Disclaimer: Bodie, Doyle and CI5 belong to Mark 1, not me. I don't have permission to use them, but am making no profit from this and hope that no one minds too much.

Warning: this is a deathfic, written in response to the 'Kill Doyle' challenge issued on the Prosfanfic list. Turn back now, all ye who cannot bear to read such things. To everyone else: you have been warned!

With thanks to Birgit for assistance kindly rendered



Too Late


"Reckon I should've listened to me Mum."

"Listened to your mum when?"

There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of harsh, laboured breathing.

"'When are you going to get yourself a proper job, Raymond?' … 'Get yourself killed playing cowboys one of these days …'"

Bodie increased the pressure he was applying to his partner's wound, and gruffly muttered, "You're not going to die. Ambulance'll be here in a minute."

Doyle's eyes fluttered open, and focused with some difficulty on a still figure lying in a pool of its own blood a few feet away.

"'S a bit late for that one …" he broke off as a low chuckle turned into a racking cough, before managing to grate a few more words out. "The Cow won't be happy."

"Yeah, well," Bodie tried hard to keep his voice even. "It's not for him, is it?"

Doyle's eyes drifted closed again, as he muttered, "'S a bit late for that, too."

"Yeah, well." Bodie repeated. He started to say something else, but then stopped and pressed his lips firmly together for a moment, a mulish look on his face, before continuing. "Bloody stupid thing to do."

"Didn't stop to think, did I?" Doyle murmured, his voice becoming slurred. "Knew you hadn't seen him."

Anything Bodie might have been thinking of saying in response was lost as his partner was abruptly seized by a fit of violent coughing that left him doubled up in agony. Bodie clutched helplessly at him as he spat out a large amount of blood, almost choking on it. When the coughing finally subsided, leaving the injured man semi-conscious, Bodie risked taking one blood-soaked hand away from the gaping bullet wound to snatch up the R/T he had dropped to the floor at his side and frantically radio in once more for an update on the ambulance.

The reply was not as optimistic as he had been hoping. After shouting angrily at the operator back at HQ, he flung the handset down again. He paused for a moment to regain composure, and then returned his attention to his injured partner, muttering angrily about the follies of being sent unprepared on fool's errands to the middle of nowhere.

Believing his partner unconscious, he was startled to hear the faintest of chuckles interrupting his angry monologue. He glanced back down, irritably snapping, "Well, I'm glad you find it amusing."

He had to lean close to Doyle to catch the almost inaudible reply. "I'd like to see … Cowley's face when you … tell him that."

Bodie had to look away at that, but then hurriedly countered, "Oh, I'll leave it till you're there. Make sure you get your share of the blame. What?"

Doyle was shaking his head, ever so faintly, and murmured, "Was just thinking … nah, 's too late now, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean? Doyle?" There was a sharp note in Bodie's voice, but this time no response came, and with that last spark of consciousness gone, he was left alone in the silence and gathering gloom.

*****

It seemed an eternity before the ambulance finally arrived. It was a lifetime: hands still firmly pressed against the wound in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood, feeling the life slipping away in the chill of the descending night.

Then, finally, Bodie heard the sound of an approaching ambulance in the distance. The siren grew closer, and closer, until at last he heard it stop outside, followed by the sound of footsteps rushing upstairs. Eyes fixed unseeing on the door opposite, not allowing himself to think, he slowly took his hands away from the bullet wound, dimly aware that the blood was no longer flowing.

As the paramedics rushed into the room, Bodie looked toward them, his face set like stone but with eyes glinting dangerously, and then softly repeated the words spoken by his partner just a few minutes and a lifetime ago.

"Too late."



© Jo, April 2003
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