The Professionals Circuit Archive - Morning After	  Morning After

 

by Ice Bear 

 
 *After Stakeout*


 William Bodie sat in a hard wooden chair in front of the Controller's
desk. His elbows rested on his knees and his blue eyes stared into the
golden swirl of scotch in the crystal glass as though it held the answer
to the many questions he had yet to ask. He fought with himself to keep
from hurling it against the wall, thinking how satisfying it would be to
listen to it break.

 He'd been on duty for just over 24 hours, and he was worn through to the
bone. The adrenaline high of a successful op had left him more than an
hour ago, and all he wanted was to escape the confines of the room, of
headquarters, of everything and everyone. Well, maybe not everyone, he
amended as he snuck a look at his partner. Ray Doyle was slumped back in
his chair, reddish gold curls limp in the wee hours of the morning, green
eyes glazed with fatigue.

 He chanced a look at his watch and stood, startling the others in the
room. George Cowley looked into the hooded blue eyes of the younger half
of his best team and nodded. "Go on, off with you both. I'll see you at 10
on Thursday." He fancied to himself that he'd been graced by a look of
gratitude from 3-7 before he'd turned and gently pulled his partner to his
feet. But it was very late or far too early -- 3:15 a.m -- so he'd
probably just imagined it. As the door shut behind the two, he lifted his
own glass of scotch, noticing that his hand shook slightly. He couldn't
begin to understand how they'd been able to figure out the puzzle, find
the bomb at the bowling alley, and disarm it. He was just damned glad they
had.

 Bodie ignored the looks from the other operatives in the building as he
manhandled his sluggish partner down the hallway, into the lift and out to
the car park. He deposited Doyle in the passenger seat, where he slumped
back and immediately closed his eyes. Twenty minutes later at a red light,
Bodie reached into the back seat and pulled a plaid rug to the front,
using it to cover his dozing partner.

 He drove, hands clenched on the wheel, glancing at his passenger
occasionally. His mind was racing, and he couldn't find a way to shut it
off. Normally, when the end of an op had them both wired, they would visit
a pub or three and drink to just this side of oblivion. And if they were
lucky, they'd each snag a bird and work off the rest of their nervous
energy in bed.

 But this had been no normal op, he reminded himself, one hand unclenching
from the wheel long enough to wipe harshly across the blood shot blue
eyes. Not normal at all, and he doubted there was enough scotch in all the
Empire to help him wind down from this one.

 Who the hell plans to send a message to Queen and country by planting a
bomb -- an atomic bomb, no less -- in a bloody bowling alley of all
places? Only a nutter -- a group of nutters -- he amended in answer to his
own question. Why of all the bowling alleys in England did he and Ray have
to be in that one? Good Christ, if they hadn't been extremely lucky, their
charred ashes would be littering the air over London at that very
momement. He closed his eyes tightly for just a moment as he tried to wipe
that morbid vision from his mind.

 And Ray, Ray had been bloody marvelous. Hands steady as a rock as he
calmly and carefully defused the bomb as though it were an everyday
occurrence. As for himself, he wasn't sure he'd actually taken a breath
from the time they learned it was an atomic bomb to the time the ticking
stopped. All he'd been able to do was stand there, gun against one of the
idiot's heads while his partner had worked his magic.

 He knew about the damage bombs could do -- good old fashion TNT and
plastique: he'd disarmed enough of them in his life between the SAS and
CI5. And he'd been taught about atomic bombs: could hear the Captain's
lecture; see the photos of Nagasaki and Hiroshima displayed on the frayed
screen in that dark briefing room; and recall the list of best places to
find cover...well, that message clearly hadn't stuck with him since he'd
stood not more than three feet from the bloody thing!

 He continued to drive, trying to empty his mind of all the horrors
parading through it, until he pulled onto a small, dirt road and carefully
maneuvered the Ghia up a hill. He parked the car in the grass and turned
off the motor. Looking again at his sleeping partner, he hesitated a long
moment before reaching over and giving him a gentle shake. Without waiting
for a response, and quite sure he'd not like the one he knew he'd get at
some point, he exited the car and headed to the boot. He exchanged a quick
look with his partner just before he closed the boot and headed off. Ray's
eyes were filled with exhaustion...maybe this wasn't his brightest idea
but going back to his flat was something he simply couldn't do, not yet.

 He settled on the ground on the rug he'd found in the boot, and leaned
back against a downed tree trunk. He watched his partner's unsteady
progress across the grass and patted a spot beside him before the man
could say anything. He knew he wasn't up to the dressing down he was
likely to face now that his partner was awake and had discovered he'd been
kidnapped and dropped in the middle of god knows where. As soon as Doyle
settled his arse on the ground, he reached a hand out, and cradled his
cheek gently before handing over a flask. He tried not to smile when his
golly clamped his mouth shut against the tirade waiting there.

 The two men sat in the heavy quiet of the pre-dawn gazing at the rolling,
green farmland laid out before them, only broken -- here and there -- by
stands of trees. A sigh released from the older man as he relaxed against
his partner.

 Fifteen minutes later the first ray of sunlight appeared on the horizon.
As the hints of gold and pink blossomed and grew, Bodie took a chance and
settled an arm over Doyle's shoulder. They sat on their small patch of
English soil until the sun had ceased its colorful display and turned its
attention to its morning duties. Bodie felt something inside uncoil. While
he was not the type to get sentimental, the sunrise over the peaceful
countryside had served as a reminder of why they worked so hard to keep
the island smelling, however faintly, of lavender and roses.

 They were silent on the way back to the car. Ray held out a hand for the
keys, and, after a few quick directions, Bodie settled into the passenger
seat and closed his eyes. Doyle shook his head fondly, twenty minutes
later at the soft snore that escaped his mate.

 They arrived back at 3-7's flat just before eight. Bodie had come awake
to the snarl and din of early morning London traffic and swung the door
open as Ray pulled the car to a stop. His escape from the car was stopped
by a firm grip on his shoulder, and he shifted in the seat so he could
look at the driver. "Ta Sunshine," Doyle said softly, a hint of a smile on
his handsome face and a world of warmth in his green eyes. "I'll pick you
up at 9 tomorrow, don't be late."

 "Sweet dreams, Raymond," he replied with a smile to match his partner's,
"you've earned them this day."

 Once in his flat, he took a long shower, staying in until the water ran
tepid. He climbed into bed, and curled into a tight ball -- pillow held
firmly to his chest -- sleep finding him as the beauty of the English
sunrise played across his mind.

 ******

*Sunrise on the Hills by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow*

 "If thou art worn and hard beset
 With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
 If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
 Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
 Go to the woods and hills! No tears
 Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."

 -- THE END --

 *March 2008*

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