Usual Disclaimer
I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.
LISTENING
Even when he wasn't aware of it, Ray was noisy.
I can tell the sort of mood he is in just by the sounds of his everyday life. Singing in the bath or shower is a good sign. He has a light baritone and holds a tune well. I just wish he'd find something else to sing other than 'House of Fun', at whose lyrics he giggles like a schoolboy.
Then there is the 'silent' time, after a mission, when he writing up his report. Ray says nothing. Only the nervous tapping of his pen gives him away, as he thinks about what to write. He strives for the truth, just the facts of the matter. The tapping of his long fingers on the table while he ponders the wording sets up a beat with the pen creating a staccato rhythm you can almost dance to.
When he has a weekend off, the sound of his regular breathing as he dozes on the sofa after lunch, reminds me of past times, when after the family Sunday lunch, grandparents would move stiffly from table to armchair before an afternoon nap. I tiptoe quietly around him, clearing up, anxious not to deprive him of the rest he often needs.
It never works. The low rumble of his laugh moves up from his chest, as he catches my arm and pulls me down. The squish of the sofa, when I snuggle next to him, and the contented sigh as he nuzzles my neck all add to the sound that is him.
Whatever he does, it is intrinsically Ray. He likes to make himself heard. Yawning has to be loud and exaggerated; swearing must be forceful; crying is private – and he does sometimes cry, but I've never heard him. I've seen his eyes reddened and glassy but never question the why and wherefore of it. It wouldn't be welcome, and anyway, if it was necessary he would tell me.
There are the routine noises he makes every night, not all of which are soothing: the clicking of the combination to the gun cupboard, and the thump of the weapon being placed in the drawer. The last crackle as the R/T is switched off. These are unwelcome in our bedroom but come with the territory of being with him.
Lastly there is the sound of him slipping naked into bed and the deep sigh as he makes himself comfortable, settling the bedding around him. Then there is the rasp of his hand across his unshaven face or his chest – all peculiar to him.
Then of course there are those noises that remain private between us. The sighs, low moans and soft groans which accompany the gentlest moments we share. The sound of his heart beating, as I lay my head on his chest. The most intimate he sound he makes when he climaxes.
Ray is a vocal man, his silences sometimes louder than his words; but I love listening to him. He allows me to do so. Who am I? That is for you to decide. I know I am Ray's.