CRASH LANDING

EMAIL: Annie

The voice demanded his attention. He tried to ignore it, to swat it away so he could return to the blissful darkness tugging at his senses. But it was relentless, insistent and he gave into the pleading tone and allowed the voice to drag him back to consciousness and pain.

"Bodie, Bodie, you need to try to stay awake," Doyle urged. He heard his partner groan as awareness returned and grasped his hand, willing him to stay conscious. "You with me, Bodie?"

"I’m here," Bodie grunted, the pain flaring through his shoulder. He could feel blood pooling beneath him, chilling him as the cold night air seeped around him. "Maxwell?" he asked.

"Dead. He drove straight at us. Guess he knew it was all over. Bloody hell, Bodie I thought you were gone for sure when he shot you."

Bodie tried to get his mind to recapture the memories but they flitted away from him, only vague fragments of images he could grasp for a moment before they skittled away, banished by the cold and shock and the mind numbing pain.

He saw flashes of faces; the girls Maxwell had murdered, dead in their bath tubs, yellow scarves drawn tight about their necks, their staring eyes and obscenely swollen throats; the face of the policewoman used as bait, panting as he’d pulled the ligature from around her neck, thanking him with a husky voice, and then the flash of the gun and the car headlights blinding him. And the pain tearing at him until the blackness took him away.

"Stay with me, Bodie, " Doyle barked. "Cowley knows where we were headed. They’ll send someone to get us." He ripped away a strip from the bottom of his shirt, folding it to make a pad.

"This’ll hurt’" he said, pressing the pad he’d made firmly against the wound in Bodie’s shoulder.

Bodie gasped. He could see the lights exploding at the edges of his sight again, threatening to carry him away. "What’s the catch?" he puffed, "They should have been here by now."

"We’re below the road. When Maxwell’s car hit us, both cars rolled down the incline. Don’t worry. I radioed in our position about 5 miles back so they’ll know approximately where we are. There’ll be some skid marks on the road. They’ll find us pretty quick,." Doyle responded, more assurance in his voice than he felt. It was already dark and cold. He’d already checked the car for anything to keep his partner warm and come up empty. Body heat would have to do for now.

"You hurt?" Bodie asked.

"Just a bit bruised. Guess I got the best end of the deal," Ray answered.

"Lucky for me."

"Yeah. Don’t worry. Just try to keep still so I can get this bleeding under control. You’re going to be fine, Bodie."

"I know." Bodie closed his eyes then jerked them open, trying not to drift. He felt himself pulled up against Doyle’s chest, felt strong arms wrap around him, a hand still pressing the makeshift bandage to his shoulder. "Doyle?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Bodie?"

"Don’t you dare tell anyone I spent the night snuggled in your arms!" Bodie husked.

"No problem. You think I want to ruin my own reputation," Doyle laughed.

They heard the sirens and saw the lights. Doyle swore as they screamed past above them. He was thinking he’d have to leave Bodie on his own and climb up to the road, when he heard them come back and then the screech of brakes, car doors slamming and the voice of George Cowley demanding action.

"Here! Down here," he yelled, "Bodie, I told you they’d find us."

Bodie’s head lolled loosely on his chest. The darkness had won out.

Doyle thought he’d never been so pleased to see Cowley as he was at that moment. "Bodie’s hurt bad," he called up.

"Just stay where you are, Doyle. We’ll get you both up," Cowley shouted back.

The minutes passed agonisingly slowly for Doyle, waiting for the stretcher to get to them. He remained holding Bodie’s seemingly lifeless body, reassured only by the rapid heartbeat beneath his hand.

At last, he was able to relinquish his partner to the ambulance crew, admonishing them to be careful as he made his way slowly up the hill behind them.

"Doyle, are you okay?" Cowley asked as he gave him a hand up the last few steps.

"I’m fine, sir. Just a bit banged up. How’s Bodie?" Doyle asked anxiously, his eyes on the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance.

"He’ll be all right. Let’s get you into the car and get you warmed up," Cowley responded, his arm around Doyle’s shoulders. "Doyle…?"

Doyle sank to his knees, his vision blurring, roaring in his ears. He felt gentle hands push him to the ground and then the world blinked out.

Doyle woke to glaring lights and the noise of a busy hospital. He was ensconced in a bed, an intravenous needle in his arm and an oxygen mask over his face. He moved to sit up and felt a hand at his shoulder, pressing him down.

"Just take it easy, Doyle," he heard Cowley’s gruff tone ordering him. "Bodie’s going to be fine. He’s in surgery but he’ll be all right. Stay where you are and get some rest. That’s an order, 45."

He sank back to the pillow, relief surging through him. He closed his eyes again, allowing sleep to overtake him.

When he woke again sun was streaming through the window next to his bed. He stretched experimentally. His muscles ached but all in all, he didn’t feel too bad. Hearing a low mumble from the bed next to him, he turned. Bodie’s face beneath the oxygen mask looked pale, his injured arm supported in a sling, blood dripped into an intravenous site in his other arm. As if sensing Doyle’s scrutiny he opened leaden eyelids and smiled faintly at his partner.

"Thanks, Ray," he rasped.

"Anytime, Bodie, anytime," Ray answered quietly.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Bodie?" Doyle asked.

"I meant what I said. You tell anyone I spent the night snuggled in your arms and I’ll have to kill you." Bodie smiled.

The End

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