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crack_van2012-10-12 05:01 pm
byslantedlight.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-10-12 05:01 pm
Entry tags:
By Any Other Name by Elizabeth O'Shea (G)
Fandom: THE PROFESSIONALS
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: Short story
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elizabethoshea
Author Website: Elizabeth O'Shea's storylist at palelyloitering.com
Why this must be read: Anyone who knows me knows that my favourite Pros story is by Elizabeth O'Shea. It's been recced here before, and by me in other places many times, so I shan't do so again (though it's Voice-Over, in case you're wondering *g*). By Any Other Name was written (or at least published) a year later, and Elizabeth O'Shea's understanding of the lads, and of Doyle in particular, shines through again. Bodie has been taken, and Doyle is having to hang around until Cowley decides it's time to go and rescue him. In a few perfect pages we see him wandering impatiently around the premises, just thinking - but this is thinking written well, and so we're right there with our Doyle, feeling everything he feels, seeing it as he feels and thinks it.
Excerpt - "Oh, right, we wait. For how long? It's been two days, Mr Cowley. Sir. You know what that lot are capable of. We have no idea--"
"And no reason to believe Bodie is in immediate danger. 'That lot', as you call them, have a healthy respect for McDonough and McDonough is not interested in damaged goods."
"Oh yeah? Bet your life on that, would you? Bet Bodie's?"
Cowley matched him stare for stare, unsettling Doyle with the understanding tempering his steady gaze. Understanding, but no yielding.
A breeze lifted the curtain at the open French window, stirring Cowley's papers on the table and teasing the damask roses arranged with artful carelessness in a bowl at its centre.
The snowy petals were crisping at the edges after days in the dusty warmth of the room, blossoms hanging tiredly on thirsty stems. As the breeze died, a single petal detached itself and see-sawed softly to the floor.
Bodie had laughed when he'd claimed a flair for roses.
"Green fingers? Come off it, Doyle. Even the mould in your fridge dies of neglect."
It was true, though--in theory at least. He could still reel off the old-fashioned names from his mother's remembered country childhood: Buff Beauty, Meg Merilees, Maiden's Blush. A wistful armchair gardener, his mum, adrift in the hated city. Not like Mrs Grant last spring with her arbours and trellises.
Nice woman, though, Mrs Grant. Nice daughter too; Bodie's imperviousness to her thoroughbred charms the last straw to the camel's back of Doyle's insecurity, sealing the trust between them.
He started for the door.
By Any Other Name by Elizabeth O'Shea
Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Length: Short story
Author on LJ:
elizabethosheaAuthor Website: Elizabeth O'Shea's storylist at palelyloitering.com
Why this must be read: Anyone who knows me knows that my favourite Pros story is by Elizabeth O'Shea. It's been recced here before, and by me in other places many times, so I shan't do so again (though it's Voice-Over, in case you're wondering *g*). By Any Other Name was written (or at least published) a year later, and Elizabeth O'Shea's understanding of the lads, and of Doyle in particular, shines through again. Bodie has been taken, and Doyle is having to hang around until Cowley decides it's time to go and rescue him. In a few perfect pages we see him wandering impatiently around the premises, just thinking - but this is thinking written well, and so we're right there with our Doyle, feeling everything he feels, seeing it as he feels and thinks it.
Excerpt - "Oh, right, we wait. For how long? It's been two days, Mr Cowley. Sir. You know what that lot are capable of. We have no idea--"
"And no reason to believe Bodie is in immediate danger. 'That lot', as you call them, have a healthy respect for McDonough and McDonough is not interested in damaged goods."
"Oh yeah? Bet your life on that, would you? Bet Bodie's?"
Cowley matched him stare for stare, unsettling Doyle with the understanding tempering his steady gaze. Understanding, but no yielding.
A breeze lifted the curtain at the open French window, stirring Cowley's papers on the table and teasing the damask roses arranged with artful carelessness in a bowl at its centre.
The snowy petals were crisping at the edges after days in the dusty warmth of the room, blossoms hanging tiredly on thirsty stems. As the breeze died, a single petal detached itself and see-sawed softly to the floor.
Bodie had laughed when he'd claimed a flair for roses.
"Green fingers? Come off it, Doyle. Even the mould in your fridge dies of neglect."
It was true, though--in theory at least. He could still reel off the old-fashioned names from his mother's remembered country childhood: Buff Beauty, Meg Merilees, Maiden's Blush. A wistful armchair gardener, his mum, adrift in the hated city. Not like Mrs Grant last spring with her arbours and trellises.
Nice woman, though, Mrs Grant. Nice daughter too; Bodie's imperviousness to her thoroughbred charms the last straw to the camel's back of Doyle's insecurity, sealing the trust between them.
He started for the door.
By Any Other Name by Elizabeth O'Shea