1850 words

Note: This is an AU

Pyro and Ice

by Allie

Doyle sat, as he had done for the last twenty minutes, stewing outside Cowley's office.

He knew very well he was being kept waiting to let his temper cool. The only trouble was, Doyle's temper rarely cooled. Certainly being told to sit and think about things as if he were a naughty child did nothing to help it along.

He hadn't meant to hurt Jax. Or Anson or Murphy or any of the others. It wasn't his fault…well he supposed it was… but most of all it was bloody Cowley's fault. The man ought to know by now that Doyle wasn't suitable for partnership, with anybody.

The worst of it was he was angry with himself, too. He LIKED Jax. Jax was low-key, friendly, funny, and a competent agent. Jax's power was a useful one: reading thoughts at a distance. And yet even Jax had been taken by surprise at Doyle's unexpected burst of heat. The danger of Doyle's talent far outstripped Jax's perceptions.

Doyle remembered the hurt expression on Jax's face, the bewilderment more than anything. It made him shudder inside, flames licking at his heart that he could cause such a thing, when he was honestly certain he had never meant to. Never, never. Not for a momentary burst of temper. Jax didn't deserve…to have to hold his hand like that, cradled, burnt and in agony, until he could get back to Ross and her deft, competent but imperious healing touch. Her power which sometimes made her act as though she was better than the rest of them.

Doyle had wanted to die of shame. But now, as much as he bitterly condemned his accident for hurting Jax, as much as he regretted the loss of a partner he liked, he felt a tendril of triumph. Cowley would have to see he couldn't be partnered with anybody.

Bloody Cowley.

"Doyle, you may come in now." Cowley's voice held rich, ironic enjoyment at this situation, which he certainly should have known wasn't one bit funny.

Doyle stormed in. His eyes flashed anger at Cowley, heat simmering in him. He did his best to keep his hands at his sides, keep his heat contained. He knew Cowley's office, as most of the CI5 building, was made to be nearly indestructible in deference to the people with extraordinary talents coming in and out of it every day, some with less control over their gifts than Doyle.

iSuch as poor Tommy…./i

But Cowley wasn't indestructible, and Doyle didn't want to hurt anyone else.

His annoyance, and his concentration on keeping his temper in check, took so much of his attention that he didn't at first notice the other man in the room.

"Doyle, meet your new partner, Bodie." Cowley was; he was enjoying this!

Doyle turned, opening his mouth to protest. He realised that Cowley wasn't the only one enjoying this. Laughing eyes, so very cool and blue, regarded him as if he were a wind-up toy about to go off. That blue gaze seemed to plan on getting full enjoyment out of the fireworks.

Bodie's certainty made Doyle determined to stay calm, to disappoint both him and Cowley. He snapped his mouth shut, and spoke in a carefully controlled voice, accent climbing higher on the social scale in the effort not to be looked down upon. "I would rather not work with a partner, sir."

"You've made that abundantly clear, Doyle. But Bodie can handle you. He's the best. He comes to us from the Paras and the SAS. I don't believe you will dent him too badly. You'll be teamed starting tomorrow. Oh, and Doyle? Try not to catch your room on fire again, would you?"

Amusement gleamed in the Scotsman's eyes. Doyle stared back at him, daggers of hatred aimed at his silently laughing boss. Unbelievable! Cowley would subject him to a partner, then practically dare him to try to hurt the man and mention casually that Bodie could "handle" him? And then to mention catching his room on fire, to make him look like an undisciplined maniac with no control over his ability….

The heat that had been simmering in him all day, part sick shame, part anger (at himself, at Jax, at Cowley), quadrupled, and he felt the tension ratchetting up. He swallowed hard in an effort to control the trembling feeling in his gut and almost gagged on the taste of his sour stomach. Too much fire left you feeling sick, out of control, dangerous.

As he was trying to get control of himself, this Bodie character broke in on his efforts. "You don't look so intimidating, sunshine. You're a little slip of a thing, aren't you?" Bodie's smooth face held a challenge in his arrogant grin.

"I'm not a—"

He didn't get to finish protesting.

Bodie reached out for his wrist and caught it teasingly. Before Doyle could yank free of him and protect him, the fire had ripped through him and out, aimed at Bodie, dangerous as a hundred volts of electricity. He was shaking a little and pulled to get free.

But instead of starting to scream, or jerking back, or any of the normal things a person did when being burned alive, Bodie gripped harder. Doyle's flames didn't look like they normally did. They looked paler, almost see-through and blue as if burning in a different atmosphere.

Doyle felt the heat rushing forward from him, glad and desperate to meet: cold. Cold, quenching his fire, gathering up the excess, damping and swallowing it with still more cold. He was shaking now for a different reason, and his hand felt like it had been buried in snow, deep and for a long time.

Doyle pulled free with a gasp. This time, Bodie let him. Panting, Doyle rubbed his wrist and stared at that faintly mocking face.

Bodie hadn't been hurt. Didn't look like he'd been affected at all. And he was cold—oh, so cold.

In spite of himself Doyle felt a smile growing on his face, incredulous and happy. "You're Ice."

"Yeah. You've got a pretty good thermostat going there, Fire."

"I—" Doyle didn't know what to say on meeting his opposite. He felt shy and humble, not wanting his own abilities to be looked down on and yet curious to know exactly how much Bodie could do in comparison. Beneath it all, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.

Bodie's ice had slaked the terrible heat, the burning, jittery need to let his fire out. It had relieved the tension of always having to hold it in. Instead, his furnaces burned lower now, content, like a fire stoked comfortably low for the night; it could rise any time, but right now, a cat would be comfortable sleeping close to it.

He looked at Bodie gratefully, with new eyes. This man could be a partner to him. He could be so much help. Almost as if they were made to balance each other out.

"I can see you two have a lot to talk about," said Cowley, still wryly enjoying this.

"Yeah, go on, be a sport and show me around. I'm to have the quarters next to yours, you know, in case you try to burn the place down." Bodie's laughing eyes dared Doyle to take offence, to blow up at that remark.

Doyle showed his teeth in a reluctant grin. "C'mon then." He turned on his heels and strode confidently from the room, ignoring Cowley, unable to keep the big grin off his face.

#

"You have that trouble a lot?" asked Bodie. "Losing control, like?" He didn't sound mocking, just interested.

Doyle shrugged, keeping his back to Bodie as they trod the corridors of CI5. "Doesn't your ice ever escape?" he asked gruffly.

"Not often, mate." Bodie sounded smug.

Doyle risked a glance back at him. Was Bodie trying to bait him, or was he a bit arrogant for real? He didn't want to believe the worst of his new partner, but felt a little frightened of trusting himself to this man.

"So. Paras and SAS, eh?" he said. "What did they make of your abilities, eh?"

Now Bodie's mouth compressed into an annoyed, almost pouting expression. "Didn't care when they didn't know," he said shortly.

Ah. Like that, was it? Doyle nodded his understanding and sympathy. "I hear you, mate. Got me kicked out of the police force, this did." Without thinking, he put a hand on Bodie's arm.

He jerked back as soon as he realised, but nothing had happened; no steam or smoke starting to rise, no scream of pain. Instead, his hand felt faintly cooled. He looked down at it, saw a bluish tinge, quickly disappearing as his fires stoked warmth. He felt strangely comforted, to have more of his fire pulled away. A calmness seemed to descend on him; the world felt right.

Bodie smiled at him, suddenly cheeky and very happy-looking. "Oh, that's great, mate. Didn't freeze you. Suppose you're immune, aren't you?"

That he looked so very happy as he said these words told Doyle more than anything else ever could about Bodie's experiences with his power and how he reacted upon being either unexpectedly touched or pissed off.

"We're a good match." Doyle couldn't keep the sappy grin off his face.

Bloody hell, Cowley had made the right call for once!

Bodie gave him a slap on the back and fell into step with him, his walk buoyant and a big grin on his face. "Show me around, mate. My new mate," he added, in an affectionate undertone. "I can't hurt you, can I?"

"Oi, what happened to 'slip of a thing?'" Doyle teased.

"Just trying to rile you. Worked, didn't it?" Bodie leaned towards him, speaking in a low voice. Even his breath was pleasantly cool. He smelled of fresh soap and peppermint, achingly nostalgic smells. Everything about him seemed right, as if Doyle had been waiting for him for some time now, and when he arrived, he'd stepped into a spot he'd belonged in all along.

Bodie's arm snaked around his shoulder, and again Doyle felt the peculiar, sweet comfort of cold, plenty of cold to bleed away his heat, to leave him refreshed and comfortable and not overwrought.

"Hell, Doyle. You're so warm," said Bodie in a low, amazed voice. "Haven't felt this warm in ages."

Doyle moved shamelessly nearer, savouring his cool comfort. "And you're so pleasantly cold."

A large hand reached up and played with Doyle's curls, twining and tugging in preoccupied exploration, as if Bodie needed to examine even the hair of his new partner. "We'll make a great team."

"The best." Doyle leaned against him, feeling safer within his own skin than he could remember since his power started.

Bodie sighed and leaned closer against him in return. "You warm me up, make me feel alive. Your fire, my ice, it's perfect. Cowley is bloody brilliant."

Doyle caught the big hand, disentangled it from his hair, and squeezed the cool palm. "Bloody brilliant Cowley," he agreed.