The Professionals Circuit Archive - Chances Change	   Chances Change

 

by PFL 

 
 Sequel to Waking from Dreams

 *For Amanda, because she asked.*


 The autumn sun was sinking swiftly to the horizon as Doyle pulled into a
parking space near Bodie's flat. Even before the drive back to London, it
had been a long day, beginning with the death of the girl at the hotel,
ending with the uncertainty of Murphy's words to him: *You've a chance,
sunshine--don't cock it up.*

 He had tried to think of other things as he and Bodie had traded the
driving, neither of them in the best of shape. He had thought of Parker,
of Madame Ojuka, of the likelihood of rain tomorrow, but always the words
had come back to him, along with the uncertainty. There had been no
mistaking Murphy, or the bleak determination in his eyes, but...why? And
what in bloody hell was he going to do?

 "Drink?" Bodie's voice startled him, although it was merely the customary
offer.

 A glance revealed the weariness riding Bodie, despite the kip he'd
grabbed when Doyle had taken over the driving. His face was pale, bones
seemingly sharply defined, and his eyes were shadowed, edged with red.
Grieving for the loss of Murphy? Had it gone that deep?

 "Doyle?"

 "Yeah." He shut off the engine, jerking the key out of the ignition.
They'd left the hire car at HQ, where they had picked up Doyle's Capri.
Bodie's car was already being repaired; it had been taken to London before
they'd finished with Ojuka and Avery. Doyle reached to open his door, but
Bodie's hand on his arm stopped him.

 "You couldn't have saved her, Ray."

 Susceptible, as always, to that particular tone in Bodie's voice, Doyle's
heart twisted. From habit, he hid his reaction. "Yeah. I know. Let's go."

 They jogged up the short flight of steps to Bodie's building, Doyle
waiting while Bodie dug around in his pockets for his keys. Doyle had been
to see the on-duty medic at HQ, as ordered, and he and Bodie had filed
their reports before leaving. They were cleared for two days off; two days
to recover. Murphy, Doyle had noticed, was due back at HQ by early
evening--should be there now--and then was on standby. Was Murphy
regretting his decision?

 They went up to Bodie's flat, the same routine as a week ago, a month
ago, the same as always after a tense op. While Bodie set about making the
flat more welcoming, Doyle retrieved two beers from the kitchen. He placed
one can on the table in front of the sofa for Bodie. Popping the top on
his own can, he carried it to the window, drawn by the gathering darkness
outside.

 *You've a chance, sunshine--don't cock it up.*

 His words to Murphy, his promise of non-interference, returned to him. If
Murphy and Bodie had broken up there'd been little hint of it from Bodie.
But then, he always did hide the pain that cut deep, hid it even from
Doyle. And this, perhaps above all else, Bodie would keep to himself.
They'd never spoken of Murphy, or of any of the men Bodie saw. Nothing
since the day, years ago, when Bodie had asked if he was interested in
men, and Doyle had said no.

 Murphy and he had had an understanding, sod it, had worked out their
respective roles in Bodie's life. What the fuck was this, then?

 Bodie returned and settled on the sofa, opening his beer. "Parker worked
you over, did he?"

 "Started to." Doyle pulled the curtain across the window. There was
nothing unusual in Bodie's voice, no clue to his mood.

 "I hate babysitting jobs."

 "You and me both, mate." Doyle turned towards Bodie. "Cowley might not
have appreciated your impatience this morning, but I did."

 Bodie smile was hidden as he lifted his beer. "He'll thank me when he
remembers how expensive it'd be to replace you, sunshine."

 "Oh, yeah, I can see that's an overriding concern of his." Doyle drank
from his can. "Do you reckon Ojuka's chances of getting help from us have
improved?"

 "Because of the embarrassment of Avery's involvement?" Bodie shrugged.
"Who knows? His chances weren't great to begin with. Are you going to sit
down? You're making me nervous."

 Doyle walked from the window to the centre of the room, setting his can
on the table. He had to know where things stood, what Bodie was thinking.
"I'm hungry. Fancy a takeaway?"

 Bodie was slow to respond, and Doyle's stomach tightened. "I thought you
might want an early night."

 "You've got plans?" Christ. Bodie didn't know. "Louise, is it?"

 "Maybe. Nothing definite." After a moment, Bodie raised his eyes to
Doyle.

 It was like being scorched by a sudden flame--warmth and pain flaring in
equal measure in Doyle. He knew that look, understood its import. Bodie
would stay for as long as Doyle needed him, if he wanted it. It was an
unspoken agreement between them, working both ways, but more often used by
Doyle. And it was an unnecessary test tonight. "He's not coming."

 "What?"

 "Murphy."

 With quiet precision, Bodie set his beer can down. "What are you on
about?"

 "I know, Bodie. About you and Murphy."

 "I see."

 It had been years since Bodie had closed that quickly against him, had
shown Doyle so little expression on his face. A slow burn started, deep in
Doyle's gut. So, it had gone deep with Murphy. "There's more."

 Rising smoothly to his feet, Bodie stepped away from the sofa. "What?"

 "He's ending it."

 Bodie laughed, a sharp sound, like gunfire. "No, he's not."

 "Yes."

 "Look, Doyle, this isn't--"

 "Shut up. He told me."

 Bodie narrowed his eyes. "Murphy talked to you about him and me? He knew
you knew?"

 "Yeah."

 "Good of you to let me in on it." Bodie stalked to the drinks cabinet and
reached for the whisky bottle. Doyle stayed silent. "I don't know where
you get your ideas, Doyle. Yeah, Murphy and I are together. So what? It
doesn't concern you." He put the whisky bottle back down without pouring a
drink.

 Doyle took a breath before he spoke. "I'm not making this up. It's over."

 Bodie swung around, brushing a glass off the cabinet. It shattered
against the floor. "Like hell. He wanted me tonight. I spoke with him this
morning."

 Doyle folded his arms tightly, and leaned against the wall. "Call him."

 "What the fuck are you playing at, Doyle?"

 "Call him!"

 Without a word, Bodie walked past him to the telephone. He dialled,
listened, then slowly hung up the receiver.

 "You know he should be home by now."

 Bodie refused to look at him. "Delayed."

 "Call Control."

 Bodie pinned Doyle with his eyes. "You spoke with him for less than two
minutes!"

 Seeing the confusion under the anger, Doyle breathed out. He unfolded his
arms and moved forward a step, but stopped at Bodie's expression. "I don't
know what was in his mind. I thought...it was working."

 "Did you want it over?" Surprised, Doyle's eyes locked with Bodie's, and
he knew he couldn't hide his own ambivalence. "Damn you." Bodie turned
away, heading for the door, grabbing his jacket from the sofa as he passed
it.

 Doyle followed quickly. "Bodie!" He put a hand on Bodie's arm, stopping
him at the door. Bodie flung him off. "All right, all right. Just...call
Control."

 Bodie stared at him, his face cool and remote, his eyes not. Doyle held
his ground. With a curse, Bodie shoved past Doyle and returned to the
telephone. His back to Doyle, Bodie dialled the number. Doyle looked down
at his clenched fists, forcing his fingers to loosen and relax.

 "Yeah, this is 3.7. Can you give me 6.2's status? We were meant to be
meeting. He did? I see. Yeah, no, I'll straighten it out with him myself.
Cheers." Bodie set the receiver down.

 Doyle gazed at the floor as the silence stretched.

 "How long?" Bodie's voice was flat.

 Warily, Doyle raised his eyes, but Bodie was still turned away from him.

 "How long have you known?"

 "From the beginning."

 Bodie turned round. "It wasn't your concern."

 It took a moment before he could answer. "No. But you are."

 Bodie's eyes flickered, in a face as still as a marksman's hand. "Murphy
volunteered for a courier run. He won't be back for two days."

 Doyle nodded, feeling awkward and more uncertain than before. "Bodie...."
But Bodie had already moved again, shrugging on his jacket as he reached
the door. Doyle grabbed Bodie's wrist. "Where are you going?"

 "Does it matter?"

 "Yes." Bodie stood before him, arm muscles bunched, but he didn't break
free from Doyle's hand. Doyle, nevertheless, tightened his grip. "You want
to get drunk? I'll go with you. You want to pick a fight somewhere? I'll
watch your back. I'm not watching you walk off alone." This wasn't going
to be a repeat of the days after Marikka's death.

 Bodie looked through him, radiating indifference, but Doyle felt the
muscles under his hand ease slightly. "Suit yourself, then. You can
drive." Bodie wrenched open the door and walked out. Doyle locked up the
flat, then followed.

 Receiving no direction from Bodie, Doyle drove them to a quiet pub he
knew in Whitechapel. They ordered bitter at the bar, then found a secluded
table, tucked into a windowless corner. Bodie drank his beer and
contemplated the scarred surface of the table. Doyle studied the table
menu.

 "This place doesn't change much." Doyle tapped the menu when Bodie
glanced at him. "Same food they had years ago, when Syd brought me here.
This used to be his local. Do you want something to eat?"

 Bodie shrugged.

 "I'll buy."

 Bodie looked at him. "Feeling guilty?"

 "Nah. Feeling pity."

 For a moment Bodie's reaction hung in the balance, then he shook his
head, his expression sour, but there was real, if reluctant, humour in his
eyes.

 Smiling, Doyle went to the bar to order. Maybe he'd read it wrong; maybe
they'd get through this more easily than he'd thought back at the flat. It
was just the shock of it--there would be time to work everything out
smoothly.

 Returning to the table, Doyle set out to distract Bodie, poking the
conversation along whenever it looked to be flagging. Bodie was agreeable,
rarely volunteering a subject, but willingly following Doyle's lead. When
dinner arrived, Doyle relaxed even more in the face of Bodie's enthusiasm
for the sausage and mash, onion gravy and peas. Feeling more optimistic
than ever, Doyle splurged and bought treacle tart for pudding.

 Finishing the meal at last, Bodie drained the rest of his beer before
standing. "Thanks, mate."

 Doyle rose quickly to his feet. "Where are we going?"

 Bodie turned to him, and it was like lights up at the end of a
performance, all illusion shattered. "Enough of this, Doyle."

 Tension snapped through Doyle, as before a fight. "Where?"

 Bodie raked him with dismissive eyes, but at least there was life in his
face again. "You want to come along? Want to hold my hand?"

 "I said as much."

 "Fine." Bodie's eyes were challenging. "Soho."

 Doyle kept his face expressionless. "Right. After you, mate."

 It was a little less than an hour before they arrived at a crowded pub,
after a nearly silent car ride. Rather grimly, Doyle followed Bodie into
the smoky pub, filled with Friday evening revellers freed from day jobs.
Doyle tapped Bodie on the arm.

 "Your round."

 Bodie nodded and disappeared through the crowd, heading towards the bar.
Doyle snagged a small table with two chairs, glaring at the young blond
man who had been about to appropriate one of the chairs for his table. The
man shrugged an apology and edged away.

 Doyle sat down and looked around. From Bodie's expression he'd
half-expected to be led to a gay pub, with Bodie on a proving prowl. But,
no, Bodie wasn't going to be that reckless, at least not this early in the
evening. Or maybe it was just that Bodie knew it would take far more than
that to be rid of Doyle.

 And why not just leave him on his own? God knew that he'd refused Bodie's
company in the past, when he'd wanted to be alone; had walked away from
him. But Doyle also remembered the times he hadn't walked away. And, more
than that, he'd learned the price they might both be asked to pay, if he
left Bodie alone in this kind of mood. He hoped Murphy was having as
lovely an evening as he was.

 Bodie came back carrying two pints. With a sinking sensation, Doyle saw
the frenetic energy in Bodie's face, the tiredness gone as if it had never
existed. Bodie sat down but his eyes restlessly scanned the crowd, drawn
to wherever the noise was loudest.

 Doyle felt his own weariness like a heavy blanket surrounding him,
smothering his movements. Every bruise Parker had inflicted was making its
presence felt. His wrists, too, were stinging under the gauze wrapping.
Jesus, what a day.

 *You've a chance, sunshine--don't cock it up.*

 Bodie's heart, given over to him. But he'd always had Bodie's heart. That
was just the problem. He wished Murphy would shut up.

 "Posers."

 Doyle glanced around at the disgust in Bodie's tone. "What?"

 Bodie nodded to his right. "Darts." An untrustworthy gleam stole into
Bodie's eyes. "Do you want to play?"

 Doyle took a look at the two men near the darts board--office workers by
their looks--loudly proclaiming their victory over another team,
celebrating with their friends. He sighed. "Any point to it?"

 "Come on, be a mate. You and me against them?" Bodie bounced to his feet,
glass in hand. "We'll clean up." He smiled broadly, then sauntered towards
the darts board.

 "As long as that's all we do," Doyle muttered, following him.

 They won the first round, thanks to Doyle's steadiness. He looked upon
Bodie's erratic play with a jaundiced eye, and, sure enough, in the second
round Bodie was consistently lousy, and they lost--much to Bodie's vocal
dismay.

 One of the men they were playing--Paul--jostled Doyle's arm. "He always
carry on like that?"

 Doyle watched Bodie playing to the vocal crowd watching the match. "Yeah,
he does."

 "He might do better to concentrate on the game."

 Doyle's eyes turned to Paul. "Thanks for the advice."

 Paul leaned a little closer, the beer on his breath assaulting Doyle.
"You're not bad. Haven't seen you here before?"

 "Not my usual part of town. Your turn."

 Paul smiled at him and went to take his place before the board. Bodie
returned to Doyle's side.

 "Shall we move in for the kill?"

 "Had enough fun?"

 Bodie's eyes glittered at him. "Not nearly."

 They won the third round decisively; Bodie now making no secret of his
abilities. Doyle bowed out of the demanded rematch, leaving Bodie to take
on Paul and his partner on his own.

 Their table was long gone, so Doyle wandered over to the bar, finishing
the pint he had been nursing. He signalled to the barmaid, a pretty
redhead.

 "Same again?" she asked, smiling at him.

 "No. Gin and tonic, please--and hold the gin."

 She rolled her eyes and went to fill his order. Doyle eased an elbow onto
the bar, turning so he could observe Bodie. It looked like Bodie had
decided to keep his skills unleashed. Paul seemed only amused by it, but
Stephen was glowering. Bodie, of course, looked delighted, and he smiled
with singular charm at the girl sitting with Stephen's jacket.

 "30p." The barmaid handed him the tonic water.

 "Ta."

 She looked to be about to say more, but was called away by another
customer. Doyle stayed at the bar, idly watching the crowd. As the evening
had progressed, the happy celebration of freedom had begun to turn
high-spirited, even a bit frantic. Nothing unusual in that, nothing he
hadn't seen before. These were lives lived in numbing routine seeking
release and pleasure, wanting to bury the day's petty problems in
sparkling gaiety, even if it was forced. None of them had been responsible
for an innocent's death that morning.

 Doyle's eyes strayed back to Bodie. Why was it that Bodie seemed more
real than any other person in the crowd? Was it familiarity? Or was it the
aura that hung about him? The sense that a hidden talent for darts was
merely the shallows of all he could offer, if he chose. Doyle noticed that
Paul was now lounging close to Bodie, basking in that aura as they watched
Stephen play. Doyle turned away and lifted his glass to drink.

 "You're keeping an eye on your mate?" It was the barmaid again, pushing
her hair back from her forehead.

 Doyle raised his eyebrows. "Yeah."

 "I saw you playing darts." She smiled. "I've a nose for trouble. You get
one, in this job."

 "Yeah? Copper's instincts, those are."

 She looked at him, a little dubiously. "You're a copper?"

 He hid a smile as he drank. "Was one."

 "Tossed you out, did they?" Her eyes were brown, and beginning to
sparkle.

 "Why do you say that?"

 "I've never seen a copper that looked like you."

 "You'd be surprised. Nah, I'm a civil servant these days. A quiet
citizen."

 "With a nutter for a friend."

 He shrugged. "It keeps life a little interesting. Mind you, he's a civil
servant, too."

 "Poor lad. That would explain the desperate air."

 He grinned. "And what about me?"

 "You're drinking the tonic water. Lost a bet, did you?" She turned as
another customer summoned her. Leaving a sweet grin with him, she crossed
to the other side of the bar.

 Doyle looked around for Bodie again, and watched him throw a dart. From
the cheer, he gathered it was another bull's-eye. He turned back to the
bar, contemplating his glass.

 "Tonic water isn't much to drown your sorrows in." There was a soft smile
in the barmaid's eyes now that drew an answering smile from Doyle.

 He shrugged. "Responsibility's a bugger."

 "Ah, so you tried to end it all, did you?" She pointed to the gauze
bandages.

 Doyle glanced at his wrists. "That? Nah, that was in the line of duty."

 "Oh, yes?"

 "Yeah. There I was, wrist deep in paperwork, with no way out. Came all
over cuts."

 "Dangerous work. So, who's looking after you, then?"

 "Me." Bodie was suddenly there next to him, slinging an arm around
Doyle's shoulders. "Your round, sunshine." He placed his empty pint on the
bar.

 "Oh, you've decided to join us, have you?" Doyle nodded at the barmaid's
look of enquiry, and she left to fill another glass for Bodie.

 Bodie's face filled with sorrow. "I've been neglecting you. But, look, I
brought you my winnings." He dumped a handful of notes onto the bar
counter.

 Doyle sighed. "Cleaned them out, did you?" He glanced round to see Paul
in close discussion with a smouldering Stephen, while their friends--two
women and another man--urged them to a table.

 "Like taking candy, mate." Bodie happily accepted the pint the barmaid
brought back for him. He then leaned close to Doyle, nuzzling his ear, and
whispering, "Are you planning on fucking her?" Bodie's arm still lay heavy
across Doyle's back.

 Doyle looked up in time to see the brilliant, feral smile Bodie directed
at the barmaid. She turned away, picking up a cloth to wipe down the bar
at the other end. He winced. "Not now." He took another swallow of tonic
water. "Enjoying yourself?" He didn't restrain the acid in his tones.

 Bodie grinned at him as he removed his arm, and rested his elbows on the
bar, shoulder-to-shoulder with Doyle. "If I'm not getting any, then
neither are you."

 Doyle turned his head to eye Bodie. "That's carrying partnership a bit
far. C'mon, let's find a table."

 They found one next to a boisterous group of two men and three women,
obviously celebrating a birthday. Bodie and Doyle were silent as they
settled into their chairs, and Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, letting
the tiredness wash over him.

 Bodie placed his arms on the table, shoulders slumped, as if all the
energy were draining away. "What did he tell you?" After a moment of
silence, Bodie raised his eyes to Doyle's. "Murphy."

 Doyle swallowed. "I told you."

 "Not what he said."

 Doyle hesitated, controlling his inner turmoil. "Does it matter so much?"

 Bodie gazed at him, then looked away. "No, I suppose not."

 Doyle eased his grip on his glass, rubbing a finger along the top. "He
said...something about not being able to give you all that you needed."

 Bodie was quiet for a long moment. "Well. He's proven that right, hasn't
he?" Abruptly, he drank down the rest of his beer, then stood. "I'm going
to the bog. Order us another, will you?"

 Doyle watched Bodie stride away, reading the tension in Bodie's body as
easily as he read it on the job. More alcohol wasn't going to
help--Bodie's controls were already slipping, and he could be a dangerous
drunk, if the mood took him that way. Nevertheless, Doyle made his way to
the bar and ordered another bitter. It was only a half hour or so until
closing, and then he'd find a way to get Bodie back home.

 When Bodie returned, seating himself at the table, Doyle handed him his
drink and announced it was his turn for the loo. Bodie nodded, but as
Doyle stood, he grabbed Doyle's arm to pull him close. "Go home, Ray. You
know what it is I want tonight."

 Doyle stared into turbulent blue eyes. "Yeah. I know. It doesn't matter."

 Bodie's expression flickered, changing to something Doyle didn't
recognise. "Doesn't it?" For a moment the facade faltered, and Doyle saw
an aching hunger in Bodie's eyes that seared him before it was gone. Bodie
let go of his arm. "I doubt it. Go on, then."

 Shaken, Doyle took a step away, only to be stopped by Bodie's voice.

 "And hurry, or I'll start without you." Bodie smiled, sharp and brittle.

 "I'm sticking with you. Remember that." Doyle turned and walked away.
There was no one else in the loo, as Doyle used the facilities. He gazed
at himself in the mirror while he washed his hands, trying to read his own
mind, to find some answers. The safest course would be to get Bodie too
drunk to resist, and bundle him off home. But that would take more time,
perhaps too much. The next safest would be to find a willing bird for the
night, one who could handle Bodie in this mood. But he didn't fancy the
search, or the complications. The rash course? Take what he knew he could
get.

 He met his eyes in the mirror. And that wouldn't be protecting Bodie,
would it?

 Methodically, Doyle dried his hands and headed back to their table. The
barmaid intercepted him as he entered the main room.

 "Time to rein him in, love." She nodded her head towards a restive group
by the far wall.

 Doyle took a look and saw Bodie, a wide smile on his face, confronting
the darts man, Stephen. Sitting next to Bodie, glaring at Stephen was the
blonde woman Doyle had assumed was Stephen's girlfriend. Swearing under
his breath, Doyle moved quickly towards the group.

 "And what if I do?" The girl was speaking to Stephen, strident voice
rising high. "It's none of your business! Shove off!"

 "You heard her, sunshine." Bodie smiled into Stephen's face. "Piss off."

 Stephen went for Bodie just as Doyle arrived.

 Doyle blocked Stephen's blow, then shoved him towards Paul and another
man. "Keep him." He then rounded on Bodie. "C'mon, we're leaving."

 "Oh, c'mon Ray, I was just starting to have some fun!" He turned towards
the girl and gave her a quick kiss.

 Doyle grabbed Bodie, hearing the struggle behind him. "Fun's over, Butch.
Move!" He shoved Bodie towards the door, and got him out of the pub. The
street outside was wet, the air cold after the fug of the pub. Doyle
breathed it in, feeling his head clear with the shock of it.

 Bodie was quiet beside him, hands shoved in to the pockets of his coat.
Doyle pushed him in the direction of the car park. "Did you even want
her?"

 "She'd do."

 "Yeah, until morning. Then what?"

 "What the fuck does it matter, Doyle?"

 Doyle shrugged. "Nothing." He turned in to the narrow alley that led to
the car park. Bodie kept walking on the street. "Oi." Doyle walked back
out to join Bodie. "Car's this way."

 Bodie's voice was mild, but nevertheless implacable. "Look. You've done
your duty, all right? I'll see you in the morning." Bodie started off
again, but Doyle grabbed his arm.

 "You're drunk, mate. Let's go home."

 Bodie jerked his arm free. "What is this, Doyle? Guilt?"

 "For what?"

 "You tell me. You're the one wanted it over between Murphy and me."

 Doyle took a step back. "I didn't."

 Moving in close, Bodie crowded him. "Didn't you? I can tell when you're
lying, Doyle. Bothered you, did it?"

 "I didn't interfere!"

 "Then why was it he wanted me one moment and then, after speaking to you,
he ended it? Why?"

 "Ask him! Hell of a lot of influence you think I have, mate. It's between
you and him."

 Doyle's anger seemed to cool Bodie, to give him footing to resist. "I'm
going to find someone to fuck, Doyle. Got it? So push off." He turned
away.

 With a growl of pure frustration, Doyle grabbed him and propelled him
into the alley, the very ease of it proving that he was right about
Bodie's condition. Bodie swung on him, but Doyle jabbed him in the gut,
his prods keeping Bodie moving until they were far enough into the alley
to be away from the street. He pushed Bodie against the wall. "And you
think you're capable, do you?"

 "I'm not that drunk."

 "Drunk enough. Do you think I don't know where you're headed? A bird
won't do for you tonight, will it?"

 Bodie was utterly still for a moment, then he lashed out at Doyle,
shoving him off balance, and off his feet to the ground. "So what? You
know what I am!"

 Doyle pushed himself to his knees. "Yeah. I know what you are. You're the
bloody fool whose back I guard!"

 Bodie glowered at him, but then he stretched out a hand to pull Doyle to
his feet. "All right. But, you know--"

 "Yeah, I know! Your balls are in bloody knots because you're hurting and
you want to prove something. Fine! But you're not in any shape to do it
tonight--not after last night and not after all that booze. And if I have
to shoot you to keep you out of it, I will. Don't bloody push me!" Doyle
glared at him, then he bent to wipe off the mud on his jeans.

 A long moment passed. "Cowley's not going to like it if you shoot me."

 "Sod Cowley."

 Bodie grinned. "All right."

 "You can do without it for one sodding night!"

 "All right! Anyway, it's three nights."

 Doyle squinted up at him, then straightened. "I might've known. I thought
you looked shagged out when Cowley called us to meet Ojuka."

 Bodie looked disgustingly self-satisfied. "Yeah." Doyle turned away, but
Bodie touched his hand, stopping him. "Thanks."

 Doyle shrugged. "Can we go now?"

 "Yeah." But Bodie didn't move, just stood there against the wall, and his
eyes closed.

 Doyle moved closer to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I do
understand. For what it's worth." He didn't know what else to say, there
was too much tangled up inside him to get anything else out.

 Bodie opened his eyes and, somehow, Doyle found his fingers reaching to
Bodie's cheek, his thumb brushing his jaw. Blinking, his breath catching,
Doyle snatched his hand back. Before he could turn away, Bodie captured
his hand, pulling Doyle back. "Ray?"

 Doyle tried to shake his head, to take a step back, but Bodie's fingers
were on his face now, stroking gently down and over his lips, before
falling away. Doyle shivered, but he didn't pull back. His heart took up a
painful, hammering rhythm.

 Bodie was staring at him, eyes dark, and then he was closer, and his
voice was nothing but a whisper: "Let me...just...." And then his lips
were on Doyle's, cool and soft, and dangerous as a loaded gun.

 Doyle made a sound, of protest--or desire--he didn't know, all he knew
was that it was Bodie's mouth on his, Bodie's hands sweeping to his back,
Bodie's need bringing him close.

 Bodie broke the kiss, but he held tightly to Doyle, and his voice was
ragged in Doyle's ears. "Ah, Christ, Doyle." He kissed Doyle's neck, his
face, his lips again, deeply, before trailing back to Doyle's ear. "I want
you. Always have. Please. Never talk about it again, promise."

 "Bodie--" Doyle gasped as one of Bodie's hands found him, and discovered
his arousal.

 Bodie's voice was sweetly pleading. "Walk on the wild side with me, Ray.
Just once. Together." And then Bodie was kissing him again, gently,
coaxingly, enticing him to surrender. And Doyle found himself nodding, his
own arms reaching now for Bodie.

 At the touch of Doyle's hands, Bodie trembled, and his mouth turned
hungry, demanding, his hands cupping Doyle's bum, stroking there. His
tongue pushed into Doyle's mouth, filling him, promising him. And then it
wasn't Bodie's control that broke, it was Doyle's.

 With a groan he pushed back, shoved Bodie against the alley wall, and
pressed up against him, his hands taking control, his tongue exploring
Bodie's mouth, his hunger searing Bodie with his need. Bodie opened for
him, chest heaving, moans spurring Doyle on. He could feel the hard bulk
of Bodie's cock through his trousers, the heat of him even through cloth.
Doyle made short work of clasp and zip, freeing his hand to grasp Bodie,
to stroke him, to feel the surge of power it gave him to do this for
Bodie.

 One-handed, he opened Bodie's jacket and pushed the poloneck up. Ending
the kiss, Doyle's mouth moved to Bodie's chest, to the nipples that sprang
to life under his tongue. But inborn caution warned him that they were
being too loud, that he had to control Bodie, so Doyle returned to Bodie's
mouth, swallowing the groan as his fingers sent Bodie flying.

 Doyle pulled back, his eyes pinning Bodie to the wall. "Don't make a
sound, you hear me? Not one sound." He waited until Bodie nodded, and then
Doyle dropped to his knees, and he took Bodie's cock in his mouth. True to
his word, Bodie stayed silent, all his muscles tensing for control, all
his reaction expressed in his body. He thrust into Doyle's mouth,
shuddering uncontrollably, fingers clenched on Doyle's head. Remembering
old skills, Doyle accepted the movement, mouth and tongue working for
Bodie, one hand grasping Bodie's thigh, the other cradling his balls,
pushing back towards his arse. Bodie was going to give everything to him,
was going to be his; belonged to him.

 Too wild, too hungry for any restraint, Bodie gave it up to him in scant
moments, emptying himself into Doyle, with Doyle finding his own release
in the devastating completeness of Bodie's surrender. Collapsing, Bodie's
cock slipping from his mouth, Doyle braced his hands against the ground as
he struggled for breath. He could hear Bodie panting above him as he leant
against the wall. To himself, Doyle smiled.

 A hand settled on his head, quivered, and then Doyle gasped as Bodie's
fingers tightened in his hair and yanked his head up sharply. The pain of
it brought tears into his eyes.

 "You've done that before." Bodie's voice was guttural, nearly
unrecognisable, and he was staring down at Doyle, his face a pale blur
until Doyle blinked. There was nothing Doyle could say to that dawning
look of betrayal on Bodie's face, except for the truth.

 "Yes."

 "You lied to me." It wasn't a question, wasn't even a statement of anger,
Bodie's tone too bleak for any emotion. Abruptly, Bodie released his hold
on Doyle.

 Doyle scrambled to his feet as Bodie tucked himself away and zipped his
jacket. "Bodie."

 Bodie just looked at him. And so captured was Doyle by that look that he
never saw the fist that felled him. He didn't see anything except the
emptiness in Bodie's eyes, and he heard only the sound of Bodie's steps
walking away from him, echoing in the alley.

 Doyle stayed where he was, kneeling, waiting for his heart to slow, for
the pain to go away. He shouldn't be finding it so hard to breathe; get
over it. He forced in a long breath, and concentrated on the feel of the
gritty pavement beneath his hands. In his head he went back to the
conversation they'd had so long ago. It had come at the end of a long
night on obbo duty, when they'd known they'd be going in soon to take the
men they'd observed. After checking their guns there had been little else
to do but to wait for orders, and to talk. Bodie, in keeping with the
conversation in the night, had suddenly asked him:

 "You ever fancied a bloke, Doyle?"

 "Plenty of birds around."

 "True. But variety is the spice of life, they say."

 "That's experience speaking?"

 "Yeah. Bother you, does it?"

 "Nah, to each their own, mate. Just not interested."

 It had been an instinctive response, the disinterest a perfected cover
from years on the force. Self-protection was more important than any
fleeting attraction. Looking into the devil-may-care eyes of his partner,
Doyle had made the only choice possible for him, for them, for what they
were building in those early years. He hadn't regretted it. Not until....

 He heard footsteps approaching, but kept his head down a moment longer,
struggling for composure. Only slowly did the meaning of the sounds
penetrate: more than one set of footsteps. Doyle looked up, just as a blow
caught him on his face, sending him sprawling.

 "Well, if it isn't the fairy." Stephen, and one of his friends from the
pub--no sign of Paul. Doyle tried to gain his feet, but a kick landed in
the same place that Parker had hit him. He gasped, curling into the pain.

 "Where's the boyfriend, petal?"

 "Sod off." They were both kicking him now, as he curled into a ball,
trying to protect his head and his gut, trying to move closer to the wall.
They were drunk, their movements lacking in co-ordination, and therein lay
his chance.

 "He should've known better than to leave you on your own. We'll take what
he owes us out of you." Stephen had paused to speak, giving Doyle the
moment he needed to set himself. He grabbed Stephen's foot as it arced
towards him, pulling and twisting him off balance.

 Doyle scrambled to his feet, his back against the wall, his mind clearing
of all save the trained movements he needed to survive. They rushed him,
and Doyle put Stephen down, while deflecting his friend, taking pleasure
in releasing his anger, in giving full rein to his vicious temper. The
fight didn't last nearly long enough, once he'd gained his feet. He shook
his head at the two men who lay groaning at his feet. "Amateurs." Doyle
left them, moving slowly down the alleyway towards the car park. It
must've been closing time, he thought hazily. As he turned the corner at
the end of the alley he heard voices behind him, raised in concern.

 Doyle made his way to where he'd left his car, unsurprised, in the end,
to find it missing. Hot-wiring his car was the least of the possibilities
Bodie might find to punish him with. Wearily, Doyle turned away and
plodded towards the pavement. He'd walk. He didn't fancy trying to find a
tube station or a bus; he didn't want to try to explain to strangers the
condition he was in. Better to walk. He turned right along Frith Street,
aiming himself at Bodie's flat.

 A cold fog had infiltrated the streets as they'd been in the pub,
matching the mood Doyle was in: hiding from others, hiding from himself,
cold pervading all. He kept walking, knowing nothing else to do. Thoughts
circled through his mind, endlessly, exhausting him as he chased them
down, only to find there were no answers, anyway.

 *You've a chance, sunshine--don't cock it up.*

 Doyle choked on a laugh. He didn't think anyone could have cocked it up
quite so spectacularly. Ironic, too, given that he'd rather thought that
Murphy wouldn't make it, that he'd blow it with Bodie. Doyle stopped
walking for a moment at the thought. Yeah. He hadn't expected it to last,
even as he'd seen the...settled contentment in Bodie, in those early
months. He wanted a solid relationship, Bodie did, despite appearances. He
wanted it more than Doyle ever had. Bodie had tried with Murphy; Murphy
had certainly tried with Bodie. So whose fault was it that it hadn't
lasted?

 Doyle set forward again, dodging cars as he crossed streets, keeping a
wary eye on any passers-by. He wouldn't make it through any more fights
tonight, couldn't run to save himself from Macklin. He hadn't a hope of
finding Bodie. He'd been with Bodie longer than with anyone else in his
adult life. Watching out for Bodie was instinctive. Murphy hadn't
questioned it--he must've known that Doyle would protect that above all
else. So, how was it that Doyle had, quite possibly, thrown it all away
tonight in a moment of ungoverned desire?

 He'd lied to Bodie. His first and most successful lie. God, he never knew
he could be so convincing--better than any undercover work he'd ever done.
What was he to have done? Said to Bodie, "Hey, mate, remember that stuff I
told you about not being interested in men? Well, it was all a bluff. How
about dumping Murphy and going to bed with me, eh?" Impossible. Yet he
still felt the gut-searing sting of the moment he had realised Bodie and
Murphy were together.

 But he could've lived with the balance they had found. He'd grown to be
content enough, sublimating his need, knowing his place was secure in
Bodie's life. Murphy hadn't touched that, couldn't touch that--to his
credit, he hadn't tried. Doyle could've lived with that--it was safe.
Stable. Why in sodding hell had Murphy gone and blown it up for all of
them?

 He didn't want to think about Bodie's face when he'd walked away.

 With no idea of the time, Doyle eventually found himself standing outside
Bodie's block. There were no lights in Bodie's window, only one light
shining in any of the windows facing the street. He trudged up the steps
to the entry, and pressed the buzzer for Bodie's flat. Two minutes later
he admitted defeat. So, Bodie hadn't come home. It wasn't hard to guess
where he'd gone, what he was doing to forget Murphy. To forget Doyle.

 Too tired for rage, or even worry, Doyle simply slumped down where he was
in the porch. He'd wait. There was nothing else to do. And if Bodie wanted
it over between them, thought he couldn't work with Doyle anymore, then
it'd be best to know right away. He wasn't going to wait the whole sodding
weekend to find out. Doyle was well aware of his limits when it came to
that particular rack.

 At least he'd been able to touch Bodie once. A small, fierce sort of
pride sparked within him at the thought. Yeah, he'd blown it. Yeah, he
could've lived without ever touching him, but, whatever happened now, he'd
remember the hunger, and the way Bodie had given himself up to him. He'd
remember that.

 Doyle closed his eyes, leaning against the cold brick in the corner of
the entrance. He wrapped his arms around himself, and settled to wait.

 It seemed only minutes later that a voice invaded the peace he'd found.
Doyle struggled to evade it, but the voice was relentless.

 "Doyle. Doyle!"

 Doyle opened his eyes, groggy and disoriented. It was lighter than it had
been, a dim greyness relieving the black of night. And it was Bodie
bending over him, shaking him roughly. "Yeah. I'm here."

 "I can see that." Bodie stepped away from him, his face in shadow. Just
as well--he doubted he'd be able to read anything from Bodie's face. Bodie
seemed contained, well-controlled; sober. "How long have you been here?"

 Doyle looked around, trying to shake his head. "Dunno."

 "C'mon." Gentleness had entered Bodie's voice, and Doyle suddenly wanted
none of that.

 "Where?" He resisted Bodie's efforts to help him to stand.

 Bodie sighed. "My place. I assume that's why you're here." He waited a
moment, but when Doyle didn't move, he reached down and dragged him to his
feet. "Move it, Ray. I'm not putting up with this."

 "Bleeding dictator." But Doyle allowed himself to be chivvied into the
building and up the stairs to Bodie's flat. He thought he might have
fallen, but for the iron grip on his arm.

 All too soon he was left on his own, in the middle of Bodie's living
room. Slowly, he unzipped his jacket while he tried to remember what he'd
wanted to say to Bodie. How he wanted to handle this. All he could
remember was the need to be here. Hadn't there been a plan?

 Bodie came back into the room, still dressed in his green poloneck and
cords. The paleness in his face made the red around his eyes stand out,
the red of his lips, too. He looked like he'd been kissed. Doyle wrapped
his arms around himself, clamping down on any comment. He'd forgotten what
it'd been like before Murphy.

 "You're freezing, Doyle. What were you thinking?" He'd been right, there
was nothing for him to read in Bodie's face.

 "Some sod took my car."

 Bodie stripped the jacket from Doyle. "Yeah, well, there are such things
as taxis, you know. Come on." Bodie started across the room, then swung
back as Doyle didn't move. Stepping back, Bodie grabbed Doyle's hand and
towed Doyle after him. "I know what you're thinking, but you can fight
with me later. Just shut up for now." Bodie pulled him into the bathroom.

 Doyle blinked in the sudden glare, as Bodie flipped the light on.
"Christ, you could warn someone!"

 "What the fuck happened to you?"

 Doyle squinted at the change of tone, trying see Bodie more clearly.

 A hand grabbed his shoulder, another lifted his chin up in the light. "I
didn't do all that. Who did?"

 Doyle knocked Bodie's hand away. "Just leave it."

 For a moment it looked as if Bodie would argue, but then he nodded once,
sharply. "We'll talk about it later. Strip. I'll get the shower going for
you."

 "I can take care of myself!"

 Bodie rounded on him. "Don't push me, Doyle. I've had it up to here with
you. Just shut up and do as you're told." He swung back to the shower,
giving the knob a vicious twist.

 Silently, Doyle shed his clothes, and then allowed Bodie to bundle him
into the shower. He slowly relaxed under the heat, finding he could
breathe deeply again, feeling the cold leave his bones. It didn't seem to
do as much for the cold fear in his heart.

 When he emerged from the shower he found a dressing gown waiting for him.
He pulled it on, then left the bathroom. Bodie came to meet him with a cup
of tea, and the first aid kit. Knowing better than to argue, Doyle allowed
Bodie to guide him to the bed. With closed eyes, he sipped his tea and
allowed Bodie to get on with it. He'd have demanded the same in Bodie's
place, after all--the need to check. A little warmth stole into him at the
thought; stubborn hope.

 "You should be checked in hospital."

 Doyle didn't open his eyes. "They didn't connect that well. It was over
soon enough."

 Silence for a moment, except for Bodie closing the kit. "The bastards
with the darts?"

 Doyle slowly nodded. He just wanted to sit there, drifting.

 The cup was taken from his hand, and then Bodie was urging him to lie
down, to sink beneath the cover of the duvet. Doyle forced his eyes open,
finding the room darkened, the only light seeping in through the blind at
the window. "Bodie?" Doyle struggled to focus.

 "Go to sleep."

 Doyle reached out quickly, fumbling in the darkness, until he found
Bodie's arm. "Stay."

 A breath of air gusted across his cheek. "Where would I go?" Gently, but
firmly, Bodie broke Doyle's hold on his arm.

 "Where did you go?"

 "For a drive. Move over." Doyle shifted in the bed, and Bodie climbed in
next to him. So close, yet as self-contained as in the worst of Doyle's
memories of him.

 Doyle wanted to question Bodie, wanted to make him promise to stay,
wanted to touch him. But there were no reassurances to be had. They shared
the bed, but nothing else, as Doyle fell into the abyss of sleep.

 ******

Doyle opened his eyes, taking a moment to orient himself. Bodie's flat.
And the memories tumbled in with the thought, bright and clear and just as
difficult as they'd been last night. The room was still darkened, although
there was enough light filtering through the blind to make him aware it
had to be well-advanced into morning. Doyle rolled onto his back,
considering. Bodie wasn't in the room, but he could hear distant sounds,
and he could smell bacon frying. So, he had a bit of a reprieve, a little
time to decide on his course of action. It was a pity he didn't have a
clue about what to do.

 Bodie had taken him in last night; start there. Bodie had taken him in,
had tended to him, and had put him to bed. Bodie had kept his distance,
too. Well, he would. Betrayal might be something Bodie was used to, but,
for that very reason, he was less likely to forgive. There was little
choice, then, open to Doyle. He'd follow Bodie's lead, and hope that the
partnership survived, that Bodie understood he wouldn't lie to him on the
job. It seemed a rather frail hope.

 Doyle climbed out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in muscles and
tendons. He stretched to ease the worst of it, then rummaged in Bodie's
wardrobe for clothes to wear. They both left changes of clothing in each
other's flats, never knowing when they'd need them because of the job.
Doyle dressed, went to the loo, and then followed his nose to the kitchen.

 Bodie glanced around as Doyle entered the room, a quick, all-encompassing
scrutiny, then he turned back to the bacon. "Sit down, the toast is
already on the table."

 Doyle sat. Already he was tired of that unapproachable look to Bodie's
face, the careful control he hadn't seen in years. Damn Murphy, anyway.

 "Did you sleep well?" Bodie's voice was perfectly pitched--for a host to
a guest.

 Doyle's baleful glare was wasted on Bodie's back. There was no need to
rub it in, he understood the point. Doyle reached for a piece of toast.
"Oh, yes, the accommodations were delightful."

 "Good, good." Bodie opened the box of eggs on the worktop. "Two eggs or
three?"

 "Two." Doyle slathered more butter on his toast than he had intended.

 "Scrambled or fried?"

 "Scrambled."

 "Tomatoes and mushrooms, or--"

 "Bodie!" Doyle dropped his toast on his plate.

 Bodie turned round to face him, eyebrows raised. "What?"

 "I'm sorry about last night, all right?"

 "Which part of last night?"

 "Bloody all of it!" Doyle gritted his teeth.

 "It was good sausage and mash."

 Doyle ran his hand through his hair. "Look. I'm sorry. You know what
bloody for. It just...."

 "Got out of hand?"

 Doyle sighed. "Yeah."

 Bodie turned back to the cooker, cracking eggs open with expert
precision. "Why did you lie to me?"

 Doyle studied his hands. "It seemed simplest." He darted a quick look at
Bodie, but found only Bodie's back again.

 "You've been with men."

 "In my youth. Before the police."

 "Never since?"

 "No." Strung taut, all Doyle wanted was to find the safest way to
preserve what they had. "Technically, maybe I'm bi, but I prefer women."

 "I see." Bodie poked at the eggs.

 "That's why...."

 "It seemed simplest?" Bodie pulled two plates from the oven, already
containing mushrooms and tomatoes.

 "Yeah." Doyle watched as Bodie added bacon and eggs to the plates.

 "I appreciate your honesty, Doyle."

 "Bodie, dammit, I--"

 Bodie brought the plates to the table. "Eat your breakfast, we're leaving
soon."

 Warily, Doyle looked at him. "Where're we going?"

 "Heaton. We'll do a run, then shooting, then, if we're up to it, a
workout."

 As easy as that? A return to normal?

 Bodie nattered on. "You know we've been lax lately. It's time to put in
some training hours."

 Doyle tried to read Bodie's face, but found nothing there but innocuous
enthusiasm. "All right."

 Bodie nodded, then tucked into his eggs with evident relish.

 It was a start, Doyle thought. A start that felt too much like an end.

 ******

Heaton was an estate, located north-west of London, converted for use by
the security services. As long as there weren't any training sessions
scheduled, the agents were allowed to use its facilities on their own. It
was peaceful and secluded, yet close enough to London to be within easy
reach. They checked in with Sammy at the gatehouse, finding that they'd
have the place to themselves after about two that afternoon.

 They'd changed into tracksuits at the flat, bringing a bag with their
clothes for later. Gradually, during a car ride that had been perfectly
normal, Doyle had talked himself into relaxing, pushing away his disquiet.
This sort of thing he understood, after all--bury it and carry on as if
nothing had happened. Don't bring any of it up again. He and Bodie were
experts at that.

 Bodie set their route and pace for the run, choosing to begin through the
remnants of the formal garden. It was a fine day, warmer than the day
before, with more sun and less wind. Doyle enjoyed the run, although Bodie
seemed content to keep the pace relatively slow and steady. It had felt
good to stretch beforehand, and as he fell into the smooth cadence of the
run, he let his mind drift from all concerns, concentrating instead on
breathing and on moving easily. Beside him, Bodie was running well within
himself, and seemed disinclined to carry on any conversation. They ran
through the gardens, skirted the overgrown rose hedge, then out along open
fields to the wall surrounding the estate, and followed the well-worn path
to the inside of the wall.

 All right, so Bodie knew Doyle was bi. That would cause some difficulty,
perhaps, but Doyle was glad, in a way, to have it out in the open; to have
nothing hidden between them. And for once, Doyle thought, time was his
ally. Take some time to get used to Bodie knowing about him, see how it
went. And maybe he'd learn to be sure of his own heart, to be sure of what
was best for them.

 In a better frame of mind, now that he could comfortably put off any
decisions, Doyle contentedly followed Bodie on a detour to the gatehouse
and to the outside pump that served as a halfway marker as well as a
stopping point for water. They took turns working the pump and drinking,
keeping in motion so that they would be ready to run again.

 "Good day for it, eh?" Doyle stretched a kink out of his shoulder.

 Bodie glanced at him. "Yeah." He splashed some of the water on his face
and the back of his neck.

 Doyle, watching him, suddenly realised what had been niggling at him all
during the car ride and the run. In every way but one, Bodie had been the
same as always. Perhaps a bit quieter than usual, true, but the same
jokes, the same complaints, the same matey punches and companionship. But
there was a difference. Not once, not since that all-encompassing look in
the kitchen, had Bodie given him his full attention. Doyle had expected a
certain distance, a resurrection of walls for the breach of trust he had
caused. He hadn't expected...disinterest?

 "Oi!" Doyle waited until Bodie looked at him. "What have you got planned
after this workout you've promised me?"

 Bodie shrugged. "Dunno. Might make an early night of it." Bodie bent to
retie his trainer.

 No way in hell was he going to be just ignored. Doyle decided on the
direct approach. He walked over to Bodie and nudged him, feeling a surge
of satisfaction as Bodie instantly stepped away from Doyle. Forget about
avoiding the issue. "So, where did you go last night?"

 "Nowhere. Just drove around." Bodie occupied himself with hanging the tin
cup back on the base of the pump. Then he turned back to Doyle and smiled,
the same faintly impersonal smile that he'd been hiding behind since
they'd left his flat. "Shall we go?"

 "Yeah." Doyle took off, running at a faster pace than before. Bodie kept
up with him at first, then gradually dropped back. Doyle slowed his own
pace until they were running side-by-side. Once again, Doyle tried to
force the pace, but again the choice became one of going ahead or staying
with Bodie. Frustrated, Doyle stayed with Bodie. Throughout the rest of
the run, Doyle flung comments at Bodie, and found, as before, that Bodie
cut the conversation short each time. By the time they approached the old
stables, where shower facilities and lockers had been installed, Doyle was
on a short fuse.

 It didn't help that there was nothing to point to as a complaint, nothing
concrete that couldn't be explained away easily enough. But Doyle knew the
difference, and he knew he wasn't going to put up with it for long. It was
dangerous if your partner wasn't fully aware of you, if he wasn't paying
proper attention. It was that very awareness of each other that had made
them into Cowley's top team.

 Doyle sifted through plans in his head while he undressed at the lockers,
trying to find the best way to break through to Bodie without landing
himself in it. Touch had worked at the water pump, but he wanted Bodie to
make the first move, then Doyle would smash through that reserve. Once he
had Bodie's full attention he'd calmly point out the dangers of
inattention. Satisfied with this plan, Doyle put it into immediate action.
He'd always known how to draw Bodie's touch, and, after all, it was for
Bodie's own good.

 Doyle followed Bodie into the communal shower, taking the shower head
directly across from the one Bodie had selected. Bodie's back was turned
to him as he worked a lather into his hair. Doyle turned on the shower,
taking a moment to delight in the feel of water washing away the sweat of
the run. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to expose his face
to the spray.

 "I see the bruises have come up. Not even a mother could love you,
looking like that, Doyle."

 Doyle smiled into the spray. As easy as that; Bodie's voice had not been
lacking in interest. He took his time, running his hands over himself
before turning to reach for the soap. Let Bodie have a thorough butcher's.
Senses alert, Doyle was very aware of Bodie moving across the floor to
him. Soap in hand, Doyle turned round and was suddenly enveloped in
Bodie's arms, Bodie's lips on his, tongue in his mouth, as the water
cascaded down on them.

 Belatedly, Doyle realised his mistake. Brought to aching hardness in a
flash, he remembered, at the same time, his words of the morning. He'd
broken through to Bodie, but at what price? Taken so quickly, he couldn't
control his reaction to Bodie's tongue, or to Bodie's hands on his body.
Bodie backed him up against the wall, the shock of the cool tile an added
stimulus to Doyle. He couldn't stifle the moan as Bodie's mouth left him.

 "Well." Bodie's voice was rough, but it was his again, the one Doyle knew
as his own. "At least I know the truth now."

 Doyle looked into Bodie's eyes and what he saw there stilled his heart
for a moment, before it began to pump again in surging beats. "Wait--"

 Bodie shook his head, his expression almost gentle, if you could ally
gentleness with that hard determination in Bodie's eyes. "It's too late
for that now. The cat's out of the bag. When you offer, I'm going to
take."

 Doyle laboured for oxygen in the short breaths he couldn't seem to
regulate. "What about when you offer?"

 Bodie kissed him, with such perfect control that Doyle felt resentment
flare, along with desire. "I won't be offering. Not like this." Bodie's
hand slipped from Doyle's shoulder, down his back, to his waist and then
to Doyle's cock. Doyle closed his eyes. "You came last night, didn't you?"
Doyle didn't answer, and Bodie's hand slid along his cock. "Didn't you?"

 "Yeah. Bodie--"

 "Thought so." With a final pull on Doyle's cock, Bodie lifted his hand,
and cupped Doyle's face. "It's very simple, Ray. I want it all. Not all
you'll give me--all you are."

 Doyle blinked, struggling to bring his body back under his own control,
his resentment growing. "That's not on offer."

 Apparently unaffected by that, Bodie shrugged. "Too bad." He dropped a
quick kiss on Doyle's mouth, then abruptly pulled away. "Finish up and
we'll go to the shooting range." Bodie swung round and walked away,
grabbing a towel from the hook near the door.

 "Blackmail, Bodie?" Doyle did nothing to hide the bitter anger he felt
growing in him, all his plans in shambles round his feet.

 Bodie turned. "More an evening of accounts. A level playing field."

 "What happened to you taking when I come on to you?"

 For a long moment Bodie studied him. "That won't work. I won't settle.
And you're not the only one who guards his partner, Doyle. Hurry up."
Bodie disappeared into the locker room.

 Thoughtfully, Doyle finished with his shower, pretending not to notice
the way his hands trembled. All right, disinterest wasn't the problem. The
real problem was far more dangerous.

 *You've a chance, sunshine--don't cock it up.*

 Had Murphy been reading Doyle as accurately as he'd read Bodie? *All you
are.* Doyle hadn't allowed a level playing field in years, he didn't know
if he could, even for Bodie. All along, he'd known he'd have to do that,
even before Bodie had demanded it, if he allowed this to happen. They'd
kill each other, otherwise; might kill each other even with it. And he had
a responsibility for Bodie above even himself.

 Doyle found Bodie waiting for him beside the lockers. Bodie was quiet as
Doyle dressed, but it wasn't the blank silence of yesterday, or even the
distant but comfortable silence from earlier in the day. There was an
expectant quality to the way Bodie stood by the door, arms crossed.
Bodie's eyes were on the floor, but Doyle knew he was aware of every
movement. Predator circling predator. He dressed quickly and joined Bodie
at the door.

 "Rifles first?" Bodie led him towards the shooting range, at the far end
of the gardens.

 "Yeah."

 Never as comfortable with rifles as with handguns, Doyle, to his
frustration, found that he was struggling from the first shot. He couldn't
seem to settle, to find the place inside himself that made hitting his
target nearly instinctive. He managed to place his shots correctly, but he
was off-centre on every one. Sourly, he noticed that Bodie was having no
difficulty at all, his efforts all smoothly efficient as he sighted and
pulled the trigger.

 Doyle reloaded. "So, how much of you would I get?"

 Bodie glanced at him, then raised the rifle to his shoulder. "Equal
exchange." He fired. Dead centre hit.

 "Oh, like you and Murphy?"

 "Leave it."

 "I see. There are limits to this 'all'?"

 Bodie rounded on him, and Doyle smiled. Bodie scowled. "No, not like
Murphy and me, all right? Satisfied?"

 Doyle turned towards the target and lifted his rifle. "Yeah." He sighted
and fired, improving on his last shot.

 Bodie's next shot landed slightly wide of centre. He reached for more
ammunition. "Thinking about it, are you?"

 "I didn't say that."

 Bodie merely grinned at him before he finished loading and then did a
clean jerk and fire. Bull's-eye. Doyle bared his teeth at him and did his
best to keep up. He'd show the bugger on the handgun range.

 But when they switched over to handguns, Bodie proposed an alternative to
their usual target shooting. From inside the garden shed, Bodie retrieved
a familiar box of beer cans, half-filled with pebbles to give them some
weight, and well-dented.

 Doyle raised his brows. "What's the wager?" There was something
elementally satisfying about a shootout involving cans lined up on a
fence.

 "Simple enough. Seven cans, farthest fence. You shoot until you miss,
then it's my turn."

 "And the forfeit?"

 Bodie looked at him. "You give me an honest answer to any question I
ask."

 Doyle narrowed his eyes, but he held Bodie's look. "And what if you
miss?"

 Bodie grinned and, inevitably, Doyle's stomach turned over. "You get a
kiss." There was such absurdly optimistic hope in Bodie's voice that Doyle
had to turn away to hide his expression. Daft sod. Playing with fire
wasn't the half of it.

 "Hardly equal, mate." He looked away, then back directly at Bodie. "All
right, I'll do it like this. If you miss, you forfeit one of your
questions."

 "Okay."

 "And we only play with two cans." Doyle smiled.

 "Four."

 "Three, but I go first."

 Bodie hesitated, then nodded. "All right. I'll set them up."

 Sombrely, Doyle watched as Bodie walked down to the far fence, cans in
hand. At that distance they'd both be hard-pressed to make a hit, although
they were both capable of it. He'd always been the better of the two of
them at handguns, but he wasn't shooting his best today. As he tracked
Bodie's progress, Doyle felt a familiar spark along his nerves. There was
no question of the desire he felt, no question, either, of the value he
placed on Bodie's happiness.

 Doyle was checking his gun when Bodie arrived back at his side. Bodie
checked his own gun carefully, then gestured for Doyle to begin the match.
Doyle settled into place, measuring the distance before raising his gun,
one hand supporting his wrist as he aimed. Doyle held his breath, squeezed
the trigger, and watched as the can stayed firmly on the fence. He lowered
his hands, scowling.

 Bodie nodded as Doyle relinquished his place, and he took up the
position. Doyle watched as Bodie took careful aim, seeming to hold still
for an eternity, before he fired. Across the garden, the can skittered off
the fence.

 "Right." Bodie lowered his arm, and turned towards Doyle. "First
question. Did you interfere with Murphy and me?"

 Doyle, expecting something altogether different, blinked at him. "No."
The uncertainty he glimpsed in Bodie's face struck him hard, and he found
himself explaining. "I didn't. You were content, like you were building
something. And, besides...."

 "You were happy yourself with the status quo." Bodie finished the
sentence, his expression unreadable. "But then, if you'd wanted me
yourself, you had years before Murphy came along."

 "Not years. And not exactly happy." Doyle shook his head at Bodie's
doubt. "You know, I'd forgotten that conversation. Or, at least, I never
had any reason to think you were looking for more than quick relief. Not
until Murphy, and not then until I saw you trying to juggle the two of
us." Doyle hesitated. "I could've killed you, for about an hour, after I
realised."

 A faint grin played around Bodie's mouth. "And Murphy?"

 "A bit longer."

 "You could have interfered."

 "Sodding responsibility." Doyle gestured, rather helplessly. "You seemed
happy." If Bodie kept looking at him like that, Doyle was going to gut
him. "Are you ready for the next round? And it's only supposed to be one
bleedin' question!"

 Bodie looked wounded. "I only asked one! Ah, and it's my turn to go
first." He smiled, took his position, fired, and missed. The smile
disappeared.

 Smirking, Doyle shoved him over, took careful aim, and watched with some
satisfaction as the can flew from its perch. He glanced at Bodie and saw
the tightening in his jaw, before Bodie nodded at him.

 "Go on, then. Last can."

 Doyle nodded, then set himself. He glanced again at Bodie, who was
watching him impassively. Doyle turned back, squared himself to the
target, took aim, and fired. He missed, although he'd have sworn it was by
no more than a hair's breadth. Beside him, he heard Bodie release his
breath. "Your turn."

 Bodie took his place, and fired true. Doyle watched the last can topple,
then braced himself before he turned to face Bodie.

 "What are you really afraid of?"

 "The way you feel about me." A quick answer, spoken from the heart.

 Bodie showed no emotion as he nodded, standing there as tense as Doyle
had ever seen him before an op. "Because you don't feel enough in return?"

 "That's two questions." How could he explain?

 "Answer the fucking question, Doyle!"

 He had to push the words out through a constricted throat, and all that
came was a whisper: "Yes." Doyle waited for Bodie's response, waited for
him to say something, do something, anything--hit him, kiss him--anything
to break the frozen silence. In the end, he was forced to do it himself.
"Maybe. I don't know."

 Bodie's expression shifted at that, but it still told Doyle nothing. As
well as he knew Bodie, he couldn't always decipher him. "I can't help you
with that." Bodie flipped the safety on his gun, and tucked it away in his
shoulder holster. He gave Doyle a long, hard look, then he pivoted and
walked away.

 "Bodie."

 "You know where to find me."

 "We're partners!"

 At that, Bodie stopped, and he swung round. After a moment he spoke,
quietly. "That's safe. I'll see you later." Bodie nodded at him, then
turned and walked steadily away.

 Doyle watched Bodie disappear into the garden while, mechanically, he
took care of his own gun. *That's safe. All of you. That's safe.* But was
it? How much of their partnership was made from the undercurrents that had
now been so ruthlessly exposed? What was the price of the awareness
between them, that gave them that extra edge? Could they go back? Could he
stand aside as Bodie found another lover and tried, as he'd tried with
Murphy, to juggle both partnership and love? Others found a way to do
that, why not them? But other partnerships weren't theirs--Murphy had seen
that. All right, but they could manage. Doyle had been willing to try it
with Murphy, to try to share Bodie. Did he want to go back to that?

 No.

 But the alternative?

 They could take it slowly, give it time, see if what Doyle felt stayed
the course. But the only fair way to do that would be with no commitments,
no tying Bodie to him, while he tested himself. So, Bodie would have to be
free to find another, to find someone who could give him everything, and
then they'd be back to where they'd been with Murphy. Unless Bodie chose
the easier route, and cut Doyle from his life. *That's safe.* How long did
they really have as partners?

 *Too late, too late*, it sang along his nerves, bringing him sharply
aware, as in a firefight, as in his partnership. He didn't want to go
back, didn't want Murphy to take back the words he'd spoken. He didn't
want what they'd had. Doyle stumbled forward, then fell into a run,
gaining speed as desperation took hold. Bodie was walking away, would
drive away, would never open this door again. Once rejected, already
betrayed, Bodie could only be certain now that he'd never known Doyle as
well as he'd thought. Doyle had already sliced through Bodie's heart, and
still Bodie had held it out for him to mangle. Daft sod. The fool. No one
would ever look after Bodie as well as Doyle would. No one.

 Doyle flew across the garden, jumped a low hedge to take him round the
other way, opposite to the way Bodie had gone, past the showers, through
the rose garden and to the car park. He ran faster than he had earlier,
faster than he ever had, except for the day he'd chased Bodie with a bomb
strapped to his back.

 It was only as he burst into the car park, and saw Bodie next to the
Capri, one hand on the roof, his head bent, that Doyle realised he had no
idea what he would say. He slowed as Bodie straightened and turned towards
him, his face all guarded impassiveness. Doyle wanted to kiss him. He
contented himself with a touch on Bodie's arm, while he struggled to speak
and to recover his breath.

 "Not going to...nick my car again...are you?"

 "If you will be careless with it." Bodie's tone was completely neutral.

 "Here." Doyle dug a hand into his jeans pocket, retrieving his key. He
held it out to Bodie. "Half my worldly goods, right?"

 Bodie's hand, reaching for the key, stopped, and his eyes met Doyle's.
"It's not yours." He seemed almost unaware of his words, his eyes still
fastened to Doyle's, a smile growing in them that had been too-long
absent.

 Doyle flipped the key to Bodie. "Did you collect our stuff?"

 Bodie caught the key, and now the smile reached his mouth as well. "Uh,
no."

 Doyle sighed and spun around to retrace his steps. "Well? Come on, I'm
not doing it by myself!"

 They grabbed their bags from the locker room, then, at Doyle's
insistence, went back to the shooting range to collect the cans and put
them away in the garden shed.

 Doyle watched as Bodie stored the box of cans away on a low shelf.
"You're not going to let me run rough-shod over you, are you?"

 Bodie turned round, after a final shove to the box. "Very likely."

 "Maniac," Doyle grumbled. "Come here." Bodie obliged and Doyle pulled him
close for a searching kiss, finding at least some of his answers there. He
broke the kiss, but kept his hands on Bodie's shoulders. "Level playing
field?"

 Bodie brought a hand up to cradle the back of Doyle's neck. "You do it on
the job, you can do it at home, too."

 Doyle nodded, scared to death, but in the face of Bodie's courage, what
else could he do? Through surrender, through responsibility, he'd guard
Bodie's heart and let the consequences fall as they may. And, after all,
who better was there to guard Doyle?

 "Let's go home, Ray."

 "I thought you promised me a workout?"

 "I did. If we were both up to it, I said. I think we are." His hand moved
from Doyle's neck in a thorough examination of Doyle's state of fitness.

 "You also said you wanted an early night." Doyle was having trouble
keeping his voice steady. "I reckon I'll join you in that."

 "Good." Bodie kissed him quickly, then pushed Doyle towards the door. "I
was rather hoping you would."

 ******

Later that night, Doyle lay contentedly in Bodie's arms, contemplating
where twenty-four hours had brought them. Twenty-four hours and years of
partnership. They'd gone back to Bodie's flat, picking up an Indian on
their way home. And then, after chicken madras, tandoori king prawns,
pilau rice and poppadoms, they'd gone to bed and Bodie had shown him why
the risk was worth it. From the relaxed sprawl by his side, he reckoned
he'd given Bodie an equal measure.

 "I did wonder if it was rebound," he murmured into Bodie's ear.

 "Eh?"

 "Rebound." Doyle thumped Bodie on his arm to gain his attention. "But,
then again, if that's rebound, I reckon I can live with it."

 Bodie peered at him through one eye, before turning his head into Doyle's
shoulder again. "That's good. I doubt I'm up to proving anything to you
right now." He added, with a bit more energy: "Ask again, in about an
hour."

 "I'm going to be asleep in an hour."

 "Hmm. Poor old man."

 Doyle absently rubbed along Bodie's arm. "I am sorry."

 With a gusting sigh, Bodie rolled over onto his back. "*Now* he wants to
talk." He turned on his side, one hand propped his head up, while the
other settled on Doyle's flank. "For what, in particular?"

 "Not telling you I'm bi."

 Bodie shrugged. "You stopped all that when you joined the police?"

 "Yeah."

 "So you wouldn't have taken me up on the offer."

 "Oh, is that what you were doing?" Doyle looked amazed.

 Bodie punched him. Then he gently traced the colourful bruising on
Doyle's chest and stomach. "Anyway, you paid for that, didn't you?"

 "It had its compensations." Doyle dropped a kiss on Bodie's shoulder, and
then noticed Bodie's stillness and the sombre cast to his expression. With
a slight sense of wonder, he recognised the rights he had now. "What is
it?"

 Bodie looked at him quickly, then away. He stroked down Doyle's side,
eyes following the progress of his hand.

 "Bodie."

 "It's just...you knew what I felt for you, and you knew when I took up
with Murphy. I didn't know about you--"

 "Of course you did."

 Bodie's eyes met his. "How do you mean?"

 "Well, for starters you didn't seem to believe me when I told you, just
this morning, that I preferred women."

 Bodie smiled slightly. "No, but I was rather grateful that you chose to
push me in the shower."

 "*I* pushed you?"

 Leaning over, Bodie kissed him thoroughly. "And very nice it was, too."

 "Sod." Doyle cuffed him, then traced a finger down Bodie's nose and onto
his cheek. "Anyway, before that, too. You knew. You could've pushed it
back then."

 "No. We wouldn't have stood a chance." Bodie frowned a little, as he
studied his hand on Doyle. "What did Murphy say to you?"

 Doyle stilled and then he sighed. "It won't make much sense to you. He
said: 'You've a chance, sunshine--don't cock it up.' It's the same thing I
said to him, when I knew you two were together."

 Bodie grinned. "Ah, the sound of true love." His hand was very gentle as
he caressed Doyle.

 "Do you remember that night after Diana Molner died?"

 "'course. I still have a remnant of the hangover."

 "That's when I reckoned I could live with you and Murphy being together.
You stayed with me that night."

 Bodie shook his head. "Both blind as bats."

 "And grateful to Murphy."

 Doyle leaned forward and kissed Bodie, pushing him onto his back, and
taking his time with the kiss. He knew, from the lack of urgency in the
hands caressing his back, that Bodie believed him now, that they truly did
have all the time that CI5 and Cowley would allow. Grateful, indeed.

 Eventually, Doyle broke the kiss, then began a slow exploration of
Bodie's chest and rib cage.

 "Doyle." Bodie was a little breathless, to Doyle's delight.

 "Yeah?"

 "Did you miss on purpose?"

 "What?" Doyle raised his head.

 "That last can."

 Slowly, Doyle grinned. "Ah, well, that's for me to know and you--Bodie,
watch it, that's--" Doyle scrambled away but was caught by Bodie, his
hands relentless. A moment later, breathless himself, Doyle found their
positions completely reversed.

 "You were saying?" Bodie smiled down at him.

 "Do your worst." Doyle tilted his head back as he thrust into the warmth
of Bodie covering him, sliding their cocks together.

 Bodie took him up on the invitation. And later, when Doyle would have
told him anything, Bodie appeared to have forgotten the question.

 -- THE END --

 *Originally published in *Roses and Lavender 5*, Allamagoosa Press,
October 2001*

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