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crack_van2012-08-03 11:34 pm
moonlightmead.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-08-03 11:34 pm
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Who Caught And Sang The Sun by Slantedlight
I promised some long stories for weekends. Here's the first!
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 60,000+ words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
byslantedlight
Author Website: Slantedlight story list on the Automated Hatstand website
Why this must be read: because it has plot, and humour, and tension, and insight, and mystery, and love.
"He'd thought, somehow, that as they got older they'd slow down, that they'd end up as staid and respectable as every other desk-bound fifty-something in the City. It didn't seem to be happening."
In this novel-length Pros story, Bodie and Doyle have made it through the eighties, the nineties, and the millennium celebrations, only to find themselves in 2005 running CI5 and dealing with problems their boss Cowley never had.
The first problem we meet is their accountability to a government with its own priorities.
"Seen one sub-machine gun, you've seen 'em all." Bodie paused, glanced up at him, "Actually I was going to, but um…"
"Oh god, what?" Bodie had that look about him, he'd ducked his head slightly, was looking up at him from under his eyelashes, and there was a certain twist to his lips.
"Salma rang again while you were on your way home. The Minister's moved our meeting up to nine."
"Oh, shit."
"That's what I said, Sal told me to mind my language."
Of rather more concern to them, there are missing agents.
There was bound to be something he could use to pick the lock, even if he couldn't force the door. He stood up slowly, swayed, and reached out automatically. His hand met something soft and unpleasantly wet, but stable enough. A roll of carpet, at a guess, or more likely a roll of mould masquerading as carpet...
Fuck.
He steadied himself, wiped his hands on his jeans, paused in surprise as he felt a very familiar lump in his pocket. It couldn't be...
His phone slid open, and he blinked at even that much light, alarm flashing to tell him that he had a new note saved and ready to read.
Cldnt sv 12.1.
And there is an exceptionally inconvenient set of enthusiastic young documentary-makers foisted onto them by a minister who really should have known better.
"I'm Bodie, this is Ray Doyle," he said, smiling at her. She smelled of flowers and fresh air. "We'll be working together on your programme."
"We'll be shadowing you," she corrected, gently but firmly. "You'll barely know we're here if we do it right, and I promise that we always," she paused, "do it right."
This documentary crew quite clearly want something interesting to show the viewers, and Bodie and Doyle are both wary, but the inevitable pressure of being constantly monitored begins to take its toll.
Although it's a long story, it races along, and elements throughout fall into place at the end. There are copious references to the programmes - what did happen to Bodie's girlfriend who was caught in the bomb blast, for example, after the dust had settled and life went on, and then there was that night in the bowling alley - and reminders that the world is different now...
"The bloody things were probably on memory sticks and being left on coffee tables all around H-fucking-Q. Christ, they were probably on the *internet* by now" ... "I thought it was funny at first, but then Tom told me what a golliwog was… isn't that a bit racist, Mr Bodie?" ... "EO91ZZH204?" "E-ticket booking number."
One thing that really works for me in this story is the switching between the main action, as Bodie and Doyle experience it, and the documentary voice-overs, which I hear as a hushed voice, with not a hint of salacious suggestion in it, oh no...
And, of course, it is a Pros story and that means Bodie and Doyle, and it is a Bodie and Doyle story, and that means slash (well, it does to me, and clearly it does tobyslantedlight too), and it is a slash story and that means emotions swirling and thoughts roaming and glances across the room catching - but there are cameras there and there is a job to do, and they can't do anything but snatch moments, until...
Well. Neither man has changed that much....
Who Caught And Sang The Sun, by Slantedlight
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: 60,000+ words
Author on LJ:
byslantedlightAuthor Website: Slantedlight story list on the Automated Hatstand website
Why this must be read: because it has plot, and humour, and tension, and insight, and mystery, and love.
"He'd thought, somehow, that as they got older they'd slow down, that they'd end up as staid and respectable as every other desk-bound fifty-something in the City. It didn't seem to be happening."
In this novel-length Pros story, Bodie and Doyle have made it through the eighties, the nineties, and the millennium celebrations, only to find themselves in 2005 running CI5 and dealing with problems their boss Cowley never had.
The first problem we meet is their accountability to a government with its own priorities.
"Seen one sub-machine gun, you've seen 'em all." Bodie paused, glanced up at him, "Actually I was going to, but um…"
"Oh god, what?" Bodie had that look about him, he'd ducked his head slightly, was looking up at him from under his eyelashes, and there was a certain twist to his lips.
"Salma rang again while you were on your way home. The Minister's moved our meeting up to nine."
"Oh, shit."
"That's what I said, Sal told me to mind my language."
Of rather more concern to them, there are missing agents.
There was bound to be something he could use to pick the lock, even if he couldn't force the door. He stood up slowly, swayed, and reached out automatically. His hand met something soft and unpleasantly wet, but stable enough. A roll of carpet, at a guess, or more likely a roll of mould masquerading as carpet...
Fuck.
He steadied himself, wiped his hands on his jeans, paused in surprise as he felt a very familiar lump in his pocket. It couldn't be...
His phone slid open, and he blinked at even that much light, alarm flashing to tell him that he had a new note saved and ready to read.
Cldnt sv 12.1.
And there is an exceptionally inconvenient set of enthusiastic young documentary-makers foisted onto them by a minister who really should have known better.
"I'm Bodie, this is Ray Doyle," he said, smiling at her. She smelled of flowers and fresh air. "We'll be working together on your programme."
"We'll be shadowing you," she corrected, gently but firmly. "You'll barely know we're here if we do it right, and I promise that we always," she paused, "do it right."
This documentary crew quite clearly want something interesting to show the viewers, and Bodie and Doyle are both wary, but the inevitable pressure of being constantly monitored begins to take its toll.
Although it's a long story, it races along, and elements throughout fall into place at the end. There are copious references to the programmes - what did happen to Bodie's girlfriend who was caught in the bomb blast, for example, after the dust had settled and life went on, and then there was that night in the bowling alley - and reminders that the world is different now...
"The bloody things were probably on memory sticks and being left on coffee tables all around H-fucking-Q. Christ, they were probably on the *internet* by now" ... "I thought it was funny at first, but then Tom told me what a golliwog was… isn't that a bit racist, Mr Bodie?" ... "EO91ZZH204?" "E-ticket booking number."
One thing that really works for me in this story is the switching between the main action, as Bodie and Doyle experience it, and the documentary voice-overs, which I hear as a hushed voice, with not a hint of salacious suggestion in it, oh no...
And, of course, it is a Pros story and that means Bodie and Doyle, and it is a Bodie and Doyle story, and that means slash (well, it does to me, and clearly it does to
byslantedlight too), and it is a slash story and that means emotions swirling and thoughts roaming and glances across the room catching - but there are cameras there and there is a job to do, and they can't do anything but snatch moments, until...Well. Neither man has changed that much....
Who Caught And Sang The Sun, by Slantedlight