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"The Professionals" Recs

Izzie's Recs

There is so much fantastic writing in Pros that it's really hard to pick just a few stories, but here are some that spring to mind at once. They are really not in any particular order at the moment. We'll be adding to the list as we have more time.

Beware of spoilers ahead.

Crossovers

Some crossovers just work. These ones do for me.

Callisto's Recs

I’ve adapted this from a list I once posted on livejournal, so some may remember it. Pros is a fandom I think I will read in forever. I never seem to tire of rereading the ones I love and there is always new and classic fic writing to discover. For Pros I need to thank Izzie, who pimped me in with such ease because of the talent and enthusiasm here. All the following recs are slash and in no particular order of preference.

1 Broken Cover by Angelfish
Almost impossible to put just one of hers here. This is her post Slush Fund classic, when Bodie takes a tired and bruised Doyle home. Something happens to Bodie in the kitchen and he falls to the floor.

Not for the first time, it occurred to him to wonder just what the hell he was doing, when he took it upon himself to push Bodie. Just because the man's ordinary weekday fires were friendly did not mean that playing with them was any the less playing with fire, even for Doyle. And Doyle sometimes forgot - Bodie helped him to forget - that if he was a tolerant, affectionate companion in Doyle's here and now, the bulk of his existence lay forever below the waterline of the past. Ex-merc, ex-SAS, closed-mouthed survivor of jungle warfare, Congo prison. And Doyle pushed him. Hit out at the very coping mechanisms that had preserved him, sane and functional, to walk at Doyle's side. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he repeated in a broken whisper, and put his arms around him, not caring that he was stiff and unresponsive. "Bodie, Bodie. Come back."

2 And Memories Die (II) by Ellis Ward

Yes, anti-AU-little me is putting an AU this high up the list! What can I say? It’s the other Doyle and Bodie, the delicious interplay when worlds collide and all four are together. My jaw drops at how well she handles it, making the similarites and differences in their outlooks, behaviour, etc both subtle and instantly distinct. Her other Doyle is much rougher, more..exotic and unrestrained – a Ray grown up without rules, maybe, (he’s an assassin). The other Doyle is presumed dead, Ray is missing and both Bodies are looking for him. While driving they suddenly comes across both Doyles…

The car slooped back into its proper lane, narrowly missing another car also heading south. The rain had slackened at this part of town, although the thunderstorm continued unabated behind them.

The other Bodie abruptly let off the accelerator and took the car off the road and onto the verge. He slowed to a smooth stop, slipped the transmission into neutral and pulled up the handbrake. He said, "Get out."

The other Doyle hesitated only a few seconds before moving to obey. The door resisted him, proving strangely uncooperative to usually capable hands. But it gave way at last, and he stumbled out, righting himself before he could fall face-first onto the wet grass. He started to walk away, looking neither left nor right, scraping a hand across his eyes as he went.

Doyle's lips parted for protest, but Bodie stilled him with a hand on his forearm and a sharp shake of the head. His fingers found Ray's and clasped them tightly.

In the front seat the other Bodie sat motionless, hands like talons curled around the steering wheel. An explosive curse erupted from his lips, and he was out of the car, long strides carrying him toward the other man. Hearing his approach, the other Doyle swung round to face him.

A misting rain fell upon them as they stood unmoving, caught in a timeless recreation of betrayal and vengeance. The hurt had gone deep in both of them, and comprehension merely emphasized the fact that love had been the root of it.

Tentatively the other Bodie's hand came up, and a callused finger swept away the moisture glistening on his Doyle's cheek, removing more than rain. The hand travelled upward, and gently entered a soft forest of curls. Holding the man's head cupped in his palm, the other Bodie leaned nearer until his mouth was pressed against a warm temple, seemingly restored by the pulse steadily beating there. With a muffled groan, the other Doyle burrowed against his warmth, arms closing convulsively around his Bodie's stolid frame.

Inside the car, Bodie heard a prodigious sniff from his partner. He arched a brow at him, able to see Doyle clearly in the glare of the domelight. "Your romantic streak is showing, sunshine."

Doyle thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "Sod off."

Bodie's eyes roved over his friend, cataloguing every familiar, yet so beloved feature, one by one. "It's a waste of emotion, y'know," he said wryly. "Those two don't know the meaning of 'happy ending'."

3 Yellow Brick Road by Kate Maclean (zine only)

So much that shouldn‘t actually work in the cold light of day. A Bodie you only have access to through Doyle, a Bodie that’s seemingly cold and almost brutal in his treatment of his besotted and paying-for-it partner, and a Bodie who, quite seriously, you want to box round the ears half the time.. But it *does* work. I feel for Bodie, I ache for him in this. I see how all the repression of everything he feels for his partner is screwing him up, because Kate is a genius at the glimpses. She makes the small gestures *work*, and she keeps them sounding like the lads I love. And besides all that, she writes possibly the most scorching sex-scenes in fandom.

One of my favourite scenes is when Bodie helps Doyle pee in the hospital post-diag.

Once they were in position in front of the toilet bowl, he let Doyle lean fully against him and pulled apart his pyjama bottoms to free Doyle’s cock. He was, thought,Doyle, unbelievably gentle.
“Want me to aim it for ya?” Bodie asked, waggling his eyebrows and Doyle giggled weakly, almost missing the pan as he laid his full weight against the strong shoulder and let go with a feeling of blessed, blessed relief.
“You’re pissin’ her off, you know,” Doyle said conversationally as the flow of urine began to thin at last, “To coin a phrase.” They both giggled again, then watched silently as the flow finally stopped.
“You can shake it dry if you like.” Slyly.
“Ah…you’re a prince, Doyle.” But Doyle batted Bodie’s playful hands away and tucked himself into his pyjama bottoms, still leaning on that dependable shoulder.
Then, as he was led across to the washbasin, “Should lay off ‘er a bit, though.” Doyle returned doggedly to the subject Bodie had ignored, knowing he should, but as he met Bodie’s eyes in the mirror above the basin, he saw his partner’s smile was completely gone.
There was a short silence, then, “You serious then? About her?”
Doyle looked down at his hands moving restlessly under the flow of water.
He said at last, “Maybe,” because he wanted it to be true. Maybe he could even make it true.
When he looked up again, Bodie’s smile was back in place, cheeky as ever, hiding everything, as ever. Was he pleased? He looked as bland as Doyle had ever seen him.
“All right, mate,” heartily, “Anythin’ for the woman you love.”
Doyle met his eyes again, and somehow he managed a smile.

4 Never The Words They Say by Slantedlight

There’s something about the lads locked away from the world together, especially in a first time fic, which just makes me melt in the hands of a good writer. And the setting here is an added bonus – a remote Scotish croft with a wonderful cast of villagers around the lads. This has everything – romance, wit, action, angst, hurt/comfort, great dialogue, and a lovely sense of a Bodie and Doyle relaxing and discovering..

I’ve picked a tense moment from near the beginning. After Cowley’s betrayal (Operation Susie), Bodie wants to leave the country immediately, Doyle does not.

Silence. Doyle was staring at the floor.

"So we'll hang out here for a while then. A couple of blokes, up on holiday, escaping the rat race for a while -- like one of those retreats Sally was going on about the other day. Spiritual."

Still no reaction.

"Come on mate, we'll put up one of those statues of Buddha or something, burn some incense..."

Come on.

He got to his feet, bouncing on his toes with a sudden urgent need to do something, swept his eyes across the windows on three sides of the building, came to a stop at the back door. Tossing down the rest of his tea in a scalding rush, he strode across the room, took a firm hold on the rust that passed for a door handle, and dragged it open. "'Ere, look, 'e's even left you a room full of mud."

A stretch of silence, and then Doyle came to stand beside him. The door had opened into a small lean-to, which was stacked high with slabs of -- as Bodie had said -- mud. Except... Doyle leaned back on the doorframe. "Actually mate, I think you'll find that's peat." His voice was steady, and Bodie loved him for it.

"Pete? Who the hell's..?"

"Peat fuel , you dumb crud. You burn it."

"Oh," Bodie surveyed the mud with a better appreciation. "You drink whisky by it an' all, don't you?" He rubbed his hands and turned back inside. "So - the sooner we get this lot sorted out..."

A glance at his partner's face; it could still go either way. Doyle had an elbow on the door jamb, was rubbing one thumb across his lips, and he was seeing nothing in this world. Finally, the eternity over, his eyes snapped back, to the peat, to the cottage, to Bodie. "Yeah, alright then."

And the air relaxed between them again, the words dissolved as if they had never been. The decision had been made.

5 Strange Days Indeed by HG (CD/zine)

It’s the hurt, it’s the comfort, it’s the lads in a pretty bad way – Bodie’s been raped, Doyle’s been beaten up - and there they are, locked away from the world again in a cottage ( is this my kink maybe??).. Love this particular moment.

"Ray, lie still. It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Uncurling, his breath still shuddering, Doyle wiped a hand over his face, inadvertently redistributing the mud, and gave Bodie an exasperated glare, "I know that, it's just..." He broke off, yawning hugely. "Be all right once the tablets start to work."
Bodie stiffened, only now connecting the too bright eyes and their pinpoint pupils with the difference in his partner that bad been bothering him since Doyle's return to the cottage.
"What tablets?" His voice as sharp with concern. "Ray - what tablets?"
Doyle's closing eyes opened again and he waved a nonchalant hand. "Is okay. No need to shout. Just some speed - to keep me goin'."
Bodie did not need to be told why. Guilt and worry governed his response. "You irresponsible bloody maniac! Where are they?"
"Why, you want some?" Doyle enquired, interested.
Exasperated, Bodie left the bed and rifled through the pockets of Doyle's discarded jacket. Nothing.
He turned back to the bed. "OK, Sunshine. Where are they? The tablets?" he prompted with unusual patience as it began to dawn an him that Ray Doyle, ex-DC, was stoned out of his mind.
"Jeans pocket," said Doyle sleepily, untroubled by his partner's scowl.
Drawing the phial free Bodie opened it. The small octagonal pills he shook into his palm told him nothing; the expert an drugs lay flat on his back, high as the proverbial kite.
"Ray, are you sure these aren't addictive? Ray?"
"I 'eard you." said Doyle testily. "Pos'tive. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Won't take any more though. Feel a bit odd, if you must know."
Bodie received that somewhat pathetic admission with scant sympathy. "I'm not bloody surprised. How many of these have you been taking and when did you take the last lot?"
Doyle concentrated, briefly. "When I got back. 'S all right, Bodie. Be all right when I've...'ad some sleep."
Before Bodie could recover his breath from that piece of optimism Doyle was indeed asleep.

6 Ringing In The Changes by PFL

Another superb writer, I can safely rec anything of hers. But this is ‘the one’ for me. Just the most riveting, entertaining account of the lads through the years, Christmas to Christmas. I have to quote from the very last one, regarding *that* ornament..

Doyle looked at Bodie, his hand lying still on Bodie's back. "Do you know why my favourite ornament is that old Christmas bell?"

"Because it was Sally's?"

"Yes, because it was hers. But also because it's familiar. Because I love it. Because there's not a new ornament out there that would ever replace it."

Bodie looked into the bright, clear eyes of his partner and the last shadow of doubt flitted away, banished. He reached for Doyle's hand, holding it, bringing it to rest above Doyle's heart. "I'm here to stay."

7 Proof by Jojo

Such a versatile and talented writer, hers are the Bodie and Doyle closest to my own heart. This is my favourite because it’s cricket fic - the twist being Doyle playing, not Bodie - because it’s Bodie drawing Ermintrude lashes and because..oh, just go read and enjoy!

Bodie had found some kit and a bat for him yesterday, but evidently neglected to inform the First XI captain that he wasn't turning up, or that a bloke who didn't know his stumps from his bails was. More than that, though. The First XI captain really was a Captain, with a honking voice to match, and a seething will to win that exploded all Doyle's hopes for a gentle stroll-about and chit-chat in the pleasant sunshine.

The fact of the matter was, he grumbled to himself, that Bodie just wanted to crow in that provoking way of his when Doyle crawled back and admitted he couldn't go through with it, which was reason enough to remain here, squinting into the distance at the hazy figure in white who was just about to thump that sodding ballistic missile...Oh fuck. A thousand times fuck.

8 Boxing Day by The Hag

A gem. And this is the perfect moment from it. Something Doyle says sends Bodie off to his lock-up to look for a long forgotten present from his past...

"Yeah?" Bodie moved behind him. Doyle didn't turn, tense but trusting. He felt chilled fingers brush his hair to the side and deliberately relaxed, bending his head slightly as warm lips grazed the back of his neck. Then Bodie was back at the counter, the ritual of tea-making resumed. "Eggs, too? Where's the frying pan?"

Doyle finished the sink and sat down, drinking fresh tea and eyeing the festive parcel curiously. Bodie cooked--bacon, eggs, and toast--and set food in front of Doyle who was suddenly ravenous.

"We'll get you eating proper grub full time," Bodie predicted, attacking his own piled plate. "Your turn for the washing-up. Look, I can't tell you everything at one go, all right?"

"Uh--all right." Doyle stared at him.

Bodie concentrated on his knife and fork. "There's things you've never told me, either, sunshine."

"Right." Doyle swallowed nervously. Unconsciously he brushed a finger over his damaged cheek.

"There's--boxes we won't open for a while yet. Things that hurt too much." Bodie put down his knife and pushed the little parcel across to Doyle. "But it is Boxing Day, so have a butcher's at that for a start."

9 Flu by Sebastian

Got to have a rec for Sebastian in here somewhere. Maybe an odd choice to some, but my kink is a sick Bodie and/or Doyle, and here I get 'em both, at the same time, and in the same bed.

Doyle looked down at the dark hair beneath his chin, felt Bodie's arms wrapped around him, an ironic thread of laughter running through his mind. Bodie and Doyle, 3.7 and 4.5, Cowley's rough-tough ace team who put the wind up the heaviest of heavies - lying in bed, cuddling. No point in deluding himself, they were cuddling. Even though his head was painful and his inflamed throat hurt him, he allowed himself a little chuckle, into Bodie's apple-scented hair.

It disturbed Bodie, who, warm and comforted, had been drifting in to sleep. He dozily felt an immense, grateful relief for the warm presence holding him, keeping the chills at bay. He reached up one drowsy hand, stroked the smooth skin just beside Doyle's mouth with his thumb. "Love you," he mumbled.

"What did you say?" asked Doyle, incredulous, and more awake.

The other man sighed, warm breath on Doyle's throat. "I love you."

Doyle grinned to himself. Bodie was just going to love hearing about this in the morning, wasn't he? Bless him, though. A twinge of rueful tenderness went through Doyle. He hugged Bodie even tighter.

"Yeah, mate; love you too."

He fell asleep smiling.

10 The Third Friday of October by Dana Austin Marsh

A delightful, quixotic premise that, damn it, shouldn't work but does. Doyle's married and gone from CI5, Bodie's still there. A chance encounter leads to them meeting up for the same three days every year (1981-1990). The quote here is from 1984:

Having been anticipating his lover's arrival, and imagining the worst, for several hours, it took Doyle only a moment to release the lock and fling the door open, fully intending to drag the sexy body in and plaster himself all over it. Fortunately, his reflexes were still finely honed enough to stop him in his tracks at the first sight of Bodie. It was almost all his worst imaginings brought to reality - a bruised, battered and exhausted Bodie stood swaying in the rain.

"For Chrissake, Bodie, get in," Doyle exclaimed, grasping Bodie's arm to pull him inside but releasing it just as quickly when Bodie yelped a hoarse protest.

Bodie shuffled into the entry hall and leaned a shoulder tiredly against the wall despite the pain it caused him. He moaned another protest of pain when Doyle's hand settled on the small of his back to guide him. Once again the hand was withdrawn as if burned. Determinedly, he shuffled his way to the sofa and subsided ever so carefully onto its welcoming surface. If Bodie had been a man prone to tears, he would have broken down and wept right then and there. He longed for Doyle's touch with every bit of his love-starved soul, but could honestly think of no place on his aching body where he would welcome it.

Hovering uselessly, it was all Doyle could do not to hit something in sheer frustration. "What the hell happened to you?"

The blue eyes, which had closed upon gaining the haven of the sofa, opened to regard his anxious friend. "Mate, I've had a helluva day," Bodie pronounced.

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