Bodie leaned against the wall, drink in hand, and watched the revelry. A mass of bodies undulated to a high-powered rock band while multicoloured lights strobed the dance floor. People crowded round the long buffet tables, laughing, shouting, and blowing noisemakers. Couples were draped around each other. Someone tossed sparkling confetti in the air. The sounds of joy and sights of merriment assaulted him on every front. Bodie had never felt so miserable at a New Year's Eve party before.

When the clock struck ten, the band took a break. A young woman approached him, the third since he'd arrived half an hour before. She was tall, blonde and stacked. And Bodie didn't give a bloody damn.

"Hello, there." She sidled up beside him; her shiny green dress clung to every curve. "You look lonely."

"Too right," he replied. He gave her no more than a cursory glance. "And I know just what to do about it."

He strode off toward the table, slammed his empty glass down, and walked out into the night. Chill air hit him and he stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, reveling in it, letting the cold and the quiet clear his mind. Emptiness gnawed at his gut, an ache in his soul that made him physically tremble, and he knew what it was.

Doyle. The only person he wanted to be with on this night of celebration, the only person he truly cared about. The person he loved wasn't with him. Ray never went out on New Year's Eve. Bodie knew that--had known it for five years. But this time things were different. This time Bodie had realised what he really wanted from his friend and partner.

It had snuck up on him, an unexpected double punch. The first, when Doyle had come down that hotel stairway and shot the would-be assassin behind him; the next when it was Doyle's life in danger. There had never been a question of disobeying Cowley's orders. He would have done anything for Ray. It wasn't simply because he'd saved Bodie's life earlier, either. On that hotel stairway, with death all around them, he'd gazed up into Doyle's eyes and felt a connection stronger than death. They were bound to one another; it wasn't a matter of who owed whom. In that moment, he had surrendered his life into Doyle's hands.

Maybe the seeds had been planted years ago; he didn't care to analyze it. All he knew was that it felt absolutely right to love Ray, to trust him so completely. And he knew that it hurt like hell not to let him know.

This was as good a night as any. Bodie opened his eyes; it took him a moment to remember where he was. Then he found his car and drove to Doyle's flat.

---

Repeated pushing of the buzzer brought no response. Bodie frowned. Where else would he be? Doyle's steadfast refusal to budge on this night of all nights was legendary in CI5. The entire holiday put him into a subdued mood. Bodie was certain Cowley knew the reason behind it, he also knew no one would ever succeed in dragging it out of the old bastard.

He buzzed again. Then he gave up and fished out his spare key to the flat, opened the door and walked inside.

The place was dark, and too quiet. Tendrils of fear joined the ache in his heart as he carefully walked through the sitting room. He switched on a lamp and noted the bottle of scotch on the coffee table, open and half empty. He moved on to the dining area and kitchen, but found nothing of interest. That left the bedroom.

Bodie crept along the hallway to pause outside the open door. He couldn't see much in the darkened room, but he could hear an odd snuffling sound from the bed. He took a few steps inside and froze when the snuffling suddenly stopped.

"Go away, Bodie." Ray's voice came from under a mound of bed covers, hoarse and strained.

"Sorry. Wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all."

"I'm fine. Now, go away and leave me alone."

Bodie stood there, caught between the desire to let Doyle have what he wanted and the need to be totally honest, in actions as well as in words. Turning away now would turn the ache inside into a searing pain. Even the thought of leaving hurt. "Can't," he whispered. "Don't have anywhere to go."

A few agonizing seconds of silence greeted his statement. The covers shifted and a bedside lamp flicked on. Doyle leaned on an elbow, staring at him. His long curls were damp and tangled. "What time is it?"

"About half past ten."

"What about that party?"

"I got bored."

"Why? No birds?"

"Just the opposite."

Doyle sighed. "Then why are you here?"

Bodie took a deep breath. "I missed you."

Doyle sat up and rubbed his eyes. "You know damn well I won't go out."

"So we'll have a few drinks here. It's still early." Bodie picked up a bathrobe from a nearby chair and tossed it at him. "Come on, mate. I need to talk to you."

"Yeah. I figured that out." Doyle got out of bed and put on the robe, then followed Bodie into the sitting room and sank onto the settee.

Bodie grabbed two glasses and joined him. Now that the moment had arrived, an unfamiliar nervousness joined the hollow ache in his gut. How could he begin? How could he tell his best friend that he wanted him? No, needed him. Confused, Bodie went on the offensive. He poured out the scotch. "Looks like you've already had a few."

"Why do you think I was sleeping?" But Doyle took the drink and sipped at it.

"You gonna tell me why you do it? Drink alone on New Year's Eve?"

"Never seemed to bother you before."

"Maybe it did," Bodie replied. "Maybe I just never mentioned it before."

"Well, don't."

"Don't what? Mention it?"

Doyle sighed. "Don't let it bother you."

But it did bother him. There was something hidden away in Doyle's past, something that hurt him still, which he kept locked up tight within. Bodie knew that kind of pain well. Keeping it inside never helped. Doyle shouldn't have to suffer alone anymore, not on this night or any other. Bodie sipped at his drink and considered the possibilities. Whatever had happened to Doyle must have happened on a New Year's Eve. Probably had something to do with that damaged cheekbone, another subject Doyle refused to talk about. A rowdy holiday with lots of drinking--a fight, perhaps. Or an accident. "Why won't you tell me about it, Ray?"

"Why won't you leave it alone?"

"Because you're my closest mate, dammit, and I want to know. If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"

"No one." Doyle gripped his glass tightly and didn't look at Bodie.

"You just going to keep it all bottled up?"

"Look, mate." Doyle jabbed his thumb at Bodie's chest. "You've never been all that forthcoming about your past, you know."

Bodie nodded. True enough. He'd never thought Doyle would be that interested. But he had to be fair; after all, a partnership worked two ways. "All right. Anything you want to know, I'll tell you. Go ahead and ask."

"You'll answer any question?" Doyle looked at him, and Bodie was shocked to see the pain and exhaustion in his eyes.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Ask me anything."

"Why did you come here tonight?"

Bodie swallowed. Not exactly the question he'd expected. But being honest was how he'd started out the night; he didn't plan to end it any other way. "Because there isn't anyone else I'd rather be with." He waited, unsure what reaction he'd get, unsure what Doyle would hear in his voice or see in his face. "Simple truth," he added, and because it made him happy to say it, he smiled, though the ache inside remained.

Doyle stared at him. Then he set down his glass, stood, and crossed to the window. He leaned one hand against the frame. Bodie put his own glass down and went over to sit on the wide sill. Doyle shut his eyes tightly, and Bodie could see his teeth clench. Doyle rested his forehead on his hand for a few seconds and then opened his eyes to look out the window. "It's raining," he said.

Bodie glanced at the drops spattering against the pane. "Not a fit night." There was no heat on in the sitting room; he wrapped his arms around his chest against the chill. Doyle trembled in his thin robe. "Why don't you go back to bed, Ray? I'm sorry I woke you."

But Doyle didn't move. "Wasn't sleeping."

Bodie remembered the peculiar snuffling noises he'd heard when he'd entered the bedroom. Christ, had he been crying? It was entirely possible. That sentimental streak was one thing he loved about Ray Doyle. "No?" he asked softly.

"No." Doyle turned away to a small desk beside the window. Bodie watched, curious, as he bent down and pulled out the bottom drawer completely, then reached into the desk and brought out a second, hidden compartment. He poked about inside, found whatever he was looking for and stood to hand it over. A photograph. Doyle leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as Bodie studied the small picture. Cracked and out of focus, it showed the face of a handsome young man with dark hair and blue eyes.

"Nick Bennett," Doyle said calmly. "We grew up together. Next door neighbours. I had two brothers, but they were a lot older than me. Nick and I hung out together, got into trouble together...learned together. We were best friends."

Bodie sensed Doyle's attempt to maintain control of his voice. "You've never talked about him before." He didn't have to ask if Nick Bennett was dead; he knew he had to be.

"Remember those art classes you like to tease me about?"

"Yeah." And he remembered Doyle's repeated reluctance to discuss the topic.

"When we were older, after we were all done with school, Nick talked me into taking the classes with him. Only he was good at it. Good enough to get his stuff into the galleries." The ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "I've still got a few of his drawings."

"Wouldn't mind seeing 'em some day."

"Have to dig them out--they're buried in a closet."

Bodie gazed up at him, his own troubles momentarily forgotten. Whatever else lay buried with those drawings needed to be uncovered. "You need to tell me what happened, Ray."

Doyle nodded. He continued to stare out the window, though Bodie doubted he was seeing anything. "We weren't even celebrating New Year's Eve. We were celebrating a gallery opening. Just happened to be on that night. I only had one drink. I think he had two." There was a glimmer in Doyle's eyes. "We left the gallery around midnight. I drove. Didn't speed, obeyed all the lights, went very carefully, and managed to get hit by a drunk going twice the speed limit." He took a series of deep breaths and started shaking.

Bodie couldn't take any more. He set the photo on the window sill, stood and gathered Doyle into his arms, holding him close as he quietly sobbed into his shoulder. With one arm around Doyle's waist, he ran the other through the curly hair, gently massaging the back of his head and neck. "It's all right," he murmured. "Go on. Let it all out."

A few minutes later, the sobs subsided. Doyle lifted his head and pulled away a little, using the sleeve of his robe to dry his face. But Bodie didn't want to let him go. He held on to his waist, and lifted his hand to Doyle's face, barely touching the damaged cheek.

Doyle flinched and brushed the hand away. "Don't."

"It's from the accident?"

"Yeah."

"And Nick died."

Doyle nodded. "Yeah."

"What about the drunk driver?"

"He died too. Lots of people die on New Year's Eve." He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve again. Then he pulled away from Bodie's grasp and leaned back against the wall.

"Do you feel any better?"

"No. Yeah. I don't know." Doyle jerked at the sound of a party whistle from outside. A series of firecracker pops followed. "God, I hate this holiday." He pushed off the wall and half-walked, half-stumbled back to the settee, collapsing on it. "Do you have any idea what it's like?" He grabbed the scotch and drank from the bottle. "Everybody is happy, everyone's going to parties, having a great time, and all I have are bad memories. Why'd he have to die on New Year's Eve? Why couldn't he have done it some other night, the bastard." He set the bottle down and rubbed his face with his sleeve again.

Bodie crossed to the small stand beside the settee where a box of tissues sat. He handed them to his partner. "These work a lot better than bathrobes."

Doyle took the box and smiled. "Thanks." He blew his nose long and loudly. "Been fifteen years," he mumbled between sniffs. "We'd both just turned twenty." There was a questioning tone to his voice. "Only gets to me this time of year, now." He looked up. "Still, it's a long time to mourn, isn't it?"

"Not for someone you cared about." Bodie stared down at him, loving him more than ever, and knowing he never wanted to go through what Ray had gone through. With a sudden, wrenching feeling deep within, he knew it was inevitable that someday he would. And he knew he didn't want to waste one more day between this one and that one. "Ray?" He moved close and put his hand on Doyle's shoulder. He hadn't forgotten why he'd come here tonight or what he'd said when Doyle asked him why he had: because there wasn't anyone he'd rather be with. And not just for tonight. "I'm glad you told me. It matters." He wiped an errant tear from Doyle's cheek. "Wish you hadn't gone through that. I'd do anything to keep you from hurting."

Doyle shut his eyes. "Why?"

A sharp pain twisted through Bodie's chest; his breathing was too shallow. "Because," he replied, "I love you." Relief flooded through him; he'd said it. No matter what happened, he would be content, knowing he didn't have to hide so much of himself away anymore. The pain lessened as he took a few deep breaths.

"Was afraid you'd say that." Doyle opened his red-rimmed eyes. Bodie still had his hand on his shoulder; Doyle laid his own hand on Bodie's. "You look a lot like him, you know."

Bodie frowned. He hadn't known what reaction he'd get--anger, shock, maybe fear--but not this quiet sadness.

"Down to the blue eyes," Doyle added. "But I can't--" His fingers dug into Bodie's hand. "I can't--"

"Can't what?" Bodie shook his hand free, grasped Doyle by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "What the hell is it?"

"You, that's what." Doyle twisted free of Bodie's hands, but didn't move away. "I don't want to think of you as a substitute--Christ, don't you understand?"

Bodie's eyes widened as realization hit him. "You and Nick were lovers...." He gasped it out.

Doyle nodded. "For the last three years of his life." He reached out to touch Bodie's arm. "Couldn't talk about it before. Was too afraid you'd think I wanted you to be him--"

"Do you?" Bodie hoped he already knew the answer. "Because I'm not him. Never will be."

Doyle stepped nearer. "Couldn't help but see some of him in you at times. But other than that dark hair and those blue eyes, you don't have a lot in common. No, Nick's gone. And I just want you to go on being you."

Warmth grew in Bodie where the ache had been, and for the first time in a long while, he relaxed. "Think I can manage that."

Doyle touched Bodie's cheek, then ran his fingers lightly across his lips. "You know, I've never felt that same way about anyone else since." His fingertips moved slowly down Bodie's throat. "Until now." Green eyes searched Bodie's face. "Scares me."

Bodie pulled him into an embrace. "You're not the only one."

"Don't want to lose you."

Bodie smiled. "Can't lose me until you have me first." He cupped one hand round Doyle's cheek and their lips met in a long, searching kiss. Doyle's mouth opened and Bodie eagerly explored it with his tongue, tasting him, never getting enough of him, until Doyle broke away, panting.

"You idiot. You know what I meant."

Bodie gently slid a hand under Doyle's robe, touching his chest, feeling the scars beneath the soft hair. "Yeah, I know what you meant. Look, I can't predict what will happen. I don't know how long we'll have together. But I'm willing to chance finding out." He loosened the tie round Doyle's robe. "In the meantime...." He ran his hand up and down Doyle's thigh, then briefly caressed his cock before reaching his arm round Doyle's waist to pull him into another kiss. "Love you," he gasped when they broke apart. "You have no idea--"

"Do, too." Doyle tore at the buttons of Bodie's shirt and yanked it off him. He rubbed Bodie's chest, and it was all Bodie could do to keep from leaping on him right there.

"Bit cold in here, isn't it?"

Doyle grinned. "Yeah. Be warmer in the bedroom." He shook off the bathrobe and casually strolled off down the hallway.

Bodie followed, leaving a trail of shoes and clothes behind him. When he reached the room, he saw Doyle standing near the edge of the bed. Bodie grabbed him and they fell across it together.

Neither of them noticed when the clock struck twelve.

-- THE END --

Originally published in Holiday Shrieks!, Whatever You Do, Don't Press! (Agent with Style), 1992