The Professionals Circuit Archive - A Lonely Season	    A Lonely
Season

 

by Jennifer Lyon

  
 *Part One*

Another year, another set of holidays. He hardly marked its passing.
Bodie'd learned a long time ago that Christmas came and went like any
other day. On the boat, it had meant a single better meal; on the
sun-drenched African plains it had meant nothing at all, except another
day to live or die.

And now it meant only a warm pub meal, a flood of hot rum to soothe the
chill from aching bones, and the fleeting solace of pleasure in a
stranger's arms. The women were a blur to him, all so much the same, none
allowed an instant's closeness to the buried center of his soul. He'd
learned that lesson in blood and anguish, watched them die on city
streets. Johannesburg or London, the concrete soaked up blood with equal
indifference. Katerina... Marikka - the faces were equally
indistinguishable from each other, the wounded cry of shock the same,
haunting his dreams. Ghosts of the past and present sitting by his side.

No. He'd never take that chance again.

Downing the remainder of his drink, he eyed the pretty barmaid,
considering. Her smile wandered in his direction and held. She'd wait for
him, he knew with instant certainty, and yet...

The emptiness of it all struck home, and he grabbed for his coat, leaving
her staring wistfully at his back. The cold night air met him hard, his
breath misting in a silvery cloud. Church bells clanged in the distance as
he sought his car.

The heater provided some relief from the damp chill, and he snuggled into
his wool coat as he drove with absent deftness, skill so innate it guided
for itself, landing him at his door long before he'd noticed. He stopped
the engine and sat for a moment too long, considering the empty flat
waiting for him, the prospect unappealing.

But there was little else to do, Cowley had insisted he take the time off.
And certainly he deserved it, especially with Ray absent. Family called at
this time of year, as long as you had one, and Ray was overly gifted in
that regard. Bodie'd never tried to take count of the Doyle clan, and
luckily Ray tended to avoid them as the societal menace that they
obviously were. But duty was duty, and Ray was meeting his, leaving his
partner to a now-familiar routine.

Sleep was the answer. Christmas would be gone within the round of hours
spent in slumber, and he wouldn't have to consider it again for another
year. It really didn't matter anyhow...

He moved like an automaton through bed-time preparations. Brush your
teeth, wash your face, empty your bladder; as a long-time soldier, he knew
the value of the simple routines. They filled the empty spaces between
action and reaction, gave the mind time to relax before facing another
spurt of danger...

The doorbell rang, loud, shattering in the quiet stillness of the darkened
bedroom. Bodie paused, an instant from climbing into his bed. He turned a
frown towards the shuttered main room of his flat, tempted to ignore the
interruption. He wasn't in the mood for maudlin socializing, he wanted the
easy, honest oblivion of sleep. But the bell was insistent, chiming again
and again, warring for his attention.

So he went, wrapping his dark blue robe tightly around him. Flipping on
the light as he reached the doorway, he undid the locks and opened the
door to peer sullenly into the brightly lit hall.

"About time!" Ray groused at him, shoving past his startled partner to
enter the well-heated apartment. "God, it's cold out there!" He dropped
onto the sofa and sprawled himself out, shaking his headful of brown curls
like a wet dog.

Bodie glared at him, unnoticed, then shut and relocked the door.

"What're you doing 'ere?" he demanded, moving over to stand above his
partner.

Doyle looked up at him though half-shuttered eyelids. "Couldn't take
another moment at 'ome. All they wanted to know was when I was gonna
settle down and get married, or simply to sound off about the immorality
of my job." He flopped back again, groaning. "You're lucky, mate, not to
'ave to put up with all that bloody interfering..."

Something broke silently inside Bodie, the barriers holding back the
anguished flood of buried memories finally shattering beneath the
pressure.

"Shut up!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "And get out!" He turned half
away from Doyle, his shoulders hunched the effort not to explode into
violence. His hands clenched with the need to strike something, anything
at all.

Ray was stunned. He jerked upwards, staring with widened green eyes. He
shook his head slowly, as though not quite believing he'd heard what he
thought he had.

"Wha..." he began, but was cut off abruptly.

"You 'eard me. Get the 'ell out!" Bodie stalked to the door, began
fumbling with the bolt he'd just shut.

Doyle was up in an instant, he ran over to seize Bodie's shoulder.

"Bodie..." He didn't get a chance to finish, the touch was the last straw.
Bodie pivoted and slammed a fist into Ray's belly. The ex-cop doubled
over, the breath torn from his lungs. He collapsed, gasping, to the floor.
His bigger partner loomed over him, the hard bones of his face tightened
into an angry snarl.

"Bo..." Doyle tried to speak, rolling over on his side to try to escape
the dark-haired, raven-eyed thunderbolt aiming for him. He didn't make it.
Bodie was in a mindless rage, years of pent up emotion welling up into a
maelstrom of fury.

He hit out, kicked out, smashed into furniture. Doyle somehow managed to
scramble out of the way, and Bodie turned on the inanimate objects around
him, hardly noticing the absence of his original focus. Glass made a
satisfying noise, and he gave a feral laugh as a chair took out the front
window. Cold air rushed in, steaming moisture on the shattered fragments
of the pane.

Bodie turned, looking for something else to smash, and was hit from behind
by a wiry bulldozer. Doyle slammed him to the floor, seizing his wrists
and fighting to hold him down. It was like riding a rodeo bronco, Bodie
fought like a madman, kicking, scra tching, using years of training, a
lifetime's experience in hand-to-hand combat. But Doyle held on
desperately, fiercely, obstinately, never letting go, taking each blow,
and returning it as gently as he could, trying to stop the other man
without hurting him, wincing when he couldn't.

Then abruptly it just stopped. Bodie slumped, went still, limp,
unresisting, unresponsive. Doyle drew in a staggering breath, bruises
erupting across the length of his body. He lay on top of his partner for a
tense while, then slowly lifted himself up to a crouch.

"Bodie?" he whispered.

No response.

"Bodie?!" Louder this time, but still no reply. Fear sparking in his eyes,
Doyle fumbled for a pulse, and to his relief, it was there. The vein
pulsed fervently in Bodie's throat, signifying life, but unanswered by the
mind and soul it fed.

Doyle dragged Bodie up into his lap, tried to ease back the eyelids to
check the shuttered blue eyes. But Bodie reacted this time, he shoved
Doyle away and scrambled to his feet. His voice was more broken than the
window when he spoke.

"Will you leave now?"

"No." Doyle's refusal was simple and adamant. Bodie's hunched shoulders
froze, then shrugged in a forced movement. His voice was shaky in its
apparent unconcern.

"Suit yourself," he turned and fled for the bedroom. The door slammed shut
just as Doyle reached it, the lock clicked loudly into place.

"Damn you, Bodie...open the door!"

Silence answered.

Furious now himself, Doyle didn't bother arguing further, he stepped back
then swiftly delivered a sharp kick to the door, carefully aimed. The door
broke open with a satisfying crunch, and Doyle leapt through,
instinctively falling into a fighter's crouch.

But Bodie wasn't paying him any attention. He was sprawled out on the bed,
face buried into the white pillow, the muscles of his forearms bulging
with the strength of his grip on the soft cushion.

Doyle relaxed and moved to sit down beside him. His hand hovered over the
broad expanse of Bodie's back.

"Bodie..." he called out, his own emotions in a turmoil. Unable to figure
out what had set his normally placid partner into a blind killing rage, he
was in a state of near panic. Usually relying on Bodie to provide the
steady center of his own life; the unfamiliar role-reversal was a peculiar
sensation. But he *wanted* to help, wanted desperately to find the right
words to say to comfort his distraught partner. A rush of tenderness
overwhelmed him, stunning him with its intensity. If only he knew the rig
ht thing to say...

Bodie ignored him, his body motionless except for a small tremour. His
fingers curled and uncurled, and then lay still. He didn't look up, didn't
speak. Doyle hovered, anxious, waiting, struggling... then with
characteristic directness, he lost his patience.

Plopping himself down heavily beside Bodie, he took hold of the larger
man's shoulders and shook him.

"Damn it, Bodie! Talk to me!"

"Go away," Bodie replied, his words muffled in the pillow.

"Unh uh...forget it. I'm not going anywhere's until you talk to me. So you
might as well get started, so's we don't 'ave to sit 'ere all night long."

Bodie was still and silent for another long moment, then a soft,
breathless sigh of pure resigned irritation emanated up from the direction
of his mouth. Slowly, he turned, wriggled upwards, then curled up against
the headboard of the bed, drawing the pillow up between his chest and his
knees.

"All right," he spit out between gritted teeth, his eyes still averted
from Doyle's face. "I'm sorry. I apologize deeply and sincerely. Can you
go now?"

Doyle shook his head, ran a weary hand through his tangled curls. Then he
moved up to sit facing Bodie on the bed.

"Nope. Not going anywhere, I told you."

"You ought to," Bodie replied, resting his chin on the pillow, his eyes
dropping towards his feet.

"Why?" Doyle encouraged softly, willing Bodie to just keep talking.

Bodie shrugged, and Doyle leaned in closer, hoping that proximity might
stimulate some kind of reaction. He didn't get much.

"Why?" he asked again.

"Safer for you, innit it..." Bodie actually jerked his head up for a
moment, a flash of surprise on his closed features at his own words, but
the instant of emotion was shut away with rapid efficiency. Doyle seized
on it, however, like a dog given a fresh, meaty bone.

"Why safer?"

Bodie somehow managed to close in tighter on himself, his voice growling
out from his gut.

"Just forget it, OK? I apologize for knocking you around. I just needed to
let off some steam. Let it go!"

"I can't," Doyle shook his head, then reached out to tap Bodie's knee.
"Won't you please talk to me?" he pleaded.

Bodie gave a long-suffering sigh. "You never know when to leave well
enough alone, do you, Doyle?"

Doyle grinned, happy at the almost sound of normality in that comment.
"Nope, never could. So you'd better give in now, 'adn't you?"

Bodie shook his head, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling, feeling
the weight of Doyle's stare on him. He shrugged again, struggled to find
something his insatiably curious partner might accept.

"Look, I don't know, do I. Just felt...itchy...I DON'T KNOW!" His voice
broke again, and he clamped his mouth shut, but Doyle was on him again.

"It was something I said...What did I say? About my bloody family..."
Bodie grimaced as Doyle's eyes turned inwards, and the determined
ex-constable began to recall the conversation. "I said you're lucky..."

Doyle's eyes flew wide open, and focused intently on his partner's face.
His words trailed off, and a look of pure sadness transfixed his battered
features.

"Oh God, Bodie...I didn't...I'm sorry..."

"Forget it," Bodie insisted, just a tad too loudly. He stopped short, took
a deep breath, then rubbed at his eyes. "Look, can't we just leave it
alone get some sleep. I'm tired."

But Doyle was preoccupied, a rush of guilt and concern flooding over him.
He shuffled over to sit beside Bodie and reached out to hug him close.
Bodie stiffened and tried to pull away, but Doyle wouldn't let him go.

"I'm sorry," Doyle whispered in his ear, his breath hot on Bodie's neck.
"I didn't mean it like that. My family just gets on my nerves sometimes,
and I ... well, you know how I get sometimes. I can be a right prat,
Bodie. But it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you..."

Bodie wriggled, trying to free himself from the protective embrace, but
couldn't quite get loose. He really didn't try all that hard, the
closeness to another human being was seductive, and the heat of Ray's body
felt obscenely good next through his thin cotton robe. He sighed and sat
still, submitting to the embrace.

"Look, Ray, I don't blame you. It's just the time of year. Gets to me a
little, tha's all."

The blase tone in his voice didn't quite hold, the biting edge still
apparent. Doyle's reaction was instantly protective. He was finding that
he very much liked being the one offering support and comfort for a
change, especially after years of leaning on his apparently solid partner.
That brought a rush of guilt too, he knew there was pain in Bodie's past,
but the ex-merc was so closed-mouthed about his life before CI5 that Doyle
had let most of it slide by without pushing the issue.

He wanted to push it now. But he knew how stubborn his partner was; Bodie
wouldn't play until he was ready. That powerful jaw was jutting,
tight-set. Getting him to admit anything more would be worse than pulling
teeth. Still, Ray badly wanted to give something back to his partner, to
let the man know he wasn't alone. Above all, he wanted to ease the aching
tension in that hard-muscled body, to bring a smile back to that shuttered
face. Perhaps the digging out of emotional sores might have to wait; but
there were other avenues to explore. His mind sparked with hidden delight,
plans began to take fruit in the fertile soil of his imagination.

"OK," he replied, noting with some amusement the startled look his easy
acquiescence created on his partner's surprising mobile features. 'For
now,' he amended silently, promising himself they'd return to the subject
later. He knew there was more to Bodie's outburst than simple holiday
loneliness, and he was bound and determined to find out what. However,
that could wait - he had other plans for the present.

Releasing Bodie, he got around to the edge of the bed and quickly divested
himself of his jacket and shoes. Happy to be let go, Bodie didn't realize
immediately what Doyle was doing, but when he did, he protested.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Putting you to bed!" Doyle replied happily.

"What?" Bodie replied somewhat inanely. Doyle turned a toothy grin on him.

"You said you were tired..."

"Yeh..."

"So come on, into bed with you." Doyle reached out to tug down the covers,
forcing Bodie to lift up first his hips and then his legs to allow Doyle
to finish. Doyle held up the covers, indicating that Bodie should lay
down. He gave Doyle a suspicious look, then did so, pushing his legs under
the sheets. Doyle brought the covers up to his neck, then took the pillow
from Bodie's hands.

"Head up!" he commanded. Bodie pouted, but the emotional explosion had
left him exhausted, and he was a bit curious as to what was going on
beneath Doyle's too-placid exterior. Deepening the suspicious glare he was
training on his partner's face, Bodie obediently lifted his dark-capped
head, letting Doyle slide the pillow beneath him. Doyle then pushed Bodie
down, settling him into bed and securing the blanket and sheets around
him.

"Close your eyes," Doyle commanded. Bodie refused for a moment, still
glaring at him, but Doyle was adamant. Pursing his lips, Bodie obeyed
again, closing his eyes and settling back against the pillow. He wriggled,
overly aware of Doyle's presence, and finally turned to present Doyle with
the back of his head and shoulders.

Doyle sat silently, watching and waiting. Bodie pretended to sleep for a
while, but slowly and surely, the tiredness crept up on him, and his
breathing began to slow down and even out. He slipped gently into slumber,
but still Doyle remained seated by his side. Once he was sure Bodie was
fully asleep, he leaned down to gently brush his lips on Bodie's cheek.

"Happy Christmas, sunshine," he whispered, carefully stroking the short,
silken hair. Then he got up, walked noiselessly around the bed, and
carefully settled himself down on the other side. Curling up close to the
other man's bulk, he shut his eyes. The next day was Christmas, and if Ray
Doyle had anything to say about it, this would be a Christmas that William
Andrew Philip Bodie would never forget. His head full of wondrous,
inventive plans, Doyle happily followed his best mate into sleep.

******

*Part Two*

Waking up hadn't been pleasant, and Doyle's effervescent mood hadn't
helped. The mop-haired agent had apparently been awake for hours - had he
ever slept? His extremely grumpy - and sore - partner had groaned, opened
one lazy blue eye, then shut it instantly.

"Come on, sleepyhead, it's Christmas! Up and at 'em!" Doyle bounced on the
edge of the bed, nearly spilling the tray of food in his hands.

"Go away!" Bodie commanded, refusing to even open his eyes. A heavy weight
plopped in his lap with a clatter, and the warm, tangy emanations
stimulated his nostrils. He twitched despite himself...that smelled
like... he opened his eyes the slightest amount possible, and glared
downward through a field of eyelashes. It was...

His eyes bolted open, and his hands snaked out from under the blankets to
check the reality of the tray in front of him. Eggs and sausage and a
mound of hot buttered toast, and steaming coffee to boot. Irrepressible
hunger was hard to deny, and Bodie seized at the banquet before him. Yet,
even as he hurriedly forked it into his mouth, he refused to look up at
Doyle, a quick darting glance enough to read the open satisfaction and
radiant amusement on his partner's face. Starving Bodie might be, but
there was no way he was going to cope with a bouncy Ray Doyle this early
in the morning.

Still, he laid quick waste to the breakfast, and finally brought his eyes
up as he sipped at the coffee. Doyle was still grinning at him - God, the
man's mouth was going to have cramps from staying too long in one
position. Bodie growled at him, trying to ignore the sense of well-being
that a good meal always gave him.

"So wha's this all about, then?"

"It's Christmas!" Doyle replied, still smiling inanely.

Bodie shrugged, his entire manner symbolizing a defiant "so what." Doyle
was unabashed, he grabbed up the tray, barely allowing Bodie time to
rescue his unfinished cup of coffee, and bustled out of the bedroom. At
the doorway, he turned and commanded over his shoulder.

"Out of bed with ye now, we've got a busy day ahead!"

Bodie reacted instantly, those words hitting a well-trained signal. He
groaned. Work, bloody 'ell, he'd at least hoped for one day spent in bed.
This damnable holiday could at least give him that much! Muttering
imprecations under his breath as to the parental origins of a certain
Scottish Major, he hurried to the bathroom and showered briskly. Then he
rummaged through his drawers, finally selecting clothes for comfort over
style, a pair of dark cords and matching v-neck sweater, and a warm
brown-leather jacket to complete the ensemble. He was easing his shoulder
holster on when Doyle returned.

"What are you doing?" Doyle demanded, coming up to breath on his neck.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Bodie replied crossly. "We're called in to
work, aren't we? Gotta wear my gear..."

"Work?" Doyle dropped the word as though it was contaminated. "What ever
gave you that idea? Got the whole day off, we do. And we're bloody well
going to take advantage of it too."

Bodie's jaw dropped, his eyes sparked. He turned and gave Doyle a fierce
glare. "You said we 'ad a busy day..."

"Yup, we do. But not work, you dumb crud. Now come on, I think I found a
place that still has a couple trees available." Doyle seized Bodie's arm
and gave a mighty tug.

The bigger man stumbled, his mind still behind their movements, but
catching up fast.

"'Eh, wait a minute. You mean I got up for nothing!! I could've...what do
you mean a tree?"

"A Christmas tree, silly," Doyle enunciated carefully, still dragging his
partner through the flat.

Bodie stopped short, his heels digging in. The weight of his coming to a
halt threw Doyle off-balance, and he stumbled backwards into his partner's
body. Bodie took hold of him automatically, steadying body against body.
Doyle leaned quite willingly against him, but Bodie's mind was elsewhere.

"No way!" he protested. ""Sides, it's too late! Innit!"

Doyle proceeded to give the bigger man a quick hug, then hurried on
towards the door. Grabbing for his coat, he argued over his shoulder.

"Nah, never too late. Come on, the shops are only open in the morning, so
we 'ave to 'urry if we're goin' to get the stuff we need. Just like you to
leave it 'till the last possible moment."

"Oh no...no...no..." Bodie was still protesting as Doyle literally
dragged, pushed, and shoved him out of the apartment.

******

By the time they returned to the warmth of Bodie's quiet apartment, the
broken window gaudily patched with towel-draped cardboard, Bodie was in an
utter daze. He knew how much energy his partner could distill when he put
his stubborn mind to a task, but he'd never been drawn through quite so
wild a whirlwind. Doyle had dragged him to a tree farm, four grocery
stores (only one of which was actually open), and had forced his way into
a pair of closed department stores, making shameless - and totally illegal
- use of his CI5 identification. Bodie had gone along with the little
bugger out of pure amazement, wincing silently as his arms were piled with
assorted stuff.

When he was finally allowed to collapse on the sofa, his arms ached, his
shoulders hurt, his sides felt like someone had been using them as a
punching bag. Well, actually, someone had, he suddenly remembered. A small
stab of guilt hit him then, as he recalled his untoward explosion of the
night before. He took a sneaking glance up at Doyle, who was busily
maneuvering the tiny, slightly crooked pine tree into just the 'right'
position in the corner. Bodie really did feel badly about the previous
evening, and he couldn't help noticing the stiffness of Doyle's body and
the bruises that purpled his right forearm.

"Bloody 'ell," Bodie swore under his breath, every nerve in his body
wanting to deny all of this, especially his untoward loss of control.
Bodie never lost control - unless it was in the process of pounding some
well-deserving bastard into the pavement. But not like this - not bleeding
all over his partner. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach, and curled up
into a surprisingly small ball on the couch for such a big man.

It took Doyle a while to finish his appointed tasks, but the moment he
turned and saw Bodie, he was across the room in an instant.

"Bodie?" he asked in a voice, soft with tenderness.

Bodie ignored him, came unraveled with a fierce burst of motion and
hurried in towards the kitchen.

"Dinner time yet?" he inquired gruffly without turning to look at his
partner.

Doyle frowned at Bodie's back, struggling manfully with the urge to seize
the irritating sod, dump him on the floor, and sit on him until he finally
*talked.* Biting at his lip, Ray forced himself to wait, storing up the
questions itching at him for the much promised later. In the meantime,
food was a wonderful distraction, especially for Bodie, and the process of
making the large meal turned into an extremely pleasurable game.

Bodie was an inveterate pest in the kitchen, especially when Doyle was
cooking, and it was a long-standing habit for Bodie to attempt to steal as
much as he could from the preparations. Doyle was a sharp hand with a
mixing spoon, and he gave Bodie a few good whacks, gaining wide-eyed,
childlike pouts in return. Finally, he set Bodie to chopping up vegetable
for a salad, and was able to finish basting the turkey.

That had to cook for a long while, so Doyle dragged Bodie into the sitting
room, a platter full of biscuits and cheese in tow, and they curled up
with the TV. One station was showing a long run of old black and white
movies, and they watched a couple straight through - Bodie finally
beginning to relax enough to do some particularly horrible imitations.
Doyle was caught between the intensity of his relief and his disgust at
the attempts...but his amusement won him over, and he ended up collapsed
in a hopeless fit of the giggles. Not that he could resist pounding Bodie
with a cushion - and that precipitated a wild pillow fight.

But at last, it was time to eat, and Doyle was more than satisfied by his
partner's appetite. Actually, he did his fair share of damage, and felt
supremely happy and extremely bloated by the time they were finished. He
let them both lay back for a little while, suckling at some eggnog, before
hustling Bodie into the kitchen for cleanup. As usual, Bodie protested
vigorously, then set about the tasks laid out for him with characteristic
efficiency.

When everything was spotless and shiny enough to pass Doyle's critical
eye, he pushed Bodie back into the living room and settled him down on the
couch. Bodie sprawled out, feet propped up on the coffee table, his blue
eyes falling shut.

Doyle smiled happily at him for a moment, sat down beside him and gave him
a shove.

"Eh, wake up! Still gotta open presents, don't we?"

"Presents?" Bodie came abruptly alert. He turned a pair of wide,
dark-lashed sapphires on Doyle. "But..."

He stopped short. He hadn't bought anything for Doyle, unless you counted
the joke gifts they'd exchanged before Doyle left to visit his family. He
gave him a suspicious glare, but the curly-haired moppet was smiling, his
own bright green eyes twinkling with mischief as he tossed a flat,
rectangular package at Bodie.

"Go on, open it!" he demanded.

"But..." Bodie repeated, ducking his head as he admitted softly, "I didn't
get you anything."

"Tha's OK, and who said you didn't? Gave me today, didn't you? Best
Christmas I've 'ad in years!"

Bodie didn't manage a reply to that piece of sentiment, especially since
they'd spent the last four Christmases working, either holed up in some
stinking hole or worse yet, out on the cold streets getting shot at.
Still, it was a nice thought, and it warmed a small corner of his insides.

Turning the colorful package over in his hands, he raised it to his ear
and shook it roughly.

"Ey, take it easy on that!"

Turning up his best suspicious glare, Bodie eyed Doyle over the top of it.
"So what is it?"

"Well, open and find out!" Doyle retorted, his manner suddenly drawing in
on itself. That sobered Bodie instantly, and he attacked the wrapping with
suddenly shaky hands. The thin paper gave way easily to reveal a small
picture frame, and he turned it up to the light to catch a better sight of
the photo within.

He blinked in surprise, coming face-to-face with himself and Doyle, both
grinning shamelessly. Bodie's elbow was propped on Doyle's shoulder, both
men were gripping drinks raised in drunken salute. They looked ... happy
... unbelievably at peace with themselves and with the world. When...?

And Bodie didn't realize he'd spoken the question aloud until Doyle
answered him.

"Cole's going away party, remember?"

Memory struck, the good and the bad of it, and he nodded. Doyle reached
out to tap his hand.

"Not our fault Cole went bad, or that Cowley almost got into trouble. Got
'im out of it, we did!"

Bodie grinned, nodded. "Yeh...was kind of funny, in a way, wasn't it? Us
tracking down Cowley like that!"

Doyle chuckled. "Yeh - and you bugging his motor." They both shared a
laugh at that memory, then Bodie turned a solemn gaze on his partner.

"Thanks." The word was almost whispered, so soft it could hardly have been
heard, but Doyle was able to read it as much as hear it, and he smiled
warmly, toothily, delight lightening up his eyes.

"You're welcome." And with a burst of sudden good fellowship, he leaned
forward and squeezed Bodie into a hug.

Bodie hugged Ray right back, burying his face into a tangle of curls,
enjoying the hot feel of his friend's body pressed against his own. It
felt so good, more right than anything had in a long time, it felt...

His head jerked up, then his body followed, nearly leaping to the other
end of the sofa. Left abruptly bereft, Ray stared after him with
open-mouthed surprise. The silver-framed picture was left abandoned
between them.

"Bodie...what's wrong?" Doyle essayed gently.

Bodie shook his head, forced a smile that didn't touch his wary eyes.

"Nothing," he insisted. Then picking up the picture, he settled it onto
the table, balancing to stand upright against the metal bar that swung out
from the back of it. Fingers traced the top of it, darting quick, then
drew back as though burnt.

"Well, we'd better call it a night, 'adn't we?" Bodie said, his eyes
averted.

Doyle took a deep breath, then moved in closer. They weren't going to call
it a night be any possible stretch of the imagination, not until he got
some answers.

"Bodie..."

"Don't Ray," Bode warned, his entire body tensing. But Doyle was not going
to be dissuaded.

"Talk to me, Bodie...PLEASE!" he urged, creeping closer until they were
almost touching hip to hip. Bodie flinched away, Doyle followed, seizing
hold of his arm. "At least look at me..."

Doyle just about regretted asking that when Bodie turned towards him. That
handsome face had settled into a look of such open anguish, the dark blue
eyes appearing more as bruises within the pale, luminescent skin than as
windows to his soul. But windows they were, and the fear that leached
through them struck Doyle harder than any punch in the stomach could have.

"Oh Bodie...won't you please tell me what's wrong!" Doyle was pleading
now, desperate. His fingers clutched at Bodie's arm. "What's happened? Is
it something I said..."

"No." Bodie tried to get up, but Doyle yanked him back down.

"Doyle, for God's sake, let it alone."

"No, I won't. I care about you, damn it! Why won't..."

"Don't say that!!" Bodie's interruption was savage, torn from somewhere
deep inside, it erupted out of him.

Doyle was stunned. He tightened his hold on Bodie's shoulders. "Why not?
'S the truth? After all the years we've spent covering each other's backs?
You're my partner, and my best friend, and I..."

"DON'T!" Bodie yelled again, curling up in on himself; he was trembling
openly now.

"Don't what?" Doyle demanded, insistent know on getting to the bottom of
this. "Come on Bodie...I want an answer. You owe me one, you close-mouthed
bastard. What's got into you?"

"Just don't say you care about me. It might just be OK if you don't say
it."

"What?" Doyle was dumbfounded by that piece of idiocy. He dropped into
silence for a moment, his mind tumbling over itself.

"Bodie, I don't understand. Why shouldn't I say it? I mean, I know it's
not the kind of thing us macho men say to each other, not mostly, at
least, but it's Christmas..."

"No, you don't understand..." Bodie cried out, hugging at his arms, as
though trying to shrink into as small a space as possible. Doyle reacted
instantly, he reached out and hugged Bodie tightly, ignoring the man's
immediate struggles to get free.

"Then explain it to me," he urged into Bodie's ear, his breath stirring
the ebony curls on Bodie's neck.

Bodie shook his head. Doyle simply hugged him harder, and Bodie finally
gave in with a sound terribly reminiscent of a whimper.

"If you say you care about me, you'll get killed." The words were barely a
whisper, but they dropped like a bomb between them. Doyle jerked, his head
bolted up.

"Wha...Bodie...you..." Ray stammered, his mind reeling. Suddenly
everything made a terrible kind of sense, all of it came clear. His
partner's behavior, not just this past night and day, but for the past
several years. "Oh God, Bodie..." Doyle abruptly tightened his grip on the
other man's shoulders, pushing up to try to pull as much of him into the
embrace as he possible could.

Bodie shivered, then struggled to get free. "'S not such a big deal, Ray.
Just don't SAY it, OK. Things will be all right then."

"Bodie, that's silly! I'll feel it whether I say it or not."

"But if you don't say it, then maybe you'll still be alive. Not like..."

Bodie trailed off there, not wanting to name the ghosts that stood over
his shoulder. But Ray was past letting anything remain unspoken.

"Like Marikka...and the girl Krivas killed..." and he took another stab at
it, "like Claire...but she lived..."

"Yeh - just barely," Bodie replied, the normality in his tone a sheer
pretense.

"Oh Bodie..." Ray began again. "None of that was YOUR fault. You have to
know that?"

"Wasn't it?" Bodie mumbled.

Ray pulled the dark head into the crook of his shoulder, stroked the
satiny strands with a tender hand.

"No, it wasn't. Look...I know how you feel. God only knows I'm an expert
at guilt." Ray chuckled bitterly. "My mum was an expert at instilling that
quality in her kids. But there's a limit, Bodie. You couldn't control
Krivas, or the bomber, or Willis' mob. You didn't make any of it happen,
you have to KNOW that!"

"I do...sort of...but it's still...it's just safer if you don't take
chances with it. You know..." But Bodie had relaxed slightly into Doyle's
embrace, and his breathing had evened out just a little. Doyle nuzzled the
side of his head, struggling for eve ry advantage.

"Maybe, but it's stupid to let might-be's take away the few good things
you 'ave in this life."

Bodie was silent for a moment, then he responded, his voice muffled
against Doyle's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

Ray squeezed Bodie one more time, then pulled away, tugging at Bodie's
head until they were looking straight into each other's eyes. "There are
no guarantees, Bodie. I can't promise you that either of us will live to
see tomorrow, much less next week. Especially given our crazy way of
making a living. But that's exactly why you HAVE to say you care NOW,
while you've got the chance. It won't make dying any more likely, really
it won't, but if - God forbid - that does happen, at least you'll know you
said it! At least you won't have that additional regret on top of
everything else."

Doyle really meant this, and his eyes drilled into Bodie's, trying to
communicate the importance of it. Bodie was hesitating, years of certain
anguish still haunting him. So the older man smiled, leaned forward and
kissed his friend's forehead. "Just think about it, will you?"

Bodie paused, then nodded solemnly. "OK." He could promise that much at
least, and he did feel strangely light, as though a massive weight had
been lifted off his chest. He felt almost as though he could have floated
away, if Doyle hadn't been there holding him down. He closed his eyes,
feeling suddenly very, very tired. Doyle gathered him close again, and
Bodie snuggled into his embrace.

He didn't know if Doyle was right; he still balked at tempting fate by
speaking aloud the emotions that ran through him, but Bodie was more than
content to steal this moment from life. Shutting his eyes, he drifted in
shelter of Doyle's arms.

Ray leaned his cheek down on Bodie's head as a tear stung the corner of
his eyes. Damn it, he hadn't expected this. And he still wasn't sure how
to cope it, or with the groundswell of his own emotions. Dragging out this
painful confession from his friend had thrust him into the realization
that "care" was hardly a strong enough word to describe his feelings for
the difficult, contrary, beautiful man cradled in his arms. But if Bodie
freaked out so badly at the sound of "care" then that other word could d
rive him far far away. So Doyle would have to hold it silent for now, take
what he had for the moment, and let it grow.

Until he could finally look into the impossibly blue eyes and say the
words that had blossomed so suddenly and irretrievably within his heart.
Three simple words.

******

*Part Three*

New Year's Eve was much more Bodie's style. A holiday devoted to the
simple pleasures - free spirits, plentiful food, good fellowship and the
joy of having survived another year - it was a time to celebrate being
alive. And there was no better way to do so than with his compatriots from
CI5.

The Squad's parties were always a wild frolic. They worked hard and they
played even harder. Living on the edge of death as they did, when it came
time to let off steam, they let loose with unabashed fervor. Awash in a
bright sea of champagne, succored by sweet chocolates and berried tarts,
Bodie was in his element. Doyle was close by his side, Murphy was leading
a rousing song, even Cowley was approaching a hint of good humor.

Bodie swigged the rest of his champagne, tugged at his partner's sleeve,
then wandered off in chase of another bottle. He got stopped twice along
the way, once to share a minty kiss with Susan, the second to mediate a
bet between Anson and McCabe. Sending them satisfied upon their way, he
rounded the corner to the tiny kitchen, and drunkenly began to rustle
through the cupboards.

"'S not in there," Doyle warned, leaning lazily against the doorjamb, the
sounds of merriment loud behind him.

"Wha's not in where?" Bodie asked, suddenly forgetting what it was he was
looking for. He settled back against the table, surreptitiously trying to
use it as support. The world swam pleasantly around him; he was suffused
with simple contentment.

Doyle grinned widely at him, baring a mouth full of slightly crooked,
pearly-white teeth. The expression made him look obscenely young,
childlike with his halo of bronzed curls and the vivid too-large eyes.
They were dilated now, deep hazy pools of green, focusing blearily in
Bodie's general direction.

"The champagne, silly," Doyle responded, wavering a bit as he eased
forward. "Tha's what you wanted, innit?"

Bodie blinked for a moment, then beamed with the memory. He HAD wanted
another of the bubbly drinks.

"Of course it is, idiot, what else would I be looking for?" He attempted
to look annoyed that Doyle would think he didn't know what he was doing,
even if he had actually forgotten for a moment. It didn't make an
impression, though, Doyle approached him with balanced, careful step of a
man who realizes he's drunk.

"Well, it's not 'ere, is it?" Doyle said. "They put it outside, to keep it
cold."

"Outside?" Bodie frowned. "Wha's wrong with the fridge?"

"Not enough space, not with all the food," Doyle informed him gravely.
He'd gotten close enough to peer directly into Bodie's eyes, and he did so
with serious intent.

Bodie glared back at him for a moment, then sighed and shoved at Doyle's
chest.

"Move it. Gotta find the champagne."

"I told you, it's outside," Doyle said firmly.

"I know that," Bodie responded, taking hold of Doyle's arm and dragging
him towards the back door. "So le's go get it."

"Ahh..." That did make sense to Doyle, and he moved along willingly
enough, though not without pressing in closer to his partner's body. Bodie
gave off heat through the thick wool of his sweater, and Doyle sopped it
up. Swaying against Bodie, he buried his nose in the bigger man's chest.

"Doyle, what the 'ell you doing?" Bodie demanded, struggling to hold both
of them upright even as the room began to sway around him worse than a
ship at sea. Doyle clutched at him, somehow managing to snuggle even
closer.

"Feel good, you do. Warm..." he murmured.

"Lemme go!" Bodie grunted with frustration, though the combination of too
much champagne and a night's worth of good fellowship had mellowed him out
considerably. Besides, he wasn't the only one who felt good - in fact,
Doyle not only felt nice, he smelled wonderful as well. His hair tickled
Bodie's chin, and the taller man leaned down to bury his nose in those
thick wayward curls, sniffling up the warm, soapy scent of them. It
brought back memories, the two of them curled up on a drowsy Christmas
Day...

Oh no, oh no, oh no... An instinctive flare of panic chased the alcoholic
haze from Bodie's mind, dropping him into a emotional pit of icy water. He
stiffened, shoved at Doyle's shoulders, ignored the sorrowful look he
received as he turned away towards the door. Squaring his shoulders, he
reached for the doorknob and wrestled it open.

Behind him, a not-so-steady Ray Doyle was gazing after him, a mixture of
frustration, anguish, and concern filling his wide green eyes. His mouth
drooped, his shoulders clenched, but he forced the emotion aside. Joining
Bodie at the door, he pushed past his partner and reached for the
snow-dusted cardboard box that held the remaining bottles of champagne.
Unfortunately, the white layer of snow hid the slick of ice below, and his
feet slid out from under him with abrupt loss of control.

Ray gasped with surprise, his feet sliding across the slippery surface,
then rising up in the air as he fell. He hit bottom hard, too close to the
edge of the building to miss striking the brick wall. His skull impacted
with a loud crack, and he slumped to the ground, instantly unconscious.

It had all happened so quickly, Bodie didn't even realize it was happening
until Doyle was sprawled out on the ground before him. He yelled, "RAY,"
and was on his knees a heartbeat later...a heartbeat too late.

Hands trembling more with shock than with cold, Bodie felt for a pulse,
his breath of relief at the gentle throb beneath his fingers misting in
the air before him. He gathered Doyle up into his laps, cradling the
wounded head against his thigh.

"Ray?" he demanded, more softly this time, then his voice rose again,
"RAY!"

The limp body in his arms didn't move, and panic struck. Under better
circumstances, perhaps, Bodie would have reacted with more reason and less
emotion, but he was fuzzy with the alcohol, and twisted by the frightening
mix of emotions that had troubled him since the recent, explosive
Christmas Eve. All he could think of was the possibility that once again
he could lose the one thing in his life worth living for.

Finding it difficult to get to his feet and carry Doyle at the same time,
Bodie settled for crawling backwards on his hands and knees, dragging
Doyle with him. It took a seemingly endless struggle, but he finally got
them both inside the door. Kicking it shut behind him, he reached out to
gather Doyle up into his arms. Quickly ascertaining that the pulse was
still beating, Bodie looked anxiously around him. Loud music filtered
through from the other room, and Bodie's shout for help was drowned in a
rousing, ragged chorus of a prurient drinking song.

Doyle moaned and shifted in Bodie's grip, fighting his way back to
awareness of his surroundings.

"Ray?" Bodie asked again, and was rewarded with another groan. Cradling
the curly-haired head against his belly, he touched every inch of his
partner he could reach.

"Ray, can you 'ear me, mate? Answer me, sunshine!"

"Oooh, don' shout," Doyle muttered, one hand fluttering up to probe at his
skull - an action he regretted the instant his fingers made contact. Bodie
seized the offending appendage instantly.

"Don't mess around with it. You've probably got a concussion! What the
'ell were you playing at out there...you could've gotten yourself killed!"
His voice broke on the last word, dragging Doyle's attention away from the
hammer pounding on his brain. He tried to look up at Bodie without moving
his head, but even the slightest motion was enough to stir another moan
from his lips.

"And don't move!" Bodie told him crossly, his voice rising with
irritation. Doyle simply couldn't help it, as bloody painful as it was, he
started to smile, the smile became a toothy grin, and then the laughter
began to bubble out of him, frothier than the champagne they'd been
searching for.

The sound only irritated Bodie further. He frowned deeply, his mouth
pursing into a thrusting pout. Doyle laughed all the harder, until it
simply hurt too much, and he stuttered towards silence.

"You've gone hysterical," Bodie complained, trying to ease Doyle down
towards the floor. Doyle clutched at him, wincing at the motion, but
insistent on keeping Bodie close.

"No, 's just funny. All the times we've been shot at or beaten up, or
almost blown up in the past few months, and what 'appens? I nearly kill
myself on a bleeding patch of ice!"

"'S not funny!" Bodie shouted, his entire body tensing. He turned his head
away, refusing to meet Doyle's gaze. But his partner reached up and pulled
him down again, boring into Bodie's back and shoulder with emerald drills
until the weight of his regard forced the trembling man to turn around.

"Bodie, I'm OK. Really. I'm fine," Doyle reassured him.

"But you could've..." Bodie couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes, I could've," Doyle repeated with blunt honesty. Bodie tried again to
pull away, but again found himself trapped by insistent hands. "Look, I
told you before, anyone can go at any time. Tha's just the way it is. So
you have to take what you've got, when you've got it. Only way to live,
mate. If you don't you're not really living and you might as well just go
ahead and die."

Bodie shook his head, a pounding certainty in the center of his chest that
this accident was somehow his own fault. Doyle read it easily, and thumped
him hard in the belly.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, you 'ear me? Try it and I'll kick
your ass from 'ere to Scotland."

"Ray!" Bodie's voice was torn, uncertain, his face closed tightly in on
itself, though confusion bled from his dark blue eyes.

Doyle tugged on him, indicating he needed help sitting up, and Bodie gave
it willingly, drawing him up into a sitting position, wrapping powerful
arms around his shoulders to support him. Ray leaned into that proffered
strength for a moment, then drew the pale face down closer to him so that
they could taste each other's breath.

"Is it really that hard to say, Bodie? What if I had died a few minutes
ago? Wouldn't you have felt better if you'd said something to me
beforehand? Or would you rather bury me without ever saying how you feel?"
That was a rough demand to make, but Doyle had been storing it up for over
a week, struggling not to push, testing the limits of his patience. He
KNEW from a thousand little signs and signals that his feelings for his
partner were returned in equal measure, and the inability to speak it
aloud had been driving him nuts. Afraid of driving Bodie into running
away, he'd held back, but this accident had been the last straw. Even if
Bodie wouldn't say it, he damn well would.

"Well, I can't live with that," Doyle continued, ruthlessly ignoring the
anguish twisting Bodie's mobile mouth. "I can't go on not knowing if I'll
ever get the chance to say how I feel before you die. Could 'appen any
time; you could fall down like I did , or get hit by a car, or 'ave a
bloody 'eartattack, or anything. I dunno, and it doesn't matter. I love
you, you irritating, arrogant, impossible bastard, and I'm going to tell
you so whether you want to 'ear it or not!"

With that finally off his chest, Doyle closed his aching eyes and snuggled
deeper into the comforting warmth of Bodie's lap. The room was abruptly
silent, except for the strains of music and laughter echoing in from the
party, and the steady sounds of their breath. So the whisper, when it
came, buried into the auburn curls at the crown of his head, seemed both
too loud and far too faint at once.

"Love you too..."

And at that very same instant, as though in brilliant confirmation, a
multitude of bells chimed, a vigorous round of cheers erupted from the
neighboring room, the popping crack of fireworks sounded from the streets.

Doyle struggled to turn his head, to meet Bodie's eyes, to verify his
senses against the power of his own need. Bodie refused to look up, simply
tightened his embrace and dug his nose deeper into the curve of Doyle's
neck. Ray sighed, but snuggled closer. A rough whisper was hardly the
stuff that dreams were made of, but this one was, if nothing else, a
beginning.

-- THE END --

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