or Christmas Time and Matters of a Certain Gravity

I

It was always the same.

Doyle at home, alone and angry; and Bodie somewhere on duty, rarely simply on stand-by. It seemed an unfair reoccurrence in their life together, first as partners, then as friends, finally as lovers. It also seemed, at least to Doyle, somehow more than just a very massive stroke of bad luck. At the beginning, he thought: coincidence. Then: misfortune. Then again: Cowley, that bastard! Finally--a suspicious mind like his never stopping cataloguing and filing each and every single hint, clue or detail--the worst idea of all.

It wasn't by chance.

It was done on purpose.

Bodie did it on purpose.

Bodie didn't want to spend Christmas Eve with his partner, friend and passionate lover. Doyle, who considered himself the caring and tender half of the couple, assigned obviously, and without second thoughts, the bad guy's role to Bodie.

But why?

At the beginning, Doyle thought it was something private. Bodie--as already remarked time and again--was cagey about his past, or about his family or old friends. Cagey? Nah. Too simple. Devious, and tortuous, and sneaky, and.... Doyle closed the car with his foot, balancing--dangerously but with innate dexterity--the whole Christmas shopping on hands and arms. And elbows and neck, if truth must be told. Short of grasping a plastic bag by the teeth--those had been spared, they were needed for holding the keys--Doyle was loaded as a mule, and as a mule he was mentally being as obstinate as he could. Kicking Bodie was not an option in real life, unless for very serious and urgent matters, but imagination was a great aid to calm a stormy spirit. While manoeuvring his purchases and himself through front door, stairs--obviously the lift was out of order again--flat door and finally to the kitchen table, he succeeded in listing all of Bodie's faults; he also re-listed them in alphabetical order, then again in reverse alphabetical order and by categories. He even managed to find a couple of new hideous, previously forgotten Bodie-faults. But when Doyle sat down at the kitchen table, feeling lonely and angry, the question presented itself again, and he stopped to consider it.

Why?

Why did Bodie want to stay away from him? And not just once, but for six years?

A sudden, dull ache burning deep inside him, Doyle abruptly stood up and busied himself in the kitchen, all of Bodie's favourite recipes and ingredients ready in his mind and at his hands. He already knew the meal would practically go to waste, eaten cold the day after, but he wasn't going to concede defeat. A loud crash left him staring at the floor and part of his shoes, where the eggs--well, what once were the eggs!--were slowly and regally expanding themselves, yolks and whites leaving the fragile eggshells to explore a new world.


II

Bodie rang off.

Doyle's angry snarls echoed in his ear, but his heart resonated painfully with the last, cold words his partner had addressed him: "We'll talk later."

Bodie sighed and went to stand in front of the window. He looked outside for a while until it was almost completely dark.

I wish I could tell you, Ray.

Bodie could only hope that what he and Ray shared would survive unchanged yet another lonely Christmas. Bodie knew that the next day, under the layers of grumpiness, irritability and iciness that Doyle would certainly wrap around his prickly self, he would be welcome. But for how long? A smile curled Bodie's lips--the image of Doyle with bared teeth always vivid in his mind--but at the same time, a harsh pang of pain grabbed his heart again.

Wish I could explain it to you, Ray.

But it was worth it, and Bodie knew it. It was worth it. All of it.


III

Doyle rang off.

Bodie's apologetic tone echoed in his ear, but Doyle knew that things couldn't go on like this for long. It was only one day in 365 other days, all right, but if Bodie wasn't able to explain his yearly absence to him, well.... Doyle shifted abruptly from his sitting position near the phone and went to stand in front of the windows. Why couldn't he just let it go, he asked himself. What they had, what Bodie, day after day, hour after hour, gave him.... Wasn't that enough to compensate for this small, insignificant detail? Yeah, fair enough, Christmas was a special day, but...was it worth it?

Doyle didn't have a satisfactory answer. He looked out, angry with himself, and especially angry with Bodie, for loving him as much as Bodie did, showing his love for Doyle in hundreds, no, thousands of small, insignificant ways and then messing it all up with something so stupid.

Bodie had the right to have his secrets, didn't he? But he, Doyle, couldn't stand it any more. Doyle closed the curtains with a sharp, fast twist of his wrist.

It was going to be another long, solitary Christmas Eve for him.

Was it worth it?


IV

"It's your turn, Bodie. And you're late, as usual."

"I know. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Go on, He's waiting for you."

"Ta."

Bodie walked steadily, ready for the confrontation. He felt nervous, of course, but damned if he was going to show it to him. He strangled a chuckle in his throat. Cool, Bodie, play it cool, he suggested to himself. It might be your last chance. And choose your words, Bodie. Please. Just this once.

It took a while to reach Him. As always. Some things were never easy.

"Ah, Bodie. You're late."

"Sorry, Sir."

There was a short silence, then.... "Your probation time has expired. I can't say I'm happy with you."

Bodie, cautiously, kept quiet.

"It doesn't happen that often, you understand. Not many take your path. And you know I don't approve of your...uhm...line of work. I know, I know," a hand was raised in the crystal-clear air, to stop the words coming from Bodie.

"...someone has to do it, right? This is not what we are discussing here."

A severe stare turned to Bodie and he swallowed audibly.

"Are you aware of the consequences? There's no turning back, from here. You'll have to do it all over again, and nothing says you would succeed. No more special favours, no more saving it all at the very last minute."

The silence was long and prolonged.

"Well, then? Nothing to say, Bodie?"

"You know what I want."

"So, you've decided."

"I decided six years ago, Sir. You know that."

"Ah. Six years ago, yes. Yes. The Other One."

"He's got a name."

"I know, Bodie, I know. Well, it's settled, then. Once again, are you sure of your choice? Are you prepared to lose all of this?" The hand gestured amply in the air.

Bodie shrugged.

"I see. I'm sorry. I hope I will see you again, Bodie. And that you won't regret this."

"I won't. Sir. I won't."

"Now. Are you ready? It won't be painful. You'll just feel...the absence. The difference in weight, some say."

"I'm ready." Bodie closed his eyes, just in case. A fleeting regret, for the loss. But he would be with Doyle, next Christmas. Right there with him. No more lies or mysterious absences. No more examinations of his motivations. He was going to be free again. To love and to die. Not a high price, for being with Doyle.


V

Doyle was sitting in front of the telly, feet propped up on the armchair, a can of beer balanced on his chest. The Christmas dinner was on the kitchen table. The dinner was cold, the telly was switched off and Doyle was not in a good mood. The sound of the key turning in the door reached him--just a fraction of a second and he was up, standing, his hand moving towards his armpit, searching for his gun. Bodie was not going to come, was he? As usual. So it had to be someone else. Doyle's hand closed on air, since the gun was safely locked away in the bedroom. Safely for who, Doyle wondered briefly. Safely for Bodie, certainly, Bodie who was looking at Doyle in the half darkness of the room.

"I'm home," Bodie said, switching on the lights. Doyle kept looking at him. Not that Doyle's eyes weren't communicative enough, at least judging by the ample circle Bodie walked around him to reach the kitchen. Just so as to be out of Doyle's reach, basically. And very sensibly. After all, now Bodie had to be more careful about his life. Bodie entered the small kitchen and stopped to look at the table, the candles, and the covered dishes. And the Christmas cake, with all the trimmings, and the crackers.

"Oh, crackers," he murmured. He could feel Doyle's gaze fixed on his back, burning holes into him. Literally, probably.

"They're not for you." Doyle walked past Bodie, going to the sink to fetch a glass of water. "Didn't know you were coming," he added.

Bodie reached him swiftly, his arms sliding around Doyle's waist, his head resting on Doyle's shoulder. They stayed close for a while, in silence, basking in each other's warmth. Bodie counted silently to ten. Fine. No kicks, no pointed elbows in his ribs. Yet. He might even manage to actually convince Doyle to let him eat dinner, later on. Much later, though.

"Look, Ray, I'm sorry." Bodie felt all of Doyle's body tensing in his arms. "I know I owe you an explanation. I'm not gonna lie to you." Bodie raised his head from Doyle's shoulder and placed his lips on the warm skin of Doyle's neck, half hidden by curls. A last moment of peace and bliss, he thought.

He opened his mouth, to tell the truth and to hell with everything else. He had just the time to reconsider his thoughts, knowing with a considerable degree of certainty that Hell was probably exactly where he was going next time, and then Doyle moved in his arms, turning around suddenly. Bodie found his face grabbed between strong hands, and his own lips crushed by Doyle's lips.

For once, Bodie didn't feel guilty for making love with Doyle against the kitchen counter.

And between the fridge and the cupboard.

And half on the table and half on both the two chairs.

And on the kitchen floor.

Nor did he hear the usual voices from Up There thundering against him, disapproving of his conduct. That was a nice change, he thought, very nice...very very nice...really nice. It was so nice that...oh, yes, it was nice.

"Only nice?" Doyle's voice came out all muffled and strangled, and there was no real reason, since he was the one on top and Bodie was the one squashed under him.

"Uh...did I say that? I meant...." Bodie turned his head and his eyes zoomed in on a foreign object only inches away from his nose.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"You weigh a ton, mate. And your Christmas pudding is all over the floor."

"What!" There was a blur of action, Bodie not being really sure if the exclamation, and the subsequent string of eloquent cursing, were due to his comment on Doyle's weight or to the state of the pudding. Pondering on the question, he got up, a little sore, but a lot happier than earlier on. It took a while for the two of them to clean up and rescue from the floor what was still edible. At one point, Doyle stated loudly that he didn't see any reason why Bodie should save the cherries for later, and Bodie replied that he was thinking of hard times ahead of them in their old age. Doyle stopped at that, mop in one hand, bucket in the other. Outside, someone was singing Christmas carols.

"Are you going to disappear as usual, later on?"

"No. And you didn't let me expl--"

"Shut up. You'll stay in tonight, then."

"I will."

"It's all right, then." Doyle threw the mop in one corner. He eyed Bodie suspiciously. "Are you going to disappear again next year?"

Bodie picked up his trousers from the floor, considered the poor state of them and decided there was no point in putting them back on. "No," he said, levelling his eyes with Doyle's.

"Year after next?"

"Nope."

"Year after--"

"Ray!"

"Go on, then. I'll bring you a tray."

Bodie, gloriously naked and blissfully unaware, stopped near the kitchen door. "Starting a tradition, mate?" he asked hopefully.

"What, keen on being fucked on the kitchen floor each Christmas Eve?" Doyle answered back with perfect innocence depicted on his face.

Bodie, feigning an air of offended dignity, retreated carefully to the bedroom, via the hall. He stopped again in front of the small Christmas tree, looking at the tiny angel perched at its top. Doyle always wanted an angel, up there. Bodie still preferred the more traditional fairy. The angel's wings were wide open. Bodie looked at them, critically. They were out of proportion, he decided. Too big. How could one manoeuvre in closed space with wings that huge? Besides, he had no regrets, none whatsoever. He could still fly, with Ray at his side.

Higher than ever.

-- THE END --

December 2000
Originally published in Discovered in a Letterbox 16, Winter 2000