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.
WAITING
I often woke in the night when Ray was absent.
He could be on an all-night obbo, or in another town, on a mission – all I knew was, he wasn't with me.
I'd unconsciously feel for his body but instead find his side of our bed, cold and bare. The pillow neatly plumped; the sheet hardly disturbed. The emptiness would jolt me awake and I'd get up, pulling my robe around me.
The flat felt desolate. I'd wander from room to room, searching for some sign of his existence. A book he'd left on the table, his mug, neatly washed, on the drainer, his jeans kicked in a heap by the linen basket.
Returning to bed, there would always be the unwelcome reminder he was away; the gun cupboard, open and forbidding, his ID and R/T gone. I would find one of his T shirts, and slip it on, the lingering smell of his body and aftershave offering a sort of comfort. Then I could sleep again.
As the sun began to crawl higher in the sky, I'd picture him asleep next to me. His hair, long, and in need of a cut; the weight of it pulling the curls onto his shoulders. His body, lean and hungry, his face at rest, the skin darkened with overnight beard and his eyes, darting restlessly as he dreamed whatever he did, to rest his soul. A movement as he twitched the sheet down, perhaps involuntary, or to cool down, exposing the covering of dark hair across his chest and belly.
I'd remember Ray's slow entry into wakefulness; the small movements of consciousness; his hand, absently rubbing his chest, his eyes opening slowly, shining clear and green and his mouth, curving into a generous smile. While he was away I missed the sight of him and such actions so much I thought I might break in half with longing.
Such feeling is worth the reward of his return. Sometimes, late at night, he'd come home, tired and uneasy, or pleased a job was over. Ray shows his feelings crystal clear to all. Then he'd strip and slide into bed. His arms would snake around me, and his mouth would brush my shoulders in a kiss so delicate I would shiver with anticipation. His would tighten his arms around me and I feel his body moulding to mine as he slips into a deep sleep. This is what he does after a mission. The morning after is for those intimate actions we both enjoy so much.
This is me. I watch and wait for Ray. Who am I? That is for you to decide. I know I am Ray's.