently from the paper. "Did what?"

"Got up and about while I was gone." Doyle scowled fiercely and slammed
the door hard enough to rattle the dishes in Bodie's kitchen. "The
pamphlet said...."

"Do you know what I did today?" Bodie interrupted sweetly. "I burned that
bloody pamphlet."

Ray couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

Satisfied, Bodie grinned back. "The doctor says I can go back next week.
Light duties at first, but...."

"Did you ever think you'd be glad to run files?" Doyle bounced on the bed
beside his partner, his anger forgotten at the good news. He pulled Bodie
against him and ruffled his overlong hair. "It'll be good to have you
back."

"Missed me, have you?"

"Fishing for compliments?"

"Well...." Bodie paused, suddenly serious as he relaxed in Doyle's arms.
"Sometimes it's just nice...I mean...you never actually say a lot...."

Startled, Ray glanced down, but Bodie's face was hidden, buried in his
shoulder. He could feel the rising heat in his partner's cheek. What did
Bodie want? A declaration of undying devotion or something? He remembered
his walk through the park, the dreams, the grey shroud that surrounded him
when Bodie wasn't there. "All right. I miss you."

Bodie mumbled. "What *exactly* do you miss?"

"Well... *you*. You know...."

"No, I don't know. Tell me."

"What is this anyway?" Doyle shifted but still Bodie's face was hidden.
"What do you want me to say?"

Bodie went entirely still then sat up, his back to his partner. "Nothing
mate. Forget it. What's for dinner?"

He was halfway across the room when Ray suddenly said, "I need you."

Bodie halted, but didn't turn.

"I need you at work to guard my back, to...help me when I can't go on
another minute from the sheer bloody injustice of it all. I need you to
make me laugh. I need you here, in bed, to hold me." Doyle stopped, then
added softly. "I need you to make me alive."

"Bloody hell!" Bodie turned and held out a hand. Doyle wasn't sure he was
offering or taking, but it didn't matter. The look on his face was enough.

"Ray, I...."

"I *don't* need," Ray interrupted him, "all that garbage from you. I know
you love me. You don't have to say it."

Bodie advanced slowly. "I do though."

"Do what?"

"Well," Bodie made a face. "Damnit! It sounds so bloody trite! I don't
just love you. *Or* need you. You just...have to be there."

"Like I said," Doyle wriggled his finger for Bodie to come closer. "You
make me alive."

"I suppose so. Yeh...." Bodie tasted the words, digested them. "Yeh. You
do. You make me alive."

Doyle grinned and reached suddenly, toppling his partner onto the bed. He
leaned over Bodie, held his dark head still and kissed him firmly until
his lover's lips parted beneath his, eagerly accepting his tongue. He
pulled back and eyed the sudden flush under the fading yellow complexion.
"Once and for all, I love you. You love me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now you lay here and I'll make dinner."

"I've got a better idea," Bodie rolled and pinned Ray beneath him. "Why
don't we just skip dinner tonight? Unless you're worried about...making
love...to someone with hepatitis?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have that kind of hepatitis. Besides...."
Doyle moved his hips suggestively, "There is more than one way to skin a
cat."

"How terribly profound," Bodie murmured and laughed when Doyle whispered
exactly what he meant.

"You little devil."

"I love it when you talk dirty," Ray reminded and proceeded to prove his
point.

-- THE END --

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