Author: Tibby Cropton
Just as I was pondering the abundance of brain-damage fic in The Sentinel, and wondering at the seeming lack of it in The Professionals, I stumbled across this fic which combines both fandoms in a wholly unique, and side-splittingly funny, manner. This is one of those fics that stays with you; at odd moments today I've found myself smiling at the memory of Ray "killing" a Capri, and his sabotage of Blair's popcorn strings. And the competitiveness of both er, changed, partners kept me laughing throughout.
"Ack! What'd you do that for?"
Bodie got up hastily and pulled a nonchalant Ray to one side out of the eye of the fuss as Blair hopped furiously on one foot and poured out his tale of woe to a sympathetic Jim.
"Ray, my pet, why did you step on his foot? That wasn't a nice thing to do," Bodie murmured under cover of the full velocity of the young American's complaints.
"Didn't step on his foot," Ray announced, in a loud voice.
"Did so! You're a liar--you--pants on fire--"
"He put his foot underneath where mine was going. That's all. He's a big baby." Bored whistling for a moment, which stopped so that he could add, with supreme scorn, "He couldn't kill a teabag."
"You shouldn't wear big boots on your stupid big feet in the house, anyway!" Blair told him from the shelter of Jim's comforting--and restraining--arm. "It's not polite!"
"Not a house, though, is it--"
Bodie hid his smile by turning away from the tree and the other occupants of the room, and said, in as firm a voice as he could muster, "Jim and Blair are our hosts, pet, and that's no way to behave in someone else's...place. Right? You know better than that. Mum would be ashamed of you."
A lush lower lip--a British one this time--stuck out ominously, but Ray eventually said, though with obvious reluctance, "I'm sorry you stuck your foot under my boot." Catching Bodie's frown, he added, quickly if a mite grudgingly, "I hope it doesn't hurt too much."
Looking up at Bodie and still not seeing the wholehearted approbation he was expecting, Ray heaved a sigh, sat on one of the hassocks, and pulled off his heeled leather boots with ostentatious effort. As he returned from dropping them next to the front door, Bodie snagged him into a one-armed hug so he could bury his mouth in the curls over an ear and whisper, "Just why did you do that, Ray?"
Ray whispered back, moulding himself against Bodie momentarily, though remaining wary of their audience, "He says the angel's a she. He's a prat. And it's crooked."
"He tried to fix our angel! That's 'specially for you and me, Jimbo, you said so."
"It wouldn't hurt to let Ray fix it--"
"Didn't need fixing until he bumped into the tree," came a rebellious mutter.
Bodie pulled Ray back over to the tree and made a show of admiring the decorations. He even, to Ray's patent disgust, said what a pretty angel "she" was, and only Ray caught the smile tugging at Bodie's mouth as he turned away again.
Go on, read it. You know you want to....