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crack_van2011-07-04 11:49 am
byslantedlight.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-07-04 11:49 am
Entry tags:
Rediscovered in a Graveyard by HG (NC-17)
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: Novel length (150, 893)
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hgdoghouse
Author Website: No website, but the list of HG's stories at Palelyloitering - HG's stories archived at The Circuit Archive and her stories archived at The Automated Hatstand will help you find more of her fic. (I think the latter may be most complete and up-to-date.
Why this must be read: Because HG is a classic and much-loved Pros author, and I think the only reason she's not been more recced here at Crack_van is that until the last few years her stories haven't been archived online. Now even her novels are easily available to all though, and she's well worth exploring. She knows the lads, she knows England, and she knows the world in which Bodie/Doyle lived - both CI5 and the 1970s/1980s. Her characterisation and dialogue is spot on, even when her lads were born a few hundred years before ours.
Rediscovered in a Graveyard is a story within a story. The lads have been in Cornwall on a case, their car breaks down just as they're beginning their 72 hour leave, and they decide to spend some time in the sunny Cornish countryside - starting with a picnic in what turns out to be an old graveyard. Whilst there, they find something that catapults us back in time to 1799, where two men were to be found locked in the Bastille - another Bodie and Doyle. We follow the AU lads through a number of years, and our canon lads through a holiday that turns sour, until all is brought together again at the end. It's two novels in one, and I love the way that HG writes, so that both stories always keep me reading long after I should have turned out the light.
Excerpt: Staring lugubriously past the jagged rocks and damp sand to the seemingly motionless sea, Ray Doyle became aware that the muttered imprecations drifting over from under the car had increased in volume and intensity. Without turning to investigate, he called back over one shoulder, "Haven't you finished yet?"
There was a clang as a spanner hit the tarmac. Doyle could almost hear the silent count to ten.
"No, I haven't." Bodie's voice held an admirable restraint. There was a short pause. "Want to give me a hand?"
Doyle subdued a satisfied smirk. Taking his time, he settled himself cross-legged on the springy turf. Examining a tuft, he selected a grass stalk, tugged it free and began to chew on it with idle pleasure before he spared the half-hidden figure under the car an unsympathetic glance. "Nope. Ten minutes you said. So what's gone wrong? That was forty-five minutes ago."
The silence from under the car spoke volumes. After a few seconds Doyle heard the work get under way again. His grin widened, his mood miraculously lightened by his partner's obvious frustration.
The sun was hot, the air sweet with the tang of the sea and the perfume drifting across from the hawthorn hedgerow. Dismissing the wild-goose chase that had brought them down to the West Country in the first place, Doyle gave a sigh of satisfaction. Lying back against the grass, he pillowed his head on his arm and closed his eyes, blissfully soaking up the warmth of the sun.
Exceprt 2: "We have a visitor for you," announced the gaoler.
"A visitor?" Bodie crossed the small space to stand at the foot of the steps. "But I know no one in Paris except for - "
"We do not have space to waste. This one will share your cell. If you truly wish to be alone..." Pêche shrugged. "You may always rid yourself of him." From the expression on his face it was clear that he expected Bodie to do just that.
At a nod from Pêche the guards released the man they held. His hands bound in front of him, he was propelled through the doorway; momentum sent him tumbling down the steps. He landed with a choked grunt of pain at Bodie's feet, remaining there as the door was slammed shut on them both.
Having stepped back to avoid collision, Bodie stared through the gloom with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. He wasn't sure he wanted to share his solitude. He had always preferred to conduct his life unencumbered and was accustomed to working and living alone. There was also the mundane problem of communication. While he spoke five languages, he spoke none of them well; his command of French was adequate for only the most basic of conversations. Until now, that had been of little consequence.
"Devil take it, I swear my back is broken," announced the ragged figure into the silence. His resigned tone made it clear that was not the case. He stirred and tried to right himself, his breath catching as he found new sore spots. Moving with caution, he propped himself against the bottom step and looked out into the centre of the cell. "I apologise for the intrusion, Monsieur. It was quite inadvertent, I assure you."
"You're English," exclaimed Bodie.
The man gave a gasp of laughter. "Betrayed, by God. So, obviously, are you. Civilisation at last. I was getting damned weary of being addressed as a number. Raymond Doyle of London." He raised his bound hands. "If you would be so kind."
Rediscovered in a Graveyard
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: Novel length (150, 893)
Author on LJ:
hgdoghouseAuthor Website: No website, but the list of HG's stories at Palelyloitering - HG's stories archived at The Circuit Archive and her stories archived at The Automated Hatstand will help you find more of her fic. (I think the latter may be most complete and up-to-date.
Why this must be read: Because HG is a classic and much-loved Pros author, and I think the only reason she's not been more recced here at Crack_van is that until the last few years her stories haven't been archived online. Now even her novels are easily available to all though, and she's well worth exploring. She knows the lads, she knows England, and she knows the world in which Bodie/Doyle lived - both CI5 and the 1970s/1980s. Her characterisation and dialogue is spot on, even when her lads were born a few hundred years before ours.
Rediscovered in a Graveyard is a story within a story. The lads have been in Cornwall on a case, their car breaks down just as they're beginning their 72 hour leave, and they decide to spend some time in the sunny Cornish countryside - starting with a picnic in what turns out to be an old graveyard. Whilst there, they find something that catapults us back in time to 1799, where two men were to be found locked in the Bastille - another Bodie and Doyle. We follow the AU lads through a number of years, and our canon lads through a holiday that turns sour, until all is brought together again at the end. It's two novels in one, and I love the way that HG writes, so that both stories always keep me reading long after I should have turned out the light.
Excerpt: Staring lugubriously past the jagged rocks and damp sand to the seemingly motionless sea, Ray Doyle became aware that the muttered imprecations drifting over from under the car had increased in volume and intensity. Without turning to investigate, he called back over one shoulder, "Haven't you finished yet?"
There was a clang as a spanner hit the tarmac. Doyle could almost hear the silent count to ten.
"No, I haven't." Bodie's voice held an admirable restraint. There was a short pause. "Want to give me a hand?"
Doyle subdued a satisfied smirk. Taking his time, he settled himself cross-legged on the springy turf. Examining a tuft, he selected a grass stalk, tugged it free and began to chew on it with idle pleasure before he spared the half-hidden figure under the car an unsympathetic glance. "Nope. Ten minutes you said. So what's gone wrong? That was forty-five minutes ago."
The silence from under the car spoke volumes. After a few seconds Doyle heard the work get under way again. His grin widened, his mood miraculously lightened by his partner's obvious frustration.
The sun was hot, the air sweet with the tang of the sea and the perfume drifting across from the hawthorn hedgerow. Dismissing the wild-goose chase that had brought them down to the West Country in the first place, Doyle gave a sigh of satisfaction. Lying back against the grass, he pillowed his head on his arm and closed his eyes, blissfully soaking up the warmth of the sun.
Exceprt 2: "We have a visitor for you," announced the gaoler.
"A visitor?" Bodie crossed the small space to stand at the foot of the steps. "But I know no one in Paris except for - "
"We do not have space to waste. This one will share your cell. If you truly wish to be alone..." Pêche shrugged. "You may always rid yourself of him." From the expression on his face it was clear that he expected Bodie to do just that.
At a nod from Pêche the guards released the man they held. His hands bound in front of him, he was propelled through the doorway; momentum sent him tumbling down the steps. He landed with a choked grunt of pain at Bodie's feet, remaining there as the door was slammed shut on them both.
Having stepped back to avoid collision, Bodie stared through the gloom with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. He wasn't sure he wanted to share his solitude. He had always preferred to conduct his life unencumbered and was accustomed to working and living alone. There was also the mundane problem of communication. While he spoke five languages, he spoke none of them well; his command of French was adequate for only the most basic of conversations. Until now, that had been of little consequence.
"Devil take it, I swear my back is broken," announced the ragged figure into the silence. His resigned tone made it clear that was not the case. He stirred and tried to right himself, his breath catching as he found new sore spots. Moving with caution, he propped himself against the bottom step and looked out into the centre of the cell. "I apologise for the intrusion, Monsieur. It was quite inadvertent, I assure you."
"You're English," exclaimed Bodie.
The man gave a gasp of laughter. "Betrayed, by God. So, obviously, are you. Civilisation at last. I was getting damned weary of being addressed as a number. Raymond Doyle of London." He raised his bound hands. "If you would be so kind."
Rediscovered in a Graveyard