Chapter Text
Connected By Love
By Harlech1000
Prologue:
On the east coast of Norfolk, a few miles away from any other building, there was a block of six cottages. They were called cottages although that was really a misnomer. They were not of the chocolate-box variety that the imagination brings to mind when the word cottages is mentioned but a two-storey basic rectangular building built, centuries ago, to house Carltonbury Estate farm workers and their families. The building was of stone and originally had a thatched roof which had since been replaced with slate.
When the building was erected, the estate had stretched as far as the coast for miles each way. However, as is common with a lot of such estates, Carltonbury was asset rich-cash poor, and an unfortunate series of events led to a large tax bill relating to death duties which an unforgiving government insisted was to be paid within an unreasonably short space of time. Large parts of the outer lying estate had been sold off including the coast area with the cottages and now, years later, and after many different owners, the building consisted mostly of holiday rental flats. As time passed the individual flats had been renovated and modernised yet one thing that couldn’t be changed was the location. The cottages were still in a remote and relatively isolated place some miles from the nearest village (Endby), and yet further from the nearest township and access was, still, by the one road that ended a few metres past the last flat.
The road then turned into a dirt track that opened out into a roughly levelled carpark. The carpark was the starting point of several hiking and walking tracks -shown on various maps and tourist information sites - that followed the coastline both north and south. During the summer months it was very popular with picnickers, leisure walkers and the more serious hikers and hiking groups. In winter the place was practically deserted apart from the couple of cottages that were permanently occupied.
In the way of locals, the building had come to be known as the “cottages at the end of the road” which over time had become “Endroad Cottages”.
So, as you can imagine, it did cause some excitement in Endby when a stranger walked into the local pub and asked directions to Number 5 Endroad Cottages.
It was early Spring, but the weather was still cold enough to be considered late winter in nature and the expected influx of visitors would not be making their appearances until early summer, so a stranger was a novelty and cause of much gossip.
Endby Village was a destination in of itself. Nobody came there by mistake or by taking a wrong turning. It wasn’t on any main road or well-travelled route. It had nothing of note to recommend it outside of the beach and walkways in the few months of summer, so the arrival of a young man on foot with only a backpack asking for No 5 was unusual to say the least. The young man in question had avoided the few shops and businesses that the village boasted, opting instead for the only pub – The Black Horse. There he was seen having lunch after which he departed down the only road that led out of the village northwards to the Cottages.
The pub landlady, when pressed for information, said the young man had walked all the way from Sheringham and looked exhausted. He had had a ham and cheese sandwich and a lemonade, thanked them for the directions and left. When glared at by her audience, she added. “He said was Robert Doyle’s nephew.”
In a small village, tongues wag easily, and Robert Doyle’s nephew was the cause of much speculative conversation especially among the older villagers. They waited to see what would happen next.
After a couple of days, Robet’s nephew had returned, this time in Robert’s little red car and he had brought some supplies from the general store. He’d been polite, pleasant even, but not forthcoming and that set the pattern for the following weeks. They had tried to find out how long he was staying but he didn’t seem to know or at least said he didn’t. He deflected with a shrug and shake of his curly head questions he didn’t want to answer. This only increased their fascination with him. The only thing of interest they did find out was that Robert had left his nephew, Ray, the cottage as the young man was his closest living relation. The villagers who hadn’t even known that Robert had any family outside of his partner, David, wanted to know more about the nephew and his intention but their curiosity was so far unsatisfied. It was most frustrating.
Interest finally died down as the nephew continued to remain tight lipped and no amount of judicious prying could discover anything else about him.
Then a few weeks later, the arrival of a flash silver “city” car started the excitement up once more. The man who climbed out of the car, stood out like a sore thumb in his expensive suit and shiny shoes. But very nice he was with such an engaging smile. More sociable than Ray, he had gone into the pub for a drink and directions to “No 5 Endroad Cottages”. He chatted with landlord in a friendly manner, and it wasn’t until after he had left, and the landlady had demanded all the details that her husband had to admit there were none. They had talked football mostly.
With this new development, villagers waited events with renewed interest.
Two men at No. 5 just like it had been before the death of the previous owner and his partner.
Chapter One
The storm was approaching from the east off the sea. He stood on the edge of the cliff and watched it. The wind whipping up, tossed the mass of curls into his face and he brushed them back staring out to sea. Heavy drops of rain followed and then the rumble of thunder. He waited for the lightning.
The temperature had been a relatively balmy 21 degrees when he had first stopped here, and it hadn’t mattered that he was wearing tee-shirt and jeans then. There had been no wind, just the unexpected warmth of early spring. But English weather was as fickle as its reputation. It could change in a matter of minutes.
Not bothering to check the weather forecast, he had just gone out, driven from the quiet of his cottage by pent up energy - a need to do something – anything – even if it was just a pleasant rambling walk along the hilltop.
Now however as the temperature plummeted and the wind whipped the rain across from the sea, he wished he’d thought to bring at least a jacket with him, on the off chance. His tee-shirt was already soaked, clinging to his torso. The wet material was unpleasant, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. The idea of a quick retreat to the warm of the cottage flittered through his mind to be dismissed. This change in the weather didn’t alter anything really. In fact, it was rather fitting all things considered. Unfolding his arms, he let them drop and closed his eyes briefly against the wind driven rain, adjusting his stance automatically to compensate for the wind’s attempt to blow him backwards. It was gaining strengthen, he noted.
Time ticked on.
Digging his hands in his pockets, he continued to stand an immovable object in the face of the fast-approaching storm. It was kind of appropriate, he mused idly, this stormy turmoil outside matching the turmoil inside him. But the storm would pass whether in an hour or two or a day or so. The turmoil within him had existed for a lot longer. It would be nice if he could sort himself out. He had hoped out here away from everything he would find his answers.
His free time was almost up and there were decisions he had to make. Decisions he needed to make once and for all. But the way forward wasn’t clear, and he had no idea of what to do. Oh, he knew what he wanted to do. And he knew what he wanted but neither of those options were available to him if they ever had been. But was another long story and rehashing it yet again wasn’t going to help him.
He shivered and thought back a year. Almost a year ago when everything had blown up in his face. The time when Bodie had run from him so fast it had made his head spin. His partner of six years had resigned and gone without a word. Their last conversation had been a row – a row he had started without meaning to, speaking without thinking, and Bodie had finished with vehemence and some very precisely chosen words. Even then he hadn’t thought that Bodie would leave – not only leave but leave without another word not even “goodbye”.
Six years of partnership didn’t even rate that.
He had believed Bodie would calm down then pretend it had never happened. Doyle was prepared to do that for the sake of keeping the peace; at least in the interim. But he didn’t even get that chance.
He was left to try and carry on. Only he couldn’t. Promises he had made – he kept. Love was unconditional and because he still loved the tie that bound him to his ex-partner, ex-lover, was still as tight and alive as it had ever been. He knew Bodie had gone back into a warzone without knowing whether that was as a soldier, a mercenary or something else. He felt it when Bodie had been injured and needed strength to stay alive just long enough to be rescued.
When he gave of his strength freely to keep the man, he loved more than anything else in the world alive, he realized then that he could no longer do his job. C15 was lost to him; he couldn’t afford the lapse in concentration that might cost another person – innocent or colleague -their lives because he was distracted by something that was happening at the possibly other side of the world. Distance was no barrier to his gift – it never had been. So, he couldn’t tell whether Bodie was in Belfast or Belgravia. He just knew Bodie was no longer in England. The only thing he could do was resign. He had handed his resignation letter to Cowley as soon as he could. His timing could have been better. Standing in front of the Cow, just days out of hospital, Doyle had waited as Cowley had read the letter then in his usual tart way had simply refused to accept it. Instead, the Cow had given him a sabbatical. Time to sort himself out and recover from his injuries. Doyle had been told he had to return and make sure he qualified for A Squad again -then and only then would Cowley even remotely discuss his resignation. “Agents, as you well know, are hard to replace and even more expensive to train.” Were his parting words to Doyle.
A six-month sabbatical. A time to heal physically at least.
At first, he had been relieved. Doyle felt the easing of the tension, the pressure to keep up the focus he needed for the job verses the tugging at the back of his mind when ever Bodie needed him – consciously or unconsciously. The cottage had been the only choice. Knowing nothing about it, he’d looked it up and found that it was on the east coast of Norfolk and sat at the end of a row old fashioned stone building. They were several centuries old and the village itself older. His Uncle had lived here after the scandal that had shaken Doyle’s family. Doyle had been too young at the time to understand it. He only knew that the happy adult who always arrived with chocolates and a couple of pounds for pocket money was suddenly not there and definitely not talked about. When he had asked, his father had given him a non-too gentle clout about the ears and told him children were to be seen not heard. It wasn’t until years later, just after he’d started Art School that he had bumped into a man who seemed familiar and who knew his name. They had renewed their relationship and Doyle understanding now the ins and outs of it all, had been pleased to find that his uncle had led a good life with good friends and a wonderful partner. They both had died some years later as a result of a fishing accident. The storm had come up unexpectedly when they were out fishing just as it had today only their little vessel had been unable to weather the high seas and they had capsized while attempting to get back into the safety of the harbour. Their bodies had been found two days later washed up on the shore. Doyle had grieved for them both and had been surprised to find out that he was their sole heir. There wasn’t a lot left to him and he would have given it all up gladly to have them back. But there was the cottage they’d lived in, some investments, and a safety deposit box. It was the safety deposit box that had held the greatest treasure – for in it, Doyle had found a small book. Tiny careful writing explaining that like his mother and himself, his uncle also had the “gift”. Only his Uncle’s Father had written a diary to guide his son through the perils and joys of “the gift”. His Uncle had picked up it and continued it after his father’s death. There also had been a letter addressed to him.
Doyle had waited several days before opening it. He’d wanted to talk to Bodie but couldn’t bring himself to do so – their partnership was still too new and Bodie was angry about an op.
Dear Ray,
If you’re reading this, then I guess I’m dead. You were always my favourite family member and I know you would have missed me when the family threw me out. I am sorry but we each must live our lives as we see it. I missed you. Your mother and I were unusual in our family because we both had what you have -the gift. It was the first time it had emerged in two members of the same family and who knows what sort of omen it was. Our father had it and wrote us both a diary. Your mother threw hers away as useless, but I kept mine and it is now yours. Please for future generations keep it up. You will learn new things about the gift just as we did, and knowledge must be passed on.
Secondly, one day you will fall in love. True love not just lust and fancy but the kind of love that awakens your senses and soul. I hope the one you love loves you in return and pray that you know the kind of love I have known with David. If he’s still alive, please look after him. He will miss me not just physically but within his mind there will be a hole – a hole that nothing can fill. He will be half alive because half of him is dead. I know you probably don’t understand right now – you’re only twenty-one as I write this and still far too young for this kind of love – but one day you will.
Take care of yourself and know that David and I love you. You are our family and that is why everything we have is yours when we go.
Your ever-loving Uncle
Robert Doyle.
He had been twenty-eight when he’d first read that letter and only now, he did understand and wished he didn’t. Love to someone with the “gift” he had was a curse when it couldn’t be or wasn’t returned. Doyle had experienced both and he wasn’t sure which of the two was worse. Unknowingly he had wrapped his mind, heart and soul around Bodie like a blanket. Everything he was he’d given willingly to the man that had been his partner then his lover then nothing. And he couldn’t take it back because he still loved. Maybe if he’d been aware of it before it happened, he might have been able to stop himself falling quite so heavily. But he hadn’t. Now Doyle was left with what he himself had unwittingly created.
His relationship with Bodie had been fiery but easy when it came to the action. They slotted together so well despite their personalities. It led to a friendship on and off the job and that friendship had led to a closeness that Doyle had never experienced before. Unlike Bodie his career had been mostly as a solo agent as an undercover police officer and then with CI5. Bodie had worked in teams and groups and was comfortable with people socially. He wasn’t good with people when it came to comforting the innocent victims or the ordinary person who got caught up in something unpleasant. That was Doyle’s department.
One thing had led to another, and they had fallen into bed, then into a relationship of sorts and then – not thinking – Doyle had committed the ultimate sin in Bodie’s book. He had said three words. Just the three. “I love you.” And all hell had broken lose.
What was worse, Doyle hadn’t meant to say them out loud. He’d woken before Bodie for once and had propped himself up on one elbow to watch the still sleeping man. Bodie looked innocent in his sleep and as he watched, Doyle felt the love well up in him. Unthinkingly he had whispered those fatal words. Unfortunately for Doyle, he had been watching Bodie long enough for the other man to sense he was being watched and as a result Bodie had woken just as Doyle had whispered those words.
Bodie had jumped out of bed and used all the weapons at his disposal to cut Doyle down to size – he started with the men don’t do that, we’re not queer, or are you really a faggot? This is just sex – easing an ache cos we don’t have a couple of birds ……On and on he went, harsher and harsher, until Doyle could have no doubt as to the magnitude of the error he had made. In trying to prevent Bodie leaving trying to rescue the situation, Doyle had reached out a hand and Bodie had retaliated, swinging out and Doyle had gone reeling, cracked his head against the wall. As the stars whirled about his head, he’d heard the front door slam. Bodie had gone.
It had been last time he had seen or heard from Bodie.
Doyle came to the present and shivered now completely drenched. The storm was picking up and there was no blue sky to be seen, only angry dark clouds with thunder rolling in the distance, closer than it had been. A flash of lightning east over the sea revealed rough swells and he could hear the waves crashing now against the shore.
His sense of self-preservation kicked into gear. There was no point in freezing to death. Decisively, he turned and started to head back along the path. His thoughts still tumbling over themselves.
The knowledge that Bodie was back in England had been confirmed by a call from Murphy who had been keeping him as up to date as he could about what was going on at headquarters.
Doyle had wondered if the ex-soldier would ever return to C15 – Bodie would consider it safe to do so with Doyle not there no doubt; that had been before Murph had told him that Bodie hadn’t resigned like they’d all thought. It had been a opp. Bodie had been loaned out to his old SAS mob and was expected to return to CI5 quite soon.
Well now, that explained why Cowley hadn’t wanted to accept Doyle’s resignation, didn’t it? Cowley would want his best team back in action again as soon as possible. Keeping England smelling ever so faintly of lavender and roses. Ha! That wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not ever.
Doyle traipsed back feeling wetter and colder. His emotions drained out. Without the connection, he felt only half alive. Nothing seemed to quite matter in the same way. In fact, nothing really mattered much at all. However, at least for the moment Bodie wasn’t tugging on the connection between them, demanding Doyle’s attention and energy. It would be instinctive for Bodie, and he would have no idea what he was doing or that Doyle was at the other end of a line he knew nothing about. All Bodie would know is that he healed pretty fast even from serious wounds that should have killed him. The Bodie Lucky Charm at Work. Doyle would have laughed at the thought of himself as someone’s lucky charm had he had the energy. It wasn’t luck. It was love. His love bound him more tightly to Bodie than any rope or chain ever could – whether he wanted to be bound or not. That was the downside to his “gift”.
Admittedly, Doyle had panicked the last time Bodie’s need had called him. It had been so close, too close and Doyle had discovered he’d do anything to keep Bodie in the land of the living, whole and in one piece.
He’d been in bed with a whisky and a good book. The tug had been sudden and hard, and he’d spilt his drink – totally forgotten -over the bedclothes as he closed his eyes and follow the connection between them.
Bodie was in pain; he was struggling to keep a clear mind to survive; wherever he was, he had to hide and keep low. If he was found it was death but if the right side didn’t find him soon, he was dead. If he could just hold on a little longer, find some strength from somewhere…then…and as always, he couldn’t help but think of his ex-partner, ex-lover back in England. Doyle. He’d never had doubts about survival when Doyle had his back. If Doyle had had his back, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first …. come on Bodie, get a grip.
“Your dumb crud – what have you done now?” Doyle had thought preparing himself.
“Shot in the leg – and dislocated shoulder- “. Was the answer.
Doyle frowned. That had never happened before. “How?”
And a blur of scenes showed him what had happened. “Well, that was stupid wasn’t it.” Doyle couldn’t help but think watching the litany of mistakes from other people that had led to his partner’s injuries. “And you said soldiers weren’t brainless automatons.”
“Look, enough chitchat…I’m dying here…” Bodie obviously thought it was his own mind. “I don’t need my brain to give up on me and start hallucinating right now.”
Doyle didn’t disabuse him. Instead, he strengthened the link and used his own life force to provide the strength that Bodie needed to survive. He’d had precious little time – Bodie would have bled to death.
Doyle had woken the next morning with the hangover from hell and barely able to crawl to loo where he was violently sick. It took two days before he started feeling better. That had been four weeks ago. And he still hadn’t quite recovered from it.
The cottages came into view and Doyle was relieved to get inside and close the door against the stormy weather. The wind howled driving rain into the shutters. It was going to be a bad one by the sounds of it.
Lighting the fire, he headed upstairs to have a hot shower and changed into dry clothes. Outside the storm was worsening. The wind whipping through the branches of the trees and throwing the rain westward with some force against the house. Although well insulated, the storm could still be heard, and the thunder felt.
The walk had been refreshing to begin with but the time out in the cold and rapid walk back had exhausted him and although there was food in the house, he wasn’t quite up to eating yet. That was the weird side effect of the one-sided bond he had with his former partner. He never really felt like eating. And food often didn’t settle well.
The last time he’d been injured, it had taken him several days before he could force the food in his stomach to stay down. Right now, his stomach was queasy and wouldn’t appreciate even the smell of food.
The cottage had warmed up nicely, the fire was a log burner with wet back and because it was partially vented it could heat almost all the cottage itself thanks to his uncle’s renovations just prior to his death.
The cottage next to theirs had come up for sale and they had purchased it and made one cottage out the two. Upstairs were two large bedrooms both with ensuite, a large decorative bathroom with only a bath in it with views over the back garden and fields beyond and a smaller box room which could pass for a single bedroom if required. Downstairs, they had kept the original door and to the right was the library-cum-study and to the left an open plan living-dining room. The kitchen spanned the entire back of the house with French doors leading off to the garden. Well insulated and warm, all mod cons had been used when they had spent the fortune on renovating.
Doyle was glad for all the comforts as he had recovered from his own injuries and some part of Bodies. He wondered what his ex-partner was doing now.
The link between them wasn’t draining as much of his energy as it usually did which suggested Bodie was a lot closer than he been in recent weeks. The countdown for his return to CI5 was probably the same as for Doyle’s own, he mused, based on his knowledge of his boss. Ray had the idea that in Cowley’s mind he and Bodie would turn up together ready to work as if nothing had happened. Ray’s own view was that they would both turn together only he would have his resignation in his hands and Bodie would say “good riddance” as Doyle left Cowley’s office.
Worst case scenario, for the Cow, was possibly losing them both. But Bodie liked Cowley and the work too much to want to leave.
Doyle himself couldn’t go back into the field with the connection with Bodie as it was, and he was too young still to want to be anywhere near a desk for a living. It would kill him almost as quickly as being in the field would. What he was going to do was a moot point.
It was funny how it seemed so very different before Bodie’s anger had ripped through his mind. It had felt as if the bond went both ways as if Bodie returned his love, as if Bodie loved him. Bodie would have had no idea that his anger had reflected back into Doyle with such force that Doyle, being so attuned to Bodie and not expecting the anger, had the headache from hell that lasted three days. Bodie had no idea of what Doyle’s “I Love You” had really meant for Doyle. Probably fortunate that he didn’t.
After all, how likely was it that two people with the same base gift but a different way of expressing it should be stuck together and be as compatible as they both were. At first, he’d thought that might be the case, but he soon dismissed that fanciful idea, it was far more probable that Bodie had no idea of their connection and wouldn’t want a bar of it even if he had. It was like something you were more likely to read about in fantasy or sci-fi books. Doyle personally wished that was the case. That it was just “fantasy” instead, he was stuck with it. It was simply part of who or what he was.
A hot shower and dry clothes later, Doyle felt a lot more settled. Towelling his wet hair, he headed downstairs to check on the fire and to find out what the met service was saying about the storm. Hopefully it would blow itself out overnight. Listening to the tv, he watched the weather report. No such luck. Apparently, the storm was due to linger for at least twenty four hours. Having heard all he wanted to know, Doyle switched the tv off and headed to the kitchen. Even if he didn’t feel like eating it wouldn’t hurt to prepare something besides which it would keep him occupied for a while.
For a moment he thought he heard the sound of a car, but wind howled and it sounded as if branches were snapping and being flung against the house. It couldn’t be a car. No one in their right mind would be coming up here especially not in this weather. Only an idiot would want to….
The rap on his door, stopped Doyle’s train of thought in its tracks. He didn’t need to peer out into the dark of the storm to know who stood out there. But he did anyway. The car was a flash looking jag, he could tell by the shape with its bright internal light. No way that was a work vehicle.
Doyle smiled a little sourly. Parking it out there wasn’t going to be advisable in this weather. Even without the door open he could hear the wind whipping up the trees, scraping branches against the stone and hurling the rain at the windows with some vehemence while the thunder that had been rumbling in the distance was getting noticeable closer. Lightning lit the sky, and he could see the driver getting out. He was still a sucker.
Going to the door, he opened it a small crack and used his weight to stop it moving further. He waited until he was sure Bodie had nearly reached the front door before calling out.
“There’s a driveway ahead to your left, follow it. Drive the car around the back – I’ll open the garage door, you can park in there. “
“Doyle – let me in. Its freezing out here.”
“If you leave your car there out there its gonna get damaged. Think of the paintwork.”
“Ray.”
“It’s your car, Bodie.”
“Shit.”
Doyle grinned – he couldn’t help himself as Bodie turned back in the wind driven rain and ran back to his car. The roar of the engine was only faintly heard over the increasing power of the storm now he was actually listening for it.
Doyle leaned heavily on the door, slamming it shut putting the bars across to add support. The shutters on the windows he had done earlier before going out (not on the off chance bad weather but as a product of his life on the edge. There were still people out there who would hold a party to celebrate if anything did happen to him and were quite happy to assist in any endeavour to make that “something” happen) and he was thankful for that precaution as he didn’t fancy trying to shut them in this.
Going back to the other side, the change was quite dramatic. The west side of the cottage was sheltered from the full force of the storm by the rest of the house itself, so it was both quieter and less windy. Looking out, Doyle could see Bodie’s headlights and he flicked the wall switch that would open the garage door. The light inside would guide his ex-partner and there was plenty of room in there for the jag. He might have known without the restraints of CI5 purse strings Bodie would some posh car to toddle around in. He gave another wee smile. Bodie would have a shock seeing his little red nana car. It came with the house and although it wasn’t to his personal taste, Doyle couldn’t see the point of wasting his own resources buying a car when there was already one available. Beside he might soon be without any source of income and not a lot in the way of marketable skills when all was said and done.
The smile faded from his face as he remembered how he and Bodie had parted. The last time he had seen Bodie, and he wondered why Bodie had come all this way especially after all he had said. It wouldn’t be because he wanted to be here – to be here meant that someone had to have told Bodie where he was and sent him up. No doubt Bodie’s actions would be driven by Cowley’s instructions. Bodie and the Old Man had always got on like a house on fire. Their military minds had given them a connection that Doyle’s police background never had.
When the jag was in the garage and the engine switched off, Doyle closed the garage door and Bodie came through the internal access, dripping water, hair plastered to his scalp. He looked much the same as he had – what nine-ten months ago or so. Well apart from the wet sling on his left arm and the fading bruises on his damp face. Bodie hesitated at the door then squared his shoulders, and their eyes met and held. Neither of them spoke. The silence was deafening.
It felt a very long moment - very awkward – as neither appeared able to break it. Bodie’s wet clothes dripped on the floor and, noting the water, commonsense reared its head. Doyle huffed out a breath, looked away and then swung back. “Get out of those wet clothes – did you bring any spare?”
Stupid question Bodie, like himself, always travelled with spares but it was something to say to break the silence and give them an illusion of normality; of nothing being wrong. A life line – he wondered if Bodie would accept it for what it was. Breathing space.
Bodie nodded.
“Get your bag in and you can take a shower here and get changed. The storm is going to hit full force in a few hours, and you won’t be going anywhere once the winds hit their peak.”
“What do you mean going to hit full force – what is this?” Bodie gestured towards the outside with his good arm, recovering his poise but looking as relieved for the distraction of normality between them as Doyle. One eyebrow raised questioningly.
“This my lad, is just the beginning.” Doyle answered loftily, falling back into their old patter style. It was possible. They could pretend at least for a while that nothing had gone wrong between them; that they were still friends if nothing else.
Bodie’s eyebrow raised again disbelievingly. He turned on his heel, returned to the car and came back with his bag. Doyle led the way up the stairs and pushed wide the spare room door. “All yours. It has its own shower and there’s plenty of hot water so go for it.”
“Thanks.”
Doyle shrugged and headed back downstairs. He switched the tv on again just to have some noise and found the local channel. Might as well find out if there were storm warnings in place. As he had suspected, there were and the police were asking everyone not to go near the sea, showing pictures of the waves crashing over the sand and across the sea front. Large violent waves capable of washing people out to sea if they stood to close. There already were a few gawkers that had to come out and see the danger for themselves. Idiots. The public was advised to avoid going out unless absolutely necessary. The eye of the storm was supposed to hit sometime during the night and die out tomorrow by late evening. In the meantime, batten down the hatches and stay inside warm and dry.
Power could conceivably go out if the lines went down. Not conceivable, most probably. Doyle hoped not but it was likely. Still, he had a generator and plenty of dry firewood stacked out in the woodstore. They would be warm and have light even if no entertainment. Luckily the log burner could also double as cooker so they wouldn’t starve. Speaking of food – Bodie no doubt would be hungry and the least he could do is feed the man. What he’d been going to have wouldn’t fill his partner’s – ex-partner’s – stomach but he was sure he had enough in to satisfy Bodie’s appetite. To say Bodie liked his food was an massive understatement.
Doyle returned to the kitchen and started preparing food for his unexpected and unwanted guest. Bodie seemed quiet for him as they had stood looking at each other before his practical nature had taken over. Remembering some of the words he had hurled at Doyle no doubt. So, what had the Cow said to Bodie to make him come down here?
Half an hour later that Bodie emerged. Happily damp this time and with dry clothes and fresh sling. “Thanks. I needed that. Didn’t expect to drive into that. It was sunny when I left London.”
“When did you arrive back?”
“Yesterday. Went to see Cowley. “Bodie offered willing to talk it seemed. “He said we needed to sort things out before we return to the fold.”
“Return to the fold?” Doyle raised an eyebrow bemused.
“Well, his exact words were “I don’t know what fool of a disagreement you two had, but you will sort your shit out before you come back here. And I want you both back here in front of my desk by 23rd June 7.30am! Now get out of here, I don’t pay you to stand in my office and the SAS are not paying for your services now!”
“That sounds like him.” Doyle agreed dryly. “Drink?”
“Can’t still on the pill.” Bodie gestured to his arm.
Doyle got fruit juice out instead. “How is it?”
“Going to be fine. Just been told to keep it in the sling.”
“And you’re doing it?” Doyle was fascinated.
Bodie looked down, then around and anywhere but at Doyle.
“Bodie?”
“Mostly,” Bodie muttered, looking uncomfortable with the honesty. “Warned it won’t heal properly if I don’t. And I do need to pass Mac’s tests if we’re to be out in the field together. ”
Doyle froze. He turned very slowly. “After all you said to me last time?”
Bodie still didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I told you where to go and how to get their graphically. Shit, Doyle I know what I did.” He paused, lifting his eyes to meet Doyle’s. “I’m surprised you’re still talking to me to be honest”.
“Yeah, well so am I.” Doyle admitted, meeting Bodie’s honesty with his own. He turned back to his cooking. “Tea will be ready shortly and I am guessing you’re starving.” He kept his voice light. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of discussion. He wasn’t ready for it. In fact, he’d rather not talk about it at all, and he had the feeling that Bodie would be feeling the same way. Much easier to gloss over it and forget it ever happened. Which would be fine if it weren’t for George -bloody- Cowley & CI5.
Bodie’s stomach rumbled in anticipation as he replied sheepishly. “Yes.”
Doyle nodded. “We could lose power this night and it’s too bad out there for you to return anywhere so I guess we’re stuck together for tonight at any rate.”
“Ray, we need to talk…” Bodie looked around.
“Eat first and we can talk later although what there is to talk about, I don’t know.” Doyle tried to sound off putting but even to his own ears came off as just tired.
“Cowley and the 23rd?” Bodie suggested with wry look.
“There is that.”
Under instruction Bodie laid the table and they both sat down to eat a mix match meal of chicken and vegetables. Bodie as expected shovelled the food down as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks while Doyle played with his. His stomach still hadn’t settled down from his own injuries and it was quite normal for Doyle to go off food while recovering. He still felt shaky and Bodie’s words hadn’t been anything that he thought Bodie was likely to say. It didn’t help his confusion.
“That was good, Ray.” Bodie said afterwards with an uncertain smile as they sat in the living room and watched the pictures on the tv. Neither of them paying any attention.
The storm was howling outside and not even the triple glazing could keep all the sound out. Every now and there something was hurled against the house – and there was as a thud. Doyle sighed it was going to be a long night.
He reached over to put the sound up on the tv as a weather update came one – when with a quiet hiss it and the lights went out. The log fire was bright enough to see by and Doyle climbed to his feet. “I’ll get the generator ready just in case.”
“In a minute.” Bodie countered quietly. He leaned back. “This might be about the right time to talk - when we’re in the dark.”
Metaphorically or literally? Doyle wondered and knew Bodie was thinking the same.
“To talk?” He sat back down as far from Bodie as he could. “I don’t really think there is anything to be said. You said it all quite clearly nine-ten months ago. After which you vanished without a word.”
“I know. Do you think I don’t? I was so angry with you that night that I used all the weapons at my disposal – I hurled whatever would get you to back off and then I stormed home still angry at you for spoiling everything. When I got home Major Nairn and Cowley were waiting for me and I took the opportunity to escape the situation. Yes, I ran. I’m not proud of it but I did. Christ, Doyle what did you expect me to do. You had just broken all the rules I set for our relationship with those three words.”
“I didn’t know we had rules.” Doyle said simply. “Stupidly I thought we were on the same wavelength. “
“Well now you know, and the question is – knowing the rules can we go back to what we were…friends, sometimes lovers and partners.”
Doyle closed his eyes. Whatever he’d expected he hadn’t expected that. The cruelty of it hit forcibly. “You really can’t be serious.”
“Why not. We were the best and still can be the best.”
He was too tired to do this. There was nothing left. “No – everything that made us the best is gone. How we could look at each and read plans, intentions, left or right – that was because we were connected – a connection you don’t want. How could you handle us working together - knowing day in and day out -that your partner loves you.” Doyle paused and spelt it out clearly. “Is In Love With You.”
Bodie flinched. His eyes flashed angrily “I thought you’d have time to get that nonsense out of your head. We’re blokes, Doyle. We don’t love each other like that.”
“I’m a bloke, Bodie and I do. I love you. I am in love with you. Whatever you do or say or however you act whether I agree or not…. I will still love you and I’m pretty sure you can’t handle just knowing that. It scares the living daylights out of you.”
“Doyle, we’re blokes.”
The wind whistled and somewhere there was a loud crack and scrapping noise as whatever had broken outside was pushed far from its point of origin. The cottage creaked and there was a howl mixed with a rumble of thunder.
Bodie got to his feet. ““We’re blokes not some bleeding couple out of a stupid romance. Shit, Doyle, we’re not joined at the hip. We work together!” His voice snapped with defensive anger.
“Hw can you expect us to go back?” Doyle asked reasonably. He wanted to yell too but he had seen what happened the last time he had let his temper get the better of him. It was time to end this once and for all. “If all we do is “work together” and you have no feelings for me – how can I trust you to back me up. You left me without a word. I went into an undercover op solo without the backup I should have been able to rely on because you were angry with me and ran away. You, obviously, didn’t care then what happened to me so howcan I trust that you would now.”
“Doyle we had six years of partnership…”
“Six years that you simply walked away from without a word.” Doyle countered quickly. He put his mug down carefully on the bench instead of slamming it like he really wanted to.
“It’s not as you suffered from a lack of my protection.” Bodie’s voice was sharply sarcastic and when Doyle turned, he saw the matching expression on his ex-partner’s face. “What do you mean?”
“You and Michaels. He couldn’t wait to jump into my place, could he.” Bodie sneered.
Doyle shook his head baffled. “Didn’t you hear me I was solo while you were gone. To hear you anyone would think you’re jealous.”
Bodie glared and opened his mouth. Doyle raised a hand. “I’m not going to explain anything to you and you’re the one who left without a word, remember?”
“And who’s fault is that?” Bodie snapped.
Doyle shut his mouth as it suddenly it hit him – this would be a never-ending loop. It would eat at them until there was nothing left not even civility. Six years down the tubes because of three simple words. I LOVE YOU. He couldn’t unsay them, it would be a lie if he recanted. But they were going around in circles.
And Doyle couldn’t deal with the continued arguments and rows this was going to cause them. There was no way back from this that he could see. They certainly couldn’t go back to the way things were -the spark was no longer there, and he had to let it go. Bodie could continue in CI5 – he wasn’t as tied as Doyle was. Doyle had had one partner killed and after that time had worked solo for three years then another eighteen months in CI5 before he’d been partnered with Bodie. Bodie on the other hand had always worked with partners in general as opposed to one partner in particular. There would be no difficulty working with another. Yes, Doyle would miss CI5 but with this one-way link there was no way he could return to the fold. No way he could do the job he had done. It was over and this was just prolonging the inevitable needlessly. Time to salvage something from the mess his words had caused.
In all his thoughts, it never occurred to him to tell Bodie of the nights; those nights when Bodie would have died but didn’t because he had Doyle’s strength to draw on. Whether Bodie remembered it, Doyle had no way of knowing and even if Bodie did remember – what he remembered was another matter entirely. But the only reason Bodie was still here now was because Doyle loved him. Love made his survival a reality. Such dependence on someone else like that was not something Bodie could accept easily. So, it was time to be the adult here and let it finish with peace between them – if he could.
“We have to present ourselves to Cowley on the 23rd and in the afternoon we’re at Macklin’s for training.” Doyle ignored Bodie’s last question. “Until it would be better if we could at least pretend that none of this happened. Otherwise, all we’ll do is argue and Macklin will make mincemeat out of us.”
Bodie was silent for a while then “He will anyway.”
The tacit acknowledgement of a truce between them.
In the end, Bodie stayed with Doyle at the cottage.
The three weeks had passed quickly and by dint of ignoring the white elephant in the room, they managed to have an enjoyable time. Bodie’s arm was back to normal, and Doyle managed not show the odd flickers of his own pain in Bodie’s presence, so his partner had no idea of the injuries that Doyle had received in his solo op or of the strength that Bodie had so unconsciously drained from him in order to speed up his own healing processes. They relied on familiarity the past six years had given them to carry them over the awkward moments and the distractions offered by the nearby tourist attractions, the local pub and anything else that could fill in the time when the atmosphere between them became laden with the things not to be discussed; Bodie’s mission, Doyle’s solo op, basically the past year, CI5 and most of all Doyle’s three word declaration.
They walked, they took the hire boats out, even played the tourist once or twice, going on excursions – laughing at the real tourists and wondering how such excursions could be considered exciting. They kept their conversations light and bantered like they always had. In the end by dint of sweeping the matter under the carpet, they gained a measure of their relationship back.
Bodie drove them both back to London in his silver jag - back to George Cowley’s tender mercies.
On the 23rd of June, they stood, like schoolboys summoned before the headmaster, in front of their boss and kept their eyes away from his all-too- sharp and knowing gaze as Cowley eyed them both with the expected disfavour.
“Now I hope all that nonsense is out of your systems and you are ready to start earning your pay.” He grumbled his accent more pronounced that usual. “You have two weeks with Macklin and two appointments with Dr Ross and then I want you back here on 8th July ready for work. Do you both understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Bodie spoke for them both. He straightened his shoulders.
“Good. Well – what are you standing about for. Out. Macklin is waiting for you at Centre Two,” Cowley paused as gleam of enjoyment entered his eyes, “Oh and Bodie, he hasn’t yet forgiven you for that throw.”
Halfway to the door, Bodie paused. He paled a little and whispered. “Shit.”
The door closed behind them, and they were both in Betty’s office.
Doyle grinned, conscious of Betty’s eyes on them as she looked up from her monitor. “Your downfall mate, I always let Macklin win.”
“Yeah… and I’ve heard what he says about that…” Bodie gave him a push. Betty returned to her typing a small smile on her face. The Bistro Kids were back and bantering as usual.
It was almost like old times again, Doyle thought, almost. But not quite. Not enough.
********************************************************************************
Macklin had rubbed his hands with quiet glee having the Bisto Kids for a fortnight. They always started off a little cocky and he enjoyed breaking them in to pieces before they would regroup, reform themselves and try and make his life a misery. He’d never let them into the secret that he felt they were his greatest successes. One day, they would be beyond him. And when that happened, he thought perhaps he could retire, and they could take charge of training the agents. He grinned. They’d be worse than him. Right now, they’d think that a fate worse than death. But in the future, they may change their minds. Maybe….
They were not together – he knew that instantly. He didn’t need to put them to any exercise to see there were two separate people in front of him not a team. As they went through the basic paces, he noted that Doyle’s leg was still giving him a little trouble (and it shouldn’t be) and that Bodie was not compensating for his partner’s difficulties. In fact, Bodie seemed unaware of them. Eying them intently he threw some curved tricks at them and watched as Bodie went ahead avoiding them, doing what up to now would be unthinkable, leaving his partner to fend for himself. Or rather, behaving as if Doyle was fully fit – as if he didn’t know that Doyle had been injured. That wasn’t right. Doyle would have told him – they’d had three weeks to catch up on what had been happening during their time apart.
Years of watching the two works easily in tandem made Macklin puzzled. What had caused the sudden break down. He watched as Bodie got to the end of the course and stood, hands on his thighs breathing heavily; not even aware that his partner wasn’t at his side where he should be.
Doyle limped up not far behind, his face flushed and Bodie glanced up.
Macklin saw the flash of surprise in Bodie’s normally bland face, like he really hadn’t known that Doyle had not been next to him all the way through the course. Interestingly, Doyle on the other hand didn’t appear in the least perturbed by his own slower performance. Almost, Macklin said afterwards to George Cowley, as if he had expected it.
“So, whatever cause their disagreement?” Cowley raised his eyebrow inquiringly.
“Is still there. They’re not a team right now. I wouldn’t put in them in the field together if my life depended on it. They’re so far apart from what is usual for them, that they might as well be on different planets.”
“I did wonder…” Cowley said thoughtfully. “Drink?” He nodded towards the scotch.
“Could use one, George. Never thought I’d see this ever – not between those two. To be honest I’m not sure if another ten days of this will do anything other than give them bruises.” Macklin poured them both large drinks and sipped his with evident enjoyment. “So, what would you like me to do with them now?”
Cowley tilted his head. He smiled slowly and with some deviousness. “Throw them in the deep end. Survival only if they work together.”
“George. you know the risks of that.”
“Either they will become a team again or I will have one solo agent.”
“True but which one?” Macklin was curious.
Cowley looked at him amused. “Bodie of course. Doyle is the one with the martyr complex.”
“I suppose so.” It was rather obvious when put like that. Macklin raised his glass. “Which one would you prefer to keep?” He knew enough about Cowley to be curious.
“Both.” Cowley drained his glass. “And I am relying on you to make that happen.”
“And if I can’t?” Macklin refilled both their glasses.
“You’ve never let me down before. Make them or break, Mac. Oh, and keep me informed. Now, while you’re here, about the new intake…”
It couldn’t get much worse, Doyle thought. They had failed dismally (in their terms – if not actually) all the exercises so far relating to their teamwork – unheard of even when they had just met. Bodie firmly believed Doyle was doing this on purpose and had ripped into him once Macklin had released them for the day with the instructions to be at the gym at 8.30am sharp. Doyle had tried to explain about his leg, but Bodie had refused to listen.
Neither of them slept well and when they turned up the following morning both were not looking forward to the day’s events. It did not bode well.
Macklin stood watching them. His eyes searching. He nodded across the gym. “Two backpacks identical. There is the van outside. You will be dumped somewhere, and it is your job to find your way back up the position given on your map. The key here is that you both have to make it homebase – together. If one of you makes it home first and the other is behind, then you’ve failed.”
Bodie glared at Doyle. They were not going to fail. But Doyle didn’t meet his look.
“After you’ve been left at your starting point, you will have a two-hour head start and then the hunters will be released. If they catch you – then its B Squad for both of you. Understand me?”
Both men nodded silently. To them B Squad would be a fate worse than death. B Squad were good agents but made up of wannabe A Squad agents and happily-married ex-A Squad agents who didn’t want the dangerous ops now they were married.
“Good. You have fifteen minutes to check your backpacks and then you each get five minutes to pick three items from that table over there each. Your time starts now.”
Bodie was quietly fuming. He still couldn’t believe how badly they’d performed. But he had learned a long time ago never to let his personal feelings affect his ability to do his job – whether out in the field or in training courses like this. He hated being behind with a passion and they were going to ace this test if he had to physically carry Doyle on his back to ensure their success. He checked all the equipment in his pack and went through carefully before going to the table. Having already selected his items, Macklin nodded and ticked them off his list, he turned his head to see Doyle just walking…no limping and trying to hide it, across. It was very slight, but Macklin knew the agents he trained too well to not see it.
Doyle came up to the table and glanced across the items – Macklin watched as the agent touched something with an odd look on his face before picking what Macklin had suspected he would. . Macklin frowned and ticked Doyle’s items off before looking back to the table. In these kinds of exercises, the Bisto Kids had always in past picked items for each other not for themselves. This time Bodie hadn’t picked for Doyle, he’d gone for the most practical items on the table. The dark chocolate nut bar, Doyle’s favourite was still there.
Macklin tilted his head thinking – Doyle had picked what he normally would have. Bodie was the one who, focussed on the exercise ahead, had picked solely for that – and Doyle had been made aware of that fact being second and seeing the bar there.
However, Doyle didn’t seem surprised. So, to Macklin that suggested that the break was obviously from Bodie’s end. Yet he had been the one yelling at Doyle about their performance. He hadn’t been quiet about it and Macklin was grateful that there was only the three of them. Any other person would have been having a fit – thinking the world was coming to an end hearing the way Bodie was talking to his partner. If Doyle wasn’t fully recovered – and Mackin knew he wasn’t (which was odd in itself, Doyle was quick healer normally) – it didn’t bode well for the success of the exercise.
Macklin paused. “Doyle – a quick word?”
Doyle moved towards careful not to limp but not moving with his customary grace. “Yeah?”
“The leg still not 100% so are you still going to be up to completing this exercise?”
He almost laughed at Doyle’s comical look of surprise.
Macklin sighed. “Yes, I know my thrills come from beating you into a pulp – and yes,” he grinned at the other Agent, “Yes, I do enjoy it. But there’s no fun in sending an already injured man out with someone who isn’t going to have his back.”
Doyle remained silent for a while, looking down at his feet as if he found them fascinating. Then when he looked up Macklin was shocked by the flatness. “I don’t have a choice. I told him it won’t work but he needs to see it to believe it.”
“What won’t work?”
“Our partnership.” Doyle straightened up.
Bodie was approaching looking suspicious. Doyle’s face smoothed into its usual expression. “I’ll be fine, the leg will hold up.” Doyle gave Macklin a nod then turned to Bodie. “Ready to go, mate?”
“What was that all about?”
“Just the usual warnings.”
Macklin watched them go and he wondered, not for the first time, if George hadn’t miscalculated. These men had always been – well – unusual. “Make or break them.” The Major had said, a glint in his eye. But Macklin had never seen Bodie & Doyle like this – so apart, so separate.
In their current state. he wasn’t sure what their reactions would be. It occurred to him then (had it to George?) that there was a third option.
“Make or break them.”
What if this exercise did neither?