Pure Bodie Whump written for my own indulgence...Enjoy!
-..-
The factory floor was saturated with water; stagnant rain water, and plenty of junk leftover from previous occupants who had long since moved on. This far out of the City was too far to attract leaseholders and too close to attract unwanted attention by gangs; it was the perfect place for an undercover rendezvous. Despite it being so damned wet. Doyle picked up an old tin, half full of rusty wheel nuts, the other half full of fresh rain water which had leaked through the roof. He tipped the water out and threw the tin to one side in disgust. It had rained for two days straight. Forty-eight hours of persistent downpours. The reason he was able to recall the timing with pinpoint accuracy was down to his partner. Before the first drop had even hit the ground, Bodie started grousing. It wasn't supposed to rain in June, for God's sake. Doyle hardly blamed his partner for moaning; undercover constraints had him using his motorcycle for transport whilst his car was being looked at by CI5 technicians in the garage. Doyle was well aware himself that rain and leathers did not make for a good combination. But, having to listen to his partner complaining for over an hour the previous night via radio had sucked all the compassion from him. Still, he had reluctantly agreed to meet in person today, using the warehouse as temporary shelter from the elements.
Doyle scanned the horizon, taking in another black cloud approaching. It looked a lot like another storm cloud. Grimacing, he checked his watch again. Bodie was late. Bodie was very late. Doyle pressed a button on his RT, ready to report to Cowley, but stopped dead when his ears caught the faintest sound of an approaching engine. "About bloody time," he muttered, raising his binoculars to seek out his partner.
His relief was short lived. Bodie was coming in far too fast for the conditions, and he soon saw why. He was not alone. Two vehicles followed close behind. One was far too close for Doyle's liking, and he could imagine his partner being none too pleased with its proximity himself. Suddenly the perfect rendezvous location was turning against them. The access road was shot to bits, in need of a fair amount of repair, making his partner's fast approach hazardous at best. He'd be lucky if he kept from being thrown off the motorcycle at this rate. Doyle fumbled for his RT and made a hurried call for back up, knowing Cowley had reported being somewhere in the area, probably keen to get an update on Bodie's undercover assignment himself. He pushed open the door beside him, intending to give his partner something to aim for where he could lose the goons following. The opening would not allow a car through, which should give his partner shelter from the gunfire which was bound to be aimed his way once they caught up.
As the vehicles got closer, Doyle squeezed off a few shots at the car nearest to Bodie's motorcycle, hitting the windscreen and forcing the driver off his line to skid to a halt fifty yards away. Another foot and his bumper would have made contact with the bike. The relief at averting the Volkswagen from ramming the motorcycle it was in pursuit of was short lived, however, when the driver's window opened and the barrel of a shotgun poked through. The two passengers leapt from the vehicle and lined up to take a shot each, obviously deciding they'd taken the car close enough. With a curse, Doyle ducked back into the building, narrowly avoiding buckshot from the first blast. Dropping to the floor, he pulled off a few more shots for cover as his partner crossed the car park dangerously fast, aiming for the door. Doyle rallied off more shots, forcing the men behind their car for cover, and dragged the door open as wide as he dared.
Despite his best effort, another blast from the double barrel found its mark, and the rear tyre of Bodie's motorcycle exploded. Doyle held his breath, watching with dread as his partner went down hard, the impact trapping his leg and the momentum taking both him and the heavy bike through the open doorway in a slide over the grimy floor. Heart thudding loudly, Doyle took down the two passengers quickly, giving them no opportunity to take any pot shots at his partner, who was now a sitting duck. He desperately sought out the driver of the vehicle who was nowhere to be seen. Doyle pulled up quickly when he moved his sights to the second car which screeched to a halt next to the first. It was Cowley. Doyle watched the controller draw his gun and aim it past him, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Bodie!
Doyle stepped slowly into the open, seeking out the spot where his partner had come to rest behind him. What he saw made a shiver run down his spine. The driver of the Volkswagen was standing over his partner, shotgun in hand.
"Now, no funny stuff, you hear? Drop the hardware - now!" The driver's tone was agitated, but he moved with surprising efficiency by grabbing a fistful of Bodie's collar and dragging the agent further into the workshop. Doyle desperately wanted to see how his partner reacted to being manhandled from under his bike, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with the brute as he threw down his weapon. He noted from what he could see in his periphery that Bodie didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight.
The gunman brought the gun up in warning as Cowley took a step forward. Doyle took a moment to take a couple of steps himself whilst the shotgun wasn't trained on him. The gunman didn't like that one bit. "Stay back!" he yelled. "Knew there was something funny about this guy" he muttered, giving Bodie's collar a small shake. There was still no response from the downed agent. "Creeping about like some nosey copper." He continued to back up, stumbling slightly at an unseen obstacle hidden under the water. "Coppers don't meet in places like this though..." He glanced around furtively, keeping the gun squarely trained on the unarmed CI-5 men.
Doyle used the small distraction to move further into the warehouse. Damn, it was dark. Too bloody dark to risk anything until the goon got rid of the deadly shotgun. He and Cowley were sitting ducks, silhouetted in the doorway - the man wouldn't even have to aim and he'd probably catch the both of them with buckshot.
"Let him go." Cowley demanded, using the tone of voice which usually got immediate results. The gunman dropped Bodie's collar and now brought both hands to his shotgun. Doyle made a mental note to thank his Controller later for that. He did breathe a little easier now that he could see his partner moving, albeit very slowly curling onto his side behind the gunman. The jarring impact from having his helmet smacking against the concrete must have roused him from semi-unconsciousness.
The gunman took a couple of small steps back, and gave a low chuckle. He placed a heavy boot on Bodie's hip, his sight unwaveringly kept on Doyle, obviously seeing him as the more threatening of the two agents before him. "Hope your boy can swim." he stated before pushing Bodie into deeper water. Much deeper water. The leather-clad agent disappeared from view in a matter of seconds. Before Doyle could react to that he was forced to take a dive himself as the gunman let off a shot at him. The noise in the warehouse was deafening. To avoid getting in the line of fire, Cowley had to go to ground too. He and Doyle scrambled up and let off shot into the darkness, each hoping that the sound of hastily retreating footsteps would cease.
"He's getting away!" Cowley bellowed, firing off shots towards the rear of the warehouse.
Doyle ignored him, scrambling over to where he'd last seen his partner. Bodie hadn't resurfaced, and Doyle had a nasty feeling that he'd been pushed into one of the vehicle inspection pits which should have been boarded up years ago. An accident waiting to happen. He all but shoulder barged his boss out of the way in his haste to find the other end of the pit. He pulled off his heavy coat, jumper and un-holstered his weapon, thrusting them all into Cowley's open arms he then kicked off his shoes. He cursed the rain again for good effect.
Doyle carefully sidestepped into the pool of water, feeling his way in his bare feet. Finding the edge of the pit was the easy part. He dropped in feet first, the cold water taking his breath away. It was deep alright. He cursed before tentatively feeling around for the deepest part of the pit; for all he knew it could be six or seven foot deep in places. Not bad for diving in at the local swimming pool or snorkelling off the coast, but going in blind under grime filled, stagnant water - well, that would make it far more difficult. If he was really unlucky, he'd end up jumping right on top of his partner.
Doyle disappeared into the murky depths as Cowley watched with trepidation. Their only lead had escaped, not that they had him secured in the first place. He hated to admit it, but the mission seemed doomed to fail before it had really begun. Bodie was supposed to be on light reconnaissance, reporting in on anything, or anyone acting suspiciously in a Lord's local parish. He was not supposed to be involved in high speed pursuits involving several heavily armed men. He was not supposed to be risking life and limb this early in the case. He was only supposed to dig up clues as to the whereabouts of Lord Carrington, a retired army colonel.
Cowley had forced him to work alone. One new face in a small village was not uncommon, but two of them showing up would have aroused instant suspicion with the locals. Maybe he should have sent both Bodie and Doyle. Maybe he should of listened to that small, nagging voice in the back of his mind that had told him that Lord Carrington wouldn't have just disappeared without a trace for no reason. Truth be told, it wasn't officially a CI-5 matter. He was using his men as a favour to Lady Carrington.
Cowley was pulled from his musings by bubbles appearing on the surface of the water before it was broken by the head of Doyle. The young agent gave a groan as he pulled up his partner. Cowley inched as close as he dared to the pit and held a helping hand out to his agent. "Grab him!" Doyle gasped, doing his best to get his partner's solid form over the lip of the pit before they were both dragged down by the weight of the heavy motorcycle gear.
Cowley struggled, grateful when Doyle hoisted himself out of the water and grabbed Bodie's other shoulder. The two of them dragged him away from the edge and into the light spilling in through the doorway, sloshing through water as they went.
Doyle pulled open Bodie's water saturated leather jacket, cursing when he saw no movement beneath the layers of sodden clothing underneath. "No, no, no..." he muttered angrily, fumbling with the catch on his partner's crash helmet. At this point potential head and neck injuries were low on his list of priorities, especially since the selfish bastard seemed to have stopped breathing.
"Bodie," Doyle growled, pulling the helmet off his prone partner. He was rewarded with a string of choked curse words and coughs as they quickly manoeuvred him onto his side and encouraged him to spit the water out.
"Clever boy!" Cowley cried. "He held his breath."
"Nearly held it too long" Doyle quietly admonished, trying to get Bodie to sit up as the old man stalked off in the direction of his vehicle saying something about an ambulance.
The other agent sagged in his arms though, breathing raggedly. "Easy sunshine, easy." Ray soothed.
Bodie groaned, screwing his eyes shut as he got his awareness back. He coughed up more of the disgusting water. He was certainly going to have some colourful bruises after being thrown from his bike if the aches and pains already making themselves known were anything to go by. Something didn't feel quite right though. His vision was filled with black spots from holding his breath for far too long. His backside was throbbing like nobody's business. His shoulder was protesting at the manner in which Doyle was holding him upright. His leg, which bore the brunt of the impact from the fall, now that he couldn't feel at all. Not one little bit.
He snapped his eyes open and fumbled his gloved fingers down his thigh towards his knee. The swollen, waterlogged gloves made his ministrations heavy and clumsy. "Mm leg" he slurred, trying desperately to get his eyes to focus. He let out an agonised sound when he made contact just above his left knee which soon got Doyle's full attention.
"Stop that," Doyle scolded, pulling his partner's hand away and frowning at the unfocussed look in his eyes. "The old man's called an ambulance, so if you could try and concentrate on breathing until then-" he stopped, the words dying on his lips as he felt an undeniably warm stickiness on his fingers. "Shit." Blood. He'd been so caught up in the near fatal drowning incident he failed to fully check his friend for other injuries. Injuries he clearly had. "Easy!" He carefully slid his partner back into a prone position, deftly running his hands down each side as though frisking him for hidden paraphernalia.
Bodie soon let him know when he found the tender spot, a shade above his left knee. Doyle cursed the poor lighting as he felt more blood oozing from the wound. It was too warm against the cold of his wrecked leather trousers. From the dim lighting Doyle could be certain it wasn't arterial, but it was still leaking out at an alarming rate. Still, the optimist in him told him it was too dark to tell what was blood and what was water. He really hoped he hadn't pulled his partner out of the freezing pit to just watch him bleed to death on the grubby workshop floor. Throughout his examination Bodie was still clawing weakly at Doyle's arm, muttering something about his leg. He softly shushed him as he caught movement at the door from the corner of his eye.
"An ambulance is on its way." Cowley stated, peering into the darkness beyond his agents, still sore about losing their only lead. "Although, the localised flooding might make it a tad tricky to navigate the roads around here." he added as an afterthought.
"It won't make it in time." Doyle replied with sheer certainty as he felt his partner go limp in his arms. He stopped trying to get at the wound. With nothing to plug the hole in his partner's leg, he'd bleed out long before an ambulance crew made it to them - and even if they did make it out to them through the severe floods, they still had to get back to the hospital in time. Time, it seemed, was their greatest enemy once again. "Help me get him to your car."
If Cowley had any qualms over his subordinates direct tone, he chose not to voice them. He'd learnt to trust in the younger man's instinct, and something told him there was trouble brewing. He quickly limped over and helped Doyle drag the injured man out of the sodden warehouse. It wasn't easy. Dragging Bodie at the best of times would have been a challenge, but dragging him dead-weight and all, soaked through to his skin left both men more than a little out of breath.
Doyle slipped onto the back seat of Cowley's car, glad that it was a saloon car and not a hatchback with three doors like his own. Together, he and Cowley had manoeuvred the wounded agent onto the back seat, propping his injured leg on Doyle's lap so he could try and stop the bleeding. The agent trusted Cowley to get them to the hospital in record time. He was the only driver, other than Bodie, that he trusted more than himself in an emergency. He examined the wound in the daylight, frowning as he caught a glimpse of something foreign glistening in the light.
"Ambulance?" The breathless question surprised Doyle and tore his gaze away from the object. He had thought Bodie was unconscious. He certainly hadn't made a sound whilst being dragged into the vehicle.
"Deluxe ambulance for you, old son." Doyle replied, hurriedly balling up a blanket from the controller's parcel shelf. It was all he had available for compression other than his bare hands. "Chauffeur driven by the old man himself."
Bodie's pain-filled eyes met his briefly before falling onto the make shift compression patch. He shook his head weakly and added, "it's too late. I can't even feel it." In his mind, if they weren't waiting for an ambulance then his injury must be severe. He tried to move his left foot. Nothing. No feeling at all. He had a chilling thought. Was his lower leg still attached for him to even feel? Had it been irreparably crushed in the crash? Was this how his career at CI-5 was going to end? His breath would only come in short gasps as he used the back of the driver's seat to lever himself up to take a look. His vision tunnelled and faded before he could catch a glimpse at his damaged leg. "Oh God, please…can't feel it." What good would he be to CI-5 without a leg? The Cow would kick him to the kerb in a heartbeat. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Is it…?" If he could only see it for himself. He needed to know. He deserved to know whether or not he still had a leg to fight for! "Ray?"
Doyle frowned, not grasping his friend's whispered words. "Lie still for Pete's sake." he scolded, gently pushing his partner back down and finding little resistance. He folded the blanket into a square and pressed down on Bodie's leg, bracing himself when the other man bucked with the pain. He felt that alright.
"Doyle!" Bodie moaned, trying and failing to push his partner's hand away. Doyle had never heard that level of despair in his partner's voice before, and it sat coldly in his gut. He hoped his friend didn't think he was inflicting this much pain for no reason. He pressed down hard, staunching the flow of blood as much as he could.
"I need to keep pressure on it, Bodie…so you won't lose it." When no response returned Doyle shifted himself forward in order to look into his friends eyes, only to find that Bodie, face lax, had lost consciousness. He cursed softly, matching the worried look Cowley wore as he glanced in the rear view mirror.
As predicted, the roads had become almost impassable to traffic during the torrential downpour. Cowley, omnipotent bastard that he was, navigated them expertly through without issue and they reached the hospital in good time.
-..-
He was cold. He was colder than he could ever remember being. A deep chill rushed through him and he shuddered, wakening the pain receptors in his head. He gasped, flinching as the feeling of falling overcame him. Shock. He was going into shock. He knew enough about blood loss to recognise the signs. Blood loss. How had he lost blood? A chase. Being chased. He'd been running. Funny, he usually did the chasing…not the running.
Another flinch. Falling. He'd fallen. Roaring of engines. His motorcycle. Coming off, hard. Sliding into darkness. Unfriendly, foreign hands on him, tugging and manoeuvring him from…from where? Foggy memories. Water. Lots of water. Was he still underwater? Had he drowned? No…no! A familiar silhouette in a doorway came to mind. A guardian giving him safe passage, covering him from gunfire behind. But it wasn't safe. Someone had tried to kill him. Pushed him into the murky depths of hell. But he wasn't dead. Safe hands had pulled him from those murky depths which threatened to consume his very soul. His partner. His friend. Doyle!
Heart hammering in his chest, Bodie tried in vain to pry his eyes open and seek out his partner. Eyelids fluttered against stark white light. He couldn't keep them open. He shivered. Cold. Still cold. Bone achingly so. Had they succumbed to enemy fire and become trapped in the warehouse? But it was dark in the warehouse. Dark…and cold. Not bright like this room. No longer in the dank unit then. Snatches of a conversation, mostly one sided, regarding ambulances and floods vaguely came to him. Confusing him even further. He couldn't recall an ambulance ride.
His teeth chattered as another cold wave washed over him. He became aware of hands undressing him hurriedly. Cutting the still damp layers he'd dressed in to ward off the bitter downpour earlier, much earlier that day. Voices broke through his fevered thoughts. Clarity in his hearing amplified the sound of two, maybe three people, none of them his partner. Sounds of metal clinking against metal replaced the chatter. Then hurried footsteps leading to him followed by discussion over blood pressure and shock between two females.
A few words cut through whatever fog still hung over him when he heard them mention his leg. "It's still bleeding badly." They were cutting off his trouser leg, trying to ascertain what damage had been caused from being thrown from his motorcycle. "Leave it for the Surgeon - we don't want to do more damage - he could lose his leg." More damage. So his leg was still attached for the moment. It was little reassurance. The damn leg he was still unable to feel! "They'll have to remove it themselves." Bodie's equilibrium centred at those words, his eyes snapped open and a guttural growl shocked everyone in the cubical into silence. He grappled blindly, grabbing hold of the collar of a startled, scissor-wielding young lady who'd been swiftly peeling his sodden clothes from his body. "You leave it," he slurred, sounding suspiciously like he'd downed one too many gin and tonics. His hand fisted into the poor nurse's uniform, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he immediately regretted the surge of adrenaline that waking bought.
The nurse dropped the scissors to one side, holding her hands in front of her in a placating manner as she tried to back away. Bodie's usual ironclad grip faltered through overwhelming fatigue. He fought to keep from crying out in pain as the young woman easily squirmed her way out of his weak grip. "Wait!" They would take his leg over his dead body, but that might come sooner than he would like. Wouldn't they ask him permission before they lopped off a limb? If only they would just wait. Wait for him to explain. He wasn't ready. Didn't Doyle say his leg would be fine? Where was Doyle? He'd make sure they didn't cut it off. He felt tears burning in his eyes, tried to blink them away but had to swipe a shaky hand over his face to get rid of them. He struggled to stay focussed, his mind refusing to cooperate as well as his body. Oh God, he was losing it big time. The nurse must have noticed his moment of inattention; she took a step or two forward intending to carry on with her task.
Bodie sought out the discarded scissors and wielded them like a talisman in front of him, warding his caregivers off for the time being. "Just wait," he gasped, unable to summon up another word between breaths. One of the doctors vanished behind a curtain whilst the other put an arm around the shaken nurse, pulling her out of harm's way. The only sound in the room was coming from the injured man in the bed who was breathing as though he'd not long completed a marathon. If they could just wait for him to catch his breath before they carted him off to go under the surgeon's knife, then he could make sure they knew that he definitely wanted to keep his leg. He needed his leg. He'd tell them all if he could just get his breathing back under control. Get himself back in control before anyone made any rash decisions on his part whilst he was incapacitated. Temporarily incapacitated. He hoped. Oh God. His heart fluttered sickeningly in his throat.
"Bodie!" Doyle's voice cut through the tension seconds later, a mixture of annoyance and worry evident in equal parts as he took in the desperate scene unfolding before him. Bodie's darting eyes slowly settled on the curly-haired figure standing with his hands on his hips in exasperation. The fleeing Doctor had returned with reinforcements. Oh good. Maybe the big man upstairs did care after all…
"Doyle?" The hand wielding the scissors faltered and Doyle easily confiscated them. There was little resistance as Bodie seemed to be putting all his effort into simply staying conscious. "Don't…don't let them take my leg." he pleaded as his partner took hold of his shoulder to stop him toppling off the bed completely. The startlingly cold feel of Bodie's bare skin against his own had Doyle's skin crawling. Despite his best efforts, too much blood had been lost, and now his delirious partner was stalling the operation he clearly needed to repair the hole in his leg.
"Bodie, I promise you, they won't take your leg." He pushed Bodie back down as gently as he could. "Just let them work and you'll be back up and running in no time." Ugh, poor choice of words.
"Ray?" And there it was. One syllable. A pleading question that left an ice cold feeling in the pit of Doyle's stomach. A heart-wrenching, cracked tone of voice which Bodie had never used before, and Doyle hoped to hell he'd never hear it used again. It was laced with fear. Doyle's mouth went uncomfortably dry and he had to swallow back his own panic before he could answer.
"I promise." The confirmation must have been a tipping point because at those words his partner lost consciousness completely.
"Well, come on!" Doyle snapped at the hesitant workforce, jolting them out of their stupor. "Don't make a liar out of me." He added, standing back so they could get back to prepping their patient for the surgery he desperately needed.
-..-
"Well, how is he?" Cowley asked. He could see by Doyle's tight lipped expression that whatever he'd been called away to fix hadn't been pleasant.
"He's scared."
"Of surgery?" The ex-mercenary never showed signs of fear before, and Cowley had seen the younger man hospitalised on more occasions than he wished to remember.
Doyle didn't respond. The sound of his partner's voice was still ringing in his ears. He'd give anything to be able to travel back to that morning, before it all went to hell. Anything to take back the promise he'd been forced to make to his partner. How could he look him in the eye and make a promise he couldn't be certain he'd keep. "He should have had backup." he muttered angrily.
"He had backup." Cowley responded before Doyle rounded on him.
"You weren't even supposed to be there," Doyle spat. "Why were you there?"
Cowley chose to ignore the insolent tone of his subordinate. Yes, he had been there. He'd seen the amount of blood covering the passenger seat of his car after their perilous journey from the warehouse to Bodie's flat. He understood the need to find fault, try and see where it all went wrong. Point fingers. Assign blame to a familiar face. Anything to make that gnawing guilt go away. The feeling that they had somehow been to blame. That some action they failed to take could have prevented this outcome. If only it was a simple as that. "We had a tip from a girl in the village where Bodie'd been staying." he offered.
That piqued Doyle's interest. He un-balled his fists for the time being and actually allowed himself a small grin coupled with a humourless chuckle. "A girl? So he wasn't making that up then…"
Cowley continued. "She appeared to be concerned for Bodie's safety, and he'd told her to contact you in case of emergency. Unfortunately, you were well out of RT range by that time…" The grin fell from Doyle's face as he thought back to the ill-chosen rendezvous. Next time he'd insist on a public meet. If there was ever going to be a next time. "I spoke with her personally. She told me about the men who'd followed Bodie and what they intended to do once they'd caught up with him. She also told me what she thinks they did to the minister." From the sigh that followed, Doyle guessed it was bad.
The two men were swiftly ushered out of the way by the procession leading Bodie to surgery. Cowley caught a glimpse of his injured agent's ashen features during the process and it did little to ease the worry in the pit of his stomach. He led Doyle over to a row of chairs adjacent to casualty, forcing the younger man to sit whilst he busied himself by fetching a hot drink from a nearby vending machine.
He collected some change from his pocket and purposefully pressed the coins one by one through the slot on the vending machine, turning his head so Doyle could still hear. The hospital was bustling with activity, making conversation difficult. "When we couldn't raise you straight away at the rendezvous, I decided to make the trip myself. I'm glad that I did."
Doyle met his eyes briefly as the old man returned to his seat, an apology already on his lips, but Cowley stopped him by pushing a hot cup of coffee into his hands. "If you're looking to someone to blame, Doyle, I suggest you start with the men who put your partner in here in the first place." It was too late for apologies. "Use that anger, that guilt, for something useful for a change." He looked down the corridor, to the double doors leading through to the operating theatres. "There's at least one of them still out there."
"You don't happen to have any leads on where he's gone to ground, Sir?" Doyle asked, gratefully cupping his hands around the hot drink. His clothes were still damp from his impromptu swim and the hospital was draughty. He could imagine he looked a state with his blood stained trousers. Cowley replied in the negative with a shake of his head and Doyle huffed with annoyance. "Do you think there are more of them, other than the one that got away?"
"Regretfully, little information was shared by the girl - I rather got the feeling she was on an unsecure line, giving us information she wasn't permitted to give." Cowley said. "But she did say that Bodie found something out he shouldn't have, and that they wouldn't let him live long enough to tell anyone what that something was."
"Well, all we need now is for Bodie to tell us who they are, what they're doing and where they're doing it." Doyle said, hoping it would be that simple yet knowing that it wouldn't be…
-..-
Thirty two hours had passed since Cowley left Doyle in the hospital. Doyle knew he'd been left relatively alone on purpose. The Cow must have realised that whatever task he set out for the younger man, it wouldn't have his full attention whilst he waited for news on his partner. The boss also knew that if there was to be an attempt on Bodie's life whilst he was incapacitated, then Doyle would be best suited to eliminate that threat…with extreme prejudice. Either that or he'd gone soft. Despite the impending threat, as it happened, nothing stirred in the hospital overnight, not even 3-7.
Doyle returned to Bodie's hospital room following a quick food run. Fresh fruit and coffee. The hospital cafeteria offered little in the way of a hearty meal, and he had no appetite anyway. Bodie, the stubborn git, had yet to fully wake. He'd had a few spells of seeming consciousness which had lasted but a few seconds each time. The mumbled words the sick man had produced were both weak and too incoherent even for his partner to make out. That didn't help the gnawing in Doyle's stomach much. He'd caught snatches of Cowley's conversation with Bodie's doctors. Doctors. Plural. It seemed in addition to the near fatal motorcycle 'accident', the poor git also managed to get himself drugged. Hence the raucous reception he'd given to the nurses when they'd tried to help him out of his clothes in casualty. And the foreign, pleading quality of conversation thereafter that had spooked Doyle down to the core. He wondered how much of the fear had been born from the drugs they'd doped him with, and how much was just usually well hidden beneath his outer layer of bravado.
Doyle soon came to realise he'd never seen his partner scared before. Really scared. Even when the bugger admitted to feeling fear, he delivered the news in a cold, emotionless way which couldn't be further from fear. Bodie didn't do fear. Not for himself, never for his own wellbeing, and only occasionally for others. Doyle hadn't realised how much he'd come to rely on that. Couldn't draw strength from a partner who cowered every time danger came knocking. He needed Bodie to wake up. He wanted to un-see and un-hear the previous day's events. He wanted the real Bodie back. His calm-before-the-storm, piss-taking, intimidating - you'd want him on your side in a bar fight - partner. And he wanted him now. Not when the stubborn git decided he'd had enough kip for two lifetimes.
Doyle acknowledged a young nurse as she entered the private room; she returned a warm smile before busying herself with taking Bodie's blood. They seemed to be taking as much of the stuff from his veins as they had replenished when he'd been first admitted. Doyle was sure it had something to do with whatever the poor sod had been drugged with. Bodie moaned in his sleep and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. Doyle leaned forward in his seat and felt slightly foolish when his partner sighed deeply and fell back into the abyss of a deep slumber. It wasn't the first time the younger man had shown signs of waking only to frustrate the rooms other occupants when he failed to make the last push towards coming around. Doyle huffed and gave the nurse a sheepish smile which was returned, she seemed just as disappointed that the dark haired man had failed to wake.
The next visit from Cowley came just as the sun decided to pack it in for the day. Not that it had really made much of an effort anyway, the day just as bleak and damp as it had been all week. So much for the predicted summer heat wave. Doyle frowned as he received his orders. "Leave, sir?"
"Yes, 4-5" Cowley replied, "I need to you to investigate a disturbance at 3-7's flat-"
"Hang on a minute, can't you send someone else - or are you forgetting about that lunatic out there with the shot gun!"
"Aye, and I remember why he's still out there too!"
"So send someone else!" Doyle snapped, "I've already let him slip by me once."
"I don't have men to spare, 4-5!" Cowley growled, angry with himself by how easy it was to get caught in a needless argument with Doyle fuelled in equal parts by worry and guilt. "And I needn't remind you that we need that man alive." In case this one doesn't make it…the silent statement crossed both men's minds. "He may have pertinent information relating to the whereabouts of the minister."
For a moment it looked like Doyle might retaliate, but one look at his bedridden partner bled the fight out of him. "You'll stay?" he asked, framed in the doorway, not quite ready to relinquish his one man vigil just yet.
"I will."
Apparently satisfied, the younger man firmly shut the door behind him.
"Well that was a rotten thing to do…" Bodie's voice, weak from disuse cut through the tension left in the room. Cowley head snapped round fast as he looked to the man in the hospital bed who he'd wrongly assumed was unconscious. The raised voices must have been enough to wake the younger man.
"As much as I welcome your return to the land of the living, Bodie, I don't welcome your opinion on how to best handle this particular situation." Cowley's smirk soon turned into a frown when he saw that his agent was too distracted to see it. The grimace on Bodie's face showed that his agent was in a great deal of pain. "I'll fetch your doctor."
"Wait!" Cowley stopped dead in his tracks, waiting patiently as Bodie forced his uncooperative eyes to open and stay open. He carefully shifted in the bed, readily accepting help in sitting up. He lifted the covers and breathed an inaudible sign of relief. Both legs, still attached. Although, from the feel of it, he was going to be more than a little black and blue all over. He wiggled the toes on both feet and sucked in a sharp breath when pain shot up his bad leg. Oh well, at least he could feel it now. "You got rid of Doyle for a reason."
"Aye, when I thought you were unconscious," Cowley said, throwing the statement out like it was a reprimand. He added, "You're obviously in some discomfort now you're awake."
As if to reinforce the point, Bodie's heart rate climbed. He snorted a mirthless laugh as the sound contradicted what he was about to claim. "I'll be okay." Cowley looked dubious, but chose not to argue. "Any chance of giving the sacrificial lamb a weapon?" The injured man's question surprised Cowley.
"How did you-" Cowley cut his own question short and thrust his back up weapon into Bodie's hand. "Och, never mind." Bringing out the enemy by dismissing Doyle had been his intention all along. How on earth Bodie figured it out would probably remain a mystery for a long, long time. "You're to use it as a last resort, mind. The last thing we need is for an over-zealous nurse to get a shock if she walks in at the wrong time and gets shot at."
The warning was lost to Bodie. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his leg since being helped to sit up. He vaguely recalled his distress upon arriving at the hospital. The panic that had consumed him. Had he voiced the concerns he had over losing his leg? God, had he completely lost it in from of Doyle and the old man? Would he have to explain why he was so afraid of losing his leg? The anticipation of having to dredge up the past to explain had his anxiety heightened. Had he heard that he'd been drugged? Yes. Then that must be it. He wouldn't normally feel so…afraid.
Cowley sensed his man's rapidly deteriorating condition. He pulled an object out of his pocket and gently pressed it into the distressed man's palm. "Your leg will be fine, Bodie - they pulled this from it." Bodie unfurled his fingers and studied a jagged piece of plastic. "The damned thing was pressing against a nerve - you should find the feeling has returned to your foot, and there will be no lasting damage." Cowley said. The assurance came as a relief it seemed as Bodie released a shaky breath that was half laugh, half sob. He scrubbed his face with one hand, the embarrassment clear enough in the gesture. Cowley turned away, giving the younger man some semblance of privacy. "It appears you may have been drugged over the course of the last few days which would explain all this," he vaguely gestured over his shoulder whilst peering out into the darkness beyond the window. "The effects should wear off fairly soon."
Bodie lowered his hand and sighed. "Thank you, sir."
"I'll go and fetch your doctor now." He caught the minute nod from his agent before he made it to the door, Bodie's head hanging low as he fought against emotions that overwhelmed him.
In a matter of seconds, a doctor burst into the room, giving Bodie little time to compose himself. He swiped ineffectually at his eyes, keeping his head lowered until loud noises to his right made him glance up in curiosity. He watched with a frown as the doctor locked the door and braced the handle with a chair. When he turned back, it became clear the doctor was no doctor at all, but the man who'd almost killed him two days earlier. The bastard must have been waiting close by all along.
Unprepared for the predicted hit, Bodie gaped at the man before him for a couple of seconds, his heart hammering in his chest like it would burst out at any moment. The man seemed satisfied with Bodie's reaction and gave a small smirk as he pulled a knife from his pocket. With lightening efficiency, the man advanced with a downward slash, aiming at Bodie's chest. The groggy agent threw himself to the side, his momentum tipping the hospital bed onto its side, spilling him and the equipment he was attached to onto the polished floor with a crash he hoped was audible from outside the door.
The intruder cursed and scrambled to his feet as Bodie desperately tried to free himself from the wires, tubes and cursed hospital blankets which were still wrapped around his legs. He slid on his backside as best he could to put a few feet between himself and his attacker. His hands brushed against something cold wrapped in the blankets, the gun! He brought it up in front of him, clutched tightly with both hands shaking. He didn't get a chance to shout a warning to his assailant before he was forced to shoot. The trigger felt like lead and for a brief, horrifying moment he wasn't sure he held the strength to even cock the hammer. But he managed, the shot came and the sound reverberated loudly in the small room as though he'd just fired a cannon. He'd aimed for the centre mass. It was all he could do in the circumstances. A leg shot would have been too risky with his shaking hands. If he'd missed…well, it wasn't worth thinking about. A bum leg would be the least of his problems.
He'd struck the man just below his ribs, the knife rattling on the linoleum as it fell from the dying man's grasp. He dropped like lead, unmoving.
The door rattled on its hinges as someone banged hard on it. Cowley must have returned with the real doctor. Someone shouted his name. Probably the same someone who had dressed him in the flimsy pyjamas he was currently sporting. His eyes crossed as he failed to focus on the close knit stripes running vertically down one arm. They definitely weren't his, and they didn't offer much protection from the cold, hard floor either. Someone banged again on the door and he ignored them. He couldn't stand, and he didn't have the energy to scoot over to the door on his backside to let them in. His leg was throbbing mercilessly in time with his own thumping heart.
The window leading outside shattered, throwing glass over the dead man. Bodie raised his gun up with serious doubts that he'd be able to take on another would be assassin.
"Bodie!" Doyle yelled, throwing his hands up in a placating manner so he wouldn't be accidentally shot. Bodie gave him a grin and relinquished the weapon which had begun to sag in his hands anyway. He slid down onto one elbow and wrapped his other arm tightly against his midsection.
"You're late." He sounded breathless, but his voice had lost the whining edge it had held before.
Doyle raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the mess in front of him. "Yeah, well the old man sent me off on a wild goose chase, didn't he - only I didn't buy it." He smirked. "Think I've been hanging around you too much - insubordinate little git, right?"
Bodie laughed once before squeezing his eyes shut and mouthing a curse. Doyle pulled the chair free from under the door knob and dragged it over to where Bodie had come to rest.
"Come on mate, let's get you up." Doyle took hold of Bodie's upper arm and gently pulled him up off the floor. Bodie groaned, clutching his ribs with one hand, and fell heavily into the chair, his adrenaline fuelled energy reserves rapidly depleting. He swallowed thickly. The drip line which was attached to him via a vein in his hand had miraculously managed to survive the turmoil. Whoever had inserted it had not been stingy with the tape holding it in place, but it had still been jostled and was bleeding. He peeled the tape off and pulled the line out, it had been rendered useless anyway without the glass bottle full of saline attached. Luckily his leg had been heavily bandaged and had survived an unwanted jostling.
He vaguely wondered if he would have to change rooms, what with the blood and missing window in the one he had now. A hospital would have the resource to clean up a dead body, but how long would it take to re-glaze the large sliding window pane which Doyle had smashed his way through? He wouldn't be able to just stroll down to another ward without being checked over again. By the tightness in his chest, he knew he'd bruised more than his ego when he'd hit the floor. He'd probably broken a rib or two with that little stunt, which made it difficult to envisage how he was going to get about on crutches whilst his leg healed. And what if he'd done more damage to that too? Just thinking about it gave him a headache and he closed his eyes to the room which was beginning to spin in tune with his disjointed thoughts. The sooner the drugs wore off the better.
He must have zoned out at some point as he when he opened his eyes, Doyle was crouched down to meet him with a worried look on his face. "Think I might lose my breakfast." Bodie said, only half joking.
Doyle stepped to one side, wary of what might end up on his shoes if he didn't. "You missed breakfast actually, and a few more meals beside that." The tone was light, but the concern unmistakeable. "Now, do you want to get out of this room or not?" he motioned to a wheelchair which had seemingly appeared from nowhere. "Some bugger's smashed a window and Cowley's insisting you move somewhere more comfortable." Bodie glanced up and saw that whilst he had been playing twenty questions with himself, Cowley had indeed taken command of the room. He was barking out instructions to a pair of doctors, demanding another room for his agent and reassuring them that all breakages would be paid for by CI-5.
Doyle clicked his fingers in front of his face, trying to regain his attention. Bodie looked back up at him with glazed eyes. "You've really done a number on yourself haven't you mate?" Doyle chuckled, outstretched hand trying to coax the injured man from the sanctuary of the chair. He caught a forearm as Bodie's uncoordinated arm came up and together they gingerly made the transition from chair to wheelchair. "Come on, maybe on the way you can enlighten me on where you got this gun from."
-..-
And that's all I've got...