The Professionals Circuit Archive - If I Touch Thee...       If I Touch
Thee...

 

by Michelle Christian

  
 "Come on, Doyle, it'll be fun."

"You're also the one who thinks cricket is more fun than sex. I do not
trust your idea of fun."

Bodie stopped and looked indignant. "I never said cricket was more fun
than sex. Granted, it comes in a close second...."

"I rest my case," Ray said. He knew he'd give in to Bodie eventually. It
wasn't even that he was particularly against the idea, but if he didn't
argue with his partner, Bodie would start to wonder if he was feeling all
right.

"You've got no case to rest," Bodie sniffed grandly. "I just thought it'd
be a lark if we had our picture taken, that's all."

Sighing heavily, Ray gave in with poor grace. "All right, if it'll stop
you from whinging, we'll go get our picture taken. C'mon, let's play fancy
dress."

The two CI5 agents hadn't had a holiday in a long while. Looking back over
his shoulder at his partner, Bodie decided that this was exactly what was
needed. Ray had been stretching himself too thin since the shooting and
once they'd got this time off after Cookie was killed, Bodie didn't even
allow Doyle to give his token protests before dragging him as far away
from London as possible. Like a homing pigeon, Bodie had headed straight
for the seaside resort he could remember visiting as a child, and
discovered a carnival was there to greet them.

Doyle smiled at Bodie's back and thought fondly that his partner seemed to
revel in delight any time he was allowed to become the child he had had so
little time to be years ago. As they were shown to the trunks and hangers
full of clothes in the photography studio, Ray smiled even more at the
wonder Bodie was showing in going through the musty "old" clothes,
preparing to play fancy dress.

"Ah-ha!" Bodie shouted, emerging from the pile clutching two sets of
clothes in his arms.

"Don't I get to choose my own?" Doyle asked, not overly concerned.

"No," Bodie answered succinctly. "It was my idea so I choose. Besides,
with your taste in clothes, there's no telling what you would come up with
left on your own."

"The dressing rooms are through there, gentlemen," the receptionist said,
pointing with her turn-of-the-century parasol toward the back of the
studio. The two quickly followed her directions, stepped into side by side
booths and began to change.

Ray looked down at his costume and had to admit that he was impressed. In
most of these old-fashioned photo places, the clothes were simply fronts
that tied in place in the back and were meant to be worn over the patron's
own clothes. These seemed to be actual period clothing.

The style of garments Bodie had picked, however, was not surprising.
Despite the fact that his first sea voyage had proved to be less than the
adventure he had always dreamed of (and more of one than he really wanted
in other ways), Bodie's dreams of the sea were still alive. The first
edition copy of *Treasure Island* that Ray had given him several
Christmases back was one of his most treasured valuables. Doyle had come
into his partner's flat several times since to find him curled up, reading
the book. So it was hardly surprising to find that the Bodie-chosen
clothes Doyle now dressed in made him look like a pirate of old.

Doyle looked at himself in the full-length mirror and had to admit yet
again that Bodie knew exactly what would look good on him. Whenever Doyle
received clothes from his partner as gifts (which was basically every
birthday and Christmas, since Bodie's thoughts on his friend's wardrobe
were well known), Bodie almost always got something that looked as if it
were specifically made for Doyle. With the full-sleeved white shirt,
burgundy jerkin, black gloves and tight black, gold-lined pants, Ray
looked like Blackbeard's wet dream.

Stepping out of the cubicle, Doyle confronted an image that might have
made Blackbeard change his mind. Bodie leaned against the door, looking
bored and trying to appear nonchalant, while seeming to say at the same
time, *Am I delicious or what?* He could never quite pull off the former,
but the observer was usually too busy agreeing with the latter to care.

He was dressed in black velvet from head to foot, except for a purple vest
and gloves. He had also found from somewhere a wig that seemed to be the
same colour as his own hair, but was quite a bit longer. Part of it was
pulled back and held together by a gold clasp.

"Who are you, Porthos?" Doyle finally said. "You certainly eat enough to
be him."

Bodie automatically straightened up. "I happen to be Black Bodie, scourge
of the Seven Seas. Arrr!" he said, adding that finishing touch.

Doyle rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his grin. "C'mon, you nut, let's
get our picture taken."

Bodie was still wearing his delighted, little boy grin as they walked to
the photographer.

"Ah," the man said as they approached him, "I see we're swashing our
buckles today, eh?"

Bodie and Doyle traded glances as the photographer lowered a backdrop. It
was a simple set. All that was really shown were a few bits of rigging,
but it was enough to create the feel of an 18th century pirate vessel.

"Now, first of all, let's get you guys some props," the man said, moving
to a large table piled high with various objects. Soon the partners each
had clip-on hoop earrings, two in each ear in Doyle's case.

Bodie hoisted a large cutlass in one hand, hefting it to find its balance.
"Nice," he commented appreciatively.

Doyle also picked up a sword, the only one left on the table. "Eh!" he
cried in discovery. "Yours is bigger 'n mine."

Bodie leered. "Good of you to notice, old son. I've been tellin' you that
for years."

Doyle scooped up an ancient, gold-layered pistol and threw it at his
partner; Bodie caught it left-handed. "Here, always thought you needed
something to keep both hands occupied."

"All right now, let's have you over here," the photographer cut off
Bodie's retort, directing them until he was satisfied. "Okay, look
fierce."

Once the picture was snapped, Ray looked over at his partner in time to
see his "fierce" look turn into something else. Bodie walked over to the
prop table and swiftly dropped his cutlass onto it, followed by the
earrings. He then stood there silently until his partner came over and did
the same. Ray quickly steered them both back toward the dressing rooms,
telling the photographer they'd be back in a minute.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Doyle asked softly as they stopped in
front of the cubicles. He'd seen that look on Bodie's face before and had
never quite got used to it. Bodie shook his head and went quietly inside
to change. Ray knew this was going to be bad.

After changing quickly, they walked back to the studio to find out when
the picture would be ready. As the receipt was being drawn up, Doyle said
casually, "A lot of this stuff seems almost authentic. Especially that
cutlass."

The photographer looked pleased. "Oh, we try to go for as much
authenticity as possible. The clothes are all reproductions, of course,
but that cutlass is actually a couple of hundred years old."

Doyle looked suitably impressed, thanked the man and left, spotting Bodie
a few booths away.

The two agents walked along the beach, further and further away from the
carnival. Gone was the earlier feeling of youthful horseplay. Now the
silence hung heavily; Bodie looked down at the beach as they walked.

Once they reached a fairly secluded section of the beach, Doyle stopped
and asked again, "You want to talk?"

"It killed you, Ray," Bodie said.

"What?" Doyle bleated, surprised at the dead tone as much as the
statement.

"That cutlass killed you. Or someone that looked like you. There was this
big fight in a study. Things were getting knocked over, but it was little
more than a fist fight. Then suddenly that cutlass, which had been leaned
against the wall in its scabbard, was halfway through your side. It killed
you." Bodie looked up, wounded. "I killed you." He shivered violently.

"Dammit, Bodie, don't do this," Doyle said, putting aside his own shock to
help Bodie. "You always see yourself as the one using the object. You
didn't kill me. You'd never even hurt me. That wasn't even *me*, for God's
sake."

Doyle knew about Bodie's "gift," had for years. Bodie every once in a
while would pick up an object and be able to see its past. The power,
psychometry, he'd learned, was one of the things that had led to Bodie's
building up mental, emotional walls. It had also led to Bodie's leaving
the jungle, there being too many ancient things with violent pasts
surrounding him. It had, at one point, even led to Bodie admitting that he
had allowed himself to care about Doyle. It had led to a lot of things.

Bodie still looked pale, despite the reassurances. It sometimes took a
while for him to come to grips with what he had seen. It would definitely
take a while for this one.

Slowly, they made their way back to the carnival and the photography
studio. They were handed their picture in its cardboard frame, the girl
giving them an odd, almost frightened look. The partners perused the
picture; it was a wonderfully done scene. This had more to do with the
subjects than the actual quality of the photograph itself. Bodie was
behind and to the side of Doyle, and both had their swords drawn, ready to
fight. Then they saw what had frightened the girl.

Bodie's cutlass had blood dripping from it.

-- THE END --

*Originally published in *Brit Shriek!*, Whatever You Do, Don't Press!
(Agent with Style), 1992*

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