Darby Brennan


Set during an Alternate Reality Hunter Hunted.

Preston is holding Doyle captive, and it's down to Bodie to rescue is partner.

An established relationship story.

Written: July 2007. Word count: 400.



He could see him.


Preston had chained him to the crates and was tormenting him with near misses.


As good as Doyle was, there was nothing he could do. He was caught. It was down to Bodie now.


Cowley had ordered caution. Well to hell with that. Caution might cost Doyle his life, and that'd mean that Bodie would be alone.


Alone at work.


Alone at play.


Alone at home.


He'd been alone too often in his life; usually by choice. But once he'd been partnered with the scruffy, sarcy ex-detective, he knew he couldn't be alone again. Not in his professional or his personal life.


"I'm coming, sunshine," he muttered. "Won't let him kill you. Can't."


He moved neared, wincing and tightening his grip on his gun as Preston sent a bullet into the wood next to Doyle's left ear. It had been close. So close. Too close.


Any closer and . . . 


Any closer and . . .


But Bodie wasn't going to think about that.


Taking care, moving with the kind of stealth that only the jungle can teach you, Bodie closed in on his prey. Closed in on the hunter. Soon, very soon now, the hunter would be the hunted.


It would only take a few more moments. He just hoped Doyle had a few more moments.


He hoped that Preston didn't suddenly turn round, because now he was exposed, out in the open. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go.


He reckoned he'd have one chance to kill the bastard. One and only one.


He had to make his shot a good one. A kill shot. Because he wouldn't get a second chance. He wouldn't get a second chance to save his partner. His friend. His lover.


Then suddenly he saw it. And he knew. Preston was about to go for his own kill shot. Bodie didn't know how he knew, but he did. He knew in the way a huntsman knows. Instinct? Experience? Whatever, he knew.


"Preston!" he yelled, with no thought for his own safely. His own life.


It worked. Preston whirled around and fired. One, two, three, four times.


Bodie answered the fire. One shot. Two.


His were accurate. His found their target.


Preston fell to the ground. His gun clattered beside him.


Pausing only long enough to kick the gun away, Bodie ran to Doyle's side.


Doyle's side. Where he belonged. The only place he wasn't alone.



Moving Forward is a sequel to this story.


Feedback is always appreciated


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