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Bodie opened his eyes to snowfall. He blinked, feeling the flakes on his eyelashes. The ground was cold and hard. Why was he…? Memory returned, bringing with it a surge of panic and adrenaline—he had to move. But when he tried, pain spiked through him, and his leg wouldn’t hold any weight. Fuck, fuck. He fell back onto the ground, concentrated on slowing his breathing, willed the pain to subside. He must have hurt his ankle in the fall, and the bullet wound had taken its toll. He closed his eyes as the snow settled thickly on him. He couldn’t move. He’d die if Larson’s men found him; he’d die if no one found him. He was on his own. Death was the most intensely private experience of them all. Did it matter, then if he was facing it alone? Better that way. Doyle wouldn’t witness it. Ray…
Ray would be alone.
No. No.
He pushed himself up onto his forearms, pulled himself forward, ignored the agony. He had to keep moving, had to try. He wasn’t far from the road, if he could make it through the hedge. He’d been heading that way when he’d fallen on the steep slope of the hill. Pray there was a gap he could work his way through. Hope. Do it. Keep. Going. Keep. Going. Keep. Ray.
“Bodie!”
Hands—Ray’s hands—were on him. Fingers slid over his skin, settled at the pulse point on his neck.
“Thank Christ. I have him! Get the ambulance here! South road. Bodie, stay still, I’ve got you.” Doyle’s hands travelled over him, discovered the wound in his back. Doyle hissed.
“Larson?” Bodie forced himself to speak.
“All taken care of. Hold on, mate. They’re coming. Hold on, do you hear me?”
“Yeah. Bossy—sod.”
“That’s right. I’ll be very angry if you pop your clogs. Don’t want that, do you? Stay still! Twat.”
“Don’t—leave.”
“So bloody cold. Here.” Doyle shifted against him, and Bodie curled himself in to Doyle’s warm embrace.
“You need me,” he whispered.
“‘Course I do.” Doyle’s arms tightened around him.
He heard the ambulance approaching. He reached out and gripped Doyle’s wrist as strongly as he could with chilled fingers. “Can’t…do it…alone.”
Bodie felt Doyle’s stillness. “Ah, Bodie,” Doyle sighed.
The ambulance crew was coming towards them. There was no time, and it had been unfair of him to say it. Weak. He tried to pull away, but Doyle wouldn’t let him go until the ambulance crew insisted, and even then he held on to Bodie’s hand. A last link, Bodie thought, like the occasional jobs they still did together. When Cowley could spare Doyle. It was killing him.
The ambulance crew readied him for transport. Bodie closed his eyes, withdrew into himself. But then Doyle’s fierce voice was in his ear: “All right. But don’t you dare leave me to face Cowley alone, you bugger.”
Bodie opened his eyes, and what he saw on Doyle’s face brought a smile to his own. Together, then. Always.
The End
December 2015