A shot. A single shot echoing through the dank air trapped in the warehouse. Outside it shone, bright cleansing sunshine, but in here an unhealthy dampness clung to the air. There had been so many shots, rattling incoherently. Until that one shot, that single eloquent shot, lost in the noise of the others.
''Bodie!'' and he was running, running towards the noise of that lone shot. That one crack in the air which was more important than all the others. Reverberating still in his ears. The one shot that had not been answered because the gun that should have answered it was silent. ''Bodie!''
Slumped against the wall, dark head down as it never was in life. Hands slack and idle, the silent gun still within their grasp, useless unused bullets still housed within. Cheated of a life to defend.
And he knew he was sobbing before he fell to his knees. Before he felt with shaking hands to find no pulse. Before he reached to cradle the body in his arms and whisper ragged angry invective at the man departed. Before it was all over and Cowley was there ruthlessly suppressing tears of his own and speaking gruffly of sense and practicality. Before he was made to let go.
Before a hand rested on his shoulder, strong, capable and light of touch and a body shielded him from curious eyes and dropped to its haunches by his side as he sprawled on the couch in the overcrowded safe house. Before it handed him a mug of tea and said ''Wake up sunshine, it didn't happen. Still here, all in one perfect piece.''
Before he met blue eyes with his own and saw, for one fleeting immortal instant, not an unloved warehouse, derelict by the river, but a window, an upturned potted plant, a telephone on the floor. A partner on the floor. Before he knew that a shot never fired, a shot to the back of his head, extinguishing his dreams forever, forever haunted those of the man grinning before him.
Before he struggled to sit up and make way for the beloved man on his haunches so they could sit and drink tea together. Hearts beating, lungs filling, alive for another day.
Because when they were awake it all made sense. Drinking tea and diffusing nuclear weapons made sense. Chasing birds and chasing villains made sense. Being gassed and beaten and shot at made sense. Working for George Cowley made sense.
When they were awake, alive and together, it all made sense. So he grinned back and held the gaze of the man next to him until all the bullets faded away and the air was still. Until they had made peace with the dreams and turned from each other to face the world anew.
END