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.
TWO OF THREE
I've never liked hospitals; the smell of antiseptic that permeates the air, the functional laundry on the beds, and the plastic sheets that covered the mattress. I've had a few spells in them too, none of which left any pleasant memories other than the fact I survived and walked out of them. This time though it was different. Bodie was the one being worked on, while I waited, helplessly, outside in the corridor.
We'd delivered him to Casualty, kicking and screaming as usual that he didn't need a hospital. Shame the blood soaked cream polo neck told a different story. I wanted to stay with him, while the staff worked on him, but an overbearing nurse pushed me out of the way.
"Might as well go home young man," she said. "Your colleague isn't going anywhere tonight and only family will be allowed to see him."
I turned away quietly, seething inside.
Family, I thought bitterly, some drunken old geezer who'd beat him up as soon as look at him!
"I'll wait if you don't mind," I flashed my ID card. CI5 operatives were expected to have priority treatment – it's in the small print according to Cowley.
The nurse stared at my ID and sniffed.
"Suit yourself. The waiting room is over there." She turned away abruptly and re-entered the treatment room.
I sat down heavily. McCabe walked up with a plastic cup of tea.
"Doyle, you comin' back to HQ? Not much point staying here. They'll keep him in overnight I guess."
"Nah. I'll stay. You'll let Cowley know the score?"
McCabe handed me the tea. "Not sure what it'll taste like," he said peering into the cup, "it's from the machine."
I thanked him and took a sip. It was brown and warm, all it needed to be.
The treatment room door opened and a nurse made to leave. A voice called to her, and she stood holding the door open while having a conversation. I sneaked a peek into the room.
Bodie was sitting on a gurney with his back to me. The sight of his broad back, took my breath away, and I involuntarily put my hand out towards him, as if I could stroke that pale, muscled expanse.
The nurse let the door close and walked off. I sat there waiting, waiting, waiting.
I thought back to the first time I realised that I wanted Bodie.
We were sitting in a field near Bray, keeping tabs on a dodgy diplomat, partying with some undesirables. Nothing was happening and we were bored to tears. We'd spent the night in a ditch, binoculars and cameras trained on a large country house. It was pouring with rain and we huddled together under a green tarpaulin sheet. At first, we laughed and joked about our predicament, but as the night wore on and the rain fell harder it ceased to be amusing.
"I hate jobs like this," growled Bodie. "Waste of time usually. Never had a decent result from one of Anson's snitches. And why isn't HE sittin' here soaking wet and watching this place?"
"It's our job sunshine," I replied. I'd sat in on many obbos like this while working as a policeman, and took it in my stride. Bodie was more used to action. He didn't take kindly to sitting and waiting.
The rain lashed down with a vengeance. I pulled the sheeting closer, making sure we were both covered as much as possible.
"Budge up mate, we'll keep drier," said Bodie.
I moved a couple of inches closer, suddenly aware that the proximity of him was making me uncomfortable, but in the nicest way possible. I was shocked when he grabbed me firmly and pulled me towards him. I looked at him, searching his face for some sort of signal that there was more to the gesture than simple friendship. I wanted to hold on to him forever.
Bodie read my expression in a split second.
"Just making sure you don't catch your death of cold mate. Nothing more!"
Oh Bodie, if only you knew . . .
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I was being shaken awake. It was the nurse who'd told me to go home.
"Your friend refuses to stay in for observation sir," she said. "He says you'll keep an eye on him if we let him go. Are you able to do that?"
"Is he fit to leave?" I asked. I knew how difficult Bodie could be if he didn't get his own way.
She shook her head.
"The knife wound wasn't deep, but he does have some stitches. The doctor says as he is so insistent he won't stay, it's ok for him to leave, but he should really have someone with him for twenty-four hours. He's still groggy from the painkillers we gave him, and he may need more over the next few hours."
I took a deep breath.
"Okay, I'll take him home and stay with him."
The nurse beamed at me.
"Thank you. He'll be happier in his own home, and that will help him to heal more quickly."
They wheeled Bodie out from the treatment room. He was smiling and joking, but I could see the strain and tiredness in his sapphire eyes.
The journey to his flat was quick. Bodie dozed, as the painkillers did their work.
I helped him up the stairs and into his flat. He sat down heavily on the couch while I sorted out the heating and made some tea.
I carried the mugs into the lounge. Bodie was trying to get up without hurting himself anymore. I put the drinks down and went across to help him. Slowly he got to his feet.
The tablets were working – his pupils were enormous, sparkling black centres surrounded by a narrow rim of blue.
"Gotta lie down mate," he slurred, "before I bloody fall down."
He shuffled towards the door, leaning heavily on my shoulder. I managed to get him into his bedroom, where he sank to the bed and looked up at me.
"Fuckin' pills. I can't sort meself out. Dunno why they gave 'em to me."
He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His lashes fluttered and he muttered more to himself than anything. I knew he needed rest and warmth. As gently as I could, I slipped an arm around his shoulders.
"C'mon mate, let's get you into yer jammies. You can't sleep in those bloody clothes."
I slipped his jacket off his shoulders, and lifted the bloodied polo neck over his head. I nearly cried out when I saw the damage the knife had inflicted. There was a long slash running from his left shoulder, down across his chest towards his belly. Marching down the creamy body was a row of neat stitches, holding the damaged skin together. The wound was still oozing slightly, and the area looked hot and sore.
Bodie sighed and yawned.
He really is having trouble staying awake, I thought. I toyed with the idea of helping him further, but the idea of undressing him played havoc with my already overheated libido.
He toed off his shoes and gingerly bent down and removed his socks. Standing up, he sucked in his breath as the movement pulled at the stitches. He padded out to the bathroom, where I heard the sounds of running water.
Bodie staggered back to the bedroom, clad in a pair of pyjama bottoms.
I took a long look at him, my eyes drifting down his body; his broad shoulders and muscled forearms, the long legs and the outline of his sex beneath the material. I suddenly felt an irrational hatred for the women in Bodie's life who were rewarded with his body, while I could only hide my feelings for him.
He leaned against the door jamb, watching me.
His eyes drifted towards my crotch, straining against the denim, hard with need for him.
Bodie raised an eyebrow.
"Well, sunshine," he said, what are we going to do about this?"
He sat down next to me. He cupped my face in his hand, and smiled at me; a warm loving smile, I'd never seen before.
"Can't have yer way with me tonight love. I couldn't raise an eyebrow, let alone anything else."
My chest hurt, and I realised I was holding my breath.
"Get into bed Ray, we'll sort it out tomorrow. Then he gently kissed me.