The Professionals Circuit Archive - Kinsmen	    Kinsmen

 

by Kazi

  
 "Have you ever thought," asked Murphy, "how many Irishmen- people of
Irish descent-we have on the squad? I mean, there's you and me, Bodie,
Tommy McKay, God rest 'im-there's a rumour that Uncle George had an Irish
granny..."

"Vicious slur on the Irish, that," snorted Doyle, nose in pint.

Murphy sighed: Doyle was still in a bad mood, and their planned evening of
celebration looked like becoming a wash-out.

"We could go and pull a couple of birds," suggested Murphy with little
hope. Doyle glared at him over the rim of his glass. He didn't want a bird
tonight; he wanted Bodie. But Bodie had gone off with Marianne, the nurse
that had been taking care of him since he was brought in from the Cockpit.
Today, the day the doctor finally pronounced him fit and let him out,
Doyle had arranged to take Tommy to the match. He'd even conned Jax into
coming along, too, because he knew the other agent would take the kid off
later, leaving him free to be alone with his lunatic other half... His
first night out, and he has to spend it with a woman, Doyle thought
miserably.

Murph was nudging him. He looked up.

"What about a pub-crawl?" He grinned. "Come on, Ray-couple of Irish lads
like us should be able to have some fun of a Saturday night..."

Doyle downed the rest of his drink and smiled at the younger man.

"Why not? This is supposed to be a celebration. We could-" He stopped
abruptly, his eyes lighting on the figure that had just walked through the
door.

Murphy twisted in his seat, following his colleague's gaze. The dark head
turned towards them, and Bodie's face lit up with his usual manic grin
before he disappeared behind a wall of booze-buying people. He emerged
moments later totally unruffled, with a laden tray in hand, making
straight for them.

"Murph," he greeted. He merely smiled at his partner. "Anson told me where
you'd be, so I thought I'd come down and join you."

"I'd've thought you and that nurse would've been well away by now," Doyle
remarked somewhat tartly.

Bodie had the grace to colour ever so slightly.

"I was being polite. We had a great afternoon, but she's on duty
tonight-gets busy Saturday night..." He doled out the glasses and put the
tray on the floor. Doyle sipped at his beer, eyeing his partner over the
rim.

"Ray and I were about to go out and hit the bars," Murph said. "Fancy
tagging along?"

Bodie grinned and nodded. It was the beginning of a busy evening.

They wound up at a waterfront tavern and adjourned to the only uncluttered
corner they could find. It was Murph's turn to fetch the drinks, and,
judging from the press round the bar, it would give them a much-needed
chance to talk. Bodie leaned forward in the shadow of their alcove, his
shoulder brushing Doyle's.

"I know you're mad at me, but I owed Marianne an apology. How'd the match
go?"

"We slayed 'em," Doyle replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. He
reached for his partner's hand.

Bodie pulled away sharply.

"Not here, Ray," he whispered urgently. "Someone might see..."

"I only wanted you to hold out your hand," Doyle snorted.

Tentatively, Bodie did so. His companion delved into his jacket pocket and
produced a small package which he placed on his mate's palm. Carefully, he
folded Bodie's fingers round it.

"What is it?"

"A present." Doyle regarded the pale face inches from his own. "Aren't you
going to open it?"

Bodie eyed it with suspicion.

"It's not gonna go off, is it?"

"Open it and find out," Doyle coaxed.

Cautiously, Bodie stripped off the wrapping, revealing a small box. A
brief glance at Doyle and he prised the lid off. A shy smile replaced the
wary expression as he extracted the chain and held it up to examine the
pendant. He turned the medallion over and met his partner's anxious gaze.

"Thanks, Ray, it's-"

"In case there's another time when I'm not around to look after you."

Bodie's eyes dropped under the intensity of that look, and he swallowed.

"You're my partner, Ray... Thought we'd always-be together..."

Murphy arrived at that moment and set down a beer-laden tray. He noticed
the wreckage of the gift immediately, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Good luck charm," Doyle explained as he confiscated a pint.

"He doesn't need one," Murphy remarked dryly. "We Irish make our own
luck."

Bodie smiled into his beer.

"Some people," Doyle observed, "need a bit of extra..."

Murphy's eyes flicked from one to the other: it was time to call it a
night. It wasn't long before he excused himself to visit the gent's as a
prelude to going home. When he emerged from the toilets, he glanced across
the lounge to see his colleagues still seated in the corner, their heads
together. To his eyes, they looked like a pair of lovers...

"D'you think he knows?"

It was approaching midnight, and Bodie was lying naked beneath the duvet.
One arm was crooked under his head to augment the pillow. Beside him,
Doyle abandoned the attempt to sleep and wriggled round to face his
partner.

"Ray, I said-"

"I heard you the first time." He sighed. "Murph's smart enough to
guess-he's also the soul of discretion. He wouldn't give us away." He
yawned suddenly. "Go to sleep, mate..." He shuffled closer to Bodie's hot,
damp body, and a strong arm slid round him. His hand glided over the
smooth chest. "Oi, where'd you put your chain?"

"Jacket pocket," Bodie confessed. "All right," to forestall anymore
discussion, "I'll put it on."

He rolled clear and slipped from under the covers. He retrieved the box
and brought it back to the bed. Doyle sat up sleepily and took it from
him. He opened it, pouring the silver necklace into his sticky palm,
juggling it from hand to hand for a minute or so while Bodie burrowed back
into the warmth.

"Bodie..."

Bodie struggled up obediently and let his mate slip the chain round
throat. Soft lips brushed against the catch and trailed from his nape to
his shoulder... Smiling drowsily, he twisted round and, dragging Doyle
against him, returned the kiss...

They settled against the pillows and switched off the light. The last
thing Bodie remembered was the gentle fingers of his lover playing with
the pendant and a sleepy voice...

"Now you belong to me..."

Bodie was changing in the looker room early on Monday morning when Murphy
breezed in. Bodie hesitated for a fraction of a second, half expecting
some sort of-condemnation. When none was forthcoming, he pulled his
poloneck on, hiding the medallion from plain sight, knowing that the other
agent had seen it. Sooner or later words would be spoken: he had long been
of the opinion that attack was the beat form of defence.

"Murph-" He stopped, totally lost for words.

The younger man looked up, pausing in the unravelling of his laces, and
smiled.

"If it's about Saturday night," he said helpfully, "forget it. What you
and Ray get up to off duty is your own business. As long as you don't foul
up on the job-"

Bodie stared at him.

"You don't owe me an explanation." He met the other man's somewhat abashed
gaze. "And I won't ask for one. If you want to talk, I'll listen: if
not..."

Bodie swallowed and finally managed to speak.

"That's-thanks, Murph, I appreciate it." A thought nagged at him. "Was-was
it that obvious?"

Murphy finished undoing his shoes.

"If it had been," he replied, "I'd've left you two earlier..."

The reference to time caused both men to cheek their watches.

"Speaking of which, I'd better go." Murphy punched him lightly on the arm
as he darted off.

Bodie sank onto one of the benches, weak at the knees with relief. Doyle
found him three minutes later, still contemplating his trainers...

The bar at the Red Lion was half-full of civil servants and other office
staff when they dropped in that evening. Bodie bought the drinks and made
it back to their table unscathed. Doyle and Murphy were discussing the
benefits of being Irish.

"Did you know," Doyle asked his other half conversationally, "about the
rumour that Cowley once had an Irish granny?"

Bodie shook his head, grinned impishly.

"Did you know that the Irish only have nine pairs of genes between them,"
he countered, raising his glass.

"Which, technically, means that we're all related," added Murphy as he
filched a pint. "Distantly."

Doyle's eyebrows shot up, and he caught his partner's eye.

"All that inbreeding-you know what that means, don't you, sunshine?"

Bodie wasn't ignorant of the implications.

"Yeah," he said softly, glancing at Murphy briefly. "That makes us
cousins."

Murphy smiled at both of them and lifted his pint.

"It's not every day you come across long-lost relatives-here's to family!"
He took a sip, watching the others over the rim of his glass.

"Good friends," Bodie toasted him.

They turned their eyes to Doyle expectantly. He picked up his beer,
acknowledging his fellow agent, his gaze locking with his lover's as he
spoke.

"To Cowley's Irish kinsmen!"

-- THE END --

*with thanks to Tina*

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