As the man bowed his head, thin white face obscured by the grey fedora's wide brim, the credits started rolling and Artie Shaw played clarinet with bitter-sweet ease; the sound a melancholy distillation of all the pain in the world.

In the fractured darkness, Ray Doyle dragged his gaze away from the huge screen and covertly glanced at Bodie's face. Touched by quicksilver, erratic light patterning the smooth features with reflected magic, he was beautiful, unapproachable. Engrossed in the last moments Bodie was a remote and intimidating figure, as far away from the friend sitting at his side as he could possibly be.

Doyle stifled a sigh and turned back to the scrolling credits.

Unaccountably, for the first time in as long as he could remember he felt like weeping; the lingering sadness a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. Damn. Why couldn't Bodie have wanted to see a comedy.

Briefly he closed his eyes tight shut. He was lost as to why, when sitting next to his partner and surrounded by a sea of people, he should feel so bereft, so alone, as if everyone in the vast auditorium was real apart from himself.

He hated going to the movies anyway.

Flexing the hand that had been crushing the last dregs of life from a Kia-Ora carton he risked another glance at the absorbed face. Bodie now, Bodie loved the cinema; loved the other world that the darkness and the mystery could transport him to. With envious ease he took equal pleasure from any picture he went to see; whether a blood curdling horror flick or a frothy romance, he would be wrapped in the illusion for the story's duration and then, as far as Doyle could see, instantly forget it the moment the house lights went up. It made him a frustrating companion.

The profile was still concentrated; absorbed by the last seconds of the film and Doyle knew from past, slightly irritated experience, that nothing would dislodge him until the final flicker of the final reel had faded. Curling deeper into he seat Doyle consoled himself; at least the crush will be over by then and we can leave in peace without getting mown down by the hordes of Bowie fans.

In peace. Fuck it. There hadn't been much of that lately.

Eight months with a new partner and for the last three weeks it had been as if all the hard work of settling into a working routine had been for nothing. Seemingly overnight Bodie had turned ice cold almost as if he had caught himself giving too much away; giving too much of himself, and had ruthlessly decided that enough was enough. It was a concept Doyle understood, bloody hell, he thought; I've practised it often enough myself. But understanding it was one thing; letting Bodie go without a fight was another.

Even tonight had only been reluctantly consented to when Doyle had conjured tickets for this preview. Shit; conjured? He'd had to promise untold favours to a contact in the business in order to get them. Not that Bodie had been impressed or made any comment. But he had agreed to come, Doyle told himself, so look on the bright side.

It hadn't been that long ago when any free time they had would automatically have been spent together; probably with a couple of accommodating birds on the side. But recently... Well, he didn't like to think too much about recently.

Doyle had planned this evening with as much care as a general on the eve of a major battle; luring Bodie into his company; determined to break through the barrier that seemed to loom between them. Some hope. At the moment nothing seemed less likely.

The alteration in the balance of their relationship nagged him. He liked Bodie, wanted his understanding and trust; neither of which were particularly apparent at the moment. It was disconcerting that the absence of such a new-found friendship should leave him feeling so fragile. Yes, that was it; as if the slightest knock would shatter his equanimity into a thousand pieces.

Frowning at the beige velour that covered the seat in front of him, it was a moment before he realised that the film was over and Bodie was standing up. "Come on sunshine, I'm parched for a beer." And he was gone, heading purposefully to the exit.

Grabbing his jacket, Doyle hastily left his seat and jogged up behind him, shrugging into it as he went. "What did you think of the film then?"

"I think he should stick to singing." Inside the protection of the black leather jacket Bodie's shoulders shrugged. "Still, it was okay. And you?"

"Depressing." Mind you, in the mood Doyle was in he'd probably have found 'A Night At The Opera' a three-hankie weepy, he sighed. "Poor bastard, you'd have thought they'd have let something go right for 'im." He turned and caught Bodie looking at him as if he was the alien.

"What'd be the point in that? It was a story, wouldn't have been the same with a happy ending."

"'Spose not." He shied from telling Bodie that he empathised with the main character; the idea would be around CI5 making even the tea-ladies laugh before the next shift was over. So he kept his mouth shut, unable to find the strength to face Bodie's derision. He gave up. "You're right, it wasn't exactly 'The Sound Of Music' was it."

Bodie nodded, as if Doyle's eventual agreement was no less than he expected.

They walked through the foyer and Ray caught a glimpse in a mirror as they passed by; a sombre pair, almost matched in height thanks to Doyle's heeled cowboy boots and the thick mop of curls that added inches to his height. Dressed in completely different styles -- Doyle in tatty old clothes that were as comfortable as a second skin, Bodie in the latest hard edged fashions -- they matched each other in almost nothing, scarcely looking as if they were companions.

That was another thing: it had only been in the past few weeks that Doyle had been forced to notice such details. Been made to compare his own strength against Bodie's. Been made aware that the other man was heavier, his strong-boned body weighted with muscle, all of which he knew how to use. That there really was so little that they had in common.

From the first days of their pairing, Bodie had treated him with casual equality. Now, when he wasn't wiping the floor with Doyle at Macklin's holiday camp, he was treating him as if he wasn't worth sharing the time of day with.

Okay, so Doyle knew he was a couple of inches shorter and maybe a stone or so lighter than Bodie; but he could hold his own and had proved it countless times. It confused him. Hurt him as well, even physically, when unprepared for all-out violence, Doyle had been trapped by a manoeuvre that he himself would only have used on the streets. And all Macklin had done was stand by and applaud. And Bodie? Well Bodie had finally released him to just walk away, calm as you please to shower and change, leaving Doyle to follow as best he could. When he'd finally found the energy to make it to the locker room there was no trace of Bodie except for the lingering scent of his aftershave and damp foot-prints on the floor.

By the time they met again, they were deeply involved in a stake-out and it was too late to make an issue of Bodie's behaviour; time having taken the edge off Doyle's anger to the extent where he could almost imagine that none of it had happened.

That had been bad, but other times had been no better.

Worst of all, it was beginning to affect their work; his own edge dulled and Bodie's lethally hair-trigger. When Doyle wasn't trying with uncertain success to control both his own temper and Bodie's hostility he was waiting, every sense screaming, for Cowley's wrath to descend on them. The Controller missed nothing, and it wouldn't be long before either one or both of them was stood down. Doyle knew they had been the best, he was beginning to wonder if they ever would be again.

If only he could get Bodie to talk.

But Bodie avoided anything except the most mundane of topics, avoiding Doyle's overtures with consummate ease. When they were alone Doyle could, in a flight of fancy, imagine himself to be invisible, the blue eyes scanning through him or around him. It wasn't a sensation he would like to get used to.

He'd thought that getting Bodie to agree to this evening out had been a breakthrough. Following him through the open doors he thought that maybe it hadn't been after all.

The late summer evening was muggy and overcast as they stepped out onto Leicester Square, and the promise of rain was heavy in the air. For a moment Doyle felt his spirits lift, buoyed by the thronging crowds of departing cinema and theatre-goers. City born and bred he thrived on the warmth and energy of people, especially when he could observe them from a distance. Once upon a time, he'd found Bodie the most fascinating example of the whole human race; in fact, he still did. He just wasn't sure if Bodie considered that they belonged to the same species at all. Supercilious, arrogant, smug, condescending; all adjectives he'd expected to have to deal with when he was partnered with an ex-professional soldier; damn, they hadn't been there at the beginning, so why were they here now?

There was no answer forthcoming from the birds twittering so disconcertingly in the night time trees, so he turned his reluctant attention back to Bodie who was laconically repeating his question, "...I said, I'm going to the French pub for a drink."

Remote and shuttered, Bodie's face gave nothing away except impatience, and only the most optimistic of individuals would have interpreted the statement as an invitation.

"Okay, I'll get the first round in." Doyle tried a smile, but it faded when there was no answering echo in Bodie's tight face, only an all encompassing look that turned his stomach upside down and left him feeling disconcertingly embarrassed. The reaction was clearly read by Bodie, whose eyes narrowed in sardonic amusement before he turned away without a word.

Jesus, what was that?

Doyle tried to get his heartbeat back to normal; convinced that the assessment that he'd read in that glance was in his imagination. He swallowed hard. Yeah, it must've been. Besides, if Bodie was coming on to him he was doing it in the most oblique way possible. Not exactly something he was renowned for.

As Bodie walked through the lingering groups, Doyle followed, pouring scorn on his wild reaction. Bodie; what a joke. Come on Raymond, you're supposed to keep day-dreams to yourself. However sweet they may be.

The pub was crowded with a wildly assorted bunch of people. Doyle fought his way to the bar and got them both a pint of lager, manoeuvring through the crowd almost without spilling a drop to the table that Bodie had commandeered. Sitting down, he pushed the second pint across to Bodie before taking a long swallow of his own. He tried not to let blackness swamp him and looking at Bodie made an effort, "Cheers."

Bodie raised his straight glass very slightly, but made no other reply as he leant back against the wall, his eyes clocking the crowd with automatic wariness.

It was only because Doyle had begun to let himself be aware of Bodie in a different way that he realised that the remote blue eyes touched on himself with a greater frequency than he would have thought possible.

Okay, so you're not invisible after all. But where does that earth-shattering conclusion get you? Absolutely nowhere. And Bodie's getting farther and farther away from you.

"I'm surprised you managed to get a table." Hardly the most scintillating opener in the world, but he wanted Bodie to talk and his brain felt empty of anything but banalities.

The broad shoulders shrugged with a bare economy of movement. Bodie looked overwhelmingly bored, "Luck."

Neat, succinct; but hardly conversation.

Doyle tried again, searching for a topic that might tempt Bodie out of his self-absorption. "You got tickets for the test match yet?"

"Not yet."

"Are you going? It looks as if it might be a good one." Doyle's own interest in cricket fell somewhere between knitting and lacrosse, a fact of which Bodie was well aware so the question was treated with the disdain it deserved.

Last orders had been and gone, and Doyle wished that he'd thought to get another round in before they'd been called, and Bodie had made no move towards the bar. Even having to buy more than his share would have been worth it if it meant that he could keep Bodie here to try and reach past the hard shell that encased him, and touch the friendship that must still be there.

Doyle wanted the Bodie back who made the world a more interesting place to be and in his hurt he voiced the question that gnawed at his gut -- "What have I done, Bodie?"

Bodie's hand briefly tightened around the glass then cool, dark eyes looked up, their assessment as impartial as a judge. "You? What makes you think that you've done anything?"

It wasn't really a question and it gave Doyle no encouragement at all. He gestured emptily with his hands, "Because you've changed. Look Bodie, we're partners, mates. Tell me what it is."

Bodie narrowed his eyes and in the smoky light, Doyle was uncomfortably sure that their expression mocked him. "What could you have possibly done Raymond, or is it confession time?"

"No." He knew that he'd concealed any wayward emotions with the skill of long practise; it couldn't be that, even though guilt flexed inside him. If there had been something else that he could dredge up from the past months that, once confessed, would put it all to rights, Doyle would have done so. "Bodie, for god's sake, there must be something -- you're treating me as if I'm some sort of leper."

All tight coiled strength, Bodie sat up in one smooth movement and leant across the table, his voice almost vibrating with intensity. "Well maybe you are, sunshine, maybe you are." Twisting his lips into a sneer he stood up, pushing his chair back. "I want another drink."

"It's gone closing time."

As they were in the middle of Soho this remark was treated with the contempt it deserved and with a dismissive shake of his head Bodie turned and walked out of the bar.

It had begun to rain the soft warm rain that only seems to fall at night time in the city, and Doyle turned his collar up as he followed the retreating figure into Old Compton Street.

The roads were pretty deserted; the tarmac already sheened with wet. As he walked along intent on the conundrum that was Bodie, Doyle absorbed the calm of the glistening night-lit streets; their impersonal beauty a balm to his soul. Bodie's path took him past the flashing lights that proclaimed fabulous girls, live sex and spectacular entertainment with trashy enthusiasm. He ignored the sleazy invitations flashed by the multi-coloured lights; his even pace taking him past clip joints and sex shops, restaurants and bars, past the doorways where whores of both sexes waited with dull resignation for the rain to stop. He looked neither right or left, as if his destination was clear in his mind.

Doyle followed, ten paces behind, walking beyond the brightness of neon reflected onto wet pavements into the wasteland of grimy alleyways where no one loitered. Until in the abandoned back-streets Bodie stopped, and turned on his heel like a fighter on his chosen ground.

"Why are you following me?"

In the neon-bright shadows the smooth features were set in a mask of intolerance that made Doyle wonder why he had, but he faced Bodie squarely. "I couldn't just leave. Bodie, we need to talk. I need to understand..."

"Understand, oh, yeah. You have to understand. How, when, why; you don't like to let a single detail escape you, do you?"

Stung by the truth within the venom Doyle said, "Not where you're concerned, no." He went on, but this time he was almost whispering, "Not where we are concerned. You are still my partner, my friend, until evidence to the contrary." Hollow-eyed he half expected Bodie to provide it; to say that it was over and that he was asking for re-teaming. What he didn't expect was the momentary pain that flashed across Bodie's features.

"Evidence, Jesus you would...well chew on this scrap of evidence..." And before Doyle had time to react, Bodie pushed him hard against the wall and was kissing him with such intensity that Doyle gasped.

As Doyle's mouth opened, seemingly without volition, Bodie backed off with a smile that was distressing to watch. "Yeah; chew on that." And he was gone, strong muscles carrying him at speed away from ignominy.

Bodie.

Doyle mouthed the name to himself, though breathing brought the scent and taste of hard lips scudding across his senses. Leaning back against the rough wall, aware of the texture of each brick that pressed into his back, he suddenly doubted his own sanity.

Bodie.

The name released him from immobility and he ran, almost silent on the slippery pavement. He caught up with the hunched figure, and as he did so, the warm drizzle turned to heavy summer rain. Blinking away droplets that trickled down from his curls, Doyle grabbed at a shoulder, to be faced instantly by a Bodie prepared to fight -- something, anything. What, maybe he wasn't sure himself.

Raising both hands, palms forward, Ray stepped back and shook his head, "Bodie, it's only me..."

"Only you." Relaxing a fraction, still brittle with tension, Bodie stood motionless; watching his watcher with eyes turned obsidian by the night.

To Doyle he looked more enigmatic than the Sphinx. But then he smiled, "Yeah, it's only you. Might've known; you've got a nasty habit of turning up whenever I least want to see you."

Doyle flinched and took a deep breath, trying to dispel the hurt before it transformed into anger. "Yeah, the proverbial black penny, that's me."

"Better than being a black sheep." A touch of humour lit Bodie's eyes and momentarily all the silence was gone from his face.

For a long while they stood on the street corner, alone in the wet night as the rain soaked through their clothing; it's warmth turning chill as it touched their skin; blurring vision as it caught on their lashes; the insistent patter of rain-drops on tarmac a shell for their silence.

Water was beginning to run in rivers down the gutter, the rain falling with increasing intensity.

Even though the damp had permeated through the layers of his clothing, Doyle stood immobile; ensnared by what he didn't dare hope for.

In the end it was Bodie who spoke first and his voice was softer, less accusing. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Not really."

Startled, Doyle blinked and shook his head slightly.

Bodie waited vainly for a comment. Then giving up continued, "Go away. Please. It'll be safer in the long run."

"Safer?" The word came out roughened; as if Doyle's voice was out of practise. He heard it's awkwardness himself.

Bodie nodded.

This time he cleared his throat before attempting to speak. "What if I don't care about safer?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't." And taking a step forwards he brought them within touching distance.

Light shadowed, rain drenched, Bodie's face was bone white, the skin pulled taught over a clearly defined skull. The sleek cap of cropped hair reflected the street's light; Doyle wanted to touch it. He swallowed. What was safe anyway, certainly not tomorrow.

"Bodie, has all this been because you want me?"

"Want you..." For a heart stopping moment Doyle thought that he'd got it all wrong, and that Bodie was going to laugh in his face. Then the almost amusement turned to pain and Bodie was shaking his head, "Ray..."

Another step and they shared the same rain. Close enough to chart the course of rain-drops as they trickled across wet skin.

With his forefinger Doyle reached up and touched the beard-stubbled chin; collecting droplets, his own face revealing nothing except intense concentration. Then bringing the finger to his mouth he sampled it with the tip of his tongue. At the first taste his eyes closed for a brief moment and he sipped the drops as if they were honey. Then eyes wide, emotionless, he offered the glistening finger to Bodie; moving his hand as if in a dream across the chasm between them.

With a breath that caught in his throat, Bodie took the salt wet flesh into himself.

Doyle watched as his finger was enclosed briefly by cold lips and warm mouth. But almost as soon as it was admitted, Bodie's fingers fastened on his wrist, pulling it away with a movement that was almost a shudder. But he didn't move away, his feet rooted to the spot, his breath fever fast, his pain tangible.

"It's all right," Ray whispered, "why are you frightened?" It had to be fear; he couldn't see why else Bodie would have been behaving so strangely. He laughed to himself; silly to ask why really, it was a frightening thing; love.

There was no doubt, only serenity as Doyle saw all the emotions that Bodie had fought through, and all the emotions that lay within himself, and understood.

Without conscious thought, before he could rationalise or cry craven he burned all his bridges in one flaming pyre; "I love you, Bodie." Leaning forward, resting his hand lightly against the strength of Bodie's shoulder, he touched his lips to where the rain-drops clung to the sweetness of Bodie's mouth. He whispered, "I think I must've been loving you for a long time." And tried not to doubt that there would be any response.

It was more than he expected. The hand tightened painfully on his wrist, and pulled down an alley-way he was pushed into a recessed doorway.

Here, surrounded by the distant sound and smell of rain, in the neon touched darkness, lost to tenderness, he was kissed by lips that were as alien yet as familiar as his own. They hardly touched, but the pliancy of their mouths translated for each other the foreignness of the language; letting trust seal what fear had tried to break.

Letting Bodie pull back, Doyle listened to Bodie's words whilst absorbing the warmth of his expression. "You've been driving me crazy. I've been hating you, hating myself. It's not easy, Ray."

"Who said it would be." But it was clear that Doyle didn't give a damn.

"I tried not to care..." Doyle opened his mouth to speak, but Bodie pressed his finger to it and continued, "I didn't want to care, to be tied down. Caring for someone ties you down; messes everything up. It's lousy." His lips flexed into a smile. "And you're such a bad tempered bastard that I couldn't see myself telling you anyway. But I couldn't escape." He pressed close and Doyle could feel the heat of the other man's arousal hard against his hip, it's need burning through the fabric of their clothing to brand him. "However much I tried, I couldn't escape."

As he spoke his hands were touching Ray's body; thigh, arm, neck, shoulder until Doyle could scarcely hear for the pounding of blood in his ears. His lips were clumsy as he opened them. "Bodie let's go home." He wanted clean sheets and candlelight, not this damp, stinking doorway. He wanted to make love in warmth, to lie Bodie down on his bed and make long, lingering love to that uncharted body.

But Bodie shook his head, and in the glimmering light weighted the protesting man against the wall, fitting himself to the curves of Doyle's body, his heavy lidded eyes glazed with the opiate of lust.

"No, I want you so much. You followed me, and I know you want me." His hand enclosed the straining shape of Doyle's genitals; a thumb running down the length of the denim enclosed shaft. "Here and now, so there can be no turning back. What do you want; me to blow you?" He smiled as Doyle made a small sound in the back of his throat. "Or do you want to be fucked? I've had dreams about doing it; imagined so often what it'd be like inside you, you, hot and willing. I've had day-dreams, night-dreams, until I wanted to kill you for making me want you so much." The hand gave a gentle squeeze. "Come on, doesn't it turn you on; being out here. Someone might walk by at any moment, see us." He smiled in victory at the response that pulsed against his palm. Doyle who flaunted himself at the slightest provocation, was almost his. Bodie had planned this moment in his fantasies; known that if anything could bind that wildness to himself then it would be danger and risk and need. To be certain he moved deeper into the shadows. "Besides, I'll never make it home in this state." He took Doyle's unresisting hand and pressed it to himself.

Feeling the hardness throb against his fingers, Doyle was lost. His voice was foreign, desperate; the sound of a man past the point of no return. "Fuck me then."

All initiative ruthlessly overcome he was breathless as Bodie's hands unsnapped his jeans, moaning as the damp zip was forced down. He stifled a cry as his cock was released to the night air. Scarcely able to support himself he clung to the wall. He felt gauche, inept; as if the darkness of Bodie's past gave him sexual wisdom undreamed of by a city child.

It also made his blood flow like fire.

To make love in a doorway.

With Bodie.

Decadent, abandoned, obscene, it caught his imagination and sent it rocketing, so that even before Bodie's hands went to his own trousers, Doyle was turning, bracing himself against the rough wall, wanting all the night and the rain and the dark danger of the coupling to encompass him. He wanted Bodie's heat inside him; all that strength and heat without preamble or foreplay. For it to be there filling him.

He could no longer remember why they were here. Or what he had wanted from Bodie. Or anything except the feel of capable hands igniting his body.

Clutching for a finger hold on the bricks, he felt his nails scrape and break against the roughness as Bodie spat into his hand; the sound shockingly loud. Then the fingers were pressing into him; exploring, entering so swiftly that Ray fought for breath as his cock wept tendrils of need onto the barren concrete.

"Bodie...go on...I want..." and the snub head of Bodie's cock was held firmly against him; tighter and tighter until with a spasm of pain that knotted every muscle in his body he knew Bodie was part of him.

He held his breath; as if by not breathing he could deny the pain; staying statue-still until the clawing agony began to fade.

Cautiously breathing out, Doyle felt himself shaking. But Bodie was there holding him, impossibly patient as he battled with need, whispering hoarse words of encouragement, until compulsion won over discomfort and Doyle pushed himself back to meet the invading heat.

The pleasure made him gasp; empowered him so that he could have flown high on the thermal of passion. Grinding back against Bodie he was repeating Bodie's name; sobbing it, until clutching at impervious stone with Bodie's hand stifling his cries, pleasure was torn from his body.

He was hardly able to stand; kept upright more by the length of hard flesh inside him and the support of Bodie's arms than any muscle power of his own. And before he'd caught his breath, before the sweat had even begun to dry on his skin, Bodie moved again.

His cock was slick now as he thrust again and again into the smooth centre of Doyle's being. He'd wanted this so long, so long, it was too much and biting down onto a wet shoulder he loosed the heat that would bind them; shuddering as he pressed hard against the support of Doyle's bony frame.

Crushed awkwardly between Bodie's weight and the hardness of the wall, Doyle groaned and felt Bodie pull out and away from him. He straightened with relief.

Memory rushing back he clumsily bent to lift and fasten his jeans, aware even though he didn't look, that Bodie was doing the same. All at once the filthy doorway lost any fleeting glamour his need had bestowed on it and disgusted with himself, unsure of Bodie, lanced by discomfort from thigh to neck he was no longer aware of anything but shame.

Perhaps if Bodie was feeling really desperate he'd fuck him again one day.

The touch of Bodie's hands was so gentle that it made him jump and he turned, his tongue ready to make some glib joke that would lessen his own discomfort. But then he saw that Bodie was looking at him with eyes that were unshadowed; full of delight and mischief and so much love that even a blind man could have seen it. It didn't matter that Bodie hadn't said the words, what Doyle could see was enough.

Hesitantly he smiled, burying his insecurity in the depths of Bodie's eyes. Yeah, it would be all right. "Bodie." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of smiling lips. "That was..."

"Yeah."

"I never dreamed..."

"Shush, don't start thinking, you might change your mind."

"I won't."

Bodie twisted his fingers through rain soaked hair. "I used to wake up in the morning, usually with some woman asleep by my side, and all I could do was hear you talking in my head. So don't...rationalise this. I don't care about the past or the future; what I, what we, need is here and now."

"Bodie..." There in the intensity of Bodie's words was more than he'd ever hoped of being given, perhaps more than he'd ever dreamed. No, he blinked hard on the thought; Bodie was the measure of his dreams.

Doyle swallowed, and for a second pulled Bodie back into the doorway for a gentle kiss.

"What are we going to do, come back here in a year's time and celebrate?"

Bodie chuckled, the sound releasing them both from the shadows. "Yeah, if you want."

The promise of a year. Sweet, so very sweet.

"Bodie, let's go home..." He was leaning his face against Bodie's cold cheek and only felt the shaky nod of agreement. Perhaps they wouldn't ever talk about this. Perhaps just the fact that it was happening was enough.

Doyle shivered slightly and looked up in time to catch Bodie smile as he replied. "Home."

Slowly, they walked through the rain mirrored streets, uncomfortable in their damp clothes, uncertain of the future. Though none of it mattered, despite everything they knew it would be fine. And glancing occasionally at each other, there was no room in either of them for worry; the morning would come soon enough.

-- THE END --