Bodie hesitated outside Doyle's door. The two large whiskeys he'd used to fortify himself weren't doing the trick. He had to go through with it, though, he couldn't turn back now, not after spending the last three days talking himself into telling his partner exactly how he really felt about him.

Three days since he'd nearly blown it during the Ojuka affair--Cowley had asked a few suspicious questions while hauling him on the carpet afterwards. If the Old Man suspected, Doyle would surely figure things out, if he hadn't already done so. Somehow Bodie felt it would be better to say something now, before Doyle confronted him.

But he still stood there, immobilized, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Another drink first, that was all he needed. And Doyle always had a good supply on hand. Bodie finally pushed the buzzer.

"Who is it?"

"Bodie."

Doyle opened the door and waved him inside.

"You doin' anything?" Bodie asked as he made himself comfortable on Doyle's sofa.

Doyle grinned. "Nah. Tried to call you earlier--there's a good game on the box." He crossed over to the drinks cabinet. "I ordered some takeaway--Chinese. Might be enough for you, too. If you don't eat your usual triple portions." He held up a bottle. "Scotch okay?"

Bodie smiled back. "Fine." It was easy to feel relaxed around Doyle. As he watched Doyle's fluid, unselfconscious movements, Bodie found his gaze automatically focusing on the tight jeans. Doyle turned towards him, and Bodie instantly shifted his gaze upwards as his partner sauntered to the sofa. He swallowed, hoping Doyle hadn't noticed. Not that it would be the first time Bodie'd ended up staring at Doyle's rear end.

"Here you go." Doyle handed him the glass of scotch, then sat down beside Bodie, close, but not touching. He picked up the remote to flick on the telly. "Few minutes yet," he said, pressing down the mute button as a commercial came on. He leaned back against the cushions, sipping at his own drink.

Bodie downed a good third of his scotch in one go. Warmth flowed through him. It felt so right here, as it always felt right to be in Doyle's company. He never needed to put on a facade for Doyle, never needed to worry about what to talk about, never had to play mental games. Years of working closely, of sharing danger, of helping each other through the stress of the job--it led to trust, to being able to be honest with each other. It led to friendship, a special friendship that no one else was allowed to intrude on. As far as Bodie was concerned, no one else could ever understand him as well as Doyle did. And he didn't want to share that. Not with anyone.

"You're bein' quiet tonight," Doyle's soft voice broke into Bodie's thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yeah. No...I don't know." It wasn't exactly the opening he'd planned. Bodie studied the contents of his glass, then took another long sip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Been thinkin'." He paused, unsure how to go on. Start with the known, he decided. Get the obvious stuff out of the way, then he could leap into unknown territory. "Been thinkin' about us--we've been teamed a long time--" Bodie smiled at Doyle, who stared at him with wide, curious eyes. "Never worked with anybody this long before. It's been good. Never had such a good mate before, either."

"You gettin' sentimental on me?" Doyle smiled. "How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Only two whiskeys."

"Yeah?"

"Well, two large whiskeys," Bodie admitted.

"Hm. Usually takes four or five for you to get mushy."

"'M not mushy," Bodie protested. "Just telling the truth."

"Well, I already knew it, didn't I?"

Confused, Bodie said, "Knew what?"

Doyle sighed. "That you were me best mate, of course." He gave Bodie a light punch on the shoulder.

"It's more than that--"

"Eh?" Doyle's attention had turned back to the television. "Game's about to start."

"Ray." Bodie put his hand on Doyle's shoulder and shook it gently, getting him to look at him. "What I'm trying to say is that I've never felt this close to anyone before."

Doyle frowned. "Isn't that what you just said?"

"No, you don't understand. It's more than that." Bodie struggled with the proper phrasing, unable to explain how he felt now that he and Doyle were face to face. "You see, I like being with you more than anyone else--"

The door buzzer sounded. Bloody hell, Bodie thought as Doyle jumped up to answer it. He'd been so close to getting the words out. He got up to follow Doyle, determined not to allow any interruptions. "Do you have to answer it?"

"Told you, I ordered some Chinese food." Doyle spoke into the intercom. "Who's there?"

"Chang's Takeaway," came the muffled reply.

"'Bout time." Doyle opened the door.

Before either of them could react, two armed men burst into the flat, shoving Doyle hard against the wall. Bodie made a move towards the intruders, but his coordination was off from the drinking. The punch he tried to land ended up being only a glancing blow, and the next thing he felt was a gun butt connecting with the back of his head. He sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. But he hadn't quite lost consciousness, and through the buzzing in his head he heard the two men talking.

"Don't move. Joe, get something to tie his hands."

"What about the other one?"

"Leave him. He only asked for one. Too much trouble to take 'em both."

"Right."

Bodie tried to move again. He had to do something, had to stop them from taking Doyle. But the pain and dizziness when he lifted his head overwhelmed him, and he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.

---

The ransom demand came via a phone call the next afternoon. Bodie was in Cowley's office when the call came through. He'd already spent a frustrating morning with the CI5 doctor, convincing him not to send him to hospital. It hadn't been easy to answer the doctor's questions sensibly when all his attention was focused on Ray Doyle.

Now he leaned close to Cowley's desk as Cowley put the speaker phone on.

"Did you hear what I said, Mr. Cowley?" came the gruff voice on the line.

"I did. You claim to be holding one of my men."

"A fellow named Doyle, to be specific. I'm assuming you'd like to see him again." There was a pause. "Alive."

Bodie clenched his teeth; it was hard not to respond to the bastard.

"If that's the case," the man went on, "then you'll get together 100,000 pounds to be delivered at a place I shall specify in my next call. If you aren't prepared to drop off the money by tomorrow at midnight, I shall kill Mr. Doyle. Is that clear?"

"It's clear," Cowley replied. "However, CI5 is not in the habit of ransoming its agents."

"Then you'd better take a look at your hiring budget, Mr. Cowley, because Doyle won't be the last." The phone clicked as the caller hung up.

"Bastard," Bodie muttered.

"I assume you are referring to the kidnapper, 3.7."

"Yes, sir." Bodie paced the short distance between the desk and the door. "Haven't we got anything yet? What about Doyle's flat?"

Cowley picked up a piece of paper and tossed it across the desk top. "Stuart did a thorough check of the flat and the neighbors this morning."

Bodie paused to look at the brief report.

"As you can see, there is one bit of information. A neighbor who saw three men getting into a car last night near Doyle's flat, at about the right time."

Bodie committed the make and model to memory. Red Ford Cortina, slightly battered. "No license?"

Cowley shook his head. "I've also got men scouring the records, looking for a possible revenge motive. The problem is time. Too many possibilities to look into. This doesn't strike me as a plot aimed solely against Doyle, but against CI5."

"Yeah. They didn't care which one of us they nabbed." Bodie remembered the snatches of conversation he'd overheard. "They were just hired hands, too." Bodie was anxious to do something--anything.

"I suggest you go down to Records," Cowley said. "You can help look through the files."

"What about that Chinese takeaway? Has it been checked out?"

"Aye. The regular deliver man was overpowered as he was heading out. He didn't remember anything about his attackers."

"Damn."

"Files, Bodie."

"Yes, sir." He left the office and went down to Records.

---

Twenty-four hours later, on only four hours sleep, Bodie felt more frustrated than ever. Not because they didn't have enough suspects--they'd found plenty of people with reason to hate CI5. It was the time it took to check each suspect's whereabouts--time they didn't have. By early evening of that second day, Bodie was near the breaking point as he searched through endless records, anxiously watching the clock tick down the hours towards midnight.

And then the break finally came. At nine o'clock Anson came bounding over to Bodie, a file in hand. "I've got a good one. Check this out." He thrust the file into Bodie's hands. "You remember the Parks family--Jerry Parks and his son David?"

Bodie nodded. "A two-man crime ring--drug smuggling." He flipped through the file. "They had a string of other people working for 'em, but the elder and younger Parks ran the business."

"Couple months back we had a tip that something big was going on," Anson said. "we pulled the son, David, in for questioning."

"Yeah. Looks like a lot of different agents had a go at him."

"After four days, he broke down and told us everything. All the details of a big upcoming op, lots of interesting names. Blew it wide open. Two days after we let David go, he killed himself."

"Embarrassed, was he?" Bodie closed the file. "Couldn't take facing the old man?"

"That's what Cowley figured at the time. Jerry Parks was arrested for the drug smuggling caper, but he posted bail. Trial date hasn't been set yet. Here's the good bit--after I first found that file a couple hours ago, I ran the usual check on Parks' whereabouts during the last two days. Just got the word in--nobody's seen him. And another thing--one of his henchmen is named Joe."

Joe, get something to tie his hands...the words sprang into Bodie's mind. But he'd seen something even more convincing in the file. "Take a look at the list of cars he owns, too," he said as he handed the folder back. "Mr. Parks owns a red Ford Cortina."

---

After they had posted the license number of Parks' car to the police, and after going over Parks' home inside and out and finding nothing, Bodie found himself back in Records, scanning the computer files for any further information on the suspect. The deadline drew nearer, and they had no clue to where Parks was. And no way of stopping him.

Another call had come in earlier, outlining the drop-off plan. Cowley had repeated that CI5 didn't ransom its agents, and the kidnapper had repeated his threat to kill Doyle at midnight if the money wasn't paid.

At eleven o'clock Bodie was barely able to concentrate, every nerve fiber working overtime, when something on the screen managed to penetrate his sleep-deprived brain. It was a record of Parks' recent rental of a warehouse down near the docks. Suddenly alert, Bodie printed out the info, made a copy, and then quickly tracked down Anson. He shoved the copy into his hands. "Tell Cowley. Have him send backup. I'm heading out." Before Anson could reply, Bodie was gone.

---

He broke most of London's traffic laws getting to the docks. By the time he'd found the small warehouse tucked away amid the jumble of buildings, it was half past eleven. Still time. Bodie checked his gun and got out of the car. He made his way to the front of the building, then scouted round its exterior. There was only one entrance--a metal door secured by a padlock. He could wait for backup, or he could shoot off the lock and rush in. Doyle supposedly had half an hour yet--if he was really in there, and if Parks wasn't lying. Bodie stood by the door, hesitating, afraid of making the wrong move, of losing Doyle forever because of a lapse of judgment.

And then he heard the shots ring out. Two of them, from inside. "No!" Bodie instantly fired at the padlock, shattering it. He slammed the door open and dashed inside. "Ray!" It wasn't midnight yet, dammit--he couldn't be dead. Fear knotted up inside Bodie as he made his way across the darkened interior, a deep, icy fear that threatened his very sanity.

As he walked rapidly between two aisles of metal shelving, Bodie spotted a dim light in a far corner. He picked up his pace. His palms were sweating and it was all he could do to keep the gun from slipping. When he drew near the end of the aisle, he saw that the light came from a small office room, its door ajar.

Bodie took a deep breath, steadied himself, and raced across the open space between the shelves and the office. He crept up to the door. Slowly, very slowly, Bodie pushed the door inward. He saw a body on the floor, lying face down. He swallowed hard, unable to tell in the poor light who it could be. Not Ray--it couldn't be Ray. It couldn't possibly end like this. His heart racing, Bodie stepped inside the room, moving closer towards the still form. It felt to him as if time had frozen, that even his own breathing had stopped.

Then he heard a gasp behind him. Bodie whirled, gun up, as the figure staggered out from the corner shadows. "Ray!" Bodie lowered the gun, crossed the few feet to where Doyle stood, and wrapped him in a tight embrace. "You're safe...." He didn't want to let Doyle go, not ever. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Doyle's voice was shaky.

Bodie, still holding on, saw the gun in Doyle's hand, and the rope dangling from his wrist. "Here I am trying my damnedest to rescue you, and you go and get loose on your own."

"Sorry." Doyle managed a slight smile.

"'S okay. I won't hold it against you." Bodie looked into Doyle's weary eyes, took in his haggard appearance, and urgently wished he could instantly smooth all the fear away. Instead, giving in to the overwhelming love he felt, Bodie suddenly leaned in close, cupped Doyle's chin with his hand, and kissed him. Then he wrapped his arms around him again, burying his face in Doyle's neck and hair.

"Hey," Doyle murmured, "it's all right, Bodie...I'm fine."

Bodie pulled back, finally releasing him. He ruffled Doyle's curls. "Had me worried there. You look worn to a frazzle."

"I'm just tired--"

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Anson and Murphy. Another half hour was spent mopping up, giving a preliminary report, and waiting for word from Cowley that they could go home. It came at last, and Bodie headed Doyle in the direction of his car.

"Don't feel like going to my flat," Doyle said as he sank into the passenger seat.

Bodie started the engine. "No, you shouldn't go there, anyway. Should have security checks first. Looks like you might have to move again, mate." He pulled out into the empty streets. "You can kip at my place, okay?"

"Yeah." Doyle shut his eyes, and didn't say another word during the drive back to the flat. The respite seemed to revive him a little, and when they reached their destination, he trotted up the stairs with the usual energy that Bodie was used to seeing in his partner. Certainly more energy than Bodie felt, his body suddenly very aware of how little sleep he'd had lately.

Bodie went directly to his kitchen to fix a pot of coffee. "You want some?"

"Nah." Doyle lounged in the kitchen doorway. "Been sweatin' in these clothes for two days. Want a shower first."

"Help yourself."

Doyle ambled on down to the bathroom, and Bodie heard the water running. He fixed his cup of coffee and strolled into the bedroom, sitting in the sole chair there. As he sipped slowly at the warming liquid, the tension of the past few hours eased. Everything was back to normal, Ray was all right, they had survived once more. Suddenly he was reminded of how this had begun--of the evening in Doyle's flat when he'd tried to get his feelings out in the open. This might be the best time to try again. After all, Doyle surely wouldn't let that kiss go unremarked--he'd bring it up again sooner or later. Might as well be now.

Bodie drank down the last of his coffee just as Doyle strolled into the room, wearing Bodie's green robe, while rubbing at his mess of wet curls with a matching towel. He crossed to the big double bed and sat down on the edge, facing Bodie's chair. Bodie watched him vigorously drying his hair. "Feel better?"

"Much. Thanks." Doyle stopped rubbing his head and draped the towel around his neck.

"Want some coffee?"

Doyle shook his head. "Nope. Just wanna talk."

That didn't take long, Bodie thought. He smiled. "It's late, and we're both knackered. So what do you want to talk about?" He knew the answer perfectly well.

"'Bout you." Doyle looked at him with a curious expression. "You know what I'm on about--back at the warehouse." He paused. "You kissed me."

"Yeah," Bodie replied, still smiling warmly. "I did, didn't I?" It was a simple admission of the truth.

Doyle raised one eyebrow. "Why?"

Here it comes. "Because," Bodie replied, "when I heard those shots, I thought you'd had it. And when I saw you alive...well, I just couldn't help myself." He waited to see where Doyle would take it next, needing some kind of sign that Doyle understood.

They sat in silence for a while, simply looking at each other. Then Doyle let out a soft sigh. "You were tryin' to tell me something that night, weren't you? When you kept goin' on about how I was your best mate. That you'd never felt closer to anyone." He didn't take his eyes off Bodie. "What were you tryin' to say?"

"That I love you." Bodie finished the declaration which had been interrupted so many agonizing hours before. A great sense of relief washed over him; no matter what happened now, at least he'd finally said the most important words he was ever likely to speak.

"Thought that must be it," Doyle replied softly.

"And?" Bodie waited for more.

A half-smile tugged at the corner of Doyle's lip. "Thought about you a lot while I was being held. In fact, I couldn't think of much else. Kept thinking how I might never see you again, and it hurt. Worse than any pain I've ever felt before."

Bodie let out a pent-up breath. "Does that mean you don't mind?"

"It means a helluva lot more than that." Doyle broke into a full grin. "Dammit, Bodie, will you get over here?" He patted the bed.

Still feeling very, very tired, Bodie struggled to get up from the chair and cross the few feet separating them. He collapsed onto the bed next to Doyle. His eyes half shut, he said, "What do you want?"

"Want you to kiss me again."

"Think I can manage that." Bodie took Doyle in his arms and brushed his lips against the full, sensual mouth, then Doyle opened to him, and their tongues met in a demanding exploration. Bodie slid his hand inside the robe to caress Doyle's chest. As they pulled apart, he pulled the towel from around Doyle's neck and tossed it aside, then gently pushed his partner down onto the bed. Bodie kicked his shoes off, shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, and then tugged down his pants and briefs, all while Doyle lay on his back, gazing up at him with loving eyes. Bodie threw his clothes in the direction of the chair, not caring where they landed. Then he reached down to pull at the belt of Doyle's robe, loosening it, pushing the cloth aside. Doyle slid his arms out of the sleeves and rolled over a bit so Bodie could tug the robe free and heave it onto the growing pile of clothing. Then he laid down beside Doyle, who turned into his embrace, nuzzling his head against Bodie's neck.

"Hate to tell you this," Doyle murmured, "but I think I'm too tired to do anything...."

Bodie was barely able to keep his own eyes open, and there was only the faintest tingle of arousal in his groin. "Yeah." He lifted Doyle's chin, and ran his finger over Doyle's lips. "Doesn't matter. Just want you near me." He lightly kissed Doyle's forehead, the tip of his nose, his mouth. "Plenty of time...."

"Um...." Doyle nestled against him as Bodie shifted the covers up around them. "Bet we deserve a couple of days off after this mess. Don't you think?"

"What I think," Bodie replied, "is that we should insist on it. And I have some definite ideas on how to spend them." He leaned over to switch off the bedside lamp, then resettled himself in the embrace, Doyle's head resting on his shoulder. "Love you," Bodie whispered into his partner's ear.

"Love you, too," Doyle whispered back, and the words echoed in Bodie's head as he fell asleep.

-- THE END --

Originally published in To Friends, Chained to the Typewriter Press, 1993