Pros Everyday for a Week - Day 7/7
Wednesday, 27 January 2016 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
byslantedlightWell, I tried to squeeze a Prosfic into the week, but all I have is this WIP - it was supposed to be a short little thing, and it won't be much longer, but it got away from me a bit, and I want to finish it tonight, but my eyes are melting again... Feel free not to read yet, I just wanted to post it cos it was what I had.
Treehouses
by Slantedlight
Doyle didn’t usually mind the rain. It was just there, part of life, something to be dashed into to get from here to there, or occasionally wandered leisurely through, preferably with an umbrella and perhaps with a bird on your arm. Or you could be tucked up in bed with the one you loved when it rained, an excuse to be safe and warm together, to make the most of blankets and smooth skin and hard muscle, of whispered words and secrets and your own private world. No, he didn’t usually mind the rain.
Of course he wasn’t usually sitting in it for hours at a time, in the middle of January, getting sodden and chilled and increasingly stiff because he’d lost his magnum, some bastard with an uzi was waiting for him to move, and Bodie was nowhere to be fucking seen. He wasn’t usually balancing on the increasingly slippery limb of an oak tree, knowing that if the rain stopped and Crellin shifted his nice dry arse to look for him, he’d be spotted and cut down within five minutes.
He tried to take a deep, calming breath, pressed himself more firmly against the trunk. There were no leaves for cover, but there’d been even less cover on the ground, no time to get anywhere else before Crellin’s mob had exploded from the house. The oak was old and venerable and just big enough that if he kept himself still he couldn’t be seen from the other side. They knew he was around somewhere, knew he couldn’t get past the prison-like walls topped with wire and glass and that he’d have to drag himself along the drive and to the front gate to get out.
They knew he wasn’t going to get very far very fast, not after the beating they’d given him. He’d done his best, but six to one was never good odds. Probably why they’d taken their eye off him, practically forgotten he was there, curled up in the dust on the floor.
He’d had a nasty moment when the rest of them jumped in the car and took off down the drive past him, pausing for the electronic gates to open long enough that he was sure one of them would look around, would look out, would look in the rear view mirror and see him, plain as… plain as a CI5 agent up a tree. Not a peep though, no sudden screech of brakes, no shout or casual shot from the window. Amateurs.
Above him a gust of wind shook the tree again, and he closed his eyes and tried not to clutch harder at the branch that supported him on one side. It was an old branch, and thin, and he wasn’t entirely sure how much life was left in it. The next gust brought another cold smack of rain with it, sent it sliding past his collar, down his neck, a shivering dribble.
Cloudy with showers the weather report had said this morning. It had not said that the middle of the day would be dark as night, the clouds battleship grey and throwing down the heavens in their wake.
Fucking Crellin, fucking Michael Fish, and fucking, fucking, fucking Bodie.
He’d used that flu excuse to be late to surveillance one too many times…
Except that he might just be too late already, for one more time. He knew the shivering was his body trying to keep warm, to keep him alive. It didn’t quite blot out the pain of the beating, but the two together might keep him awake so that he didn’t fall out of the tree. He’d climbed too high, it was a long way down.
Of course he could just give in, let go.
No. Bodie’d get here, of course he would, and he’d take Crellin out in a blaze of gunfire, and…
Another rattle of wind, a slap of rain across his cheek this time, reminding him of his mum and too many years past, and he held on and tried to keep his eyes open, to stay alert.
Bodie would come.
In the event there was no blaze, just a single shot from inside the house, and then the sound of the front door slamming, and a shout.
“Doyle?!”
He was going to kill the bastard - and how the hell had he gotten in without coming through the front?
Trouble was, he couldn’t seem to move, even though the rain had died to a dull drizzle, even now the cavalry had arrived.
“Doyle? Ray!”
There was a roughness to Bodie’s voice, an edge of panic.
“Up…” It came out barely a croak, pushing weakly through the wet air. Not enough, try again.
“Bodie! Up here…” This time it ended in a cough, and the cough shook him, as if it would shake him away from the tree after all these hours of holding on, so that instead of letting go, of swinging himself easily down, he clutched at it, held on tight.
Footsteps pounding below him, the splash and squelch of boots on long-wet grass, and then there he was, face turned up to the rain, to the tree, to Doyle.
He was, unsurprisingly, looking a bit puzzled. “Alright?”
Doyle kept his back pressed hard to the trunk, which felt like the only thing holding him in place, willed his fingers to move from their death-grip on the branch. His bones felt frozen in place - what was that thing that stone did? Petrified, that was it. He wasn’t scared, that would be stupid, but his bones felt petrified, as if they’d never move again.
“Yeah,” he managed, and at least his voice came more easily. “Great. Nice of you to drop by.”
“Didn’t want to miss all the fun. Cowley said you’d gone ahead without me.” Bodie tipped his head to one side. “Thinking of coming down?”
Doyle squinted past the branches. Twelve foot if he fell. Not that far really. He just had to let go of the tree and climb down. He was good at climbing.
He couldn’t move.
A great fat drop of rain fell from his hair onto his nose, and he sniffed. “Bit of a problem there, mate…”
“Fire brigade job, is it? You just want me to throw you over my shoulder and…” The rest of it was lost, and Bodie vanished again. Then “…couldn’t have picked a tree with branches nearer the ground?”
And there he was, face just below and to one side of Doyle’s own branch, looking up at him again, and then another step, and a shaking of branches around them, and they were together again, sharing the same tree.
Bodie grinned. “Hello, kitten.”
Doyle glared at him, swallowed. “You took your time. Could have used you a couple of hours ago.”
“Before or after you decided to do a King Charles?” Bodie was looking at him assessingly, eyes flicking from black eye to split lip to hands curled around the bark.
“Had a treehouse when I was a kid,” he said. “You’re doing it wrong, you know.” He shifted again, and Doyle’s heart fled to his mouth, seeing Bodie’s balance change, become uncertain, a leg swinging for a moment to sort things out, but then it was okay, and Bodie’s hands were lying heavily over his own frozen, water-shrunken things, pressing them a little harder into the bark.
“S’pose you had a roof,” he managed, knowing he had to make an effort, to show Bodie he was making an effort. “An’ walls.”
“Proper rope ladder to get up and down, even.” Bodie shook his head. “And you’ve not got leaves. You don’t want to do this in winter mate, there’s no leaves. Your mum’ll spot you up here in no time.”
To be continued...
I probably should have stuck to watching just one Pros ep instead of being greedy and watching two... *g* But I did watch Cry Wolf:
Lads together in the car is just so right...
And lads talking on the R/Ts...
And Doyle sweeping in to a brilliant rescue!
It's not one of my favourite eps, cos the lads spend so much time apart, and so much of it is focussed on other characters - well, Susan! - but when the lads are together they're a bit gorgeous, and even when they're not together but they're thinking about each other they're a bit gorgeous about it too. Bodie's "The good-looking one"" indignation about Susan's description of Doyle. And Doyle's "Bodie can get in people's hair, can't he?" to Cowley, with a little smile... so fond. *g*
Oh - bed beckons, I'm afraid... And that was the last Pros Everyday For A Week post! It's been so very cool - thank you everyone who posted! So very very nice to see our lads in my flist, and hear people adoring them them! And you know, if anyone feels like extending their challenge a bit... or maybe someone fancies suggesting a new one that we can all get behind! Let's keep the lads-love just a wee bit brighter... *g*
Treehouses
by Slantedlight
Doyle didn’t usually mind the rain. It was just there, part of life, something to be dashed into to get from here to there, or occasionally wandered leisurely through, preferably with an umbrella and perhaps with a bird on your arm. Or you could be tucked up in bed with the one you loved when it rained, an excuse to be safe and warm together, to make the most of blankets and smooth skin and hard muscle, of whispered words and secrets and your own private world. No, he didn’t usually mind the rain.
Of course he wasn’t usually sitting in it for hours at a time, in the middle of January, getting sodden and chilled and increasingly stiff because he’d lost his magnum, some bastard with an uzi was waiting for him to move, and Bodie was nowhere to be fucking seen. He wasn’t usually balancing on the increasingly slippery limb of an oak tree, knowing that if the rain stopped and Crellin shifted his nice dry arse to look for him, he’d be spotted and cut down within five minutes.
He tried to take a deep, calming breath, pressed himself more firmly against the trunk. There were no leaves for cover, but there’d been even less cover on the ground, no time to get anywhere else before Crellin’s mob had exploded from the house. The oak was old and venerable and just big enough that if he kept himself still he couldn’t be seen from the other side. They knew he was around somewhere, knew he couldn’t get past the prison-like walls topped with wire and glass and that he’d have to drag himself along the drive and to the front gate to get out.
They knew he wasn’t going to get very far very fast, not after the beating they’d given him. He’d done his best, but six to one was never good odds. Probably why they’d taken their eye off him, practically forgotten he was there, curled up in the dust on the floor.
He’d had a nasty moment when the rest of them jumped in the car and took off down the drive past him, pausing for the electronic gates to open long enough that he was sure one of them would look around, would look out, would look in the rear view mirror and see him, plain as… plain as a CI5 agent up a tree. Not a peep though, no sudden screech of brakes, no shout or casual shot from the window. Amateurs.
Above him a gust of wind shook the tree again, and he closed his eyes and tried not to clutch harder at the branch that supported him on one side. It was an old branch, and thin, and he wasn’t entirely sure how much life was left in it. The next gust brought another cold smack of rain with it, sent it sliding past his collar, down his neck, a shivering dribble.
Cloudy with showers the weather report had said this morning. It had not said that the middle of the day would be dark as night, the clouds battleship grey and throwing down the heavens in their wake.
Fucking Crellin, fucking Michael Fish, and fucking, fucking, fucking Bodie.
He’d used that flu excuse to be late to surveillance one too many times…
Except that he might just be too late already, for one more time. He knew the shivering was his body trying to keep warm, to keep him alive. It didn’t quite blot out the pain of the beating, but the two together might keep him awake so that he didn’t fall out of the tree. He’d climbed too high, it was a long way down.
Of course he could just give in, let go.
No. Bodie’d get here, of course he would, and he’d take Crellin out in a blaze of gunfire, and…
Another rattle of wind, a slap of rain across his cheek this time, reminding him of his mum and too many years past, and he held on and tried to keep his eyes open, to stay alert.
Bodie would come.
In the event there was no blaze, just a single shot from inside the house, and then the sound of the front door slamming, and a shout.
“Doyle?!”
He was going to kill the bastard - and how the hell had he gotten in without coming through the front?
Trouble was, he couldn’t seem to move, even though the rain had died to a dull drizzle, even now the cavalry had arrived.
“Doyle? Ray!”
There was a roughness to Bodie’s voice, an edge of panic.
“Up…” It came out barely a croak, pushing weakly through the wet air. Not enough, try again.
“Bodie! Up here…” This time it ended in a cough, and the cough shook him, as if it would shake him away from the tree after all these hours of holding on, so that instead of letting go, of swinging himself easily down, he clutched at it, held on tight.
Footsteps pounding below him, the splash and squelch of boots on long-wet grass, and then there he was, face turned up to the rain, to the tree, to Doyle.
He was, unsurprisingly, looking a bit puzzled. “Alright?”
Doyle kept his back pressed hard to the trunk, which felt like the only thing holding him in place, willed his fingers to move from their death-grip on the branch. His bones felt frozen in place - what was that thing that stone did? Petrified, that was it. He wasn’t scared, that would be stupid, but his bones felt petrified, as if they’d never move again.
“Yeah,” he managed, and at least his voice came more easily. “Great. Nice of you to drop by.”
“Didn’t want to miss all the fun. Cowley said you’d gone ahead without me.” Bodie tipped his head to one side. “Thinking of coming down?”
Doyle squinted past the branches. Twelve foot if he fell. Not that far really. He just had to let go of the tree and climb down. He was good at climbing.
He couldn’t move.
A great fat drop of rain fell from his hair onto his nose, and he sniffed. “Bit of a problem there, mate…”
“Fire brigade job, is it? You just want me to throw you over my shoulder and…” The rest of it was lost, and Bodie vanished again. Then “…couldn’t have picked a tree with branches nearer the ground?”
And there he was, face just below and to one side of Doyle’s own branch, looking up at him again, and then another step, and a shaking of branches around them, and they were together again, sharing the same tree.
Bodie grinned. “Hello, kitten.”
Doyle glared at him, swallowed. “You took your time. Could have used you a couple of hours ago.”
“Before or after you decided to do a King Charles?” Bodie was looking at him assessingly, eyes flicking from black eye to split lip to hands curled around the bark.
“Had a treehouse when I was a kid,” he said. “You’re doing it wrong, you know.” He shifted again, and Doyle’s heart fled to his mouth, seeing Bodie’s balance change, become uncertain, a leg swinging for a moment to sort things out, but then it was okay, and Bodie’s hands were lying heavily over his own frozen, water-shrunken things, pressing them a little harder into the bark.
“S’pose you had a roof,” he managed, knowing he had to make an effort, to show Bodie he was making an effort. “An’ walls.”
“Proper rope ladder to get up and down, even.” Bodie shook his head. “And you’ve not got leaves. You don’t want to do this in winter mate, there’s no leaves. Your mum’ll spot you up here in no time.”
I probably should have stuck to watching just one Pros ep instead of being greedy and watching two... *g* But I did watch Cry Wolf:
Lads together in the car is just so right...
And lads talking on the R/Ts...
And Doyle sweeping in to a brilliant rescue!
It's not one of my favourite eps, cos the lads spend so much time apart, and so much of it is focussed on other characters - well, Susan! - but when the lads are together they're a bit gorgeous, and even when they're not together but they're thinking about each other they're a bit gorgeous about it too. Bodie's "The good-looking one"" indignation about Susan's description of Doyle. And Doyle's "Bodie can get in people's hair, can't he?" to Cowley, with a little smile... so fond. *g*
Oh - bed beckons, I'm afraid... And that was the last Pros Everyday For A Week post! It's been so very cool - thank you everyone who posted! So very very nice to see our lads in my flist, and hear people adoring them them! And you know, if anyone feels like extending their challenge a bit... or maybe someone fancies suggesting a new one that we can all get behind! Let's keep the lads-love just a wee bit brighter... *g*
Treehouses and cars
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 03:37 am (UTC)And the screen shots are fab!
RE: Treehouses and cars
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 07:58 am (UTC): crosses fingers and toes ! :
no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:53 pm (UTC)I be ritin moar, I promiz. But not like that, that's tiring! *g*
no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 11:39 am (UTC)themit.It HAS been a grand week of Pros, hasn't it?
no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:55 pm (UTC)It's been a lovely week of Pros! There's still a few trickles in my inbox - hurrah! - but I'm wary of spotting the tumbleweed again...
no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 12:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:57 pm (UTC)Also - icon! I've not seen anyone else use that icons for yeeeeeears! It's pretty, isn't it. *g*
no subject
Date: Thursday, 28 January 2016 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 04:25 pm (UTC)Best sentence ever! We can haz mor now pls? *looks at you with puppy-dog eyes*
no subject
Date: Wednesday, 27 January 2016 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, 28 January 2016 12:37 am (UTC)