Doyle limped up to the door, fumbling with his keys as he leaned against the wall for support. His hands were shaking, and the keyhole was harder to find than usual.

He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to drive home without causing an accident. Thankfully, past midnight there wasn't much other traffic around, though changing gear hadn’t been easy. Angry at himself, he went into the building and trudged up the first flight of stairs before giving in and easing himself down onto the carpet. As usual, the lift was out of order. Fishing another tissue out of his pocket he held it up to his nose, trying to stem the bleeding that had started again.

God, he was an idiot.

---

After the bikers had been rounded up and carted off, Cowley had barely hung around long enough to give them the weekend off before ordering them to report back to his office first thing Monday morning. Then he'd left, and an awkward silence had settled between the partners before Bodie had turned to deal with Cheryl, who was understandably shaken up after the day's events.

Doyle had seized the opportunity and left without Bodie's knowledge, feeling unprepared to deal with the inevitable argument. Aching from the fight, a mixture of anger and guilt had settled over him. He was angry at Bodie for not trusting him, and anger for hitting him in the woods was in there somewhere too, as was his own guilt at not realising what was going on. Partners were supposed to support each other, and in this instance he'd failed miserably.

So he'd left and returned home, and then, aware that Bodie would probably appear sooner or later, had left his flat. In that moment he'd wanted nothing more than to get away from CI5, from Bodie, from everyone, just for a couple of hours. He wanted to just be Ray Doyle, not Ray Doyle - CI5 agent, or Ray Doyle - partner, just himself. To that end he'd deliberately left his gun, ID and R/T in his bedroom.

Driving aimlessly around for a few hours, day turned into night and still Doyle had resolved nothing. Eventually deciding that a drink was in order, he stopped at the first pub he saw, despite the less than classy surroundings.

Ordering a large scotch, Doyle settled himself down at a small table in the corner of the bar. All he needed was a few hours to think, to work out exactly what he was feeling, and to ask himself again why Bodie had been so determined to keep him out of things.

Bodie called these moods of his 'guilt trips', and he supposed they were in a way. But was it so wrong for him to have feelings? He would always believe that the compassion he felt for the people he encountered through his work was a help, not a hindrance. Wasn't that partly why Cowley had hired him in the first place? What was it Cowley had said at his interview ?

'…you care. The issues of this trade are complex, tangled. Compassion can be a big step towards solving them.'

Noble sentiments? Maybe. But that didn't mean he was going soft. He'd run into some evil bastards over the years, people he'd happily see hanged for the things they'd done and the lives they'd helped ruin. But he didn't go in for the cold-blooded revenge Bodie seemed to think was acceptable. They'd gone through this once before, though not quite to the same degree, with Krivas.

Doyle went to take another sip, found his glass empty and ordered a second, all without breaking his train of thought.

He'd told Bodie then that he was no better than Krivas, but he hadn't really believed that, still didn't believe it. But Doyle's years as a copper had instilled a trust in the law that Bodie's years as a mercenary obviously hadn't. So what did he believe in? 'Truth, justice and the American Way?'

Draining his glass in one, Doyle laughed, ignoring the looks thrown his way by the other men in the pub. Something like that, at least.

Turning his focus back to the problem at hand, he ordered a third drink and turned the glass over absently in his hands, staring down at the fake oak varnished table, deep in thought.

What exactly was it that had upset him most about the whole business with the bikers? He rejected the first thing that came into his mind. The thump Bodie had given him hadn't been that bad, and he'd got worse through Bodie's unique driving technique. Well, maybe not quite, he acceded, rubbing his ribs as they protested. Still, it was little more than he got from a usual day at work, so what bothered him so much?

It was that Bodie had been the one to deliver it. That he hadn't trusted him enough to know that Doyle wasn't trying to interfere, but to help. Doyle ran his fingers absently over his bruised knuckles. That was the crux of it, he knew. The fact that Bodie hadn't told him what was going on. What was worse was that he didn't know why Bodie had kept the whole thing from him. He wouldn't know until the partners spoke again, and Doyle wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer at all.

The little he had found out about Keith Williams’ death had helped him understand Bodie's need for revenge. He himself knew what it was like to lose a partner. While he and Sid Parker had been nowhere near as close as he and Bodie…as he'd thought they were, he corrected morosely, the anger he had felt at the time, and the sadness and guilt he had felt still bothered him, all these years later. Could he have done something more for Sid Parker? And could he have done more for Bodie, for that matter?

But still he'd brought Hayden in as a police officer. Seen him tried and convicted in a court of law, always trusting in the British Judicial system to give the right verdict, even if he'd wondered about that verdict for a while. But what if the law had not been an option? From what little Cowley had told him, there hadn't been a case to bring King Billy in, despite his obvious guilt, and maybe that was why Bodie had chosen the course he had.

But if it had been Bodie and not Sid Parker, would Doyle still have felt the same? He knew the answer almost before his mind had framed the question, had known it in his heart for a long, long time. Even as he registered his surprise at the answer, another part of him was confused by the surprise. The question had actually been raised and dealt with three years ago without him even realising it. The anger and fear he had felt after Bodie had been stabbed had been vented at Cowley the instant he had tried to take Doyle off the case, and their altercation in his office, albeit brief, had since become an embarrassing part of CI5 legend.

He'd known then that he'd do anything to get the bastards that had come so close to taking his partner's life, and he had, carrying on even after the beating he'd taken, determined to find them. He'd succeeded of course, and everyone involved had been arrested rather than killed. But if he couldn’t bring them to justice, would he have chosen revenge? Could he have taken things that little bit further?

Killing was part of his job. A part he hated, maybe, but something he had to live with every day. But he had only ever killed in self-defence, always to protect himself, or someone else. There had been that business with Paul Coogan, but no-one was ever really sure exactly who had been responsible for his death. Bodie had never realised just how much that had upset his partner, had never really understood why Doyle had been so appalled that he might have killed someone. After all, people died at Doyle’s hands all too often already.

But that was a line that Doyle had promised himself he would never cross, because it made him no better than the people CI5 fought against. But they were his rules, not Bodie’s, and he had no right to judge Bodie by his own standards. Their lives before CI5 had been so very different, and Doyle knew that Bodie didn’t share his faith in law and order.

That didn’t really matter. Even if he didn’t always agree with Bodie’s motives, he could understand them. And he’d still been poised to strike out at Cowley, to kick the gun away at the first sign that he was about to fire. Whatever was going on between him and Bodie, that didn’t mean he was willing to let someone shoot his partner – even if it was his boss.

He and Bodie were no different, but they were certainly better than scum like Krivas. What had Bodie once said?

'I do it, but I don't enjoy it.' And that was it. Bodie had resorted to taking on King Billy only because there was nothing else he could do, and that Doyle understood.

That didn't mean that he'd forgiven Bodie completely. Bodie still should have told him what was going on. Over the past few weeks, things had been as difficult between them as they had been right at the start of the partnership, and for a while Doyle had been convinced that Bodie was getting ready to leave CI5. The man had always been a drifter, never staying in one place long enough to get close to anyone. Even so, over the years Doyle had thought that things had changed, and the fear that his partner and closest friend might be about to leave had eaten away at him more than he'd ever thought possible.

The frequent arguments hadn’t helped. Bodie was his partner, and he’d been the first to notice as the man’s behaviour changed, became reckless and erratic. No longer able to rely on the instinctive knowledge of where Bodie would go and what he would do during operations, there had been a few close calls even before the Grade Sevens. Instances where he had misjudged how Bodie would react - which in turn had jeopardised active cases. After each instance first Bodie, then Cowley had chewed him out for what were seen as his mistakes.

Angry at Bodie’s self-righteous attitude Doyle had shouted back, and several times other members of CI5 had been forced to step in before the partners could come to blows. Hurt and confused, aware that Bodie was hiding something but without a clue what, Doyle had retreated into attacks.

He’d quickly pulled himself together, though. There was no room for them both to be under-par, their work was too dangerous for that, so he’d adjusted the best he could to Bodie’s reckless behaviour. So much so, in fact, that by the time the Grade Sevens had arrived he was back on form, and it was Bodie’s odd behaviour that Cowley had finally noticed, despite Doyle’s efforts to keep it a secret. Whatever was going on Doyle had believed was for them to work out on their own, even if he’d been too angry to actually broach the subject with Bodie.

Only when Cowley had turned up at the bike meet and Doyle had discovered exactly what was bothering Bodie did he see what he had been doing, and now his guilt was ten times worse. If only he hadn't let his temper take hold, Bodie might have confided in him, and all this could have been avoided. If only he'd really listened, Bodie might be here now.

If only…

Only then did the thought that Bodie might leave CI5 anyway occur to him. After all, their friendship was in tatters, his boss had just threatened to shoot him and his partner had left rather than talk to him. All that had happened in the space of a few hours, and Bodie might take his leaving as a final rejection. And if Bodie had left, it was all his fault.

Standing suddenly, Doyle had only one purpose - to find Bodie, to apologise. All this could be sorted out if he could just convince Bodie to stay. As his sudden movement knocked over his chair, some part of Doyle recognised the real cause of the overwhelming guilt that had settled within the last few minutes. After three double scotches on an empty stomach and a tired body, he was halfway drunk. Weaving unsteadily across the pub and out the door, he failed to notice three men drain their glasses and head for the door behind him. Hunting for his keys, Doyle saw and heard nothing as he walked round the back of the pub to the car park, intent only on finding Bodie and apologising.

Finally reaching his car, Doyle had just found his keys when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he registered the blow as it landed, spinning him round, and he staggered to keep his footing, the world not quite stable. He lashed out, but his reactions were slow and his movements uncoordinated. What would have been an easy fight for Doyle, even three against one, the drink had turned into an impossible battle. He held his own only for a few moments, getting a few good blows in, but the outcome was almost a foregone conclusion. Even as he slashed at one of them with the keys in his hand, the other two were closing in again.

A fist in his chest, almost exactly where the tree branch had landed mere hours earlier drove him to his knees, and the fight was soon over. They left him on the ground, laughing and joking as they walked away with his watch and wallet. Still conscious, Doyle stayed down for a while, not quite able to gather the strength to stand. The ground was wet, and the water soaked through his clothes. Even as he rolled over and coughed, one hand went round his ribs, each cough sending stabs of pain through them.

Eventually he realised that he had to get up, and he slowly got himself into his car, sitting in the driver's seat for a few moments as the movement made the world spin again. He wasn't badly hurt, and he knew it. Being mugged had a habit of sobering people. Ribs a little more bruised than they already had been, one side of his face swelling up already, but only superficial injuries, bloody painful, but not really serious. He found the keys still in his hand, having managed to keep hold of them throughout the fight, although the sharp edges had dug into his hands, drawing blood.

---

Finally making it to the door of his flat, he cursed Cowley and CI5 in general for giving him a flat on the third floor. Slightly steadier now, he opened the door, looking forward to another stiff drink and bed.

Registering that the lights were on and that someone was in the kitchen took a little longer than usual, but his hand still moved painfully towards his jacket before he remembered that he'd left his gun on his bedside table. And wouldn't Cowley have kittens if he ever found that out. He froze for a second, mentally cursing himself for drinking so much that he could barely defend himself. That was how this whole mess had started.

"Doyle?"

When Bodie's voice floated out from the kitchen Doyle rolled his eyes and stalked towards the bathroom. The last thing he needed right now was an argument, which was exactly what he was going to get. Even if the last couple of months hadn't strained their partnership, Bodie was going to have a few things to say when he realised Doyle had gone out alone, without his gun, got drunk and then mugged.

All his previous moralising, and his final decision to talk seriously with Bodie about what had happened, had vanished since the mugging. No longer up to a deep moral conversation, all he wanted was a bath and a bed. In pain and miserable, his temper had a free reign, as it always did when he was hurt, and he desperately wanted to postpone the conversation till the morning. All the same, he was damned if he could figure out how.

A vague impression of Bodie standing at the doorway into the kitchen was all Doyle saw as he went into the bathroom. Thanks more to luck than judgement, all Bodie had seen was his partner's jacket which, while a little scruffier than usual, bore no trace of the evening's more memorable activities.

"Taken you long enough. I'd just about given up."

Running water was Bodie's only answer. Figuring his partner was in one of his moods, and fully aware that he deserved this one, he sighed. This could be a long night. Glancing around, Bodie noticed with a flash of irritation that Doyle hadn't bothered to set the locks on his front door. Crossing the room he locked it himself, throwing an annoyed frown at the closed bathroom door as he did so. One of these days that was going to get Doyle into serious trouble, but now probably wasn't the best time to bring it up. Maybe a drink would help make this a bit easier. Heading back into the kitchen, Bodie started talking as he looked for Doyle's whisky store.

"I figured it was about time we talked. Sort this out before we have to face Cowley on Monday."

"Suddenly it's 'we' again, is it? This for good, or just so you don't have to face Cowley on your own?"

Bodie leaned in the doorway of the kitchen and sighed, forgetting his whisky hunt for the moment.

"Don't start, Doyle."

An odd chuckle reached his ears, somewhere between Doyle's deep laugh and a cough. Something made Bodie walk into the lounge, but the bathroom door was closed, and Bodie knew better than to go in. There were certain times when Bodie treaded a very careful line with his partner, just as Doyle had been known to do with him, and since Bodie was well aware that most of this was his fault, he was willing to play according to Doyle's rules. For now.

"Don't start? That's rich coming from you, Bodie. For six weeks you've barely said two words to me. What, suddenly you want to be friends again and I'm supposed to act like nothing's happened?"

Tired, and still strung out from the day's biking and the fight with King Billy, Bodie could feel his temper beginning to surface. A deep breath and he tried again, staying calm. He'd come here looking for a discussion, not the fight he could feel brewing.

"Come on, Doyle…" but his partner wasn't listening.

"Yeah, all my fault, that's right. Hell, it's even my fault you've been stuck here for hours. If I'd known I would've come home sooner, that way you could've cleared your conscience without having to waste the evening. Could've spent it with Cheryl. At least that way the night might not have been a total waste."

Doyle's meaning was blatantly clear, and removed any intention Bodie had of keeping his temper in check. Despite all their macho posturing, Bodie would never even consider making a play for Cheryl, she’d been Keith’s girlfriend for God sake, and Doyle knew that. He was out to hurt, nothing more, and he'd succeeded.

"You insensitive bastard."

Doyle walked out of the bathroom and turned towards the bedroom, still ignoring his partner, keeping his back to him. The obvious dismissal annoyed Bodie and he stalked across the room, anger fuelling his actions and keeping him from noticing Doyle's limp, and the bruises on his hand.

Reaching out, he spun Doyle around, spitting his words out. "Do you honestly think I'd try to…"

Bodie took him by surprise and Doyle staggered as he was spun around. The sight of his battered face cut Bodie's temper off and he went quiet, seeing the black eye, bruising and ripped shirt for the first time.

For a moment the partners just looked at each other, then Doyle's nose started to bleed again, and he held his sleeve up to stem the flow.

"Dammit," he muttered, the anger that had fuelled his temper with Bodie fading quickly. "Sod off, Bodie. I'm not in the mood for this tonight." His words held none of their previous anger, just a world-weary resignation. Nevertheless, Doyle allowed Bodie to steer him to the sofa, and made no effort to move as Bodie fetched the whisky and poured out two strong measures. Cowley's habits had rubbed off on more than one CI5 agent. Only when Bodie handed the glass out to his partner did Doyle respond, pushing the glass away.

"Drink it, it'll help."

Doyle shook his head. "Prob'ly just chuck it up again." He muttered. He dropped his head in his hands, partly to try and stop the nosebleed, but mainly because he was too damn tired to do anything else.

The noises from the kitchen were probably nothing but doors gently opening and closing, but Doyle's headache interpreted them as Bodie crashing around, and he sighed. He was glad that Bodie was here, deep down he hadn't wanted to return home alone, but he was too tired to think straight, let alone have the serious discussion with his partner he had been planning.

Movement on the couch registered as someone sat next to him, but Doyle took no notice until a gentle hand on his shoulder sat him up. As Bodie placed a tea towel wrapped round several ice cubes against the swelling over his eye, Doyle looked up in surprise. The concern in the blue eyes was unmistakable, and Doyle managed a slight smile.

"I forgot to duck."

He had hoped to start up the gentle banter that had always been such a strong part of their friendship, but Bodie silently handed him a glass and two painkillers, before settling back in his seat, watching to make sure that Doyle took them.

The silence lasted only a few moments.

"You going to tell me what happened, or do we start playing twenty questions?"

Doyle sighed. "Not much to tell. Got drunk, got mugged, came home."

Blue eyes narrowed slightly in anger at whoever was responsible for that. "Anything else hurt?"

"No." Even as Doyle spoke he shifted, and winced ever so slightly. Only his partner would have noticed.

"Ray…" the voice was gentle and only slightly annoyed, one Doyle recognised all too well as Bodie's 'nursemaiding' voice. Some things would never change.

"Ribs ache a bit, that’s all."

"How much of that did I do?"

He looked up in surprise, for a moment unsure what to say, but soon decided to be honest. There'd been enough lies between them lately.

"A bit."

"I'm sorry."

Doyle shifted carefully to face his partner, ran a hand through his curls and looked at the cushions for a second before continuing.

"For what, Bodie?"

"For hitting you…and for the last few weeks."

" ’m sorry too." At Bodie's raised eyebrows, Doyle clarified his apology. "I should have asked."

But Bodie shook his head. "You’re my partner. You shouldn’t have had to." He stared down at his hands, strangely nervous. In spite of all their years together, he still felt uneasy talking to Doyle about his feelings. "I…I was so busy thinking about the friend I’d lost, I didn’t stop to think about the one I still had."

Bodie glanced up at his partner to find Doyle watching him with a thoughtful look on his face. The fact that Doyle hadn’t already laughed him out of the flat for going soppy encouraged him to carry on.

"There was a code in the SAS – ‘till death do us join’. Once you’d joined a platoon you were sworn to it, like blood brothers, and part of that involved avenging the deaths of the others, whatever the consequences. When Keith died I realised I was the only member of my platoon left. I had a duty to go after King Billy…and I wanted to."

"Are you sorry you didn’t kill him?"

"No. I should be, I’ve broken the code now, but I’m not, really. Cowley’ll make sure he goes down for it, I think Keith would be happy with that."

Doyle thought about talking more about what had happened between the two of them, about why Bodie had tried so hard to keep him out of it, but changed his mind. He knew that Bodie didn’t feel able to talk about his emotions the way he himself did, but that suddenly didn’t matter so much. Everything was slowly falling back into place, they were still partners, still friends. All the rest would sort itself out soon enough.

"Cowley’ll make you take the Grade Sevens again, you know."

Bodie grinned slightly. "Not just me, mate. Partners, remember?"

Doyle groaned in mock horror at the thought of having to go through the last few weeks again, then burst out laughing. It wouldn’t matter, not now they were working through it together rather than by themselves.

Deciding that a celebratory drink was in order, Doyle yawned and pulled himself to his feet. Once there, though, he found himself swaying slightly as the floor shifted beneath him and his ribs protested at being forced to move. Before he could stumble, Bodie was by his side, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

"All right, sunshine. Bed time for you I think."

Bodie steered Doyle into the bedroom with no argument, and watched in gentle amusement as Doyle sat down and pulled his shoes off, only half awake.

"I guess I’m relegated to the sofa, then."

A mumbled answer, the content of which was anyone’s guess was the only reply Bodie had as Doyle climbed under the covers fully clothed, too tired to undress properly. Turning to leave the room, a thought made Bodie stop.

"Why’d you want to go and get drunk tonight, Ray?"

Busy trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t hurt his ribs, Doyle answered automatically, not really thinking about what he was saying.

"Felt miserable."

The frank answer surprised Bodie and he spun round in surprise, finally registering what his actions had caused. He’d witnessed Doyle’s depressed moods on many occasions during their friendship, but he never thought he would be the cause of one of them.

Doyle’s breathing evened out as he slept, and Bodie took in the bruised face once more, all that was visible above the covers. The sight of his sleeping partner, who had, again, jumped in feet first to watch out for him when he didn’t seem able to watch out for himself made Bodie feel awed. Doyle had waded into the fight seemingly without a clue about what was taking place – and the fact that Bodie had a friend who cared that deeply for him was something he was still getting used to.

Acting on impulse, Bodie stepped closer to the bed and pulled the covers tighter round his partner.

"Daft sod," he muttered, somehow able to say things now that he couldn’t when Doyle was awake. "I try and keep you out of things and you still insist on charging in to watch my back for me. I’m glad you did as well, but I never said thanks. I just hit you instead – but only to try and keep you out of the fight. I’d already lost Keith, I couldn’t stand losing you, too."

Bodie sighed quietly. One day he’d have to try and make sure Doyle understood how much their friendship meant to him, if he could ever work up the nerve. Emotions were possibly the one thing that could still scare him.

As he turned towards the door, heading into the lounge and resigning himself to an uncomfortable night on the sofa, a voice from the bed stopped him in his tracks.

"Go easy on my scotch, sunshine."

Spinning round, Bodie took in Doyle’s sleepy grin in shock. He’d been awake all along. Slowly a wide smile settled across his face and he grinned happily back at Doyle. Everything was definitely back to normal.

"I’ll need it, won’t I? It’ll help numb the pain from your lumpy sofa."

Bodie switched off the bedroom light and slipped around the door. The pillow missed him by only a few inches.

"Have to work on that aim, Doyle." He shot back, then quickly shut the door, humming happily to himself as he hunted out blankets and a generous measure of whisky.

-- THE END --