Driving Home


"Listen, sunshine, I'm trying to drive."

Doyle was forced to brace himself against the dashboard as his partner cornered at high speed. "Failing, more like," he observed dryly.

"Cheeky little bugger, aren't you?" Bodie arched a comically pointed eyebrow at him, then thankfully returned his attention to the road.

As they sped through the darkness, Doyle scratched the back of his scalp, and returned to his original question like a dog returning to a chewed-up bone. "I already told you I know what you think I am. I just want to hear you say it."

Bodie pulled into a convenient lay-by with a screech and slammed the car into park. The silence in the small car expanded, broken only by the ticking of the engine. Ray fidgeted. Bodie's hands remained on the steering wheel, and he continued looking straight out the windshield as he said quietly, "You don't know as much as you think you do, I'd wager."

Doyle let out a snort. "No bet," he joked, with uncharacteristic self-deprecation.

Bodie finally looked over at him, surprised out of his mood. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes twinkled. "Anyway -- saved the day, didn't you, petal? I've had to revise my opinion of you rather upward. Even Cowley said we were damn good."

"He did, didn't he," agreed Ray with satisfaction.

"Mmm, yes. Now what say we stop at a pub before I drop you off? I know of a place or two open late. Get you and your steady hands a drink."

Doyle laughed, leftover adrenaline making him louder than usual. "Onward, Jeeves! The birds are waiting!" He looked expectantly out the window as Bodie restarted the motor, entirely missing the brief wave of longing that rippled across the other man's face.

-- END --

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