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The bandages come off in October and Bodie is grateful an early winter is making its presence felt. It gives him the perfect excuse to nonchalantly toss a woolly hat at Doyle the day he goes to the hospital to collect him. He puts his feet on the bed and pretends interest in The Racing Post and Doyle’s leftover grapes, determinedly not listening to the hitch in Doyle’s breathing. Bodie can feel him picking it up and looking between the hat and Bodie, running his hands over the wool like it cost the earth and means the world. Whether he’ll wear it, though, is something else entirely. ‘Past nit level’ Murphy said about they way they’d shaved him, and Bodie didn’t care. As long as they went in and patched up the damage, why should he? But Doyle was funny about his hair, very particular... When the silence goes on too long, Bodie takes a chance and does his best Benny from Crossroads impression.
Doyle tells Bodie to fuck off, but he wears it carefully, mindful of his scars as he pulls the hat gently over his ears. They stare at each other and Bodie is the one who gets a hitch in his breathing. He coughs and looks down, because it’s either that or get on the bed with Doyle and do something stupid. As nice as Sister has been to the pair of them, he doubts her generosity extends to the two of them rucking up her National Health bedsheets.
Once Doyle’s out and tilting his face up to absolutely no sun whatsoever in the hospital car park, Bodie feels himself start to breathe again, proper in and out breaths that go all the way down.
“All right, sunshine?” he asks, leaning him against the passenger door while he hands off the wheelchair.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.” Doyle says it slowly, as if he’s really thinking about it. Bodie makes to step away to the driver’s side, but Doyle grabs him before he can move. He sways in, pressing his face right into Bodie’s neck, the wool scratchy and warm, and the best thing Bodie’s felt against his skin in five bloody awful weeks.
Bodie palms the back of Doyle’s neck and closes his eyes, just for a second.
“I’m starving, Bodie. Feed me, will you?”
Bodie will. He will. As soon as Doyle lets go.
******