DISCLAIMER The characters of The Professionals belong to Brian Clemens and Mark One Productions. I just brought them out to play for a while and fully intend to return them to their rightful owners. No money has changed hands (as if someone would actually pay me for this) and this fiction is written purely for my own and others enjoyment (God, I hope they enjoy it, anyway).
Constructive criticism only. Flames will be doused in ice water.
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?"
"Im 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 hed 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. Theyll send someone to get us." He ripped away a strip from the bottom of his shirt, folding it to make a pad.
"Thisll hurt" he said, pressing the pad hed made firmly against the wound in Bodies shoulder.
Bodie gasped. He could see the lights exploding at the edges of his sight again, threatening to carry him away. "Whats the catch?" he puffed, "They should have been here by now."
"Were below the road. When Maxwells car hit us, both cars rolled down the incline. Dont worry. I radioed in our position about 5 miles back so theyll know approximately where we are. Therell be some skid marks on the road. Theyll find us pretty quick,." Doyle responded, more assurance in his voice than he felt. It was already dark and cold. Hed 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. Dont worry. Just try to keep still so I can get this bleeding under control. Youre 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 Doyles chest, felt strong arms wrap around him, a hand still pressing the makeshift bandage to his shoulder. "Doyle?" he whispered.
"Dont 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 hed 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 theyd find us."
Bodies head lolled loosely on his chest. The darkness had won out.
Doyle thought hed never been so pleased to see Cowley as he was at that moment. "Bodies hurt bad," he called up.
"Just stay where you are, Doyle. Well 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 Bodies 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.
"Im fine, sir. Just a bit banged up. Hows Bodie?" Doyle asked anxiously, his eyes on the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance.
"Hell be all right. Lets get you into the car and get you warmed up," Cowley responded, his arm around Doyles 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 Cowleys gruff tone ordering him. "Bodies going to be fine. Hes in surgery but hell be all right. Stay where you are and get some rest. Thats 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 didnt feel too bad. Hearing a low mumble from the bed next to him, he turned. Bodies 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 Doyles scrutiny he opened leaden eyelids and smiled faintly at his partner.
"Thanks, Ray," he rasped.
"Anytime, Bodie, anytime," Ray answered quietly.
"Yeah, Bodie?" Doyle asked.
"I meant what I said. You tell anyone I spent the night snuggled in your arms and Ill have to kill you." Bodie smiled.