The road was a dark and patchy strip of tar that sliced through the white world beneath a startlingly blue sky. An unnatural blue, Ray Doyle thought, as he considered the picture beyond the windscreen. It wouldn't last... the clouds would be swept in again from the North Sea on the high cold winter winds and would drop more snow to add to the already heavy covering.

It was cold, but it was also beautifully peaceful in a stark way that appealed to him, and he found himself humming. In the passenger seat, Bodie opened one eye and contemplated the source of the noise. He considered commenting on it but decided not to. He was relaxed, warm, and life was uncomplicated and easy right then. If his partner wanted to hum an old Beatles song only slightly off key, that was fine. Bodie had bad habits of his own. Smiling, he wriggled to ease a numb patch of rear end and let his mind slide onto such simple subjects as dinner and a quiet night's sleep.

It was something of a holiday, although Cowley hadn't called it that . They were on their way to Edinburgh to advise local police on hostage procedures and had two weeks to do it in. With life being so quiet at that time (even the villains hated the snow) they had decided to drive, taking their time, trying out various hostelries along the way, breaking the journey with nights of peaceful sleep.

Quiet times had become rare for both of them and it had taken a day or two to come to terms with the situation. Living constantly on a knife edge created its own special problems, with shields and attitudes to protect against pain and disappointment and it wasn't a simple thing to adjust to a life-style where such attitudes weren't necessary. It was startling for Bodie to find that outside the job, in the mundane world of ordinary people, he quite liked being with Doyle. No, not really startling, it was a reinforcement of something known before but never admitted. As partners during the mayhem of their working life they were well-matched... a relationship based on trust and the knowledge of each other's abilities. It was impossible not to like someone you trusted with your life... at least a little. That they cared about each other outside the limits of necessity was good.

Caring.

Bodie edged around the word mentally, like a mongoose finding himself next to a friendly cobra. Caring was a word he tried to avoid in context with himself, and lately it had popped up more and more in relation to his partner. Never very good at hiding his feelings, he was aware that this caring had become just a little obvious. Well, it was rather too late to do anything about that. He sometimes wondered whether Doyle felt the same... Ray wasn't one to wear his feelings out in the open..

His strangely muddled thoughts were interrupted by a question from the driver.

"Hungry?"

"Mmm." Bodie looked out the window, blinking in the glare of sunlight on snow. "Keep your eyes open for a take-away... should be one around here."

"Och, more Scottish chips, laddie." Doyle commented in a gross imitation of Cowley's accent.

"Aye. Keeps the sporrin warm. Yummy in the tummy, it is." Bodie grinned at Doyle's disgusted lip curl. "Food snob."

"I've got nothing against food. I just don't count chips as food. Carbohydrates and starch wrapped up in fat and liberally sprinkled with vinegar and salt. Nourishment it ain't."

They insulted each other's tastes in the immortal way of friendship until a sideroad broke off from the main motorway, signposted as leading to a rest stop. It was mostly empty when they entered... truckers, one or two other well-rugged up drivers... and two men in a corner, one of whom watched their passage across to the counter with intense interest.

"Doyle."

The word was soft, amazed. "As I live and breathe... Constable Ray Doyle."

"Huh?" The other man, large-boned, square faced, looked back at his companion. "Who?"

The first speaker could once have been handsome... sandy hair cut in much the same style as Bodie's, light blue eyes, square-chinned, but the eyes held no warmth, the mouth was a thin slit and a scar ran down one side of the pale cheeks to the chin. The eyes never left the laughing face of Doyle and the voice was as cool as the air outside the cafe.

"The cop who put me away. Doyle. The curly-headed one. Told you about him."

"Oh yeah."

Fred Rider watched Bodie and Doyle carry their plates to a table across the cafe, then looked back at his companion.

"For ten years I had lots of time to think... and here I am, a month out of the slammer and there he is, the one who put me there. This kind of chance I won't pass up."

"You gonna kill him, Freddy?" the big man's tone was light, conversational; simply put, indicating that behind the plain face was a plainer mind. "Oh yes. Not right away though. Ten years of my life gone... there has to be a little repayment first." Freddy nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Doyle. "I want him to think of death as a better alternative than life. I want him to beg for it. I'll enjoy that."

---

Not even thinking about such things as tails, Bodie and Doyle had no notion that the silver Capri was being followed during all of that afternoon's drive. The snow began to fall again towards the end of the day and was a steady sheeting of white by the time they pulled into a small hotel off the main road. Behind them, the unnoticed brown station wagon drew to the side of the road and its occupants watched as the two men moved inside.

"Perfect." Freddy smiled. "The perfect end to a lovely day. A nice cosy quiet hotel." A new thought entered his twisted mind. "I wonder if they've got separate rooms..." The smile became wide and unpleasant. "If they haven't, if they share the same bed, that would make it even better."

The laugh that followed was without warmth.




"I'm sorry, sir, but that is all we have for tonight." The hotel clerk wasn't really very sorry at all; he felt himself to be overworked, underpaid and was half an hour late for dinner.

"Anyone would think it was the holiday season," Doyle muttered, watching the steady stream of people passing the desk, hearing the noise from the nearby busy restaurant.

"It's the storm, sir. We're just that distance from Edinburgh and people don't want to travel on through it. As I say, we do have one room left, but it only has one bed."

Bodie looked at Doyle, eyebrows up. "Well, what do you think?"

"Oh, take it. I'm fed up with driving through this weather. Next time I'll listen to myself and fly."

"Thank you, we'll take it," Bodie addressed the clerk, ignoring his partner's narked expression. They signed the register ("How about Mr & Mrs Smith?" Bodie said, and was ignored), then took their bags up to the room. though small, it was clean and modern and the one large double bed didn't squeak when Bodie dropped his not inconsequential weight onto it. He bounced up and down experimentally and nodded.

"Should do. Don't engage in gymnastic dreams, do you?"

"Not that I know of... none of my ladies have ever complained," Doyle answered, smiling, as he slung his bag onto a chair.

"Well, you get jabbed if you do. I'm very grumpy when woken."

They wandered downstairs for a slow but passable dinner, watched TV or read till after midnight, then slipped into the big bed and were quickly asleep. As wakefulness slipped away Bodie was muzzily aware of Doyle's softly snoring body inches from him, a solid bulk in the dark.

Neither man heard the door open during the still hours of the morning, or felt the blows that sent them into deeper unconsciousness. Wrapped up in sheets like so much dirty linens, they were carried out of the building down the back stairs and dumped into the back of a certain brown station wagon.

It was the beginning of a dark and painful journey.

---

Doyle awoke to discomfort and pain. Pain from his head and wrists, discomfort generally felt all over. He blinked and tried to move, only to realise that a main area of pain was his wrists... he was hanging from them, his back against cold stone, all his weight supported from ropes tied through bolts in the wall.

By stretching his toes he found he could just reach the ground, which gave some temporary relief to his strained arms and wrists and the wrenching pain of his shoulders. Turning his head, he saw Bodie tied in a similar fashion some feet away. He was naked... which Doyle realised was true for himself as well. The cold of the room they were in was biting, the stone against his back like rough ice.

"Bodie!" He called out sharply, and the other man stirred, head slipping around, then a sudden snapping as Bodie came awake and realised his position.

"Bloody hell! What is this?"

Doyle, having seen that Bodie was amongst the living, took time to study their locale. Some kind of cellar by the look of it, dimly lit by a hurricane lamp on a box in one corner, the only entrance a thick wooden door, closed. Cobwebs festooned the wooden ceiling and stained walls and scattered rubbish lay about.

"It may sound banal, but this isn't the hotel room, is it?" Bodie twisted to observe Doyle. "I mean, I'm not sharing one of your kinky dreams, am I?"

"More like a nightmare," Doyle winced as his head rubbed the stone. "A head blow. How about you?"

"Me too. But who... and why?"

"And where and how... I dunno. Can you get loose?" Bodie struggled with the ropes for a few moments, then shook his head.

"No way. Suppose we'll just have to wait till our host arrives."

Which event happened some minutes later. The door came open, creaking on old hinges, spilling white light into the dim room. Two men stood outlined in the light for a moment and Doyle blinked, trying to see. Then they moved inside, and the door was closed behind them.

"Awake at last. I hope you're both suitably uncomfortable?"

The voice tingled memories in Doyle's mind and he squinted, trying to recognise features.

The voice and the face fitted together finally. "Freddy Rider."

"Right. So glad I didn't have to refresh your memory. A fella likes to think he's memorable."

"Oh, you're memorable allright." Doyle's face was a mask of dislike.

"Bodie, meet Freddy Rider... about ten years ago I was fortunate enough to put him inside for such pleasant things a child molesting, drug trafficking, pimping. Freddy's an export on gutters.'

"Tsk, tsk." Freddy smiled slightly, standing some feet in front of Doyle, hands linked behind his back. "I suppose you think that's brave, but I think it's rather stupid. Any sensible man would recognize the nasty situation he's in and try and humour me. Not that it would do any good. Feel free to insult me, Doyle... I'll take every word back in pain. And enjoy doing it."

"You must be totally crazy," Bodie snarled, twisting sideways, ignoring the pain to his wrists. "There's no way you can..."

"Oh spare me the bit about not getting away with this," Rider interrupted. "No-one knows where you are. Your car will be found a burnt-out wreck miles from here, your bodies will be buried in lime ten feet down. Some farmer might find bits in twenty years, but by then you won't really be of interest to anyone. Another strange mystery disappearance."

The eyes that watched Doyle were feral, cold, and Doyle felt a cold lump form in his stomach.

"You belong to me now... to do with as I wish. And I have ten years to repay. You'd be surprised how many interesting ideas a man of my imagination can come up with in ten years. I'll leave you to think about it for a while. Ten minutes. Then I'll start on the hors d'oeuvres."

Rider and his silent companion turned and left the room, closing the door with a final snap. There was the sound of a bolt being pulled, then nothing.

"What a pleasant chap," Bodie said lightly. "Only ten years? How come he wasn't classified?"

"He's sane enough," Doyle said, licking dry lips. "Sick and insane aren't always the same. He's not stupid, either. He'll do what he says unless we can get away." Doyle thought for a moment, then looked at Bodie, considering. "He's more interested in me than you. If you get a chance to run for it... take it. You can get help. I'll do the same. OK?"

Bodie nodded, not really agreeing, but prepared to move if he had to. He was trying very hard not to let his imagination have free rein, trying not to think of the many and varied ways of torture. He'd seen some of those during his mercenary days, and wasn't too happy at the thought of being on the receiving end. Nor of seeing his partner so treated.

"So, tell me about Freddy," Bodie said, twisting his body in an effort to loosen the ropes.

"Nothing much to tell. He's a sadistic pervert with a fondness for little boys and the worst that money can buy. He gives humanity a bad name. I was the one who caught him after a long campaign... my testimony at the trial sealed him. I'd like to know how he found me."

"Yeah. We must be slipping. Three days of R&R and a nutter grabs us like a couple of school kids. The Major won't be pleased."

They both smiled at that, feeble as it was. The cold of the room, along with the joint-twisting position, was beginning to turn both men's bodies numb, and Bodie began to flex his limbs in an effort to bring some life back to them.

After ten minutes the door was opened again and the two men re-entered. Freddy's silent companion carried a number of items that chilled Doyle... as doubtless they were intended to. A whip... a wicked looking knife... a kosh and various other objects in a box.

"Round one, Mr. Doyle." Rider looked across at Bodie and nodded briefly. "They say that punishment of a friend is worse than punishment of self... it's never bothered me, but I'd like to try an experiment... just to test the theory. Sammy here is going to do your friend over, very slowly. He's very good with his hands. Show Mr. Doyle how good you are, Sammy."

Rider moved across to stand beside Doyle, and raised his right hand. Both men recognised Doyle's automatic pistol and Rider pressed it to Doyle's head.

"Sammy is going to turn you around, Mr. Bodie. One stupid move and Doyle's brains will decorate the ceiling. Go ahead, Sammy."

It was incredibly frustrating for Bodie to be manhandled about and not be able to do anything... he had to let himself be turned and re-tied to the wall, aware of the black metal of the gun pressed up against his partner's head, knowing he could easily overcome Sammy, but unable to do so. The pain to come did not so much annoy or worry him as the lost opportunity.

Sam stepped back and collected the whip, fingering its bulky length with large fingers. He looked across at Rider, who nodded. Bodie couldn't see the blow coming, but he could see the reaction in Doyle's face as the whip was pulled back, and then it struck him, tearing the tender skin and making him yelp. The pain was bad, but he determined not to cry out again, and pressed his face into the stone, fighting down the pain as blow followed blow.

For Doyle it was almost as if he himself were being struck... he winced at each strike, seeing the skin torn and bleeding, knowing the pain must be intense, enormously proud of his partner's silence. It meant nothing, of course, for him not to cry out, yet...

After ten strikes Sammy stopped and stepped back, flicking the whip tip to the ground. Rider bent down close to Doyle, face shadowed in the gloom.

"There's more to come. We're just warming up here." He smiled, then moved across to the box on the floor. Doyle turned quickly to Bodie, seeing the closed eyes, the trickle of blood down from the corner of the tightly clenched lips.

"Bodie?"

Bodie's eyes opened and he looked sideways. "Bloody hell! Is it still there?"

"What?"

"My back. Feels like a disaster area."

Doyle grinned, a weak thing that faded quickly. "Whatever it takes, I'll get you out of this."

"Oh, ta. Try and make it before he thinks of something else, will you?" Bodie wiped dry lips then spoke softly. "You know, in the mercs, when a guy was in this kind of trouble, his mates, well, they... helped him out of it. If things get too bad and you get the chance...'

"Forget it." The whisper was harsh. "I'm not into mercy killings. We'll get out of this... ok. OK?"

Bodie nodded, then quieted as Rider and Sammy turned back to them.

"Recognise this, Doyle?" He held up a metal rod about a foot long, with a handle attached and a cord leading from the handle.

"It's a soldering rod... wouldn't expect you to know it. I've plugged it in and it will shortly be very hot. When it's reached its optimum temperature it's hot enough to melt metal." He casually reached out and laid the rod against Bodie's back.

Bodie could no more retrain the scream that erupted than he could have torn the stones from the walls. Doyle shuddered at the smell of burning flesh and hot blood, sick fury making him tear at the ropes binding him. Rider pulled the rod back and studied the effect with clinical interest. "Yes, it's almost right." He handed it to Sammy, then turned back to Doyle.

"In a moment I'm going to untie you and take you into another room. Sammy is going to stay here, with that, and his knife and a walkie talkie. If you cause me any trouble, or if Sammy doesn't like what he hears from the r/t, then I've told him to push that rod up your friend as fast as it'll go and leave it there. And if by some means you manage to overpower me silently and get back here, he also has orders to push that very nasty knife straight through your friend's spine. Is that clear enough for you to understand?"

Doyle looked into Rider's eyes, hatred an almost visible aura around him, and nodded slowly. Rider waited a moment, then turned to Sammy.

"Test it again for me, Sam." The big man moved forward and Doyle jumped. "What do you want, for chrissake!" Rider turned back to him. "I want to hear you tell me you understand." Doyle watched the rod hovering inches from Bodie's back. He felt cold fear inside him, as cold as the air around him. Helplessness was something he wasn't accustomed to. "I understand, I understand, now are you satisfied!"

"For the moment." Rider cut the ropes around Doyle's wrists and ankles, allowed him a moment to stumble upright on numb feet, and pointed to the door. Doyle moved forward silently, with Rider behind him. He stopped at the door and nodded to Sam. "Don't fall asleep now, Sam."

"I won't, boss." The big man pulled a box against the wall a few feet from Bodie and sat back in patient silence to wait.

Rider led Doyle out of the cellar, up a flight of stairs to what was obviously the ground floor of a very old farmhouse, then up another flight. It had once been a fine house, but now the wallpaper was peeling, the doors were old and worn and it had obviously not been cleaned for a long time. Only the room they eventually came into was clean... a bedroom, with a plush double bed, an old four-poster seen in so many historical classics with its beautiful carved upright posts and hanging drapes. To one side a fire had been lit and was burning warmly in the grate, and curtains hung long and still in front of snow-encrusted windows. Doyle stood in front of the fire, grateful for its warmth, however brief, and watched as Rider took a small box from the bedside table, resting the walkie-talkie beside a table lamp. He smiled at Doyle, then opened the box.

Inside, resting on black cloth, was a small packet of crystals and a syringe. Doyle had worked long enough with the Drugs Squad to recognize heroin, and his eyes flickered up to Rider's.

"Good stuff, this. Finest clean heroin, not cut or spiced. A shame to waste it on you, but it'll serve its purpose so I suppose it isn't a waste."

Doyle's teeth locked together and he shook his head. "No. Not that stuff. I don't..."

"Arguing with me already? Remember Sammy. Anyhow, it needn't worry you.

As I say, it isn't poisoned, and the effect is really quite pleasant... so I'm told."

As he prepared the syringe Doyle looked around, searching for a weapon,

for something to help him. There wasn't anything, wasn't any way he could get out, not without causing Bodie's death in a way he didn't want to contemplate. As Rider turned back with the syringe, Doyle spoke one word.

"Why?"

Rider looked puzzled. "Why? Oh, why the heroin. It will make you... responsive. Relaxed, easier to handle. Also very sensitive to physical stimulation. I want you to experience this in the most positive way. Give me your arm."

After a moment's frozen hesitation, Doyle held out his right arm. Rider pinched a blood vessel near the elbow and pushed the syringe in, ignoring the wince and automatic flinch, carefully pushing the plunger all the way in. When it was empty he withdrew it and placed it back on the table.

"It will take a minute or so to be effective... you'd better sit down or you may fall down."

Doyle sank to the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around himself to control a sudden chill as Rider walked across to the fire and began to undress. When he was as naked as Doyle he turned back to watch the drug's effect.

The world was becoming strangely blurred and hazy for Doyle... as if the edges were softening on a strange three dimensional photograph. He stopped noticing the cold, became aware of his own heartbeat, disloyally steady and even. Sounds became sharp, then hazy again, and the cold lump in his stomach gradually melted as he forgot what it was that was worrying him. The drug, pumped through his system, spread like a warm rush of air into his mind and he seemed to float in a soft warm fog.

He hardly heard Rider's approach, nor felt the hand that pushed him backwards onto the soft mattress. Lips were pressed to his ear and a hot voice reverberated in his head.

"I hated you... but I wanted you, too. That was the worst part. Wanting you and hating you. I forgot a lot in that cell, but never you. For the little time you have left, you won't forget me...."

Doyle tried very hard to focus on reality, to stop himself from sinking into a pool of lassitude, but his mind and body refused to cooperate. Hands ran down his chest and over his stomach to stop at his thighs. His legs were pushed apart and those same hands began to stroke him, to touch and fondle tender flesh that tingled, but far off, as if they belonged to someone else. Then, abruptly, it was all very real... all sensation became centered on the pressure of Rider's body against his and he was ridiculously uncoordinated, he couldn't escape, although a small voice howled inside for release. Whatever time later it was a mouth was pressed to his, his lips were forced apart in a wet hot kiss and he moaned, the only sound of rejection he could make. the lips were shortly replaced by something else, something hot and hard that thrust into his throat, an insistent voice telling him to lick and suck and he did, tasting salt and throbbing pressure. Then it was gone and he was turned onto his stomach, with those same hands running down his back to stop at his arse, stroking and squeezing, pushing something under his stomach to raise him... then there was a pressure, a weight on his back and a tearing hardness within him. It hurt... there was pain, a reality to concentrate on, and he struggled, trying to push away from it, but the weight continued to press him down. Then he was pulled backwards, pressed to a warm chest, arms wrapped around him to stroke his own body and he shuddered, lost in sensations both old and new, aware of many things, but most of all that the honest fantasies of his life had been perverted and that was the greatest hurt of all.

How long it was, how often it happened he couldn't know, but eventually the bizarre effects of the drug wore off and he slid into sleep, a deep dark sleep, that was a kind of escape from things his mind didn't want to remember....

---

"....Doyle.... Ray.... Ray... can you hear me... wake up!"

Bodie's voice finally penetrated the fog and Doyle awoke. He was back against the wall, wrists wracked by the ropes, shoulders aching from being stretched for what seemed like decades. He blinked gummy eyes open and looked around. His partner was in the same place, face pale and dirty, eyes wide with that same pain and another... the pain of fear and uncertainty.

"Thank God. I thought you were dead! You've been hanging there for hours and I couldn't wake you and they wouldn't tell me..."

"Alright... It's alright Bodie, I'm ok."

Bodie studied the familiar face urgently. "What did he do to you... I couldn't hear anything, bloody Sammy had the r/t pressed to his ear the whole time. Are you sure you're ok?"

The memory suddenly flooded back, and Doyle's already pale face whitened. A rush of shame and anger and disgust filled him, but he didn't speak, didn't make a sound. Using unknown depths of control, he took a deep breath and smiled weakly.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Take it easy."

"But what did he..."

"Forget it! He didn't... hurt me. Just leave it. Where are they?"

It obviously wasn't everything, but Bodie knew Doyle wouldn't speak about it then. Time to find out later... maybe.

"Dunno. Rider brought you in a couple of hours ago, then they both left. Sleeping probably... Look... I've managed to loosen one of the ropes a bit. I think I might be able to get out of this."

Doyle looked up at Bodie's wrists. They were both bloodied from constant struggling, and he couldn't see any loosening.

"If you think you can... it might be our only chance. Mine are too tight."

Silently, grimly, Bodie began to pull at the rope. As he did, blood began to seep down one wrist, but he made no sound, except for a steady deep breathing as he clenched and unclenched his hands. Doyle knew the hurt must be awful, but said nothing... just watched the steady movement as one hand slid from the bloodied rope. Bodie licked the torn wrist like an animal, then looked back at his partner.

"Now, we'll just wait for our hosts' return."

"Can you do it?" Normally Doyle wouldn't ask such a question, but this Bodie was not his normal full-strength very capable partner.

"Just get either of them in range and I'll do them... don't you worry."




As time passed, a dragging hurting time that didn't allow sleep, Doyle fought with the memories, tried to sort fantasy from reality, and was honest enough with himself to admit that most of what he remembered was real. He could easily recall being used at least three times, remembered Rider moaning on top of him, remembered thrusting hips and slick bodies and... he groaned, turning his head to the stone, ignoring the concerned look from Bodie. Rider had known precisely what he was doing, had used the euphoric effects of the drug to manipulate him, torturing him in a way that was better than pain. Shame and humiliation had a sharper edge than any knife, and they cut places a knife couldn't reach.

When the door opened hours later he couldn't hide the revulsion, the hate that blazed from his eyes as he looked into Rider's smiling face.

"Morning. I don't know about you lads, but I'm feeling fine. Really fine. Round two promises to be even more fun than round one. Sammy has always wanted to be a doctor... he's going to practise on your friend Bodie... no anesthetic I'm afraid, but you can't have everything." Rider chuckled at his own wit. "In fact, when Sammy's finished, Mr. Bodie won't have anything!"

Ignoring the voice, Doyle slid his head around to Bodie and watched in frozen fascination as Sam moved towards him, knife extended. When he was inside a yard from Bodie, there was a flashing movement and Sam was dead, his neck snapped in a rapid moment as Bodie's arm flashed out and around his neck. Bodie caught the knife before it fell from the suddenly lax hand and slashed upwards at the other rope.

For a moment Rider stood still in astonishment, then he belted for the door. Bodie flipped the knife over onto its tip and threw it in one fluid movement, and it embedded itself in Rider's back. He stumbled and fell, fingers clutching the dirtied floor in a twitching spasm.

Bodie pulled the rope holding his other wrist and the few remaining strands came loose with a snap. He moved towards Rider on weak ankles, pulled the knife loose and cut Doyle down.

"Remind me... never to get in a knife fight with you," Doyle said, rubbing sore wrists. "Now, I'm bloody well freezing. Let's go find some clothes."

They left the cellar, stepping over Rider without concern, not noticing how he watched them climb the stars through half-closed eyes. When they had gone from sight he pulled himself up and made his way slowly after them, a dark wet patch seeping down his back.




The two men searched through the farmhouse, eventually finding some old worn clothes that served to keep out the cold... their own clothes had obviously been destroyed, though Bodie did locate his shoes, hidden under a pile of firewood. Sitting in the kitchen, he pulled them on with satisfaction, watching Doyle stuff his feet into an overlarge pair of work boots.

"Now all we have to do is get that station wagon of theirs to the local cop shop." His voice wasn't the normal strong assured tone and Doyle looked across at him anxiously.

"You don't sound too good. The back?"

"No.". Bodie stood, then bent over, clutching his stomach. "Sammy hits hard... he let me have a few punches last night, just for exercise. A couple of broken ribs, I think."

Doyle moved across to help him stand, seeing the controlled look, the flinch of pain as he tried to walk.

"Let's get out to the car... I'll be happy to see the last of this place."

"Next time you say 'let's take a plane, Bodie', remind me of Scotland." He laughed, then thought better of it. Limping, he allowed Doyle to help him towards the front door.

Behind them, Rider made his torturous way through the house to a nearby store room. Clawing open the door, he switched on a light and dragged himself across to a gun rack. He pulled down a large hunting rifle and checked it slowly, then moved out and down the hall towards the open front door.




Outside, the two men were moving towards the car through the heavy snow, the noise of the wind obscuring any sounds behind them. Rider brought the rifle up slowly, its weight growing more cumbersome in his weakening hands. The sight wavered, then steadied, and with a muffled curse he pulled the trigger... once, then swung it, stumbled, and fired again.

Two things happened almost simultaneously. Doyle staggered, cried out sharply and pitched forward into the snow... and the car erupted into flame as the second bullet caught its fuel tank. Bodie was thrown sideways by the force of the explosion, rolling through the snow and staggering upright, going for a gun he didn't have. He looked back toward the house in time to see Rider sinking down, the rifle falling from his already dead hands. But Bodie wasn't concerned with Rider... he stumbled across to Doyle, dragging him up, checking for a pulse. He felt a slick warmth from where his hand rested on Doyle's back and the curled head rolled limply against his other arm.

Ignoring the slicing pain in his side he dragged Doyle up into his arms and staggered back to the house, nearly stumbling over Rider's body in his haste. Once inside, he moved down the hallway till he came to a room with some old sofas and parlour chairs, and propped Doyle into one of them.

There was a pulse... weak, erratic, but a pulse, and he said a silent prayer. Grabbing a cover from a neighbouring chair, he tore it into strips and padded up the seeping wound.

Some minutes later Doyle came to consciousness, hazily aware of pain and a great weakness. He looked up into worried blue eyes and tried to speak.

"The bastard shot you... blew up the car too. I can't tell how bad it is, but I'll have to walk out and find a doctor. I don't want to leave you here, but I have to try."

"... the storm..." Doyle whispered, amazed at the lack of power in his voice. "... you'll never make it... could be miles."

"Didn't tell you about my cross country boys' scout medal, did I," Bodie said, grinning. " St. Bernard has nothing on me, mate. I'll be as quick as I can. You stay still and keep the pad pressed into the chair. I'll be back with the Doctor and a bottle of whisky in no time."

"Don't drink it all yourself," Doyle said, eyelids wavering as the world started going dim and spotted.

Bodie squeezed Doyle's shoulder briefly, then headed off out of the house as fast as his much-abused body would allow. Doyle watched him go as sight faded and he lapsed into unconsciousness.




It should have been day, but for all that it seemed like night. The wind was a howling knife of cold that cut through the thin clothing, the snow a blinding cutting wall that pushed him backwards a step for each two he took forward. He had no idea where he was, no idea where help was to be found, and only the thought of his partner left behind kept him going.

For all he knew he was walking in circles, he had long since lost any sense of direction. In the middle of settled rural Scotland, yet it could have been the moon... no lights, no people, just hills and trees and fences and snow... and more snow. And it was so cold.

He stumbled on, carried forward by some inner flame of determination that kept him going when all he really wanted to do was lie down and rest. That would be good... to sleep. The snow looked soft and if he could just stop for a moment... no, to stop was to die, he'd be damned if he'd lie down and die here... probably half a mile from some town. He'd survived forced marches through the Angola wastelands, he could manage a few miles through wildest Scotland.

The betraying ground suddenly gave out under his feet and he tumbled down an incline, yelping as his ribs were bashed by the earth as he fell. He lay in the snow in some kind of ravine, wanting to get up, trying to get up, but not able to...

"I'm sorry, Ray... I tried... but it hurts and I'm so tired and so cold..."

The big road-clearing tractor made its way steadily down the road, pushing the snow into heaps at the side through its big nozzles, its driver smoking up the cabin and wondering how he'd got himself into this kind of a job. Other people were home with their feet up in front of the fire, and here was he, involved in a basically useless occupation. In an hour the snow would be almost as thick and the road just as impassable.

Ahead of him, visible in the twin cones of light, he caught sight of a dark patch in the middle of the road he was about to clear. He brought the tractor to a grumbling halt and climbed down, cursing fallen trees and the weather and life in general.

It wasn't, however, a fallen tree. Stumbling forward, he turned the body over and tore off his gloves, feeling for a pulse. Alive, but barely, Lord knows how long he'd been lying there freezing. Hitching both arms up, he dragged the unconscious Bodie back to the tractor and up into the warm cab. After wrapping him up in his own fine wool rug, he pulled of the mic from his cab and called up his base.

Bodie came awake slowly, aware of a stinging tingle in all extremities, groaning as circulation returned to frozen feet and fingers.

"Here, take a drink of this, laddie... it'll warm you up..."

For a moment he thought it was Cowley... no, Cowley didn't pour his best Scotch down other people's throats. The warm fire seemed to penetrate right down to his toes, and he opened his eyes wide, choking and coughing as he tried to breathe and drink at the same time.

"Och, steady boy, yee'll waste ma good drop. It's not something I can claim for on National Health."

Suddenly very aware, Bodie looked around. "Who.. where...?"

The older man smiled and patted one cold hand. "You're in the cab of ma tractor. I've radioed for an ambulance... a little longer and you'd be a frozen lump of meat. How'd ye get out there anyhow?"

Sitting up abruptly, and wishing he hadn't, Bodie held an aching head and shivered. "Doyle... must get to Doyle. My partner... he's been shot. He's in a farm house. About three miles from here. Do you know it? It's old."

"What's that you say? Someone shot." The old man puzzled over the words for a moment. "That sounds like the old McClelland farm. Over the hill a ways." He looked across at Bodie. "Are you sure you're not imagining this... frostbite does funny things..."

"No!" Bodie's voice was a snarl. "Get this thing moving. Now!"

"Alright, alright, you don't have to shout." Turning, the driver set the tractor moving, while Bodie fumed at the slow pace. Ten minutes later the tractor turned off the road and into the farm house, to stop beside the burnt-out wagon. Bodie stumbled out of the cabin, and staggered across to the house, with the driver behind him.

Doyle lay where he had left him, curled up against the corner of the couch... but still and pale, and for a moment Bodie knew again that fear he had felt when he had found Doyle dying in his flat. He dropped down beside him and felt desperately for a pulse... as he found it, Doyle's eyes flickered open and saw Bodie looking down into their confused green depths.

"Back... so soon? ... quick..."

Bodie turned back to the driver. "Get that ambulance here... tell 'em to step on it!"

The driver went back to his tractor, and Bodie lay down on the couch beside Doyle, wrapping the woollen blanket about both of them, drawing the cold body into his arms.

"Hang on Ray... they'll be here soon. Just hang on."

Doyle turned his head against Bodie's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"OK... getting sick of this place..."

Bodie stayed very still, holding Doyle, keeping the cold away, till the ambulance came to take them both to the hospital.

---

Three weeks later they were returned to light duties, with Bodie's back nearly healed and ribs patched, and Doyle's shoulder wound nearly recovered. Externally, things seemed much as before, but Bodie sensed a change... and it all emanated from his partner. There was a lack of contact, the special rapport between them was gone, and although he didn't know the precise reasons for it, he suspected that it had something to do with what had happened during that night when they had been separated. His vivid imagination supplied all kinds of reasons, but he had voiced none of them to anyone, and Doyle seemed disinclined to talk.

Another week passed, and Bodie had a visit from Doyle's current lady friend, a lovely blonde called Karen. Bodie liked Karen... she was smart, very pretty and equipped with all the right accoutrements. She was also very fond of Doyle and he had seemed to like her. They met in the pub after work, at Karen's request, and she talked to Bodie over a glass of wine.

"I can't understand it." Blue eyes matched blue, and she shook her head sadly. "He's stood me up on two dates, hasn't returned my calls, refuses even to talk to me. Bodie... I can understand if it's over, but I didn't think Ray was the kind to just walk out without even saying why."

"He isn't." Bodie stared down into his half empty beer mug. "Look. I don't pry into Ray's private life, but he's had a rough time lately... that could be the reason for it. As I say, I don't pry... but I'll talk to him if you like. At least get him to call you."

"If you wouldn't mind." Karen sighed and smiled. "Even if only to say goodbye. Maybe it was my fault... I'd at least like to know."

Bodie nodded, eyes unfocused. "OK. Leave it with me."

The next day Bodie met Doyle for lunch in the canteen. No longer the cheerful joking Doyle so well known, but a silent detached man who fiddled with his drink and ate half a sandwich with total disinterest. Taking a deep breath, Bodie launched himself into unknown waters.

"I saw Karen yesterday."

Doyle's eyes flickered up. "Lucky you."

"Hey, that isn't nice. She's a good person. At least you could talk to her, tell her why..."

"Look, why don't you just mind your own business. Since when did you start concerning yourself with my private life?" Doyle's eyes were hard, his tone brittle, and Bodie screwed his face up into a frown.

"I think it's time we talked. There's something wrong here and I don't like it much. I'm your partner, but it hasn't felt like it much lately. Why don't you talk it out to me..."

"There's nothing to talk about." Doyle made to leave, and Bodie laid a hand on his arm, only to have his hand pushed away.

"Leave it, Bodie. Just leave me alone." Bodie watched his partner's stiff figure walk away, then stood to follow. He increased his pace till he was walking alongside, ignored but determined.

"You want a scene out here in the hallways, that's fine by me, but we're going to talk this out."

Doyle swung around, eyes wild. "What do you want from me, Bodie? True confessions? A life story? There is nothing I want to tell you... except to get off my back."

"Maybe Cowley can find out more than I can," Bodie suggested softly, and was surprised at the suddenly still stance of his partner. It was a dangerous stand, the look of a man ready to strike. He waited, ready to deflect any attack, but the stiffness evaporated and Doyle's eyes dropped.

"OK. You want to hear it. You can tell Karen I'm sorry, tell her it isn't her fault. I just can't... handle... any relationships now. I don't want to get involved with anyone." The voice was controlled, but to one familiar with it, somehow unsure. Bodie opened the door to their workroom and Doyle stepped inside. He waited till Doyle was sitting behind his desk, then crossed to his own.

"Your report never said what went on after you and Rider left the cellar." Bodie watched Doyle intently, noticing the sudden flush, then equally sudden control. "I didn't have a watch, but it must have been an hour. I think that hour's important... it's not in the report, though."

"So tell Cowley, not me." Doyle didn't meet Bodie's eyes, but looked down at tightly clenched fists.

"I didn't think it was my business... but I do now. It's tearing you up and hurting our partnership. That gives me a right."

"Right!" Doyle's face was pale with anger and he came slowly upright. "You don't own me, Bodie, and I don't have to tell you anything!"

Bodie looked across into furious green eyes and felt a cold hurt in his heart. He remembered times of danger for both of them, times of suffering and pain shared, remembered a journey through the snow with his body a mass of pain and his mind filled with the concern to help someone who meant more to him than... but pride came forward, and he straightened and nodded his head slowly, eyes like blue ice blades.

"Fine. If that's the way you want it." Without a sound, Bodie turned and walked out.

Doyle stared unseeing at his paperwork for an hour, then went to search for Bodie, mentally cataloguing all the things he wanted to say in precise unemotional order. Bodie wasn't anywhere in the warren of offices, and eventually he went to Cowley.

"Yes, come in Doyle. I was just about to send for you." George Cowley looked up at Doyle with intent eyes, and motioned him to a chair. "I've just been talking with Bodie. As his partner, you should be made aware of the fact that he's just handed me his resignation.

Doyle had been expecting anything but that. Had he driven his partner so far, then, that he would give up the work that meant so much to him... to do what?

"I don't know what's happened between you two," Cowley said, "but I won't see ma best team broken up without knowing why. I couldn't find out from Bodie... that laddie can be closed mouthed when he wants to be. So you'll tell me... and now, Doyle."

Doyle looked across into pale blue, very determined eyes, took a deep breath and began to speak.

---

By the time Doyle climbed the steps to stand before Bodie's door it was late evening and the rain had turned to snow. He hesitated for some minutes, then, annoyed at his own cowardice, he reached forward and pressed the doorbell. The security speaker clicked on and Bodie's voice came through, distorted from the small speaker.

"Who is it?"

"Me. Lemme in."

"Fuck off." The speaker went dead. Doyle glared at the speaker for a moment, then leant on the buzzer. After ten seconds the door flew open and a dishevelled Bodie pushed his hand from the button.

"Will you cut that out! Got a headache!"

Doyle had never seen his partner look quite so dissipated. His hair was mussed, his clothes in disarray and he smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Let me in, Bodie. We've got to talk."

"Talk. Hah! We can argue out here. It's all we've been doin' lately anyhow." The tone was aggressive, if a bit unsteady, but Doyle refused to allow a drunken Bodie to put him off. He pushed past and into the flat and after a moment's half-drunken consideration (he couldn't storm off... it was his flat) Bodie turned and followed Doyle in, slamming the door behind him.

They sat staring at each other across the living room for a few minutes, till Doyle smiled abruptly and shook his head.

"You're a mess. I came over here to apologise and get you to take back your resignation to find you pickled. And it isn't even 7.00 pm."

"I am not pickled. Merely slightly spliced. Anyhow, whadayou care? And stop grinnin' at me... this is serious!"

"That's the problem," Doyle said, still smiling. "We've allowed ourselves to take all this much too seriously. No, I've allowed it. Took your quitting to make me realise that. So here I am, apologising. Take back the resignation."

Bodie blinked, and gathered his wandering wits together. "Why?"

Doyle shrugged and fiddled with his watchband. "I'd have to break in another partner. One who could put up with my moods. Anyhow, I don't know that I'd want to go on if you quit."

"Didn't seem much point staying." Bodie said as he sank back into the plush of the couch. "You wouldn't talk, I couldn't get through to you, and it looked like getting worse instead of better."

"I know." Doyle stopped, not quite knowing how to say what needed to be said. "Bodie... that night... he raped me."

For a moment Bodie thought the drink had truly pickled his brains, then he sat upright, shocked and angry.

"He what!"

"Rape. Pumped me full of horse and... well, what I said." Doyle stopped, marshalling his thoughts. "It wasn't just that... though God knows that was bad enough... it was... the side effects."

"You mean the drug?" Bodie struggled with his logical facilities and Doyle shook his head.

"No. Look... there is no way I could have enjoyed what he was doing to me, even with the drug, but... I felt... I might have. And that really threw me. Christ, Bodie, does that make me queer? That's what's been pulling at me these last few weeks. He used me, did it to humiliate me and out of some private perversion of his own, but under all that I felt that in different circumstances, with someone I cared about... I might really like it. It took me a few days to admit that, even to myself, but it's true, and it's driving me nuts."

"I'm sure," Bodie began slowly and with great deliberation, "that if I were sober I would have all kinds of clever things to say to you about sex only being dirty if you want to make it that way. However, I'm not terribly sober and I think you should stay the night and sober me up... and look after me, in case I trip in the bathroom and break my neck or something..."

He looked across at Doyle under lowered lashes and smiled, warmly, if a little blearily. Doyle flushed and licked his lips.

"Bodie... I don't think... Look, I just came here to apologise and explain and I think I'd better go now."

"Sure. Do what you like. Just remember - I'm not Freddy Rider. I'm your partner and I... love you." Bodie coughed and looked astonished. "God, I must be drunk. I'd never say that sober."

"I'll say." Doyle grinned, even as his heart began thumping unnaturally fast. "Dr. Bodie's prescription for a troubled sex life seems a bit drastic - operation successful, but the patient didn't recover. You really don't know what you're saying, mate."

"Course I do. I've always been the adventurer type... a thrill seeker I think it's called. You said you thought you might enjoy it... Well, why don't we both find out if both of us would enjoy it. After all," he finished, cheerfully, "What else are friends for?"

"Doyle laughed then, and shook his head. "Crazy. You're totally crazy. If I was mad enough, I'd take you up on it... just to call your bluff."

Bodie suddenly felt very sober, and satisfyingly excited. "I do mean it." He stood and walked across to sit beside Doyle, who watched him suspiciously. Moving slowly, Bodie wrapped one arm around Doyle's shoulders and took Doyle's hand in his free one.

"I'm not much at expressing things like love and such... but you and I have a very special friendship... at least I hope we do. And sex, as an old friend of mine once told me, is the ultimate act of friendship."

"This old friend," Doyle said, fighting to keep his voice calm, "was it a he or a she?"

"What's the difference. Friend ain't a generic term." Pleased with this superb piece of logic, Bodie half turned, and moved closer to his partner, gathered him into a warm firm hold and kissed the full lips very gently. there was a shocked lack of response and he pulled back, eyebrows climbing.

Doyle's eyes were very wide and bright in the dim light, and his face was a picture of indecision. All his old prejudices told him that this kind of thing was unnatural, but a very small voice inside was telling him that it was only unnatural if he pictured it so.

"I don't know... maybe we shouldn't..."

"Relax. I'm not going to force you to do anything... we'll know soon enough. All you have to say is stop, and I'll stop. OK?"

Doyle nodded and Bodie bent his head, pressing his lips against Doyle's pulling him closer till they were pressed against each other. Hesitantly, Doyle wrapped his arms around Bodie and willed himself to relax. There was no instant explosion, no flashing heat that he'd known with some of his women, but it felt... good, comfortable and very secure. He was being held by someone he trusted above all others and the kiss, though not arousing, was pleasant in a very different way. He realised he was still coiled up inside, frightened of what he might do, how he might react, that it would take time for that deeply buried tension to disappear.

Bodie, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. He had no fears about vulnerability, and the feel of the hard strong body in his arms was so very different... this wasn't a woman, this was his own capable, deadly, much-loved partner, who was possessed of a will and drive as strong as his own. It would be a challenge, a competition of a sort, a little war of psychological dominance, and the thought sparkled through him like champagne.

After the kiss, Doyle let his head sink down against Bodie's shoulder, and Bodie ran his hand through the clean-smelling mass of auburn curls. Gradually Doyle felt himself relax, realising in an easy way that he liked being held by Bodie, and liked holding him in return.

"Well, I guess I must be queer after all," he said at last, leaning his head back to look across at contented blue eyes. There was a brief hard squeeze from Bodie and he shook his head.

"Enough with the queer, if you don't mind. Gays don't fancy the opposite sex. When you can admit to finding women repulsive, then you'll be gay. Call it being hedonistic."

"What a lovely cop-out term." Doyle laughed, and Bodie knew fresh amazement as he looked into the truly beautiful face of his partner. "I must remember that. Hedonistic."

"Well, your hedonist of a partner needs a trip to the bathroom," Bodie said, as he dislodged himself and stood. "Both for pointing Percy and personal hygiene. I stink of booze and need a shower. I'm very heavy into conservation... feel free to join me if you want a stimulatin' wash."

Flashing his eyebrows up and down and chuckling, Bodie headed for the bathroom. Doyle sat still for some minutes, marshalling his thoughts and emotions. It was now or never, crossing of the Rubicon time. He could either make up an excuse that wouldn't be believed by either of them and retreat, or carry on.

"What the hell!" He muttered, standing and stripping off the white woollen coat. "I do need a wash."

The bathroom was steamy when he stepped in, wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. Bodie was standing in front of the frosted mirror, his face covered in shaving cream, also wearing only a towel. Feeling surprisingly embarrassed, Doyle stripped off the towel and slipped into the shower cubicle, standing under the warm water gratefully. As he reached for the soap a hand intercepted him and he felt a hard hand slide up his back.

"Allow me." Bodie's voice came from behind him, close to his ear. He looked over his shoulder into Bodie's eyes, and smiled. After a moment Bodie began to rub his back and shoulders, spreading soap liberally and humming to himself. "Turn around so I can do the front." Doyle turned, slowly, and Bodie proceeded to lather his chest and stomach, eyes intent on his work.

The warm slippery stroking eventually began to create an effect, as Doyle felt his stomach muscles tremble. He closed his eyes and leant his head back, letting the hot water flow over his hair. Bodie slipped his arms around Doyle's waist and moved against him, pressing his lips to the wet throat, tasting soap and warm flesh.

"My back... needs cleaning too... you know. Fair's fair."

Opening his eyes, Doyle took the soap from Bodie and began to stroke the broad back, awkward though it was from that angle. He was not unaware of Bodie's body pressed against his, wet and warm and trembling slightly under his hands.

"I'm clean enough," Bodie whispered, running his finger over Doyle's chin. "Let's go dry and discuss this further."

The simple act of getting dry was made more erotic by the circumstances and Doyle slipped into one of Bodie's dressing gowns, feeling as if every inch of skin was tingling, electrified by internal currents that he didn't even realise were there. Bodie followed him out of the bathroom, aware of warmth and excitement and a strangely unsure current underneath it all, a small voice that told him to be very sure, that the next step really was a doozy.

The big familiar double bed became alien territory for Doyle... a place

he knew well but now just a little... frightening. Bodie sensed his tension and made his movements casual, no mean feat considering his own thumping heart. Bending, he flipped the quilt back and puffed up one of the pillows, then turned off all but the small bedside light.

Wordlessly, Doyle slid under the quilt and watched as Bodie slipped in beside him. They lay together in silence for some moments, then Bodie turned on his side, rested his head on one hand and grinned unevenly.

'Well... here we are."

"Yes... here we are."

Doyle's sense of humour came bubbling back and he laughed abruptly, turning to face his partner. They both laughed then, a release of tension and, still chuckling, Bodie gathered Doyle to him, slipping one arm under the still damp head.

Casting inhibitions and moral foibles to the winds, Doyle leant forward and pressed his lips to Bodie's throat, feeling the strong pulse beat beneath his tongue. At the same time Bodie's hand began to rub over his back and down to his waist, stroking the firm flesh until it warmed beneath his hand. Doyle moved his lips around the soft throat and up to the ear lobe, then Bodie turned his head and their lips came together, tongues touching and moving together in a warm wet kiss.

Doyle shuddered in reaction and pulled his mouth away, gasping for air and feeling the first flutterings of desire. Bodie slipped his hands around and pushed Doyle onto his back, one hand slipping over quivering stomach muscles, making his partner gasp and squirm. Bodie felt hands on his back, felt them run down to his own buttocks and clench the skin abruptly as he touched the sensitive skin at Doyle's thighs.

It was a voyage of discovery for both of them and time seemed to stand still in the quiet darkened room. Their own thudding heartbeats and quickened breathing became dominant, sensory inputs overwhelming intelligence, physical sensation pushing down barriers and bringing them together in a timeless dance of love. They, who knew each other so well, discovered new secrets, both their own and the other's. Most important of all, Doyle realised, as a growing acknowledgement amongst the maelstrom of pleasure, was that there was no need to fear such secrets being shown to Bodie... as always, his body was safe with his partner.

As strong hands gently gripped his already hardening flesh, he moaned and closed his eyes... drawing within himself, intensifying the tactile experience... the feel of hard muscle, warm flesh... the quivering response of his own body. Blindly he sought a point of contact, felt lips brush his mouth, hot and dry and tasting of mint. Then, the delightful never-to-be-tired-of sensation of orgasm ripped through him, exploding in his groin and spreading upwards and down, tingling through his body in a convulsive wave of pleasure.

As the world righted itself, Doyle opened his eyes and smiled, feeling so many of the tensions drain away with the last echoes of climax. He realised in something of a blur that they had peaked together, though he only vaguely recalled his own hands caressing Bodie, had felt in retrospect the warm flow across his hand. It had been a rare, magical simultaneous orgasm, the kind of thing that happened rarely during love making and usually only when the couple knew each other's needs precisely.

Affinity... it's called natural affinity. And we've got it...

As he held his still quivering partner he felt an enormous sense of satisfaction, both for himself and for Bodie. To be able to give such pleasure to another was a marvel, a mirror image of receiving.

"Nothing that good can be wrong, can it?" Bodie's voice was unusually soft and quiet, his eyes a sparkle of light in the dim room.

"I guess not." The tension was gone, Doyle's voice was equally at peace.

All at once the physical and emotional stresses caught up with him; he yawned, placed a final kiss on Bodie's throat, turned to slip against his side and drifted into sleep.

In the dark silence of the night, Bodie held the warm relaxed body to him and wondered if the world would ever be the same again. Or if, indeed, he wanted it to be.

---

Bodie woke with the intrusion of a thin grey morning into the room, rolled over lazily and came upright. The bed was empty and he searched around, yawning. No Doyle... and the clothes that had been tossed on the chair were gone.

Feeling suddenly chill, Bodie slipped out from under the quilt and padded across to the bathroom. Inside, leaning up against the mirror, was a note, in Doyle's neat handwriting...

I'm on early obs, probably will take all day. See you tonight at the pub.

No signature, no mention of the night, even humorous, and Bodie felt somehow depressed. In the cold day things took on a strange otherworld feeling, and Bodie wondered whether Doyle was regretting the events of the night.

As he washed and dressed he contemplated those events with growing amazement. He'd been drunk to start with, yes, but not so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing. Not precisely experienced in same-sex love, he had come up against it once or twice in his past life, but not with any great interest and certainly not with the near-frenzied delight of the night before. Over tea and toast he began to sort his feelings out and found, not to his great surprise, that such a relationship wouldn't work with anyone else... only Doyle. Only with someone about whom he cared, and there were very few of those in Bodie's life. He had not desired to make love to any other of his male friends and perhaps he would never have done so with Doyle, had it not been for the peculiar situation they had found themselves in. Doyle had needed a kind of assurance, an emotional buttress against his own deeply-seated sexual insecurity... and he had trusted Bodie to give him that. Trust. Like caring, it was a word that burdened a man, tying him up with invisible but nonetheless irrefutable bonds.

Bodie went through that day's work in an increasingly tense mood... a quiet, serious Bodie that his fellow workers didn't recognise, and tended to avoid. That kind of mood was dangerous, and a dangerous Bodie was best left alone. Cowley noted it, of course, knowing something of the reasons behind it and guessing the rest... those guesses being, of course, totally wrong. It would have surprised George Cowley to find his conclusions so wrong, but Bodie made no move to inform him of his progress with his partner. He wasn't totally sure of just what that progress was.

After work, Bodie dressed with precise care in his best casual attire and went to the local pub to await his partner's appearance. Outwardly he was relaxed, he drank little, even traded compliments with the bar maid. Inwardly he watched the door for each entry and felt another small coil of tension when the familiar form of his partner appeared.

Doyle stood in the door for a moment, looked about, then caught sight of Bodie at the bar. Bodie watched him move across the room with his usual careless grace, saw the relaxed easy expression and forced himself to greet Doyle with a typical light tone.

"Have a nice day?"

"Oh, just peachy." Doyle perched on the stool next to Bodie and ordered

a beer. "No-one showed except Murphy to tell me all about how nothing had happened on the case anyhow. I should have listened to my old teacher and become a plumber. Very profitable line of work, so I'm told."

He looked across at Bodie over the rim of the beer mug. "How about you?" Bodie considered running a similar line at Doyle, then decided against it. Now seemed like a good time for honesty.

"I was bored to death. All I did all day was stare at the report forms and wonder about us."

Doyle nodded slowly and picked at the nuts in the dish before him.

"Yeah, me too. Let's go somewhere quiet and talk."

They left the bar and found a corner booth away from the noise. When Bodie had seated himself and put his glass down, Doyle looked into his eyes, his expression guarded.

"Whether we like it or not, we're not free... neither of us. We're tied to our jobs, tied by convention into our own ways, with our own lifestyles. I just don't know what kind of future there is for any kindof ... relationship. It could destroy what we have now."

Bodie looked into green eyes and swore mentally. 'He's being sensible again,' he thought. 'Looking at the angles, seeing the problems, prepared to throw it all away because it doesn't tie up with his own picture of himself. Sod it, if I'm prepared to live with him and love him and risk whatever follows for the Good Life, why can't he?' Another little voice answered. 'Because he's still afraid. It's a kind of fear he's never known before, and it's always safer to back off. It's time for a little strategy.'

Bodie smiled and nodded. "I wasn't planning to make an honest man of you, Raymond." Bodie was smiling as he spoke, making the tone light, and Doyle allowed himself to relax. "But I think we should discuss this in a slightly more private location. Let's go back to your place."

Having got some kind of agreement from Bodie, Doyle was prepared to give a little, so he agreed, and they left the bar, travelled through the London evening traffic discussing inconsequential matters and were soon ensconced in Doyle's flat, eating one of Doyle's multi-flavoured omelets and drinking cold French wine.

Bodie waited till Doyle had slumped onto the sofa, eyes half-closed from a mixture of physical tiredness, relaxed repletion and emotional release, then slipped next to him, pulled him into his arms and kissed him soundly. Doyle came alert at once, pushed Bodie back and glared at him, eyes furious, expression a storm of mixed anger and puzzlement.

"Christ, Bodie, whatsamatter with you!? I thought you agreed we couldn't..."

"I lied." He took hold of Doyle again, ran his hands over the stiff back and began to kiss any portion of his partner he could reach. "You were, if I may be permitted to express it so, talking bullshit. You want me as much as I want you, and I'm not... going to... let you... break us up... just because... you're skittish."

"Skittish! I'm not a bloody horse!" Doyle became louder, "Stop that!" when Bodie ignored him, Doyle sat very still, and his voice became cold. "You're no better than Rider... if it's not wanted, it's rape."

Bodie stiffened and Doyle knew the most intense flash of shame and disgust at himself he had ever known. He looked across at hurt icy blue eyes and held out his hand.

"God!... I'm sorry... I didn't mean that."

Bodie moved backwards, face pale and eyes furious. "I thought I knew you... I guess I must have made a mistake."

He stood and walked to the door, but made the mistake of turning back. Doyle had stood up to watch him, and he looked into a face of mute appeal, silent apology, repressed pain. He could no more leave then than he could have the night before. Crossing back to Doyle he waited, and in a moment Doyle took his hand and held it tightly between his.

"Sorry. Sometimes I don't like me much. Stay."

They drank some more, talked some more, sorted out the tangled emotions and came to a conclusion - they need not leave CI5, they need not leave each other, and time would tell whether the situation was temporary or permanent. It seemed only natural, then, to go to bed again, to find each other again, to explore further the mysterious fascinating territory of each other's sensuality.

Finally, deep into the night, Bodie pushed them both towards a final consummation that even he had felt a little frightened of... and fear was something Bodie wouldn't live with. While Doyle lay against him, chest to chest, he ran his fingers down the hard back and into the cleft between the cheeks, feeling the tight pucker of muscle. He hesitated, waiting for a refusal, but there was none, only Doyle's increased heart beat felt through the close contact of their bodies. Doyle rolled onto his stomach and felt Bodie move closer to him, felt the fingers slip past the lip of muscle into the tight passage. There was no fear now in Doyle, only a groin-clutching anticipation that ignored reason. He twisted around and squirmed down across the bed, hands running down Bodie's chest and stomach and stopping at the already hard flesh. Resting on his stomach, he took Bodie into his mouth, sucking and licking the swelling cock until it filled his mouth with its throbbing length. Bodie's hand clutched him in a hard grasp and his breathing was ragged and quick. Doyle pulled away, and moved against him, his voice a soft shaky whisper.

'Bodie... I want you to do it... now... please...!"

"God, you don't have to ask twice..." Amazed at the shiver in his partner's voice,

Doyle felt the hard body move on top of him and arched his back upwards. Bodie's finger moved to the ring of muscle, pressed it apart and then Doyle felt the first hard touch of Bodie pressing into him, still moist from his mouth. There was a moment or two of pain, but it soon faded and he felt the incredible sensation of Bodie hard within him. The steady movements quickened and Doyle closed his eyes, felt himself pushed forward by the force of Bodie's thrust and then the first convulsive shuddering as Bodie came, calling his name in a low shaking moan, filling him with hot fluid that pulsed into his body. A moment or two later, in a chain reaction of nuclear proportions, he also climaxed, to collapse onto the damp sheets with Bodie's weight pressing him down.

He had been right after all... social mores aside, sex with someone for whom he cared and who cared for him was a satisfying, delightful experience. Though they both lay between damp sheets, there was no discomfort ... they were warm, contented and feeling very much alive at that moment.

They were both tired, but it seemed too good to sleep at such a time. Doyle tucked himself into the curve of Bodie's body and felt strong arms wrap around him and a head rest against the back of his neck. He twisted one arm loose and reached over to stroke Bodie's head, feeling the perspiration-moistened hair and warm cheek of his partner... lover...

"I'm sure there's something in the non-fraternisation rules about this kind of thing," he murmured, letting his arm sink back down so that it lay across Bodie's.

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe the Cow doesn't recognise this kind of fraternisation. You know, like Queen Victoria... 'we are not amused'. They probably don't do it in Scotland."

"Talking of the Cow," Doyle continued, "Don't forget to cancel that bloody resignation when we get to work tomorrow... I mean today."

"Ah, yes, well..." Bodie's voice took on a strange tone and Doyle twisted around, trying to read an expression in the dim light of the room.

"What does 'ah yes well' mean?"

"Nothing... nothing at all. I'll get on it, sah!"

"Bodie..." The tone of Doyle's voice was totally un-lover-like.

"Well, you see... it's just... the thing is, I didn't... actually... resign. As it were."

"What! But Cowley said..."

"Well, it was his idea!"

"You bloody..." Doyle's voice, dripping acid, began to increase in volume, and Bodie was forced to raise his to be heard above it.

"Ease off! I told him we were having problems, you know, and he suggested the best way to get you to open up was to stir up your great big soppy conscience. Seemed like a good idea at the time..."

"Good idea! You rotten heartless sod!"

Doyle swung around and clawed at Bodie who twisted aside. There followed an energetic if mostly blind wrestling match which completely wrecked the bedding, smashed one table lamp and one clock and eventually had them both falling out of bed. Bodie conceded defeat when Doyle used a very ungentlemanly hold on him and was dragged back onto the bed complaining of cold vitals.

"You ever do that to me again, Cowley or no Cowley, and I'll see you'll never need to worry about cold vitals again. I'll bloody geld you!"

"That's nice, that is," Bodie grumbled as he turned the main light on and remade the bed with new clean sheets. He climbed back into the bed as Doyle appeared from the bathroom, pulled the quilt up under his chin and watched his partner move across to the kitchen for a drink of water. All the words that had been spoken, the sensible logical words about independence and the Job coming first and convention didn't seem to mean so much now. They were a part of each other, like it or not, and he wondered whether either of them would ever find the same kind of total satisfaction elsewhere. Only time would tell. Bodie still wasn't certain whether he wanted it this way but he had a strange whimsical notion that fate had other ideas.

When Doyle re-appeared Bodie regarded him with puppylike innocence from under the quilt and restarted the previous discussion.

"A lovely way to treat someone who's only concerned with your welfare. Do you threaten all you lovers that way?"

"Only the stroppy ones." Doyle climbed under the quilt and slid over, trapping Bodie under him, staring down into bright blue eyes... blue eyes that looked back into contented green ones. "Lovers, huh. Is that what we are?"

"Must be. Exhibits all the symptoms, he does. Be still my beating heart."

Bodie smiled happily as Doyle gave one of his marvellous choking laughs. They settled against each other into a relaxed warm clinch, content to be so, with the knowledge that the half was whole, the circle complete, at least for now.

Tomorrow could look after itself. They would look after each other.

-- THE END --

---

Joy at the start
Fear in the journey
Joy in the coming home
A part of the heart
Gets lost in the learning
Somewhere along the road.
--Along the Road - Dan Fogelberg