Bodie had his eyes closed. That worried Doyle, who stared at his partner through hooded eyes and wondered what exactly was wrong. Bodie had been drinking tonight, but no more than usual. Bodie had been damn strange all week, rushing off the minute Cowley let go of the leash and not returning until the next morning. That wasn't like Bodie, who usually socialized with his mates after hours. It wasn't like Bodie to ignore his surroundings out in public, either. Was he sick? He hadn't even opened an eye to watch the new barmaid across the room, and that was a sight worth looking at! Doyle shoved his boot into Bodie's calf and waited to see if Bodie would show more life.

"'M going to take it," Bodie said.

"Take what?" Doyle asked with patience.

"The job," Bodie explained.

"You have a job," Doyle reminded him.

Bodie dismissed this with by lifting up his glass and draining the last of the amber liquid there. It was his fourth.

"Bodie?" Doyle said when Bodie, given several minutes to respond, did not.

"Your round," Bodie told him with a smile.

"No, it's not." Doyle held out his hand to show that if Bodie would pay, Doyle would go to the bother of fetching it. Bodie produced a worn bill, which he pressed into Doyle's hand.

"Don't lose it on the way," Bodie admonished.

"Berk." Doyle went for the drinks. Scotch. Why had they started out the evening with that? It probably accounted for the odd way Bodie was acting. Not that Bodie couldn't handle his booze, but it had been a hard week. They were both tired, and alcohol had a different effect when you well nigh exhausted.

"Thanks," Bodie said when his hand was wrapped around a glass again.

"About that job," Doyle ventured, hoping Bodie would take the hint and give a clue as to what he had been talking about.

"You wouldn't believe it. Offer from an old friend last week. Going to rescue a princess!"

"What are you on about?"

Bodie smirked. "It's true. They're putting together a group to raid some Arab encampment where some ship of the desert is holding a princess captive."

"A ship of the desert is a camel," Doyle pointed out with just the right touch of condescension.

"They're calling the bastard worse names than that. He's kidnapped the daughter of some obscure prince who doesn't even have a country any more, and diplomatic methods haven't been working to get her out, so papa is trying force."

"And you got invited along?" Doyle asked.

"Some of the old mob thought I'd lend the effort some class," Bodie admitted with his usual modesty. "Not that it isn't too late."

"Too late for what?" Doyle asked, taking a sip of his new drink. It wasn't better than the last one. Why hadn't they gone to his local? Or even Bodie's?

"Saving her virtue. First, the lady is thirty years old, so she's not likely to have been a virgin. Secondly, he bragged about how many times he'd had her when he contacted her father. Father's furious."

"I understand why. And Bodie, just because a lady isn't a virgin any more doesn't mean she lacks virtue. These are the eighties, mate. Where's your sensitivity?"

"I don't have any. You've got the market cornered."

"You've a bitter tongue tonight."

"Well, I'm disappointed. At least try to talk me out of it."

"Would you listen?"

"No."

Doyle nodded. "There."

"So you don't mind if I go off and make my fame and fortune?" Bodie inquired.

"You're not serious about going. Why bother?"

Bodie sat up a bit straighter. "I am, actually."

"Am what?" Doyle asked.

"Serious. There's big money in this. Ten thousand pounds for a couple days work. And expenses paid."

Doyle took another swallow and made a face. "That's only if you succeed. What do you get if you fail?"

"Dead," Bodie said plainly.

Doyle hid his shudder by hunching his shoulder blades. "Get serious!"

"Transportation there and back, and expenses. A nice funeral if you buy the proverbial farm."

"Wonderful job," Doyle said. "Lovely fringe benefits. You expecting more than that? I can see it now, the beautiful princess falling into her rescuer's arms and promising you all."

"It might happen," Bodie said mildly, with that look of self appreciation that drove Doyle crazy. Made him want to put his fist into Bodie's teeth--and Doyle was his friend and partner! Who knows what strangers felt impelled to do at the sight of it.

"Yes. And Cowley might take to wearing a tutu." Doyle knew that would make Bodie laugh, and it did. Bodie then drained half his drink and leaned back in his chair again.

"I'm serious, Doyle. I think I'll do it. I've gone stale working for CI5. I can feel it."

Doyle gave his partner a dark look. "That's not going stale. That's becoming civilized. Even Murphy commented on it last week."

"Sod Murphy. I'm losing my edge. I need to get back to reality." Bodie finished off his drink and looked expectantly at Doyle.

"You need to slow down, you're getting drunk." Doyle said, even as he was getting up to get another round. They had been here for two hours, first talking over their meal about the op which had just concluded and then indulging in a bit of locker room gossip about almost everyone in CI5.

"Not I. If I was, it would be a sign that what I said was true. This city life isn't good for a man, Doyle."

"So you decide what you really need is a suicidal commando raid on some oasis?"

"Got a compound surrounded by walls, wire and cameras. Not as easy as it sounds," Bodie protested.

"Right, well, you're not going," Doyle said flatly. "I'm not going to be stuck alone with the paperwork from today's fiasco."

"Yeah, well...I am actually."

Doyle lifted his head up sharply. "You're not joking, are you?"

"No. It sounds good. You know I'm not the type to stay in one spot long. If we pull this off, there's an elite team out of Switzerland who might take me on."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Adventure, money and sex, of course. Isn't that why men do anything they do?" Bodie was still waiting for Doyle to refill their glasses. Doyle was too caught up with the argument to notice.

"Adventure, money and sex? Which of those are you missing at the moment, Bodie? Wasn't that chase through the docks yesterday adventure enough? Isn't Bonnie coming across? And Tina? And Claire?"

"Ah, but there's the money, Doyle. You can't say CI5 overpays us, can you?"

"So what did you do with all your money from your misspent youth? Either that doesn't pay as much as you've led me to believe, or you waste what you get."

"Better than pinching every penny till it screams, isn't it?"

Doyle looked at him suspiciously, inclined to think that Bodie was making an unkind comment about his own habits, and if that were the case he was prepared to defend himself.

"Speaking of which, it is your round," Bodie inserted. It was, and so Doyle stood up again.

"The same?"

"Why not?"

"Because you are going to have a head that hates you tomorrow?" Doyle offered.

"Not me." Bodie gave an airy wave which was also a gesture to urge Doyle on his way.

Doyle went, taking his time because he wanted to think. Bodie was serious? Bodie was actually thinking of leaving CI5? An angry feeling was growing in the region of his stomach, giving him the beginnings of a case of heartburn. Or maybe it wasn't anger, maybe it was the alcohol. He was still annoyed.

The result was he slapped the glass down in front of Bodie with too much force, spilling a few drops and winning him a very dirty look from Bodie.

"You can't leave. You'll cause me no end of trouble if you do, and I'll be saddled with one of the new lot for a partner. How could you do that to me?"

"Sorry," Bodie said, without sounding sorry at all.

"And don't think Cowley will let you come back, either. He won't!"

"He might."

"Why bother testing that out? Just don't go," Doyle ordered.

"How else am I going to be rich?"

Doyle put down the glass he was just raising to his lips and made a sound of exasperation. "Money! You don't have to be rich, Bodie."

"Of course I do. I hate not having money. It's saved my life more than once, you know."

"Getting you out of situations you wouldn't have been in if you hadn't been trying to get rich?" Doyle wanted to know.

Bodie laughed. "Sometimes. But even before that. When I was five, I learned if I gave my money to Dan down the street, he wouldn't hit me. By the time I was ten, I'd learned that if I saved a bit of money and bought a knife, Dan would leave me alone."

"So now you've graduated to guns and you're getting rich instead of giving your money away?" Doyle extrapolated.

"Got it in one! What's wrong with that? Money can be a good friend, Doyle."

"It doesn't listen to your troubles, drive you home when you're pissed and help you fiddle your expenses sheets," Doyle told him.

"If you have money, you don't have troubles, you can hire someone to drive you home, and you can laugh at expense sheets."

Doyle pursed his lips. "So you're saying that if you have money, you don't need friends?"

Bodie wasn't so drunk he did not see the danger signs in Doyle's green eyes. "I'm saying money makes everything better."

"Everything?" Doyle challenged.

"Everything!"

"Even sex?" Doyle went on.

"Even sex!" Bodie agreed cheerfully.

"So you're saying bought sex is better than the other kind?" Doyle suggested.

Bodie snorted. "What other kind? You pay for it all, one way or another! If it's not with dinner and a show before, it's with having to listen to her after."

"You're a cynical man, Bodie."

"Thank you, thank you."

"And a bit drunk. With any luck you'll forget this stupid idea in the morning."

"Nope. I have to give my answer in the morning. Call before eight if I want in on this. That's what Chaney said. So that's what I'll do."

"Cowley won't let you go."

"Won't he? He wants to see Kamal taken out, too. He'll let me go."

"And let you back in? Dream on!" Doyle buried his nose in his glass. Stupid Bodie. Going to ruin everything.

"Suppose you could come along if you like. Most likely they could use another good man, and if not, I'll let you carry my shield."

"I wouldn't carry your damn shield. More likely, ram it up your arse, you damn fool. And furthermore...."

Bodie interrupted him. "You're getting drunk. I can always tell when you're getting drunk. You start using the same word too many times."

"And you start coming up with stupid ideas," Doyle replied unkindly, wondering if he would get enough satisfaction out of putting his fist into Bodie's nose to justify getting kicked out of a fairly decent pub.

"Keep talking, you'll make sense eventually," Bodie said, in a mock-soothing tone.

"Will I? I'm not the one talking about giving up everything for a chance to die, and just for the money!" Doyle waved his hand to make a point, and the barmaid called out, asking if he wanted anything. Quickly thinking, he asked for her phone number, and got a cheerful and rude comment in return--and a wink which said she might slip it to him later. He forced himself to smile, but he was impatient to get back to his conversation with Bodie.

"I wouldn't be talking about money," Bodie was muttering as Doyle's attention was turned to him again. "You're the one who acts like spending it's a crime. When are you going to get some new jeans? The patch on that pair's obscene."

Doyle smiled knowingly. He leaned forward. "Tell you a secret, mate. It's not a patch. Never needed mending at all. Had a girl who added it just for her own enjoyment."

"Your idea of giving a girl a good time, Doyle? Letting her sew a patch on your 501's?" Bodie's scorn was thick.

"She didn't complain, did she?" Doyle then realized that Bodie was directing the course of the conversation again, and he took it back forcefully. "Look, mate, instead of turnin' merc again, why not take up a new career? I mean, if you're going to sell your services for money, why not stay home to do it? You could even keep the job you have now."

"Only a person who wanted a fist in his jaw would make the comparison I think you just made," Bodie warned, and he leaned forward, his face hard, as he spoke.

"What, compare a merc with a whore? They both sell their body and the skills they've learned. Sell to the highest bidder, and if there's none of that, then they sell to whoever offers. It's true, isn't it?" Doyle thrust out his jaw, challenging, knowing that Bodie could get annoyed enough to sock him one any minute.

"Not at all. No comparison, mate. A merc takes risks." Bodie took a mouthful of his drink as punctuation.

Doyle took a sip of his before replying. "So does a whore, mate. Never know when the man is going to get rough, or decide not to pay. There's diseases, too. Dozens of 'em."

"Diseases in the jungle, too. Hard hours, mud, sun, bugs and filth. Mercs earn their money, mate!"

Doyle shrugged. "When they get work. You waste all your money between jobs, waiting for the next job. At least a whore gets her money every night. Good steady work."

"Her. Or his. Why don't you pick up a second career, if you're so keen on it? Got the looks for it, don't you?"

"You've a nasty mouth on you, Bodie. Besides, you're the one with the beauty, as you keep reminding me."

"And the brains," Bodie said. "Men who sell themselves, if I might point it out, usually have other men as their customers. I'll take my chances in the jungle."

Doyle leaned forward. "I've heard of that. What you mercs get up to out there alone for days and days. I hear it's a case of the strong survive--and the weak get fucked. You ever get fucked, Bodie?"

Bodie narrowed his eyes. "You're getting just a bit personal, aren't you mate?" The glitter there warned Doyle to back off, but he ignored it.

"Just making sure of my facts--like any good copper. Hell, maybe you like that little game I hear they play. But why go all the way to Africa to play it? I'm sure there's some exclusive club somewhere in London that would pay you plenty to play those games with certain...clients?"

"I'm sure you'd know," Bodie said with silky innuendo.

"I was in vice," Doyle replied sweetly, "I've seen it all. Twice."

"And done it all? Twice? Went undercover, did you--literally? The mercs and the whores aren't the only ones who do it for money, are they?" Bodie's voice was getting lower, but more intense. He didn't see the worried look the barmaid gave the cashier.

"Never had to do that," Doyle answered him mildly. "It's your round."

Bodie blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but as the glasses were empty, he got up to get more. He was looked over very carefully by the man and woman behind the bar, however, and was warned that this was the last he could have. He was charming in return, almost convincing them that they had been mistaken. Doyle, however, was not fooled. Bodie was at his limit. He smiled.

When Bodie came back, carefully balancing the drinks, Doyle had an empty glass hidden on the chair between his legs, so that when his new glass was half empty, he waited until Bodie was distracted by a loud woman at the door and he switched glasses.

He was even luckier in that when Bodie gave in to a craving for crisps and went for a packet, he was able to pour what was in his hidden glass into Bodie's. Bodie was tipsy enough not to notice. He drained the glass and led the way to the street, where they snagged a passing taxi and headed for home. In this case, Doyle's. Lured there with the promise of a nightcap of the finest usually-reserved-for-Cowley-or-reluctant-blonds, Bodie came willingly. An hour later, when Bodie was well and truly drunk and Doyle, who had been drinking ginger ale since they had come home, was not, Doyle found it easy to suggest that Bodie sleep here. Bodie was, after all, having trouble even walking.

Which was why Bodie woke up with a splitting headache the next morning. At first, he was not sure where he was. Opening one glued-shut eye was an effort, and he peered around. His eye found the huddle under the blankets next to him, and after a moment of owl-ish blinking, he decided that was Doyle. And the reason he couldn't see his bedside clock was because this was Doyle's bed, and the clock was on the other side. He leaned over Doyle's comatose form to see the time.

"Fucking hell!" He was shaking Doyle frantically even as the words burst from his mouth.

"Wwah?" Doyle responded intelligently.

"It's twenty till nine! We have to see Cowley at nine! Hell, my head!" Bodie put one hand up to it as he sat up. How much had he had to drink last night?

Doyle roused, sat up, eyed the clock and announced, "I must have forgotten to set the alarm last night."

Bodie mumbled something about incompetent fools as he staggered to the bathroom.

"I've put out a shirt for you. You'll just have to wear your pants again. Hurry up, I need to use that, too!" Doyle shouted as he dressed. They were out the door in ten minutes, ragged slices of bread and jam in hand as they piled into Doyle's car. It was, of course, useless. They were half an hour late and had to endure Cowley's worst revenge, a day of files and reports. Cowley told them they were not fit to be seen by the public, and he was probably right.

They did not even have a chance to go out for lunch, and it was over stale sandwiches at two that Bodie suddenly sat up and exclaimed "Damn!" in a heartfelt and more-than-annoyed voice.

"Paper cut?" Doyle inquired, with mock concern. Bodie had tried to use that excuse to get out of his fair share of the typing.

Bodie ignored that. "I was going to call this morning! Well, they've probably already...maybe if I called now...." He reached for the phone.

"Stop trying to get out of your share of the work, Bodie!" Doyle's hand reached the phone first--it was on his side of the desk--and he pulled it out of his partner's reach.

"Stop playing around, Doyle. I need the phone," Bodie said shortly, reaching for it again.

"No. You don't." Doyle refused to give it over. Bodie, who had never completely lost his headache of the morning, snarled and tried to take it by force. A tussle ensued, which ended when Cowley, who always appeared when you least expected and least wanted him, arrived on the scene. For the second time, he expressed his opinions, and they were saved from further abuse only by Betty's frantic call that Cowley was wanted by the minister on the phone.

"Now see what you've done?" Doyle hissed, shoving the disputed instrument aside and reaching for the scattered and crumpled papers they were supposed to be working on.

"What I've done? Oh, that's rich, that is. This whole thing is your fault, beginning to end."

"Oh? I'm not the one who drank too much last night, mate!"

"You were too sauced to turn on the alarm clock!"

"You snore so loud you wouldn't have heard it anyway!" Doyle retaliated, and he attacked the paper in front of him with a staple remover, shredding the corner in the process.

"I snore? That's marvellous, coming from someone who does the imitation of a train at the crossing!" Bodie practically threw the papers he held down.

"Just do the fuckin' work and stop trying to blame everybody else for your own problems!"

"Up yours," Bodie said, but quietly, knowing that it would be deadly to attract Cowley's attention for a third time that day.

Doyle stalked off and Bodie grudgingly settled down to his forms. Gradually, he calmed down. After an hour, between wondering where Doyle had got to and mumbling curses in which Doyle's name featured prominently, he finished his stack and came to a conclusion.

He thought better with Doyle gone.

Now that was strange. He considered it. He decided that while it was more fun, more entertaining, and sometimes more efficient to work with his partner--two heads being better than one--it was also distracting. Without Doyle, certain things became clear.

For example, had Doyle suffered a hangover of the magnitude of the one which assaulted Bodie that morning?

No, he had not. While it was true that Doyle had been sharp, hard to get along with and downright sarky, it was also true that Doyle was generally like that when they had to do paperwork. No, Doyle had not had a hangover, and one could conclude that he had not had as much to drink.

Why?

Too cheap to finish off on his own booze after they had arrived at Doyle's?

No. Doyle had been drinking there, too, glass for glass.

Unless he was drinking something different. Which meant that Doyle wanted Bodie drunk.

Why?

He had a suspicion that anyone who set out to get someone else drunk usually did it to gain something. So what did Doyle get?

A drunk Bodie?

Besides that?

Booze. Leg-opener? Not likely in Doyle's case. Why also drink? To forget?

Forget.

Bodie let out a hiss and leaned back in his chair. The phone call. He hadn't called Hager, even though he distinctly remembered deciding to do it. Deciding to give up CI5. In the cold light of day, it seemed a stupid decision, for Bodie usually liked his job, his boss and his pay cheque. It had been nostalgia and maybe the first few drinks, coming after a nasty op, which had influenced him last night. Would he have really done it? He didn't know. And now the point was moot, because Doyle had got him drunk and made sure he slept through the deadline. Forgot to set the alarm? Ha! The little sod had deliberately left it alone!

Which meant he had deliberately courted the disaster of upsetting Cowley. Bodie was stuck doing paperwork because Doyle, damn him....

Because Doyle didn't want him to go?

Bodie examined the thought from all sides, holding it up against the facts and trying it on for size.

Doyle didn't want him to go.

A warm glow began in a secret deep part of Bodie. Doyle didn't want him to go. For whatever reason--because he didn't want to break in a new partner or because he didn't want to lose a mate, or just impulse--Doyle hadn't let him go.

Bodie stretched, feeling every vertebra change places with its neighbour. He needed exercise. He got up to find Doyle.

That turned out to be more difficult that he had thought it might be. Bodie tracked him down at last in the copy room, helping a slim redhead collate a handbook on terrorist firearms. Bodie was instantly annoyed with his partner again.

"Don't you have work to do?" he said by way of a greeting.

"I'm helping Cyndi with this booklet, and then she's going to help me with my typing," Doyle explained, with an admiring and thankful glance at the clerk, who traded him one much like it.

"Trust you to do anything to get out of the hard work. You don't have time for that. I need to talk to you."

"I can do without your sunny discourse," Doyle replied, without stopping his work. He was quite good at it, Bodie thought, distracted by the quick flick of wrist, the curve of the long fingers. Mentally he gave himself a shake, and then he stood up and put a tone of command into his voice.

"Doyle, I am not in the mood to put up with your..." he changed the word he was going to use in deference to the young woman's tender ears, even though he was sure she'd heard worse, and probably today. "...your machinations. I need to talk to you. Now. Unless you'd like to speak to Cowley again today?"

Doyle looked uneasy, whispered a charming apology to the woman, and joined Bodie out in the hallway.

"What was so bloody important you had to ruin...."

"Oh, knock it off, Doyle, she's not your type at all."

"Type is the key word there, mate. She types! Seventy two words a minute!" Doyle pushed his fingers through his hair in exasperation, his expression murderous.

"I don't care about how you're manipulating some poor gullible woman. I want to talk to you about how you think you can do it to me!"

"What the bloody hell are you on about, Bodie?" Doyle said, but Bodie noticed that Doyle had turned slightly so that his back was against the wall. Ha. Psychologically, Doyle was taking a defensive position, which meant Bodie was on the right track.

"You," Bodie leaned closer, "are a class A, prime time, top of the line...manipulator. Think you can get anyone to do what you want them to do, do you?"

"No. Why aren't you working?" Doyle tried to change the subject. "You know Cowley said we couldn't leave until we were done with all eight of the May reports." It was July. Cowley had a point.

"Fuck Cowley," Bodie said. "I want you to...."

"Bodie."

"Oh, hell," Bodie mumbled, turning at once to face their boss, but not before he flashed a glance at his partner which wanted to know why the hell Doyle hadn't warned him. Cowley looked annoyed. It was not good to have an intensely annoyed Cowley giving you his full attention.

"I want those reports on my desk before five. I shall also expect you to report to me tomorrow morning at 0500 for a special assignment. Doyle, these orders are for you as well. I trust I have made myself clear?" With that, he stalked off.

"Yes sir," Bodie said, drawing up quickly and practically saluting. Doyle mumbled an affirmation, ducked back into the room to make his apologies to the clerk, and Bodie started down the corridor to the lift.

Doyle caught up with him there. "Hope you're happy now. Look what you've done!"

Bodie, who felt that the lion's share of the blame was clearly Doyle's, gave him a look which would freeze alcohol and shoved him into the lift. Once there, he trapped Doyle against the wall and made a threat.

"You're going to regret it, Doyle. Regret everything! That nonsense last night, and me not making my call and the extra work we'll have to do tomorrow. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G."

"And you can spell! Nice to know the school money wasn't wasted." Doyle said, refusing to be intimidated by Bodie's tough-man act. If it was an act.

"Doyle...." Bodie was afraid to lose his temper, and so he settled for striding out of the lift when it stopped and leaving for the little corner office which he and Doyle shared.

Doyle, now forced to do his own typing, followed, but he ducked into Murphy's office and begged the use of the machine there, rather than join Bodie. At four minutes after five, he emerged, his share of the reports finished, to find Bodie with his own folder of processed paper, standing outside the door.

"I'll turn them in to Cowley," Bodie said, reaching for Doyle's stack. Doyle held it up out of his way and shook his head violently.

"No you don't mate!" He turned and headed for Cowley's office fast enough to make Bodie trot to keep up. They left their offerings in the proper stack on the desk--Cowley was, mercifully, not present--and headed for the lift again.

"We have some unfinished business," Bodie said, snagging Doyle's arm as the man tried to turn left at the door.

"Yes. I have unfinished business. Her name is Tanya and I'm going to have to change our plans a bit. Don't fancy a late night if we have to be back here at the crack of dawn!"

"Poor Tanya will have to do without your manly charms tonight. Tonight you're going to pay for interfering in my life!"

Doyle's scowl said he didn't know what this mad bastard was talking about, but Bodie knew that was not the case.

"First," Bodie said, "it's going to cost you dinner at Rosario's."

"Bodie, your idea of a joke...."

"No joke, sunshine. Let's go. We're taking your car." Bodie, hand on Doyle's elbow, guided him across the car park to the trim white vehicle which Doyle called his own this month.

"Give me one good reason," Doyle said, digging his feet in and then swatting at Bodie's hands as Bodie tried to fish the keys out of Doyle's pocket, "Why I should go along with this madness."

"Not mentioning that little trick you pulled this morning?" Bodie asked sweetly.

Doyle was perfectly willing not to mention it. "Stop talking nonsense, Bodie."

"You like telling me what to do, don't you? Running my life for me. Figure you have the right to do that, don't you? You're going to come with me and we're going to do something we don't usually do."

"Which is?" Doyle said, expressing caution and making an attempt to free his arm.

"Talk."

"We talk. We talk all the time," Doyle insisted.

"Scores don't count. Neither does bitching about the work, mocking MI5, leering at the birds or discussing the job."

"What's left?" Doyle wondered out loud. Bodie merely grinned and thrust Doyle into the car.

"Drive."

Doyle studied him for a moment and then climbed behind the wheel. "I'll drive," he said, "but you're paying for the meal."

"Doyle, you just did me out of somewhere in the neighbourhood of ten thousand pounds at the very least. Probably twice that. You owe me at least a dinner, and consider yourself lucky I don't intend to take the rest out of your miserable hide."

His intensity was such that Doyle gave him no more argument, but drove to the restaurant in frowning silence. Bodie watched the street, and refrained from comment, even when Doyle had to brake suddenly to avoid a suicidal teenager on a tricked up bicycle.

They were early for the dinner crowd, and were ushered to a table in the corner at once.

Bodie opened the conversation. "You owe me."

"You owe me! I kept you from doing something stupid, mate." Doyle responded, unwilling to be burdened with any guilt Bodie might want to heap on his shoulders.

"It's not your job to decide what's good for me!"

"It is when it affects my job," Doyle growled.

"So I'm to spend all my life dancing to your tune, just because you decide you can't live without me?" Bodie wanted to know. He stopped his quiet tirade when the waiter came for their drinks order. He had beer, as did Doyle. No under-the-table binges tonight.

Doyle spoke the moment the man was gone. "I can live without you, but why should I? You've told me time and again that you are the best. No reason why I don't deserve the best," he said mildly. "Besides, I didn't do anything--I let you do it all yourself. Maybe unconsciously you didn't want to leave."

"Why should I stay!" Bodie demanded, his anger from that morning coming back to him.

"I suppose," Doyle said, with quiet control, "that in your book, friendship isn't enough."

"Friendship has nothing to do with this," Bodie said, but there was enough of a delay in his response to show that he was affected by Doyle's words.

"Of course it does. Friendship is why I did what I did. Friendship is why I'm here talking to you, instead of just washing my hands of the whole affair! Friendship is why you're bothering to discuss this, as well. This whole thing is about friendship, Bodie, because I thought our friendship, our partnership, was important. I can't believe you'd just sign on somewhere, leave it all, without even considering how it would affect...others."

That wasn't the word he started to say, Bodie realized. It was Doyle himself being left. Maybe, Bodie thought, he had been stupid about it. Partners, good partners like Doyle, were rare. Still.... "So you just decide to make the decisions yourself? Who appointed you god?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, God has a Scots accent," Bodie said, darkly, as their drinks arrived.

"And you put us in hell today, didn't you? Fuck Cowley, you said, and he was right behind you!"

"Talk about friendship! You could have warned me?"

"No time," Doyle said taking a sip. "He came around that corner fast!"

Cowley had a habit of doing that, Bodie knew. He shook his head. The conversation was getting derailed.

"Bodie," Doyle said as he put his glass down, "Do you remember any of what we said last night?"

Bodie wrinkled his brow. "Not much," he had to confess. "Something about whores. I remember that."

"Nothing else?"

"No. Sorry." Bodie gave some attention to his own drink, thinking that he was usually on top of things even if he was drunk. He must have really tied one on.

Doyle smiled.

Bodie was sure that was not a smile to trust, but he kept silent, waiting to see what Doyle was going to say.

"We were talking about the difference between a mercenary and a whore." Doyle stared into the gold depths of his glass. "About doing things for money. Some people," Doyle said, "need the money, they use it as the only way to measure success. Is that true for you, Bodie?"

There was a trap in those words. Bodie kept silent.

"Money is not the only measure, Bodie."

Bodie found his voice. "Oh, very profound!"

Doyle nodded. "It is, isn't it?" Then he looked Bodie in the eye. "Money's nice, but it isn't everything. Would you hand me over to the KGB for a few thousand pounds?"

"Don't be a prat. Of course I wouldn't!" Bodie looked offended. He was offended.

"I didn't think so. So even you acknowledge there's some things more important than money?"

Bodie gave a loud, artificial sigh. "Yes, have it your way, there are things more important than money."

"Suppose I offered you money--ten percent of my salary, say--to stay and be my partner. Would you take that offer?"

"Not much money, that. But knowing how you pinch pennies, I guess that'd hurt you. Suppose I did?"

"Suppose I did. Would you work any harder guarding my arse?" At Bodie's negative shake of his head, he said, "Would I have to worry about you getting a better offer? Or wanted a larger cut?"

"What's your point, Doyle?"

"Money won't make you stay. It might make you go even faster. What would make you stay, Bodie? Last night you said it was all down to money and adventure and sex. Do you remember that part? I do. Tell me, which category does friendship come under? It's not money. Is it adventure? Or more like sex? Or doesn't friendship mean anything to you at all?"

"It means something. What is your twisty little mind up to?"

"I think, for you, friendship is most like sex. And sex is something you've been able to pick up anywhere. Pick your friends the same way. Keep 'em for a while, then trade them in. Always done that, haven't you, same as you do the birds."

Bodie gave him a look and drank deeply from his glass.

"If you ever found that one special lady, would you settle down, stay in that place? If you ever found one friend that meant more than the others, would you stay around for that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I thought we weren't just friends. I thought we'd reached the point where it was...more. You know. The Bisto Kids. All those things I've heard them call us. Hurts knowing you'd trade me in, same as you would an old car. Trade me for money. For excitement. Would you trade me for sex?"

Bodie ignored the dark, pained looked in Doyle's eyes and said, "No, that's more your line, isn't it?" When Doyle looked at him sharply, wondering what Bodie was referring to, Bodie made a gesture towards his nose. "That Holly woman you took up with. Had no time for any of us then, did you? Traded me in fast enough, and for what? Bit of ice on legs."

"And a temper. Don't forget the temper, she had that, too," Doyle said.

Bodie hadn't forgot her temper. He did remember how he felt when Doyle started to spend all his free time with her. He finished his beer and thought about how different the first swallow of beer tasted from the last.

"I probably wouldn't have gone. With Hager. It was the booze, and the bad end to the op. I wouldn't have gone."

"You might have. You could have gone, Bodie, you know it." Doyle finished his own glass, thumping it down on the table with enough force to emphasize his point.

"Would it have bothered you so much?" Bodie asked, softly.

"Yeah. It would have," Doyle said, not looking at Bodie.

"Is that friendship?" Bodie asked.

It was more than that, but neither of these men were the type to apply the 'L' word to a relationship between men.

"Yeh. That's friendship." Doyle said firmly.

"Which you say is better than money."

"Right."

"And excitement."

Doyle nodded. "Right."

"And sex?" The last was said sceptically.

Doyle hesitated just a second, and then replied, "Right. Better than sex."

"Poor lad," Bodie said sadly, "Your sex life must be pitiful, really pitiful."

"You just never had a friendship that was worth shit, before," Doyle told him.

"I've got one now, do I?"

Doyle nodded. "Yes."

"Worth more than shit, I hope?" Bodie joked.

"Worth more than that, yes. Although I suppose you'll continue to drop me in it at regular intervals, type you are."

"Would you have it any other way?" Bodie asked.

Doyle sighed. "Probably not. What are you going to order?" he asked as the waiter, approached, pen and pad in hand.

"The scampi. You're buying. Remember?"

Doyle remembers. "Okay, I'm paying. This time," he added, as Bodie grinned. "I'll have the scampi as well." They gave their order to the waiter, and when he was gone they sat together in silence for a minute. A woman laughed, a low trill of a sound, and Bodie looked over in that direction. "Bodie?"

Bodie looked back at Doyle.

"What are the four important things?"

Bodie grinned. "Money, excitement, sex and...what was the other...." He pretended to forget, until Doyle threw a mock punch at him. "Oh! and friendship! Friendship!"

"And don't you forget it," Doyle threatened. "And you have the order wrong?"

"The order?" Bodie looked in the direction of the departed waiter, a frown on his face.

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Berk. The order you put your four important things. Dead wrong, mate. Guess which one comes first?"

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. Friendship?" Bodie suggested, with the air of one who has discovered great revelations.

"Friendship." Doyle nodded. He added in an aside to an invisible companion, "Such a bright boy, our Willie."

"Even friendship isn't going to save you if you keep that up," Bodie warned. "My friends call me Bodie."

"Call you more than that one day," Doyle said sweetly.

"What?" Bodie said, one eye on the waiter, who was carrying something in their direction. It was much too soon for even the starters to be coming their way, but Bodie was hungry and hope was springing eternal.

"Never mind. I'll tell you when you're ready," Doyle said. There were actually five important things in life, but Bodie wasn't ready to hear about the one on the top of the list. If he could just get him to stay around long enough, Bodie was going to learn about friendship, and all about love, as well.

-- THE END --

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